Read Online Loss by Jackie Morse Kessler - Free Book Online Page A

emperors go well together.”
    The words surprised Billy into speaking. “He’s an emperor?”
    “He was, long ago.” Death glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man in the hospital bed. “A ruler more than an emperor. And a ruler more than once. But more than anything else, he is a Rider.”
    “Like you,” said Billy.
    A pause, like winter frost gathering on a windowpane. And then Death said quietly, “None is like me.”
    Wind slapped Billy’s face, bringing sudden tears to his eyes. In that moment, he thought he saw wings unfurling behind Death’s back, spreading wide enough to fill the room and beyond—but then he blinked and the image was gone, leaving Billy with a vague sense of terror and awesome beauty.
    The moment passed, and Death, no longer terrifying or awe-inspiring, grinned once more. “But you’re close. He’s a colleague of mine. Say hello to Pestilence, Conqueror of Health, Bringer of Disease, White Rider of the Apocalypse. Also, not a bad bridge player.”
    Thoughts whipped through Billy’s head, some questioning what he’d just witnessed, others pouncing on Death’s declaration about the man in the bed. Pestilence? The Ice Cream Man, the nightmare man, wasn’t just real—he was a Horseman of the Apocalypse?
    He shook his head. It was too much. Too crazy. He grasped on to that thought like a lifeline. Yes, he was going crazy. He could handle crazy. He’d enjoy crazy. The notion of being locked up someplace safe, far away from responsibilities and consequences, was extremely inviting. More likely, he wasn’t crazy at all. He’d hit his head in the locker room—repeatedly, thanks to Joe—so maybe now he had a concussion. A head injury. Yes, that had to be it—he was hallucinating from pain. Or maybe he was dreaming. He’d gone home after being humiliated in front of Marianne, and he’d probably thrown himself on his bed, his iPod buds snug in his ears, and he’d fallen asleep to a soundtrack of angst.
    That made Billy laugh, a strangled sound that bordered on a scream. Death and Pestilence and the flying horse/car, those were all just symbols of his stress. He wondered what it meant if you knew you were dreaming when you were in the middle of a dream, and he decided he didn’t care. This wasn’t real, so he didn’t need to care.
    This wasn’t real.
    Suddenly Death was right in front of him, peering at him with those empty blue eyes, and he said, “This is more real than you have allowed yourself to know, William Ballard.” A cold finger touched Billy’s forehead, and it seared him down to his soul.
    Death’s voice, penetrating, insistent: Remember .
    And Billy remembered.
    ***
    . . . Billy’s in the sandbox, building castles and getting filthy and loving every second of it. The castle’s going to be the setting for the ultimate battle of Good versus Evil—in other words, the battle of every single toy, creature, and superhero he’s ever owned, created, or seen on television. Billy’s got a tremendous imagination. His mom tells him so every day. She’s there somewhere on the periphery of the playground, sitting on a bench and reading a book. Billy doesn’t need to look around to know she’s watching. His mom always watches. It makes him feel safe. He smiles as he adds more sand to reinforce the towers.
    It’s a gorgeous spring day, complete with blue skies and singing birds. Trees talk to each other in the breeze as the sun smiles down on everyone. Other kids are in the playground, too, but Billy doesn’t notice them. He’s lost in his sandcastle architecture, already planning on building an extension for the mega-round of the tournament. He’s got to be thorough; he doesn’t want anyone left out of the superhuge battle.
    A cloud passes over him, and Billy sneezes, once.
    Wait—maybe he should make this part of the castle open to the sky. That way, the flying aliens and superheroes don’t have to worry about bumping into the ceiling. He scoops out more