As Dorian returned home, the cozy armchair, the book, and the hot cup of coffee by the side table seemed like from another world. He stood next to his chair for a moment, picked up the mug, and noticed that his drink was still warm and steamy. He glanced at the clock. He'd only been gone for five minutes. He took a sip from his mug, tasted the rich texture of the coffee, and walked to the large living room windows. He stared over the hills and into the river valley below.
The place where he lived, had lived for most of his life, was always drawn back to, used to be a quiet, drowsy place. When he returned for the last time, only a couple of hundred people lived in the small village near his house. But as the years ran by, the village turned into a booming winter resort, filled with ski slopes, hotels, spas, and other tourist attractions. He could see it all from his living room windows, the lights on the slopes, almost heard the music in the nightclubs.
For the last hundred years or so, creating this small sanctuary with its modern, technological wonders was a sort of game to him. Like a building simulator, he was in control of. He constructed a building here and another there and allowed only a certain number of well-known companies into his city. He owned the land, had owned it for centuries but legally and officially it was handed down to him by his father and great-grandfathers. He paid a massive amount of taxes for his property. He was very careful with the infrastructure and never allowed nature to be polluted. He didn't allow anything unnecessary that might rupture the peace of the wild desert that surrounded his winter wonderland. He created this place, invested a lot of money, and got so much more in return. He owned this little city as much as it was possible, every piece of land that it was built on but he never felt greed to own more or to have more. Money never made him happy and the more he had, the more empty it made him feel. He was content with what he had now and in recent years, had turned away a lot of interested investors.
He glanced up in the sky and saw the bright stars and the Milky Way, Aurora's dancing like wildfire up there, high in the atmosphere. Usually watching them twist and turn and slither up and down calmed his mind but this time he found no solace in front of their spectacular flames. For the first time in nearly a thousand years, his mind was looking for answers to multiple, difficult questions. In all honesty, it actually felt refreshing and on a certain level, he found this new distraction to be quite enjoyable. Another game to be played? A mystery to solve? Something to stir up his boring never-aging existence?
What is that boy? How is he connected to me? Have we known each other before? How is he doing that? Calling me over to him? He's a kid, so maybe he doesn't do it on purpose, Dorian allowed his thoughts to flow. The kid was feverish, sleeping, in the clutches of a nightmare. Did he call me there unconsciously, like he once did when he was just a baby? And if so, then the boy might not be able to explain it himself. But...but...when he asked him about it, he ignored the question. He didn't say "I don't know." He was silent like he knew the answer but didn't want to tell me.
Have we known each other before? Have I have seen him somewhere? Dorian took another sip from his mug and stared into the night. The snow reflected the moonlight and the scenery was never really completely enveloped in darkness. The kid is only ten years old. But could it be that he is...reborn? And in his past life, he was someone...important? To me?
That thought reverberated somewhere deep down in his mind. Reincarnation. "Is he reborn?" he whispered aloud and as he did so, something very strange happened. It wasn't a sound he heard, at least not with his ears. It was more like a feeling that he heard with his mind. If someone asked him to explain it with words, he couldn't have done it. But he knew, where that emotion came from. He turned, left his coffee mug at the living room table, and walked downstairs.
He switched on the light and entered his private collection of old artifacts, paintings, and other valuable collectibles he had gathered throughout his life. His visible memories. Every item here was part of his life, something he had experienced. He didn't collect things because he thought they might someday be valuable. He kept things that were important to him, that represented events in his life which he wanted to remember. He passed old oil paintings that would have been invaluable now, museums, private collectors, and other institutes would have paid almost anything to get their hands on them. Weapons, coins, jewels, medals granted in all the wars he had seen and been at. But those things didn't interest him now. Something far older called out to him and he walked briskly to the other end of this large, bright room.
There it was, quietly reverberating through his mind and body. The room was completely quiet, his ears didn't pick the sound. His eyes didn't see any movement. An old drum made out of animal skin, weathered and so ancient it would tear apart if he touched it. Still, he raised his arm and gently caressed the drum and as he did so, it reacted again and the low, deep thumb traveled through his body and soul. As it happened, another object next to the drum answered its call.
A bony dagger, sharp, thin, and inscribed with old, curious symbols began to glow and shimmer. It signified danger and Dorian stepped back. The dagger pulsed, the runes on its blade sparkled and he could sense a clear threat emanating from it. A warning.
Hunger.
It was hungry. Insatiable. It was awoken by the drum and the drum was awoken by him. "No..." Dorian shook his head. Not because of him. He had no clue what he was doing. He didn't come here on his own, because he wanted to. The boy had something to do with this. The boy was connected to these items. He was once again led on, involuntarily, like before, when the kid called him to his side.
The boy had been...reborn.
The word echoed through his mind and the drum once again reacted. This time the sound was low and dark, deep and suffocating. Like a heavy pulse underwater which he could not see but felt how it tore his lungs apart. That feeling of nausea and drowning drove him out of his basement and as he slammed the door shut behind him, he took a deep breath, as if something had really tried to smother (kill him!) him down there. Below the surface of his own mind.
He walked back to the living room, put on warm shoes, opened the balcony door, and stepped outside into the brisk, wintry air. The snow crackled under his feet and the night was bitterly cold, but this cleansing mountain air was exactly what he needed now. He hadn't seen the sun in weeks because of the Polar Night. His warm breath immediately cooled as it left his body and drifted upwards in a soft, white cloud. But he wasn't cold, he was used to this and he enjoyed the winter, enjoyed the perpetual night and the clear lights from the stars above him. He enjoyed the quietness of the space and the crackling sound of snow under his feet.
"What are you doing out here?"
Dorian didn't even need to turn his gaze because Ruben's voice was way too familiar to him. Seeing him here brought comfort and almost drove those dark omens out of his mind. He chuckled to himself. An Escort of death brought comfort to him. How ironic.
When he glanced at him, he couldn't contain himself and nervous laughter escaped his mouth. The fabulous Escort looked rather ridiculous in his thick winter coat, wearing a bright red scarf around his neck. He even had blue mittens on and as he lifted his hands to his mouth like he wanted to warm his fingers with his breath, Dorian rolled his eyes. There was no warm steam coming out from his mouth and no matter what time of the year it was, Ruben didn't feel the warmth of the sun or the bitter bite of the frost.
"Is someone dying?" Dorian finally asked.
"An old lady at the rest home is leaving soon," Ruben replied. He took off his coat and tossed it over Dorian's shoulders. "You're going to freeze your balls off if you walk around naked."
"I'm not naked," Dorian said. "I have a shirt and pants on as you can see. I even put on warm shoes."
"Practically naked," Ruben shrugged. "I don't want to find a contract with your name on my desk in one of these days. Cause of death: pneumonia or hypothermia."
"Don't you think it's about time?" Dorian smiled.
"Would you allow me to accompany you?" Ruben fluttered his lashes.
"I'd trust you to lead me anywhere," Dorian said and as soon as those words left his mouth, he felt like someone pricked him with a sharp needle. I'd trust you to lead me...anywhere...It sounds so familiar. Like I've said before.
"I don't think I could handle it," Ruben wiped his eyes like he was crying. "Letting go of you...it would be too much for my fragile little heart."
"You were able to let of go of Virginia," Dorian pointed out. "And she is your wife. You were together for thousands of years."
"I don't think I need to remind you that she cut my head off," Ruben smiled but it was not a happy smile. "It's easy to let go of an angry harpy like that."
"You still miss her," Dorian nudged him. "Admit it."
"It's not like I ever want to see her again," Ruben sighed. "I guess there's no shame of admitting it. That woman... really knew how to talk dirty in bed. You would not believe half the things she said."
"Spare me the details," Dorian interrupted him, slipped his hands into the coat sleeves, and closed the zipper. "Are you in a hurry?"
"She still has an hour or so," Ruben said. "Her family is saying goodbyes. Why...what's on your mind?"
"That boy," Dorian began. "He...called to me again."
"What boy?" Ruben narrowed his eyes.
"The boy from ten years ago," Dorian punched his shoulder. "Whose parents you took on that same night."
"Aaah...that boy," Ruben nodded. "Now I remember him. That cute little guy who managed to kill his parents...right. Did you know I got a promotion that night? I was extra sensitive to the mother. I even allowed her to see her baby. My superiors were very impressed."
"He is...very strange," Dorian muttered.
"He was an oddball already back then," Ruben shrugged. "Cute but odd. Some people are born creepy. Who knows, he might turn out to be a serial killer. That would be rather fantastic. More work for me and plenty of opportunities to get another promotion."
"How many people you know that have a talking cat?" Dorian asked.
"A talking cat?" Ruben seemed thoughtful. "Haven't seen a cat...but..." Ruben faded out and Dorian glanced at him. "...but I've seen parrots talk."
They were quiet for a while, both buried deep in their own thoughts. Dorian knew Ruben couldn't really help him but he knew the vast and complicated corridors of death and he might have a chance to find out more about the boy. They had known each other for hundreds of years. Ruben was a liar because it was part of his persona. Death often required beautiful lies because humans were so scared of facing the truth. But with Dorian he was different. Whenever he asked Ruben something, he always did his best to answer truthfully. He had a nasty mouth but he was always brutally honest when it was needed.
"Can you get me some information?" Dorian finally decided to ask. It was a long shot but he had to start with something. Ruben snapped his fingers and a notebook and pen appeared on his hands.
"Tell me, my friend, what you want to know."
"If the boy has reincarnated," Dorian said. "I'd like to know who he was before. When and how he lived? Why he died?"
"You put too much faith in me. As if I was a secret agent in some spy movie. I was promoted," Ruben shook his head and put his pen away. "But I don't have a clearance to get into the rehabilitation department. Hell, I don't even know anyone who works in there. And you know the rules. Mortals are not meant to know these things."
"Right," Dorian nodded. "I guess here is where the trail ends. For now. I'll just have to wait. He doesn't want to tell me. He knows but he doesn't want to tell me. So I'll wait for you, little guy."
"He's still a kid, remember that," Ruben handed his mittens to Dorian. "Don't mess around too much. The prisons of the mortal world aren't nice to child molesters. But the ones in the Halls...even worse."
"Don't worry," Dorian scowled at him and warmed his hands in Ruben's mittens. "I'll stay as far away from him as I can. Let's hope he doesn't invite me over a third time."
"If that happens and he's not a minor anymore, go for it," Ruben patted his back. "I'll root for you. He was cute when he was a baby. I bet he's a real heartthrob when he's an adult."