Chapter 1

 My situation could be worse. Let's say there was a person capable of pausing time, me and them were the only people who could walk around and do what we want while everyone stayed frozen in place. But let's say they're on the verge of dying, and I could sense that. And with his last breaths he freezes time, thinking it would prolong the inevitable. He still dies leaving everyone stuck in place but me. My situation could be like that. When I remind myself it isn't that bad I'm content. But with a hundred and seventy-six years of living I've learned humans are one step closer to self-destruction. There's no one in the sky to stop that. Humans do a remarkable job when it comes to picking things that are terrible for them. I was human so I was like that.

     They have tribal desires. Money. Happiness. Fame. Nothing is wrong with wanting those things. Then there's deeper desires: immortality. Such desires need an equal return. You can't seek something like immortality and not expect something of equal value in return. It's not surprising to meet people who believe immortality would solve something. Anything. Everything. After watching my family die I'm forced to move along and find new people. Love new people. And watch them die. I realize this was all I could give back. Loving and watching them die. For the men to get drafted into war only to die. For the woman to die from childbirth. They all die in the end. That's what immortality requires in the end.

     I've realized begging for immortality was a mistake. I was between begging for immortality and death. If I had immortality I could watch my abusers die. But knowing I'd have to wait for them to die meant I still had to endure more pain from them. I was begging for death the older I got, pleading. I think It knew that. It's been around longer than anyone. It knows suffering is only half as painful if you share it with someone. Someone just as desperate as me. If I could meet It again then maybe I could beg for my mortality back. I'm smart enough to know that asking for that means exchanging something of equal value. I have nothing to give. Nothing to offer.

     I kept up with the times. I had nothing better to do than witness the internet and technology skyrocket. Touch screen phones, ones with styluses, phones that kept getting bigger, and better camera quality. Cars with WiFi or a phone built into it. I didn't pay attention to just technology, but everything around me. If I was going to find It I couldn't seclude myself to one area. It was a trickster, without a gender or a real identity, so I needed to pay close attention. When It was near I'd know just by the feeling. My ears would heat up, they'd turn red, and burn like a branding iron. That's all I'm going off. It doesn't stay in one spot. It tends to me by making my dilemma harder.

     As of this moment I have no motives, no plans. I'm sitting in a well-lit bar watching a hockey game. There's grown men and women jumping and cheering for their favorite team or losing team. I don't get what's so interesting about drinking and sports. I feel so isolated in events like this. What are they feeling that I haven't felt for these past years? What am I missing? Makes me wonder if I traded something bigger when I became immortal.

“ID?” he asks. I'm digging through my memory trying to remember what an ID is.

“What?” I feel embarrassed. Everyone is probably looking at me thinking I'm an idiot. Then again it's sports night. No one cares about me.

“ID?” he repeats. “Do you have ID?”

“No.” I first died when I was seventeen. I guess I still look that age.

“Sorry, but if you don't have ID you can't be here.” I won't be leaving until I finish my drink. I'm glad he's not asking for money, because I don't have any of that. I'm bored with this place. “How about a driver's license?”

“I don't have that either.”

   He looks back at one of the security guard. He raises his arms in confusion. I've been here almost every night and this is the first time they've asked for ID. They never noticed me sneak out to avoid paying the bill. I might get in serious trouble since I look young. I think I look like an average teenager, except my skin is slightly turning green. I still have the melanin I've always had, but you can see the faint glow of rotting green.

“We can call you a cab.” Don't draw attention to me. I like how they aren't asking for money after I've ordered so many drinks from them.

“I don't have anywhere to go.” I'm just adding on to the fact that they've mistaken me for a teenager. I can look like anything if I wanted, but I keep this body to be a memorial for my family.

“Anyone to call?”

My ears burn like I've come inside from the cold and they're heating up. The burning sensation makes my head dizzy like it might roll off. “A phone call or cab won't be necessary,” It says. “I'm her mother.” It lifts me up in a coddling way when It knows It's about to treat me like a rag doll. I might as well be one; my life has no value. Since I've been alive I've done nothing for this world. I've served no purpose here. Face value is a reference to coins, it means they're not worth as much as they say. I'm not worth anything but immortality.

    It is famous for popping in and out of my life.  The last time I remember seeing It was when I got caught up in some gangs and the war on drugs. I wasn't necessarily a part of the gang. More like I saw something I shouldn't have seen which led to me working for them. It said something to one of the members who told our boss. It's a one shoe fit all gang that got me drowning in a river. It was nice enough to bring me back up. Thinking about it reminds me of burning lungs and other deaths. I can't lose It this time.

     From what It tells the security guard it sounds like I'm a sociopath. I wouldn't say it's true, but it's not wrong. I guess I've gone numb to feelings.  Something that should disgust a normal person leaves me unbothered. Stumbling on a dead body is a normal day to me and traumatic to someone else. Or I decided I don't need them. Imagine how hard it is to want to connect with people emotionally, but you have to bury the feelings to connect with them. What's the point in making relationships if they'll only leave you hurting? The only emotion I'm great at showing is grief. Something It likes to make go through often.

     We walk, It holds my hand with a snake grip. Being around It longer sets my ears aflame. Like if I stay with It any longer they'll catch on fire. But I have to endure it for now.

“Faust, my dear, I've been looking for you.”

“I don't see how that's possible. You're death. You should know where I am.”

“You blend in so well with the mortals!” It rejoiced. “Has it been fun? Any sex? Or drugs?” Blend in? I'm mostly green and everyone asks me why that is. I can't blend in. With the way I look I'm a target sign.

“I want my mortality back.”

It tipped it's head to the side and hissed, “You know I can't do that.” More like you can, you just don't want to.

    Its appearance today is a thirty-year-old woman, wearing a skirt suit and black heels. It holds a briefcase. It doesn't need a job or a way to make a living. It doesn't get hungry or tired, much like myself. In a way after all these years It has become my mother. It might put me in situations, but It's gotten me out of situation like these or worse. It knows I've been through worse. It needs to put me through worse.

“Aren't you bored? Doesn't life need a spike!” It shoves It's briefcase into my chest.

“You want me to suffer emotionally and I can't do that anymore.” It starts mumbling something about It not being done with me. I need It to be done with me. It twirls around on Its toes like a ballerina. “I want my mortality back,” I beg.  

     It ignores me and continues walking. It walks on Its heels with Its hand out. I want to shove It. Murder It. That would be futile. Natural things must come to an end. It isn't a natural thing. I wouldn't do It any harm.

“All I can offer you is an interesting life.” It reaches into Its suit. “I promise you'll enjoy what I have to offer you.” It takes a step back, bumping into a group of people. They complain and insult her. “Don't you trust your mother?” It quickly removes a small pistol from It's back and wraps Its finger around the trigger.

     Two or three seconds after the bullet goes through my shoulder I feel the pain. You know I went a while without dying. I thought I was numb to pain, at least physically. I feel another bullet rip through my neck. I lean into someone before my body collides with the ground. A scream won’t dare come out of my throat. Other shots go off. I’m glad it’s not me, but sorry I got bystanders involved. It leans above me. It stabs Its heel into the wound on my shoulder. I can feel the hole in my neck close up as it heals. “Don't lose the briefcase. Your new life depends on it.”

I went in and out of consciousness. I remember one of the EMTs trying to keep me awake as I was rushed to the ER. Death for me felt like I was taking a nap. I faintly remember being rushed down the hall, nurses and doctors talking about my condition. It's funny to see someone worry about me dying. I think I chuckled at the doctor asking for my name. I can't remember that. Not my real name.

     I should be used to numbness with the number of years I've been alive. The number of people I've lost. The numbness in my shoulder came and went. It hurt, but nothing hurt more than the brightness of the room. Who cares about my shoulder when those lights are the most disturbing factor to my health?

I turn my head to the waiting nurse besides me. He smiles. “Morticia, nice to see you come back to us.”

“Morticia?” I repeat. “Is that me?”

“Yes.” What the fuck did It do? Seriously, I liked the way Faust sounded. “The social worker will be with you.”

“Social worker?”

“You're underage and your mom seemed to abandoned you. Let's not forget she shot you.” Yeah no shit, Sherlock. Not like I'm in a hospital or anything. He taps my shoulder and disappears behind the mint blue curtain. Another nurse comes from behind the curtain. I gasp from the feeling of my ear heating and burning up.

“Like the name?”

“What are you doing?”

“Whatever I want,” It snaps. It has moments where It would randomly lash out. “I give you immortality and all you've done is nothing! A mother's gotta spice up their kid's life somehow.”

      The social worker came around the curtain. It went back to being a nurse. A nurse pretending to take care of patients. It's idea of taking care of me means making my life more interesting. It leaves for the sake of privacy and I wouldn't be surprised ifthat it was's going around giving people the touch of death.

“I'm your social worker, Jared.” Jared isn't wasting time sugar coating it. “Given what your mother did I assume you might not trust me.” Love this guy. “Let's talk about relatives.” Right to the point. We're perfect. I hate all that extra shit in between.

“Don't have any.” I can't tell if he hates his job or if he read what's in the briefcase. “Everything should be in the briefcase.” It's easy to play along with Its game. I don't have much of a choice. I couldn't confess to him my immortality or how that nurse is really death. I'd be mistaken as crazy.

He folds his legs. “I figured there would be more to it than that. Not like we see cases like this all the time. Such cruelty to kids.”

“I'm what you might call unlucky.”

“I'll work on your case and find you a place to stay. You know, school and a foster home.”

     Jared describes to me what the next few weeks of my life will look like. It feels like I shouldn't claim my life as mine. From 1840 to 2016 my life has never belonged to me. It belonged to It. It wouldn't let it go. I'm Its only source of entertainment.