There were others before Emily—his ex-girlfriends.

None of them meant anything to him, each living a life devoid of meaning.

Everyone was terrified.

Why? Does that make them cowards?

Derek needed to find someone who will accept it, someone thoughtless.

Will that help him? Can he accomplish it on his own?

Is it possible to find a partner who doesn’t fear death because of societal conditioning?

To accept what awaits us all at life’s end.

Would finding peace lie in overcoming his fear? How can he do it?

Fearing our own death or the death of others is an absurdity.

It will only lead to a deathless death.

June 6th, 1981, 11:17 p.m.

Derek's POV

“Ah, damn! Are you okay, baby? That was terrifying!” Amelia exclaims as we pull over to the side of the road. The car’s hood is utterly crumpled, and half of the bumper drags along the ground.

“Damn, that barely made a dent,” I say, grinning.

“Derek! What the hell? Obviously, it did. Look at the massive dent in my car! That could have killed us!” Amelia’s hands shook on the steering wheel.

“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not.”

Amelia wipes away her tears, smudging her makeup. “Derek!” she shrieks. “What are you saying? This isn’t like you at all! I want to live!”

“That’s boring,” I say with a yawn.

Amelia huffs as she opens the driver’s side door and steps out of the vehicle. She spots the dead animal and moves toward it. I quickly get out of the car and hurry after her to close the gap between us.

As she continued to draw nearer and nearer.

Amelia screams once more at the sight of the blood-soaked deer. I cover my ears to dull the sound of her terrified cries.

“Amelia, if you scream again, I swear I’ll...”

“What are you going to do, Derek? Kill me?”

I take a deep breath, reflecting on our argument and weighing her suggestion.

“You’re too scared. It ruins all the fun,” I say, stifling a chuckle.

“What?! So, my fear ruins your enjoyment of killing me? Derek, I can’t believe you!” she shouts through her hands.

“Yes, Amelia, it certainly does.”

“Glad to know I’m a killjoy. You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me.” Amelia turns back to the lifeless deer and kneels beside it. “Poor thing, I’m sorry,” she whispers gently, touching the animal’s body.

“Amelia,” I whisper, moving closer to where she crouches. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“What is that?” she asks, shaking her head.

I despise the way she dismisses me, as if I don’t matter.

Before she can turn around, I lean in and grab her hair. She shrieks instantly, her hands instinctively grasping mine, attempting to free herself.

“Derek, let go of me!”

I reach into my back pocket, pull out a switchblade, and flick it open with a single, fluid motion. Drawing Amelia closer, I press it against her rose-colored neck.

“I’ll count down from three. Amelia, can you tell me why we must refuse death?” I say, increasing the pressure of the blade’s tip against her.

“... Three.”

She continues pleading, “Derek, please... don’t do this.”

“... Two.”

“Don’t, baby! Please, it’s because we’re a...”

“... One.”

With a swift, brutal motion, I drive the blade into her throat. Her body goes limp, sagging into my arms.

The most agonizing aspect of that death was...

My doctor prescribed medication for me.

[TOD - June 7th, 1981, 12:00am]

Amelia’s POV

“You look like death!” I shout, gasping for air.

“Why are you breathing so heavily?” Reaper chuckles.

To my astonishment, I realize I’m not.

A slow, chilling grin spread across the shadowy figure’s face, pleased to be acknowledged. With a swift motion, he hooks me with his scythe, dragging me into the abyss.

<To be continued>