She has reached the end, and there is nothing but peace and love.
That's all there is along with the darkness that starts to surround, encroach on her vision. It's hard to see, the world is blurring in front of her, but she's turned again so her head is resting more against him. Her lips are cold but she doesn't notice, doesn't feel it, no longer has the strength to lift her hands, to move.
Her breathing has slowed.
It's okay to let go now, he says. Josef says. That's his voice reaching to her again.
"Okay," she says softly, sounding young again but not in a bad way, not in a bad way at all. In a way, that isn't weighed down, that's accepting, that's ready, that's being let free from chains that have been pressing against her for months. There is no angel anymore. The angel has already left, already died, and it's only Elizabeth, completely at peace.
Some part of her still struggles to hold on. She just barely feels the kiss to her forehead. It's cold, everything is numb, and her body feels heavy, weighted.
I'll bring him to you that's what it takes. You're free now is there too, but it's knowing that he will not be alone.
Josef won't be alone either, and she'd have wanted to be there with him in that final moment, but she can't but he won't be alone. Thank you said again to Sarah but she can't manage the words out loud and I'll be with you soon to Josef but the words-- her mouth doesn't work anymore. They're just words, they're just barest whispers of feelings as what's left of her pulls away, falls into darkness, but her eyes are closed, her hand loses its grip, her head nods forward, and her body goes limp against him.
After months of trying to hold on to pieces of herself being stripped away, at the age of eighteen, Elizabeth Jules dies, and it is not terrible. It is a part of life. It is warm, and there is no pain. There is no Calling, no angel, no hundreds of death to haunt her.
It's closer now than it ever has been before, and never has Josef felt the weight of it all press down on him like it does now. He is struggling to keep breathing and the demon is loud in his head, screaming inside his mind, fighting his rest. The demon is always and has always been loud in his head but it is especially loud now as it wants to spread the fear that's bursting inside Josef's chest. He shouldn't be scared, not if Elizabeth isn't scared, but then, he's never been as brave as her.
She doesn't look at all as he has always remembered her, but he's committed her to memory long ago. He forces himself not to think of her as she looks now, body mangled and covered in blood--his and her own. He forces himself to remember her as the lively and beautiful person that she was, bright red hair and equally bright grin, and there's--there was so much more to her than the angel of death.
Elizabeth loved to bake, and she loved her friends, and she loved silly socks that never matched what she was wearing. She loved Slushies and she loved cartoon movies and she loved singing. She loved Dream A Little Dream of Me and the holidays and she loved Josef. For reasons that he now no longer questions, she loved him.
He laughs, but it's a broken sound, and he shakes his head. "The Man has no regrets, Sparky."
The Man was her nickname for him. He'd always felt ten feet tall when she'd call him that, and it's only now that he lets himself admit, if only to himself--he was never The Man. He's only a man, and he is dying and so is she.
He forces himself to stay nearby her, to keep his eyes open, to see her until she takes that last final breath, and she looks so peaceful. She looks so peaceful and one would never think she'd been hurt the way she did, her beautiful body destroyed the way that it was and it still rips through him to think it, and in those final moments there will be anger that has nothing to do with the demon. "I love you," he says again, as that's all he's ever really wanted her to know, all that he's ever done that's been good.
Okay, she says, and Josef's face crumples again but it's half-hidden in her hair. His hand is still holding on to hers, as he refuses to let go, but he feels the moment she slips away. His body grows still, his heart stops beating, and everything caves in on him.
Josef cries, the sobs trembling through him, unlike he has ever allowed himself to cry. It hurts to move, and it hurts to cry, but Elizabeth is dead and he cannot comprehend a world that doesn't have her. And at the same time, there's relief in the sounds. She is at peace, she is no longer suffering, she is no longer losing her mind.
Even if that means she is gone. She is gone, and it's--
There is one last moment of awareness as Josef remembers the car and the men, and why they are lying here in the sidewalk in the first place. His eyes widen, panicked like an animal's, and he needs at least time to say this. His eyes barely focus on Sarah, and she can tell that he is fading. It takes strength to leave Elizabeth's side and move toward his, but she does, because she promised and he is not dying alone, either.
"Listen to me," he says to Sarah, the hand he is not using to hold onto Elizabeth gripping Sarah's arm. His voice is barely there, it's so weak and so low, and she can barely hear him, so Sarah has to lean over and strain to listen. He gives her instructions and she doesn't know what he means but she listens to him and she will follow them.
This is the man that Elizabeth loved, the man that loved her, and she will listen.
She nods and kneels down before him, placing her hands over his chest. Josef takes in a ragged breath and struggles to keep his eyes open but they're drawing themselves closed, as if glued shut. The cold of her hands barely registers for him. It's the sudden and abrupt lack of pain that does. The icy coldness that had been taking over is replaced by warmth, and Josef feels weightless.
"She's waiting for you," Sarah reminds him, and she doesn't know how she is able to almost smile but she does, her hand never once leaving his, until it's time to close his eyes the way she closed Elizabeth's. "Go be with her. It's okay."
In his final moments, Josef Soltini is not alone.
He always thought he'd die alone, undeserving of anything else. The demons that were inside his head, the many wrongful things that he did--he thought he would die alone and no one would understand, and he was wrong.
He was wrong, and he isn't plagued by all the many things that haunted him while he was alive. He doesn't think of his family, he doesn't think of his uncle, he doesn't think of his Calling. He thinks of the happier memories, of the trip to Italy, of meeting a girl with red hair. It zooms past him, small snapshots of these moments he can call his life. Snapshots of his life that he can say had meaning, whether he deserved to be saved or not.
"She was right," he whispers. Josef glances at Sarah one last time before he shifts, curling up beside Elizabeth, a hand still wrapped securely around her waist. It's not Elizabeth anymore, and he knows that, but he holds on anyway, to the reminder of her, to knowing that he is going to follow soon and it doesn't hurt. The pain is gone and the demon is gone and there is one brief and glorious moment where Josef breathes in and out and there's no Calling.
There's no Calling, no fear, no weight pressed down into his chest.
He takes his last breath as a broken man, free of everything but the man.
Elizabeth said it to him so many times.
She said it to him when he wouldn't listen. She'd say it to him when he learned to.
She said it to him when he didn't understand. She'd say it to him when he finally did.
Death is warm, it doesn't hurt, and it is never lonely.
That's all there is along with the darkness that starts to surround, encroach on her vision. It's hard to see, the world is blurring in front of her, but she's turned again so her head is resting more against him. Her lips are cold but she doesn't notice, doesn't feel it, no longer has the strength to lift her hands, to move.
Her breathing has slowed.
It's okay to let go now, he says. Josef says. That's his voice reaching to her again.
"Okay," she says softly, sounding young again but not in a bad way, not in a bad way at all. In a way, that isn't weighed down, that's accepting, that's ready, that's being let free from chains that have been pressing against her for months. There is no angel anymore. The angel has already left, already died, and it's only Elizabeth, completely at peace.
Some part of her still struggles to hold on. She just barely feels the kiss to her forehead. It's cold, everything is numb, and her body feels heavy, weighted.
I'll bring him to you that's what it takes. You're free now is there too, but it's knowing that he will not be alone.
Josef won't be alone either, and she'd have wanted to be there with him in that final moment, but she can't but he won't be alone. Thank you said again to Sarah but she can't manage the words out loud and I'll be with you soon to Josef but the words-- her mouth doesn't work anymore. They're just words, they're just barest whispers of feelings as what's left of her pulls away, falls into darkness, but her eyes are closed, her hand loses its grip, her head nods forward, and her body goes limp against him.
After months of trying to hold on to pieces of herself being stripped away, at the age of eighteen, Elizabeth Jules dies, and it is not terrible. It is a part of life. It is warm, and there is no pain. There is no Calling, no angel, no hundreds of death to haunt her.
And she is free.
And she greets death like an old friend.
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She doesn't look at all as he has always remembered her, but he's committed her to memory long ago. He forces himself not to think of her as she looks now, body mangled and covered in blood--his and her own. He forces himself to remember her as the lively and beautiful person that she was, bright red hair and equally bright grin, and there's--there was so much more to her than the angel of death.
Elizabeth loved to bake, and she loved her friends, and she loved silly socks that never matched what she was wearing. She loved Slushies and she loved cartoon movies and she loved singing. She loved Dream A Little Dream of Me and the holidays and she loved Josef. For reasons that he now no longer questions, she loved him.
He laughs, but it's a broken sound, and he shakes his head. "The Man has no regrets, Sparky."
The Man was her nickname for him. He'd always felt ten feet tall when she'd call him that, and it's only now that he lets himself admit, if only to himself--he was never The Man. He's only a man, and he is dying and so is she.
He forces himself to stay nearby her, to keep his eyes open, to see her until she takes that last final breath, and she looks so peaceful. She looks so peaceful and one would never think she'd been hurt the way she did, her beautiful body destroyed the way that it was and it still rips through him to think it, and in those final moments there will be anger that has nothing to do with the demon. "I love you," he says again, as that's all he's ever really wanted her to know, all that he's ever done that's been good.
Okay, she says, and Josef's face crumples again but it's half-hidden in her hair. His hand is still holding on to hers, as he refuses to let go, but he feels the moment she slips away. His body grows still, his heart stops beating, and everything caves in on him.
Josef cries, the sobs trembling through him, unlike he has ever allowed himself to cry. It hurts to move, and it hurts to cry, but Elizabeth is dead and he cannot comprehend a world that doesn't have her. And at the same time, there's relief in the sounds. She is at peace, she is no longer suffering, she is no longer losing her mind.
Even if that means she is gone. She is gone, and it's--
There is one last moment of awareness as Josef remembers the car and the men, and why they are lying here in the sidewalk in the first place. His eyes widen, panicked like an animal's, and he needs at least time to say this. His eyes barely focus on Sarah, and she can tell that he is fading. It takes strength to leave Elizabeth's side and move toward his, but she does, because she promised and he is not dying alone, either.
"Listen to me," he says to Sarah, the hand he is not using to hold onto Elizabeth gripping Sarah's arm. His voice is barely there, it's so weak and so low, and she can barely hear him, so Sarah has to lean over and strain to listen. He gives her instructions and she doesn't know what he means but she listens to him and she will follow them.
This is the man that Elizabeth loved, the man that loved her, and she will listen.
She nods and kneels down before him, placing her hands over his chest. Josef takes in a ragged breath and struggles to keep his eyes open but they're drawing themselves closed, as if glued shut. The cold of her hands barely registers for him. It's the sudden and abrupt lack of pain that does. The icy coldness that had been taking over is replaced by warmth, and Josef feels weightless.
He is weightless.
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In his final moments, Josef Soltini is not alone.
He always thought he'd die alone, undeserving of anything else. The demons that were inside his head, the many wrongful things that he did--he thought he would die alone and no one would understand, and he was wrong.
He was wrong, and he isn't plagued by all the many things that haunted him while he was alive. He doesn't think of his family, he doesn't think of his uncle, he doesn't think of his Calling. He thinks of the happier memories, of the trip to Italy, of meeting a girl with red hair. It zooms past him, small snapshots of these moments he can call his life. Snapshots of his life that he can say had meaning, whether he deserved to be saved or not.
"She was right," he whispers. Josef glances at Sarah one last time before he shifts, curling up beside Elizabeth, a hand still wrapped securely around her waist. It's not Elizabeth anymore, and he knows that, but he holds on anyway, to the reminder of her, to knowing that he is going to follow soon and it doesn't hurt. The pain is gone and the demon is gone and there is one brief and glorious moment where Josef breathes in and out and there's no Calling.
There's no Calling, no fear, no weight pressed down into his chest.
He takes his last breath as a broken man, free of everything but the man.
Elizabeth said it to him so many times.
She said it to him when he wouldn't listen. She'd say it to him when he learned to.
She said it to him when he didn't understand. She'd say it to him when he finally did.
Death is warm, it doesn't hurt, and it is never lonely.
And she was right.
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