"Please? Even if it's just for a little while. I don't want to be alone," the vulnerability in her voice tugged at the air between them.

  Jeremiah seemed to waver for a fraction of a second before something inside him gave way. His hand met hers, their fingers interlocking in a hold that felt both grounding and liberating.

  "Thank you," Ruth whispered, her eyes gleaming.

  Without another word, Jeremiah began guiding her down the shadowed path back to the hellhouse. Their walk was steeped in a profound quietude, yet the mere presence of the other made it infinitely less lonely.

  13

  Name Beyond Life

  The texture of Eternity was a cosmic tapestry of endless possibilities, woven together with the iridescent threads of human imagination, cosmic law, and a dash of poetic irony. In this boundless expanse, humans penned names that belied its true essence: Sheol, Hell, Heaven, Gehenna, Hades, Elysium, Nirvana, Samsara, Bardo, the Underworld, and countless others. But for Jeremiah, it was always just Eternity—an enigmatic realm where time became an abstract concept and each soul was both a universe unto itself and an intrinsic part of the greater cosmic whole.

  And in this surreal landscape, he found himself walking beside a woman who had managed to transform her eternal dwelling into what could only be described as a lethal Eden.

  "The garden's become more...assertive," Jeremiah observed, his hand enmeshed with Ruth's. Her skin was cool to the touch, but in this interlocking of hands, he felt a warmth he hadn't experienced in what felt like eons—something tangible and far more satisfying than the vague impressions left by wandering spirits.

  "I noticed," Ruth admitted. "I was tending to the plants up there—" She gestured to the rooftop garden. "And suddenly, the oleanders just surged onto the path. By the time I reached this level, it was...this."

  Jeremiah chuckled. "It even has a fountain now."

  Ruth's eyes brightened like stars in an ink-black sky. "Oh, that's a recent addition!"

  With her hand still clasped in his, she led him away from the cobblestone path that meandered toward the house. They tread over beds of clover that had sprung up unbidden, their feet almost floating above the spongy ground.

  The fountain was an eclectic amalgamation. Its outer shell was constructed of gravestones, though the markers bore no epitaphs or names. Tiered in descending concentric circles, the fountain was crowned by yet another weeping-angel statue. Water cascaded from the angel's tear-brimmed eyes, flowing into the awaiting basin below, which was curiously filled not with coins but with hard candies often tossed at weddings.

  "Wow," Ruth exhaled, her voice tinged with awe. She let go of Jeremiah's hand, circling the fountain three times. The number's mystical energy radiated from her, reverberating in the surrounding air before she returned to stand beside him.

  Jeremiah felt a ripple in the realm's energy. "This is a new boundary you've created. But why?"

  Her eyes met his, twinkling like constellations. "What do you mean?"

  He pursed his lips, wrestling with an internal dilemma. As a reaper, he was charged with guiding souls toward self-discovery, but there were lines he couldn't cross, truths he couldn't prematurely unveil. The push-pull of his role was never as challenging as it was with Ruth.

  "I mean, the fountain—the circle—it signifies something deeply meaningful to you, doesn't it?" Jeremiah finally said, settling for the vague guidance he'd become a master of.

  Ruth looked down, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "Well, I've had weddings on my mind recently. Perhaps that's why it manifested this way."

  For Jeremiah, this statement hung in the air between them like a celestial note, reverberating with meanings not yet uncovered. The layers of this Eternity were as intricate as the souls it held, and in Ruth, he found a complexity that made the realm even more confounding, and infinitely more fascinating.

  "It's a boundary, one that you've created. It signifies the commencement of something new, yet also safeguards something deeply cherished." His eyes rested on the eclectic fountain. "Tell me, why does this watery edifice hold such importance for you?"

  Ruth lowered herself onto one of the nameless tombstones encircling the fountain. Her white dress spilled around her like a cascade of moonlight, and her dark hair rested over her shoulders like a soft, shadowy halo. "There's a fountain in a park near where I live. My husband used to take me there all the time."

  Asher Levi.

  Jeremiah exhaled softly. Somehow, he knew it would be Asher. Ruth's existence in this realm, particularly in these initial stages, would be profoundly colored by her intense love for the man, along with her undeniable resolve to reunite with him—consequences be damned.

  "Did the fountain bring you joy?" Jeremiah queried.

  "Oh, absolutely," Ruth responded, her voice tinted with a certain wistful nostalgia. "We would sit there, watching the crows, observing life unfold around us. There was this one summer day, Asher prepared a picnic. A young girl had lost her way, and he invited her to join us for a sandwich while we waited for her parents."

  "How altruistic," Jeremiah remarked, his voice edged with a touch of irony.

  Ruth's eyes softened. "He was. Asher was the kindest human being I've ever had the privilege to know." A sudden realization washed over her face. "Not to imply you're unkind, Jeremiah. I didn’t mean—"

  "I'm not a man. Not in the human sense," he said, waving his hand as though brushing aside her concern. "Don't worry about it."

  "So, you referred to yourself as a reaper once. Like the Grim Reaper? In kids' stories?" Ruth inquired.

  Jeremiah leaned back, raising his chin slightly. "The Grim Reaper is a manifestation of human imagination, but yes, it was inspired by beings like me."

  "Do you carry a scythe?"

  Jeremiah had to pause. He couldn't discern whether Ruth was being facetious or genuinely curious. Choosing to treat the question as a sincere inquiry—mainly because there were far too many things he couldn't divulge outright—he decided to reply.

  "I do, on occasion," he confirmed. "But it's not as essential as it once was. Times have changed. People are becoming increasingly attuned to the idea of death, and to the mysteries of what lies beyond."

  "And what about those who are still naive to it? Like children?" Ruth's eyes sought his, radiating innocence mingled with curiosity.

  His robe's hem subtly grazed her knee as he stood beside her, embodying a presence both ethereal and oddly comforting. "The scythe aids us in severing the earthly ties that bind them, allowing their souls a smoother transition. It prevents them from getting caught in a perpetual state of torment between realms."

  In that moment, standing beside Ruth, amid tombstones and essence-filled fountains, Jeremiah realized he'd stumbled upon a boundary of his own—one that separated the eternal complexities of his existence from the fleeting but profound encounters with human souls. And Ruth, with her sincere questions and sentimental ties to earthly fountains, had just made that boundary a little more permeable.

  "The maze?" Ruth's eyes widened, reflecting her struggle to grasp the intricacies of this new realm.

  Jeremiah nodded, choosing his words with meticulous care. "If a child is too uninformed, too innocent, they find themselves ensnared in the labyrinth of the maze—trapped by the weight of their own life's threads. We sever those threads, and then, the child can move on."

  "Does that mean that everyone goes through that maze, even if they're not bound for Gehinom?"

  He sensed it again—her thoughts drifting to Asher. The ambient light seemed to acquire a warmer, softer quality whenever her husband entered the conversation, as if he were a sun she was constantly orbiting.

  "Everyone experiences the maze," Jeremiah confirmed, his voice a controlled, measured cadence. "I've spent more time with you than I typically would. It's time for me to go."

  Just as he began to turn away, Ruth sprang to her feet, her eyes wellsprings of raw fear. "You can't leave yet!"

  The tilt of his head invited her explanation.

  "I—I don't want to be alone," she stammered, her voice fraying at the edges. "This place, Jeremiah—it's so overwhelmingly dark. And the house...it’s like a living nightmare. It morphs and mutates to torment me. The searing pain on my feet from the stairs was unbearable, but it’s been more—splinters on every surface I touch, shards of broken glass strewn across the kitchen floor. I'm terrified."

  Jeremiah leaned in, his fingertips lightly grazing her cheek as if trying to absorb some of her terror. "Fear has no dominion here unless you allow it. Seek solace within these walls, Ruth. You have no other choice."

  "I want to leave," she whispered, almost as if saying it too loudly would shatter her fragile world.

  "You can't," he asserted, his voice a somber note of finality.

  "Ever?" Her question hung in the air, weighted with a multitude of unspoken anxieties.

  He chose to sidestep those landmines of potential answers. "Concentrate on finding your sanctuary here," he advised, "and when you do, you can ask more questions."

  Without waiting for her to probe any further, Jeremiah vanished into the ether, his absence palpable. All he could hope was that Ruth would soon find a way to stabilize her surroundings, imbuing them with a semblance of comfort in a world unmoored by the rules of time and space.

  14

  Somber Carnival

  The next time Ruth managed to locate Jeremiah, three days had unfurled in an endless tapestry of solitude. He was stationed beside a merry-go-round—only now, it was part of a sprawling, dilapidated amusement park. Rusty, twisted fencing enclosed the desolate scene, sectioning it off from the rest of this otherworldly realm. The creepy carousel no longer emitted its shrill screams but instead wept, its rust-colored tears forming a stagnant puddle at its base.

  "I don't understand." Ruth's eyes roamed over the unsettling tableau. "Why does something new always materialize?"

  Jeremiah, looking as perplexed as he sounded, returned her question with one of his own. "Why an amusement park?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've never been to one, have you?" His gesture encompassed the eerie landscape—roller coasters without laughter, a maze house without mirrors, a bumper car arena without collisions, all silent and devoid of life. It was an amusement park frozen in a ghostly stasis.

  Ruth shook her head. "No, I haven't."

  His eyes narrowed slightly, as if her answer disconcerted him. Given that she was about to seek his guidance, unsettling him probably wasn't wise.

  The implication was there, hovering in the stagnant air between them—the amusement park had materialized because of something connected to her own life. He had made a similar comment about the fountain. Biting a strand of her hair, she felt it snag between her teeth as she pondered.

  "It's not about me, it's about Tovah," Ruth finally broke the silence. "She always wanted to go to one. She saw it in a movie and thought it looked like paradise. But with the noise, the crowds, the blinding lights—I knew she couldn't handle it. So, I always put it off, telling her we'd go when she was older."

  She moved closer to the corroded fence, her fingers curling around its jagged edges, feeling the rust ingraining itself into her skin. "I thought as she matured, she'd develop coping mechanisms. I guess we'll never get the chance to find out now, will we?" She ran her tongue over her teeth. "So is this amusement park here to mock me?"

  Jeremiah approached and slid an arm around her shoulders. The contact was unexpectedly warm, a tactile balm to her aching soul. She leaned into his embrace, her body hungry for the simplest form of human comfort.

  He gestured toward the fence. "It seems you've set a boundary here. I take it you're not planning on crossing it?"

  "I could climb it," Ruth mused.

  "Will you?" His voice lifted with anticipation.

  After a moment's thought, she shook her head. "I've never been much for climbing. And I didn't come here for a daredevil act."

  "What did you come for, then?" Jeremiah questioned, although his tone dripped with a knowing sentiment, as if he already had an inkling of what her answer would be.

  “You mentioned boundaries earlier,” Ruth said, her fingers lightly dancing up to touch the strands of her own hair. “I wanted to see mine. The one that you patrol.”

  Jeremiah’s arm slid away from her shoulder as he turned to face her, a veil of concern shadowing his eyes. “Why this sudden curiosity?”

  “I need to see the outer edges of my own personal nightmare,” she confessed, clutching a lock of her hair so tightly it felt like a lifeline. “I need to find Asher.”

  “That’s a dangerous endeavor.” Jeremiah’s eyes locked onto hers, his gaze almost piercing through her resolve. “I patrol these boundaries for a reason, Ruth. Venturing beyond them in your current state is reckless.”

  Her voice steadied, steel threading through her words. “I will risk recklessness if it brings me one step closer to Asher. Will you guide me to the boundary, or do I need to stumble my way there on my own?”

  It was more a challenge than a question, a gamble, really. She had no compass for navigating this fractured reality, no signposts to guide her. But she was counting on Jeremiah to yield.

  The reaper scrutinized her, weighing her determination. Finally, his hand reached out, its warmth caressing her cheek. “Please don't venture into this abyss alone.”

  She shrugged off his touch. “So, are you coming with me or not?”

  A burdened sigh escaped him. “Follow me.”

  Their dialogue came to an abrupt halt after that, and Ruth sensed his reluctance like a weight. But his reservations were inconsequential; her mind was unflinchingly made up. As they progressed, the flowers beneath their feet withered away, the landscape twisting into something grotesque, as if nature itself was warping.

  It seemed the world knew it should be generating flora, but had forgotten what flora should be. Plants morphed into monstrosities—malformed, miscolored, misproportioned. Soon, these abominations were no longer stationary but actively malevolent.

  Vines with eyes and teeth emerged, slithering through the undergrowth like serpents on a predatory prowl. Ruth instinctively pressed herself closer to Jeremiah, her body seeking the sanctuary of his cloak. “What is happening here?”

  “This is the borderland of your personal domain,” he explained. “It’s a realm you haven’t yet made peace with.”

  “Made peace with what?”

  “With any of it,” he answered, extending his arm to encompass the terrifying scene. “Look at this, Ruth. Really look. Let it sink in.”

  “It’s a nightmare.” She clung to Jeremiah, her arm threading through his as she sought refuge in the folds of his dark cloak. “Every inch of it is unsettling, terrifying. I can’t bear it.”

  A guttural snarl ruptured the silence, echoing through this twisted realm—neither a garden nor a forest, but a jungle woven from the threads of terror. Ruth's imagination catapulted into overdrive, assembling a rogues' gallery of demonic creatures capable of emitting such an ominous growl. Just how many entities could sound like the devil incarnate?

  "Focus," Jeremiah's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts like a lifeline.

  Startled, she pivoted toward him. They had paused at some indiscernible point along this chaotic trail.

  "It's not too late to retrace our steps," he offered, his voice carrying an undertone of entreaty.

  "I'm not retreating," Ruth asserted. "I need to find Asher."

  With a sigh tinged with defeat, Jeremiah silently consented to proceed.

  But then the jungle of her nightmares dissolved, its confines replaced by a cityscape that made her senses tingle with an unsettling feeling of disjointedness. "We're no longer in my hellscape, are we?" she questioned, her voice tinged with anxiety.

  Jeremiah offered no response. He had vanished.

  Ruth's pulse quickened. "Jeremiah?" she called out into the void, but her plea for an answer returned unanswered. Alone and disoriented, she forced herself to refocus. To navigate through this alien mindscape, she had to find Asher.

  The city was a strange blend of broken and thriving—apartment blocks with shattered windows stood beside gaudy casinos, while cars, most of them totaled, littered the streets. As she concentrated on the singular goal of finding Asher, the city started to respond, guiding her with intangible tugs to turn left or right. Gradually, these tugs materialized into a thread of light, pulling her deeper into the urban labyrinth.

  The ethereal strand led her to a garish casino, a monument to human excess. Two voluptuous, nude women beckoned patrons from its front, their skin marked with unsettling words and tallies, yet their faces eerily void of emotion.

  For the first time, Ruth realized this world was far from the desolate landscape she had become accustomed to. Through the open doors of the casino, she glimpsed other souls—some engrossed in slot machines as if magnetically attached, others resembling the nude women, aimlessly sauntering with tallies on their skin and emptiness in their eyes.

  She stepped back, suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming sensation of being observed, not by the emotionless women flaunting themselves, but by something else—something malevolent. It was as though unseen eyes were dissecting her very being, their gaze piercing through her, leaving her feeling as vulnerable as a specimen under a microscope. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins, her stomach knotting up in icy dread.

  The light hadn’t actually been guiding her toward the casino; she realized that now. Lost in the maze of someone else's twisted desires, she had nearly been ensnared by them. Whoever inhabited this realm had sensed her, an intruder in their personal damnation.

  Whirling around, Ruth retraced her steps, her pace quickening into a sprint. Her focus splintered, and the guiding light flickered before vanishing altogether.

  She was being pursued.

  Her heart pounding like a frenzied drum, Ruth raced through the desolate streets. Her palms slapped against the sides of abandoned vehicles as she used them for momentum, propelling herself faster, ever faster. A rising tide of panic washed over her, leaving her feeling as defenseless as a vulnerable lamb.