… “Come with me,” Death says softly, as though he, too, is thinking similar thoughts. His voice is gentle, a plea; it’s so unlike him. “Untie these bindings and come to me of your own free will.” “You said you wouldn’t ask me that again,” I remind him. “I was wrong,” he says. “Come with me, Lazarus. Let me know what it is like to hold you instead of fighting you.” To hold me? What exactly does he have in mind once he captures me? Doesn’t matter, Lazarus, that fate is not for you. I lean in close to his ear. “No.” A slow, malevolent smile spreads across Death’s face, and even blindfolded, I
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