The world seemed normal. It was as if only a few minutes had passed since the last moment Albert remembered before dying. He had just been walking to school, and then nothing. And then Death.

The steps up to the third story apartment Albert called home were a slow climb. Albert’s legs didn’t want to cooperate, and limping up stairs was more like micromanaging muscles rather than actually walking. When he finally made it to the door, 3C, he had to take a minute to steady his hands enough to fit his key into the lock. Even with the direct effort it took to control his movements, he could hear the rattling metal of the key against the tumblers in the lock, but he eventually managed to get inside. Getting the key back out was also difficult, but not as hard. He just pulled on the key ring and then leaned on the door to close it; though closing the door that way was more forceful than intended and the loud slamming noise made him cringe.

“Albert? Is that you?” He could hear his mother’s voice coming from her room.

He had hoped that she had already left for work in the time he’d been away, or that maybe she’d still be asleep if her next shift wasn’t until later. But now that he was paying attention, Albert could hear the sound of the TV in her room. She’d been relaxing, so of course she heard him get back in.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Albert called back. If he was lucky she’d just let him have his privacy while he tried to figure out what to do now.

“What are you doing back so early? Did something happen at school?”

“No, I didn’t actually make it to school. I… I tripped on the way there and face-planted into the sidewalk.” It was mostly true… at least it would explain his injuries if she noticed. Albert knew better than to try and lie to his mother as well, she could always see through him. That might have also just been because he was a terrible liar.

“What?!” Her tone had grown immediately more urgent and the sounds coming from her TV stopped. “Let me see.” Albert’s mother had gotten out of bed and was leaning out of her bedroom door to see into the rest of the apartment.

Albert was still slumped against the front door, nervously slouching away from his mother’s view, but he could still see her across the gap of the kitchen. He was trying to avoid eye contact, but she gasped immediately as soon as she saw him and he knew it was too late.

“Oh, mon coeur.”

It was his mothers way of expressing that stern but loving thought that mothers always do when they feel pity for their children but want to let them know they’re loved. Like when an older southern woman would say ‘oh, honey, I’m sorry, c’mere’. Which, Albert heard most other older woman use that very phrase of oh, honey but his mother never did. She said it was something she learned in a french class when she was younger and it had always stuck with her. But whenever she said it she always seemed more… loving, more honest. It almost felt like it was something that slipped out rather than something she chose to say.

“Are you okay?” She had rushed over to him as soon as she saw bleeding, and then stopped in shock when she came around the kitchen counter and saw the rest of him. The bloodstains in his jeans at the knee and the shredded skin on his palms. “Oh…” She was at a total loss for words, though Albert vaguely saw her mouth move as if she couldn’t stop herself from making the motions of something she’d rather not say out loud or in front of him.

“Albert, sit down.”

He followed his mothers orders as she rummaged through one of the kitchen cabinets for bandages.

“You look like you just barely limped out of a trash shredder.” She had a wet cloth and a bottle of rubbing alcohol and was dabbing around at the scrapes on his chin and jaw. “This is going to sting. Lift your head so I can see the rest of you.”

His mother hissed in sympathetic pain as Albert reluctantly lifted his head to show the cuts and scrapes around his eyes and nose.

“Well, it doesn’t look like you have anything above eye level… but how? How did you trip and have this happen?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention. I had my headphones on… and there was just… like a… crack in the sidewalk that jutted up and my foot caught it. And my hands just barely went up in time, and I caught the edge of the crack on my knees.” Most of this was true, Albert was just leaving out the part where there was a violent mugger instead of a crack in the sidewalk that sent him tumbling. Oh, and the fact that it had, apparently, killed him.

His mother gave him a look, as though making it known she could tell there was something that was not being said, but let it go. His wounds were more perilous than whatever it was he wasn’t telling her.

“Well, I’m going to call the school and make sure they know you won’t be making it in today.”

“I don’t think they’ll really care…”

“I doubt that, but I should do it anyway. And you, you will be on the couch all day so that I can keep a close eye on you.”

Albert’s mother carried on silent, switching between damp cloth and antiseptic swabs with each scrape and cut, only moving on to a new injury when she was satisfied the previous one was clean enough to bandage. Albert was watching closely and winced in anticipation of the stinging pain that would come from the alcohol, but it never came. The more he thought about it, the more Albert realized he hardly felt any sensation from the rag pressing against his skin, let alone the sting of the sanitizing alcohol. He still feigned pain as best he could so that his mother wouldn't realize just how bad of a situation he was in, but it worried him.

“I’m going to put some gauze on your knees and hands. Let me know if its too tight.”

Albert watched silently, slightly more paranoid now that there was time for the edge of his encounter to wear off. He kept a close eye as his mother wrapped the gauze around his hands, and he could see her pulling the stretchy wrappings tight, but it hardly felt like there was any pressure. It was more like there were strings tied loosely around the parts were the edges of the gauze were.

“Is that too much?”

“No, that’s fine, I think that’s just right. But if my fingers start to turn purple, I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, so you can talk again. And you can tell jokes too. That’s a relief.” Albert’s mother had begun rolling up his pant legs to get at his knees, and still wore a serious expression, but her tone had become more relaxed; almost sarcastic.

Albert was confused, but he could guess she was referring to his silence. Had it been that long since he’d said that the school wouldn’t miss him? It might have been. He was having a hard time paying attention.

“Yeah, sorry. I think I’m a little out of it.”

“You hit you head, you might have a concussion. Or one of those sort of conditions that athletes get that isn’t exactly a concussion.”

“Since when do you watch sports?”

“Someone was talking about it on TV.” Albert’s mother shook her head and let herself smirk just a little at the alleviation of the tension. “Not that it matters, I’m going to have to keep an eye on you for a while to make sure you don’t fall asleep. You’re lucky this isn’t that bad… if your cuts were just a bit worse I’d take you to the ER. But I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Albert doubted he would have minded stitches, given the pattern of lacking sensation he was picking up. This had to have been part of what Death had written in the contract. A halfway measure. Half alive.

“Do you want glue or these pinchy bandages for your face?”

“Glue?”

“Sometimes the other prep cooks get cut doing work with the small knives, they use this stuff to close the wounds quick and it only comes off with solvent.”

“But you never cut yourself.”

“No I don’t. But I still keep some in my apron in case no one else has any.”

“Okay, do the glue. I don’t like the way bandages feel on my face.”

“This might sting some, and I don’t know how it feels on your face either, so you’ll have to tell me so I can get feedback.”

“Of course, for science.”

Albert held still as his mother held a small plastic bottle of light amber liquid over his face and dropped the solution over the cuts he couldn’t see. He had assumed there was some damage, but it took quite a while to cover all of them. And then she blew on the glue to get it to set quickly, which was weird, but made sense. Albert couldn’t really feel the cool air sensation he expected, but he could smell the scrambled eggs she’d eaten for breakfast. That meant at least some of his physical senses weren’t turned off, which was a relief.

“Okay. Now go lie down on the couch. And no scratching the glue either, you’ll irritate the skin and peel something.”

“I know, I know.”

“I’ll see if I can get a replacement for my shift today too. Maybe rent a movie?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I can’t let you just sit on the couch in an empty apartment with a possible concussion.”

Albert limped idly over to the small couch in the connected living room and stretched out on the worn out cushions. His mother put away the first aid supplies and sat down in the armchair next to him and turned on the TV. It was nice. Calm.

And for a moment, Albert didn’t think about the repercussions of his agreement that awaited him. Even if he'd only had this one even home with him mom, his family, it would have been worth it.