Time was of the essence. Guards - no matter how stupid - returned eventually. Yet Masha waited in silence, allowed him a few generous moments of composure. He awoke like startled prey, looked so fragile, so demeaned, that despite her anger she averted her gaze as he adjusted his tubing. Instead, her eyes traced along the wiring that stemmed from his chest, followed them to the cardiac monitor. It betrayed his reactions, illustrated the sharp, panicked increase of his heart rate. Smart man. Fear was the only rational response. His medical file hung from the end of his bed tantalisingly, and she reached for it with an almost bored nonchalance, flicked through it on her lap. Over 18 hours in the freezing snow. Her eyes narrowed. By all accounts this fallen bird should be dead. Yet destiny apparently had different plans, stole him from one fate only to place him into the lap of Masha Vetrova. She could not help but agree with destiny in this instance - such a death wouldn’t have brought the agreed upon justice.
When he finally spoke, the words were not those she expected. In fact she’s surprised, though her face only showed her signature calm neutrality as she stared unblinkingly at him. Mateo might have looked a pathetic state, but his words were far from it. There’s no pleading, no begging. Not even explanation - just the perpetuation of the Reaper narrative and senseless accusations. Really, she could only hope that her own would maintain such unnecessary loyalty in their last moments. But there’s something off about it, an earnestness that grated against her assumptions. The man had just regained consciousness, and Masha had been quietly increasing the level of morphine being pumped into his blood from the moment she stepped in. He should not be able to lie with such ease, to weave a false narrative with such conviction. It was near-enough physically impossible.
He cannot have known the impact of his next words. If she was already unsure (a state she was from used to), then his next words changed the agenda. On the side of the mountain, she could have killed us. In her gut, Masha knew which ‘she’ he referred to. It was not a ‘she’ Masha wanted to hear from any Reapers’ mouth. Her anger, previously silent and controlled, became more visible - the narrowing of her eyes, the stiffening of her posture. Suddenly she had come not to seek retribution for a disrupted festival, but to ensure that Mr Reyes knew exactly when to shut his fucking mouth. It didn’t all add up, didn’t make sense to her, but it didn’t need to. “I’d think very carefully before asking such questions, Mr Reyes,” she asserted sharply, rising from her chair with undisguised agitation and flipping open his file. “Severe hypothermia resulting in organ failure,” she read, flashing him a dangerous smile, “It sounds like you’ve had some vivid hallucinations, I’m not surprised.”
Time was of the essence. Masha dropped the file into the seat she had just vacated, walked gracefully over his bedside and crouched, levelling her own head with his. She paused, sighed as if this whole interaction had been taxing on her. “I’m not here to kill you, Mr Reyes”, she murmured into his ear (a half-truth, she had been), “but whatever you think you saw had nothing to do with you, with this. So tell Faulkner, tell whoever you’ve told, that you don’t remember, that it was just a dream.” Just her luck, his little speech had been insightful. This was not a man who feared death, but a man quick to point out his solitude in what he had witnessed. A man who cared. “For if I catch wind of these rumours, I will personally place a bullet into the brain of those you care for. And that won’t be because of some ancient war, because of Faulkner or Yelena. It will be entirely because of you.”
Mateo had always believed he would greet death like an old friend, it was after all the essence of the Reapers, what was it that they said? when God is gone, and the Devil takes hold, who will have mercy on your soul? He was ready, he had tried his best, done his best, he was ready for his heart to be weighted, to greet St. Peter at the pearly gates. When Mateo was sixteen he was hastily taking notes, not wanting to miss a word his AP science teacher was saying, ‘when all is said and done, it all comes down to this, the first law of thermodynamics, the amount of matter and energy in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang, this is perhaps the single thing most religions agree upon, that there’s life after death —paradise, reincarnation, eternal life, we are after all made of stardust, a thousand generations live in us, the gladiators of old, the philosophers from the age of enlightenment, comets and whale tooth, dinosaurs, the very water that created life on earth, and we die we will go on to become part of something else, life doesn’t end with death...’ Mateo clung to those words, to every time someone had told him that you never truly die as long as there is someone to remember you, would anyone put an altar for him on the day of the dead? Mateo wished he had remained brave until the end, but the sounds coming from the machine made it clear, his heart had betrayed him.
His eyes were growing heavy, maybe it was better this way, no pain, he thought as he felt himself drift off, no, something willed him to stay awake, to focus, ❝are you a hallucination?❞ Mateo said to Masha, her voice sounded so far away, and yet as if she was whispering in his ear. She wasn’t there to kill him, that was odd, she could end his life and there would be nothing he could do about it, not even call out for help, no resistance, he wanted to close his eyes so badly. Her next words, now those were enough to bring him back, almost a whiplash, as he was now focused on her threat. Mateo was not afraid of dying, but who would keep safe those he left behind? Once again the machines in the room revealed just how aware of the situation he was, fear, it was taking over him, and he felt helpless. A tear slid down his cheek, Father give me strength, ❝please❞ he said, ❝I- I don’t remember anything❞ but he did, and he had told people as much as he had remembered, and he had mumbled all the ambulance ride, and he had told Isaac, and Antonio, and what if Ana told anyone? Mateo was many things, but he was not a liar, how could he do this? How could he keep anyone safe? ❝a fire, shadows❞ he said struggling to focus, what was happening to him? ❝then the darkness... that’s it, that’s all... darkness, and the cold... only the cold❞ he said, it was true after all, he wasn’t lying, after all Rozalie Voight was cold itself.
