Death Walks In

Solomon returned to his wife and son after a hard battle won, just one thought in his head: God has blessed me, for I am not dead. He could be happy, here with Evelyn and Charlie. He was happy, as happy as he could ever be. Though the small voice never left him, warning of things grim. 

The chances were slim, however, that he'd ever listen. After all, he was happy: he had to be. He could not turn back on his legacy, not now, not when he was thirty. That was a life half spent. How could he ever repent for all those he had rent asunder in those years full of fears? He couldn't, so he remained dormant, avoiding the torment of right and wrong. That was what his continued existence depended on. 

But then, his door was knocked upon, the voice of Emily, never withdrawn, echoed mirthlessly: He approaches, the enemy, wielding a weapon of his own anatomy. Be wary and solemn, for there is a horseman swinging his spinal column. 

"I'll get it," Evelyn said, Solomon expectant of the dead. But before he could leave their bed, the door was busted in, the enemy already within. Evelyn shrieked at the sight, one that would be used to give rebellious children a fright if parents knew of this dreadful knight that she saw tonight.

"Sorry to have let myself in, I'm looking for Mr. Pemberton." The horseman had spoken with such ethereal chords, Evelyn had immediately pointed to him, not of her own accord. Solomon rose to face the faceless man, stepping towards him on unspoken command. That was the power of the Irish land: giving the strong fallen mysticism beyond mere men.

"Solomon, at last we meet again. Do you remember me, your enemy?"

"Unfortunately..."

"I have come here for something; surely you are already aware of what."

"Potentially..."

"Then I will not explain what is known. Come to Hill Tara alone. There one of us will face true despair."

"Please, spare me. You were honorable in life-"

"And I remain so after-life. That is why I do not involve your son and wife: those who are not to blame for the reverse in my name."

"...Then we are the same. I'll be there to play your wicked game." Then the horseman left, as fast as he came. Only now did Evelyn speak, an invisible force no longer impairing her voice's peak.

"Who was that man, Solomon?!"

"Han Dulla, though I suspect he'd prefer Dullahan."

"W-Well, he's as dull as a shepherd's hen! Thinking you'd-" Evelyn paused, looking at Solomon, a man she couldn't comprend.

"...I fear my end is near, dear Evelyn," Solomon Pemberton confessed, his will made manifest.

"Why would you worry for such a thing? This Dullahan has no hurry in your reckoning. That day isn't beckoning, not this evening," Evelyn assured him, wrapping her arms around Solomon, trying to rid him of his burden.

"I am sorry, Evelyn, your lies have lost their effect. Despite all effort, I remain a man of honor and respect. That is why I expect to be rent, my just punishment."

"...I see. Then she still whispers after the cinders?"

"...You know of Emily?"

"How could I not? That girl has always stood in the way of our family, trying desperately to end you and me."

"Then you see, I must flee, not just because he demands it of me, but also because I'll finally be free of what Britain asks of me."

"But what of Charlie? Would you truly abandon he who can not yet walk?"

"Would you really mock me so? I want to stay, God knows I do, but then what of those I rent? How could I ever, in good conscience, be content with that existence? Moments of peace from forgetting memories, actions, history's tragedies. It would be a lie."

"And dying is better than lying?"

"At least then I won't have to only remember Emily. She'd be in my arms..."

"God, Emily this and Emily that! That sow is only madness from a hat!"

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

Evelyn flinched, not recognizing her husband's voice and the pinch he spoke with. Solomon knew it though; it had come from someone who didn't like being called a sow. Feeling a slight bit less woe, our "hero" marched off to face his faceless fate that laid in wait.