The tapping of keys reverberates through the desolate space; the only source of light the computer screen sat inches from his face. His eyes keep shutting of their own accord but his fingers don’t stop flying across the keyboard. A strand of hair falls into his face from the hastily put up bun, hanging down at the base of his skull, and he quickly tucks it behind his ear; it’s the first time one of his hands has left the keyboard since he started typing earlier that day. He keeps going even though his body aches and his fingers have started to hurt. He keeps going till he can’t go no more. Azrael blinks open his eyes only to be blinded by the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. He sits up slowly and massages each of his shoulders in turn. “I’ve really gotta stop sleeping on the floor like this,” he mutters while he struggles to stand. Once he’s upright and stretched himself out, he heads to the bathroom for a much needed shower. Steam escapes the bathroom when he exits and twists around his body. He notices the red light flashing on his phone; the red light of doom as he’d taken to calling it. His agent was waiting on an update, or at least a sign that he was still in the land of the living. He’s greeted with three words upon unlocking his phone. ‘Call me back.’ His soft laughter echoes through the cabin bouncing off the wooden beams and lingering in the air around him. “She’s already waited this long,” he says heading to the bedroom to get changed. He wanders back into the living room about 15 minutes later wearing his go-to jogging bottoms and a plain tee. His long brown hair is tied up in a loose ponytail; finally free of knots after 10 minutes of brushing. He grabs his phone and presses dial; before he can convince himself that ghosting Maria would be anything but bad. He leans against a beam separating the two large windows overlooking the cascading treetops. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Good morning Azrael,” Maria speaks calmly upon answering the phone. “You’re mad at me,” Azrael says; the smile he’s wearing can be all but heard in his voice. Maria sighs into the receiver. “I’m not mad at you, you idiot,” she says, “I’m concerned about you, there is a difference.” Azrael’s smile broadens before suddenly faltering. “I’m sorry, Mar, you don’t have to be con-.“ “Don’t start that, Azrael,” Maria cuts in. “It’s my job to be concerned about and look after you, although you don’t half make it difficult by flying to another country.” “I know,” he says quietly looking out at the hauntingly beautiful vista before him. “I’m sorry to make your life more difficult but you gotta admit, new inspiration just keeps on coming while I’m out here.” Maria laughs and the sound is like a wave washing over him. “I definitely can’t argue with that, Mister Popular.” The sound of her manicured nails dancing across her keyboard can be heard down the line. “Your last book, ‘Tales Out of Time’, although drastically different from your previous work, has made it on to the best sellers list and people are itching for a sequel.” “It’s a good thing I sent you the finished manuscript last night then isn’t it?” he says, the smile back on his lips. He starts absentmindedly playing with a stray lock of his hair while staring at the closed laptop sat atop the coffee table. “I’m impressed,” Maria says although he can hear the worry clouding her voice, “you got this manuscript in even quicker than the last one...” she paused. “I’m glad that you’ve found your drive again but you’ve got to promise me that you’re looking after yourself.” “I am, Maria, I promise,” he responds. “You know what it’s like when the bug hits.” The fog starts to descend. “That I do,” she says. “Take a day while I look over the manuscript, hell take two or even three days, and I’ll get back to you, ok?” The manuscript of ‘We Are All Lost Souls’ was waiting for her in the background. “Ok,” he says feeling overwhelmingly tired now that the new manuscript was done and out of his hands for the time being. “Speak to you later, Maria.” He sinks down on to the floor, head held loosely in his free hand. “Thanks, bye.” He doesn’t remember moving but the next thing he knows he’s back at the laptop, hidden in the dark of night, and he just wants to stop typing. No matter how much he tries to pull away his fingers continue to move. He keeps typing till he can’t see the words anymore through the tears spilling down his face. * The local police show up a few days later. Having received a call from Maria Santiago, saying she hadn’t heard from Azrael since Thursday and they now stood in the early morning light of Monday. There is no response to their knock but the door swings open at their touch. They’re surprised to see signs of a struggle when they enter the cabin since the man was reportedly alone up here. They found him hanging from a beam; limp, lifeless and long gone. His laptop was still sat open on the coffee table. The last couple of lines of his last manuscript read: ‘Please stop. Please make it stop. I just want to sleep.’ Over and over again. Azrael’s death was ruled a suicide but there was one oddity they never could make sense of; there was no stool or platform on which he could have stood. There were, however, no concrete signs of anyone else having been in the cabin with him either. The last, and final, manuscript entitled ‘Our Last Goodbye’ was published posthumously by one Maria Santiago; who left the industry shortly after, broken by what had happened.