“Well, no. I guess not, but they should.”
“Are any babies abused or neglected? Ignored? Mistreated?”
“Sometimes,” she admits.
“And is everyone in your time healthy and strong, respecting their bodies and their minds? Creating for themselves a meaningful life?”
“No,” she says. “But they could do those things, if they chose to.”
“Why would anyone not choose that?” I can’t help my smile.
“Some people can’t choose,” she says. “They’re sick.”
“Define sick.”
She kicks a rock, and then she winces. “Well, there are lots of ways to be sick. Some people are sick physically. They could have cancer or a bad heart. They could eat too much sugar, or their pancreas can stop working right.”
“Because of their own excesses.”
“It’s not that simple,” she says. “Sometimes, many times, their bodies just don’t work right.”
“Ah, but you’re intentionally misunderstanding me.” I fold my arms. “I think it’s far simpler than you admit.”
“Huh?”
I stare at her, stopping my movement briefly to make sure she’s paying attention. “You’re focused on the quantity of life. My job, the reason for my existence is that death balances life. I exist to shorten the quantity of life and thereby improve its value and ensure that people appreciate what they have.”
“Are you saying you murder people so the humans who live are happier for not dying?” She snorts. “That would be like hitting three kids in the face so that the three kids I don’t punch are grateful.”
I shrug.
“But you’ve killed everyone you passed,” she says. “So that’s clearly not an efficient way to do it.”
“I’m just trying to get some attention,” I say. “The finesse in the balancing comes later.”
“Attention?” She’s frowning again.
I resume my walking. “How many people live on this continent now?”
“Do you mean our country, the United States? Or the entire American continent?”
I shrug.
“A few hundred million,” she says. “Maybe a billion if you mean the Americas. Not sure.”
I’m staggered by those figures. It’s more than ten times the number of people who lived in my portion of the world when I went to sleep, if she’s correct. “Things are worse than I feared.”
“Worse?”
“You believe me to be a devil,” I say. “But I’m doing what I was created to do, and the souls who pass through me go to a place better than this. And, if I attract the attention of the leaders of this time and start a war, many of the people who die will be dark souls.”
She blinks. “But you’re—you want to eliminate badness?”
I shrug. “Not per se. Right now, your people may be healthy in body for the most part, but I imagine they aren’t healthy of the mind.” I arch one eyebrow.
“What do you mean?”
“When people are all safe, when life is assured, they lose sight of what matters. Do they not?”
