To Carmichael's surprise, Nina didn't blame him for what happened. It is said that when people die, they become more compassionate, and their ability to forgive is magnified to a level of pure nobility. They forgive those who hurt them easily and forget those resentments with the hope of leaving in peace. Carmichael didn't think this was precisely the case with Nina, in fact, it seemed like she simply didn't blame him at all for what happened.

He looked at Nina through the rearview mirror of the rented convertible car. She was in the back with cheap pink-framed sunglasses she had picked up at a convenience store when they stopped to refuel. She looked calm, watching the road and the passing cars as the wind blew her curly hair.

He couldn't understand why she didn't hated him. It was his fault that they were in this situation, because of his bad actions, because of his greed, and then his need not to be the loser and hide the painting.

"Nina," he called out loud to be heard over the wind and a 60s song playing on the radio.

Nina turned to him.

"What?" she asked.

Carmichael didn't know how to ask her. Should he be direct? Should he be cautious?

"Are you okay?" That was all he could think of.

Nina remained silent for long moments, and even Andrew, who was driving, looked at Carmichael out of the corner of his eye, curious about their conversation.

"As long as you fulfill your part of the deal," she finally responded.

That's right, they had made a deal the night before.

After telling Nina the truth, she didn't get upset at all. Instead, she acquired a new level of seriousness, perhaps because she now knew what she was looking for and what she had to do. Carmichael offered her sincere apologies for everything because her death had been a collateral damage of his selfish actions. Nina just shook her head, stood up, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"You died too," she pointed out. "That's enough punishment."

Carmichael didn't feel like it was. If someone had taken his life because of the wickedness of another, he wouldn't forgive so easily, nor did he believe he could even possess that ability.

"You can hate me," he said then.

"Do I need your permission to do so?" Nina inquired.

Carmichael bit his lip and only calmed down when he felt Andrew's hand around his arm as support. He always showed up to take control when he collapsed. He was his perfect complement.

"We'll help you recover the Altamirano," he asserted, looking at Carmichael out of the corner of his eye. "Right?"

Carmichael hurried to nod. Finding the painting and returning it to its owners in danger was the least he could do.

"I know where it is," he assured her.

Nina nodded. Suddenly she seemed more mature, less grumpy, with a clear objective in front of her.

"Find it, and I swear I'll never resent you for this," she conditioned.

Carmichael felt relief upon hearing that last part, a discharge of the guilt that was eating him away. He took a step toward her and, with his right hand extended, said:

"Deal."

Nina accepted his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Deal."

They left that same night for Mexico. They took a night flight to the capital and were now driving down the road to reach a city called Puebla, where the Altamirano mansion was hidden and, therefore, the painting was also nearby.

"Stop acting guilty," said Nina, bringing Carmichael out of his thoughts. "Guilt doesn't suit you, old man."

Carmichael grinned crookedly.

"I'm only twelve years older than you, not fifty, kid," he pointed out. "Treat me like an older brother and respect me."

She snorted.

"In your dreams."

Carmichael laughed and then turned his attention back to Andrew, who was driving very focusedly so as not to get lost in a city they had never been to before.

"Are we almost there?"

"You tell me, you know the graveyard where you left the Altamirano," Andrew replied.

"We need to get to their mansion first, then we'll find our way from there," Carmichael explained. "I don't remember the exact location."

Nina ended up unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning between the two front seats. The advantages of being dead were that if there was an accident and she was thrown from the car, it wouldn't even hurt. It was a strange and dangerous freedom.

"Don't you have more work to do?" she questioned. "With the souls and all."

"Lady Death will understand that we're training you," Carmichael excused nonchalantly.

"That's a lie," Andrew pointed out.

"She doesn't know and won't know."

"But isn't it dangerous to leave that issue unattended?" Nina asked. "I understand that you want to help me, but if you have to work..."

"We're not the only Death Deceivers in the world," Carmichael interjected. "There are many others. Too many people die every minute and escape through the door, just the two of us doing all the work would be impossible."

"I thought they were rarer."

"Not at all," he assured her. "I invented the system of Death Deceivers, but faithful workers of Lady Death who have brought back rebellious souls have existed long before. Of course, this escape only got monumentally worse when I opened the door."

Nina frowned.

"So let me get this straight, you gave yourself a job on purpose?" she inquired. "You opened that door and assigned yourself such a demanding role just because you didn't want to die?"

Carmichael put his arms behind his head and leaned back on them.

"Human desperation is fascinating, don't you think?"

"Or very stupid," Andrew added.

Carmichael raised an eyebrow.

"And yet here you are, my dear Cornelius."

"Don't call me that."

Nina turned to Andrew.

"And how did you die?"

"Accident on a hike, nothing interesting, too ridiculous," he answered in his usual monotone tone.

"Okay... So how did you guys meet?" she inquired.

"That's a great story," Carmichael assured with a wide smile.

Carmichael had met Andrew by coincidence. The same day Andrew died, Carmichael went to visit Lady Death and saw a soul standing next to the door, but not escaping like all the others, it seemed like he was analyzing it. He approached him and asked if he planned to escape, to which he replied:

"No, I'm sure it would be useless.

"Why?"

"Because as soon as I step outside, death will reclaim me. There's no way to revive."

"You're right, but you're also wrong," Carmichael pointed out. "Death will claim you, but there is a way to come back to life... or something like that."

"Is there?" Andrew didn't believe him.

"I'll offer you a chance, and only one chance," Carmichael said. "Either you trust me blindly and take the risk, or you turn around and transcend."

Andrew stood still, thinking, with no expression on his face that would reveal his decision. He looked Carmichael up and down and then at the long line to transcend.

"Unless you take me to hell, it can't be worse than this," he decided.

Carmichael smiled at him.

"Don't worry, if hell existed, I wouldn't be here anymore."

He finished the story and, when he turned to Nina to see her expression, he found a mocking smile on her face.

"You've always been so dramatic," she taunted.

Even Andrew smiled slightly. Carmichael felt deeply offended.

"I gave purpose to his existence!"

"More or less."

"More or less?!"

"When did you find out about his dirty secret?" Nina asked Andrew.

"Seven years later. He confided in me because I had proven to be 'loyal'."

Carmichael crossed his arms.

"I'm beginning to retract."

They continued driving all afternoon and until night fell. Nina had chosen to sleep, although the dead didn't actually need any rest, it was part of her pay as a Death Deceiver to be able to enjoy such simple worldly pleasures.

"I have a feeling," Andrew admitted.

Carmichael, who was now driving, turned to his partner for a moment and slowed down a bit.

"Is it bad or good?"

He squinted behind his glasses.

"I can't define it."

"Give it a shot."

"It feels like... the beginning of the end."

Carmichael swore his heart skipped a beat at the implications of Andrew's words.

"It doesn't necessarily mean that it's something bad," he commented. "It could be the end to start something new."

"I don't know," Andrew said, then turned and leaned his elbow on the car door.

Carmichael shook his head.

"I never thought you were the type to have feelings."

"Everything changes, Carmichael."

They fell silent again.

Carmichael continued driving and gradually recognized the path they were taking. They were close, he felt it.

He accelerated a little more and, in the distance, he could see how the paved street was exchanged for a cobbled one. Further ahead, if he continued down that path, he was sure he would find the Altamirano's house. He stopped just before entering the cobbled street and turned to see Nina still sleeping.

"Nina," he called out. "Brat!"

Nina opened her eyes and looked like she was about to get angry with him for waking her up, but she calmed down instantly when she saw the street leading to her house.

"It's here," she muttered.

Andrew looked at Carmichael.

"Can you take us to the cemetery from here?" he asked.

Carmichael swallowed hard, remembering everything that happened that night.

"Yes, I can do it," he affirmed. He turned around and drove taking the same paths as the night when he died. Memories crowded his mind; the painting, Leonardo Altamirano's face, the shot, the pain of that bullet piercing through... His death.

"Hey, Carmichael," Andrew called out. "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, instead he looked back at Nina through the rearview mirror. She looked as nervous as he was, probably tormented by memories of her own death in that house.

"Hey, kid," he called out, and she made eye contact. "Your grandmother is Mariale Altamirano, right?"

Nina nodded.

"And your father..." He didn't even want to pronounce the name, it was difficult for him. "Is your father Leonardo Altamirano?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "My sister is Mia, also Altamirano obviously."

Nina must have thought he was asking about her family members' names, but he wasn't really interested in that. He just wanted to confirm his suspicions about Leonardo Altamirano, the man who ended his life. He didn't resent him at all, in fact, he knew he deserved it and, in a way, he was glad that he had grown up and formed a family.

A family that you broke. He thought.

Yes, he had been responsible for all these tragedies, but he would fix it. He would return the painting to its owners and make sure they survived, no matter the cost.

Finally, after traveling the same route as that night more than twenty years ago, they arrived at the cemetery. It was older, more abandoned, but it was still there despite everything.

"We have arrived."