This is part 3 of a 5 part short story series. While they may be read in any order, you can read part one here and part two here.

Errol is dead. And it is cold outside.

It's been getting cold over the last few days. I wanted to go out and look for more supplies, but night was now falling. The days were growing shorter and it frustrated me. When I had something to do, I could distract myself from Errol. If I wasn't working, I was left completely alone with my thoughts and I couldn't bear it. I could endure the rain, the cold, the hunger, the loneliness, but I could not endure my own creation.

I went to the nearest building when it began to get too dark to continue scavenging. It was too risky to go poking around in old apartments when I couldn't see any structural damage to the building or hidden traps set by people that were long dead. Not only that, but the cold would kill me faster than most other things and I wasn't interested in dying today.

As I approached the building, my hands balled into fists. I wanted to run. I did not want to sit still. There was nothing here that could hurt me. I knew that, but I did not feel it. Still, there was some excitement that came with the false sense of fear. The boredom was as bad as the loneliness. Nothing was ever different. There was no danger lurking around a corner, no dark figure behind me that I must be watchful of. There was nothing.

The tall columns and lifeless eyes told me I should run, that this was a terrible place. A place for the condemned and the guilty. It had been, once. There used to be a strict code that everyone followed. If you didn't follow the rules, you would go somewhere terrible. You might even die.

That code had eroded. Humanity and beasts were left to their own ends, indistinguishable from each other. Maybe the code didn't matter. Goodness did not save my generation. Nothing saved my generation. Luck saved me. Nothing saved Errol.

I entered and tried to fight off those thoughts, those terrible thoughts of the last time I had seen him. I was not guilty. It was not my fault. The statues screamed that it was, that it was all my fault, that I could've saved him, that if I was just good enough maybe he could come back, or maybe he wouldn't have died at all.

Could I bargain with the universe? Was this a negotiation? Was there a group of people I could appeal to, that would allow me to plead my case as to why Errol should live and why I- I should what? Die? No. That couldn't be the only solution. I could be a better person, I could pledge my life to whoever or whatever wanted it, so long as Errol returned. Of course, there were no negotiations. There was no deal I could make.

The universe was my judge. Had I been forgiven or was this my punishment? A punishment without Errol. A punishment where I don't know the truth. A punishment where my thoughts don't stop, where my mind won't sleep, where my eyes will not close-

I should sleep. It was always bad at night. Without Errol to comfort me, everything was bad. Maybe I'd take care of another. I'd find a new Errol. The universe might not be convinced to give me back my Errol but maybe I could still have one. I could not exist without an Errol.

I laid down on some chairs. This place is the most untouched building I've seen in months. Maybe it warded off others with its lifeless eyes and cold walls. I told myself I was too used to death to fear it. I stared at the ceiling, avoiding the statues. I did not sleep.

Errol is dead. But I could find another one.