by Cheree Alsop
He stood there for much longer than he should have. He had a list to complete, his job to fulfill. He would gain his hour when the list was done, an hour with senses and a body. Somehow cavorting with women he met at the bar just didn’t have the same appeal as before.
His heart slowed, then stopped beating. He put a hand to his chest just to be sure. The thumping was gone. He let out a slow, unnecessary breath. It felt as though the occasion called for something like that, some sort of release so he could escape the hold her gaze had placed on him. He crossed through the door and watched down the hallway for several minutes.
When he left the hospital, it was at a much faster pace than he usually traveled. He told himself it was because he was behind on the list, but his thoughts lingered in the room. He wondered why it felt so wrong to have his heart still when it had been so his whole existence.
Chapter Two
ANGEL
It wasn’t everyday a guardian angel stared into the face of Death. She had no illusions about the gray-eyed shadow man who had reached out a hand to touch Gregan, her Gregan. She chased her thoughts away and set a hand gently on Gregan’s chest, willing the wounds to heal and his eyes to open. If only the will of a guardian angel truly could do such things. As it was, she was left to wait.
Nyra pushed back the guilt that filled her. It weighed her down, holding her with the force of her regret. Why hadn’t Gregan listened to her? He had never dismissed her promptings so casually before. Even when she yelled at him, raising her voice for the first time since being assigned his guardian, he had walked on as though he didn’t hear.
Now here she was, left staring at his battered body. His beautiful blue eyes were closed and she didn’t know if they would ever open again. His family had no way of knowing where he was. He had left the apartment without his wallet or cellphone, two things he never forgot. Luckily, they had found the receipt in his pocket from the ring he bought. It would be quick work for them to call the number of the store and find out his information.
Nyra tried to forget the way the ring sparkled in the light that streamed through the pawn shop window. Little rainbow rays had glittered from the diamond, dancing on Gregan’s face and lighting his smile. Anyone who had seen it would have known that the ring was perfect. Gregan paid the hard-earned cash with a smile. He had no doubts, and without the promptings, Nyra had been unable to do anything about it.
A low bell sounded. No one in the hospital heard it except the few angels watching over those they guarded. Nyra tried to smile at the sound. It usually filled her with warmth; this time she felt only uneasiness.
“Goodbye, Gregan,” she whispered even though he couldn’t hear her. “I’ll be back.” She allowed her body to be pulled through the wall toward the Place of Accounting.
Other guardian angels floated along around her, hundreds of them tugged gently to account for their deeds in one of the most beautiful places Nyra had ever seen. For as far back as she could remember, she had always looked forward to her daily visit to the Place of Accounting. Its golden walls, chairs of twisted burnished white metal padded with downy cushions, and books held open by young angels with quilled pens inked and ready for writing felt like the most peaceful place in the world to her. Yet this time she went with a hint of dread.
“Welcome, Guardian Nyra,” the young boy with golden curls said. He smiled up at her as she took a seat, his blue eyes bright and filled with excitement. “How was your day?”
She usually regaled him with tales of city streets, subways, libraries, or convenience stores, but today she had little enthusiasm for such stories. “A bit difficult,” she admitted.
He nodded, his eyes far more knowing than his smile let on. “Sometimes that happens. Let me find your page.”
She watched as he flipped through the book. There were millions of pages in each book on the desks around them. The sheets were so fine they looked like gossamer wings in the light of the sunset that filled the room. The young angel in front of her frowned just a tiny bit and continued searching through the pages.
“This can’t be right,” he said to himself.
“What can’t?” Nyra asked, trepidation filling her.
He looked up as if startled he had spoken aloud. “It must be me, Guardian Nyra. I can’t seem to find the right page. This has never happened to me before.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at the line of angels that spread out behind her patiently waiting their turn. “It, uh, it must be here.”
Nyra fought back the urge to bite her lip. She wouldn’t feel it and the gesture would only let the young angel know how uncomfortable she was.
“Perhaps, uh,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Maybe you could tell me about your day?” His blue gaze was pleading. He didn’t want to fail her; his cheeks were touched with a brush of red embarrassment as being unable to find her place in the book. A glance to the right showed a few angels drifting to another line.
Nyra swallowed her fear. “I, well,” she looked behind her to make sure none of the angels were within hearing. Guardian Teland smiled back at her, his expression warm and kind. Guardian Larisa spoke to Guardian Strey; none of them seemed to care about the delay she was causing. She turned back to the young angel and whispered, “I asked Death not to take Gregan.”
The young angel’s mouth fell open. He stopped searching through the book. “You’re not supposed to do that,” he said loudly.
Angels from every desk looked at them. Nyra fought to keep her expression calm and happy as she replied in another whisper. “I know. Now what?”
The young angel shrugged uncertainly. “I’m not sure.” He looked at the other angels again. They had already turned away. “Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Nyra nodded. The angel gave her a hopeful smile and motioned for Guardian Teland to step forward. Nyra wandered away, unsure where she was supposed to go.
Guardian Camissa stopped her before she could leave the Place of Accounting. Nyra held in a sigh.
“It just frustrates me when Zachary ignores my promptings completely,” the angel said. “I tell him not to put an egg in the microwave; he does it anyway and it explodes. I tell him not to cut his sister’s hair; he does it anyway and his mother has a meltdown! I don’t know how much longer I can keep up with this boy!”
Nyra gave the angel what she hoped was a cheerful smile. “Hang in there, Camissa. He’s going to be president someday. He needs you.”
“I know,” the angel replied. “I’m just not sure if I’ll survive to see his election!”
“Well, we’ll see if my Elizabeth can stop running around with boys long enough to get interested in Chemistry,” Guardian Suelynn cut in. “She won’t be curing anything if I can’t get her nose in a book.”
“Hang in there, guardians,” Guardian Wylan told the pair. “When Garrison got married he settled down and now the worst I have to watch out for now is the pair of dogs that tries to chase him on his run in the mornings and that one drunk driver he was lucky to avoid. It’ll all work out; trust me.”
A shiver went through Nyra at the mention of a drunk driver. She excused herself from the trio and left the Place of Accounting as quickly as she could.
Chapter Three
DEATH
Death stared at the name left on his arm. He had completed the rest of the list, giving their souls the directions to the gateway; yet one remained. Gregan Parker’s name made his arm itch. He scratched it, and then stared at his fingers. He thought that since the list wasn’t complete, he wouldn’t get his body. Yet in the hour before sunrise, he could feel his fingers on his arm. He stood and made his way to tiny bathroom in the rundown apartment.
A big crack ran down the glass, cutting his reflection in two. He stared at himself, his gray eyes puzzled. He pushed a lock of black hair from his eyes. It was long because he never bothered to cut it. With an hour in living form at most, he cared little about such things. He straightened the gray collared shirt and black dress jacket he
wore. He didn’t know why he became living in the same outfit every night; apparently Death was meant to dress like he just got through with a business meeting. It was a bit ironic.
He walked slowly down the stairs. The echo of his footsteps reminded him of his heartbeat. He picked up his pace and rushed to the door. He almost forgot and ran into it, remembering at the last minute that he had to push the door open when he was in his living form.
He paused on the sidewalk, debating whether to head to the bar. For some strange reason, he began walking in the other direction. Though he had finished the list later than usual, there were still a few people out on the street. A man dressed in an overcoat and with well-polished brown shoes bumped into him. The man turned and stared. Death lifted an eyebrow. The man hurried quickly down the sidewalk as though pursued by ghosts. Death wanted to smile, but something kept the expression from his face.
He entered the hospital and followed the signs to the ICU. It was much more difficult without the name guiding him. Though it was still tattooed on his arm hidden beneath his black jacket, it remained still instead of throbbing when he neared the recovering room.
All was quiet in the hospital. A lull had occurred in the usually rushed night and the doctors and nurses were taking advantage of a much-needed break. Death paused at the front desk and asked for directions to Gregan Parker’s room. The nurse questioned his relationship to the patient. “Brother,” he replied. He looked deep into the nurse’s brown eyes, willing her to believe. When she hesitated, he cracked his smile, the smile they all followed without question.
She nodded. “Room one fifteen. Down the hall to the right.”
He walked quickly, ignoring the sound of his footsteps. As he neared the room, though, he began to wonder about his motives. He couldn’t finish his job in living form. Well, he could, but things tended to get messy that way. He rubbed the back of his neck, then stared at his hand. Uncertain gestures weren’t part of his repertoire.
He shook his head and turned to enter the room. He ran straight into the closed door. He swore silently and put a hand on the cold doorknob. The metal was smooth beneath his fingers. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. He paused just inside the room.
She was there, her form bright in the corner. She looked less substantial than she had when he was in his normal form. Unsure of what to say to her, he crossed slowly to Gregan Parker’s side.
“Who are you?” the angel asked. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “He must be some relative or they wouldn’t have let him in. But I’ve never seen him before. I should have seen him before.”
She didn’t know he could see her. The normal living couldn’t see guardian angels, even those they guarded. Death refrained from staring at her, though the only thing he wanted to do was look at her face again. He stood in silence, wondering what to do next. His feet had brought him there, now all they wanted to do was turn around and leave. He sat down on a chair beside the bed and reminded himself to breathe so that she didn’t grow suspicious.
He forced his attention to the man in the bed. Gregan looked a lot younger than he had in the operating room. Without the oxygen mask and the gaping hole in his chest, it was obvious he was barely in his twenties. A hint of stubble showed on cheeks that were hollow and drawn, pale from blood loss. Death wondered how the man’s heart was still beating. The voice in the back of his mind reminded him that it was because he had failed to do his job.
“He should have listened,” the angel whispered. “He always listened to me. Why not now?”
Death risked a glance in her direction.
Her head was bowed and her shoulders shook. A glimmer of moisture caught on her cheek.
Death had never seen an angel cry. He had seen plenty of tears in his lifetime to the point that he barely noticed them anymore; yet her tears were different. The tears of the angel tore at his heart as though they flowed from within him. He stifled a gasp and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart gave a painful, loud beat before falling into a steady rhythm.
“I’m so sorry,” the angel whispered, mistaking his shock for pain at Gregan’s condition.
“You couldn’t have done anything to save him,” Death replied before he could stop himself.
Silence filled the room. He looked up to see the angel staring at him. “You can see me?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper.
He thought quickly. “I, uh, I’ve seen angels since I was little.” He had heard of such instances, few and far in-between; he hoped she bought it.
She moved closer, her golden hair flowing around her like a halo. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.
Death gave her a reassuring smile, surprised his mouth knew how to form such a thing. “It’s alright. If I told anyone about you, they wouldn’t believe me anyway.” He made a show of looking around. “I’m sure this hospital has a psychiatric ward. I could inquire beforehand.”
That brought a smile to her lips, just a hint, but it was enough to make his freshly beating heart skip a beat. He put a hand to his chest again, amazed at the feeling.
“Are you alright?” she asked, moving closer to him.
He jerked back so fast the chair fell over. He scrambled to his feet and righted it, then stood behind it as though it was a shield from her. She was an angel; he was Death. Who knew what would happen if she touched him? Could he kill an angel? His touch never killed anyone when he was in his living form, and he had only touched those on his list when he wasn’t living, but he didn’t dare to take chances.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly.
“Don’t go.” Her pleading voice caught him by the door.
He hesitated with one foot out. It would be so easy to continue as though he hadn’t heard her. He could leave and never look back, pretend that it was all a dream even though Death didn’t dream. He could finish Gregan Parker in the morning with the hope that he might catch the man alone without his angel.
He glanced over his shoulder. The thought of entering the room without the angel present nearly broke his heart. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what was happening to him. Two days in the angel’s presence and he was a wreck, a softie.
“You don’t have to go,” the angel said. There was understanding in her voice. “I’ll leave so you can be alone with Gregan.”
“I don’t want to be alone with him,” Death replied too quickly. At her curious look, he hurried on, “It’s hard to see my,” he swallowed, “brother, in this condition. I could use some company.”
“If you’re sure,” she said.
He nodded and forced himself to walk slowly back to the seat by the bed. He frowned at the man lying on the sheets. “He’s not very old.” A monitor beeped softly beside Gregan and a machine forced air into his lungs. He was motionless, caught between the living and the dead. Death felt a twinge of guilt.
The angel sighed. “He’s foolhardy.”
“He always liked to take risks,” Death guessed.
The angel’s eyebrows rose. “Since I’ve been his guardian, he’s been very sensible. He’s always been the ‘seatbelt on, walk on the crosswalk type’.”
Her eyes held questions Death wasn’t prepared to answer. He rushed on with, “That’s not how it was when we were younger. He was a ‘leap first and ask questions later’ kind of kid.” He forced a chuckle. “One time he jumped off a bridge on a dare and broke his leg on rocks hidden beneath the water.”
“That’s not very funny,” the angel said.
“He thought so,” Death replied, trying to appear confident.
She smiled then, a smile that was so much more than just a guardian angel talking about the person she watched over. There was love in that smile. “Gregan laughs about everything. His is the kind of laugh others want to join in.”
Death nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. Inside, his mind was in turmoil. He took a calming breath and felt his heart slow. He shook his head, amazed at the way his normally lifeless body was acting.
He looked up and found her watching him. He fought back the urge to rub his neck and settled for lacing his fingers together. “What’s your name?”
She looked surprised. “Why do you want to know my name?”
He shrugged, realized it was the first time he had ever done so, and tried it again. It felt casual, nonchalant; except when someone was watching. He felt a true blush run across his cheeks, felt them burn with the heat of embarrassment. One side of him was astonished at the emotion while the other side kicked him mentally for being an idiot. “Looks like we might be here a while; I like to be polite.” When was he ever polite? He couldn’t remember.
“Nyra,” she said.
The name filled his ears with a quiet rushing sound that rose and fell in time to the beat of his heart. The sensible side of his mind scolded him, saying that he shouldn’t know the name of an angel, and a guardian angel at that. The other side repeated the name over and over, hearing the golden tones of her voice that made the name sound like the beginning of the greatest song ever written.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He sat up quickly. Not just because she wanted to know his name, but because his hands had slipped through one another the way they did when he had used up his living time and was going back to Death’s insubstantial form. His fingers were becoming mere shadows and the rest of him would quickly follow. He rose. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” she said, surprised.
He shook his head as he made his way to the door, grateful he’d had the foresight to leave it open. Being caught in the middle would make for a very uncomfortable situation if he had to wait to fully change. “I’m sorry. I forgot I had to do something.” Like kill people, the cynical voice in his mind said. He grimaced. “I’ll be back.”
“Promise?” she asked.
There was something so lost in the one word he turned. Though the voice in his mind told him not to, he nodded. “I promise.”
