by Bruce Blake
What if I missed it?
Phil didn’t deserve to go to Hell.
After a minute searching for the remote, I finally gave up and walked the two steps to the TV, clicked it on and flipped through a few channels before finding one showing the date and time. Still a couple hours before Phil’s fuel gauge hit empty. I sagged back into the chair and noticed a note from Poe on the bedside table. It said she’d meet me at the hospital fifteen minutes before Phil’s scheduled time of departure. Thanks for flying Icarus Airways. Buckle up and enjoy your death.
The day was cool but sunny so I left the Escort wherever the hell I’d parked it in favor of hoofing it. A bit of a hike but, with plenty of time until my ‘appointment,’ I relished the opportunity to clear my head.
I breathed cool air deep into my lungs, savoring the way it tingled in my chest. After my days lost in the alley, I felt surprisingly good, maybe better than before it happened. Whatever Poe had done, she should bottle it.
My body ached, to be sure, but with the ache of healing and physical exertion instead of unfulfilled hunger. This job was harder than I imagined it would be. If I was going to harvest enough souls to get another chance at my life, I’d need to invest in a set of weights or a gym membership. Maybe a return visit to “ ocky’s 24 Hour Fit ess Center.”
As I walked, I looked closely at the faces passing by, seeing more in them than I’d ever seen. Not merely eyes, nose and hair style, but colors and light, like I’d seen around Phil the night at Sully’s. Auras, I think the new-age freaks call them. Phil’s was dim and murky, more sensed than seen, a sickly aura for a dying man. After that, the colors faded from the world and I’d thought nothing else of it. Until today. Now they radiated everywhere, lustrous, scintillating. The Aurora Borealis of emanations brought a smile to my face despite of my grim work ahead.
A bird flew overhead, twittering as it went. Then another. A group of three more raced by, wheeling across the sky.
“Hello, Gabe.”
She slipped her arm through mine like we’d known each other for decades, perhaps dated. The thought didn’t disagree with me.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Mmm.” I glanced down at her face raised toward the sun and my stomach clenched. Does she know what happened? “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“Not like this. I can’t feel the warmth unless I have a body.”
“What brings you today? I already have my next project.”
“Michael asked me to drop in and check on you.”
“Tell Dad I’m fine.” I smiled through the embarrassment coloring my cheeks without really meaning it. Mikey made me nervous. “I thought you were the messenger.”
“I am.” She stooped to pet a dog tethered to a bike rack, nearly pulling me off my feet with the sudden stop. “Hello puppy. What a good puppy.” The dog accepted her rub behind the ears with enthusiasm. I tugged at her arm to get her moving again.
“So what’s the message?” I asked as we left the dog behind to whine at her absence. I understood how he felt.
“No hard feelings.”
This time I pulled her to a halt. “That’s it? He sends me to Hell, threatens to put me there for eternity and then says ‘no hard feelings’?”
“Umm, I don’t think he meant that. He did that out of love.”
“Love?”
“Yep. He wants what’s best for you.”
“Right.” I chuffed a laugh through my nose. “And Hell is what’s best for me.”
“No, but knowing the consequences of your actions is. Besides, I think what he means is he forgives you for your slip.”
“My slip?”
Does she mean the drugs or the priest?
“Both, I think.”
“I--”
“It’s okay.” She pulled me on again. “What is it you mortals say? Shit happens?”
“But father Dominic--”
“Sometimes things happen for a reason, Icarus.”
I thought about inquiring further but stopped myself. The more I thought about what happened with the priest, the more disappointed I felt for letting a soul slip through my fingers.
I could have been one harvest close to Trevor.
We walked for a while, saying nothing. Gabe looked in shop windows, waiting for me to speak. I couldn’t. I wanted to be angry at Mike for his attitude, but burning guilt and embarrassment halted my tongue. I couldn’t muster the anger any more than I could be mad at Sister Mary-Therese for her disappointment in me.
“Tell Mikey I’m cool,” I said finally. “I appreciate his concern.”
“Good.” She pulled my arm to stop me again, stood on her toes and kissed me lightly first on one cheek then the other like we were Parisian amies. The touch of her lips sent a prickling sensation through my head. “My job’s done. Thanks for the walk.”
“There’s still time, Gabe. Tell me how I can save Phil.”
“Can’t be done. Once the words are on the scroll, the fate is sealed.”
She released my arm and left me standing in the middle of the sidewalk, pedestrian traffic flowing around me like a rock in the middle of a stream. Were I a dog, I’d have whined a little to mourn her departure.
***
By the time I found Poe sitting on a bench outside the hospital’s main entrance, I’d given up wondering why Mikey didn’t seem more upset about me letting Azrael take Father Dominic’s soul. Some things we’re not meant to know.
When Poe saw me, she smiled and tapped her wrist in the place where a watch would be if she wore one. I smiled in return.
“Sorry. Ran into Gabe.”
“Oh.” Her teasing smile sagged. “What did she want?”
“Nothing. Just a message from Mike.” I tilted my head as I looked at her. “What’s the look about?”
“I was worried she might have given you a different assignment, that’s all.” Her tone suggested that wasn’t it at all. “What did Michael have to say?”
“‘No hard feelings.’”
“Oh. He didn’t mention me?”
I raised an eyebrow, both at her comment and the twinge of jealousy it created in me. “No. Should he?”
She shook her head briskly, ponytail flapping at the back of her head. I thought about pursuing her comment, finding a juicy tidbit with which to tease my guardian angel, but Phil’s time approached. It would have to wait.
Hospital sounds and smells ambushed me as we stepped through the sliding glass doors, making me queasy. After dying amongst the odor of medicines, the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum, I’d rather avoid them but, given my new vocation, it might prove difficult. Hospitals ranked as my least favorite places. Check that: I hated jails more. Generally speaking, only your medical insurance provider tries to anally rape you in the hospital.
“What?” Lost in my loathing, I didn’t hear Poe when she spoke.
“The target. We should ask what room he’s in.”
“The scroll said he’s in eight-twelve. And the target has a name: Phil.”
She gasped and put her hand on my arm. “Phil? Your Phil?”
I nodded and pressed the elevator call button.
“I’m sorry, Icarus. He was a good friend.”
I shrugged her comment off like a tough guy as the elevator doors slid open and we stepped aboard, riding to the eighth floor in silence.
We stepped off the elevator into a waiting area decorated sometime before my birth. Three haggard-looking adults sat on the green-upholstered couches while a boy of about three-years-old played with blocks on the floor.
“Come on,” Poe said yanking my arm.
As we headed down the short hall toward a set of doors, I glanced back over my shoulder toward the waiting area. Two of the adults in the waiting room, I didn’t recognize; to my surprise, the third was Marty.
The words ‘Intensive Care Unit’ were etched ominously on the frosted glass windows set in the doors at the end of the hall. To the left, a sour-looking woman i
n her mid-fifties attended the nurses’ station. She wore one of those annoying multicolored tops which had supplanted the good, old-fashioned white uniforms. Too bad, I found those old uniforms far sexier than the new clown suits. Mind you, lingerie and plastic surgery probably wouldn’t have moved this particular nurse into the vicinity of sexy.
I turned my thoughts back to more pleasant things--like Phil’s death--then pulled Poe aside before we reached the sourpuss.
“It’s I.C.U. They won’t let us in.”
She regarded the nurse at her station. “I can get us in.”
“No, I’ll do it.” If she could, so could I, my ego insisted. “Wait here.”
I sauntered down the hall, brushing hair out of my eyes and putting on my most charming smile. I stopped in front of the surly-looking nurse and waited for her to look up from her paperwork. She didn’t.
“Ahem.”
“Can I help you?” Eyes still on papers.
“Hi. I’m here to see Phil.” My mouth kept moving but nothing came out as I struggled to remember his surname. “Taggart. Phil Taggart.”
“Are you his wife?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Uh...do I look like his wife?”
“Father or mother?”
“No.”
She raised her eyes from the paper on which she’d been scribbling and appraised me with a look that plainly said she wouldn’t let me past. Apparently, she took her job more seriously than the 'roid monkey at the fitness center.
“Immediate family only.”
“I’m his brother.”
“The resemblance is uncanny,” she said in a bored tone and went back to writing. “Let’s see some ID.”
“That’s a bit of a problem. I’m from out of town, and I left my wallet in my hotel room.”
I patted my pockets to reinforce my point. The last time I saw my wallet, it lay open on the soggy grass of the churchyard. It probably still resided on a shelf in an evidence room. So, only a half-lie this time.
“That is a problem,” the nurse said. “Take a seat in the waiting room with everyone else who forgot their ID.”
I put my elbows on the counter and leaned toward her.
“I’m worried about my brother, Miss.” Since the charming smile failed miserably, I gave her the sad puppy dog eyes instead. “He’s been in bad shape since the cancer got him.” I glanced at the wall clock hanging behind her. Five minutes.
“Take a seat or I’ll call security.”
I opened my mouth to protest but she stopped me by pointing her pen at me in a vague threat.
“Sir.”
I left without further argument and returned to Poe standing, arms crossed, with a bright smile on her face. I didn’t share her amusement.
“How’d that go?”
“She must be a lesbian.”
Poe chuckled.
“It’s not funny. We’re running out of time.”
“I’ll handle this.”
I followed a couple steps behind, close enough to watch but not so close the nurse would notice me. My guardian angle stopped in front of the nurses’ station and, as the woman looked up to question her, a golden glow sprang to life around Poe. It radiated six inches around her, brighter than any aura I’d yet seen. The sour nurse’s expression thawed, her mouth fell open. I squeezed my eyes shut to dispel the illusion, but they opened on a version of Poe composed entirely of light, a radiant arm gesturing me past. I paused at the double doors, hand poised to push, and looked back at the mesmerized nurse. Not only did she not notice me, she didn’t look to know where she was anymore. Or who.
Determined to waste no more time, I swung the doors open and hurried down the hall to eight-twelve, bulling my way through the heavy door into the room. Rae’s father died of cancer before she took to hating me, and I’d visited him during his last days. Sallow cheeks, sunken eyes, weight loss: these I expected to see in my former drinking buddy, the results of the consuming disease which should have killed him . What I saw instead made me pause mid-step. Bandages covered Phil’s face, a spot of blood soaking through the gauze at his right temple. I rushed to the side of the bed and searched for the hospital ID on his wrist to ensure Gabe hadn’t given me the wrong room number. I doubted angels made those kinds of mistakes--to err is human, after all.
Taggart, Phil, it said.
I should have known. I didn’t come to I.C.U. to visit Rae’s father. Cancer is so popular, it has its own floor.
“What happened?”
I didn’t expect an answer. He’d be dead in two minutes.
More bandages wound around his arms. I pulled the drab brown blanket and green hospital sheet down--more dressings on Phil’s legs. My back teeth ground together.
What the fuck?
The whisper of a footstep spun me around, heart jumping in my chest. When I saw Poe entering the room instead of a burly hospital security guard, a relieved breath hissed through my teeth. I thought about asking her what she’d done to the nurse, but Phil’s death was too close for curiosity and explanations now.
“What are you doing?”
“I expected him to die of cancer.” I waved my hand toward Phil’s prone form. “This doesn’t look like cancer.”
“No.” Poe laid a hand on one of the bandages, then pulled away suddenly, as though it burned her. She stepped back.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, wide eyes fixed on Phil, seeing something I didn’t.
“Poe?”
Surely she’d seen people dying before; something else about Phil freaked her out. Something bad to make an angel react like that.
One minute.
I pulled a bandage away from Phil’s arm. The tape holding it tugged his arm hair, but Phil was beyond feeling pain. I stared at what the bandage had been concealing: a wound in the shape of an inverted cross, now framed by the remnants of glue left by the tape holding the bandage. My brow creased and I pulled more bandages off. A pentacle, biblical references.
A rock dropped into the pit of my stomach.
“Who did this?”
The piece of medical equipment situated by the head of Phil’s bed replied, its steady beep quickening, the peaks and valleys scrawled across it in glowing blue became ragged and irregular. Personal experience told me what it meant.
The line flattened; the individual beeps melded into one long, electronic wail. Doctors and nurses would rush through the door any second and attempt to save a life already determined to end. A thought I hadn’t considered jumped to mind.
How will I get out?
Panic jerked me back to reality. I scanned the room for an avenue of escape. Out the window: a sheer drop to the parking lot eight floors below. A closet near the bed wouldn’t have passed muster auditioning for a job as a locker in a bus station. Nothing else. No more options. A little more planning might be apropos should I continue this line of work.
“C’mon, Phil,” I said, bunching the sheets in my fists. “Stop lolly-gagging.”
The screech of rubber soles on linoleum announcing the medical staff’s approach set my teeth on edge. Poe still stood transfixed by Phil’s wounds.
“Poe.” I shook her by the shoulders to loosen her trance. “You have to stall them.”
She nodded, blank expression unchanged. Behind her, the door swung open and the sour nurse entered, followed closely by a handsome man with short black hair and white lab coat worn over doctors’ greens. They skidded to a stop at the sight of us. Anger flashed across the nurse’s face; her mouth opened to chastise or call for help but, before words emerged, Poe faced them, her skin glowing. Their facial muscles slackened like wax figures left too long in the sun.
While Poe played with her new friends, Phil’s soul appeared on the edge of the bed. The spirit was a younger version of the Phil I knew, in his early thirties, with skin free of the symbols carved on his physical-self and vitality filling his previously sunken cheeks. He wore a plaid shirt open at the throat and a pa
ir of beige dungarees. I wondered how spirits acquired their clothes. That thought and the sight of Phil’s good health in death brought a smile to my face.
“Ric? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Good to see you.”
“I thought you were dead.”
People keep saying that.
“I am. I was.” No point beating around the bush. “You are, too.”
He glanced at the body lying behind him, half a dozen bandages pulled away revealing the horror he’d experienced in his last days.
“Thank God.” He sighed and tilted his head toward the body. “That hurt, but not as much as the cancer.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, avoiding my gaze. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m glad it’s over.”
“Can’t say I blame you, pal. But don’t worry, I’ve got no one to tell.” More footsteps in the hall chased away my smile leaving anxiety behind. How long can Poe hold them? “We’ve got to go.”
Phil nodded and stood, flexing his knees as though trying on a new pair of legs for the first time. I grabbed his arm and guided him through the medical staff crowding the doorway--four of them now held in thrall by the angel--and into the hall.
“You ready, Poe?”
“I’ll meet you outside.” Her voice multiplied into many voices harmonizing the words in intricate patterns. Beautiful. I stopped. My soul begged for her to speak again, for her words to show me a slice of Heaven. I reached a hand out, took a step toward her, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me; rage flared in my chest.
“Come on, Ric.”
In comparison to Poe’s words, Phil’s voice sounded brash and wounded, sandpaper enough to pull me from the spell. With a brisk shake to clear my head, I led Phil down the hall and through the double doors with the frosted glass. Near the elevators he spoke again.
“Hey, there’s Marty.”
Marty looked up from inspecting the floor as though he’d heard Phil’s words. I’d thought no one would be able to see his spirit. Was I wrong?
“Hey,” he said as I punched the elevator call button. “Hey, you’re the guy from the bar.”
