On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  “Death?”

  “You know tall, skinny guy wears a lot of black, carries a scythe. Well, not anymore. He’s pretty much delegated all his work to us and now he mainly just sits around watching ‘Days of Our Lives’ and making unimaginative lawn gnomes to sell at local flea markets. But, I do work for him, you have to believe me!”

  “I do believe you. It’s fascinating!”

  “Really?”

  “No” sarcasm was lost on some people “Now I’m going back to work; I can’t afford to lose this job. I have rent due next week. Do you know what it’s like scraping by, working two jobs for no pay? Well, of course you do, you work for death!”

  “I don’t get paid.”

  “Well bully for you!” She reckoned working with children and the dying elderly was easier than talking to Barnaby.

  “No, you gotta believe me, I need your help! I don’t know anything about the human race except when they die.”

  The phone rang and a nurse behind the desk, who had been struggling coyly not to show the two arguing that she was eavesdropping, although even if they had seen her they wouldn’t have blinked at being caught, answered the phone.

  “Are you Barnaby?”

  “What?” He said as he was jolted back to reality “Yes?”

  “Phone call.”

  She held out the phone at a distance where she could have easily reached him if she put any effort into it, but made him walk over to her to get it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Barnaby, how’s it going?” asked The Death.

  “Oh hi-- Wait! Just a minute!” Barnaby ran over to the departing Ketty and grabbed her by the arm and led her over to the desk and handed her the phone.

  “What are you doing?” she said as she jerked her arm away from him.

  “Just talk to him!”

  “Who is it?” She said waving the phone above her head.

  “The Death.”

  “Hello?” she said into the receiver, “I think you’re doing a bang up job, I haven’t seen any zombies walking around the hospital in years. Everyone is dying right on schedule. Keep up the good work! Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and headed down the hall. Barnaby stared at the phone; no one had ever hung up on The Death before. He was sure there must be some special place in Hell that people with those kinds of balls were sent. The phone rang again.

  That was probably him again, Barnaby thought to himself. He reached for the phone but paused when he thought that perhaps The Death would blame him for the hang up. People may go to a special place in Hell, but Barnaby knew happened to Deaths who pissed off their boss. He decided that playing it dumb was his best bet and took off down the hall after Ketty.

  *****

  Insurance Agent #3 was busy vacuuming the living room while Agent #12 cleaned the tub and toilet in the master bathroom. The Insurance Agents were having a blast doing household chores. #5 had found a radio and after a few hours of head-scratching and banging very violently on the sides, with the help from #10 and #4 they got it working.

  As the party sounds of the 80’s wafted through the house the thirteen masters of destruction and chaos from the deepest reaches of Hell danced and scrubbed the entire house into a shining example of what someone could do with a little elbow grease and Culture Club beats dancing in their heads.

  #1 had turned out to be a master chef and was preparing everything that he saw on a cable food channel. #9 had mastered the skill of minor household appliance repair and was enjoying the task of taking apart and putting back together everything from the toaster to the dishwasher. #2 sat and worked for 4 straight hours putting together a quarter of a 100 piece puzzle he found tucked away in the back of drawer. The other Agents encouraged him to keep trying to finish it as they realized #2 was a few humps short of a camel.

  *****

  The Death sat in his office holding the phone to his ear, waiting for someone to pick up. Finally a nurse answered the other end and told him that Barnaby had left and she couldn’t find him. When he tried to delve deeper into the subject the nurse told him that the phone was for official Medical Center use and if he wanted to talk to his friend he should try him on his cell phone.

  “Did we give Barnaby a, um--” he looked down at the paper in front of him, “a cell phone?”

  “No I don’t think we did,” said DANZ & C>500TP, “I could check, though, if you want me to. But I believe all we gave him was a nice pair of clothes and cute little novelty button.”

  “No matter. I’m sure he was in a rush and that’s why he hung up on me. Or at least I hope that’s why he did it.”

  “I think you should have given the assignment to someone a tad bit more reliable.”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know-- maybe me?” she said coyly.

  “Ach! Das ist es sollte I gewesen sein dumm!” said The Death of Germany, Austria and Arnold Schwarzenegger Fan Club Members.

  “Oh yeah right, send the least people-person death ever to wear a cowl. This takes tack.” She scoffed.

  “Bien, entonces debe haber sido yo,” said the Death of Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador.

  The entire room burst into unforced spontaneous laughter.

  “Odio cada uno de ustedes!” screamed DMGES as he stomped out of the room in a huff.

  “Oh come on now,” said The Death trying to ease DMGES feelings, “We didn’t mean anything, please come back. We’re really sorry. Aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” said DANZ & C>500TP.

  “Ja,” said DGAandASFC.

  The Death of Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador shuffled back into the room, his head bowed in full sulking mode. He could really pout with the best of them.

  “Now,” said The Death, “This is Barnaby’s job and I don’t want to hear any more about it. What we need to do is help him with whatever he is doing.”

  “But we don’t know what he’s doing. He won’t pick up the phone.”

  The Death rubbed his bony fingers together, leaned back in his chair and calmly said with the slightest bit of menace, “That’s where we get creative.”

  *****

  Barnaby tracked down Ketty mopping up what he hoped was water, but after everything he’d witnessed today he wasn’t going to ask. He walked stealthily over to her and gently tapped her on the shoulder. Hoping her instincts for violence wouldn’t kick in and wouldn’t spin around and smack him.

  “I thought I told you to leave me alone.” She said, glancing up for a split second.

  “I need your help.” He pleaded.

  “But you’re death, what could you possibly need me do?” Barnaby hated sarcasm, it was it his major pet peeve with the entire race.

  “Oh, just come with me.”

  He took her by the hand and led her to the elevator. As they stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed, the adjacent elevator opened up and Jeremiah walked out. He made his way over to the reception desk and coughed politely to get the nurse’s attention.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Dana Plough”

  “I’m sorry, she just left.”

  “Oh,” said Jeremiah dejected in a way usually reserved for prisoners who had just finished their last meal and knew in their hearts they should ordered the kung pow chicken. “Can you tell me where she went?”

  “She probably went home.”

  “Could you tell me where that is?”

  “I’m sorry, that’s privileged information. If you want an autograph or picture you can sometimes see her on the GNAN tour.”

  “Right. Okay thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Jeremiah left the hospital and headed back to his hotel. He was looking forward to taking a tour of a major American television studio, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, he hadn’t eaten all day and there was bound to be some good pubs around. He could really use a pint, a sandwich and some good, down-home spun stories to lift his spirits.

 
; *****

  Dana Plough and Satan weren’t talking and it made the ride back home very uncomfortable for Manuel. Dana Plough had never been one for stimulating conversation; she found it beneath her to carry on any dialogue longer than a brief chat about the weather with anyone from the working class. The working man was a group she fought hard for on the air and had earned her many awards for her loving and caring nature [All successful people say they fight for the little guy when in public. When in private they bathe in tubs of Crystale while dining on beluga caviar off the breasts of three-thousand dollar a night hookers].

  Manuel turned the radio on to see if that would liven up the mood in the car.

  “Please Marco, could you turn that off; I have a headache.”

  “Sorry ma’am.”

  “I really don’t know why you’re upset. It was only a joke,” said Satan nonchalantly.

  “You set Dr. Arneau’s office on fire!” she scowled.

  “They put it out.” He shrugged, knowing very well the gesture probably just made things worse.

  “I’m not talking to you right now, is that clear? Now Marco, would you be a dear and pull into the next burger joint, we really need something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” offered Satan.

  “We are.” She looked at him with the displeasure usually reserved for the worker behind the counter of the DMV, after waiting in line for 2 hours only to have them go on their lunch break when it's your turn. “The baby and me.”

  Manuel pulled up to a talking cow’s head outside a fast food restaurant called The Moo Meat. It was a very popular place in the Valley to ‘eat all your favorite ‘bovine delectables’, as a very annoying ad campaign had suggested through all types of media. It featured a character called Moo-reen the Cow who apparently was a cannibal, or its cow equivalent, who craved thick juicy hamburgers and would perform a variety of death-defying stunts for the local cattle rancher and his family while they were outside trying to enjoy a family picnic.

  “Give me two double Holstein burgers with extra slaughterhouse sauce, a side of French fried hooves, a small cola and a chocolate cow pie,” she shouted into the disembodied cow head.

  “Your total comes to eleven dollars and twenty two cents. Please drive around to the front,” a squeaky-voice said from the head, jumping an octave in either direction with each syllable.

  Manuel paid for the meal out of his own wallet, because it seemed that neither of his passengers had any cash on them and they were very embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

  *****

  Barnaby raced up and down the third floor of The Richard M. Nixon Memorial Medical Center and Cocktail Lounge, dragging Ketty behind him. They walked like most people run in sand. They searched room after room, throwing doors open exposing anyone in a Jonnie and a face full of shame to the world.

  “What are you looking for exactly?” questioned Ketty.

  “Someone who is going to die soon.”

  “Oh well, that. Good luck finding anyone here that fits that description. What with this being a hospital and all.”

  “I’ve had just about enough out of you.”

  “That’s funny, I being the one who’s been kidnapped and dragged around this place by force. But you’ve had enough from me. Well, I guess I should go and leave you alone.”

  “Wait.” Barnaby stopped abruptly and paused for a second. He turned on a dime, grabbed her arm and led her in the other direction.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see.” He smiled, now he was going to show her how he worked. Old school style.

  They stopped by the room of Mr. Harold Lupus, age fifty-two. He had been admitted into the center for routine minor surgery [i.e. nip and tuck] and was resting comfortably in his bed. He was being attended to by Evelyn Krauss, a cherubic, button-faced nurse with enough energy to power a small sun for a few hundred millenniums.

  Nurse Krauss had just changed the bandages on Mr. Lupus,’ um, wounds, and was pouring him a glass of water when a strange man and an orderly came bursting into the room.

  “May I help you?”

  “No,” said Barnaby.

  “What are we doing in here? This is just a typical run of the mill eye tuck and botox case,” Ketty asked him. She tried to avoid the plastic surgery wing of the hospital. People who’ll do anything to themselves in the name of self-distorting beauty creeped her out.

  “No it isn’t; I had my appendix removed,” fibbed Mr. Lupus.

  “Your appendix is in your belly; why do you have bandages on your face?”

  “That’s quite enough. Mr. Lupus needs his rest from whatever kind of operation he did or didn’t have.” Nurse Krauss beamed with a smile that was reassuring and at the same time eerily chilling. She had the disposition of a three-legged elephant trapped inside a hamster wheel.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ketty, “We were just going, weren’t we?”

  “Listen, this man is going to die in forty five seconds,” said Barnaby.

  “I am?” It’s never good to be the last guy in the room to know something. Especially if that thing is that you’re about to die.

  “No you’re not, don’t be silly,” reassured Nurse Krauss, “this man is clearly delusional.”

  “You can say that again!” echoed Ketty

  “Thirty seconds,” said Barnaby staring intently at his watch.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to die!”

  “You’re not going to die!” yelled both women at the same time.

  “Twenty seconds, wait for it.”

  “I knew I should have gone to Mexico to have this done. Frank from accounting said they take great care of you down there. A-one service, don’t let people just up and die.”

  Every eye in the room watched Mr. Lupus with scientist’s regard. He was a lab rat in Barnaby’s maze, and everyone was wondering if it could get to cheese before its body collapsed under the weight of the cancer-testing tumors killed it.

  Mr. Lupus was merely a vain man wandering through a self-conceited country. He needed to be told he was handsome, not because he wasn’t, but because others opinions was the only way he could judge himself. And now he scared that he was going to die. Not because he was scared of death, but because the scars hadn’t time to heal yet.

  “Repeat after me:” said Nurse Krauss, “you’re not going to--”

  “Three, two, one.” Barnaby tapped his watch, “Huh that’s odd, he really should have--”

  Beep-- Beep-- Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep wailed the heart monitor.

  “There we go!” said a proud and slightly confused at the fact he was 3 seconds off Barnaby.

  As the heart monitor flat-lined Nurse Krauss found herself caring less for poor Mr. Lupus, whose only sin was vanity and perhaps not heeding the advice of his colleague about going to Mexico, than with the seemingly remarkable precision with which this other guy had predicted his demise. As the sound of the monitor buzzed through the room Nurse Krauss snapped out from her daze and called for assistance to help revive her patient.

  As a crack team of doctors and nurses working on Mr. Lupus tried everything in their power to grant him another chance at life and a 15% discount off his next choice of cosmetic surgery, a light formed inside the room, unseen by everyone except Mr. Lupus and Barnaby.

  “It’s no use,” said Barnaby to a stunned Ketty, “It’s his time to go.”

  “But how?”

  “I told you, I work for Death. You just didn’t want to believe me.”

  *****

  Mr. Lupus sat up in his bed, or rather the spirit of Lupus sat up; the body of Mr. Lupus was having its chest cracked opened while thousands of volts of electricity surged through his heart.

  He was being rudely ignored by everyone in the room except for the guy who just earlier had been scolded for telling him he was going to die. The light that was a mere a dot seconds ago grew to fill up a good section of the space around him and a hooded figure in black appeared from it.

  “
Well, I guess this it?” said Mr. Lupus, disheartened by the knowledge he had just spent all the money he put away for the last seventh months had gone to waste. “I suppose I should have used the money to take my wife on that cruise.”

  “She did tell you not to come home again if you did this.” Said the hooded voice of the woman standing next to him.

  “I guess she gets the last laugh.”

  “Especially since she filed a huge life insurance policy on you the other day.”

  “She did? Well that’s just like her, always thinking only of herself.”

  Mr. Lupus exited into the light and The Death of Australia, New Zealand and Countries with a Population less than 500 gave a knowing wave to Barnaby as she followed him through.

  *****

  “I don’t understand anything of what’s happening anymore.” Ketty said confused at the transaction she just witnessed as she left Mr. Lupus’ room.

  She found a chair in the hall and dropped in, hitting the pleather with a resounding thud. She sat nearly motionless for a minute except for the odd shake of her head or the movement of her lips as she replayed the events over and over in her head. Suddenly she sat up from her crumbled state. She had the answer to what had just happened.

  “It was magic! It was magic, wasn’t it? I mean, no one could possibly have known that guy was going to die; this is probably some sort of prank they pull on the orderlies. They’re probably all in there having a good laugh over my stupidity.”

  “There’s a little too much blood in there for this to be much of a prank,” said Barnaby trying to offer a bit of help.

  “But you can’t be death, I mean that’s ridiculous. I mean, come on, your just some weird guy who latched onto me—“she realized what she had just said “Why did you latch onto me?”

  “You helped me get to the thirteenth floor.” He offered.

  “Well, that’s the last time I do anything nice for anyone.”

  “And you slapped me.”

  “So this is some sort of bizarre version of revenge?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He didn’t think it was bizarre at all. There were much stranger revenge stories peppered throughout history.

  Her head now firmly affixed to her palms, Barnaby thought he heard a chuckle coming behind the hands. “See, you’re laughing, I knew you’d get over it.”

  “I’m crying you jerk.”

  She leapt from her chair and started landing a series of right and left uppercuts to his body. The fury of fists pounded Barnaby in the chest and shoulders. He grabbed her hands and held her body tight against his.