Death's Succor Chapter 1

Death

You're born, you live, you die; the cycle of absolutes. Repetitious in its phases but by no means monotonous in its application. For instance, I extract roughly 104 souls a minute, not counting plants, animals, insects, viruses, bacteria, etc. So, people should be accustomed to the concept of death, and the process should be cut and dry. Yet, most of the time, humans seem surprised at their upcoming departure. Before I can even take the soul, they start begging, “I can't die yet. I have so much more to do; this isn’t the life I wanted. You can’t do this.” They glare at me, awaiting a response, but that’s not my department. I only take the soul, I don’t determine when it’s taken. There isn’t anything I can say except, "Everyone's time comes." I do wish that I could help sometimes. Some more than others.

Take this woman before me, for instance; I have watched her since she left the warmth of her lover's embrace to return home; a secluded mansion nestled in a bed of palm trees. Trees, once used for ample shade, will now act as a cloak to shield the world from the subsequent atrocities. I never know with absolute certainty what is to occur at any given moment, free will and such. I can, however, pinpoint the outcome with high probability even if I didn’t have this magical foresight. Tonight is no different. Her husband is going to murder her.

She remains oblivious as she tramples over hoards of discarded designer garments. She stands in front of her wall-length mirror inside her massive closet, trying on form-fitting dress after form-fitting dress. Her face - as artificial as the light that encapsulates it -scrunches in dissatisfaction at each one. Her only thought is finding the perfect ensemble for her impromptu holiday with her lover.

If I tell her of the impending doom, will it change her priorities or her choices? Will the knowledge that Death is here, change anything at all? Can destiny be redirected, prolonged, or stopped? After a millennium of doing this job and hearing similar pleas for aide, I must admit a nagging curiosity and a pinch of guilt spur me forward. A century ago all I had to do to get the humans attention was talk, now I must materialise in their realm to converse. I shimmer into existence right when she slinks into her chosen attire. As she turns, she spots me in the threshold of her doorway. She freezes mid-stride, and her face morphs between shock and horror until she lets out a high-pitched scream. She bolts into the depths of her wardrobe, seconds later, a deafening blast catches my attention. Before I can register what is happening, a searing pain erupts from my core, sending shock-waves through my body. A primal howl rips forth from my throat reverberating off the walls. I stumble backward into the bedroom.

BANG! BANG!

The following bullets slice through my shoulders, leaving nickel-sized gashes. The smell of copper permeates the air as warm crimson liquid cascades down my form, pooling at my feet. I try to hold my hands up in a sign of surrender but the movement shoots a new spike of pain through my ligaments, I grit my teeth as I tremble.

BANG!

The final bullet pierces through my gut. I slam into the wall behind me. I gasp for air, but none seems to be forthcoming. With every jagged exhalation of breath, a stream of blood gushes out my mouth. I sink to the floor, a trail of crimson liquid follows my trajectory. I go still. Realising I am no longer moving, she taps my leg with her foot. Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a sigh of relief; she twirls around, whistling a jaunty melody in celebration of her accomplishment.

I pop back up, taking several steps forward. "What a fun experience." I chuckle. With a snap of my fingers, all remnants of the prior events disappear.

She swings back around, momentarily slack-jawed before she starts shooting again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The gun vanishes as I wave my hand through the air.

"I do believe that was all your bullets." The gun reappears behind me on top of the nightstand next to a pair of plane tickets to Italy.

Her eyes widen as she looks at her now empty hands. Her stupor lasts seconds, she launches an assault, charging toward me, fists at the ready. Using her whole body as momentum, she throws a punch, right as it's supposed to connect with my chin, I shimmer out. She crashes face-first into the wall. She twists around, blinking slowly, her eyes begin to water. She bows her head.

“Take whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me.” Her voice is high and sweet as honey.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” I sigh, watching her with steady eyes as she shuffles sideways towards the nightstand.

“Okay.” She murmurs, nodding her head.

"By the way,” I wave my hand through the air again.

“I put the gun back from where you retrieved it," I say pointing to her closet. "Along with all the bullets."

Her head snaps up, she rushes over to the nightstand frantically searching for the gun. When she finds nothing her body stiffens, her fists clench and her eyes narrow.

“What the fuck are you doing here then, and how are you not dead.” She snarls, her voice dropping several octaves.

"I’m not a part of your plane of existence. I came to inform you…"

“About?” She cuts in, pursing her lips and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Before I can respond the front door slams open with an echoing thud. A man's voice booms from below.

"TIFFANY!"

The husband is home. I shimmer out again, my time to warn is gone.

Tiffany’s head swivels around, trying to locate me. When she can't, she sighs smoothing out her attire and plastering on a grin.

“In our bedroom, Patrick.” She shouts her voice honey again.

Patrick storms into the bedroom, "Did you think you could clean me out and I wouldn’t notice?" He grits out through a clenched jaw.

Tiffany sidles up to him, patting his chest. "Patrick, my only one… it's not what you think. I went out to lunch today at that one ritzy hotel, you know the one with too many ferns. Anyway, I saw your business partner. I was going to say hi, but would you know I forgot his name again. I couldn't just walk over there and embarrass myself. I hid under my table so he wouldn't see me. It's a good thing I did because as he was passing my booth, I heard him talking to someone on his phone about scamming you out of all your money with some fake business deal. I couldn't let that happen. I tried calling but couldn't reach you, so I acted. I was going to tell you earlier when you got home but you must’ve been at the bar this whole time. It’s quite late, aren’t you tired?"

He slaps her hand away from him. "Everything out of your fucking mouth is a lie, isn’t it." Disgust drips from his words. "If you wanna go be with your lover… fine… leave, but you're not taking my money."

Tiffany’s sweet grin falls away, in its place, a sinister smile stretching from ear to ear. "Oh, it’s your money now? Beside, how are you going to get it back? I put everything in a separate account that you can never access."

Patrick folds his arms and leans against the bedpost. "The bank called and said the transaction seemed a little fishy; I agreed. I cancelled it and took your name off of every account. You’ve got nothing.” A smirk graces his lips as he looks Tiffany up and down. “I wonder how long your boy toy will stay when you can't pay for those “touch-ups” as you call them, keeping Father Time at bay. You look nothing like the woman I fell in love with ‘Clara’.” He drawls out this name.

Tiffany clenches her fists while glaring. "Give… me… that… money…“

Patrick doesn’t waver. "In case you didn't hear me the first time. You have nothing…” he takes a step forward.

“You will get nothing…” and another step until they are mere millimetres apart.

“And you are nothing." He sneers down at her.

“Okay,” She huffs, sauntering back into her closet. Patrick frowns and then looks around. “So what are you going to do now?” It isn’t long before Tiffany reappears, “Move on to life insurance.” She pulls out the gun she just used on me. Patrick dives out the way before Tiffany riddles the bedpost with bullets.

He sprints out the door and down the stairs. She keeps shooting until the chamber is empty, then tosses the gun to the side.

“You could have just given me the money, but now I have to make your death look like it happened in a robbery.”

She throws various items all over the room. Making a complete mess of the place. As she strides out of her bedroom a shot blasts the door frame above her. The wood explodes into kindling.

"Shit! I didn't expect that much kickback."

Patrick’s moment of admiration for his firearm allows Tiffany time to charge forward, she plows past Patrick and down the stairs. As her hand clasps the handle to the front door, another shot rings. She looks in front of her to see splatters of blood decorating the entryway. Her body clunks back onto the marble floor. She lies facing her crystal chandeliers on the ceiling as blood trickles out, framing her silhouette. Patrick kicks her body away from the door and then exits into the darkness.

I hitch up my trousers to kneel beside her. I stroke her forehead as she gasps for air. “I tried to inform you, but I was a tad late, or perhaps he was a tad early.”

She clutches my wrist. “He…lp ple…ase.”

“Didn’t you just kill me with no remorse?”

She gulps another bit of air, “Sor…ry sc…ared, ple…ase h….e….lp avoi….d de…ath.”

Hmmm, I am curious to hear what she has in mind. I get up to look out the entrance window. Slivers of moonlight illuminate Patrick as he trudges toward a tin shed on the other side of the property.

“We’ve got some time. Let’s have a proper conversation.”

I wave my hand over her body, numbing her wounds. Her eyes widen with the realisation that she isn’t feeling any pain. Her body twitches for several moments before going still.

“Ah, yes, I see you are trying to get up. Don’t bother. You are still dying. I temporarily stopped the wound from bleeding out so you can talk with a little more ease. ” I conjure a chair to sit next to her.

"Now, how do you propose to avoid death?”

“Immortality.” She whispers.

My fingertips slide across my flawless skin as I scratch my chin. “You see, that’s a problem. How do I explain this so it makes sense to you?”

I conjure a 3D image of a pool and float it above her, along with some paper cups full of the same liquid.

“This pool filled to the brim with water represents the energy source or the universe. The cups represent energy’s amalgamation into matter. The water in the cup, aka your soul is still pure energy, so when you die the liquid in the tiny cup goes back to the source.”

As I raise my hand the water lifts out and the cup and glides through the air and back into the pool.

“The cup stays behind to keep the cycle of matter continuing. The cups never leave this plain of existence, but the water is essential. There must be a certain number of litres outside and inside the pool at all points in time. For every litre that comes out, another has to go back in and vice versa.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say a big bang happens if there is too much energy in either area. My co-workers take part in keeping this wonderful existence running smoothly. Armonia keeps track of all energy, ensuring everything balances at all times. Sudbina decides which cup of water goes in and comes out. I put the water back, Muumba creates the cups and Kekka is a pain in my ass but he exists as well. Immortality for you means that your cup of water never goes back into the container, yet there is already another cup destined to come out. It will throw everyone off. So that’s a no-go, but good try.”

I get up, placing my hand over her eyes, and concentrate. I can feel her soul; every time it’s like reaching out and pulling a silk-fitted sheet off a bed with one hand…

“A TRADE!” She yells in desperation.

I pause for a second to stare at her then retake my seat, “Continue.”

Her eyes flutter back and forth in her head searching for an answer.

“You said someone is already coming out, so I have to die to keep the world balanced, right? Can’t someone else die in my place? That would keep everything balanced.”

Interesting, trading a life for a life. Would that work? It would keep things balanced. Would that be stepping on Sudbina’s toes maybe she will be okay with it? Eh, there is only one way to find out.

“You have no qualms about bargaining another’s life away?” I ask.

Her silence says everything. I’ve never traded a life before. I have kept someone alive past their time of Death. This could be interesting. Before I know it I am pacing around her foyer.

“I need to attach some rules. For instance, it can’t be just anyone you’ll be able to trade lives with.”

“Okay.”

Can I make this a new rule? Will the others get mad?

“In certain circumstances, someone or something can trade a life. The same amount of liquid needs to go in as it comes out, so perhaps a soul of equal value.” They can’t get mad if I keep the balance.

"What does equal value mean?" She asks, keeping her voice low.

"An animal for an animal, insect for insect, plant for plant, person for person, and so on.”

“Could it be like a group of fish or a bunch of birds? Would that be equal?”

“Possibly, but let’s keep it to what I said more specifically. It will be loved ones, family members, those of relation to you so you are not as apt to throw away a life. Now what about the amount of time you are allowed? You certainly can’t be immortal, you would have to keep trading lives until there are no more to trade or there are no more willing.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“No. How about in the trade, you only get as much time as the other entity is destined which will keep things flowing nicely. Essentially, you are swapping time frames."

I wonder if this might work. This is of course a trial run.

"Great! I trade my life with my husband." She smiles at the ceiling.

"Perhaps another rule will be anyone who you wish to trade with must agree to the swap. Since your husband is trying to kill you, I highly doubt he will comply. Do you have any other candidates?"

A large CLANG catches my attention. I look out the window to see Patrick dropping a shovel on the ground, and looking around.

“Looks like he’s planning to bury you in the front garden. Quite bold.”

She starts twitching, her eyes swivel erratically again in her head.

"My…my son," she stammers out.

"Your son, what?”

"Trade… lives."

"Complete sentences, please, otherwise I have no idea what you are talking about." I chide.

She glares from the side of her eyes, "I want to trade my life with my son's.”

I reach into the air, my fingers land on a smooth surface, I tighten my grip as I pull my arm back a book materialises. I thumb through part of the book, scanning my way down the page until I happen upon what I’m looking for.

“Aiden Richards. Age 30. Do you think your son will partake in this bargain?

“Yes, he’s my son. A son will do anything for their mother.”

“Hmm... depends on the mother.”

During this process I must get Aiden’s perspective as well. I shall make haste. With a dramatic bow, the book and I vanish.