Chapter 26

Suzi arrived at the hospital with no further traffic incidents—thank goodness. She slipped into the waiting room where her twins sat, their heads resting on her shoulders. Owen stared into oblivion, while Ruth worked on a crossword puzzle book. It was the same one Aiden had bought and used when Suzi had woken up just a week ago.

“Has anyone heard from Maeve?” Suzi’s voice trembled, addressing no one in particular.

“Yesterday, she posted some of her new work,” Rio replied. “Apparently, they received a custom order for a sheet to put on the front of Flea’s guitar.”

“Flea? Who’s that?” Aiden’s mother asked.

“He’s a bass guitarist for a rock band, Grandma,” Reed explained. “A pretty famous one.”

Ruth chimed in, her tone incredulous. “Is he the one who dances on stage with his wiener out?”

“Who’s this now?” Annie’s interest was piqued.

Reed confirmed, “That’s the one.”

Disgust colored Ruth’s voice, “Why would Maeve want to make something for someone like that?”

“It pays well.” Rio defended, “Famous people shell out top-dollar for unique, artsy stuff. Plus, it’s good publicity for Maeve and Lilly’s brand.”

They chatted, and Rio refilled her coffee cup numerous times.

Finally, Owen stood and, in true mid-westerner fashion, said, “Well, we best be getting.” His impatience was palpable. If you weren’t moving forward, you were sliding backward—no progress at all.

They gathered around Aiden’s hospital room window, staring at the beeping monitors and the silhouette of his casted body. Suzi longed to touch him, to know if he was okay. Could she still link her consciousness to his? Had she left Azailkahbil, the demon, within him?

After tearful goodbyes, they piled into Rio’s car. Ruth’s parting words lingered: “He loves you more than anything.”

“I’ve not been a great wife,” Suzi’s self-doubt surfaced.

Ruth’s wisdom cut through, “Nobody’s perfect. You weren’t perfect, but he loved you. And he certainly wasn’t a flawless husband.”

“He is a great husband.” Suzi clung to the present tense.

“But not perfect,” Ruth reminded her. “You’ve weathered storms before.”

Suzi’s heart chilled. She remembered the day Aiden flirted with a co-worker. She’d confronted him, but he denied any wrongdoing. Still, doubts lingered.

As Rio’s car disappeared from view, Suzi slipped into Aiden’s truck. Her phone rang—an unknown number. She answered hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Suzi? This is Lisa from Golden Fields Retirement Home. You left your card with one of our hospice patients, Mrs. Betty Robinson-Grey. The family is requesting your presence.”

“Ah, hello, Lisa. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As a certified end-of-life companion, Suzi had forged close bonds with families. When someone had less than six months to live, she guided them through preparations—wills, burials, and the emotional minefield of funeral homes. She became almost like family, rarely charging for her services on their loved ones’ final days.

Bethany ‘Betty’ Love was born in 1945 and had danced as a go-go dancer in the 1960s. Her life had been marked by loss and resilience. First, she married Stewart Saint in 1968, only to be widowed when he was killed in Vietnam. Left to raise their two children, Sally and Ben, Betty carried on. Then came Franklin Loudy, a war veteran, whom she married. Tragically, he died in a lead mine accident near Flint, Michigan, shortly after their son Luke’s birth. Betty’s journey continued when she met Ronald Robinson-Grey, an investment entrepreneur from New York. They married in 1984 and settled in Chicago, where Betty became a high school teacher. Later, she welcomed her fourth child, Robert Dean Robinson-Grey.

But Robert Dean’s story took a dark turn. Convicted in 2002 for the brutal murder of his father, three half-siblings, and two others on Christmas evening, he claimed he wanted his mother’s love all to himself. Betty had witnessed it all—the pain, the horror—never knowing if she might become his next victim.

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Despite the hardships she’d endured, Betty remained resilient. Teaching well into her 70s, she took a genuine interest in every student. Her signature phrase, “The answers are in the notes, people,” held deeper meaning. To her, it wasn’t just about academic subjects; it reflected her spiritual belief that the Bible contained solutions to life’s challenges.

Respectful and dignified, Betty addressed her students by their last names—Miss Williams, Mr. Childers. Even her grandchildren affectionately called her “Mrs. RG.” Suzi’s visits brought joy to Betty’s heart. Her family gathered around her during her final days on hospice, dementia and cancer having taken their toll. The family’s request for Suzi’s presence signaled that Betty’s time was drawing near.

As Suzi headed to the home, she tried to reach Phineas.

“Hey Suzi. What’s up?” Phineas answered.

“Did the perp give you any information?” Suzi asked, attempting to sound like she knew the lingo.

“’The perp?’” Phineas echoed. “Really? Isaacs hasn’t given us anything. George is in there now, sweating him. He claims he woke up in his car at the airport, not knowing how he got there or even what day it was. We haven’t charged him with anything yet, and I’m not sure we can. All we have is a video showing him driving a car around the same time your husband was taken. Unfortunately, the rest of the videos corrupted, so we can’t definitively prove Aiden was in that car.”

“Can you let me in to talk to him?” Suzi pressed.

“What!? HA! No. Absolutely not,” Phineas protested. “Convincing a patrol officer to waive a minor traffic ticket is one thing, but letting a civilian interrogate a person of interest involved in an active investigation that started with her? Completely out of the question.”

“I think I can get the truth out of him.”

“How would you do that?” Phineas asked.

“They’re called ‘boobs,’ Phin,” the Annie personality chimed in.

“Terror,” Suzi replied flatly.

Phineas remembered how terrifying Suzi had been in the parking garage the day before. Her blood-red eyes and otherworldly presence had unnerved him. He wasn’t sure if she truly possessed the abilities she claimed or if he believed in all this Angel and Demon nonsense. But one thing was certain: she could extract information from anyone.

He swallowed hard. “I think I have an idea.”

As Suzi drove to the home to see Mrs. RG in her final hours, Phineas explained his plan.

The home’s hallway stretched before Suzi, and she feared she might be too late—more family members than she remembered crowded the space. Suzi wove through the throng of tall, athletic men and women. Thankfully, Annie remained silent, her usual perverted comments mercifully absent. At last, Suzi reached Bethany’s bedside, where her sisters and their husbands stood.

“Hi, Suzi. Frank, meet Suzi. She’s the ‘Death Deala’ we met with,” said the oldest sister, Sarah.

Suzi shook Frank’s hand. “Death Doula is the proper term or End-of-Life Companion. Just call me Suzi, please.”

“I’m Frank. Sarah is my mom. Aunt Betty named me as the executor of her estate.”

Frank, a jovial man in his fifties with a thick black beard, could easily pass for a black Santa Claus if his beard were white.

“Ah, yes. She spoke of you often. Considered you more of a son than a nephew.”

“The doctors said she won’t wake up—it’s just a waiting game now.”

Suzi gazed at Betty lying in the bed. Even in repose, she appeared massively tall—easily over six feet before age and illness took its toll. Pictures around the room depicted her always wearing bright red lipstick. Suzi reached for Betty’s hand, cold and waxy. The time was close. She placed her other hand over Betty’s, closed her eyes, and whispered her name.

The room faded away, and Suzi stood in darkness with a young, healthy, tall black woman—the real Bethany Robinson-Grey.

“I know you, don’t I?” Bethany asked.

“Hi, Mrs. RG. Yes, we’ve talked about your life during my visits,” Suzi replied.

“Where are we? Am I dead? Are you an angel?”

Suzi smiled. “I’m not an angel, just unique. You’re not dead, but you’re dying.”

Betty whimpered, hands to her mouth.

“Don’t worry. Your family is here, and you’re at peace. It won’t hurt. You’re surrounded by people who love you.”

With tears, Betty held her hand to Suzi. “Thank you.”

Suzi reached out with her nonexistent hand to take Mrs. RG’s ethereal one when a blinding light filled the room. It surrounded Betty, lifting her until she hovered. Was this the angel of death?

From the light emerged a strong, muscular young man. His golden skin contrasted with pitch-black eyes and long, wavy hair—absolute blackness that reflected no light. Infinite wisdom filled his gaze, while his hair seemed woven from the fabric of space. Unlike most confident young men, he carried remorse and a kindness beyond human understanding.

“Not many can see me. Thank you for not calling me ‘Grim Reaper.’ My name is Azrael, and yes, I am the archangel of death.”

His voice resonated like a cathedral choir, its bass vibrating in Suzi’s heart. She stood, unsure what to say.

“It’s an honor to meet you, your highness,” she finally managed.

He smirked. “Azrael is fine. Your services make my job easier when they’re prepared. Thank you.”

“Holy fuck. Did an archangel just appreciate us?” Judith chimed in.

Azrael laughed—a sound like drums, unlike Kariel’s bell-like laughter.

“That I did, child. That I did.”

“Holy Fuck! He can hear us?” Judith exclaimed.

“Shut the fuck up!” James yelled.

“Watch your fucking mouths!” Suzanne added.

Suzi remained dumbfounded. If she had a mouth in this place, it would hang open, likely drooling as if in a trance.

“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Azrael commented. “See you around,” he said with a slight wave.

His casual tone struck Suzi as odd as it was unlike Kariel’s tight, official manner. She realized Azrael’s words felt almost like a threat and might keep her up at night—though, in the grand scheme of things, everyone would eventually die. Azrael had held this job since the very beginning of existence.

Azrael reabsorbed into his light, which darkened until it blended seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. Suzi stood alone in Mrs. RG’s vessel.

“Shall we bind a demon to this vessel?” Judas asked.

“No,” Suzi replied firmly. “Not this one. She’s been through enough and deserves peace.”