Pyriel, accompanied by three other dark shadows, lurked in a corner. Watching. She usually avoided the emergency room. People rushing about, patients crying out in agony, blood spillages, loved ones crying inconsolable and lots of death. It reminded her of a medieval battlefield and times she wished she could forget.
‘Incoming,’ someone shouted.
The doors flew open. A medic, red faced and breathing fast, burst in. Pyriel gasped. On top of the ambulance gurney lay a woman. Early thirties. She was groaning, her eyelids fluttering and the parts of her face that were not covered in blood appeared ashen. Her long, fiery copper hair, matted with dried blood, hung to either side of the gurney. Blood-soaked bandages clunk to her neck and Pyriel noticed that her chest was barely moving.
So, this is the new me. She thought. A jolt of anguish rushed through her. She’s not dying because of me, she told herself. Her death was preordained. If not her, it would be another.
Several practiced hands transferred the lifeless body onto the examination table. A doctor shone a penlight into the patients’ eyes, calling out to her.
‘Hello, I’m doctor Rhodes. We’re going to take good care of you?’ The doctor glanced up at the medic. ‘What happened?’
‘It was a shooting. North side. She wasn’t alone. A man is in the next ambo.’ The doctor nodded.
‘Thanks, we’ll take it from here.’
With spellbound fascination, Pyriel continued to watch as the hospital staff began their triage. Everybody was working in harmony. A symphony of pandemonium with an aura of precision she had not believed humans capable. Everybody buzzed about the body. Connecting wires. Applying various pads while others inserted needles, attached to transparent pipes, into arms and hands.
Knowing the ultimate outcome, Pyriel felt a shiver of guilt. There was nothing she could do.
She continued watching. Waiting for that tiny speck that would grow out of nothing into a Reaper. She knew Reapers to be neutral in their allegiance and to be the unofficial couriers for mortal souls. They were also the coroners for fallen angels or demons. It would deliver the woman’s soul to before the council for judgement. Leaving the body, an empty vessel, behind.
‘Pyriel, this will be your body,’ said Haniel factually. ‘In about three minutes complications will arise. The body will perish, releasing its human spirit. After the Reaper takes her soul, you will enter and merge into the body.’
The nurses continued cutting more of the patients’ bloodied clothes away. A police shield dropped to the floor.
‘What the hell’, Asmodeus shouted. ‘That’s a police officer. We hate cops. Seriously no way. I’d rather do forced labour in hell than take on a piggy meat suit.’
‘You will beg for forced labour by the time I’m through with you.’ Alastor’s icy voice rose sharply. ‘You WILL do as we command. You WILL continue the lives of these humans or I will personally show you the deepest, darkest crevices of Hell and what real evil lurks within them.’
‘We’re losing her,’ one of the doctors shouted. Alastor continued.
‘Should you fail to look after or do anything to compromise the integrity of your bodies, you will be sent back home where you will be charged with treason and most likely tortured till you beg to be executed.’ Frantic activity broke out as the condition of the policewoman deteriorated. Haniel continued. His voice cold and evil. ‘I suggest you two numbskulls take good care of your bodies. You will assimilate into their lives.’ He chuckled, sounding sinister and malevolent. ‘Who knows, you might even make some friends. Host some tea parties— because if you don’t— I will make heaven will feel like hell while hell will take on a whole new perspective of suffering for you two.’
Pyriel, mesmerised by the turmoil, listened to Alastor’s and Haniel’s ultimatums. Her imagination rampaged.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT WE ARE SAYING? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN?’ screamed Alastor. Pyriel’s shadow twitched at his sudden outburst.
‘Yes master’, came her and Asmodeus’s unified response in the form of some grunting noises after which Pyriel continued to watch in silence.
One of the machines began to emanate erratic, shrill high-pitched noises while a green monochrome screen showed erratic zig-zag patterns. Pyriel had heard nurses refer to it as a heart monitoring machine but was still unsure of what it did.
‘She’s going into arrest,’ shouted the Doctor. The nurse, who had inserted the needle, began chest compressions while another attached a set of pads to the woman’s chest.
‘Charge to one-eighty,’ the doctor bellowed.
‘Charging to one-eighty,’ repeated a female nurse calmly. She turned a large knob until the large, illuminated numbers on another machine read 1-8-0.
‘Clear!’ shouted the doctor. After ensuring everyone had stepped away from the table, the physician placed two paddles onto the pads.
Pyriel, not fully comprehending what was happening, shrieked as the body jolted violently upward. Its back arching. Having administered the counter-shock, everybody’s gaze, including Pyriel’s, transfixed on the monitoring screen. It displayed a single continuous line, accompanied by an ear-piercing, unbroken, shrill. From the adjacent room, Pyriel could hear similar noises of frantic activity and shouting.
‘Charge to two-hundred,’ the doctor ordered.
‘Charging to two-hundred,’ the nurse confirmed in an imperturbably tone as she turned the dial.
‘Clear!’ Came the command again. Standing back, everybody raised their arms as the body was again thrown about in involuntary spasm. Pyriel’s eyes remained fixed on the small display. The machine continued its ear-piercing, siren like noise. A nurse, standing close to the patients’ head, continued to squeeze an egg-shaped balloon attached to her throat. To Pyriel it seemed that the situation was deteriorating fast.
Even knowing it would happen, Pyriel gasped as a reaper appeared seeming out of nowhere. Its appearance a smoky, silhouette-like shape. It was wearing a dark, hooded cloak. And had no visible face. Only two amber, coal like glowing dots, stared back at her from the black void. With a slick jerk the reaper flung open its cloak. It shot forward, fully engulfing the soul before twisting into a funnel and shooting up and away.
‘Get in there!’ Growled Haniel. He urged Pyriel forward. Reluctantly she crept toward her new vessel. Pausing she glanced hesitantly back at the others. What happened? she wondered. This was not the way our night was supposed to end.
‘MOVE!’ Shouted Haniel again.
Pyriel looked around one last time. Wishing for a better view to remember the world by before merging into the empty vessel. The doctor shocked the body again. Standing back, he watched the screen with an intense stare. With a capitulating frown he returned the paddles to the nurse. He turned, casting his attention to a large wall clock.
‘Time of death—,’ he paused as a single beep emanated from the machine. The screen displayed a single heartbeat. Then several more. Erratic at first, until a regular rhythm set in. Frowns turned to smiles as the medical staff cheered with delight.
‘Let’s get her upstairs to the operating room. We need to fix her up for good,’ the doctor shouted. He started to push the gurney toward the lift.
***
With Pyriel successfully dispatched, Asmodeus, Haniel and Alastor undulated to the adjacent room.
Didn’t we just leave this lot? Asmodeus wondered. This room also resembled a war zone. Empty syringes and bloodied patches littered the floor while a group of doctors and nurses were frantically working on a man’s body. What the hell is he doing? Asmodeus stared in astonishment. A doctor sat perched on top of the gurney. Straddling a male patient, while performing chest compressions. It’s not even my body yet and already I feel violated. Get that buffoon off me. Asmodeus though with disgust.
‘One, two, three, four.’ Huffing with each count, the doctor grimaced with determination. His arms locked, using his upper body to add additional pressure, the doctor continued the chest compressions while his hair and glasses bounced rhythmically.
Another reaper appeared next to the body. Wondering if he would meet the man again in hell, Asmodeus watched the man’s soul rise out of the body. With clinical precision, the reaper wrapped itself around the spirit and shot up and away.
‘Get Ready!’ Commanded Alastor. ‘GO, NOW!’
With the same enthusiasm as a condemned climbing the gallows stairs, Asmodeus floated toward the empty vessel. ‘MOVE IT!’ He heard Alastor scream before merging into the body. The doctor, who was still perched on top of the body looked hopeful and surprised as the long, flat piercing sound of the heart monitoring machine fell silent. A single, high-pitched beep lifted everybody’s eyebrows. Then a pause that seemed to last forever. Another beep followed by several more erratic ones. A regular heartbeat set in.
‘Damn, that was close.’ The doctor huffed while keeping a keen eye on the display. ‘Let’s get him upstairs to join his partner.’ The nurses nodded and began to wheel the trolley, with the doctor remaining firmly perched on the patient’s chest, toward the lift.
‘Good luck and good riddance.’ Smirked Haniel to an icy accompaniment of laughter from Alastor.