Death's Captive: Will she escape eternal confinement?

CHAPTER 2

An elderly man lies in front of me. He is alone; a withered husk of the man he once was. I always feel sad when I see what the ravages of time do the human body, it doesn't seem fair. I walk to the side of his bed and sit. His breathing is laboured and his eyes are a milky haze. It's funny how it's only on the brink of death that people can see me. He seems to sense my presence first, and then turns towards me as I sit on the edge of his bed. His voice is a rasping crackle, "I'm not ready".

"I know." It's all I can think to say. I can feel his body is tired, but his soul is clinging on.

"Then why?" he asks.

"Because it's time to let go".

This fragile man is so dehydrated he can hardly muster a single tear. I look to the bedside table and see an old picture of a couple on their wedding day. It's hard to believe the groom is the shrivelled man who is before me.

"Where is your wife?" I ask.

"Gone." He replies.

"I'm sorry."

"Our daughter will bring her back in the morning to see me."

"Oh," is all I can muster in reply. I am caught for a moment, embarrassed. Usually in these situations 'gone' means dead.

The man continues, "Please, let me say goodbye to them." He reaches out to touch me. I stand, avoiding his touch, and say: "I can't, it doesn't work like that."

The man doesn't argue; he seems oddly accepting of his fate.

"What's on the other side?" he asks.

"I don't know; I've never been. I'm just here to help you get there."

I sit back on the edge of the bed and place my hand over his, temporarily pushing through the veil that separates our worlds to feel the paper thin texture of his skin. I've always hated this part. It doesn't feel right. I think about what the person is leaving behind; whether their life mattered. What they would have done differently. I listen as the man draws his final crackling breath. The machine monitoring his vital signs begins to bleep and whine. I pull the old man out of his body and clutch him to my side as a plump middle-aged nurse enters the room, followed by a bleary-eyed young doctor.

"Am I really dead?" The man looks down at his old frail body as the doctor and nurse swarm over his lifeless form.

"Yes." I reply. "Do you want to see this?" I gesture towards the medical staff trying to resuscitate the elderly man.

"Why would I want to see this?" the man gapes.

"I don't know. I guess it gives some people closure."

I begin to walk out of the room and into the corridor, and gesture towards the man to follow me, except he's not old anymore; he looks barely seventeen.

An orderly pushing an empty wheelchair walks straight through us, shocking the newly-dead man. He pats his hands over his body to ensure he is intact.

"What now?" he asks.

"I don't know," I reply in earnest. "Every death is different."

"Michael?" We turn towards the voice and there stands a barefoot girl with blonde hair, wearing a cream dress.

The girl sees the man's young face and smiles at him. "Michael, let's go," she blushes and looks at the floor.

"Mary?" the man says, "Where are we going?"

"Down to the river at the back of my house, silly. We always go there after class. Remember?" The girl's spirit looks almost confused.

The man brushes back his short blonde hair and walks over to the barefoot girl. I notice he is also barefoot, wearing faded blue shorts and a white shirt. He doesn't look back at me, only forward as he grabs Mary's hand and they walk into a bright warm light through which they can see beyond, but I cannot.