Time passed but John could not measure it. He lapsed between moments of sanity, counting seconds and minutes with his breaths, and moments of crazed terror or rage, shouting into the darkness, shaking his fist at fate and God and Death. And the darkness did not diminish; Death did not come back, not for what felt like bloody years. Fuck, it pissed him off and wore him down. If only he could Blink his way out of this one, but it wasn't possible, not if he couldn't even see his own hands. And the worst?
The wall opposite to him played a scene, again and again and again. It was torture: the soldier and the police, the nasty old woman and then the car speeding away with the little brown-haired girl. He always found himself looking at the car and the girl. At first he screamed to try to stop her, he banged his fists and even took a running jump into the wall, but it wouldn't stop. It just played, looped, and played again.
Sleep eluded him. Fuck, if only he could close his eyes to this dark hole of nothing and escape into dreams, maybe sanity would return. If only he could hear Mam's voice, touch Charlie's hands...or know they were okay. Death's words rang in his head like bells, and he heard Death's hissing whisper from somewhere behind him over and over, a haunting.
'Tigeerrr...' Goose bumps spread over his arms and a numb terror sank deeper into his bones--wait, no. He had no bones here, but it sure as fuck felt like the horror sank into his bones. What was Death doing to his little sister? John bit at his thumbnail and spat bits of it out somewhere in the murk.
At last the scenes stopped playing and darkness smothered him again, but maybe it was better this way, better not seeing the girl, the crazy old lady, and that car speeding into the horizon. Sweat trickled down his back and his shirt stuck to it. The cups of his eyeballs ached, as if the darkness pushed against them.
#
Was that grey blooming on the wall? He touched the wall beside him gingerly with the tips of his fingers, but he could still see nothing. Must have been his imagination again. Nausea and fear roiled in his stomach, and even though he'd seen the dark room before Death had left, his mind conjured images of twisted faces, demons and devils, snakes and fanged creatures. Trembles shook his arms and shoulders.
'No, it's not real,' he whispered and clutched his head with both hands, tucking his chin to his chest and rocking back and forth. Just in his head, that was all. Just in his head. John rocked on his heels, his knees covering his ears. Soon the darkness would go away. He bit his lip, rocking, rocking. Soon he would see his family again. Things were going to be okay. Things were going to be fine...
#
Nothingness had saturated John. Thinking of nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing. In fact, he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers, and when he swung his arms...Did he even have arms anymore? A curious thing happened next; something not black appeared right next to John. Suddenly he felt breath rushing faster and faster in and out of his nose, and his heart thumped louder. Death? Was Death coming back? Holy shit, he'd never in his life thought seeing Death could make him this happy.
With all the willpower he could muster, he pushed up against the wall as if he could feel his body. As if he could see his body, or where the hell he was. Yes, it was light, grey light grey from a spot just beyond his fingertips--and he could bloody see his fingertips. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he held his hand before his face with a huge smile and kissed each finger, tasting salty tears.
'God, thank you,' he muttered between joyous sobs. A hooded man dropped from the wall, plopped on the floor on his ass, got up, and dusted himself down.
'Death?'
'No, son,' the man said--it was an older man, 'cause his voice warbled like Dad's voice always had. 'I am Michael.'
Michael. Was he supposed to know this guy? And more important, was this guy a guy or some other immortal being like Death? John wiped his hand over his face to dry the remnant of his tears and snot.
'Are...are you like Death?' Michael turned and swept his hood back. Instead of the face of an old grey-bearded man which John had expected, the man had smooth, youthful features, a strong cut jaw, and eyes the colour of honey.
They stood looking at each other for a time, John looked him up and down. Michael stood looking down at the floor. His hands, which were clasped together before him, put John in mind of religious folk, priests and nuns and such. His curious robes fluttered in the non-existent wind, but his hair stayed in place.
'Are you in my mind,' John said, 'Or are you real?'
Michael looked up and smiled. 'Do you know John, I have been watching you for a long time now.' His smile grew wider and John scowled. 'And that is the most lucid thing you have said for quite a while.'
John snorted. 'Look if you are here to f...' for some reason John couldn't follow through with the curse. 'Look Michael, if you are here to mess with me, you can take a walk back through that wall and never come back.'
Michael seemed to glide to John's side. 'John, it has taken me a long time to get here. I know it has been hard on you, but the gift you have is worth the sacrifices I have made.'
John looked him up and down again. 'Look man, I haven't a clue who you are. I don't know what the hell this place is. I don't know why I'm here. I'm just a kid.'
Michael smiled and John's heart skipped a beat. A calmness wrapped around him, warm like summer and peaceful like an afternoon nap, but claustrophobic like Aunt Gerty's too tight hugs. Michael's honey eyes bore in on him with unnatural focus.
'You need some rest, John Finnie,' he said smiling a smile that was too big and too perfect. 'But trust me, you are more than just a kid.' Michael glided closer and placed his hand on the boy's head. 'Sleep now retribution, we will talk again soon.' He pushed John back and John floated onto a bed.
Michael greyed out and faded into nothing, and John closed his eyes for the first time in what seemed like months, years even. With his last waking thought, he wondered how Michael had got the bed into the black room but he decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered more than the saturating peace filling his limbs.
#
When John awoke Michael knelt at his bedside, his eyes closed, his lips moving fast with quiet, urgent whispers. 'Ah, John you awaken.' His eyes were still closed as he spoke. 'Do you not feel refreshed?'
John stretched out and yawned, enjoying the satisfying pull that awoke his muscles as he stretched. 'Yeah man, I feel tip top.'
Michael smiled again and nodded. 'I'm genuinely happy.'
John stood up, curious about the figure in front of him. 'What sacrifices?'
Michael opened his eyes and dusted his robe. Standing, he pointed to a wooden stool which appeared next to the boy. 'Sit and we will converse.'
John sat down and a similar stool appeared for his strange guest. Man, was he crazy or what? This stuff was starting to seem normal, shit appearing out of thin air.
'I have made many sacrifices for you, John Finnie. I have pledged help to those who seek to destroy, made deals with unworthy foes, and dealt in secrets that could have me removed from my home.' A sneaky expression flickered across his face, gone almost the instant John saw it and replaced by a warm smile. 'You are what I think you are John Finnie, and I would gladly give my life to protect you.'
John sat back, stunned. Michael kept his silence, his hands clasped together and resting on his thighs. A deep and terrible fear trickled down his spine and spread numbness through him. He really didn't want to ask the question, so he cupped his hands together, sat forward, put his elbows on his thighs, and pushed the first knuckles of his thumbs into his eyes. Fuck, who was he fooling? Might as well get it over with. He took a deep breath and asked the question.
'What do you think I am?' Michael didn't answer, and John wondered for a second if Michael breathed, 'cause his chest wasn't moving at all. 'What do you think I am?' he asked again. He lifted his gaze from the black floor to Michael's face, and his eyes widened. Michael was beautiful, glowing with a strange white light which seemed to come from inside his skin.
'I thought you would never ask,' he said. 'Look around you, you clever, clever boy. Do you know what this is?'
John shook his head. 'This hasn't been seen for over two thousand years, and it has everyone and everything talking. Right now, outside, there is a war raging, and do you know what they are fighting for?'
John shook his head, tighter this time as if that numb fear made his neck stiff with terror.
Michael stood up and pointed. 'You John, they are fighting for you. Anubis told you that you are the tipping point, the quirk, the anomaly.'
John nodded. 'Yeah, but...' Wait, who was Anubis? Death?
'But nothing. You are worth fighting for, and we will defend you.'
'The world is fighting over me? That's just crazy!' John swept a hand through his hair, and was surprised it didn't feel even a bit dirty.
Michael cocked his head to one side. 'Has Anubis not enlightened you? Has he not told you where you are?'
John shook his head again, frightened and confused at what the hell was happening. Something tickled the back of his mind. 'He said something about the shadows...'
Michael sat down again. 'Not the world. Do you know about heaven and hell?'
John nodded. 'Sure, 'course I do.'
Michael half smiled and continued. 'Good, that will make this so much easier. Good and evil have fought over the souls of every living thing in this universe since the beginning of time.' He lifted his palm up. 'Sometimes good wins.' He flicked his palm downward. 'Sometimes evil comes out victor.' He placed his hands on his lap once more. 'The battle is within every one of your human souls. Good whispers, and bad does too.'
All of that didn't surprise John all that much. Everyone knew about heaven and hell and all that stuff, but it was nice to know the truth, to be sure that this stuff was real and not just some crazy priest's imaginary world.
'Who you listen to is your choice,' Michael said. 'Free will some call it. It has been that way forever, until you changed it John.'
Michael looked straight into John's eyes, but John shook his head and grabbed it in his hands. 'I just wanted my Dad back. I didn't mean to change stuff. Did I--' He was going to say 'fuck' but his lips just wouldn't go there. 'Did I mess things up?'
Michael rose up from his seat and John looked up at him. He looked ethereal, like a spirit from another place, a ghost or some higher being from the future. 'Maybe not John, maybe not. Fact is, you have changed things; my people said it would be better to kill you. We voted on it, and out of all four of us, I was the only one to vote to keep you alive. You may be glad to know Anubis was also against this course of action. He would, however, not cast a vote of course.'
Michael walked around the boy, his hands clasped behind his back. The robes he wore fluttered slowly as he walked, and now even his hair was sparkling. In spite of Michael's beauty, the dread in John's bones intensified, the numbness burning like fire, his heart thumping like an ambulance's siren against his ribcage. Hadn't he just said everyone voted to have him die? Had Michael been sent to kill him? No, it didn't make sense. Why would he let him sleep on that amazing bed and sacrifice so much for him only to kill him? John swallowed some of the fear.
'Oh how I smiled when you got away! How did you know to do that, by the way?'
John shrugged, unable to explain what he did.
Michael waved it off. 'Never mind, it will all come out in due course. You should know that both good and evil have found you now, and they will plot, scheme, and cajole you into siding with them. No more whispers in dreams for you, John. Oh no. They want you to be on their side; you can change free will. You can keep going back until things change. You have tilted the balance, and we have no idea in which direction.'
Was that fear he heard in Michael's voice? Uncertainty? Suddenly John's own fear faded and he took a deep breath and sighed. Things still made no sense. Where was he? What was this bloody shadows place?
'So what the hell is this place? And what am I?' he said, opening his hands and looking from one to the other.
With a sweep of his arm, Michael started again. 'This place is you John, it's your mind. Well, to be precise it is your soul. You have somehow created a place in your soul to which you can retreat.'
But Death had called it the shadows. Had he been messing with him? John clenched one fist. Of course he had, the fucker.
'Your body is laid on the bed in your house with various machines, tubes, and medicines keeping it alive. For all intents and purposes, you John Finnie, are dead.'
What? Tears burned in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. 'I can't be dead, I'm here. Death told me I wasn't dead, he told me!' John stood, both fists now clenched. 'I want to see my family again. I don't belong here.' His head sunk to his chest and he watched the black floor. Sobs shook his shoulders and he flopped back onto the stool, holding his face with one hand as if it could stop the tears.
The tears dried up eventually, and John touched the skin behind the corners of his eyes--puffy. God, he was sticky all over too from crying. Bloody horrid.
'If you are quite finished feeling sorry for yourself, I will continue.' Michael scowled at John.
John looked up and nodded. Suck it in gay boy.
'You are dead on that bed because your soul is not in its body, John. This' --He waved his hands around the room-- 'Is your soul, and I have never encountered one like it. It has taken me sixteen of your years to get inside, and only then because I made an unbreakable promise to one who should not take sides.'
John looked up, betrayed. 'Death told you how to get in?' He jumped up quickly, his eyes darting this way and that. 'If he told you, who else has he spilled his mouth out to? The rotten bastard.'
Michael's face looked bemused. 'I have never had a human swear in my presence before.' The strange man chuckled. 'You see John, you are one of a kind.'
John snorted. 'Yeah? Well Fu--'
The man in front of him grew, or did John shrink? The only thing John knew was that the booming voice pained his ears. 'Do not speak that vile word!'
John curled back, covering his face and hoping Michael could not squash him like a bug under his sandal. Wind knocked John from the stool onto his knees and he cowered low on the floor. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. When John braved a look up, Michael was back to his normal size but he had a knife in his hands. A big one gleaming with light that came from his face.
'To return will take an act of faith.' With that Michel drove the knife into the floor of John's soul.
John jerked violently and his limbs flailed and spasmed without his control. With his head tilted to the side, he could see his own fingers pulled taut and clawing the air, but he could not stop it. Suddenly nothing mattered more to him that moving his fingers and he focused on them with everything he had until he could relax his hand, then his arm, then both arms, and finally his entire body.
'Pain! I felt pain. Why?' John looked Michael in the eye. 'And what are you?' He picked himself up from the floor.
Michael smiled once more and bowed deep. 'You felt pain because you are ready to go back. I am Michael. I am your guardian angel. Well, technically I took the job up when your original one was no longer fit for the task.' He tutted. 'Poor Aspilon. Anyway' --he waved a hand in the air-- 'I digress. This dagger on the floor can return you John, but you have to drive it into your heart. The pain will be almost unbearable, I cannot lie to you. But you will get back home.'
John regained some composure, pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. 'You're joking, right?'
The angel shook his head. 'John, sometimes we need to take a leap of faith. In your short history, mankind has made many. It's time to take your position on that podium and believe in the unbelievable. You will never again walk on beaten paths John, from now on you and you alone will call the shots.' Michael looked down to the dagger as John picked it up.
John examined the knife; its black blade seemed to shine, and it looked wicked sharp. The hilt was made from wood with carvings so intricate John wondered how it could withstand his grip. He looked at the angel. 'Will it really hurt?'
Michael nodded, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 'A pain like no other.'
John brought his other hand up onto the hilt and pulled the blade towards his chest. Michael nodded and pointed to the left hand side of his chest. 'The heart is here John, not in the centre.' John laughed and moved the knife to the right position. Michael smiled, a twinkle of something in his eye. Was it joy or mischief? John nodded and hoped it was joy; Michael nodded back, his smile stretching with his eager eyes.
Death landed heavily on the floor in front of him, just as a woman leaped over him, knocking the knife from John's hands.
Michael strode forward, enraged. 'Be gone foul one!' The mysterious woman looked in Michael's direction. 'Shut the fuck up, dick head.'
She turned to John. 'And what the fuck do you think you are doing?'
John stood between the three people in the room more confused than ever.
© Steve Ford & Joy Cronjé 2018