Don't Fear The Reaper (13 page)

The Reaper nodded once in both acknowledgement and approval for the
bloody massacre on the glossy linoleum, illuminated like an ice rink. Vince
couldn’t help but smile meekly, still afraid but relieved that he’d satisfied
the Reaper.  Then Death raised its right arm and pointed with an impossibly
long skeletal finger, shrouded by the long robe back towards the entrance.
Vince wasn’t quite certain his translation was accurate, yet he interpreted
this gesticulation as the Reaper either telling him to go outside or was
indicating that the woman had escaped.

Vince didn’t need proof to prove his suspicions – he unequivocally knew
that the Reaper knew everything that had transpired here. If the Reaper
disapproved of his inability to capture and assassinate the ageing woman then
any attempt of lying would be futile.

The Reaper turned its back on Vince and faced the entrance fifty yards
away. As big and as powerful as he was his mortal strength had no bearing on
Death. Size and muscularity weren’t of any importance. It’d backhand Vince and
have the same effect if it did the same to an old, frail lady aided by a
walking apparatus.

As though the Grim Reaper read Vince’s straying thoughts, its hooded head
rotated on its unseen neck and made an audible,
click, click, click
.
Vince clapped his hands over his ears, contorting his face at the strident
sound. All the bones and tendons complained from the unnatural manoeuvre. If he
hadn’t seen with his naked eyes he might have believed it was the top of a
medicine bottle being screwed on.

When the manoeuvre was complete the Reaper’s visage glowed from somewhere
within the chasm beneath the hood momentarily.

Vince screamed and recoiled, tripping over his own feet. He landed
awkwardly on his hip, but right then that was secondary. When he got to his
feet and chanced a glance Vince frowned, perplexed. The Grim Reaper was facing
him and its features were concealed in the shadows of its hood. It pointed
again to the entrance and Vince moved as far to the right of the aisle, his
back to the shelves, eyes bulging, breath escaping him sounding like a kettle
boiling and hurried out of its impossibly long reach and darted towards the way
out.

He didn’t even see the carcass he tripped over and managed to get his
hands up before the ground rushed at him. An audible slap as deafening as the
clicking of the bones and tendons of a neck on the verge of snapping ringed out
in the superstore. Vince’s head shot up from the tangled carcasses staring
wide-eyed at where the Reaper had been and relaxed when he saw the towering
figure had moved on.

Wincing, Vince got to his feet for the second time in rapid succession
and this time focused on making his way out of the superstore.

Outside the pale white stallion regarded him with dilated pupils,
reflecting his haggard, sweaty unrecognisable face. The horse and black
carriage with dark velvet drapes and opaque windows blocked his exit. He was
about to sidle past it out of the glass-enclosed portico when the carriage door
creaked open.

Comprehension of what the Reaper meant almost bowled him over in an
instant. This was what the Reaper had been pointing at. The Reaper now demanded
he ride the carriage in its company.

Vince’s heart solidified at the thought. Yet the fear of repudiating it was
unthinkable.

Feeling and sincerely believing that he was going to die of a coronary
thrombosis, Vince observed himself taking two shaky steps towards the carriage,
reach out and heave himself up inside the Stygian interior.

The door slammed shut… and Vince had a feeling that if he did somehow
pluck up the fortitude to change his mind and make for the carriage door he’d
find the door locked and immovable.

In fact he was so sure of it so he didn’t even bother to try…    

REVEREND
ANTHONY PERKINS
didn’t know what he found most harrowing: the fact that
Bishop John Hayes’ premonition had been accurate or the fact that his newly
born nephew had been born into the world as an orphan.

He stood in the hospital, nothing more than a husk of a man. The body that
belonged to him felt foreign. It was as if he floated above the familiar figure
like a dutiful guardian sent in this time of tremendous suffering and
soul-destroying hurt.

The maternity ward reeked of disinfectant. The walls appeared to
fluctuate and float, drawing closer, suffocating him. But that wasn’t true. He
never suffered with any form of claustrophobia in his life. This was something
induced by a higher echelon of pain altogether. The reverend who lost his faith
in God half-fell, half-sat in the nearest chair propped against the wall.

This is worse than dying
, he thought.

He’d gone out that afternoon and attained boys’ baby clothes and nappies
and baby food, preparing to return in haste with his sister and nephew, only to
have his whole world shatter. In a haze of shock, Anthony had made it past the
reception area to the third floor. He awaited the return of his sister when the
nurse informed him that there had been some complications and would escort him
to a seating area outside the operating theatre.

The nurse reiterated that she didn’t know what had happened when he kept
asking her in the lift, although the heavy silence between them said what
neither of them could. Something awful had transpired.

The nurse with short hair tied back in a bun made sure he took a seat and
went to find the gynaecologist to tell him he’d arrived. No longer than five
minutes passed when a weary, middle-aged man emerged into the corridor. His
tunic was undone and Anthony immediately caught sight of the droplets of blood
he’d missed when washing on his cheeks.

‘What’s happened?’ Anthony snapped, bolting to his feet, standing
nose-to-nose.

The doctor although red-faced gently took Anthony by the arms and walked
forward a few paces forcing him back into a chair and sat next to him, never
once taking his chestnut-brown eyes off him.

‘I know it’s bad,’ Anthony blurted out. ‘I just wanna know how bad…’

The doctor nodded. He cleared his throat, turning away and preparing
himself for giving the news he was about to offload onto the young man. ‘Your
wife…’

‘My sister,’ Anthony corrected.

‘I apologise,’ the doctor said, rolling his eyes at his error. ‘The thing
is tomorrow or the next day is what they’re all calling Doomsday. We’re
understaffed, and I don’t just mean by a little. That’s to be expected in a
hospital. You won’t believe how easy it is to pick up an infection or a virus.
Our sick record is probably worse than our patients, except the elderly ones.’

Anthony glowered at him, not appreciating his nervous rambling.

The doctor’s shoulders slumped, realising that he’d been stalling. ‘Your
sister… died.’

In Anthony’s perception his words, particularly the last word got sucked
down the empty corridor. Yet he heard the word that every relative of a patient
dreads to hear or even consider. The word that signifies the end for the one
they loved dearly. It was this sudden realisation that struck Anthony Perkins
with the same force as that of a monstrous tidal wave. He was even too stunned
to cry. That would come later in bucketfuls.

‘I’m really sorry,’ the doctor said, still holding Anthony’s arms. ‘You
have to know how so sorry I am, and the few nurses who despite their own
mortality chose to stay behind. We did everything we could with the limited
staff, but…’ His voice trailed off.

Anthony shook his head slowly, both in disdain and confusion. ‘My sister
lost her life ’cause there was a limited amount of staff?’ The question didn’t
seem to be directed at the doctor or anyone.

Dr Jennings was hoping he wouldn’t have to explain the cause of death,
although if this had happened under normal circumstances then that would be the
correct and lawful procedure to follow. ‘Not exactly,’ he said, ‘although that
was a contributing factor. Had we more staff that would’ve meant more hands and
assistance. No, your sister died of what we call “obstetrical haemorrhage”.
It’s a medical term; mumbo jumbo in the outside world.’ Jennings gritted his
teeth at his asinine attempt of a little joke. ‘Anyway, what it basically means
is or refers to is heavy bleeding during pregnancy or the pueriperium, or in
this case, during labour.’

Anthony lowered his head between his legs. ‘How does that happen?’

Jennings made a face, wishing Anthony hadn’t asked that question. ‘Well,
basically bleeding may be vaginal and external, or less commonly but more
perilous, internal, into the abdominal cavity. Typically bleeding is related to
the pregnancy itself, but some forms of bleeding are caused by other mishaps,
such as pregnant women involved in automobile collisions and so forth.’

Anthony raised his head in haste and immediately started to topple
backwards. Jennings grabbed him and restrained gravity’s pull.

‘Nadine was careful,’ Anthony said, slowly sliding down the slippery path
into denial to relieve the burden of agony soon to follow. ‘She’d just done
some light exercises as her doctor told her, ate well; reported anything
unfamiliar or unusual. She never even fell, never mind wind up involved in a
crash of any kind. I don’t get this at all.’

‘No, no,’ Jennings said, quick to cut the line to that train of thought.
‘I was just giving you an example of how some women can lose their babies or
have complications during pregnancy or labour.’ He removed his tunic and
slackened the collar of his shirt. ‘Your sister…’

‘Nadine,’ Anthony said. ‘Don’t talk as if she was just another nameless
patient that you operated on. She had a name, an identity. She had a
personality and a soul. Say her name. Nadine… Nadine… Nadine.’

Flustering, Jennings nodded. ‘Okay, okay. Nadine.
Nadine
.’ He
enunciated her name and remembered the frightened woman whom he assured would
be fine. It was as if she’d known that something unspeakable was about to
befall her. He brought to mind her beautiful face, even with her long mane of
hair soaked and tousled, plastered to her brow. ‘Nadine b…’  Jennings stopped.
He raised his eyes to Anthony and said in a voice full of sincere emotion and
melancholy, ‘Are you sure you want to know the rest? Isn’t what I’ve already
said enough?’

Shaking his head twice, Anthony said, ‘Everything!’

Jennings gulped. This was the worst part of the job by far. It was also
something that no amount of education and experience could prepare you for.
‘Nadine passed away – I prefer that phrase – because she bled copiously during
labour from placenta previa and placenta abruption.’

Anthony exhaled deeply. ‘Did she die in pain? And be honest.’

Jennings let go of his grasp on the young man. He hesitated, not wanting
to answer that question. Nadine’s brother seemed to not want to be spared the pain,
but rather he wanted to know every intricate detail, as if the pain wasn’t
enough. Jennings’ only brief knowledge of this type of human behaviour was when
a relative or loved one felt guilty and wanted to be punished. He rested his
hand on Anthony’s arms. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘DID SHE DIE IN PAIN OR NOT?’

Jennings almost jumped out of his skin. He uttered an expletive as he
recoiled and very nearly toppled out of his chair. ‘Ask any woman if giving
birth is painful,’ he said. ‘The amount of blood lost caused her to panic.
However, amazingly she still managed to push her baby out of her womb, out of
her vagina and into the world. She didn’t live long enough to hear the first
cries of her baby boy. She did however ask me to go into her clothes and give
you a letter she wrote for you. She said it would explain “what was going to
happen” and what she asked and expected of you.’

Anthony did a double-take.

Jennings nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said as if to confirm his incredulous notion.
‘I don’t believe in God n’ all that, but there are times in life when a woman
who isn’t merely frightened of going into labour or the end of the world, but
frightened of something else altogether. Something far worse. Whatever the case,
she knew. Like she had a direct message from God or whoever, and that’s how she
knew what her fate was.

‘If I die tomorrow or somehow find myself still alive after the meteor
shower that’s gonna rain down on us like hellfire and brimstone, I will always
hear the lamentations of Nadine Moretz echoing in the channel of my ears.’

The young reverend couldn’t decide what was worse, the death of his
sister or the fact she’d foreseen it?

‘Did she say anything else to you?’

Jennings nodded. ‘She said “It’s coming. It’s coming”. At the time I
assumed she was talking about her baby, as we could see the top of his head at
that time. But she must’ve meant
something
else.’

‘
Something
else? Are you sure she didn’t mean “someone” else?’

Jennings shook his head, adamant.

‘What makes you so sure, huh?’ Anthony was beginning to lose his temper
with the doctor, and he didn’t want to lash out on someone who was not only
innocent but also magnanimous to have even tried to help Nadine when others had
abandoned the patients and made a run for it.

‘The last thing she said to me is even more frightening than Armageddon.’

Anthony gripped the doctor’s arms in a vice-like hold. ‘What did she say?
What were my sister’s last words, damn you!?’

‘She said, “You can be a king or a street sweeper, but eventually
everybody will dance with the Grim Reaper”.’

*

Anthony’s
head was buzzing with a tornado of thoughts and images. His head felt light and
dizzy. His stomach grumbled in protest of not being fed for hours. There didn’t
seem to be any air in the ward. Jennings told him to go wait outside, and he’d
done as the doctor suggested. Now he stood in the foyer welcoming the cool
draught of the A/C. A white hot rage that he knew even in his current
disorientated condition unhealthy consumed other emotions.

His legs barely carried him to the vacant chair. He exhaled as if he’d
walked several miles all on a hill. Sitting facing the entrance seeing the
dwindling daylight ebb away was both relaxing and a perfect setting for the
condition of his soul. Anything that had once been good in him was dying,
rotting away.

He wondered what he’d done to anger God. He loathed the fact that Bishop
John Hayes had seen this and passed on the information beforehand. Yet what he
loathed more than anything else was how he’d been unprepared for these turn of
events. After all, he himself had had two premonitions. They obviously weren’t
dreams as everything seen in them (whether they were from the prophet in the
Vatican, Bishop John Hayes or his own dreams) was now unfolding in all its
unprecedented form.

Most of all what caused him to wheeze instead of breathe and accelerate
his heart was Nadine’s dying words.

You can be a king or a street sweeper, but eventually everybody will
dance with the Grim Reaper
.  

For a short while Anthony couldn’t fathom what that meant. Yet, sitting
here on his lonesome, doing his best to come to terms with the devastating loss
of his sister, he thought he’d sussed it out. The comment Nadine meant was no
matter who you are in this world everyone will die and face Death.

But what was so significant ‘with the Grim Reaper’?

He vaguely recalled his vision of the Reaper flowing across the land and
the antichrist following obediently. That had been more than a premonition. His
feet had been muddy and had blades of grass jutting from the gaps between his
toes.

Also, there was the distinct dense fog and a luminous spreading and
shrouding of the terrain they’d travelled in their wake.

Larry had died in that sinister fog. That had been as real as anything.
Therefore there couldn’t be any argument that the Reaper was real and so was
the dark man.

Anthony shook his head forcefully; agitated by the cycle of notions
drilling holes in his brain where he couldn’t stop contemplating everything
that had transpired ever since his visions of the end of the world.

He fished out some loose change and crossed to the far wall to the
vending machine and purchased a can of Tango and a Snickers bar.

As he was finishing his small snack Jennings appeared from the top of the
corridor approximately forty yards away and headed towards him carrying an
envelope. Anthony reminded himself to not take his temper out on the doctor; it
wasn’t his fault. Not at all. He chastised himself for snapping at Jennings who was clearly a man of benevolence. He raised his hand hoping to make Jennings feel at ease.

‘I got the letter,’ Jennings said, lifting his hand with the envelope in
it.

‘Thanks.’

Jennings sat down and noticed the Snickers wrapper and the can of Tango
by his feet. ‘Oh good, you had something to eat and drink. I was getting
anxious about you starving yourself. I know the last thing you want to do right
now is to be eating or drinking, but there’s no use depriving your body of
essentials.’

Anthony admitted he did feel a little better.

Jennings proffered the envelope. ‘I haven’t opened it. It’s got nothing
to do with me. I didn’t even know it existed until Nadine made a point of it.
It must be important for her to remember during labour though.’

Taking the envelope out of his hands, Anthony agreed. Then he tore it
open and unfolded the sheet of paper and read his sister’s neat, slanted
handwriting.

To
Anthony
,

If you are reading this letter alone, then I have met with the Grim
Reaper and am screaming somewhere in a dark place far, far away from the world
where we knew each other. You may still consider yourself an orphan, but know
you are my brother and the uncle of my child (if he survives).