Harbinger - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Going from one passing to another is relatively instantaneous. As soon as the soul leaves the body we’re kicked out and shift into the next one. For his training, Austin and I took turns being the watcher and the individual moving on. As I mentioned before, we perform both functions simultaneously, but a trainee needs time to acclimate.

Most deaths aren’t as bad as you might think. We only share those last few minutes of life before the soul is guided away by a reaper. For the sick it is often more of a release from suffering. Dying is the easy part. On some occasions however those endless moments before moving on, can seem an eternity. Sometimes the death is horrific. Austin had one such experience today.

We shifted into a cramped apartment. It was late afternoon, and the sun painted the drawn blinds on her front windows a slanted orange hue. Our work day was nearly finished. The air reeked of cigarette smoke and beer, and a hint of vanilla. I suspect it would have been more pleasant if he weren’t there pressing her to the floor.

Her furniture was worn and dated. A sofa and chair with matching hideous swirling brown flower designs crowded the small living space. They were from a local thrift store and served their purpose. She was going to miss her shift tonight at the gas station and Pamela would bitch up a storm.

She was a good housekeeper. The marbled and faded beryl kitchen counter-tops were freshly wiped while dishes stood in a strainer waiting to dry. A child’s toys were scattered across the floor and down the hallway that led to the bathroom and a single bedroom.

Their son Anthony Jr. stood in the hallway watching. His third birthday was two weeks ago. A tattered and stained green toy elephant hung from one hand as his other reached out toward his mother. Snot drooled and tears walked silvery trails down his flushed cheeks as he wailed.

I watched from above as the father of their son plunged a butcher knife into her chest over and over again. It was a thirsty sound as the metal dove deep, mangling muscle, bone, and cartilage. Each violent intrusion was accompanied by vicious grunts and muted cries as she fought off her attacker. Her arms were awash with blood as she tried to survive. Her strangled drowning screams seemed to crowd within her throat. An angry slice of flesh on her neck bubbled where he had tried to silence her cries. She was weakening with each passing second.

I was never fond of violent passings. They take much longer than most would think. Austin was behind Brittany’s eyes, sharing every sensation, terror and random thought. Yes we do know the names of those we inhabit during that special time. We share their thoughts and memories for those moments. We store it away and move on when the heart stops beating, and the brain fires its last synapse.

She seemed resigned to her fate. With fleeting strength and the remnants of consciousness, Brittany reached toward her son. The tendons were severed and made her hand a snarled bloody claw. The bleeding slowed to a trickle as her arm lay in ruins against the dingy green and crimson speckled shag carpet. Her eyes stared into a distant somewhere I would never know.

It was a ‘twofer’. That’s what I called it when I spent time in a single location for consecutive deaths. They had me there, so they were going to get two for the price of one. I suppose it was more efficient.

Austin was witness and I peered out from behind Anthony’s eyes as his father’s rage turned against him. My ears ached from so much screaming. I couldn’t imagine a child could make such sounds until I realized it wasn’t Anthony Jr., it was Austin. Anthony Sr. and Anthony Jr. couldn’t hear it, but I had to listen to it the entire time. Had I the means I would have told him to shut the hell up! It was distracting.

We were shifted into an alley not far away. Our day was finished. Austin’s screams buffeted against old red brick walls and back again assaulting my ears.

I shook him and backhanded him across the face. “Shut the fuck up!”

The screams ended. Austin trembled as his muddy hazel eyes darted from one thing to another. How he could see anything behind that mop of black, I don’t know. His thin nose peaked out as if parting a curtain. Stilted breathes pulled and pushed on his plump lips like a windy tug of war. They seemed almost too close to his dimpled and pointed chin. He was frail and what some might consider emaciated. A bulky grey sweatshirt hung on him like a shoddy scarecrow. ‘Too much bone and not enough meat.’ I thought. I might have almost considered him pretty if he weren’t such an intrusion upon my world.

“You coming?” I turned and glanced into a nearby dumpster to see if there was anything of use. You never knew when you might find something handy.

Tonight was beef stew at St. Mary’s refuge and I was near enough that I could make it in time for a meal and a decent place to sleep before all the cots were taken. Austin didn’t follow, but he knew where to go, so I left him in the alley. He would learn the city as well as I did with time. Until then he would have to just listen to what they told him.

They are ambiguous at best, but it is as specific as I can get to whomever or whatever was running the show. Either way I wasn’t going to miss the stew, so he could just stand there as long as he wanted. Tomorrow we would be paired again whether he or I, liked it or not.

I found the refuge without ever having to look up. Each crack in the side walk and shattered crumble of pavement were as familiar to me as any who lived on these streets. Crazy Dave found me moments after I sat at a table to eat. He often spoke to me but I never replied. The man was crazy. Too many drugs or too much cold had addled his aging mind. He had said once he was fifty-two but looked more like someone in their late sixties. His face was aged like a sun weathered farmer. Cracks and lines accented every detail like some obscure mosaic. He kept his hair cut to the point of nonexistence though what did show was seldom clean. With the efforts of a washcloth and some soap I’m sure it would have been white. When I did make the mistake of actually looking at the man, my eyes were always drawn to a large cyst that bulged beneath the skin just above the hairline over one eye.

He wore layer upon crusted layer of sports related clothing, all depicting a similar emblem supporting some team I didn’t care to know. His pungent aroma was enough to make me want to vomit. Somewhere deep, were areas of his body that were in desperate need of scrubbing. Dave was a good seven inches shorter than my six feet one inch stature, but with a less pronounced build. His frame reminded me of one that had somehow been reduced enough to remove all attempts at normalcy. Perhaps it was nature’s way of warning the rest of the herd.

“So I hear you spoke with Jeanna. Heh he he he he he he,” he cackled like some sinister character on a late night horror show. Most often it seemed for no reason at all other than to break the silence.

A dark figure landed across the table from me and threatened to upset my coffee cup. “So, where is he?” I could feel Jeanna staring at me as I picked at a chunk of fatty beef on my tray.

I don’t know what prompted these people to think I would socialize today, but I wasn’t in the mood.

“Don’t know.” ‘and don’t care,’ I wanted to add, but I wasn’t giving them the benefit of actual conversation.

Jeanna slammer her tray on the table and stood. This time my coffee did spill. Fat bitch! She huffed and marched off.

“Damn! She must be on her rage. Don’t think I’ve heard you spoke in years.” Dave rambled on as I tried in vain to ignore him.

That was another annoying thing about Dave. He used the wrong words when he spoke, as if somewhere in his mind there was a short circuit. The words were close enough you knew what he meant, but they were off. On her Rage, Don’t think I’ve heard you spoke in years… Perhaps he took too many hits to the head. It irritated me.

“So who do you think is gonna wine the super bowel?” His acrid breath drifted passed my nose.

I gave him my best shut the fuck up look and stared back at my tray.

“Dayummmn. Heh he he he he he he. You know they call me crazy. Crazy cause…” He continued to tell his tale to no one as I stood and returned my tray to the counter in front of the dish washing area.

I was given my cot assignment when I checked in before the meal. The night might not be a total loss. We could shower here and sleep. I had even managed to get a pillow this time.

I stowed my backpack beneath the cot after pulling out a clean set of clothing. I’d layer the filthy ones on top, but at least I was fresh at the core. After a shower and shave I was ready for sleep. It’s better if you get to sleep early so that the chorus of snores and sounds don’t keep you awake. I was almost there when I heard Jeanna’s voice.

“Sleep here.” The bunk next to mine creaked beneath its new occupant.

It wasn’t long before I heard the sniffles and sobs. Half the room was already asleep, and now I was stuck next to Austin. The bitch had given him her cot.

Each time dreams threatened to take me another stifled whimper would bring me back.

I sat up in my bed, snatched my pillow and threw it at him. “SHUT UP!” I spat out the words and fell back into my cot.

Great! Now I didn’t have a pillow. Austin grabbed it from the floor where it landed and hugged it to himself as he curled up and finally went to sleep. I was half tempted to take it back, but knew I’d probably get thrown out of the place if I made any more noise.

As much as I wanted sleep, I wasn’t looking forward to my dreams, but they finally came.

                                                                                                -----

I was handing Jay my letter. The letter I spent hours to write explaining why I was leaving him. This was his third surgery. We were past the chemo and radiation, and now he had undergone another procedure to remove some scar tissue from his abdomen.

The hospital room looked much like the others we spent so much time in. A hanging curtain partitioned off his bed giving the illusion of privacy. A wooden framed chair sat next to the window on one side and his IV pole stood on the other near the counter adorned with a phone and nurse call button. Sour antiseptic and bleach filled the air as I stood at his feet while he read.

It wasn’t the worst I had seen in the last three years. His shoulder length wavy chestnut hair needed washed but still framed his face like a pillow. He didn’t have his false teeth in so his cheeks sunk in further than normal, aging his features. Like me, he had brown eyes, but his lids seemed forever tired, threatening to close at any moment. He was native Indian by descent, but now his skin possessed a ghastly pale olive hue I had seen many times before. He was attractive in his own way for a forty year old man, but too much had passed.

It was over. Three years of hardship was enough. I was twenty-one and couldn’t take any more. My friend Shiela would be coming up in two weeks to take me and my things back to Indiana. It was a bastard move and a cowardly thing to do. He was in the hospital, and I picked now of all times to break the news.

“You’re leaving? I love you. Please don’t leave me. Why?” His sobs and tear stained face couldn’t touch me. I had nothing left.

“They’ll take care of you here and you have friends to help you when you get out. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry Jay, but I’m done.” Guilt filled me as I turned and left the room.

The dream forwarded to the day I left. Jay was out of the hospital and was recovering well. Our once mutual friend Brandy had moved in to help cover housing expenses. There was a snow storm between Kentucky and Indiana passing through that threatened my escape. Somehow Shiela still managed to make it.

“You could still stay. We could try to work this out.” Jay had been out of the hospital for a week, and was relentless in his attempts to halt my departure.

Shiela moved like a shadow through the room hauling boxes and clothes between the front door and her car.

“You could stay the night at least. It’s pretty bad out there.” Jay pleaded as tears brimmed in his eyes.

He didn’t want me to postpone for my safety. He wanted more time to try and persuade me to stay. It made me want to escape all the more.

“We’ll be fine.” I stared at the floor as I picked up another box.

“Fine! I hope you fucking die!” Jay’s sorrow morphed into anger.

When we first met I refused to argue, but he changed that in me. Go for the heart was his motto, and I learned it well.

“And I wish you would have died on the table the first time so I wouldn’t have pissed away three years of my life in this fucking shit hole.” I spat out the words.

“You fucking mean that don’t you.” He face snarled into a mix of rage and anguish.

I took a deep breath. “No. I don’t really wish that. I just have to go.”

“Fine! Then get the fuck out of here.” Jay turned and stormed off into the other room while Shiela and I packed the last of my things into her car.

Some dark part of me did mean it though. It would have been simpler. I played the scene in my mind as we sat in Shiela’s car for most of our trip back to northern Indiana.

                                                                                                -----

“Wake up. It’s time to leave.” I kicked Austin’s cot and saw him cringe like an abused puppy.

“I’m up.” The timber of his voice held a weary edge.

It was the same as the previous day. We swapped between witness and victim in the day’s murders, accidental deaths, and tragic ends. Our last phase was to the overpass. We appeared in the shadows and he followed me without a sound. I pulled my things from the confines of where steel beams and concrete met to support the road above. So far it had served as a decent hiding place. I didn’t have much, but what I did have, I wanted to keep.

I set up the small stand, pan and sterno and heated our latest meal, Ravioli. I’m not sure who named Mr. Boyardee a chef, but he didn’t have my vote. It served the purpose.

“Eat.” I shoved a bowl at Austin but he ignored me.

“You can’t starve yourself to death.” Rolling my eyes I pushed the bowl forward again.

“Piss off.” Austin slapped the bowl from my hand and the ravioli spilled onto the concrete like an autopsy.

I shrugged and finished my meal, though I wanted to punch the little asshole. Now I’d have to climb down the embankment and grab the other bowl. The temptation to roll his gangly ass down the hill to get it was foremost in my mind but I refrained.

Nothing more was said as we prepared our make-shift beds for sleep. Tomorrow and the next were our days off. Believe it or not, I had weekends to myself.