The Fates
“Of course I can. Also weapons aren’t allowed in the hospital,” I say, scanning the strange man’s outfit in search of the holster he held his scythe in. “The knife is cool though. I’ve never seen one with a retractable handle.”
The man slumps with a sigh. Beginning to rub his temples, he says, “This is awkward.” He loosens his black tie and shakes his head at me.
Slightly frustrated with his unwillingness to follow the hospital rules, I shoot him a stare. “It’s only awkward if you make it be. Just go put the knife in your car,” I explain, trying to keep my teeth unclenched.
“It’s not a knife. It’s a scythe,” he replies as he straightens his posture. I open my mouth to ask if anyone cares and if there’s really a difference, but he continues. “And that’s not the awkward part.”
I adjust my scrubs and push away my anxious thoughts about how this asshole is probably mad at me. I briefly remind myself not to start a fight if he tells me I’m the awkward part of our conversation. All I’m trying to do is my job. He’s the one that’s obviously uncomfortable.
“We’re soulmates.”
It’s safe to say I wasn’t expecting that comment from him.
“The prophecy foretold that the mortal who could see me would be my wife and queen, my other half, my soulmate.” It’s almost comical at how fast he composed himself. No longer is he exasperated but stoic as if he’s afraid to show any emotion for too long.
My reply to him is very simple. “What the fuck?”
“It doesn’t matter right now, wifey. I have a soul to collect,” he says without a care.
Almost automatically, I blurt, “Family only.” Habits are hard to break.
He dismisses me with a wave. “It doesn’t matter. You’re the only one that can see me. Let me do my job.”
“Let me do mine,” I say, placing myself between him and the door.
“Do you know who I am?”
“I don’t really care.”
“Funny.” His words are flat.
“You’re a strange man who believes he’s invisible and you’re trying (and failing) to come on to me.”
The man’s mouth molded into a hard line. “I’m not coming on to you, but even if I was it wouldn’t matter. The fates have already decided,” he says. “My name is Azrail. I am death.”
Taken aback, I stumble away from the man. Azrail. Death. “You’re not funny. You can’t make jokes like that in a hospital,” I breathe.
For the first time, sympathy crosses Azrail’s face. “I have to take him. It’s in the fates,” he says.
“My soulmate is a murderer?”
Azrail grabs my hand. “I’m so sorry, flower. Someone must do it.”
“He was really sweet. Like a grandpa.”
“It’s his time,” Azrail says.
“I can’t believe all of this,” I say. Azrail squeezes my hand. “Do what you must.”
With a sad smile Azrail says, “He won’t feel a thing.”