As the man sat in the nondescript room, confusion
and bewilderment stole over him as the minutes ticked silently
away and he tried to ponder his situation. Finally an audible
click diverted his attention to the doorway and he watched as
it opened to admit a man dressed in a long, white coat. Still
a little overwhelmed from having come to find himself in this
position, he stared blinking at the new arrival for several moments
before figuring he must be a doctor come to look in on him.
The man dressed in white regarded him briefly before
turning his attention down to the clipboard he held, then bringing
his eyes to rest on him once again. "Donald Kemp?" he
asked, the tone of his voice suggesting his utterance was somewhere
between a question and a statement, affirming his identity as
if he'd been expected.
"Yes..." the man in the chair responded;
the fog in his mind slowly clearing, he added "what's going
on? Where am I... and what am I doing here?" his voice relaying
his confusion.
"Certainly you must remember..." were the
other's only words, minimal, but they were enough to cut further
through the haze of Donald's thoughts. Glancing around the room,
as if noticing his surroundings for the first time, he realized
that although the room was spartan, holding little more than the
chair he sat in, it could also not be called exactly plain. For
the walls, though a solid and uninteresting white, had a certain
radiance about them, in a subdued and subtle manner. Even the
chair he sat on, while also plain, held a certain soft glow to
it, as if a thin aura hung about the room, permeating every possible
surface.
At the same time as he was becoming fully aware of
his surroundings, Donald's mind was also busy trying to dredge
up the memories which lay so tantalizingly close to the surface
of his consciousness. As bits of the iceberg broke through, flashes
of understanding rippled through him. "Something happened...
it was raining... could barely see... the truck..." his mouth
forming the words even as he tried to piece it together.
Then looking at the man in white, his eyes focused,
his memories solidifying, he began to see him as he truly was.
Blinking his eyes at the first sight of the haziness hanging over
the man before him, the apparitions started to coalesce, taking
form. Where moments before had only been brief outlines, mere
suggestions for the imagination, the faint glow around the man
had found substance. For now before him stood not a doctor in
his garb of antiseptic cleanliness, but an angel wearing a softly-flowing
robe, his large wings tucked neatly behind him, his soft aura
adding to the room's subtle brightness.
At this Donald's memories sprang to complete light,
a horrible image frozen before his minds eye, etched there by
a flash of understanding. Overcome with his realization, he could
only stammer "no... the accident..." With the angel
silently regarding him, he managed to add "then I'm... dead?"
the last word falling from his mouth in a lifeless echo.
His face barely changing expression, the angel answered
"not quite Mr. Kemp." Then consulting his clipboard
once again, he finished "you see we have a bit of a problem
here..."
His composure breaking, Donald then began to cry,
tears of the realization of his loss washing over him. "Please...
don't let it be... I've got a wife... my kids... don't make me
leave them... please," burying his face in his hands.
At the touch on his shoulder, he looked up to see
the angel staring directly at him, his gaze commanding, and Donald
found his sobs dying down almost abruptly. Looking to meet the
angel's gaze, he listened to the heavenly messengers message.
"You didn't let me finish Mr. Kemp. You see
we have a bit of a problem here. According to this," holding
up the clipboard, "our records show that you shouldn't be
here now... there must have been a mistake."
"But the accident... I remember it now, I was
hit head on by that semi... there's no way I could've survived,"
the tone of his voice betraying the ray of hope he held because
of the angel's words.
"Raising an eyebrow ever so slightly the angel
retorts "that be as it may, this still shows that you aren't
supposed to be here yet. A mistake has been made and we need to
fix it."
"So does that mean I'm not dead after all?"
Donald's face brightening immensely.
"It would seem that way, but we need to act
quickly to set things right. This sort of thing happens occasionally,
which is why we have rooms like this set up for just this sort
of situation."
Seeing Donald's look of concerned confusion, he added
"You see Mr. Kemp, right now you are in sort of a state of
flux, caught between two planes of existence. You have been prematurely
released from your mortal coil, but we can't allow you to pass
into eternity, not with the state of things being as they are.
So instead we need to keep you here, in a kind of stasis, while
we work to set things right."
"But how long will that take and what am I supposed
to do, just wait here like this? Why can't you just send me back
now?" his voice becoming more nervous and urgent.
"Mr. Kemp, these things take time. We need to
find out what has happened and then work at returning you to your
life. Try and understand, we must keep you here for your own safety...
if you were to leave this room, your soul would lose the last
grasps it has on your body, and you would be relinquished to the
afterlife before your time. As I've said, we can't let that happen...
you must stay here while we get to work."
"But what if you can't send me back, what if
it's too late? You don't even know how long this might take you..."
his voice becoming even more unsteady.
"I'm sorry Mr. Kemp, but that is all I can tell
you. Things will be handled as quickly as possible, but you must
be patient with us. I'm sorry this happened, but now that it does
all we can do is work to rectify the situation, and until then
you must stay here... for your own good." At that the angel
turned and left, with only a curt "good-bye Mr. Kemp"
before closing the door, leaving a confused and bewildered man
sitting alone in the room behind him.
With the door closed, the scenery outside the room
flickered, the brilliant aura dissolving like mist, evaporating
from the fiery glow it had been shrouding. As the heat of the
oppressive, sulfurous atmosphere blasted upon him, the fine material
of the angel's robe was instantly blackened, crumbling to dust
at his feet.
Then as sparks landed on his alabaster skin, they
smoldered and burned his tender flesh, his skin boiling away as
the feathers of his brilliant wings erupted in flames. The fires
enveloped him, claiming their prize, burning off the layers of
his illusion. Striding through the smoke, the red scales of his
body glistening, he flexed his leprous wings, and turning his
gaze to a fellow demon guarding the doorway, a malicious smile
crept across his twisted and malformed maw. "I just love
making them wait..."
Copyright 1996, Will A. Sanborn - was1@shore.net