Charlie took a quick glance at his watch. That left him approximately five minutes. He shook his head. Only Dirkley would be able to glean all that and still leave him five minutes to spare. Say what you wanted about himâhe was a hell of a navigator.
The information now in hand, Charlie moved from the front of the bed to the side, fiddling with his tie as he did. He considered it a cardinal rule to look sharp in front of the newly deceased. He undid it, retied it, undid it again, retied it again. After several moments of this, a nurse popped her head into the room. She was an older woman, slightly bent at her shoulders and a bit short in her step, but her eyes were sharp and alert. The nurse glanced down at Mr. Sanders before settling on Charlie, her eyes squinting slightly as her gaze bore into him.
âHi,â he said as he finished tweaking the position of his necktie. âBeautiful weather weâre having.â Charlie had no idea if this was the case, given that he really didnât know where he was, exactly. He also knew she couldnât hear him, anyway, so it was something of a moot point to begin with.
The nurse continued to stare in his direction, even leaning her head in closer from out in the hallway. Or, at least from Charlieâs point of view, she appeared to be staring. From her point of view, however, Charlie didnât even exist and, without getting existential, it was quite impossible to stare at something with no eggs in the existence basket.
With a dramatic tsk , she waltzed into the room, whipping out a pair of worn glasses like a switchblade. âDamn screen. Only way you can read it is with your face pressed against it,â she muttered to herself. âI keep telling them we need bigger screens, but what do I know, only been here thirty years.â When she was only a few feet away from Charlie, he quietly stepped aside. She strode past him without even a flicker of awareness. The nurse hummed quietly as she quickly jotted down some figures from the machine buzzing behind Charlie, then briskly made her exit.
Charlie watched silently as she left, like he had done for thousands, perhaps tens if not hundreds of thousands of other people before her. His hand briefly went to the breast pocket where his Ferryman Key sat, reaffirming that it was still there.
He glanced at his watch again. The second hand ticked away. Three . . . two . . . one . . .
On cue, the EKGâs steady beeping turned into a shrill, unending screech.
Charlie looked at his watch: 21:37, on the dot. If there was one thing heâd learned straightaway as a Ferryman, it was that death was intractably punctual.
Charlie moved to an out-of-the-way corner of the room, placed his two hands together in front of his waist respectfully, and watched the scene play out in from of him.
The nurse from moments ago reentered along with a dark-skinned nurse, who was surprisingly light on her feet, like a ballerina with a stethoscope. They skittered about, but were almost immediately stopped by a third, male nurse. He announced with the forced casualness of someone new to the profession that John Sanders was marked as a No Code. The other two quietly stopped what they were doing without any fuss, the older nurse only taking a moment to silence the EKG. They stood and waited. When the continued silence went on long enough to confirm what they all already knew, they called it. As the trio then filed out, two men entered in their place. They maneuvered the bed around and slowly, somberly, wheeled it out of the room and down the hall.
The small, sterile room was now empty and quiet.
At least, it would be to any laymen passing by. For Charlie, though, it wasnât.
Unlike the corporeal form of Mr. John Sanders, the ethereal one looked much youngerâCharlie figured it was what heâd looked like when he was in his early thirtiesâand strikingly handsome, given how fragile
The information now in hand, Charlie moved from the front of the bed to the side, fiddling with his tie as he did. He considered it a cardinal rule to look sharp in front of the newly deceased. He undid it, retied it, undid it again, retied it again. After several moments of this, a nurse popped her head into the room. She was an older woman, slightly bent at her shoulders and a bit short in her step, but her eyes were sharp and alert. The nurse glanced down at Mr. Sanders before settling on Charlie, her eyes squinting slightly as her gaze bore into him.
âHi,â he said as he finished tweaking the position of his necktie. âBeautiful weather weâre having.â Charlie had no idea if this was the case, given that he really didnât know where he was, exactly. He also knew she couldnât hear him, anyway, so it was something of a moot point to begin with.
The nurse continued to stare in his direction, even leaning her head in closer from out in the hallway. Or, at least from Charlieâs point of view, she appeared to be staring. From her point of view, however, Charlie didnât even exist and, without getting existential, it was quite impossible to stare at something with no eggs in the existence basket.
With a dramatic tsk , she waltzed into the room, whipping out a pair of worn glasses like a switchblade. âDamn screen. Only way you can read it is with your face pressed against it,â she muttered to herself. âI keep telling them we need bigger screens, but what do I know, only been here thirty years.â When she was only a few feet away from Charlie, he quietly stepped aside. She strode past him without even a flicker of awareness. The nurse hummed quietly as she quickly jotted down some figures from the machine buzzing behind Charlie, then briskly made her exit.
Charlie watched silently as she left, like he had done for thousands, perhaps tens if not hundreds of thousands of other people before her. His hand briefly went to the breast pocket where his Ferryman Key sat, reaffirming that it was still there.
He glanced at his watch again. The second hand ticked away. Three . . . two . . . one . . .
On cue, the EKGâs steady beeping turned into a shrill, unending screech.
Charlie looked at his watch: 21:37, on the dot. If there was one thing heâd learned straightaway as a Ferryman, it was that death was intractably punctual.
Charlie moved to an out-of-the-way corner of the room, placed his two hands together in front of his waist respectfully, and watched the scene play out in from of him.
The nurse from moments ago reentered along with a dark-skinned nurse, who was surprisingly light on her feet, like a ballerina with a stethoscope. They skittered about, but were almost immediately stopped by a third, male nurse. He announced with the forced casualness of someone new to the profession that John Sanders was marked as a No Code. The other two quietly stopped what they were doing without any fuss, the older nurse only taking a moment to silence the EKG. They stood and waited. When the continued silence went on long enough to confirm what they all already knew, they called it. As the trio then filed out, two men entered in their place. They maneuvered the bed around and slowly, somberly, wheeled it out of the room and down the hall.
The small, sterile room was now empty and quiet.
At least, it would be to any laymen passing by. For Charlie, though, it wasnât.
Unlike the corporeal form of Mr. John Sanders, the ethereal one looked much youngerâCharlie figured it was what heâd looked like when he was in his early thirtiesâand strikingly handsome, given how fragile
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