Death Becomes You

Our only customer came in to ask for directions, and Lilac wouldn’t give him directions to the interstate until he bought something. He picked up a black cherry candle, told us it was for his girlfriend, and demanded directions. Lilac charged him two dollars over price, and then told him to go two miles in the wrong direction and take a left leading him back to the town he’d just come from. When the bell chimed signaling his departure, I couldn’t hold in my laughter.

I left an hour and a half early; Lilac promised she would be happy to close, so I took the book she loaned me and went home. The walk home was calm. A light breeze pushed my hair off my shoulders and revived my curiosity about the book in my messenger bag. It no longer felt like a ton of bricks. It was more like the Library Alexandria, except it wasn’t burned to the ground.

Instead of going straight into my house, I plopped down on the bench on my porch. The book fell easily out of my bag; it sang my name. My fingers brushed over the dusty surface. The leather was stunningly preserved while the pages yellowed over the years. I placed the first page against the front book binding before I began to read the details.

“There are fourteen archangels. Of these angels, Archangel Azrael is the oldest of his brothers and sisters. He was sent along with two brothers and a sister to gather dust from the four corners of the Earth so God could create his most precious of projects. Man. All of his siblings returned within days saying the Earth would not allow them what they sought, but after one month Azrael returned with the contents his father sought. He said, “I asked nicely, and the Earth replied with kindness.”

What kind of angel is this? Isn’t death supposed to be cruel? Yet, this text says he received kindness by being kind… He never seemed rude at any of our conversations, but he still took my family from me. I wondered if he still kept in touch with any of his family. With fifteen brothers and sisters, I highly doubted I would be able to keep up with them all. Did Azrael have friends? What could they be like?

I shook my head as I returned to the book. There was a hand sketch of a hooded figure with large black wings. It looked nothing like the men Azrael portrayed. My brain tried to create his real image, but all I kept seeing was that lanky man from Evelyn Harris’s murder with the stormy eyes, chiseled jaw line, and the grace of a gazelle.

“Azrael is known as the Angel of Death in most cultures. In the Christian culture is does not exist as anything other than the Grim Reaper. His mission is to deliver the souls of the dying back to God.”

Is that what happened to my family?

“It has been said that Azrael is a fallen angel who simply comforts those who are transitioning between this world and the next. He quit his father to belong to the Earth full time because he did not want to be the cause of so many human deaths.”

What the hell does that mean?

I put the book back in my bag before I ventured into the house. None of this made sense. Should I ask him those questions? Would he answer them honestly?

“Probably not.”