Death Becomes You

I breathed a sigh of relief for the end of the school day. Three weeks passed since Chandler’s funeral; I still cried myself to sleep before waking up because of the sight of his blood surrounding me. Dad didn’t bother to slow down on his drinking. Instead, I found out when the lights went off at the first of the month that Dad lost his job. He told me he was going to work when I left for school every day.

Anger settled into my being. I stopped speaking to people I considered friends before; everything they had to say sounded so meaningless. If I had to endure one more ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ I might’ve killed someone myself. Ignoring my father was a lot easier that I thought. My only problem besides getting a decent job to keep the electricity on and the water running was that man…Azrael.

I Google searched his name. My mission became finding any info about him, but I found next to nothing. The internet gave me some crap about Azrael being the angel of death. There’s no such thing as an angel of death though, right?

It killed me, all the mystery shrouding him. I nearly applied for medical scholarships twice. Maybe as a doctor I could see him more? That wouldn’t be a good thing; how would the police react to all the dead patients I’d be involved in? Not to mention medical school would take too much time; I wanted answers now!

I found one friend in the whole mess Azrael made of my life. A woman who liked to call herself Lilac with lavender colored hair hired me to work in a place I where never thought I’d be seen. It was a dark lit, magical place known as the Witch’s Den. I decided after working one week for Lilac that she would be the one I opened up too.

“Lye,” I asked over a shelf I was stocking. She had her nose in a large leather bound book at the register.

“Yeah,” she answered, not looking up from her book.

“What do you know about Azrael?” As soon as the words left my lips I wish they hadn’t. The squeals of excitement that came from her sent chills down my spine and made my ears want to burst.

“Azrael is only the most wonderful Archangel there is,” she cried. “He is the Angel of Transition. His mission is to comfort the dead as they’re dying and their families. They say he left God’s side because he did not want to hold the flaming sword of vengeance any longer. He wanted to be a part of something bigger, like he was when he managed to bring the small amount of Earth back for God to make Adam as in Adam and Eve.”

I wondered if she was ever going to stop to breathe during her story. She ended up in the isle with me, holding my hands for dear life. “Angel?” I wondered if my voice sounded like my eyes looked; wild, bewildered, confused, and most of all disbelieving.

Lilac’s head moved around like a bobble head doll with a maniacal grin and a look in her eye that gleamed of something more than obsession. If she could embody the soul of Azrael and call him her own she would, and I wanted to know everything she knew, everything in her secret shrine closet to this so-called angel.

She pulled me to a special shelf near the counter. It was the only shelf in the whole store painted the same blinding shade of white you might find in hospitals or asylums. The lilting ‘ah ahhh ahh’ song they sing in the Cathloic church one street over from my house every Sunday floated between my ears, though I’m sure no one else heard the music. Lilac bowed her head and folded her hands for a moment before bouncing on her toes as she turned back to me.

“No one who comes in here truly pays attention to this, but this is our holy magic section. The section Azrael might take a look at if he ever came in.” Her eyes widened as her face lit up the room. It was a look I had never seen on my co-worker, and it was definitely a look I was not comfortable with. I preferred the turned down corners of her mouth that nearly presented a terminal scowl and the harshness in her gaze. This bright appearance she gave me at the moment did not suit her like the dark brooding clothes she wore did.

“What would he read?” I asked playing along with her silly game. Angels didn’t exist, neither did God. If either existed my brother would still be alive and my father would take care of us instead of my entire family being torn apart and my father not caring if I lived or died because he couldn’t remember me half the time. Anger seeped into my veins. It was his fault.

“Probably something about anyone other than himself, but you want him,” she stated the last part with a wicked wink. I grimaced while she pulled a faded brown book with frayed pages. She brushed the cracked cover off before handing the book over to me. “This tells summoning spells, and it even has some stuff about his glory days with the flaming sword.” I almost gasped in shock. She laughed. “Azrael was the hand of God, Lane. He brought forth the plagues, floods, and damnations. Do you know nothing?”

“About this, absolutely not!” I glared at her for a moment. She made me sound stupid, but how could I know anything about something that didn’t exist.

“Why are you so curious about him anyways?” Lilac’s eyes narrowed. I tried to turn from her gaze but she grabbed my arm. My glare grew harder.

“I…” My voice was low and harsh; sounds I never made before resonated in my throat. I growled at my own weakness. She should be my confidant. No one will believe her if she says anything, and I will be safe within the confines of my mind unless she decided to pull me from them. She decided as she shook me.

“I see him; I hear him.” My throat was dry and my eyes burned. Something in my stomach wrenched but I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch. I lowered my head to the cover of the book, tracing a finger over the largest pale brown line and whispered, “He stole my life.”