Cursed by Death

Chapter 8

        "Hello, Callista."
        I look up to see the Reaper walking towards me.
        "Is this a dream?" I ask.
        The Reaper nods. "I can only take you to be by the sides of the dying when you are unconscious. My estimates say that you will be conscious in another half hour, so we have time for a couple jobs."
        I gulp. "I'm... ready."
        There's a whirlwind of air, and then we're by the side of an elderly man lying in bed. He's clutching his chest, and sweating profusely.
        "This is Jim Watson," says the Reaper. "He is having a heart attack. Watch me as I comfort him."
        The Reaper kneels by Jim's side. "Mr. Watson, I am afraid that you are dying. I am here to make this passage as easy and as comfortable as possible for you."
        Jim lets go of his chest, panting. His face is an ashy gray. He tries to talk, but is too weak. His chest heaves, and his head falls back.
        The Reaper seems to know what to do. He puts one arm around Jim's shoulders, and holds Jim's hand with the other.
        A weak smile appears on Jim's face. His chest heaves a bit slower now. Jim closes his eyes, and a tear leaks out.
        Finally, Jim's smile dissolves, and his chest stills.
        The Reaper lets go of Jim's hand and stands up. "Let's go to another job."
        "B-but aren't you going to take him to Heaven? Or Hell? Or something?"
        The Reaper shakes his head. "That's an angel's job. My job is just to be by a person's side while they are dying."
        There's another whirlwind, and now we're next to a young man leaning against a tree. A war appears to be going on, and the man's stomach is riddled with bulletholes.
        "This is Mark Hanson. I would like you to comfort him as he lies dying."
        I slowly sit by Mark's side. "Mr. Hanson, um... I'm a Fairy of Death, and I'm here to be by your side and help make you, um... comfortable as you die."
        Mark gazes at me. "Is that true?" He smiles, and coughs up blood. "Do I..." He takes a ragged breath. "...get a... last request?"
        I glance at the Reaper, who nods. "Sure," I say. "What would you like?"
        Mark weakly chuckles. "A nice, cold drink of beer... please."
        The Reaper waves his hand, and a can of beer materializes. He hands it to me.
        I gently tilt it over Mark's open mouth, and pour some in. A lot spills over his chin.
        He begins to laugh, but then he falls into a coughing fit. When he finishes, he looks at me calmly.
        "Thanks... kid..." he whispers, with the last of his energy.
        His throat makes a gurgling sound, and his muscles tense, before they relax. His final breath leaves his body.
        I stand up, and the world spins. "Whoa..." I say.
        The Reaper sighs. "You're gaining consciousness."
        There's a whirlwind, and when it stops, I'm lying on a couch in a police station.
        I hear the Reaper's voice in my head: "I'll see you tonight."