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I HAVE ZERO TIME TO rest between missions. According to Azrael, it's not uncommon for a Helper to take on two, three, or even a dozen jobs in a single day. It makes sense, I guess. People are dying all the time, and if you're a Helper, your work is never done.
I wonder if I should take my mom's concerns into consideration. Normal guidework is usually a lot less depressing, and there's no pressure to take on multiple jobs. This might be more than I can handle.
When Azrael takes me to a rest home, I have to hold back a sigh. This is going to be sad, isn't it? I just know it's going to be sad.
The first person we see is an old woman in a wheelchair. Her tiny shoulders are swallowed up by an oversized pink sweater, and she has a baby doll on her lap.
The woman waves to me with a palsied hand and says, “Hello, dear!”
At first, I think she's talking to someone behind me, but there's no one in the hall but her, me and Azrael.
“This is the dementia wing,” Azrael explains. “Dementia patients have hallucinations, but they can also see us... sometimes. The same goes for humans hovering close to death. The closer they are, the easier it is for them to catch a glimpse.”
“Hi!” I wave to the old lady and give her my most beaming smile. “Is that your baby doll?”
“This is June,” the lady says. “I gave birth to her exactly twenty-one years ago today.”
“Wow,” I reply, because I don't know what else to say. Azrael's sidling past her wheelchair, so I guess she isn't our charge. As I follow him, I give the lady a pat on her shoulder and add, “Well, she's lucky to have a mom like you.”
Azrael and I hurry down the hall and turn into another room, where there's a big guy hunched over in his wheelchair. His tan face is mostly unlined, and a lot of his hair is still black, untouched by age. When I check my LightTab, I'm surprised to find out he's actually in his seventies.
“If you haven't figured it out already, this man is our charge,” Azrael says. “His name is Paul Cisternino, he's seventy-four, and he's in the advanced stages of dementia. He can't walk, can't sit up on his own, and he can barely feed himself. Something inside of him is still afraid of death, so we're here to help him with his fear.”
Azrael kneels in front of Paul and gently takes his hand. Our charge must be able to see him, because he looks a bit spooked.
“It's alright, Mr. Cisternino. You'll be leaving this body soon, but you don't need to be afraid,” Azrael says. “Your guardian angels and spirit guides are with you, and I promise you, you will be reunited with your wife. Cathy's missed you. Your mom and dad have missed you. Release your fear so they can come to you.”
He doesn't seem like the usual Azrael. I'm in awe. The first time I felt this way, he was talking to Simone after she lost her baby. There's something so comforting about him when he gets like this. He seems truly angelic.
When Azrael stands and starts poking on his LightTab, I'm standing behind him, so I can see the screen. He starts playing an old song called In the Still of the Night, and within the first few seconds, Paul starts to cry.
“He can hear that?” I ask.
“Yes. And it's his favorite song. He and his wife danced to this song on their wedding day. I thought it might give him some comfort.”
Paul's head starts swaying back and forth. Something about the music seems to have touched something inside of him.
In the middle of the song, a young caregiver sweeps into the room and says, in a gratingly singsong voice, “Aww, what's giving you the weepies, Paul?” Steering his wheelchair from the room, she adds, “Come on. I'm taking you to lunch. It's potato salad day. Does that sound good or what?”
Paul doesn't respond, and his eyes stay on Azrael as long as they can.
“I'm sensing some stubbornness in him. It may yet be awhile until he passes,” Azrael says. “I'll keep checking on him, and when he's closer to death, we'll return.”
“That sounds so morbid.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I tend to be blunt.”
I'm curious about mealtime, so I follow Paul's wheelchair to a small common room, filled with tables and chairs. The lady steers his chair to one of the tables, and within a minute or two, his meal arrives. It doesn't look as bad as I expected. There's a club sandwich, condiments, a fruit cup, and a plate of colorful potato salad. Paul grabs his fork, but he doesn't do anything with it. I wonder if he's forgotten how to use it. Frustrated, he returns it to his plate and tackles the sandwich instead.
Looking about the room, I start to feel super depressed. Most of the home's residents are octogenarians, or even older. I've always felt a bit bitter about dying young, but now that I'm here, I don't think it's much better to die old.
A nurse tries to coach him on how to use his fork. He mumbles a reply, snorts at her, and starts to feed himself without any assistance.
When Azrael finally swaggers into the room, I go over to him and ask, “Is there anything we can do to help him?”
“I can help him remember, but the effects would only be temporary,” Azrael says. “When he's closer to death, and his children are with him, I'll help him.”
“You can bring back his memories?” When Azrael gives me a nod, I ask, “How?”
“It's a very advanced technique. Only a handful of angels and Archangels are capable of it,” Azrael says. “Because of its temporary effects, it doesn't qualify as a miracle, but... it's close.”
“You impress me,” I tell him. He looks surprised by that, and so am I. It sounded unintentionally flirty, but now that it's out of my mouth, I might as well expand on my thoughts. “I'm serious. There's so much you can do, and even though you try to act like none of this bothers you, I can tell that you really care about people. It's hard to not be in awe of you.”
“I appreciate that, but...” Azrael's jaw starts twitching. It's kind of cute that my compliments had that effect on him. “I'm sure you would feel that way about any of the Archangels.”
“I don't think so,” I object. “I met Jophiel, and he didn't seem that impressive.”
“That's probably because you've heard about his reputation... which, by the way, he's trying to clean up. Trust me, Lucy, as far as Archangels go, I'm hardly extraordinary.”
“Well, I guess I'll have to start hanging out with more Archangels. When are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Oh wow. Now it really sounds like I'm flirting with him—and here, of all places.
“That depends.” A fleeting smirk turns his lips as he echoes, “When are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“You mean... my friends that don't exist?”
“You have friends. I know you had some when you were alive,” Azrael says. “Not to mention, I saw you with Samuel the other day.”
“You know Sam?”
“Of course. He works in an Asylum and he's an angel. Why wouldn't I know him?”
For some reason, talking about Sam makes me go quiet. When I turn my attention back to Paul, he's sitting with a woman who looks way too young to be here.
“That's one of his daughters,” Azrael replies, as if he's reading my mind—and he probably is.
The daughter quizzes him, “Dad, do you know my name?”
He stares at her, wide-eyed and blinking, with his fork still in his hand.
“Come on. Think about it,” she challenges him. “You remember me, don't you?”
Paul mumbles a barely audible reply. “Helen?”
The woman shakes her head and expels a sigh. I have a feeling she's been through this before. “No, Dad, Helen is your sister. I'm Carmen, remember?”
There's no spark of recognition in his eyes. Copying her sigh, he goes back to eating his potato salad.
I ask Azrael, “Can't you help him now?”
“I promise you, I will help him... at the right time. For now, all we should do is watch.” After a short pause, he adds, “You're a sweet girl, Lucy. I think it's nice that you always want to help people. You have a good, kind soul.”
His praise pushes my lips into a giddy smile. I wasn't expecting him to compliment me.
After lunch, Carmen takes her dad to the in-home salon for a haircut. To be honest, he kind of needs one.
I wonder if it's the last haircut he'll ever get?
“We should go,” Azrael says. “Like I said, when he's closer to death, we'll return. For now, we should focus our attention on other missions.”
“Okay.”
I'm still beaming at Azrael's compliments. I know I smile a lot, but this is different.
It feels like I might smile forever.