I
n a miserable room somewhere in the Midlands, Joanna Slingsby knew nothing of the events overtaking her friend. Jo was ill, very ill. The disease inside her was incurable, but she refused medication. “You’re not having my hair,” she insisted stubbornly. “Take your potions and leeches away from me.”
A colleague at a former job had offered Jo a smoke, one evening. Jo had taken it willingly, and enjoyed the feeling of relaxation, and this was now her main pain relief. After she was diagnosed, the people at work sympathetically let her have time off for treatment, but once she realised the full extent of the infection, she resigned, and decided to spend the time between hospital and home. She withdrew, and the few kind people who tried to visit her were gently rebuffed.
“Leave me to die in my own way,” she said.
They tried to encourage her with platitudes, but she could see her fate. Eventually, her only visitor was Collie, a good friend from work. He was training to be a male nurse, and his kindness was what kept Jo going... as was the cannabis he brought for her.
The pain was growing worse. Jo’s prescribed painkillers were strong, but the disease had progressed, and it was starting to force its way through; she was relying on the drug more and more.
Jo was feeding the cat, shaking with the effort, when Collie called. He had a key, in case she was suddenly taken ill, and had promised to look after the place, in the event that she was in hospital. That included looking after her pet. Collie liked cats.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, giving her a hug.
“Not so good. The hash helps, but it’s not working as effectively as it did. Can you get me anything stronger?”
“I could,” he said with concern, “but it is hellish addictive. Only a couple of shots and you will be hooked. You will be totally reliant on it.”
“Yeah, so what’s it going to do, like kill me?”
Collie looked hurt.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me.” She squeezed his hand.
“It’s okay.” He gave a sad smile. “I understand. It’s the pain talking. Why won’t you go and at least try to get some treatment?”
“They will lock me away. Once I go in, it will be palliative care, and they’ll pump me so full of crap, I don’t know what day it is. I’ve always made my own way; I’m not letting them screw up my last few days of life.”
The cat jumped up, and rubbed its head on her chin.
“You will care for Priah, won’t you, if I get taken in?”
“Of course I will.” Collie ruffled the cat’s fur, and it turned to smile at him. “How could I not. That animal has a personality all of its own. I’ve never seen one grin before.”
“Except in fairy-tales,” said Jo. “Yes, he is unusual.”
The cat cocked its head on one side.
“Is he listening?”
“Who knows? Now, can you get me something stronger?”
“I have contacts. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Take my money. I’ll give you my card and details.”
Jo tried the first shot with Collie’s help. It was incredible. The pain vanished, and was replaced by a feeling of intense wellbeing. She felt warm and safe. She began to see more to life than her rooms, and when Collie spoke to her, she was lucid and enthusiastic.
“If you can hold the dose to that level,” he said, “you can keep going a while. Is there anything else?”
“Tea and coffee, please,” she said, “and more milk.”
“I’ll bring you a few ready-meals too. You can pop them in the microwave when you get hungry.”
“Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
“I do what I can. Will you be okay on your own?”
“I’ll be fine. Feeling, like, so much better.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
After Collie left, Jo dashed to the toilet and was violently sick. She went to bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The following morning, it was still dark when the girl awoke, with a headache. Somewhere in her mind was a refrain, music she could not quite get a grip on. A few words remained as the sleep dropped away: The song that angels sing... She gasped. The pain was back. After her period of respite, she felt worse than ever.
“Angels,” she muttered, as Priah came in through the window. “This is it, Puss. The stuff was my last hope. It works, but is so horrible afterwards. I can’t stand it anymore.” The cat looked at her, and demanded food. “Don’t worry,” she said painfully, “I’ll give you a good meal to keep you going, but then I’ll finish off the rest of the stuff Collie brought for me. He promised to look after you.”
The cat rubbed around her legs. Apparently, he didn’t care. Food was all he wanted.
Jo opened a new tin and spooned the whole of the contents on a dinner plate. “That will keep you going until Collie gets here. Oh God, is that the time? I didn’t realise there was actually a 2 o’ clock in the morning.”
Jo sat at the table, and agonisingly scrawled a note, explaining how it was best this way. At least she could go out feeling comfortable again. She told him he could have the rest of her bank balance, and anything he wanted from the flat, as long as he looked after the cat. Tears dropped on to the paper, as she asked him to let her parents know what had happened, and that this was the only way out for her. She asked them to forgive her for not coming home, but she was not up to flying halfway around the world. She wished she had done so earlier, but it was too late; the disease had taken over too quickly.
That complete, Jo sat on the bed and fingered the syringe. The pain was almost blinding her, and she felt a craving for the drug that she could barely control. Her hands shook as the prepared the shot. What Collie had described as a week’s supply all went into the one dose. “That should be enough,” she muttered. “No, please don’t keep looking at me, Puss.”
Priah was sitting at her feet, staring up at her. The expression on his face seemed to reflect sympathy and concern. “No, shoo, go away. I can’t do it if you’re watching.” She pushed him away, but he avoided her foot and jumped up beside her.
The pain came in waves. “I’m sorry, my baby, but watching or not, I’m going to have to do this.” She took a deep breath and tied a cord around her arm. The syringe was ready and she stabbed it into her vein. “What?”
A hand had taken hold of hers, preventing the needle from puncturing the skin. Jo looked up, dazed, into bright blue eyes, all that was visible inside a brown hood. The intruder was a monk.
“No.” A voice came from inside the hood. “You do not need that. If you want to die, I am here for you.” He released the tourniquet on her arm.
“Who the fuck are you?” she swore, frustrated that her determination was broken. “How did you get in... and why do I feel better while you are holding my hand?”
The monk took the syringe, and laid it on the table. “Hear what I have to say, and then make your decision.”
“I’m listening,” she said. “Would you mind letting go my wrist? Tell me, who are you? Some do-gooder I suppose. How did you like get in?”
“I am Brother Francis,” the monk said calmly. “I am here to help you on to the next life.”
“I was, like, managing quite nicely on my own.” Jo snorted. “Why do I need your help?”
“The pain is clouding your judgement. I am here to take that away, so that you can make a more rational decision.”
“I certainly feel a bit better.” Jo stood up. “Can we have some light? I want to see your face.”
“There is enough light. Are you sure you are ready?”
“Who are you: rapist, pervert, murderer? How did you get in? Not that I like actually care.”
The monk pushed his hood back. Instead of something ghastly, as Jo expected, she saw a fresh face. The man was apparently only in his thirties.
“Who the hell are you?” Jo pressed.
“I’ve told you,” said the monk. “I am here to help you on to the next life, but only if you are absolutely sure.”
“You are a murderer?”
“Only a taker of life given willingly.”
“That’s, like, weird. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to. Tell me, are you ready to die?”
“I’ve done everything I have to.” Jo sighed. “But I feel great. Will this last?”
“Alas not.” The monk released Jo’s hand, and the pain hit her again in waves. She collapsed on the bed, whimpering. The monk continued. “You were taking some of my own life-force while we were in contact... It is not something I am familiar with. I ask, again, are you ready to die?”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“Not at all. It will simply be like going into a deep relaxing sleep.”
“Bring it on,” said Jo. “Take my arm again. Would you like me to lie down?”
“It will save damaging your body.” The monk helped her to lie back. “Close your eyes, and pray for release.”
Brother Francis placed his palm on Jo’s chest and closed his own eyes. They seemed to link, and Jo saw inside his thoughts. She knew he was feeling all her pain, but he did not flinch. His own energies flowed into her. It would not be long. She could feel his desire to feed. In his own way, he was addicted to absorbing life essence.
She saw in all his travels through time that it was still hard for him to resist the temptation of taking a life that should go on; a cry for help rather than a genuine desire to move to the next world. So far he had resisted all comers, and she admired him for that. But now it was her time, and she could at least give willingly what she had left, to this amazing man. She knew that she did not have long, and relaxed into the sleep of oblivion. She felt him pressing harder on her chest, and their spirits mingled briefly as one.
“Brother Francis, I will not let you.”
The monk jerked his hand away, and Jo came back to reality with a shock of pain. She looked over his shoulder as he twisted round. A red-headed woman was standing behind him. He stuttered like a guilty schoolboy.
“Genet of Siwaldston! How... why are you here?”
The red-head gave him a slap. “Back off. The Book of Ghosts decrees that this young woman shall live.”
“But she wants to die,” protested Francis. “I am here to help. I cannot cure the canker within her.”
“No, but you can give her more time,” said Genet. “You will bestow her with your own life force. I demand it.”
“But...”
“It is better to give, than to receive,” said Genet sarcastically. “Have you forgotten your own scriptures?”
The monk backed away from the mesmerising stare of the woman. “I cannot do that,” he said, slowly.
“You already have... when you took her pain, you were giving your own essence. Simply continue as you were.”
“But, I need the life.”
“You can spare some, I’m sure. There will be always plenty of others who you can help on their way. Release this one, if not for yourself, for me...” Genet batted her eyelashes at the man.
“Do not tempt me. I remember our last meeting.”
“Yes,” pressed Genet. “You are young again. With youth comes the weaknesses of youth, as well as the benefits. Think on that perhaps when you try to absorb too much.”
“My Lord,” said Francis. “You are right. It has been so long, I was forgetting the faith.”
“You have a job to do. Do it.” Her body wavered and seemed to grow faint. “I will have to trust you,” she said. “It is not easy holding myself together in this world.”
“You and everyone else these days,” murmured Jo.
Genet shot her an irritated glance. “Oh, do be grateful, woman.” She vanished with a snort. On the floor where she had been was Jo’s cat.
“You look like the witch’s ‘familiar’ from the hovel in Siwaldston.” Francis bent to ruffle the top of its head. He laughed. “You must be a fair age, though you don’t look it.”
“It’s not the same bloody cat,” came Genet’s voice from the air behind him. “That would be stupid.”
He spun around, but there was no vestige of the witch.
“Like, what was all that about?” said Jo, groggily.
“Nothing,” said Francis, “but I’m not allowed to take your life. You have a higher calling, it seems.”
“Oh, forget that, and get on with it,” said Jo. “Kill me, save me, it’s all the same really, unless you can be more useful.”
“I can’t save you.” The monk shook his head. “But I am tasked with giving you extra time. You have a destiny.”
“Fat chance of achieving anything,” said Jo. “Like, do what you have to do, then bugger off and leave me to sleep. I am really so tired after all this hurry-scurry.”
“Like Genet said, don’t be so ungrateful.”
“Yeah, right, and you coming to murder me. Did I miss something? Someone else here? I’ve forgotten.”
“She’s like that. Let us proceed.”
“And keep your hands off my tits.”
“I never intended...”
“Joking, now get on with it. What’s the Afterlife like?”
“Overrated, but you’re not going to find out, this time.”
Francis seated himself beside the bed, and carefully placed his hand on Jo’s chest again. His other still held her wrist, feeling the weak pulse. He closed his eyes, and the vigour of his youth started to seep into her. Jo gasped. Her body shuddered and bucked. The monk held her down, as more of his energy flowed into her. She struggled and writhed. She took a great breath, broke the grip on her wrist and both her hands grabbed his, holding it tighter to her.
“Stop!” he shouted. “You’re taking too much energy. You’ll kill me.” He desperately dragged his hand away.
Jo sat up, panting. “My God, what, like, happened?”
“You were stealing all of my life,” stuttered Francis. “You nearly had the lot. You would have done for me.”
“Wow, I feel amazing.” Jo turned her own hands over and regarded them with awe. “My skin, and everything feels as good as ever was. Magic. What did you do?”
“Gave you some time back,” said Francis faintly. “I’ve got to go... desperately have to find new people to feed off.”
He pulled the hood up, but not before Jo saw his face again. He wore the wrinkled, lined skin of a very old man.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to take hold of his skeletal hand.
“Whatever.” At the door, he turned to give her one last look. “There will be others.”