The Accident

It wasn't Hell that Remy was in but it felt like it. He had been subjected to days of screaming pains and tortures better left unspoken. It had been explained to him that he had broken the rules of a Journeyer and for that, he needed to be punished. His body had been stripped of garments while his ankles and wrists were cuffed in chains that spread him apart. The cell he had been chained to resembled that of an old castle dungeon, only much more darker and hotter.

Remy was dirty and hot and scarred from the torture he had been put through. The cuts along his arms, legs and torso burned from the dirt and sweat that seeped into each open wound. He had become pale and dangerously thin, amazingly, the only colour to his body had been the cuts and welts brought on from hot irons and a fire whip. So much pain and suffering for his crime yet he refused to beg for mercy or plea for death, itself, to take him.

The room was dark, almost pitch black.

The heavy iron door slowly swung open with a creaking groan before stopping wide enough for the young woman to enter in her colourful and clean robes. Her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed under the hood of the blood red cloak, her hair fell down to either side of her breasts. When she did look up, she took in her lovely protégé and shook her head in shame. "I have failed you, Thete. Forgive me."

Shaking his head but not looking up from the ground to see her, Remy whispered his reply, "wasn't you." He shivered as an invisible draft passed through him. "I knew the rules and I broke them." A small jump as a thin finger raised his chin to look at her. Her eyes matched his in sadness but he said nothing in noticing.

Slowly reaching her hands up and removing the hood, she smiled faintly. "This sentence you are in has lasted for centuries on others who have failed to do their duties. Because you have broken the most sacred of rules, this sentence cannot be undone. However, I have managed to speak to the High Counsel on your behalf and they are willing to reduce your sentence."

"If?"

"If you finish your task that was started, by the end of the next nightfall." Her tone was monotonous. She knew he would never agree to the second condition but she had to say it. "The next term to meet requires you to include the one soul you have shown yourself to."

Remy's expression filled with shock and disbelieving anguish. "No. I cannot."

A pale hand cupped his even paler cheek. "His is an old soul, Thete." She smiled softly, in attempt to sway his mind to what should be done but the smile only led to her furrowing her brow in worry for him. She knew exactly what she was asking him to do and knew exactly how he would handle it. "You'll feel better once it's done. He will understand what you ask as he is destined to be with you, again."
Reluctantly, Remy nodded.

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Sharon spent the better part of two hours sitting with her son. After more tests, it was determined that Corey's brainwaves were steadily declining and she was told to close any unfinished businesses with him. She wept and held his hand for more than an hour while whispering about his childhood and how Logan is getting along and so on. Her thoughts had begun to wander as she hadn't slept in some three days. Excerpts of the Bible were read over and over to him, in hopes of a miracle that Corey would wake up and be completely cured but it was misguided.

Logan stood in the doorway and watched her, arms folded and leaning on his left shoulder. His mind replayed thoughts of Corey throughout his life, growing up into the boy that now lie in the bed, and possible thoughts of what he might have grown into, had the accident not occurred. Logan saw himself looking over Corey's family and watching him with loving contentment but didn't see himself being with Corey, or Sharon.

In a moment of calmness in the room, Sharon shifted from her position beside the bed. The only light in the room had been coming from a small sink, behind her, and gave her an angelic halo as she raised herself up to kiss his forehead and whisper that it was okay for him to go and be at peace. She whispered that she loved him and would always keep him in her heart; that she was heartbroken to see him go but wanted him to be better. In sitting back down and clutching his limp hand in one shaky hand, Sharon wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with the other. "God will take care of you, baby. I love you." Her voice cracked as she uttered the words. Her reddened eyes stared at his face until the picture embedded itself in her mind.

With another seemingly long blink of time, the woman with the lavender hair and colourful flowing robes appeared, on the other side of the bed and smiled at Sharon. "It is time, Corey." The softness in her voice had been spoken as if to a lover. Patience and care bounded from her fluid motions of reaching out her hand for the sleeping boy to take.

Logan watched the scene unfold but didn't move to stop it. Instead, he watched as Corey's hand lifted and placed itself in the woman's waiting hand. Logan's throat closed as the spirit of Corey sat up in the bed and then hopped down to stand beside the woman. His lungs refused to breathe as Corey's eyes met his and the spirit smiled lovingly at Logan before the two figures vanished. A sigh of relief and sadness finally exhaled from the medic. Quickly, he wiped a tear before anyone saw.

"I'm afraid, it is your turn, Logan." Again, it was said in a calm tone only this time, it was a male voice that said it. Remy stood a step behind Logan, once again donned in a black suit and looking very clean.

Logan didn't move. "My turn for what, exactly?"

Remy cleared his throat quietly and placed a steady hand on Logan's right shoulder. "I have shown myself and what I am, to you. Anyone who sees us must not be permitted to keep such a secret."

"So, wipe my memory and get lost. I ain't leavin' Sharon after her son left with yer girlfriend." Logan's tone discreetly filled with irritation.

Sighing, Remy stepped forward. "It's not that easy. However, I will grant you the time to comfort her and ease her pain through this but, once it is over, I will collect you. Ready or not."

In frustration, Logan shrugged the hand from his shoulder and angrily cleared his throat, moving into the room and pulling Sharon into an embrace.

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Logan spent the next week helping Sharon plan for Corey's funeral during daylight hours but his nights were filled planning for his own. He knew Remy was not joking or would even attempt to shirk his responsibilities, now that he had tasted Hell. Logan took the week off from work to set everything straight. The thought that most disturbed him was not that he was going to die after the funeral but that he was finally okay with it.

On the day of the funeral, Logan dressed himself in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. He found it fitting that this would be his last clothes and sight to take with him; a funeral for Corey, whom he had loved as his own, Sharon, a woman he would have loved even more had he been straight, and a dark figure that promised him nothing in return. With a final look in the mirror, Logan gathered his car keys and wallet and shoved them into his pocket before taking a breath of courage and exiting his apartment. Mentally, he rolled over everything that needed completing, in his mind, as he stood in the elevator going down to the lobby.

When the doors opened, Logan's eyes lifted from the floor to the bright lobby of his apartment building. He felt on autopilot as he passed through the small but inviting lobby and out to the street. The world seemed brighter, happier but he knew it was the same old sights he had seen but never really saw in his line of work. He wondered who would find him and when. He wondered where it would happen, if Remy would let him go home or if he would take Logan at the cemetery. He sat in the back of a taxi to Sharon's and lost himself in thought.

The taxi driver had to yell at him to reclaim Logan's attention.

Numbly, Logan paid his fee and stepped out of the backseat. A sigh as he stood at the end of her small driveway and watched her move about the living room, through the window. He noted the way she fidgeted with her dangling earrings, her nice black dress that she had worn to his company's Christmas party the year before and her hair that had been pulled back into a bun at the base of her skull. Taking courage and the first step, he moved closer to her front door, watching her swat wetness from her eyes.

In a glimpse, Sharon's eye caught her visitor walking past and ran to the front door to open it before the bell jingled. "Logan!" Her arms wrapped around him and the tears fell in a rush, soaking his jacket lapels. For five minutes, she cried, not wanting to stop or move or even acknowledge the shiny black limo that had just pulled up, out front. "I don't want this to happen. I want my baby back."

"I know." Logan held her and forced himself not to give in to his own sadness. That was becoming a very difficult strategy. "We have to go. I'll be right here with you." In easing them apart, Logan slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it, gently. He nudged her back inside to let her gather her purse, tissues and wits before closing up and leaving with him to the open car door. He waited for her to slide into the backseat before taking one last look around and sliding in beside her.

Continued.