The beginning or the end??
Just One More Day……..
Eleven o’clock had come and gone when Dr. James Wilson sighed and put his pen down. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the habitual gesture did little to quell the pounding headache forming behind his tired eyes. It had been a long week, he felt shaky from exhaustion and lack of food and still needed to finish a stack of forms needing his signature before he could leave. The papers on his desk stirred, lifted by a cold draft that caused him to shiver. He looked up, a resigned smile on his face as his eyes took in the familiar form standing in his doorway. “Hey,” he greeted quietly.
“You’re working late.” Tall, rapier thin man, the man moved like a dark liquid stain across the carpet, his movements held a grace that arrested the eye. Lamplight gleamed on his inky black hair, emphasizing the paleness of his skin.
Wilson acknowledged the words with the tilt of his head, a wry smile curling his lips. “So are you. Mine?” He sat back, blew out another sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was use to the visits and normally he welcomed the verbal sparring but tonight he knew there was no way to hold up his end of the conversation. His guest seemed to sense this and take a seat opposite him. Pointed chin resting atop his steepled fingers, his jet eyes pinning Wilson to his chair with their intensity, the man offered a wry smile.
“You could say that, James,” he purred. He studied Wilson a moment longer, something in his reticent manner softened, a gentle smile easing the line of his lips. “It’s - you,” he said with a shrug. Wilson opened his mouth, but no words escaped. “I’m sorry, really, but tonight,” Death said, “I’ve come for you.”
Wilson blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What?”
Death had the grace to look embarrassed, but he repeated in a strong voice, “Tonight when you leave here you’ll die. I don’t want to collect your soul,” Death explained, “but it’s your time.”
“Why - why are you telling me this?”
“Professional courtesy?” Death rose and moved restlessly around the room, fingering the knick-knacks Wilson had collected over the years. “You’ve known me for a long time, James,” he said slowly, “You never denied me. You never railed at me. I’ve always thought of you as - a friend.” Wilson’s eyes went wide at the thought of Death befriending him. “Silly, I know, but you are a good man - a good doctor. I can’t stop the inevitable, James, but I can give you something.” He looked up, meeting Wilson’s eyes with real regret. “I can give you one last day, James.”