The smell of death lingers in the air of each and every hospital I’ve ever been called to. The older the building the more the decades worth of decay and disease overpower the aroma. Yet it remains there, plain as day if you know what you’re looking for.
Ashamedly, I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at the scent of pestilence as I walk the corridors, passing the open doors of patients who stare at me as I walk by, alerted to my presence by the echoing falls of my footsteps. Their hopeless faces illuminated by the flickering glow of their tv sets in the darkness of their respective rooms, revealing their wispy blue scrubs, various apparatuses and watchful eyes.
Saccharine is the best word I can use to describe the scent of death. It’s sickeningly sweet, overwhelmingly so. I notice the increase in intensity with every one of those footsteps that I take toward the palliative care unit of the hospital.
“Good evening, Father McKenzie.” The young receptionist greets me.
“Hello again Sharon.” I return, attempting to keep my composure in her presence. No matter how many times I encounter this girl, my body aches at her beauty. I never quite understood why the ancient Greeks fought a war that lasted a decade to reclaim a single woman. Sacrificing their resources and the lives of thousands of young men in the process. However, if Helen looked anything like Sharon, I understand completely.
“Room 701, Father.” She smiles, weakening the resolve of my knees. “I’m warning you though, the man is difficult.” She shrugs, causing a strand of her black hair to escape from where she tucked it behind her ears.
I watch it as it falls directly into her line of vision half concealing one of her deep blue eyes and stopping just above her full pink lips.
“Father?” Sharon asks.
(Son of a bitch, she was talking and I was staring.)
“Would you like some water?” She offers. “You don’t look so well.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” I clear my throat. “These late night calls must be taking a toll on me, that’s all.”
“You’re very pale.” She states, concerned.
“Really, I’m alright thank you.” I wipe my forehead with my sleeve realizing for the first time just how much I’m sweating.
The beeping sounds of intravenous machines and coughs of patients are deafeningly loud during the uncomfortable silence I’ve created.
I clear my throat again to break it, “Okay, I guess I’ll catch you on the way out, Sharon.” I turn to make my way to the room.
“Alright father, I hope you feel better!” she calls after me with the music that is her voice.
I feel ill at the whole encounter. My breathing is laboured and my skin is burning up. I stop right before room 701, placing my hand on the wall to stabilize myself. I use my free hand to loosen my collar and catch my breath. I reach into my pocket and dry swallow two aspirins to prevent the monumental headache I know is coming. After a few minutes, my symptoms alleviate leaving me only nausea to contend with.
I really should’ve taken her up on that water I think to myself as I pass the threshold of the door and make my way to the old man who lay dying.
He was laid out in his mechanized bed, eyes alert and watching me as I enter with neat grey hair combed to the side of his head. I notice his blue hospital scrubs hanging on his bedside chair before I notice that he isn’t wearing them. He wore instead a cleanly pressed white button down shirt fastened all the way to his starched collar. The type of shirt one wears tucked in, coupled with dress pants. His blanket covers him up to his thighs revealing that he is wearing just that.
“Hello, my son.” I say calmly, trying to convey an air of tranquility.
“Son?” The old man scoffs. “I could be your grandfather boy!” He laughs. “How old are you anyway?”
“31 my so-“ I catch myself. “Sir.”
“I have shoes older than you.” He says through fits of laughter. “Church recruiting children these days?” He wipes a genuine tear from his eye.
I’m used to the older generations treating men of the cloth with utmost respect. Especially those of European immigration. I cannot tell you the amount of times old Italian women have insisted on kissing my hand with very wet lips. This man on the other hand thinks I’m the funniest thing in the world.
“I’m a little confused, sir.” I interrupt. “Last rites are not mandatory, they are given to those who request them by those seeking final absolution.”
“Absolution?” He scoffs again. “What a crock of shit!”
I pick up the chart at the foot of his bed to find his name. “Do you feel you cannot be forgiven Mr. Kelly?”
“I didn’t believe in any of this shit up until a few days ago.” He says shaking his head in bewilderment.
“It’s not uncommon for those in the evening of their lives to search for God.” I reassure him. “God is always willing forgive those of his children who atone for their sins, I am proof of that.”
The old man raises a grey eyebrow inquisitively. “What’d you do?”
“I won’t go into too much detail, but I will tell you that I ran afoul from God’s love in my youth.” I say as I take a seat on a bedside chair next to him. “I’ve done a great many things I am not proud of before I found our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ. With his guidance, I have been born again, making it my life’s work to atone for my sins by helping to guide others to the light of our Father.”
“I don’t want to cut you off here priest…” Mr. Kelly begins. “But you don’t look so good.”
“I’ll level with you, I haven’t been sleeping well these past few nights.” I reply. “I may be coming down with the flu or something because I have been fighting the urge to vomit since I got here. I apologize, I hope you don’t catch it.
No sooner did the words escape my lips, did I realize the sheer stupidity of my statement.
“Oh yes!” Mr. Kelly says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want the coroner to catch anything from me.”
“I’m… So sorry” was all I could muster.
“Kind of like when they give you that stupid alcohol swab before the lethal injection.” He cracks up again. “Won’t have any of those pesky last minute infections!” He howls the last bit in a fit of laughter.
I deserve this one so I give him some time and try to begin again.
Do you reject Satan, father of sin and prince of darkness? I say, pulling my rosary from the pocket of my black robe, rattling my aspirin bottle in the process.
“You think now is a good time to be making enemies?” He squeals kick-starting a whole new wave of laughter.
I try and speak over him.
“Do you reject Satan…” My whole world abruptly begins to spin. “Do you…. reject” my breath now becoming labored. “Do…” I tug at my collar to get some air. “I’m going to be sick.” I fumble out of my chair and open the door to the in-room bathroom while heaving. The contents of my stomach completely expelled in bursts, the first of which missing it’s intended target of the toilet completely. I don’t know how long I sat on that bathroom floor or if I was even conscious for all of it.
When I felt strong enough to stand, I reached into my pocket for more aspirin. I’m pretty sure I vomited most of the first two and besides, my head was pounding. I cleaned my mess on the floor and splashed cold water from the sink on my face to quench the heat radiating from my skin.
“Are you alright in there?” Calls out the old man from just outside the door.
“Yes, thank you.” I say as I reach for the doorknob and open the door. “ It’s like i said-“
My voice catches in my throat, unable to complete my sentence as I stare in horror at a third figure in the room. There, at the bedside of the old man, stood a terrible cloaked silhouette, emanating darkness in the same way a torch emits light, causing it to be distorted and difficult to make out. The proportions of its body too long and exaggerated to be human. I rub my eyes and shake my head and when I open them, only the old man remains.
“Fever dream.” I say aloud rubbing my eyes again for good measure. My heart pounding in my chest making it difficult to breathe. It feels as though a boulder is weighing down on it.
“Maybe you ought to sit down.” Mr. Kelly suggests. “You look like death!” he chuckles.
“I’m sorry.” I apologize “I must be feverish, may I have some of your water?”
“Help yourself.”
I pour myself a drink from his water jug in a stacked Styrofoam cup, drinking it down in a single gulp nearly choking on a ice cube I wasn’t mindful of. The taste of bile washing away, leaving behind a metallic taste as if I’d been sucking on pennies.
I take the man up on his offer and take seat at his bedside.
“Do you believe in angels priest?” The old man whispers.
“I do, Mr. Kelly.” I respond.
“Call me Frank.” He takes a deep breath before resuming. “You see, I didn’t. My whole life, I never believed in anything remotely spiritual. I thought that when you died, you simply ceased to exist.” He shifts his body on his left arm to get closer to me as if what he was about to say was a secret he intended to guard. “When my wife passed on, she spoke to me of angels and a bright light from the peripherals of her vision. I never thought anything of it because my wife was on heavy pain medication to manage her brain tumor.”
“Do you see angels now, Frank?” I lean forward to meet the shift of his body.
He nods wide eyed. “Right there in that corner.” He lifts his hand using his index finger to point the way.
I turn my head to follow his direction and let out a startled yelp at the hooded figure I had convinced myself was just a hallucination.
“You… you see it too?” Frank says in a fearful tone.
I can’t take my eyes off the black figure whose very presence seems to consume the light around him. I can hear him drawing breath now from within the black void of his hood. Every inhale a cross between a wheeze and a growl.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” The lump in his throat audible as he chokes back tears. “She speaks to me.”
I try to speak but no sound escapes my parted lips. A high pitched ringing in my ears making it difficult to even think. The overpowering saccharin scent overloading my senses. “He must repent.” The only thought emerging through the chaos of my mind.
“Stay away from him!” I shriek. “Frank, reject Satan and all he stands for!” I stand holding my crucifix in its direction, becoming incredibly dizzy for my efforts.
“What?” Frank says in confusion. “What do you see priest?”
“A demon masquerading himself as an angel to deceive you into claiming your soul!” I pant out the words through the metallic taste in my mouth, my left arm becoming numb as I continue to hold the crucifix out to him.
“Priest… The angel-“
“That’s no angel, Frank!” I shout while cutting him off. “In the name of the Father, the son and the holy spirit I absolve you of your sins my son.” Hoping my voice conveys God’s authority through the wobbling unsteadiness of my body. The peripherals of my vision fading to black.
“Priest… The angel isn’t in the corner anymore. She’s here with me… she’s… talking.”
The cloaked figure in the corner commences to raise an arm, sending chills through my body.
I look back at Frank, taking my eyes off the beast. The old man is wide eyed but tranquil.
“She says what you’re seeing isn’t here for me.” He trails off. “He’s here for you.”
Rushing water is all I hear as I collapsed to the ground. The impending blackness of my peripherals closing fast over my vision. As I lose consciousness, with the pinholes that’s left of my blurred sight I now see the reason the figure had raised an arm. He was pointing at me with a long white finger, and I could swear as I slipped further away, that he was laughing.
I awoke in a mechanized bed to the morning light, with Sharon at my bedside holding my hand. She explained that I had had a heart attack and the aspirin I was popping like tic tacs likely saved my life. Frank Kelly passed away peacefully shortly after my collapse. His last words I’m told were “I’m glad I was dressed nice for her.”
I sobbed when Sharon told me this. I sobbed harder still when I saw the figure standing behind her, ever pointing, ever laughing.
She said I’ll make a full recovery, but I know this to be false. I can smell sweetness in the air, and I know now its source.
I write this to you all as I don’t have much time and you should expect no reply. Heed the caution of a condemned born again man.
God won’t forgive you either.