Maher / SOULWEAVER /
Alex Maher
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4,200 words.
SOULWEAVER
by Alex Maher
Part One: Part
Chapter One
Chapter
With every ending comes a beginning, just as every beginning come to an end. That is the way it is. That is the way it will continue to be. It was the Weaver’s duty to ensure the cycle continues.
#
The phone wolf whistled and vibrated its way across the table. Melissa Cooper picked it up, her mind still fresh from last night’s chance encounter with her new neighbour.
It was only 24 hours before she was in the throes of passion. Not just ordinary passion, but that lump in your guts, oh my god, kind passion that she hadn’t felt for a very long time.
She had been flirting with this guy for a couple of weeks now. A steamy look here. A smile there. He was giving all the right signals, then one night...
She scanned the text, the oxytocin fuelled grin still fresh on her face.
MEL ... LAST NIGHT WAS GREAT, BUT I AM MARRIED. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT IT CANT HAPPEN AGAIN... I FEEL TERRIBLE. PLEASE DON’T CALL ME.
She dropped the phone, the oxytocin grin banished to the far reaches of a few seconds ago. The crack on the screen seemed to be the perfect metaphor of how she felt. Broken.
You total bastard ... you fucking total bastard ...
"You right, Mel?" Someone said as she got up from the small desk at the nurses station.
"I’ve got rounds to do," she padded off down the hallway. Her sneakers scuffing on the overly mopped, sanitary floor and the vanity curtains flapping as she passed.
She paused by the window. Normally, a serene spot to stop and chat with colleagues, have a coffee and look out over the ocean. However, the other staff must have noticed the look on her face. They stared at their feet and found reasons to walk away.
Married ... MARRIED ... I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit.. stupid ...
The shadows of the setting sun played with the blinds, casting her in stripes as she gazed through the tinted glass; however, she didn’t see the sun setting glinting its last hurrah across the water, or the golfers playing their last ball for the day beyond the grand old hospital grounds. The thoughts of last night’s action still fresh in her mind.
Damn he was good, though ...
For a fleeting moment, she was transported back 24 hours, to the bedroom with a man she had just met. The attraction was instant, the action was blindingly fast. What started out as a simple "You need a hand with that?", as she struggled with her shopping, turned into a 3 hour, multiple orgasmic, melted ice-cream on the kitchen bench bonkfest. Her real-life ’Mills and Boon’ fantasy replayed through her minds eye.
The last remnants of daylight fled over the hills. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her looking somewhere between judgemental and sympathetic.
"What?" She said to her translucent self in the windows.
A nearby sob snapped her out of her daze. The warm hold of her imagination gushed back to the sterile hospital corridor, a sunset overlooking a golf course and to being a stupid one night stand with a prick that was married. The cold reality kicked her, once again in the guts. Hospital greens, not lingerie. Bottles of medication in her hand instead of wine, and in place of a 20 something shirtless six pack, an incontinent old man, waiting to die.
Screw you man ... I’m gonna ring Kate and get smashed tonight.
"Alright .. Alright," she said to herself, "but finish this shift and get your head back on track will you!"
She could see a few of the other staff watching her talking to her reflection. Once again giving her the Mel’s crazy look that she seemed all too familiar with.
’Be a nurse’, her mum had said when she was leaving school ’It’s a noble thing, my love.’
Bullshit. It was exhausting. There was never a thank you from the management. The patients are all sick and doctors are all arseholes, plus the hours were terrible.
The fluorescents flickered and clanked into life as she made her way throughout the hospital. The coughs and moans of the sick and injured echoed down the hallway. The privacy of each patient partially obscured by the vanity curtains, but for the sounds, which left little to the imagination. She wondered if it was time she went looking for a new job, again.
So wrapped up inside her own head, she found herself standing outside a doorway, not quite ready to go in.
’4B - Mr. Newman’ announced the card stuck to the door, slightly askew in its holder. She resisted her OCD urge to straighten it, which normally held a tenacious hold on her day to day activities.
The hushed voices of a woman and child leaked out, interrupted by the monotonous, incessant beeping of various monitors, ready to alert if any changes happened to their charge.
She checked her watch.
Only 45 minutes thank god. I need a bloody drink.
She banged her head on the door in a futile attempt to scatter the demons of Mr six pack bending her over and taking her from behind.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Mel. What were you thinking?
"Come in." Came a quiet reply from the inside.
"And how are we today Mr Newman," she said as she entered. A prevaricate smile and lighthearted stature came too easy for her.
"See, I told you, you should have been an actress", whispered the imaginary devil, perched on her shoulder.
"Porn star," said the angel.
Accidents and trauma were no problem for her. Blood guts and gore - too easy, fun almost. But the elderly and infirm with their bed sores and colostomy bags, they were hard work.
Two sets of eyes looked up at her. Her senses were assaulted by the acrid smell of sickness and disinfectant. She could almost taste it. A woman sat opposite the door and hugged a sobbing young girl. The woman quickly looked back towards the man, as if desperate to commit his face to memory.
Once again she caught sight of her reflection on the window as she went to close the blinds. She looked as tired as she felt. The dark red rings around her eyes were exaggerated by the cold harsh hospital lighting. Her skin played with the tones of jaundice. This was the kind of light that made everyone look sick and she looked like and extra from The Walking Dead.
"We’ll come and see you tomorrow dad," the woman promised while she attempted to console her daughter. Tender motherly hands brushed a lock of blond hair from the young girl’s tear stained face. The child sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, leaving a salty wet trail of snot.
Mel smiled again, in what she hoped was a comforting manner, and made her way to stand by the grieving pair.
They overlooked an old man hooked up to machines. His almost translucent skin stretched across his face and sunk into his blanked eyeholes. His thinning white hair was neatly brushed to one side. His breathing mask, obscured a collection of spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. It fogged and cleared with each rattling breath.
"I just need to check your blood pressure, Mr. Newman," Mel un hooked the black velcro-clad instrument.
He turned his head, slow and determined, to face his daughter and granddaughter. Mel could see he loved them. He made a gargled, barely audible sound. His voice cracked through, "I’ll miss you when I’m gone."
The young girl looked back at her grandfather, her big eyes full of worry and a fresh set of tears migrated down her face.
"So where you going then Mr Newman?" Mel tried lighten the mood. "The pub’s not open yet and the coffee from the cafe downstairs is awful."
Silence greeted her again, but this time, it seemed to beat down on her.
The one night stand with a married man anger was way too fresh, bubbling under the surface waiting for an opportunity to snap. Inwardly she sighed, then swallowed it down. Outwardly nurse Melissa Cooper, the embodiment of professionalism, attached the velcro and pumped the rubber bulb, watching the dial and taking mental notes.
"Your blood pressure is a little low, Mr. Newman. I’ll finish up here soon and go get the doctor to check up on you."
"Can we stay with Granddad a bit longer... Please?" The young girl begged. The ’please’ dragged out, in the way that only children can. Mel guessed the girl’s age was about seven or eight, about the age she was when her own grandfather passed away. At the time, she was more interested in her new iPod than saying goodbye to her dear ol’ pop. She watched, with just a hint of guilt, as this kid’s heart was breaking in front of her.
Unfortunately, she had seen this show played out hundreds of times before.
"Visiting time is nearly over anyway love," She placed her hand on the girls shoulder, then moved to one side, a subliminal attempt to make them leave. It’s not that she didn’t care, far from it. She just had other things to dwell on right now. Like feeling sorry for herself and getting drunk and forgetting about him. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to pick up her message.
Mel continued to watch as the old man silently stared at his loved ones. His pale grey eyes reflected their faces. She gave them all an emotionally detached, almost disdainful look as the grieving pair stood closer to the bed, then thanks the lord they didn’t notice. She just wanted to finish this bloody shift. She stepped back, giving them a little more time to finish their emotional ride, and pushed her rage down some more.
She rubbed her neck then looked at her nails; her thoughts drifted again back to the guy who had just moved in next door. The way he fitted those jeans. The six pack and sweat as he lifted boxes. So much more interesting than some dying old fart.
Bastard ...
Mr. Newman gave his girls a quiet thumbs up and a weak smile. Even that seemed to exhaust him. The oxygen sensor on his hand hit the railing on the bedside. The monotonous beep faltered for a second and pulled Mel back to the present. She could see that Mr. Newman was tired.
Ok...enough of this shit.
She re-adjusted the thumb monitor then picked up his chart and quickly scanned his daily information.
"Have you been to the toilette yet Mr. Newman?" She asked with another false smile, her specious tone overly bright and cheerful.
"Come on hun, We should go and let the nice nurse do her job," the mother said, finally catching on. "We’ll come and see Granddad tomorrow ... ok?" She gave the child a hug, who was in the process of leaving another wet trail across her sleeve.
"OK," the girl reluctantly agreed as she leant over, giving the worn out shell of a man a kiss on the forehead.
"Love you, granddad."
Mel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was what she hated. In her current state of mind watching another one of these over emotional long goodbyes just gave her the shits.
For crying out loud, he’ll be here tomorrow - just piss off will you?! I need to change the sheets.
She was grateful that her mind didn’t translate through to her mouth, which continued to smile considerately at the tearful pair.
"Don’t worry," she said, escorting the two out of the room, "we’ll take good care of him, and see you in the morning." Her kind and gentle voice was the perfect mask, belying the thoughts contained within her head.
They were more along the lines of what she should wear tonight to get him to notice her instead of his wife. Something low-cut and revealing, maybe sweatpants and a sports bra? She wondered what his wife was like how she would react if she told her that they were fucking in her bed only the night before.
She watched the pair echo their way down the hall with an evil grin at the thought of starting a fight between the bastard six pack and his wife, before returning to where Mr. Newman was waited.
Wiping shit of an old mans arse was not high up on her list of favourite things do to. She checked her watch again. 20 minutes to go.
"Well, that bedpan isn’t going to change itself is it ... eh." Mr. Newman was sleeping, or so it seemed.
Damn he was good, though.
"The guy next door," she said to the sleeping man, chuckling to herself. "Not you love... that’s just gross... ewww."
***
Unseen, unheard, and unknown, the observer in the corner of the room stood up. A Weaver; existing on an entirely different plane. It had been watching this farce for some time now, patiently waiting. It inspected the young nurse, feeling her guilt and anger. The resentment for Mr. Newman and his grieving family. The stark contrast between youthful promise and vigour, juxtaposed to the epitome of a spent life. Her youthful glow and bouncy blonde hair. Her young mind absent and elsewhere. His, sharp and observant, trapped within a broken old body and unable to communicate. She was of no consequence, so it ignored her and turned its attention to the old man instead.
It could feel death’s approach; hear the subtle changes in the old heartbeat emanating from the prone figure on the bed. The old man’s aura was starting to glow. It became brighter. A faint number formed on his forehead. The Weaver advanced.
Hmm, a six ... nearly there, old man ... nearly there.
It threw its hooded cloak back revealing an almost human face: A woman. Not young, but not old, not pretty, yet not unattractive. She climbed up onto the old man. Her long, black booted legs wrapped around his chest. Her black hair fell across her pale, almost blue tinged brow. She carried a scar above her eye, marring an otherwise perfect complexion. She brushed a lock of hair from her face and peered at the dying man.
"Death approaches, life begins." She said.
The words came out, sadly, almost like a mantra as she caressed an empty glass vial, suspended on a chord around her neck. The nurse continued to babble inanely about the bastard who lived across the hall as she checked the old man’s vitals in a systematic process. The Weaver felt that this nurse was deliberately taking her time. However, her constant chatter was of no concern. No more than the ant is to the raging storm that drowns its nest.
"Ah, well... This one will grow up eventually," she mused, speaking to herself as much as to the man lying beneath her. The curiosity got the better of her and she held out her hand towards the nurse. A smile curled at her blue lips. "Ahhh. I shall see you at the epoch to weave a soul into your baby, Melissa Cooper."
The nurse sat down in the chair, previously occupied by the old man’s daughter and granddaughter. The Weaver could feel the anger seething from within this young woman. "So you have been wronged. You will feel joy soon, young woman."
The nurse was again contemplating her nails, muttering to herself.
Sometimes the living can be so fickle.
The silence in the room was shattered by a long unbroken beep, the monotone drone alerting that the old man had gone into cardiac arrest.
***
"Shit... Shit.... SHIT!" Mel stammered. She reached for the alerts, making sure that the machines weren’t in error. She checked the paperwork again. Clearly it stated that he was a DNR. Tension pulled at her shoulders. The she sighed.
"Guess I won’t be changing your bedpan tonight then hey old man," She said. "Wish me luck tonight will ya?" She turned off the machine and called in the code blue, and the duty doctors poured into the room.
***
The Weaver smiled. She liked this part. She vaguely heard one of the doctors saying something about the time of death.
Soon she wasn’t aware of anything as she sat across the old man’s chest, except the high from absorbing his memories. She leant forward and gently brushed her lips to the still warm forehead of the dead man beneath her, then placed her hands around the old man’s neck.
Recollections came flooding into her as she squeezed. She gasped and shuddered in ecstasy.
She saw the birth of his daughter... The fishing trip with a lover. She saw the way they watched each other as they skinny dipped in the lake; the memories kept coming faster, incoherently and yet wonderful. The accident when he broke his leg. She felt his pain. His passion His lust, and greed. Faster and faster they hit her. They didn’t make much sense but she didn’t care.
She Threw her head back and gasped as the breathlessness took her.
The Soulweaver fed.
"DUTY ANAM PHI ..."
A voice came to her foggy at first ... then clearer.
"WEAVER ... DUTY ..."
It was her own voice, reaching out to her from beyond the elation. She had a duty to capture the essence. If she missed it, it would dissipate into the air like swirling blood through running water. If she consumed too much, well that was just unthinkable.
Clarity came back. Her eyes focused and with a shaky hand she uncorked the small vial around her neck. The transcendent haze imbibed into the glass tube. The tube illuminated like phosphorous amber. She replaced the lid then paused for a moment to compose herself.
"A clean soul, a six too, you’re going to be a good person in your next life."
Satisfied, she stood. Her attention captured by an image of a woman. This woman was heavily pregnant and lying in bed. She focused her energy, closed her eyes.
#
The bedroom was dark, the curtains drawn and the smell of chocolate, baby oil and sex lingered. A candle flickered in the corner and the soft romantic light allowed the shadows freedom to play at will. The iPod delivered chilled out tunes, which set the mood nicely.
Eric and Amy Watson (formally Biggs) lay together embraced in each other’s arms.
"How was it?" Eric stroked her hair with tender hands.
"Nothing." Said Amy, "Not a damn thing."
"Oh, I er, didn’t mean that, Did I er ... get you?"
She propped herself up onto her elbows and giggled at her new husband’s insecurities. He was always worrying about that. A drop of sweat rolled down in between swollen breasts and onto her tight and fat belly. It changed direction as the shape of a small foot protruded from within. It formed an almost perfect, inside out, mould.
"Nah, hun," she batted her eye in an overly dramatic fashion, "You’ll have to owe me one."
Although she was joking, she could feel a change in his mood; she could sense him withdrawing into himself in disappointment. She leant over and gave him a kiss.
"It was fine babe, jeez I wish you’d stop worrying about that. Anyway, looks like you woke the bump up!"
"We can try again if you like? Just give me a minute." Eric grinned
"Nah," she replied, "I’m fucked, fat and horrible, I don’t think I have it in me."
She rolled over onto her side, pulling the sheets to cover herself, then looked at his shrivelling manhood and chuckled
"You aren’t up for it anyway by the looks of things," she mocked. "Plus..." she gestured toward the shapes and movement inside her belly.
"Are you sure that it doesn’t hurt the baby?" Said Eric, genuinely concerned. "I mean, what if he ... she ... it, is down there and this bloody great ’donga’ starts poking it in the head?"
He slapped his forehead with the back of his hand. "The bloody kid will be traumatised for life!"
"Don’t be daft," Amy replied as her new husband moved around to sit behind her.
She leant up against him as he gently started to massage her neck and shoulders. Her eyes closed and she dropped her head forward. A slight moan slipped out and she enjoyed the moment knowing that very soon it would be sleepless nights, nappy changes and bot bots. She wasn’t really sure if she was ready.
"Reckon we’ll still be able to do this once ... you know?" she asked sleepily.
"Of course," He replied, "that’s why we have a baby’s room."
***
Anam Phi opened her eyes. She was standing by the bedside. She looked around and noticed the wedding photos on the wall. The ironic bump in the virginal white dress standing, arm in arm with the tuxedo looking nervous. A couple of bridesmaids beaming. The groomsmen caught on camera chancing a sneaky glance at said bridesmaids.
The usual kind of thing. Looked like they had a good time.
In the middle of the photo, Anam could also see an older lady shooting the two lovers an extremely un-approving glance.
"Still new and very much in love. That’s sweet." she mused. She glanced at the stern woman again. "They seem like decent folk, give them a chance."
Anam walked back over to the couple and watched as they gently caressed each other and giggled. She leant over and touched the woman’s swollen belly. She felt a slight hint of sadness as she took in the loving scene. She would never feel the touch of a lover.
She snapped out of her musings before she forgot why she was there and focused again on the young couple in front of her. Anam held a hand over the pregnant woman, concentrating on the baby bump.
"A boy! ... Excellent."
The sheets slipped down again revealing both their naked bodies. Neither seemed to care, their banter and massage became more sensual as the candle burnt low. The ethereal voyeur had seen it all before, many times.
She was glad this was a loving relationship. The violent ones were the worst. She watched on as Eric and amy Watson’s arms and legs intertwined.
"Maybe you could go for round two?" Amy suggested, with a cheeky grin. She pushed back onto him.
Not right now guys... you have things to do.
Anam fingered the glowing vial around her neck, toying with the lid.
Eric’s hand reached down to cup his wife’s breast.
"In that book your mum got us, it said that one of the best ways to induce labour was..." Eric hinted.
Anam Phi carefully undid the lid.
"What was that?" Amy said, her voice abrupt. The mood shattered like an antique glass vase on tile--the unique shards of this intimate moment scattered across the floor.
"What?" said the Eric, confused. "What was what?"
Anam held the little glass vial up in the air, over Amy Watson’s belly. The glowing aura contained within gently flowed out. It drifted, steaming its way down onto the young woman. For a moment, the vaporous life-force seemed to hang above her, and then as if it found an opening, it rushed into her umbilicus. Swirling around her inverted belly button like water going down a drain, consumed by the life form contained within.
***
"Nothing," she said despondently "Just my imaginat ... whoa shit!"
Amy doubled over in pain. Her eyes, so soft and doey before, now screwed tightly shut as the contraction shuddered its way down through her body. Her hand clenched into fists.
"JEEEESUSS!" was all she could manage to get out.
"Bloody hell is it time!"
Amy Grunted in pain as the contraction intensified.
Anam Phi, stood back to watch. The Weaver smiled. Humans did this kind of thing so often. So composed, and full of laughter until that first moment when the real labour starts. Then it’s all out the window and the shit hits the fan.
"I’ll get the car," Eric said, jumping out of the bed. The sheet tangled around his feet, he tripped and fell into the wall with a thump. The wind was knocked out of him, but he carried on with a grunt.
Amy cautiously laughed as the contraction subsided; her lover’s antics as he fumbled to get his pants looked like something from an old comedy movie.
"Your timing to make me laugh is bloody terrible." She could feel another contraction coming on "You better hurry babe, there is another one coming!"
"I’m on it, I’m on it" Eric shouted. He ran out the door, pulling on pants and shirt all at the same time. Amy puffed and panted, then she started to chant a mantra of "Breathe two, three, four, Breathe ..." followed by "CRAPCRAPCRAP argh!"
***
Anam Phi smiled and then faded. The vial was empty. Her job was done. Now it was time to rest for a little while. It had been a long wait for the old man to pass. Longer than she had anticipated. Still sixes were always pretty damn strong.
Chapter Two
Chapter
Part Two: Part
Chapter Three
Chapter
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