Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,37

him, issuing instructions as Michael apathetically listened.

“Place souls on the marked spheres.”

Three spheres lit up on the floor. The three spirits looked mesmerised, their contentedness flicked to reverence. Michael looked annoyed. He gestured for them to step onto the spheres and they did so with a joyful skip in their lifeless legs.

A rainbow of epileptic lights followed; a cacophony of noise. The three souls vanished, as did the marked spheres on which they had stood. The lights overhead began to dim, descending a blanket of darkness over the room. Michael rested against the far wall and allowed his back to gradually slide down until his backside rested on the floor.

He took out the metallic eye and began to idly flip it between his fingers as a desk rose from the foundations in the middle of the room, its radiant surface glowing brighter with each incremental ascent.

“Take the ticket for use in the machine,” the automated voice said after the desk had finished its climb. A slip of paper poked out of a small computer on the surface of the desk, awaiting collection. “The money will be credited to your account immediately.”

Michael glanced at the ticket but didn’t make a move to collect it.

The automated voice issued a warning after several moments of inactivity. “If you do not take your ticket in the next five-seconds, your credits will be cancelled and your account will be suspended.”

Michael felt his breath catch in his throat. “What the fuck!” he bolted to his feet quicker than he knew he could and practically dove towards the table, ripping out the ticket like he was snatching food from a lion’s mouth.

“Jesus,” he mumbled softly with the ticket stuffed neatly into his pocket.

He turned to leave, but the Angel of Death was blocking his path. Michael started in surprise, and then settled, holding his chest. “JesusFuckingChrist,” he hissed in one long breath.

Azrael beamed at him. “Did you like my impression?” he asked merrily. “It certainly seems to have got you going.”

“That was you?” Michael replied, unable to suppress a grin. “The Angel of Death has a sense of humour?”

“Why so glum?”

Michael looked like he had been asked for tea and crumpets with Freddy Kruger. “Why so glum?” he parodied.

Azrael shrugged. “I’m trying to sound informal.”

“It really doesn’t suit you.”

“As you wish,” Azrael said with a swift nod. His demeanour instantly changed to something more serious and far more intimidating. “What is wrong?”

Michael skulked forward, stretched an arm to indicate his intentions and then and dropped the eyeball into Azrael’s waiting palm.

“I stopped the men,” he explained tiredly. “They were clones. They were using this to see the souls. And--” He retrieved the weapon and the vial he had found on the two men, “--this to gather them.” He took a step back, sluggishly drooping against the desk and praying it didn’t duck back into the foundations as he wasn’t sure he had the energy to remain upright.

“That’s all I can do,” he said as Azrael examined the objects briefly. “I’m not a detective and I live in a world of few answers and too many questions. This is bigger than those two guys, but I can’t find out how big or--”

“You’re work here is done,” Azrael interjected sharply. He had deposited the objects out of sight and looked ready to leave.

“What?” Michael said, taken-aback.

“You are finished.”

Michael found the energy to propel himself upright. “That’s it?” he asked, incredulous. “What happens now?”

“For you?” Azrael shrugged indifferently. “Nothing. Although what you have done here, will be taken into account. It will not be forgotten,” he explained with a sense of finality.

“And this werewolf business?”

“It does not concern you.”

Azrael turned to leave. Michael hopped forward eagerly.

“No! Stop fucking telling me that!” he spat belligerently. “It does concern me. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours chasing down two fucking maniacs who have been trying to do my job for me,” Michael was so annoyed and caught up in his arguing that he was spraying drops of spittle towards Azrael, who stood with a charmed look on his face.

“You didn’t help me and none of your fucking friends helped me.” He threw his arm down angrily as he spoke. “I’m sick of not having a clue what’s going on, I’m sick of trying and failing to find things out for myself.” He was losing his voice, the day and the disbelief taking it out of him. “This is it. You tell me now or I quit. You can take this job and