Always another soul. Azrael's story.

The Junkie

“So you're telling me that a giant squid burst out of his stomach and walked down the street?”

As Detective Tim Reid listened to another witness statement, he couldn't believe he was writing this down. He thought he would be retired before all this crazy became mainstream.

“Yeah, like Cthulu but smaller. After he shot the guy… busted out of his stomach… like boom… walked down the street…”

As far as crime scenes go, Detective Tim Reid filed this one down as fucked. He replayed the crime scene in his head a fifth time to make sure he wasn’t crazy. Two bodies, the unidentified victim, a male, early to mid-thirties, shot in the chest. He knew the second body all too well. In fact, most of the CPD who worked the south side knew him. Chicago’s finest called him Junkie James. His story wasn’t an uncommon one and up until now, he’d been a thorn in the side of the CPD.
Running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, he thought he should feel relieved-and he almost did-except it was painstakingly hard to ignore the squid tentacles protruding out of the junkie's torso. Looking away, he took a deep breath which he knew was a bad idea and counted down from twenty so he didn’t throw up again.
He thought through the scene again. According to all the witnesses, ‘This giant squid burst out of him and walked down the block.’ ‘You know, just walked’ They said.
No, he didn’t know. What every cop does know is that as far as witnesses go, the story changes so many times in the first fifteen minutes, that what they think they saw was far from what actually happened. Too bad this wasn’t the usual robbery-homicide. Not that he wanted or wished for any unlucky SOB to get robbed then killed, or vice versa, but it sure would be a hell of a lot less complicated than this case. If witnesses were claiming that a squid exploded out of Junkie James, then that meant SQG’s were on the street now and the war on drugs was about to go nuclear. FML, he thought.

SQG. This new designer drug finally reached the inner city and took hold of the vulnerable and curious. The gimmick of this new concoction was the squid ink itself. The pill contained a tiny squid developed in labs that were injected with a chemical that got you higher than any drug out there. The word is that once the pill hits the digestive system, the squid quickly releases the ink into the body and bloodstream before it sinks into the stomach acids and causes the best high of your life. Rumor is that this was a high-end drug, one that comes with a hefty fee if you have the money, and now that it’s on the streets? Probably not so high end anymore.
As with all drugs, there are risks and for Junkie James on the ground, things went very wrong. It looks like he got the generic version and not the real deal. The officers think that by some freakish coincidence the squid grew so large, found it’s way out and by some stroke of luck lived and is now walking around the south side.
The businessman on the other hand simply happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
#



Azrael stood in the shadows observing the gory scene before him.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, he looks up to the heavens, pleading, silently communicating with the powers above, then slowly returns his gaze towards the detective. The hustle and bustle of the police officers and forensics, and however many other officials needed to be there -not to mention the flashing lights of the fire trucks, Ambulance, and all that pretty crime scene tape—, drew out a healthy flock of onlookers.
All this time on earth and the people were still the same. They loved to see death. Only in this day and age, they had camera phones and social media. He was disgusted, jaded even, as he looked upon the spectators with their cell phones out, temporarily excited about the next Facebook or Twitter post of two dead bodies in the middle of the city. “The good part of town, not the ghetto where the gang-bangers shoot each other.” Except there is no good part of town in Chicago anymore and everyone seems to dilute themselves that there is less crime where they live.

He searched the detective's mind and decided none of this information or the crime scene matters. What's truly important is the choice this soul is about to make. Just then, as if right on cue, the Junkie, James Moore got up and looked around, staggered to the dead businessman and began going through his pockets. Only Azrael could see that the bodies still lay on the floor and the busy work of police and company continued without interruption behind the crime scene tape.
With a sigh and a long drawn out eye roll to the heavens, he stepped forward and let himself be known to the dead.
#



For a few moments, James the Junkie didn’t notice the man in the shadows, he didn't realize that he was in a crime scene, or that he was the crime scene. His sole focus was searching the dead man's pockets for money or something worth selling. Very slowly, comprehension crept up and slithered its way into his addled mind and again just as sluggishly, dawning at the fact. His head jerked to the crime scene to the left of him, then at the dead businessman before him, and finally to the shadowed man to the right of him. Before the fear set in, before he began to plead and beg for help, or scream in horror, the man strode forward and placed a hand on his forearm. A gesture meant to calm him.
#


A light rain had begun, and Azrael pitied the officers and officials. No one wants the evidence to wash away. If James made the right choice, there would be no need for the rush to preserve the crime scene.

“James”, Azrael says. “This is a critical time for you. The decision you make right now depends on whether you live or die.” He tightened his grip on the junkie and met his eyes.
“You have a choice. If you choose to live, you will have a new life, no more drugs or addiction. You will have love, happiness, and everything you need. If you don’t choose that, well… you go straight to hell or your version of it, anyway, and that’s it.”
Abruptly, he let the man go and stepped back. All the junkie has to say is live or die. Pretty easy, right? If only, Azrael thought. When a person dies and his soul is halfway between heaven and hell, the soul is at its purest or most corrupt. Their humanity still lingers and their memories or desires come first. If they can muster the strength to be calm and thoughtful, they will be able to make a choice.
His job was to deliver the message and be patient, but it was hard. A test he supposed when the man shrugged and crouched down and started rummaging in the dead businessman's pockets. Azrael sighed. He knew what was coming next and tentatively stepped to the side.
Then, as if struck by lightning, the junkie stiffened. Suddenly as if he had springs under his feet, he leaped at Azrael.



#

James landed perfectly behind the shadowed man. He was confused that he didn’t collide with him like he planned, but pleased by the dexterity and agility he now possessed. His gaze swept the man as he walked around and faced him noting that although he saw him, he never really came into focus. It was like when the lens on your smartphone blurred in and out when you were too close to what you wanted to photograph, or the camera blurred because the objects were moving too fast.
He did notice the watch on his wrist, and the expensive shoes, and the way they gleamed in the rain. He knew the guy had serious dough even though he was dressed poorly. Some rich guys did that. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. He laughed at their stupidity. Didn’t they know the watch and the shoes always gave them away? Who walks around in a cheap suit and wears a Rolex? Then again rich guys also had bodyguards and maybe he was about to get ambushed. Or maybe he was a stupid undercover pig. Paranoia and fear consumed him. He wanted to run but also knew he had the strength to attack and overpower the shadowed man. He hesitated and the man reached towards him once more.

#



Just when he thought James was going to attack, he stopped. Without reading into his mind, he knew that James was assessing the situation, preparing for an ambush. He knew the moment James saw the watch and shoes, the moment his eyes filled with greed and decided he was going to take them. What he didn’t account for was the speed and strength he had acquired in death. Once a weak, scrawny, drug addict, he was now strong and impossibly fast. And that threw him off, maybe confused him, made him think. Good. That’s what he needed him to do, put away his instinct and think. As the words left his mouth once again, He knew James was listening this time.

#



… “This is a critical time for you … choices … live or die … Heaven or Hell …” As the words filtered into James’ brain, he thought, ‘live or die? Who the fuck is this guy? ?’A damn priest or something. Did that catholic shit he was raised with filter through his subconscious or something?
He was a junkie — a low life addict who robbed and sometimes killed for his next fix— but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he was dead. He saw his body only a few feet away from him ruined by the monstrosity that tore through him a few hours ago. Or was it a few minutes? He was rational when he pointed the gun at the businessman to ensure his next fix was going to happen when that rich asshole gave him his money. He didn’t give a shit that the man was begging, telling him that he had nothing. They always say that and they always have something.
He also knew the moment he was about to die. He watched in horror when his stomach bulged and he felt like he was imploding and the vivid flash of the gun as the thing exploded through his torso. His last thought was one simple word, “Fuck.” A word that he’s said hundreds of times. A word that was somehow fitting for the end of his measly life. And now, here he was, strong and maybe not alive, but still here. Which meant he could still get another hit of that new drug SQG that was better than sex or any drug he’d ever had. Better than life itself.

#




Detective Reid was cursing. Literally and figuratively. Literally, because the rain was screwing up his crime scene, and figuratively because he hated his job. He was more than tired of it, he was done. 30 years on the force and this was the worst thing he has ever seen. This was X-files territory and he wished there were a real Mulder and Skully to deal with this mess. Except this wasn’t a mystery, some unknown or secret government experiment gone wrong. This was drugs, plain and simple and he was the head of the fight against it. The only good thing about those civilians hanging around, especially the dumb fucks with the cameras, is the press coverage this will generate. Likes on twitter, and hits on Facebook or shares or whatever the hell those apps do. This problem will get the attention of the higher-ups and will hopefully be the main topic of debate in the upcoming campaign. As long as this generates a conversation. No doubt something like this would rock the privileged world and the good citizens would cling to their children and demand more from the Mayor. Then his boys would get steady work and the cuts would go on the back burner for a while. The upcoming campaign would no doubt bring light to the shortage of blues in the city and how the mayor needs to crack down on this new drug SQG. Or he would get fired for it. Either way, he was set for retirement.

#



For Heaven's sake, he was just a messenger. Azrael wasted a glance at the heavens before his final act. But he couldn’t bring himself to complete the task he was there to do. This junkie, James, age 28, had made his choice. And he wasn’t going to honor it. Even now as James was saying the words, he knew what he was thinking. And it had nothing to do with heaven or heaven-like things.

#


For a brief moment, the junkie wondered ‘why me?’ He was never good. He didn’t aspire to go to college and do something with himself after school, hell, he barely went. He grew up in the streets with the worst kind of people. The kind who killed and stole whatever they wanted and he was okay with that. In a way, he found it kind of glamorous. This was the life he decided he wanted and he had lived that way for years until he met Julia. She believed in him, gave him a real home, tried to get him off the drugs and she did for a while. He was clean for six months until tonight. Tonight he had made the biggest mistake of his life and the regret flooded his mind, his heart, and what was left of his soul.
He didn’t know why he got the second chance, but he wasn’t saying no to it. If he was this fast and strong, oh, the things he would be able to do where ever he was going. Did the shadowed man say he would live again? Yes. He would go back. He could do some serious damage now. He thought about the power he would have over the streets.
Yes. He would take the deal.
He looks at the shadowed man, tries to ignore his fancy watch, and with a big, fat, sardonic smile on his face, said in the most convincing tone he had, “I want to live”.

#

Azrael mentally cursed as James, with a big asshole grin plastered on his face, told him he wanted the second chance. With his fists clenched at his sides and his teeth grinding together, and wings unfurled, he stepped closer and placed his hands on the Junkies head. Prayers, exultations to the almighty flooded from his lips and surrounded them. He did not want this man to go on, but he had no choice in this matter, so he did his job even though someone like this didn’t deserve it.
The businessman James killed? He was a good man, he deserved the second chance. He had just lost his wife and child and finally gathered up the willpower to go back to work. Today was his first day back after he buried his wife and precious two-year-old. Yes, he, Andrew Walker, age 32 deserved a second chance at a new life.
The temptation was there, and as much as he wanted to disobey his orders, he stood there like a good little angel and performed his miracle. It was times like these that he hated his job. Funny how he and the detective had something in common.

#



James felt like he was high, but not a drug-induced high. This was the real deal. Angel, with wings and all doing some cool shit and he was in the middle of it. As the angel spoke, the words flowed out of his mouth like a river of words and swirled around them in streams of pure white.
He thought two things almost at the same time. The first was ‘this must be what a miracle looks like’. The second thought was, ‘that watch would look great on me.’

#


Azrael sighed and glared upwards once again. He was just about done with his miracle and this fool steals his watch. Dropping his hands away and stepping back, he let his miracle evaporate. He was no longer responsible for this soul. The heavens have informed him that he is relieved of his duties.
And they say miracles don’t happen twice in one day.

#


“Crap” was the first word James said the second he realized something was wrong. The moment he slipped the Rolex from the angel's wrist to his, the miracle stopped. He couldn’t move. His body went still, statue-like. One moment he was frozen with terror and the next he was moving. Not just his body, but time.
Time was moving backward — a rewind on life— and it scared the shit out of him. The angel's words, his offer, was being repeated backward. The gestures made with his hands now reversed. His feet were shuffling backward and edging towards his dead body and the crime scene, then he was back to pointing the gun at the businessman, the bullet going back into the gun, the man's wounds healing. James looked down just then and saw his guts and the tentacles folding back in, precisely the way they exploded out.
Then everything quieted down and he was in the shadows of an abandoned parking lot watching the man in the briefcase waiting to cross the street.
He remembered the plan. Wait until he crosses and take his money. Easy. He felt high again and he worried about his next hit. He needed that money.
While he waited he thought something looked off, but what? He searched his memory and then realized that the man didn’t have the briefcase this time when he left the cafe behind him. It was as if he and the man had the same thought at the same time because the businessman looked around for it and then just as the walk light began to blink, he turned back towards the cafe.
“No!” James screamed and ran out of the shadows and just as he reached the spot where it all went down earlier, he hit a wall. A clear glass-like wall and just like that he knew what would happen next. “No.” He whispered as the squid exploded through his torso. The last thing he saw was his, friend, Julia walking towards the businessman with his suitcase. “No” He uttered as his last breath left him and his soul was pulled to hell.
#


Andrew Walker thought that his first day back at work went well. He avoided the pitying stares and belated condolences and focused on his work. His job was all he had left and though it wasn’t much, it kept him going. The accident was a bad one, and he lost more than his nice new car to a drunk driver. He lost his reason to live. But after a year and extensive therapy provided by his job, he was able to get up this morning and try to get on with life. He had decided that public transportation was best and he had enjoyed the bus ride to work. The ride back was not so great. He was starting to remember why he didn’t ride the CTA. The crazies tend to come out after 5 in Chicago. He vowed to call a cab in the morning and decided to walk to the next bus stop to avoid his colleagues and the awkward conversations that were bound to happen.

The smell of coffee and donuts led him to a small coffee shop across the street from the bus stop. ‘What the hell’ he thought, ‘I have nothing to rush home to.’ Those words stung, but he wasn’t going to fall back into that crippling depression again. He was getting on with life and he was going to let a cup of coffee help him.
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the cafe satisfied and ready for anything. Loneliness poked and prodded him, but he suppressed them and focused on the positive. The bus was close, he could hear the roar of the engine a block away and reached into his pocket for his bus card and remembered that he had left it in his briefcase which was still in the cafe in booth nine with “Sally the waitress at your service” doing a phenomenal job. He won’t have time to wend through the busy cafe and get to the stop in time, but he was willing to try.
Rushing to the door and wrenching it open, he stops, frozen in mid-step and unable to speak. Standing in the threshold holding his briefcase was the most beautiful woman he ever saw. Behind him he heard the bus make the stop, the doors opening and closing with a hydraulic hiss, and the engine roaring to the next destination. But none of that mattered. This woman, this angel with brown eyes and brown hair in a messy bun was perfect in every way and he knew, somehow he felt absolutely positive, that they were destined to be together.
“Hi, You forgot your briefcase…oh no, did you miss your bus? I’m so sorry.” Clearing her throat, she stuck her hand out. “I’m Julia. And I don’t mind keeping you company while you wait for the next bus.”
#



Azrael stood in the parking lot pleased that James is where he belongs and that Andrew and Julia's souls are connecting. It was part of his job to help people fall in love. Smugly, he looked up and said, “I'm done here, right?” Not waiting for an answer, he vanished from the lot and reappeared in a crowd of people getting off another bus. The two love birds hadn’t noticed but were lost in a friendly conversation.


“Nope, you are not quite finished old friend. I mean, did you really have to cheat? You know the saying, don’t you? Cheaters never win, they just get another job.” Uriel, appearing in front of Azrael, shook his finger from side to side then produced his trusty scroll. “You see, it says in here…”

Azrael glared at Uriel and said, “I did not cheat.” and walked away. Not one person noticed him or Uriel, two angels of God in the middle of the sidewalk.

For a moment Uriel stood there stunned, then moved after him. “Seriously, Azz, you're just going to deny it? The shoes, the watch, the clothes? You baited him. If that’s not cheating…”

Azrael stops abruptly and faces his friend. “First, don’t call me Azz, it sounds like ass and you don’t swear. Second, you can’t prove anything. Three, no one made James steal my watch. I mean, come on, Uriel, he did it in the middle of a miracle.” He threw his arms up, “A miracle! That was a first by the way. Usually, the humans are struck with awe and overjoyed that there truly is a God. But not this one. All he wanted was to kill people and get more drugs. He deserved to go to hell and you know it.” Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his black hair. “You know, he thought I was wearing a cheap suit?” He gestured to his suit and waited for Uriel's reply.

Uriel eyed the suit and took a step closer to Azrael. Looking pointedly at his friend, he poked him with the scroll and spoke, “It is not for you to decide what happens to a soul. You know this and still, you judge them.” Holding a finger up in thought he says, “Clearly you are wearing Gucci, and I called you Azz because you are acting like an A-S-S and you are right, I don’t swear and no, spelling the word doesn’t count.” Shaking his head when Azrael rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of him, he sighs and walks past him. “Come on. There is another soul that needs your assistance.”

“There’s always another soul.” Rolling his eyes, Azrael looks up and shakes his head before disappearing to his next job.