JOHN FINNIE

'Remember me,' Semila whispered into his ear. God, those eyes of hers stirred something in him. It wasn't natural, really, wanting an angel like that, but John couldn't help it. In his dream, he reached for her face and cupped her cheek in his palm. When she smiled, her gold tooth gleamed like it always had. And then, just as she had for the past week, she started to fade into the walls of his soul.

'Sem, wait!' he shouted and reach for her hand, but she faded anyway.

'Save one, save them all,' she said and her voice echoed and drifted as if they were under water. Then she was gone, and John was alone in the box.

#

The sound of whimpering woke him, his own whimpering. Semila was dead; at last he remembered her, remembered that she had saved him from Grimsol, and that it had cost her her life. He'd never considered the idea that angels could die, never realised it was possible. But it was. The tears rolled down his old face, and he didn't stop them. Instead he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on his bedside cabinet and tipped a few onto his palm.

These would numb the pain.

A cramp shot up his leg, and he screamed, scattering the tablets. 'Fuck's sake,' he shouted.

The monitor against the wall above his head started beeping and flashing a red light, summoning Samantha. For some reason he couldn't stand her presence since he'd remembered Semila. It was illogical, but it felt as if she was trying to replace Semila, even though, to be fair, she had no idea who Semila had really been.

The door flew open and in strode Sam, an iPad clutched in one hand. The word sounded strange and futuristic. 'iPad,' he mumbled and turned away, as if he hadn't noticed her there.

'Another cramp?' she asked tenderly and put down the iPad on a counter, rolling up her sleeves. With the ease that comes from repetition, she lifted the sheets and rubbed at the muscles in his right leg. Fuck, it hurt, but he kept his face turned away from her and grit his teeth. The pain wasn't as bad as what he felt inside.

Out of nowhere, another wave of loss hit him. Charlie. Where he gripped the rail, his hand started trembling, and the ache inside his chest overwhelmed him. Tears poured down his face, down his neck, and he searched frantically for the fucking Vicodin. Dammit. Why had they insisted on removing the drip?

'John?' Samantha said, pausing in her circular rubbing. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he pinched his lips together, hiding the tears from her.

'You know I'm here for you, right?'

He couldn't answer. He hated this--his pathetic life, the pain of losing the ones he loved, and the horror of trying to rebuild a life after seventeen years of suffering. 'I need some Vicodin,' he said.

'Oh,' she jumped up from the bed and picked up the tablets and container John had dropped. 'Of course, you must be in a lot of pain.'

He said nothing.

With the container and pills clutched to her chest, Samantha paused and stared at his face, but he avoided meeting her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she wanted to say something, but she shook her head and dropped the pills back into the container. At the basin, she poured a glass of water for him, then offered him two Vicodin with it.

'This isn't enough,' he said looking at the pills in her palm, but not touching them.

She sighed. 'John, by law I'm not permitted to give you more than two every four hours, and I give you two every hour and a half as it is. I can't give you four. You know that.'

Fuck. He wanted to slap the pills out of her hands and knock the water over, but then where would he get more Vicodin? 'This is fucking shit,' he mumbled, but took the pills and swallowed them down. At least she didn't know about his brandy, hidden safely behind his pillow. That thought put a smile on his face, and suddenly he wanted her to get the fuck out so he could drink away his misery.

'You done with my fucked up leg?' he said.

The joy left her face, and John closed his eyes. He didn't want to see how he was pissing her off. Who was she to come in here and try to save him? Fuck her, fuck the whole world. And... and fuck the man who'd killed his sister.

'Get out,' he growled.

Sam's jaw dropped.

'Now!' he shouted. God, he needed a drink or he'd go fucking crazy. Or a pill. As soon as Samantha was gone, he tipped another four Vicodin into his palm, sneered, and swallowed them down with a long swig of whiskey. The warmth filled his aching body, and numbed the pain in his leg, but the ache in his heart was still there. Oh Charlie. The memory of them hopping around the kitchen, her squealing, 'Tigger, Tiggeeer,' filled his mind, and more tears ran down his cheeks.

Another memory resurfaced, one he hadn't remembered before. A hooded man, dark and eerie, whispering, 'Tigggeeeeeeeeeer,' in a voice as chilling as the winter wind. Goosebumps rose on his arms, and the hairs on his neck raised. Death. Of course. Why did he only remember now? As he wondered, the pills took effect, and bliss saturated him. Ahh, that was better.

John flexed his toes and leaned back into the pillow, the bottle clutched in his hands. The pain in his leg melted away, but the pain of losing Charlie stayed. Nothing could get rid of that. John supposed people would call it grief, but all he felt was pain radiating through his body, right up to the moment he passed out.

When he awoke it was dark, and the pills had spilled out across the floor. John licked at his dry lips and rubbed his face. Water, he needed water. He pressed the red button, and in less than a minute a maid stood at his bedside.

'What do you need Sir?' She clutched her hands together and did not meet his eyes.

'May I have some water please?' John asked with a raspy voice.

The maid walked over to the cabinet, got out a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels, and poured it out for him, but John reached out and put his hand on top of hers. 'Only water please, I don't want alcohol.'

The shocked look on her face was so comic that a laugh built in John's chest. Was it because he wanted water, or because he was being nice? The maid gave him a quick smile and walked out, returning with a large glass of water filled with ice. She passed it to him, and John couldn't get it down fast enough. Straight after the brain freeze kicked in and John winced against the pain, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth until the headache subsided.

'Will that be all Sir?' she asked.

John nodded. 'Yes, thank you.'

With another quick smile, she left the room.

Being nice felt good. Memories flooded into his mind of all the nasty things he had said in the last couple of months to anyone who had been nearby, his loved ones included. The cruelty of his jibes shamed him, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to hide under the covers and never come out. How could anyone love him anymore? He knew he was merely endured, not loved. No one could love a self-centred, conceited asshole like him, and the more he thought about it, the more he hated himself.

His hands were shaking; a gnawing at his mind snapped him back out of his self-pity. Ah, the addiction. Had it been Grimsol? Or was he so weak that he needed something as a crutch? A solitary tear ran down his cheek and he rubbed it away. 'Oh how I wish I could Blink back to the past, I was happy then,' he said to the empty room. Blink. Why did that mean something?

The frustration was killing him. 'Blink! What does it mean?' he shouted as more tears streamed down his face. Marty had mentioned it near the chapel of rest, but John had had no clue of its meaning then, just as he had no clue now.

ANUBIS (DEATH)

Death stood at the end of John's bed. 'Come on John, get those memories firing off. You can do it, you can remember!' With tight fists he gripped the railing at the end of the bed, willing John to make the final leap, the final connection. Remembering how to Blink would be almost the last thing John needed to make him whole again. 'You stole from me John, you made me curious John. Remember how. Remember who you are. Remember what you can do!'

Dark storm clouds appeared above Death's head as he spoke. 'Remember John, remember who you are. I'm impartial, I cannot help you. It's all up to you, son.' Death startled himself with his last sentence. As he looked up, a bolt of lightning flashed from the cloud, straight into John's forehead.

JOHN FINNIE

'I remember! Hindsight! Blink! I remember everything. I know who I am, I'm John Finnie and I can change time. I...can...change...time!' A lifetime of memories flooded back into John and his body jerked with the weight of them, but assimilating that much information proved too much for John, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head--he'd passed out. But for the first time in almost eighteen years, he had a smile on his face as he slept.

SAMANTHA GRIMES

A picture of Marty flashed on Samantha's phone screen as it vibrated in her hand. She swiped the answer key flashing below the image. 'Hi Marty, what's up.'

There was a short silence before he answered. 'I found out what happened to your doctor, some friends of mine dug around. I can't explain what they found over the phone, can I meet you at your house?'

'Yeah, of course,' she said. 'I'll be back at around nine, is that okay?'

'Fine,' Marty said and hung up.

Before shoving the phone back into her jean's pocket, Samantha gave the phone a queer loom. Marty was acting weird, but the nagging voice in her head was drowned out by the thousand questions from the children in the homeless centre. She smiled and tried in vain to answer them all in turn.

#

Having finally escaped the youth centre, Samantha plonked herself into the driver's seat and let out a sigh. She touched the fingerprint ignition and the engine roared into life. The clock read '20:45', which meant she was going to be a bit late, but she knew Marty wouldn't mind. God knows he had been late enough times.

As she pulled up to her apartment, she saw Marty's car, so she pulled on the hand break and got out, smiling when she saw her friend get out of the other car.

A bleep came from Marty's car and the sound of the doors locking. 'Hi Sam, what's up? What do you want to talk about?'

A quirky smile appeared on Sam's face as she locked her own car. 'You called me Marty, don't you remember? You said you had some information about Miss Leang.'

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Marty looked up to the sky. He shook his head. 'I didn't phone you Sam; I have no idea what you're talking about.'

Neither person saw the shadow walk out of the darkness until it was too late. An ice cold hand clamped over Sam's mouth and nose. Samantha struggled to get free until a gun barrel pushed against her temple.

'Both of you get inside.' The man's voice was raspy and terrifying. 'Any sudden movements and I'll nail this bitch. Do you understand?'

Marty put his hands up in front of him. 'Okay mate, just don't shoot. We'll do whatever you ask.' He stepped closer to the man.'

'Stop walking Martin.'

A chill travelled up Sam's spine, and her she began to moan quietly into the stranger's hand.

'Samantha, throw him your house keys,' said the man. 'You open the door Martin, and I do mean it when I say I will shoot.'

With shaky hands, Samantha threw her apartment keys over to Marty and hoped he had some kind of plan. A flash of recognition crossed Marty's face, as if he had seen the guy holding her at gunpoint before. Shit. The bartender had said the Collector sent the cops a tape. Audio or video? God, right now she hoped it was audio, or the man could very well be the Collector himself. Then again, killers never gave away their identities like that, did they? Dammit, she knew so little about these things. She contemplated trying to escape for a second, but the man's grip was like iron.

Marty opened the door and walked in, turning on the hallway light.

'No lights,' said the man. 'I prefer the darkness.'

Marty switched them off.

The man pushed Samantha up the stairs towards the door as if she weighed nothing at all, the gun never moving from her temple. 'That's it, go into that room, and don't you dare scream or I'll shoot,' said the man as he shoved Samantha inside.

Samantha gave a little whimper as Marty walked into her photo room, and the man grabbed her shoulder and pushed her further inside, then closed the door and flicked the light switch, the gun pointed at her face.

'Paul?' Marty said, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' Oh god, was the Paul the Collector, or was this some other guy Marty knew? Though she wracked her brains, she had to admit she'd never heard Marty talk about a Paul before.

A most evil grin spread on Paul's face. 'Some people call me that, well at least that's what they used to call this putrid bag of blood--' He pinched his own cheek and the skin looked sallow as it stretched. Paul's grin got bigger. '--and I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to have some fun with this one--' He nodded at Samantha. '--then kill her too. Now please step back.'

For a few seconds they stood in silence, then Samantha regained enough composure to ask, 'Why?'

Paul tutted. 'I thought you'd never ask. I'm doing it because I don't want John to remember. This is happening because Mr Police officer over here shot me first. And of course, for the sheer fucking hell of it.'

Marty, who had been trying to get closer to Samantha with discreet shuffles, finally got close enough to grab her hand and did so quickly, as if to defy Paul. 'Look,' he said, 'Let her go.' He squeezed Sam's hand and smiled reassuringly at her. 'She's done nothing to you. Just let her go.'

Paul laughed. 'I don't care if she's done nothing wrong. She's nothing to me, nothing but a whore. But you--' He pointed the gun at Marty. '--you are something to me Martin. Every time you talked to him he remembered more, and when you took him to the church that hurt me, that hurt me so bad.' Paul rubbed at his head.

'What the fuck are you talking about you sick bastard?' Marty growled, spittle flying, and Samantha thought he looked enraged enough to do something stupid.

Paul's face blurred as if it were part of a jammed movie reel, and seemed to change into something dark, shadowy, deformed. Samantha screamed as a guttural voice projected from the twisted face that came into focus--a face with rotten teeth that dripped from its horrid jowls and twisted horns, one snapped off. 'I am Grimsol!' he roared, the face he now wore twisted with evil. Who was he?

'The horn,' Marty muttered, his eyes large, as if some great revelation had struck him. Samantha wished he would let her in on the details, but she was too horrified to speak, and then a look of determination replaced the spaced out look on Marty's face, and he said, 'get behind me, Sam,' pulling her behind him as he spoke.

Then Paul walked forward with the gun pointed at Marty, and Samantha cowered behind him, a scream building inside her. In a flash, Marty launched himself at the attacker, and got Paul in the stomach with his shoulder, but Marty stopped dead as if he had hit a pillar of stone. Paul looked down and laughed, and the scream came out, sounding strangled in the sealed off room.

'Come on Martin,' Paul said in a voice that sounded like white static and a low rumble. 'You'll have to do better than that.' The thing wearing Paul's body grabbed Marty by the scruff of the neck and threw him hard against the wall. A sickening crack sounded, and Marty hit the floor with a thud, a few photos fluttering down around him. With a groan, he tried to push himself up. Come on, Marty.

Sam's heart hammered in her chest and she sucked in shallow breaths.

But just as Marty met her eyes, Paul kicked him square in the face.

'No!' Samantha ran at Paul, screaming like a howling banshee, but a hard back hand sent her crashing to the floor with spots dancing in her eyes. Marty got to his knees before another kick caught him in the ribs, and Samantha willed the throbbing pain away as her cheek pressed to the carpet.

Paul kicked Marty again, Samantha heard the sound of ribs cracking, and suddenly she felt nausea along with the dizzying pain.

'Oh how I love killing mortals!' Paul howled at the ceiling. 'You are all so weak!' He looked back at Marty who leaned against the wall: blood frothed from his mouth as he grimaced with the pain.

The horrid horned face jerked and rippled, and Paul's human face was back. He walked over and stood staring down at Marty. 'I think I'll have you watch as I besmirch the girl. A gut shot will suffice, to keep you from interfering.' Paul removed a piece of cloth from his pocked and bent down, face to face with Marty. The demon grabbed Marty's hair.

Sam rolled onto her back, trying to shake the nausea, dizziness, and terror, trying to get her body to work with her, but the pain immobilised her. Or was it the terror doing that?

Paul yanked Marty's head back and stuffed the cloth into his mouth. Then, almost as an afterthought snapped both of the policeman's legs. The scream was loud, even with the cloth in place. As Paul stood back and smiled at his handy work, Samantha pushed up onto her elbows and wretched onto the carpet.

'There we go, almost all done.'

At least Samantha thought that Marty looked completely out of it when his body jerked as the bullet entered his torso. The lights in the room flickered, and she viewed the demon in his full un-glory, and in the demons eyes she recognised her own death. With one hand she wiped the vomit from her face and groaned, collapsing again, right next to her own puke. At any other time, this would have been too gross to bear, but she was dizzy with shock, her heartbeat loud in her own ears, her hands shaking with adrenaline, her stomach knotted with fear, her body reeling with the after-effects of an upchuck. Who gave a fuck about the carpet when she was about to be killed.

Paul knelt at her side and flipped her over. Her limbs felt like jelly, and she wanted to fight him off of her, but it seemed she couldn't; she could only look, horrified, as he climbed onto her body, his weight like a heavy beam, crushing her.

'Hmm,' he said as he stroked his chin. 'If you were eighteen years younger, I would have enjoyed this.' He got up, off of her, and tears welled up in her eyes as she released a shaky whimper.

He walked backwards and took out his gun once again. 'I think I will just kill you both now, your old life worn body holds no pleasure for me, girl.'

A second flash emitted from the gun, lighting up the room, but this time the light stayed.

Pure white wings folded in a protective shell around the Samantha, and Grimsol took a step back when the owner retracted them and stood up.

'How dare you try to kill one blessed by me,' the Angel shouted, his voice shaking the foundations of the house. Samantha was beyond shock now, and looked on dazed, as if all this was happening to someone else, still sprawled on the floor, though now her limbs jerked with tremors she couldn't stop.

'Gabriel,' Grimsol growled, took a step back, and shot again, but Gabriel snatched the bullet in mid-air then looked down at the round metal in his fingers. 'Mortal weapons? Are you serious?' In a flash of light, a sword appeared in his hands, crackling with energy and radiance. Grimsol seemed to wither, and for the first time, in the numb state Samantha found herself in, she found the strength to stop shaking and the hope that maybe they would get out of this alive.

In a blur of movement, the sword bared down on the demon. It stopped short as a black sword that seemed to suck in all the light of the world appeared in the demon's hand.

Gabriel spun and kicked out hard, catching Grimsol in the jaw, sending him reeling back.

Across the room, Marty's eyes fluttered open, half lidded, and slowly he gripped his lower abdomen with one hand to stop the bleeding. Relief joined the glimmer of hope Samantha felt, and she gathered enough strength to sit up shakily and then to crawl away to the nearest wall of photos, against which she then leaned.

'So,' said Gabriel 'this is how you did it, this is how you killed one of mine.' He pointed his sword at Grimsol's blacker one.

Grimsol seemed to grow again as he grinned. 'It's an angel killer,' he said as he stroked the edge. 'It will also kill you Gabriel. My master will be delighted when I give him this news.' In a fell sweep, Grimsol brought the dark sword up and tried to carve Gabriel open, but Gabriel parried the move easily, and snorted.

'You are a lesser demon Grimsol, and soon you will be no demon at all.'

The angel's sword swirled and parried as he brought the demons defence up high, and Grimsol could not seem to find a gap to get on the offensive. Then Gabriel punched out hard. Grimsol smashed clear through the wall, arced over a bed, and came to a grinding halt under a window from which moonlight glowed onto his disgusting form. Still, Grimsol was up on his feet quick, but when he looked at the advancing angel, Samantha saw fear in his eyes. He dove through the window and sprinted off into the night. Shattered glass clinked and pattered onto the carpet, the bed, and her random possessions.

'Coward!' Gabriel shouted as rage twisted his face. He shot forward and paused for a moment looking out the window. As he spread out his wings, ready to pursue the fleeing demon, Samantha gasped at his ethereal glow, the moonlight like a halo of light around him. And then she saw Marty again. He had blacked out, blood pooled around him, and she couldn't see him breathing at all. He looked pale.

'Help,' she said in a quiet voice. 'Please God, someone help him.' She glanced at the window.

Gabriel turned.

The angel did not come to her, but, bruised and battered, she crawled to Marty, ignoring the pain in her body, and pulled Marty's head close to her chest. Then she was on the phone, getting people to help. Casey from the hospital who she'd met while studying--she worked at the emergency room, and swore to send an ambulance immediately. When Samantha dropped the call, she realised her cheeks were wet with tears, and that more were streaming down her face. She stroked Marty's blood soaked hair and rocked his almost lifeless body.

As Gabriel walked forward, having decided to help, Death appeared.

'He is beyond your help Gabriel; he is mine to collect.' Death betrayed no hint of emotion. 'I will ensure this one gets to his place, you can be assured of that.'

Gabriel nodded and vanished into the moonlit air.

Death sat, quiet in the corner, and listened as Samantha talked about when she and Marty had been young, as she rocked him gently. True to his word, when the time came, Death took Marty upwards.

© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018