by Bea Paige
For a few precious moments, there is nothing but absolute silence. I can’t hear Natasha as she pushes through her final contraction. I can’t hear the machine bleeping, or the clock ticking or even my own breathing. I hear nothing, and it is bliss.
And then…
A fraction of a second later, a familiar cold dread flutters up my spine. I hear a voice.
And he is singing.
Chapter Two
Panic litters my thoughts.
No, no, no, no.
This can’t be happening. Not here, not now. I glance at the CTG monitor, there is nothing on there to indicate this baby is in distress. I don’t sense a thing. Nothing to tell me that this would be anything other than an ordinary birth.
Nothing.
And yet, the singing gets louder, clearer, more achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. It is a beautiful darkness.
Natasha? Could it be her that death calls for? She is in the last throws of her final contraction and she is bearing down with all her might. There are no obvious signs of distress for either of them. So why is the singing so clear? Why does my skin prickle with fear, with dread? Why does it feel like there is someone else in the room with us, even though the door has remained shut for all this time?
I daren’t look around. If I ignore it, maybe this time he will go away. Maybe this time he’s got it wrong. The voice is the same as it has always been. I may be deaf to sound, but I am not deaf to his singing. I never have been. At first, when I was a youngster, it had been a chorus of voices, then for a few years I didn’t hear the voices at all and had almost forgotten they existed. Since working at this hospital the singing has returned, only now it’s singled down to just one voice that I recognise.
It both repulses me and attracts me, and as always my body begins to sway, like a snake under the spell of a charmer.
NO.
I shake my head, trying in vain to clear it. My body tenses as I try to resist the urge to listen.
I look at Natasha’s soundless scream. Thankfully she’s oblivious to my own sudden panic. Between her trembling legs her baby begins to appear, and he is perfect.
“That’s it, Natasha, keep pushing,” I urge her, my hands supporting the baby as he emerges into the world.
Still, the singing gets louder, the notes crisper, clearer. The crescendo is coming, and I know what that means.
No, no, no, no, no.
I look from the baby to Natasha, and back again. It’s a mistake, neither are near death. So why has he come?
Natasha screams again, blotting out my own voice as I ask, “Why are you here?”
The voice falters, a note hangs in the air around us. “Please go,” I whisper. I have no idea that he will hear me, or obey, but I can’t allow either this mother or baby to die.
I can’t.
With a last almighty push and my hands supporting his head, Natasha’s little boy is delivered into the world. I immediately scoop him up, placing him on his mother’s bare chest. Skin to skin, body warmth to body warmth.
He doesn’t take a breath. He lays still and boneless on her chest, slick with vernix and blood, underneath his skin is blue from lack of oxygen.
Tears pour from Natasha’s eyes as she glances down at her little boy. Her hand flutters up to his face, her fingers pressing lightly against his cheek.
“Why isn’t she breathing?” she asks. I read her lips, the words forming in my head.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be okay,” I say, clamping the umbilical cord and cutting quickly. I want him to be okay, I need him to be okay, but his lifeless form and lack of colour tell me otherwise. And then there’s the damn singing. Death swirls around us, its inky tendrils waiting. I want to scream with rage.
How can death sound so beautiful?
No, not this baby.
“He? She’s a boy?” Natasha asks, wonder and happiness brightening her face.
“Yes, you have a beautiful baby boy, but he needs a little help. I’m going to clear the mucus from his nose and mouth,” I say, wrapping him in a towel to keep him warm and lifting him from her. I try not to let the panic show in my voice. I need to remain calm, but the singing is loud and true, and my hands begin to tremble.
The worry pulls more tears from Natasha’s eyes, and lip-reading I understand well enough what she says next. “Oh God, what’s wrong with him? He’s not breathing, why isn’t he breathing?”
“I’m going to call for help, Natasha. Try and stay calm.” I press the red emergency button on the wall behind her head, then lay him down on the resuscitation unit in the corner of the room, flicking on the heat lamp above. I rub firmly but gently across the baby’s skin, wiping away any vernix and clearing the airways with a handheld suction pump to remove any mucus.
Still he is lifeless, his limp body unbreathing. His tiny fingers are curled into his palms, as though he is ready for the fight, and oh, how I want him to fight. My heart breaks. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies and never lost one.
Never.
Just as I replace the wet towel and wrap him in a clean one, the door slams open and the emergency medical team rush into the room. Immediately, my colleague Ann deals with Natasha, whilst I get assistance with resuscitation from the on-call obstetrician. After a couple of minutes of compressions, the baby’s skin starts to pink up. I look at Nick.
“There we are little one, that’s it,” Nick says, smiling, his light brown hair catching the light in the glow of the heat lamp. But I don’t return the smile. I can’t. The singing has become clearer, the words sharper. Something is terribly wrong.
Death is here.
And he won’t leave until he’s got what he wants.
Nick places his stethoscope against the baby’s chest. I watch his mouth move as he speaks.
“His heart rate has picked up. Look, he’s opened his eyes.”
My gaze drops from Nick to the baby. He’s looking directly up at me. My hand flies to my mouth in shock. His eyes are a glacier-blue, they are exquisite. But it’s much more than the unusual colour. It’s what I see within them, the soul behind them.
This baby, he’s been here before.
I don’t know how I know, but I know it’s true. And the worst part is, he knows the singing is here for him too. A tiny tear sparkles on his lash and falls from the crease of his eye. Too many lifetimes are revealed in his gaze. Tears prick my eyes, matching his own.
“His eyes…”
“Wow, they’re certainly beautiful,” Nick says with a smile. He does some last checks, and satisfied the baby’s okay, swaddles him and takes him to Natasha.
I stay where I am for a moment and grab hold of the resuscitation table, my fingers digging into the blood smeared towel.
This isn’t over.
A wash of sound rushes over my skin, the hairs on my arm standing to attention. The words in the song begin to pull at my consciousness. I’ve never understood the language, but now it’s as though the meaning is beginning to surface in my mind after years of being buried in sand.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Nick, he’s holding my hearing aids.
“You’ll be needing these back, yes?” he asks. I remove my blood-soaked gloves and throw them in the medical waste bin, then hold out my hand. He drops them onto my palm.
“I took them out. They’re broken. Natasha and the baby are in safe hands. I can lip read,” I say by way of explanation, pocketing them.
“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting you’d put either in danger, I merely didn’t want them to get trod on. They were on the floor.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. On the bed, Natasha is gazing at her son with such joy and love, I find it hard to breathe knowing her happiness will be short-lived.
Nick squeezes my arm. I concentrate on the shape of his mouth moving. “You did well, Fern. Mother and baby are fine. You should get on home. Your shift is over, isn’t it?”
“I’ll stay for a while longer. They’ve been through a lot,” I say, knowing that very soon Natas
ha is going to need me.
He nods his head. “All vitals are normal. Mum has just delivered the placenta and is doing well. Baby is fine.”
I smile tightly. He is wrong. Neither will be fine. As soon as the singing ends, the baby will be dead and no amount of resuscitation will be able to bring him back. I know this with absolute certainty. I want to run with him from the room, but I know it will do no good. The inevitability squeezes tightly around my chest, but I push my own grief aside. The least I can do is remain strong for this mother.
The singing remains as I take my place by Natasha’s side. She is so entranced with her baby, she doesn’t notice the others leaving the room or me standing next to her. Her little boy with ice-blue eyes stares up at her with such peace and love.
I can barely breathe as the singing twirls around us both, moving about the room.
Time seems to stand still.
The air fizzes and cracks with intent.
Words begin to form, and it is no longer a language I don’t understand.
Now I understand every word…
Silent are the tears that fall upon your face
Silent are the words which swirl around this place
Darkness calls for your precious soul
Darkness stills your heart
So that I might live again
Fear spikes in my chest as I look at the baby wrapped in his mother’s arms. Just around the edge of his lips I see a shade of blue begin to form and the life behind his eyes begins to fade. Natasha doesn’t seem to notice.
“No, you won’t take this baby,” I say out loud, anger replacing fear.
Natasha’s head snaps up. “What did you just say?”
I slam my hand once again on the emergency call button. “Natasha, you need to give him to me. He doesn’t seem to be taking in enough oxygen. Do you see the line of blue around his lips?”
“What?” She looks down at her baby, at his rapidly darkening lips. “No, no, no,” she cries, her eyes widening with disbelief.
I take him from her proffered hands and, holding him against my chest, stride back to the resuscitation unit.
“You will not die, little one,” I say, ignoring the singing, the skin-tingling words. It is just as well that I cannot hear his mother’s cries too. I need to concentrate on bringing him back. Unwrapping him from his blanket, I check for a pulse.
It is fading fast.
One day I’ll be brave enough to let you live…
No. No more. I try to block out the words.
I begin compressions. Using two fingers, I give three pushes to the middle of his chest, followed by one ventilation. I repeat this again.
Come to me, I shall bring you home
To dark meadows and shadowed mists
“I’m losing him,” I say to Nick as he rushes back in the room.
No, this can’t be happening. I refuse to let this baby to die.
I see the surprise on Nick’s face. “What happened? He was fine.”
I shake my head, not able to form any words. Nick and his colleague urge me to one side as they take over from me. I watch them as they continue with the resuscitation, as they fight for a life that has no place here anymore.
Until the time comes when I
Shall find you once again…
“I am sorry,” the voice says.
Nick and his co-worker stop. Her baby is gone. His eyes are blank, staring. I close my eyes to the prick of tears and drop my head.
Nick rests his hand on my arm and I snap my head up. “Go to Mum, we’ll bring baby over in a moment.”
I nod my head, my feet as heavy as my heart, and drag myself to her side.
Natasha looks up from my empty arms to my face. “I’m so sorry,” I say.
But sorry isn’t enough. It will never be enough. And even though I am deaf, I don’t need to hear Natasha’s heart-wrenching cry to feel the utter desolation in it. Her grief vibrates over my skin, reaches inside my chest and squeezes hard until my heart is nothing but a bloody mess of tissue.
Pulling her into my arms, I hold Natasha as she sobs for her lost baby, her tears soaking through my top. I rest my cheek against the top of her head and hold her close, guilt dragging over my skin as Natasha claws at my back.
Moments tick by, the seconds are an eternity of vacuous space stretching on forever, they are nothing but a blink of an eye. Time speeds up and slows simultaneously. I feel a warm hand on my arm squeeze gently. It’s Nick and he has her little boy.
“Would you like to hold him again?” I ask gently.
Natasha pulls away from me. She nods her head, mute from the emotion.
I step aside as Nick hands Natasha her little boy. He’s wrapped snugly in a white blanket. This time his eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful. Natasha places a gentle kiss against his tiny lips and traces a finger against his cheek. Silvery tears track down her face, dripping from her chin onto him. He looks as though he is crying too. Her grief is suffocating, and I find that I cannot watch anymore. This is her private moment, her time to say goodbye to a future that should have been filled with life, not death.
I lift my gaze from them both, catching a movement by the open door.
A man with jet black hair is standing with his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He is wearing all black, the only colour the white of his skin, stark like moonlight against a dark night.
No one else in the room notices him.
I take an involuntary step forward, pulled towards him by some invisible force. He notices my movement, his head snapping up. My heart ices over in my chest as my hand flies to my mouth, trapping the scream that is desperate for release. I wobble on my feet, gripping the bed for support.
His eyes, oh my God, his eyes.
They are the exact same colour as the little boy who’s now clutched lifeless against his mother’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” he mouths, his full pink lips forming the soundless words. There’s too much pain in his gaze, such complete and absolute sorrow. It is as heartfelt and as broken as Natasha’s.
I take another small step forward, pulled by an invisible thread in my stomach. The urge is too great, the pull too strong. This is the man behind the voice, but who is he? What’s his name? Why can no one else see him, hear him?
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
Dipping his head once, he walks from the room. On his back is a set of black wings.
Wings? My knees buckle, and I stumble.
They fall in a large arc, the bottom feathers grazing the floor. He stops at the door and glances over his shoulder at me before his eyes rest on Natasha.
My mum had always believed in angels. God’s creatures sworn to serve him in all that is good and pure. To guard, to protect.
But this man before me, he is not here to welcome a soul into the world. He isn’t here to protect. He is here to take.
He is an Angel of Death.
Chapter Three
Gabe
After all this time. She finally saw me.
But now, I wish she hadn’t.
The way she looked at me will forever be imprinted in my mind. Hate, loathing, fear. Her judgement ripped through me like a knife gutting a fish. Those few words I uttered were not enough to stitch together my broken and bleeding chest. I’m sorry means nothing when you’ve taken something as precious as life.
I know that. I live with the guilt every day of my shitty life.
It was her fear that devastated me the most.
She was right to be afraid. I took that child’s life to keep myself alive. A soul I am bound to, reborn over and over, only for me to take it so I can live in eternal damnation. It is the Queen’s will. Her way to hurt my people the most. Where once we brought life into the world, just like Fern, now we are forced to take life to keep our own.
How cruel that today the soul I am forced to take in perpetuity was one she happened to bring into the world. I had almost stopped. When I’d heard her plea for me
to leave, I had almost obeyed. My feet had moved towards the door, the song stuttering on my lips.
But I couldn’t do it and now his precious life has been destroyed by my touch, my voice.
He is not the first, and he won’t be the last. The same soul reborn, only to be taken by me repeatedly. I bear the scars of that one soul and all the mothers he has been born to. I leave a millennium of heartbreak behind me. Mothers’ tears burn my skin. There is no space left to feel anything other than their grief. I carry it with me every second of every long year of my damned life. We all do. For every single member of Clan Vitae has no choice but to do the same. Each one of us is bound to another soul. To live we must take it every single time it enters the world.
Only a handful have ever been able to fight the urge and refuse. They are free now from this cycle of life and death. I’ve never been strong enough to do the same. Not even Ether has. He is the strongest of us all, my brother-in-arms, my friend, my leader. Yet even he, with his pure heart, has never been brave enough. Mihr, my friend from before we were turned, he lives like a ghost, doing what Queen Adrielle demands. Silent. Untouchable. He is changed, dramatically so. No longer the man who loves to laugh. I try to make up for it with dry humour and sarcasm. Both Ether and Mihr see me for what I am.
I am weak.
Somewhere inside I still live in the hope that one day I can be free to atone for my sins. Free to live the life I held so dear before that fucking bitch took it from us all.
Live?
As I sit on the roof of this building, watching the dark of night absorb all light from the sky, I laugh at the absurdity of it. For the last one thousand years, I haven’t lived. Surrounded by the Shadowlands isn’t a fucking life. It’s a punishment, despite our home nestled amongst it. Even the Queen refuses to go there. She knows the dangers of stepping one foot inside a place that swirls with death, that seeps from the very ground we walk upon. Even with all her power she understands that some things are best left well alone. She might be able to control us, but she isn’t able to control a monster of her own making.