Chapter 7
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With every human life that was put on the Earth came a clock; a clock that ticked and turned nonstop until that human died. Raum had the ability to hear each clock as they ticked and turned. He knew when they had started and when they would end. That was the curse that he was plagued with—knowing who would die and when they’d die to the exact minute.
That fact was no different with Edith. Each time he looked at her, he saw the clock and how much the hands had moved. He knew that this was something that Mable didn’t have to put up with. Sure, she’d see the death when the time came, but Raum could count backwards by years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds to the point where her heart would stop beating.
But that wasn’t what frustrated him about being what he was. What frustrated him was that the amount of time left on the clocks could change based on a wide range of factors. Medical and technological advancements, the actions of other people, climate and weather, and just plain common sense could easily tamper with that clock and add on time or suck the time out of it by several hours, days, weeks, even months at a time.
Knowing the future, Raum knew just how much humanity had changed and how much more it would change over the years, as well as how much humanity would suffer because they were never satisfied with what they had. Wars, the rise and fall of several leaders, new weapons, new inventions to make life easier, and, inevitably, the loss of knowledge. Even now he could see that people didn’t want to read books, they wanted to text on a cell phone. Children didn’t want to learn, they wanted to play computer games. Music was an alternative to suicide. Food was not served at a table; food was served through a window at a drive-thru.
The world Raum was once familiar with was gone. The world was now a sad, morbid place that rivaled Hell.
Even though he was greatly disturbed by all he had to put up with, Raum was also cursed with the inability to tell. He could never tell anyone how much time someone had in their life or what the future held. One thing he did know was that Mable, of all people, wanted to know what he knew so very badly. She wanted to know what was happening to the world. She wanted to know how much time her great-granddaughter had; how much time she had to be with her.
If he wanted to, that was one thing he could tell her.
Forever.
Edith still walked straight on the path of righteousness; the way of the light. She was very, very far away from Hell’s gates; far from having her soul belong to him. The parties, her peers—none of them had made the slightest difference in the path she chose. And perhaps that was a good thing, because he knew better than anyone else that Hell—even for demons—was a very bad place.
Knowing this, he knew that he wouldn’t have to be at the angel’s side much longer. Unless something happened out of the blue to change things, Edith’s soul would forever belong to Mable.
One winter day—on Christmas, no less—Mable and Raum took a stroll through a patch of thick woods, admiring the beauty of the snow covered treed and icy ponds. Mourning doves, cardinals and blue jays could be heard in the treetops and a breeze stirred the air. Mable looked like the kind of angel that could be seen sitting atop a Christmas tree; cloaked in soft furs and warm fabrics. Raum’s only protection against the biting winter air was the multiple layers of tattered fabrics that were draped around his form.
“I’ve always loved this time of year,” Mable told Raum, “It’s so calm and peaceful.”
“You speak of peace,” Raum commented, “That’s because no demon dares to set foot out of Hell this time of year; this day. This is the one day where we do not go near the humans.”
“And with Edith at home with her mother and Derek, I suppose I can afford to be away for a little while.”
They came to a clearing that was bordered by several oak trees and brambles. The sun cut through the snowy canopy in just the right way for its golden rays to light up the snow and throw fragments of light across the trees’ bark.
Mable fell back into the snow and threw her limbs out as if she were trying to make a snow angel, but her body left no imprint in the snow and the snow angel did not appear. Raum only watched her in silence, unsure whether he was intrigued, confused, or just bored by her actions.
“I used to make snow angels with my children and grandchildren all the time,” the angel said, “We used to have so much fun . . . Why did those good times have to come to an end?”
Raum sat himself beside her, “All good things, they come to an end. For some they don’t even begin. How do you bring something to an end that hasn’t even begun?”
“I suppose I’ll never know.”
Raum lay back in the snow and gazed up at the sky above them. His eyes narrowed as the sun hit them, and even though the snow would not cling to him, as he laid there he was cold.
“Raum,” Mable piped up, “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s there to keep me from stopping you?”
She rolled onto her side and looked at him, “Do you think it’s possible for an angel and a demon to be friends?”
Raum turned to Mable and rested one of his bird-like hands on her shoulder.
“If not friends, then what have we been calling each other for the past sixteen years?”
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