This was my submission to the Plotstorming.com May short story contest.

Heather Langston
Word Count: 2360
May 2008
“Darkness Creeps In”
Brice stretched his arms above his head, ignoring how the starched collar cut into the back of his neck. His shift was only three hours old and already he suffered from a headache. The man shifted in his chair and reached across the report desk, his fingers probing through the mountain of paperwork for any sign of his empty coffee mug. Reclaiming his prize, Brice roused himself and headed towards the station kitchen and hopefully a fresh cup of coffee. His boots squeaked, the annoying sound cutting through the morning air as he rounded the corner. He hated those nasty, red tiles and the filth they trapped. Brice looked around the empty day room even though he knew his partner would be out fiddling with something or other on the truck. Walking into the kitchen, Brice cursed loudly and stared at the empty coffee pot. Slamming down the empty mug, he busied himself with preparing another pot of his nectar.
“Sucks working with a non-coffee drinker, doesn’t it?” The voice oozed through the air, causing Brice to shudder ever so slightly.
“It can be annoying,” Brice replied nonchalantly as he shoveled coffee into the too small filter. “I actually thought you might not make it today.”
“And miss the pleasure of your fine company? I think not.” A dark shadow brushed against Brice’s shoulder before drifting to the kitchen table. The demon flopped into a wooden chair, casually draping an arm over the back. “Let me ask you Brice, how long have we had this …arrangement? Two, three centuries?”
“Four fun filled centuries and counting,” Brice sighed. “I’d figure an all-powerful entity such as yourself would get bored after a while.”
“First,” the demon held up one bony finger, “while I enjoy the compliment, I am not all-powerful. Second, you brought this on yourself by trying to enslave me.” Slouching back against the chair, the demon looked for all the world like a surly teenager. “I simply operate within the boundaries of the rules, Brice.”
“Whatever,” Brice tapped his fingers against the still empty coffee cup, “I admitted I screwed up and I even apologized. Several times. I’m getting sick of this routine.” He grimaced at the specter. “Can’t you just cut me a break?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate you right now.” Brice scowled at the impossibly slow coffee maker. Every day he had paid for one horrendously poor decision in his life. Four hundred years of payback. Even Brice had to admit that his youthful decision to attempt to enslave Death was ludicrous. When his spell failed, Brice had expected harsh punishment. He had expected his own termination. Death, however, had a rather peculiar sense of humor and instead sentenced him to unending life. Initially, Brice failed to see the downside of that particular punishment. It wasn’t until his friends began succumbing to the natural order of things that he realized the true breadth of his sentence.
“You’re going to get a call.”
“Huh?” Lost in thought, Brice barely heard Death’s warning. He shook his head and moved over to the station printer, snatching up the dispatch sheet just as it finished printing out. “Yeah, you tagging along on this one or are you going to hang out here.”
“Hmmmm,” Death tapped the table and cocked it’s head to one side. “Nah, nothing good on the agenda until 4:15. You might want to carry some extra gloves for that one though.” Shrugging his shoulders, Brice walked out into the bay as the station tones blared through the speakers. He ignored the racket and tossed the printout to his bumbling partner.
“Fifth and Kingston, try not to get me lost again.” Brice grumbled a few non-toward comments as he pulled his large frame into the driver’s seat of the ambulance. He cranked the engine and scowled out the window at Death as the smoky figure waved enthusiastically at him. Why couldn’t he be haunted by a cranky, miserable Scrooge-like being? He dismissed the thought and turned left out of the station, wisely ignoring his partner. Death had been correct, the incident required no more effort than picking up a hefty man from his straining commode. The ride back to the station was quiet; Brice’s partner rarely spoke and was convinced that Brice was the devil incarnate. The arrangement was fine with the ancient man; he didn’t like talking to anyone. Brice backed the ambulance into its snug garage and returned to his office. Death was there, as usual, riffling through the mountain of old medical reports that Brice was responsible for reviewing.
“You know, it is against the law for anyone not directly responsible for a patient to read any information about said patient.” Brice threw himself into his chair.
“I rather think of this as my own quality control.” Death pointed at a report. “Take for example this gentleman killed in a head-on collision. Had I been a little nicer, I could have taken him out a fraction of a second sooner. Heart attack or something like that. Would have spared him from suffering for thirty seven minutes of extrication and…” Death looked closer at the report, “and six IV attempts! Ouch!”
“So why didn’t you help him out a bit?” Brice glanced at the report to make certain that he hadn’t been responsible for the shoddy care.
“He was a jerk.”
“Oh, so he deserved to suffer. Gotcha!” Brice winked at Death and sat back in his chair. “Talking about dying…”
“Are you going to start whining about that again? I remember your suicide phase. You aren’t going to try that silliness again, are you?” Death tossed its head back and sighed heavily. In his earlier years, Brice concocted several methods of ending his cursed existence. None had succeeded despite his best, and sometimes brilliant, efforts.
“No, even I’m not that stupid.”
“Although the dynamite thing was pretty impressive. Took me a while to piece you back together after that.” Death shrugged.
“I’m still missing my left pinky toe.”
“Your fault, my friend. I warned you not to do it.” Death waited as Brice’s partner knocked timidly on the door. The youngster rambled briefly about needing more gloves, constantly casting his gaze around the office before tearing off again. “You might want to keep your voice down a bit, bucko. I think the new guy might be wondering about your sanity.”
“Whatever,” Brice flipped his hands up, “He is an idiot. And, no. I have no desire to know how, when, or why he is going to die. Just keep that crap to yourself.”
“So hostile.”
“Sue me. Better yet, kill me.” Brice settled into his work, ignoring Death. Over the centuries, the pair had developed something of a love/hate relationship. Death had actually recommended that Brice become a paramedic, rationalizing that his assistance to mankind might erase his huge karmic debt. Even Brice had to admit that Death’s twisted information had made the job rather simple. He knew when to try and save a patient and when to withhold care from a tortured soul that was ready to move on.
Brice had been working for hours, determined to complete his task. Work was all that he had, all that he enjoyed. He didn’t mind the crappy hours, the nights without sleep, the holidays spent cooped up in the small station. Paperwork wasn’t a favorite activity, but, it helped pass the time. Brice stretched out, wincing as his jointed popped and moaned with the effort.
“You might want to hit the bathroom.” Death’s sudden interjection failed to startle him. After centuries of intrusion, Brice was used to Death’s appearances in his daily life. He rose, stretched again, and trudged to the bleak little bathroom at the end of the hallway. Brice used the toilet, grimacing at the dirty little bowl. He made a mental note to pick up some of those little bleach cakes to drop in the tank. Just as he washed his hands and splashed some water on his face, the alarm tones squealed throughout the building.
Brice walked through the station, easily beating the new guy to the truck despite his slow pace. Again, the truck roared to life and the sirens screamed at passing traffic. Brice navigated through the streets, not needing the choppy directions called out by his partner. Death guided him to the house, a little single story place with a bright garden in the front. Brice gathered the tools of his trade, depositing them on the stretcher before wheeling towards the house. He didn’t run, nor did he feed into the growing panic of his partner. The kid just didn’t understand things. Brice walked inside the house and was immediately confronted by a screaming woman demanding that he bring back her beloved husband. He looked down at the prone body; a body illuminated by the faintest traces of life energy. Death was already there, waiting patiently. The end was so close for the elderly man. Brice nodded at his partner, who began fumbling his way through taking vital signs and putting the patient on a cardiac monitor. Brice didn’t need the diagnostic tools to know that the man had no viable heart beat. The woman begged Brice to fix the problem, to make things right again. His heart went out to the poor woman, but he knew that he could not interfere. His partner confirmed that the man was beyond saving and Brice could sense his eagerness to try to cheat Death. Brice shook his head and gently guided the widow to a nearby chair. Years of intimacy with Death had given his a unique insight on life and its end. He explained that her husband was ready to go, that her greatest gift to the love of her life would be to let go. It took time, a great deal of time, but she finally agreed. An hour passed before Brice and his partner left the house.
On the trip back to the station, Brice’s partner had asked why the paramedic did nothing to save the patient. Brice simply replied that everyone didn’t need to be saved. Sometimes people just needed to let go and sometimes they were just ready to die. The youngster hadn’t liked that answer, not at all. Brice smiled and reminded him they couldn’t and shouldn’t save everyone. That was simply nature. Back at the station, Brice returned to his office, ignoring the bitter stare of his partner.
“That kid isn’t going to last much longer around you.”
“Not my fault,” Brice drawled, “I just tell it like it is. He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“True.” Death circled around the desk, depositing itself on the corner. “I have to admit that I was impressed with how you handled that last incident.”
“How so?” Brice paced around the office, tired of being stagnant.
“I expected you to break out all your toys and play God.”
“I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. He’d been hanging on for years. Guess I figured letting him go was more dignified than shoving a tube down his throat and forcing him to keep living.”
“Whoa, progress! You might actually be learning something here.”
“How so, smartass?” Brice resisted the temptation to hurl any further expletives.
“If you humans would just accept the fact that Death is as natural as birth, the world would be such a nicer place. Some people just gotta go.”
“Maybe so, but, most humans don’t have the benefit of you leaning over their shoulders whispering advise into their ears.”
“You make that sound so erotic. I’m blushing”
“You really are an ass, you know that? I’m serious.” Crossing his arms, Brice continued. “We play by the rules. We have the capability to fix problems that can give people a new lease on life. How the heck are we supposed to know when to let go and when to really try and save somebody? It really isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t supposed to be fair. Its supposed to be life; no guarantees on satisfaction, buddy.” Death stood up. “Listen, I don’t even have all the answers. I just know when its time for someone to cross over and move along their eternal path. I’m really in the same boat as you are.”
Frustrated, Brice left the office and stomped through the halls until he reached his bedroom. Closing the door, he pulled off his boots and lit up a cigarette before flopping down in his bed.
“Oh, brilliant idea, Sherlock.”
“You know I don’t sleep, I’m not going to burn the station down or anything.” Brice pulled heavily on the cigarette, freeing a huge cloud of smoke from his lungs. “It ain’t like I got to worry about cancer or anything.” Death shrugged and sat down at the foot of the bed. “Busy night or not?”
“No worries about seeing dead people. I have no idea about any stupidity that might be involved by the rest of this city’s population.”
“Charming.” Losing interest in his cancer stick, Brice ground out the butt in his ashtray and rolled over. “I really wish that you would help me out, you know.”
“My hands are tied. The Karma bus ran your ass over, my friend. You should have ducked earlier.”
“It was a stupid mistake. I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Perhaps you have,” Death picked a cat hair from the bedspread. “Still calling that tuft of fur a pet, I see.”
“I like Goober, he has style.” Brice grinned.
“He barfs hairballs all over the place. Anyway, where was I? Ah, your fate does not rest in my hands, Brice. I have nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, but can’t you forgive me? Then we call a truce and the whole thing is over.”
“Maybe. What the hell,” Death rose dramatically. “Brice, I forgive you for being a total moron.”
“Gee, tha…” Brice froze, his body writhing in spasms. He flopped across the bed, finally ending up on the floor in a cold, still pile of flesh and limbs. Death stepped back, incredulous.
“Holy crap, it worked!” Death leaned closer, inspecting Brice’s still form.