Ever found her in an armchair by the window in the corner. He slowly came up behind her and paused, a few feet away. He didn’t want to startle her, so he just watched her for a while, floating slightly off the beige carpet.
Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.
Ever moved forward slightly. The older woman was knitting, her needles seemingly moving on their own, her hands a blur. Brenda wasn’t lying, she was good at the craft. Still she hadn’t noticed the apprentice reaper standing behind him.
He loomed forward slightly and off the side, enough that he could see Margaret’s face. Her face was lined and bespectacled. She had a little blanket on her lap. Squished between herself and the side of the couch were three balls of yarn: red, blue and yellow.
Ever held the scythe in the crook of one arm and raised the other hand to his mouth. “Ahem.”
Margaret paid him no attention. She actually wasn’t even paying attention to her knitting. Instead, she was looking out the window, as if waiting for something.
“Margaret, is it?”
She pursed her lips.
*I think she knows I’m here.*
Ever crouched down, laying the scythe on the floor. He put a hand on the arm of the couch. Margaret’s eyes flickered, but she was intent on keeping watch out the window.
“Who are you knitting -”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Ever blinked.
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Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.
The two souls hovered in silence for a minute. The nurses were bustling around, the smell of baked beans and smushy, scrambled eggs wafting through the hall.
“Every day at five o’clock, I get my heart medicine. Always have, always will. Without it, it beats too fast even when I get just a little bit anxious.” Her hands stopped. “The sun’s set and I still haven’t got it. Why? There are 30 tablets in a bottle, I had one left,” for the first time, she looked at Ever. “Why didn’t they come today?”
“I’ll check for you.”
Ever straightened up, picked up the scythe and made his way back to the front desk. Brenda wasn’t there. He floated through to the back and began searching. It didn’t take him long to find the pigeon holes labelled with each resident, their medicines and dosages. Margaret’s was there, off to the side. He peered in. Unlike the others, hers didn’t have any bottles, just a prescription.
“Ne-bi-vo-lol,” Ever pronounced each syllable of the medicine slowly.
Ever flowed back faster to Margaret, walking through the air.
“You were taking the Nebivolol?”
Margaret brightened. “Yes! That’s what it was. If I don’t take it, my heart beats too fast when I worry.”
Death’s scythe started glowing with a faint light. Ever gazed at it, his eyes losing focus. A menu appeared:
SENSES
—--
—--
—--
—--
Taste
Ever frowned. Why is there only one of them?
No matter. Ever focused on the last option. It pulsed and the menu faded away. The scythe slid out from Ever’s grasp and floated in front of the elderly woman’s soul. It shrunk before glowing with a brilliant light. A little, plastic bottle fell into Margaret’s hands.
She gave it a little shake, smiling for the first time as the single pill inside rattled about. She opened the bottle and popped it into her mouth, making a face as she swallowed it. “Bitter little things they are. But a small price to pay to have an obedient heart.”
—-
Brenda had finished her shift and was just about to leave. She hesitated, walking over to the couch in the corner, by the window. She smiled, drew the curtains and left the building.
