The Bleeding Love

Preface

  The Bleeding Love was a short story designed by author Beth Durkee to interact with her readers by asking for their input into developing characters and story lines. Readers will note that the story is divided into “posts” rather than chapters to keep it as close as possible to how it first appeared online.

  This story began as an experiment in writing horror, but quickly turned into a strange kind of romance and a parable-like lesson in Christian morality. The question being answered is: What happens to an unrepentant soul that dies unexpectedly and in mortal sin?

  Acknowledgments

  Contributors to this story include all the readers who participated by making suggestions and voting in the polls that developed it. Thank you, all. In particular, the following participants deserve special mention:

  Sorche H. for the main character's name, Samuel.

  Dee C. for “Samuel's” second wife's name, Sharon.

  Phillip W. for the first angel of death's name, Amos.

  John B. for the cement truck driver's name, Dusty.

  Frances G. for the marital child's name, Crystal.

  Dee C. for the second angel of death's name, Julian.

  Jocelyn S. for the guardian angel's name, Gabriel.

  The Bleeding Love

  by Beth Durkee

  Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth W. Durkee, Beth Durkee

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America. For information address Elizabeth W. Durkee.

  Cover design by Franny Barazarte.

  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Table Of Contents

  Preface

  Acknowledgements

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  About the Author

  Collected Works

  Social Media

  Memory of Miracles (Preview)

  Post I

  Samuel released his breath in a groan as his pounding heart subsided. What the hell was wrong with the driver in front of him? This is high-speed traffic! She could have killed somebody! As he peeled his head off the steering wheel to peer out the windshield at the damage to his front end, anger surged through his chest.

  “Son of a …!” Samuel exclaimed. His eyes grew large as he viewed his car’s nose. The whole thing looked like a gigantic, collapsed accordion buried under the tailgate of the cement truck in front of him.

  “Oh, my God,” he thought. “What a mess! Somebody is going to pay for this damage. I had better call Sharon to let her know I won’t be home in time to go with her to drop off the kids.”

  Tonight was Friday and it was Sharon’s ex-husband’s weekend with their children. Usually, Samuel went with Sharon to drop off the kids, and then he would take her out to dinner. Tonight, though, they had planned “something special” in honor of his 43rd birthday (which had really been yesterday) and Sharon was very excited about the surprise she was going to give him. Samuel cringed at the thought of her displeasure when he got home late because of this stupid car accident. Hopefully, giving a police report would not take too long and he could get home quickly.

  Samuel reached over his lap towards his seat belt buckle. As he did, his eyes fell upon an unfamiliar white cloth on the seat beside him. It was covering something. He stopped cold as he realized that the “something” was a lap. The cloth he did not recognize was actually a long, flowing garment. His head snapped up as he jerked away from the figure beside him.

  “What? …Who? …How?” Samuel stammered. He shook his head to clear it. Then he demanded, “Who are you and how the hell did you get into my car?”

  The stranger’s arm slipped off of Samuel’s shoulders, the hand coming to rest on his elbow, as “it” sat straight up to look at him. Funny. Samuel hadn’t felt an arm around his shoulders. He jerked his elbow away from the stranger’s grasp, but the grip held fast.

  As the strange person sat back, Samuel puzzled. He could not decide if it was a man or a woman. (The flowing robes disguised its body.) Was it a smaller framed man with long, curly hair, long eyelashes, soft features and doe eyes? Maybe. It did sit a little taller than the average woman, had broad shoulders, and its hands looked too strong to be female. Samuel decided to wait for the person to say something before he passed judgment on gender.

  “Do not be afraid, for I am with you1,” said the stranger in a voice that was too feminine to be male yet too masculine to be female. (Alas, hearing that voice did nothing to help make a decision on gender.)

  Fists clenched with rage, Samuel bellowed, “Who the hell do you think you are? Get your hand off me!”

  With an expression that could only be described as sorrow, the stranger gazed down at its hand. It answered as it allowed its hand to slowly slide off Samuel’s elbow, “My name is Amos and I am the angel assigned to your death.”

  As ‘his’ fingers lost touch with Samuel’s elbow, Amos disappeared. Samuel snorted as he thought, ”Good!”

  The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance now. It sounded like there was more than just one vehicle coming. Samuel hoped the cement truck driver wasn’t hurt. That would hike his insurance rates for sure. After all, he was the one who ran into her. He made a mental note to leave an extra cushion of space behind large trucks in the future.

  Resuming what he had originally set out to do, he reached over his lap to unlatch the seat belt. His fingers passed through the button.

  “What the f…?” he began, but could not finish. Why couldn’t he finish? He could not think of his last word! He knew it began with an ‘f,’ but what was it? ‘What the f… the f….” Hmm. Samuel could not remember. He resorted to an old habit his ex-wife had developed to keep herself from cussing.

  “What the fudgey pudding?!!!” Samuel hollered. He felt stupid.

  “Why can’t I think of that word?” he pondered, temporarily forgetting why he was even trying to utter the vulgarity. “I use it all the time. This does not make sense!”

  An answer to Samuel’s unspoken thought whispered from nowhere, “Using that other word was a poor choice when you were in the mortal realm, but it was your choice. You are now in the spiritual realm, the majority of which is free from sin. It is not permitted to use that other word here.”

  Was that Amos’ voice? He shook his head vigorously. He must be in shock. Samuel did not even know an Amos. He reached over again to unbuckle his seat belt. Again, his fingers passed through the button.

  “This f…. this f… this f…” he could not get out the words. Rage washed through him as he clenched his fists. His face turned beet red. With the full weight of his body behind one of those clenched fists, he slammed it at his dashboard, bellowing, “This whole, stupid, freaking thing sucks!”

  His torso fell forward as he momentarily lost his balance. His hand had not stopped when hitting the dashboard. Rather, his whole arm passed right throug
h it.

  “Oh, no,” Samuel thought as he sat back in his seat again. His body froze as his breathing became shallow and quick. For the first time since the collision, he actually looked at his immediate surroundings. His body and arms moved freely, yet his dashboard was much closer than it should be, the steering wheel pushed up against his chest and… and… face?

  NO! Oh, no!! Was he… dead?

  “HOLY . . . .” Hmm. Holy what? Holy something. Samuel could not remember.

  “Holy, holy, holy,” wafted a choral voice from inside the car. “Merciful and mighty. Early in the morning . . . .”

  “SHUT UP!” bellowed Samuel. The singing immediately stopped.

  “I need to think for a minute,” he thought.

  Looking at his seat belt, “Obviously, I don’t need to worry about this any more.” He stood up.

  Post II

  Head and shoulders now above the roof of his car, body inside, Samuel thought, "This is really weird." He turned toward the door to exit the car, and then stopped as it occurred to him that he did not need to use the door. He turned back toward the front of the car . . . and walked right through its hood.

  He laughed as he thought, "Being dead is kind of cool!"

  Walking over to the cab of the cement truck, he poked his head right through the door to peer inside. There sat a middle-aged woman, clutching a hand-held radio in her right hand. She wore a short-sleeved, tan, button-down shirt and faded blue jeans. Short, dark hair framed her care-worn face. Samuel guessed she was a little over fifty.

  "They're here now," the woman spoke into the radio. "I see the flashing lights."

  "Roger that," a female voice responded.

  "Thanks for staying on with me and for getting them here so quickly," said the woman. "I will let you know when I get on the road again." Her hand still quivering from the shock of the accident, she put down the radio and unbuckled her seat belt.

  "Dusty," the female voice addressed the driver by name, "You should wait in the vehicle until a paramedic arrives."

  Dusty was already climbing out the door. As her second foot hit pavement, her eyes were drawn to the large, red, fire engine stopping beside her. Siren blaring ceased as the fire engine came to a halt, lights still flashing. Before the brakes were even set, men wearing tan jumpsuits and red hats leaped off the truck to run toward the vehicle that had crashed into hers.

  Samuel watched Dusty's eyes follow the rescue workers as they ran. He saw her eyes grow wide, her pupils dilate and her jaw drop when she saw what they were running toward.

  "Oh, my God!" Dusty exclaimed, taking a single step and stopping. "Oh, my God -- Oh, my God -- Oh, my God!"

  Before her unfolded a gruesome scene. The front end of a dark blue sedan looked like a crushed can, its nose wedged under the cement truck's tailgate, and its windshield fractured into crushed glass from the force of the impact. Firefighters struggled first with the crushed door of the car, then sliced through a seat belt to pull a man's limp body out of the driver's seat and lay it on the ground. Samuel looked at the man. It was his body!

  His whole face and shirt were covered in blood. His nose was broken and mushed into his face. A huge gash scored his forehead where his head had hit the steering wheel. Samuel felt sick to his stomach. Grimacing, he turned away from the sight of his broken face. He saw a tear form in the corner of Dusty's eye as she looked at his blood-stained shirt through the firefighters who labored to resuscitate him.

  "Why didn't he slow down when he saw my left turn signal?" she sobbed quietly to herself, turning to walk towards the front of her truck. Police officers were there now, setting up to direct traffic around the accident. An officer approached Dusty.

  "Ma'am, are you alright?" he asked. Dusty just nodded, her face blank. Samuel could tell that she did not really look all right, but he was losing interest in this Dusty person. He wanted to see what was happening with his body, over by the... Ahhh, the ambulance was there now.

  "CLEAR!" shouted a skinny paramedic with short, dark hair and chrome-rimmed glasses. He held an electrical paddle in each hand. Everyone pulled their hands away from Samuel's body as the paddles were placed on his chest. It jumped from the electric shock, then relaxed.

  "No pulse," called out another paramedic, this one a young woman. "That's five. Better call it."

  "Skinny" looked at his watch. "Time of death: 6:39 pm."s

  Post III

  Dead at 6:39 pm on the day after his 43rd birthday. That was hard to hear and harder to believe. Samuel followed the paramedics as they rolled his body on a gurney to the ambulance, and then watched somberly as they loaded it into the back of the vehicle. Until he heard his time of death declared, he knew he was dead, but the impact of it being real had not yet hit him. Hearing the time as he looked at his own corpse, though?? Well, that did it for him. He felt numb inside.

  Not knowing what to do next, he figured he would follow his corpse. At least that way, when Sharon came to identify him, he would be able to go home with her. Samuel heard the engine begin to hum as the ambulance got ready to leave the scene. He lifted his foot to step into the ambulance. His foot passed through the door ...and the floor! He stood with his torso in the back of the ambulance and his feet on the ground.

  "Being dead is totally NOT cool," he declared. "What a drag!"

  "More of a drag than you yet know," wafted Amos' voice on the hint of a breeze.

  "What?" thought Samuel, wrinkling his nose. Shaking his head to clear it, he ignored the ethereal murmur.

  He rubbed his index finger back and forth under his nose as he wondered, "Now, if my foot goes through the floor when I try to step into the vehicle, how am I going to sit in..." Just then, the ambulance started moving through him. "Wait!" he yelled in an unheard voice. He began running after it, but it was already moving too fast.

  Stopping, he sighed, "It's no use."

  Samuel stood where he was. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he lamented, "I'll never catch up. Maybe I should just walk home." No longer needing to worry about using roads to go around people's properties, he turned to begin walking in a straight path towards his house, but no sooner had Samuel’s spirit-body turned than his chest unexpectedly jerked toward the direction the ambulance was moving.

  "Whooooaa," he exclaimed as, being pulled by the ambulance, he struggled to regain his footing. When partially composed, he dug his heels into the pavement to slow his movement, but he continued sliding.

  "What is happening?" he screamed, although he knew nobody could hear him.

  Samuel was wrong. Somebody could hear him and an answer came on the air, "Your spirit follows your body until you surrender yourself to walk toward the gathering. When you are ready to begin your journey, I will guide you to it."

  "Where are you?" Samuel called out to the air. "I cannot see you!"

  "I am here," said Amos, appearing beside him.

  "I will not leave you until my work is done, as I am assigned to your death," he continued. The angel's hand was on Samuel's shoulder as it floated beside him, hair and garment blowing in the breeze created behind the moving ambulance. Glancing at Samuel out of the side of his eye, Amos added an afterthought, "I suggest you pretend you are skating. Flailing your arms and legs about like that must be very disconcerting."

  Recognizing a good idea when he heard it, Samuel adjusted his arms and legs into the roller skating position he had learned as a child. It had been years since he last skated. He had to think for a moment to remember the last time, but it came to him. His eyes lost focus as he remembered his daughter's 10th birthday party.

  His ex-wife had put together a small group of children and bought a large birthday cake, drinks and snacks for them to munch on, but because she did not know how to skate, Samuel was the one who wound up skating around the roller rink as the children's supervisor. It was well worth his trouble. Crystal, their little girl, had such a good time that day! He only wished those times could have lasted. Since the divorce, four years
ago, Crystal would not even talk to him.

  Shaking himself out of his memories, he asked, "Does everybody who dies go through being yanked around behind their bodies?"

  "Of course," Amos shrugged. "But those who are in tune with their spirits usually welcome angels when they see us. Because they initially accept us, we are able to help ease what is about to transpire." He leaned forward and lifted his leg, reaching his arms out before him in a graceful ice-skating move.

  Samuel's eyes narrowed. "What kind of angel is this?" he wondered. "He does not seem to be taking my death very seriously."

  Amos stood up quickly, looking directly at Samuel. "I assure you that I most definitely take your death very seriously," he contradicted. "This is a pivotal moment in your life. You have shed your mortal body to assume the spiritual home you have been building for the past...." Amos looked at a wristwatch that Samuel just noticed he was wearing, "43 years and one day. This is a very, very serious matter. But," he lifted his arms over his head, then kicked with one foot so that his body was spinning round and round, "there is no reason we can't have a little fun with it."

  Samuel twisted his mouth into a lopsided smirk as he shook his head and thought, "My ex-wife would love this guy. This dufus' attitude is just like hers."

  Amos laughed, "Do you really think so?" He beamed a smile in Samuel's direction as he stated, "That would be a great honor."

  Samuel turned away from the angel and sat cross-legged on the road. He could not seem to win today and if he was going to be dragged through town by an ambulance, he could at least sit down.

  Post IV

  It did not take long to get to the hospital where his body was placed in the morgue. As they entered, Samuel saw out of the corner of his eye that Amos was nodding his head around the room.

  "What are you DOing?" he asked, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose, completely puzzled by the angel's peculiar behavior.

  Amos shrugged. "This is a morgue," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "I am greeting the other angels of death in the room. Surely, you do not think you are the only one who has recently passed away?"

  In truth, Samuel had not thought about it. He guessed it made sense that he was not the only dead person in a hospital morgue, but why did he not see the other dead people or their angels? As per normal, he did not have to ask the question for Amos to answer it.