"Doctor, she's flat lining," a nurse yelled over her shoulder without averting her eyes away from the woman on the stretcher before her.
"Cause," a man with a white lab coat and dark slacks asked, his voice calm.
"Severe trauma to the head."
"Miharu," another man screamed hysterically, his eyes bloodshot from tears, "Miharu! Please be alright!"
"Sir," a second nurse interrupted, "we'll have to ask you to sit in a waiting room."
"No," the man screamed, "I won't leave her!"
"Sir," the nurse pleaded, "you can't! You have to wait here so that we will have the greatest chance to save her."
"That's my wife! I can't leave her!" Just as he said that, the woman on the stretcher was lost behind a set of closing double doors. The medical team hovering over her barking directions left and right before everything went silent.
"Sir," the nurse asked again, "please." She made a gesture towards the waiting lobby.
His shoulders sagged as he gave a defeated sigh. He took the furthest seat in an empty corner, held his face in his hands, and cried softly.
"And what do we have here," another man asked himself. He watched the entire ordeal unravel. "This might be the one I'm looking for." He stood and strolled towards his target. His attire did not fit the setting, black suit wrinkle free with shoes polished to a shine. His slick greased hair seemed to glisten with the florescent light as he moved. "Hard stuff huh," he said in a sympathetic tone.
The husband didn't answer, ignoring his presence all together.
"Henderson," the suit clad man offered, extending his hand.
He looked up and sneered, "I don't need a lawyer, let alone an American one at that."
"You're very astute, what gave me away?"
"Take a hike," the sneer never left, "you won't get anything from me."
"I see," Henderson said as he sat down, taking the insults in stride, "well, you are right about me being American, but I am not a lawyer." The husband gave no response, Henderson continued. With his voice barely above a whisper, he leaned in close and said, "she won't last through the night."
The husband snapped to attention, "excuse me?"
"Not without my help at least," he continued with a toothy grin.
"You son of a bitch! Who in the hell do you think you are!"
Henderson was undeterred by the outburst, "you know, that guy." As he spoke a flash card appeared in his hand. "That guy with the black cloak and hood, and the scythe, and the 'do not ask for whom the bell tolls' phrase?"
The husband stared at the card with disbelief, an image of the grim reaper stared back at him. "Death," he said bluntly, "You're supposed to be the grim reaper? You're supposed to be death?" His question was answered with another toothy grin. What sort of nut case was he dealing with? This man would be hilarious if it was not for the circumstances. "What are you some kind of idiot! Get away from me!"
Henderson shook his head and laughed, "see the pretty little bird sitting on that branch outside the window?" He pointed towards the window, his index and thumb in the shape of a gun. He squawked like a crow as he pulled the trigger.
The bird suddenly fell from its perch and landed in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheelchair. The woman screamed and jerked her body to the side, toppling her oxygen tank and IV over in the process. The sudden commotion startled an elderly man who walked with much assistance from a cane. He lost his footing and fell, screaming and clutching his side from the landing.
The husband stared with disbelief at the scene that played in front of him. He broke his gaze after a group of people began to assist the two fallen seniors. "What are you," he asked with obvious fear.
"I believe we've been over that already, but I really do prefer Henderson. Death sounds so….gloomy." Once again he extended his hand.
The husband took it tentatively, "Wantanabe Issun."
"May I call you Issun?"
"…Sure, that's fine."
"Excellent, excuse me for being so frank but, let's get down to business. It's safe to assume you'd want to save your wife right?"
"O-of course!"
"Good, good," the toothy smile was back, "now, in order for us to get rolling here, you'll have to know what's required of you."
"Required? What my life or something? You want my life for hers?"
"Well aren't you a fast thinker, but I'm not looking for a life, more specifically, I'm in the market for souls."
"So my soul for hers?"
"I will require a soul, or souls in this case, but yours is…ehh...how can I put this….it wont work for this deal."
"….But that's all I have! What am I suppose to do! How can I help her!"
"What I need from you to bring your wife back is your choice of souls, six souls to be exact."
"What? Any souls?"
"Well…not ANY, it has to be souls of people you know or have come in contact with."
"Wait, souls I know? My friends, my family, co-workers, I can't send them to their deaths. They don't' deserve it, even if it is for Miharu's sake."
"Yes, yes, you're right," Henderson said while tapping his chin in deep thought, "here's an idea, how about the people who put your wife in this condition? They deserve it right?"
"Those? But their strangers, I don't know them-"
"Sure you do," Henderson said, cutting him off, a small book appeared in a puff of smoke and fell in Issun's lap.
The first page had five pictures with five names underneath. Issun's head was spinning at how fast things had progressed. He gave Henderson a questionable look, who in turn nodded with a grin and urged him to start reading.
"Konno Mitsune ," he read the first name as if he was asking a question. A document materialized on the table in front of them, the written name appeared incursive writing with gold ink.
"Keep going," Henderson urged, the toothy grin ever present.
"Mahera Shinobu…Kaolla Su…Narusegawa Naru." He froze at the next name, his jaw clinched, the grip on the book was strong enough to bend the hard cover. "Aoyama Motoko," the name was read as if he was addressing an unwelcomed guest on his doorstep. He knew her face well, along with her sword. The face labeled Narusegawa was familiar too.
"And the last name please," Henderson asked, turning to the next page.
There was a rather large headshot of a young man with glasses and a sheepish grin, "Urashima Keitaro."
"Excellent!" The contract re-appeared with an audible poof in Issun's lap, "all I need now is your signature and the deal is done." Issun signed immediately, ignoring the small print, "very good. I have everything I need. All that separates you from your loving wife is time." With that said, Henderson turned to leave.
"Wait," Issun called out, "that's it, what do I do now? Wait?"
"Wait, grieve, sleep, continue with your life as if nothing happened, go into a diabetic shock from an overdose of mountain dew, frankly it doesn't matter. Oooooh but there is one teeny tiny amount of business left now that I think about it."
"What," Issun asked.
"You see, I was sent here to claim your wife's soul. Seeing how I'll be going back empty handed, that will look very bad for me. What I need now is a soul to bring back, and since your name is on the dotted line of the contract." A scythe appeared in Henderson's hands. Before Issun could react, Henderson swung down with all his might. The tip of the scythe impaled the chair next to Issun, who had nearly wet himself. "I'm just pulling your chain guy," he said with a chuckle. Issun gave a nervous laugh, frankly to hide how close he was to ruining his pants. "Careful now, death from fright claims more people than you would think. I would really have to take your soul if that happens."
"Mr. Watanabe, Issun," a nurse called as she emerged from the back room.
Issun rushed over, ignoring Henderson as he went, and had a hushed conversation with the nurse. Henderson did not have to eavesdrop to know what the topic was. His wife lives, and will make a full recovery when the terms of the contract are met.
Henderson turned, walked through the waiting room without being seen, and strolled out the main door. His grin stretched from one ear to another. He got what he came for, now it was time to go to work, poor Issun is counting on him.