Death Co: 14 (We Need a Dog)

14. We Need a Dog

     The beating lasts longer than I’d like it to, but the kid has some issues to work out. Between murdered parents and lawyers rising from the grave I’d say he’s earned a few punches. Obscenities fly from his mouth like flocks of foul birds and the beating continues. It ends with murderous silence. I lift myself off the floor, working the kinks out of my neck. He tries to take me down again, but the fight has left him. True catharsis through physical violence is a rare thing and I wish I had a moment to savor it.

     “Look, you don’t want to see me, and frankly I don’t want to see you, but we’ve got problems.”

     “Like that murderous asshole running free?!” The question of my resurrection doesn’t seem to be an issue for him. I go with it.

     “Look kid, that was just business. I feel awful about it, I really do, but I don’t have the time to talk about that right now.”

     “You fucking prick!”

     He certainly loves that word. “We need a dog.”

     “What?!”

     “Look kid, I know about the pills you took a half-hour ago, and I know why. Long story short, they work, you die, I’m here to take you to the next world, but I can’t let that happen and in order to hide you from forces above and below I need a fucking dog! Alright?!”

     “No! So far from alright. How the hell are you even here?! You were dead.”

     There it is. “Turns out death is a lot more complicated than inky blackness. Now we have less than 24 hours, we need to get moving.”

     “So that I can appease your sense of a conscience? Unlikely. I think I’ll wait here.”

     Teenagers… “Look kid, if you die by suicide church dogma and years of outdated processes get you an express ticket to hell. No appeal, no jury, just a train car filled with decaying corpses roasting to smell like burnt bacon.”

     “Hell doesn’t exist.”

     There’s no reaching him. “How do you think I’m here?”

     “Witness protection.”

     “Alright, no way around this I guess.” I walk over to the counter and find a block full of knives. This is going to hurt. I find the biggest one, turn to the boy and stab myself repeatedly in the chest. Being among the living carries with it extreme pain and suffering, but luckily there’s oversight when it comes to double death. I’ll feel the pain, but ultimately my body is just a shell.

     “What the actual fuck?!” he screams, jumping to his feet.  

     “I told you, death is complicated.” Then I see it, the look of someone who realizes that a lack of faith and practiced apathy has all been in vain. He may have spent years believing that there was no one watching over him, and he was right, but the sting comes when he realizes that there was someone there, they just didn’t give a shit. It’s a lot to take in, and is usually followed by vomiting. As if on cue he spills his innards all over my shoes and falls to the floor.  

     “Why do we need a dog?” He manages after a few minutes of silence.

     “It’s the only way we can be sure if one of them is near.”

     “Who’s them?”

     “The other requisition agents.” He’s looking at me blankly. “Pale horsemen, death, ferrymen to the underworld, take your pick.”

     “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

     “Yeah, but you should be dead by now, the fact that you’re not is going to raise some questions.”

     “How’s a dog going to help with that?”

     “Mostly we just need its nose, but it works better attached. For the most part animals can smell or see death coming, but dogs are the only ones who get excited about it. Dogs love to chew at anything that’s decaying. Well, we got tired of it and started bringing distractions.” I pull out a bag of Snausages from my pocket. “A few eons of classical conditioning later and we’ve got the closest thing to a mining canary for death.”

     “What the fuck is this?”

     “Call it your resurrection…”