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A dark robed man loomed over the bed of the now dead individual, almost as if death itself was now overlooking this dead man. The departed man was past his prime and the robed individual knew this; he knew it was his role to let him go, to be the one to finish him off cleanly, to let him know that it was all over, for better or for worse. The dead man lay there, in his bed, his white bed sheets covering him. There was no blood, no violence, no struggle; it was a clean death. A clean death was always a good death for the robed man; it would be easier on his conscience at night. He stood in silence over the deceased, muttering quietly to himself as he closed the now lifeless eyes with the sweaty delicate palm of his right hand. He may be dead now, but some respect was still deserved for this man; he lived a full life. It was a shame it must have to come to an end, not like this, the robed man thought to himself. The dead man was old, over seventy, yet death is still death, and it is not a simple matter to deal with, regardless of who you are. The muttering man knew his job entailed death; he knew it when he got here. But he also knew somebody had to do it, somebody had to make sure these men and women were put into their final resting places.
The robed man was in his late thirties by now and set in his ways. He had been doing this for years. He found that he had started to develop a routine that made the whole process smoother, yet it also made time fly by faster than he thought it would. He only recently discovered that age was beginning to catch up with him. Shades of white started to streak out on the sides of his short golden hair. He was always clean – shaven, as he felt it was expected of him; he thought it was nicer for people to see a smiling and perhaps even friendly face as their last face. He finished muttering his words in Latin and crossed himself. “Amen,” he said aloud as he turned to walk away. His white collar was now visible to the hospital staff that stood behind him as he gave the last rites to the deceased Catholic man on the bed. Father Gregory never enjoyed giving the last rites to people, but he knew that it was his role to let the dying know it was all over, for better or for worse, to let them leave their lives cleanly. As he walked away from the bed, the hospital staff took charge and started to unhook the lifeless body from the various machines that monitored and sustained him through his last moments.
The sounds of the outside world now began to fade back into the mind of Father Gregory; he could hear again the ear-piercing flat line noise created by the electrocardiogram that monitored the dead man’s heart rate, as well as the rest of the chatter and clanging that echoed through the rest of the hospital. As the nurses finally disconnected that irritating flat line, the dark robed Father Gregory tried to remember who it was next that he had to visit for their last rites. Today was a busy day for him, unfortunately, but he cheered himself up by saying to himself that if god could handle the inflow, he could handle the outflow. Gregory had already given the final rites to five other men and three women today and the sun had barely begun to set, the orangey rays of the sun penetrating through the large windows of the building and illuminating everything in a light golden orange. It was perhaps the only time of day when everything wasn’t so God damned white! Gregory pardoned himself for his minor slip up; he could do that after all, being a priest and what-not. He walked through the halls, nodding and greeting patients as he walked by. He was rarely greeted by the doctors here; he knew that they were just envious of the power he had over the hope of the people who lay dying in bed. When the doctors could do nothing more and knew it was futile to hope, it was then left up to Father Gregory to give these people what they needed, a righteous path to god.
Gregory knew deep down though, even if he wouldn’t like to admit it, that he was the one who felt useless most of the time, the one who could only sit back and watch as God’s plan went to work. Not only that, he felt an admiration for the doctors, even if he despised them. He admired their courage and desire to go against the will of god by trying to save the lives of these people, even if for only a few more days. Gregory never focused on this though. To stop himself from admitting, this he often found himself complaining about the hospital in general. Even if it wasn’t really a hospital at all. Located in the countryside of Slovakia, this institute was a medical center, not a hospital. Converted out of a mansion and turned into a relaxed, top-notch, state of the art, medical facility, this institute was established only for those who could afford its luxuries and care, those who wanted direct and caring medical attention with the newest technology for cheaper prices than those in the rest of Europe. Thus, this institute was often populated with elderly rich men and women, who were now trying to extend their lives by an extra few years by coming here to detoxify in the fresh air of this rural landscape. As the institute was several kilometers from the nearest town, all that could be seen from the its windows were trees and hills that surrounded the grounds of the facility, on which there was a main two storey building with a basement, a second auxiliary building for the staff and doctors to sleep in, and to top it all off, an elaborate garden of trimmed hedges and bushes, broken only by the patches of colours represented by over thirty different species of flowers that called this garden home.
To the unknowing eye, this place could still pass for a mansion, with its uniformed staff and its rich elderly men and women strolling through the gardens at their leisure. This was true for most of the people who came here, elderly and rich. There was at times a younger couple who wished to maintain their health, fleeing from the smoke and smog of wherever they came from, but none had stayed as long as the woman Gregory was going to see now. She had been in a coma for the past two years. As far as Gregory knew, she had been in some kind of accident involving a car not far from the institute. As Gregory neared her room, he could hear raised voices coming from inside. He waited outside for a moment; he did not want to barge in on anything important but that didn’t stop him from trying to listen in either. From what he could make out from behind the dark and thick wooden door, it was a doctor and a nurse arguing. The nurse was against the doctor’s decision to take the woman off of life support. The doctor seemed to be defending himself by blaming it on the administration for some reason or another that Gregory could not make out. Before he could listen in anymore, he heard the nurse’s voice grow louder as she approached the door; Gregory huddled back against the wall so she wouldn’t walk into him.
The nurse, dressed in the fashionable white that all the nurses wore, stormed out of the room, leaving the door flinging against the wall. She didn’t even notice Gregory watch her as she strode off in a huff. Gregory watched her stride very well, especially the way her, good god man! Get a hold of yourself Gregory exclaimed in his head, snapping himself out of the trance of that the rump of the nurse, who now turned the corner, induced. He knew he would have to deal with himself later for his transgression, but for now, onto business. He shook himself off a little; his robe could be a little musty after walking around in this unventilated building. Gregory stepped into the room to see the doctor looking at the woman’s charts. Gregory cleared his throat to let the doctor know that he had entered the room. Doctor Rinehart looked up from the charts to see his least favorite individual enter the room. Oh god, he humoured himself. “Good afternoon Gregory,” Rinehart exclaimed as he briefly looked up from the charts. Rinehart could often hear the spite in Gregory’s voice when he didn’t address him as Father Gregory; it was one of the few things Rinehart was able to do to torment the man. Gregory did not reply to the pleasantries. Score! thought Doctor Rinehart.
Gregory walked closer to the bed, to the left of the woman, opposite from Rinehart. “So you have finally seen the light,” Gregory stated, “you are going to cut this poor woman’s life support and let her meet ourgreat father.” Rinehart was now in his fifties, his hair nearly completely coloured in shades of grey and white, but still curling in a healthy manner in a thick mat on top of his head. His face was made intense by the deep wrinkles that lined his forehead, probably a consequence of the iconic eyebrow raising that he had done his whole life, and which he was now also practising. His raised eyebrow was a remark of its own for Gregory, who knew he should not push it any further than that. The two of them had had many heated debates, one of which would have ended in an all-out brawl if not for the security guards that held them back. Rinehart may have been in his fifties but he had the spirit of a testosterone ridden twenty year-old sometimes. “Let’s just get on with this alright?” Rinehart asked. He hated that he would have to do this to the poor woman; he really did believe that she could still recover with time, but administration will always be hopeless and careless, especially with the new policy of not keeping patients who no longer showed brain activity. “Fine then,” Gregory replied solemnly. Gregory pulled out a small bottle of holy water and lightly sprayed it onto the quiet woman. Rinehart could not believe that he was letting the fool do this, but it was customary for those who did not have a religion specified in their file to be given at least some form of religious last rites, just in case. Damn administration, was the only thing Rinehart had float in his mind again as he watched in pain-staking silence as Gregory recited his holy words. “O holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Jesus Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in preparation for the fulfillment of the will of god.” Gregory began the sanctification of the rite and continued it, despite the snicker he had heard from Rinehart.
Rinehart dozed off and delved into his thoughts as Gregory was giving the woman her last rights; it was only at the end that Rinehart had woke up again. “We give him glory as we give you into his arms in everlasting peace, to be prepared to return into the denser reality of god the father, creator of all. Amen, Amen, Amen.”
“Amen,” Rinehart poked at Gregory who only replied with dull stare back at Rinehart’s gleeful smile, which quickly returned to a blank expression, having been overcome by the sadness of remembering what he now had to do. The woman would still live for up to another week but off of life support it is unlikely that she would have any change in stasis. Rinehart began to turn off the machines and to remove the wires and the IV that were all attached to her. It was a sad moment for Rinehart. He was a doctor, and he was not meant to be the one taking lives, he was supposed to be restoring life where he could. Gregory on the other hand, did not feel this sadness, and instead, he felt victory. Victory not only over Rinehart but victory in that this woman’s soul could now return to god. “Finally she can now rest. That ungodly machine kept her spirit bound here, away from the grace of god,” Gregory scoffed.
“Damn it man, let the woman be! If god really wanted her soul he would have killed her on the spot!” Rinehart retaliated loudly. Nurses in the hallway had all stalled for a second when they heard Rinehart’s voice reverberate out of the room. Gregory was in no mood to battle wits against Rinehart at the moment. Gregory believed that they both knew that he had already won this round but he just couldn’t stop himself from one last innocent challenge. Before Gregory left the bedside to leave Rinehart to his documentation, he looked down at the woman, in her quiet state. Her hands by her side, her brunette hair lying nicely beside her head, she really was a symbol of peace. “Amen my child,” were Gregory’s last words before turning to leave the room. Rinehart was not even going to dignify that with a response. Before Gregory could leave the room, there was a piercing scream from behind him. The scream of a woman. He turned and his face was flushed white when he saw the once peaceful woman now sitting upright screaming at the top of her voice with her eyes still closed. Rinehart dropped his charts and yelled “Nurse! I need a nurse god damn it!” Rinehart tried to restrain the woman and lay her back down on the bed but she would not budge, nor would she stop screaming. Gregory was pushed aside from the doorway as four nurses rushed into the room, including the one who had stormed off earlier. She had a weak smile as she rushed into the room and made eye contact with Rinehart for a second before helping him restrain the screaming woman. Gregory had instinctively clasped onto the cross that hung from his neck just as he was pushed aside. The woman’s screams were loud enough to make Gregory’s words inaudible even to himself, but he still knew what he said out loud: “Jesus Christ!”