A Blue Sky Existence

Chapter Twelve

Revelations

 A week came and went. Victoria didn’t take Charlie back to Eastside. Thankfully, the tension of the afternoon after his encounter with the Oates had all but dissolved, largely due to the fact that Charlie had successfully weaned himself off food. At random points the tantalizing image of a baked potato or a bottle of coke would flash across his mind, but no hunger came with it.

    He was also improving the efficiency with which he could collect dying souls before politely escorting them to the Room. It was a new skill, like riding a bike or climbing a tree.

    There was one remaining problem currently preventing him from fully integrating with the other Grims: the need for sleep.  Death duties were round the clock, so alertness was of the utmost importance. Charlie could just about cope with thirty-six hours of being awake, hanging around the Room until needed like a doctor on call. But then he’d start to yawn, feel the heaviness of his bones and fantasise about his bed at home, with its broad, cushioned mattress and downy pillows.

   By the time three days and nights had passed, he’d sway to and fro like a thin tree in the breeze before sliding down the nearest wall and dozing off on his heels.

   Of course, not wanting to repeat Charlie’s twenty-four hour sleep marathon, the Grims would always wake him after ten minutes - Victoria tended to give him a brisk shake of the shoulder, while James preferred to snap his fingers in Charlie’s ear. Needless to say, Charlie was not amused, and the possibility of the two of them ever engaging in friendly conversation seemed more remote each day.

   One morning, before the sun had made its appearance, he felt exceptionally fatigued. He appealed to Victoria, scrolling down her list of duties for what must have been the tenth time that day.

    ‘I know I might be needed, but…’ He yawned. ‘Look at me, I’m so…tired. Wake me after a couple of hours, whatever, it doesn’t…matter, but please can I lie down on a sofa?’

    ‘Oh, very well. You do look frightful, particularly around your eyes. And for goodness sake, when you deign to rise, do sort out your hair. A cat might have made a comfortable bed of it.’

    Charlie snorted and quickly smoothed out brown tufts of hair on his head…perhaps she had a point, but he was too eager to collapse onto the sofa in the furthest corner of the room to do much about it. The instant his head made contact with the fabric, he was out.

* 

He was vaguely awake, but hoped the feeling would pass so he could sleep more. Nonetheless, his eyes blinked themselves open - he could hear one or two voices from across the Room in calm conversation.

    Charlie used the armrest to prop himself up, and inhaled deeply as the grogginess in his head cleared. He noticed Peter, Friar Francis and Douglas seated on the sofa adjacent to his, and they paused in their conversation to acknowledge him.

    ‘Well, look who’s back in the land of the living,’ said Peter.

    ‘Is that supposed to be ironic?’ remarked Douglas. Charlie stood up and stretched his arms over his head. His cloak had bunched up around his neck.

   ‘How long was I gone for this time?’ he asked, hoping the answer wouldn’t be a week. Peter checked his watch.

    ‘Oh, about eight hours. That’ll keep you refreshed for a long while now.’

    ‘How long did it take you guys to stop needing sleep? It’s bloody annoying.’

    ‘I am afraid that would depend on the person, Charlie,’ replied the Friar.