Most souls simply levitate above their bodies until the silver string that ties them together stops them from becoming spiritual helium balloons that reach for the stars. That’s when they wake up, spot themselves, well, dead, and freak out.

Gabriel didn’t do that. He floated as they all do, he woke up when the string stopped him as they all do, and then…he turned.

He turned himself down so he’d be facing his dead body.

He stared at himself with a puzzled expression on his face for a while. I was petrified on my corner. Souls don’t reason. They don’t think. But G was. G was most certainly coming to terms with the fact that he was actually staring at his own remains.

He didn’t try to run away or cut the silver thread. He just stayed afloat, perfectly still, examining himself with what seemed to be a most peculiar mix of curiosity and melancholy. After a while, he simply…descended. And stood there next to his body, clearly uncertain of what to do next.

I suddenly remembered that I was there on duty, and dangerously close to being off schedule for the first time in my career.

I gathered courage, for I was bewildered for the first time in 200 years, and I paced gently towards him, making sure to make every step noisy enough to announce my presence.

Gabriel turned and stared at me with the same baffled expression he had when scrutinizing his corpse.

Good evening!

No reaction. I instantly felt stupid. Souls can’t communicate. Not a few seconds after dying anyway; they don’t know how the Otherworld’s spiritual pulse language works. It dawned on me that this was the first time since I became Ankou that I had been forced to actively verbalize with a soul. I felt strange. I was certain that there were no more firsts left for me anymore.

So, Otherworldly pulse-speech is out of the question. Let’s go back to the basics.

“Good evening!”

Oh, dear God is this my voice? I sound—have I always sounded like this? So mellow—did he even hear me at all? Is this the loudest I can speak? Is this English? Do I speak English? Why do I speak English?

Gabriel’s expression changed. He glared at me with a severity born from hunger and a lifetime of struggles. He didn’t trust me. Even this was new. In a good way. Distrust was so much better than sheer panic, and souls were usually terrified of me. This was indeed a refreshing change.

“Don’t be scared”—Oh my God, I keep speaking in this language, am I British? Irish? I don’t recognize my own accent—“I mean you no harm. I’m here to show you what comes next.”

He seemed to relax a bit, even if he was still clearly weary. He walked cautiously towards me, but the silver string tensed and pulled him back to his body. He looked at the string with concern, and then back at me, eyes wide open as if he knew I had something to do with it.

“Yes. I’ll take care of that, I promise. But first I need to look at you and look at the life you left behind. It’s the only way to get a Judgment and know where to take you.”

Even though I was doing my best to choose the simplest terms in my rusty vocabulary, he looked confused, and rightfully so. He seemed wary again. So, I did the only thing I could do to put scared souls at ease. I smiled at him. As broadly and reassuringly as I could.

He stared at me, expressionless.

And then he smiled back.

Heavens, if I had a beating heart, I bet it would have stopped right there and then. For years, decades, and centuries, I’d been craving for that exact facial rictus Gabriel was gifting me. He was smiling back. He was smiling at me. Something so silly, so simple, and yet so… I can’t even describe it. It’s like being offered the clearest, most luxurious Bohemian glass of water after spending most of your life dying of thirst. You’ll gobble the whole thing down in one gulp without even being able to enjoy it or even understand what the hell it is that you’re drinking. You just tend to the urgent need of putting out the fire on your throat.

He noticed my agitation and went back to his severe demure. I tried to regain composure. I smiled widely again, trying to contain myself.

“This won’t hurt. I promise, you’re safe.” I leaned towards him until our eyes were at the same level. It was not an easy task. My legs are most inconveniently long. Gabriel was and has ever since been, a petite creature whose head wouldn’t even reach my shoulders.

I stared at his eyes. They were all grey, no pupil, like the usual eyes of every soul. Somewhere I heard a human saying, “the eyes are the window to the soul.” I was shocked the first time I heard it because what seemed like a romantic phrase for humans was a law of physics in the Otherworld. Eyes are a window to the soul. That’s why they are blurred when the body dies; it’s a precaution to prevent them from the panic of seeing Reality after being freed from their physical barriers.

He stared at me with his blank eyes. He wasn’t wary anymore; no, his curiosity was back. I felt a bit flustered when I realized my face was being, well, actually looked at. Scrutinized even. I wondered what he thought of me. And once more it dawned on me: I didn’t remember what I looked like. In the past five minutes, without even saying a word or moving more than a few steps, this creature, this freshly dead soul was hitting me nonstop with epiphanies.

I pulled myself together again. I needed to focus on reciting the invocation.

“Well, here we go. Look at me. Look at me look at you.”