The Crash

1.1

Dazekiel nodded politely at the motorcyclist coming in the opposite direction, and was extremely surprised when the motorcyclist nodded back.

They’d gotten into the habit over the last three decades they'd been driving this road every day to work, and in all that time not a single person had returned the gesture.

As they watched the Motorcyclist disappear into the distance in their wing mirror, they decided it must have been a coincidence. The motorcyclist just happened to move his head as Dazekiel had been driving past.

They carried on to the crossroad and parked their motorbike in the gravel under the street sign and settled in to wait for the day.

1.2

The next day it happened again. The motorcyclist definitely nodded at them, and even lifted his fingers off the clutch in a little wave.

The third time it happened Dazekiel pulled a u-turn and sped up behind the Motorcyclist, waving for him to pull over.

He did, and they both got off their bikes.

The Motorcyclist pulled off his helmet, revealing dark skin and short, curly black hair.

“Hey man, is everything alright?” he asked.

Dazekiel pulled off their own helmet so that the Motorcyclist could see their face. If the motorcyclist was a being who could see them when they were on the road, surely he would know what Dazekiel was.

But the motorcyclist showed no visible reaction to Dazekiel’s appearance, not seeming to notice that their eyes were hollow pits or that their skin was a deep crimson.

“Uhh… your tail light is out,” they said weakly, not sure how to deal with this apparently perfectly ordinary human being. They quickly flicked their fingers so that when the Motorcyclist looked back the tail light was indeed dark.

“Oh, jeez, thanks for letting me know.” He grimaced. “I'll have to have a mechanic look at it at the next town.”

“I can have a look at it for you,” Dazekiel said, suddenly feeling bad for breaking the human’s bike, “I'm pretty good at… at fixing things.”

The Motorcyclist smiled widely, relief apparent on his face. “Thanks man, that would be a huge help.”

Dazekiel retrieved the toolkit from their own bike and pretended to tinker with the tail light for a few minutes while the Motorcyclist admired Dazekiel's bike. Then they made sure the human wasn't watching and flicked their fingers again to unbreak the light.

“All done,” they said.

“Wow, that was fast! You a mechanic?”

Dazekiel appreciated the admiration in the Motorcyclist’s voice, undeserved though it was.

“So, where are you headed?” Dazekiel asked, indicating the loaded panniers strapped to the bike.

“Kansas City. I'm visiting my Grandma, she's, uh, in a rest home. I go out every month to see her. None of the rest of the family bother, and I don't want her to be alone, you know?”

Dazekiel nodded, even though they didn't really understand. Family was a foreign concept.

1.3

After passing the Motorcyclist three more times in a row, Dazekiel swapped shifts with one of the other Crossroads Bargainers so that they could be leaving the crossroad in time to follow the Motorcyclist, since he was always on the road at the same time each day.

Dazekiel waited until the now-familiar bike and rider roared past before pulling out into the road and following.

They followed for over two hours and the Motorcyclist didn't seem to notice them.

They were getting close to the city when it happened. The Motorcyclist passed an intersection where a side road fed onto the main highway.

A car rolled up to the intersection and pulled out, apparently not aware of the rider in its path.

Dazekiel almost fell off their own bike in shock, and slammed on the breaks.

The Motorcyclist was thrown over the car while his bike went underneath it, and both came to rest in the grass at the edge of the road, both clearly beyond repair.

The car didn't seem to have taken any damage from the impact, and in fact carried on as though nothing had happened.

Dazekiel felt sick as they slowly rolled over to the crash site and pulled onto the side of the road. This was a new feeling, and they weren't fond of it.

The Motorcyclist was almost as broken as his bike, all twisted and crunched up. Their modern, sensible riding gear mas mostly intact, though the helmet had a crack in the visor.

Dazekiel fought down the rising nausea and looked down the highway after the car. It hadn't stopped. Neither had any of the other vehicles that had passed.

When they looked back at the Motorcyclist's body, it was gone. And now the skid marks and oil stains that marred the road looked weeks old instead of fresh.

“Oh,” Dazekiel said out loud. That explained why the Motorcyclist could see them but hadn't been bothered by their appearance.

Ghosts only saw what they expected to see.

1.4

Dazekiel left the crossroad even earlier the next day, and watched the crash happen again. It was a different car, this time, but the result for the Motorcyclist was the same.

It made them feel that same nausea again. They tried to shake it off. The Motorcyclist had been dead for weeks, this crash was little more than the traumatic memory of a spirit who hadn't been picked up by a passing reaper yet.

Dazekiel remembered the Motorcyclist's grateful smile when they'd fixed the tail light they themself had broken. He'd been on the way to visit someone important to him.

They sighed and continued their journey home.

1.5

This time when Dazekiel left work they parked at the side of the road about halfway between the crossroad and the intersection where the crash had happened and waited.

When the Motorcyclist appeared in the distance Dazekiel waved at him.

The Motorcyclist stopped and swung off his bike without any hesitation, taking his helmet off as he walked over. “Fancy meeting you here again!”

Dazekiel was a little surprised that the ghost remembered them. But then again, spirits were unpredictable and worked by strange rules that even the Bargainers didn't understand.

“Yeah, just, you know, taking a break from riding.”

The Motorcyclist nodded in understanding and stretched his arms out before plopping down on the grass. Dazekiel stood awkwardly for a moment before joining him on the ground.

“So where are you headed?” the Motorcyclist asked, “I seem to see you along this road a lot.”

“Oh, just headed to work.”

“What do you do? Aside from fixing tail lights for random strangers.”

“I… make deals.” Dazekiel didn't feel that it would be helpful to say what kind of deals.

“So like you buy and sell cars or something?”

The ghost was translating Dazekiel's words into something normal and easily understood.

“Yeah, something like that.” Dazekiel had in fact once traded a car, but certainly not for anything as mundane as money.

Then Dazekiel asked the Motorcyclist about his family, and kept him talking for almost an hour before the Motorcyclist declared that he'd better get moving if he wanted to reach the city before nightfall.

Dazekiel followed him again, hoping that the lighter traffic later on on the day would change something, but it didn't. Again they felt that nausea rising in their stomach as the watched the Motorcyclist's body until it disappeared.

1.6

The next day Dazekiel left the crossroad as soon as the Bargainer on the afternoon shift replaced them, early enough in the day that the Motorcyclist hadn't even started his journey yet.

The day after they did the same thing, and the next day after that.

After going two weeks without seeing the Motorcyclist, and feeling sicker every day, Dazekiel stopped again at the crash site and waited.

Instead of feeling better, the nausea only got worse as they waited out the hours until the crash.

Finally the Motorcyclist appeared on the horizon, and Dazekiel tensed, waiting.

They watched as the Motorcyclist approached the intersection at the same time as a shiny blue minivan approached on the side street.

They waited until the last second, just as the minivan was about to pull out, and then they flicked their fingers.

The veil between the living and the dead lifted for just a second.

The minivan driver saw the motorcycle appear seemingly from thin air and slammed on their breaks.

Dazekiel heard the Motorcyclist swear as he swerved around the front of the minivan and back into his lane, then continued his journey up the highway.

The minivan driver slowly pulled out, looking shaken, but Dazekiel knew they would forget this encounter within a few days. The living didn't tend to keep memories of ghosts for long.

Of course, it was still extremely forbidden to let the living get a glimpse through the veil, but what was the point of being a demon if you couldn't expect to break the rules every now and then?

Dazekiel pulled onto the highway and, once again, followed the Motorcyclist.

This time they followed him all the way to the city, through the suburbs and into the carpark for a medical complex.

Dazekiel watched from a distance as the Motorcyclist parked, clipped his helmet to the bike, and vanished inside.

After about twenty minutes he came back out and stood beside his bike for a long time.

Eventually he noticed Dazekiel watching from the far end of the carpark and started walking towards them.

They briefly considered speeding off to avoid the no doubt awkward conversation that was about to happen, but instead they watched silently as he approached.

“She didn't acknowledge we at all,” he said, once he reached Dazekiel, “and none of the staff would even look at me.”

Dazekiel didn't know what to say to that, so they kept quiet.

“That car that almost hit me on the way here… it did, didn't it? I'm dead. I'm dead and you're here to take my soul somewhere.”

“Well… it wasn't that car. It was almost a month ago. You've just been, um, trapped.”

The Motorcyclist frowned. “You somehow helped, didn't you?”

“I thought you might like to see your Gran one last time.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“So what happens now? Do I just go with you?”

Dazekiel paused. They hadn't really thought this far ahead. They'd expected that one of the reapers from upstairs would show up once the ghost wasn't trapped in his own memories any more and take him to his eternal reward.

“I don't know. Sorry. I'm actually only responsible for souls that are going, you know, downstairs. I don't know what happens next for, um, good people.”

“Oh.”

They stood in awkward silence for what felt to Dazekiel like a thousand years before the Motorcyclist spoke again.

“What if I just drive around?”

Dazekiel tilted their head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like… what if I just drive around and go, I don't know, sight seeing or something until whoever is supposed to have my soul shows up for it?”

“I… can't think of any reason why you shouldn't do that. It's not like your bike will run out of gas.”

There was another long moment of silence.

“I guess I'll do that then.”

Dazekiel nodded. It sounded like as good an idea as any.

“Do you always drive along that stretch of road to get to work?” The Motorcyclist asked.

“Yeah, I'm stationed at the crossroad from midnight to midday. Why?”

“I could stop by to say hi every now and then. If you don't mind.”

Dazekiel nodded again. There was no rule that said they weren't allowed to talk to ghosts while on duty. “I'd like that.”