Waiting Room

It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Surrounded by walls and furniture of an immaculate white, she found herself in the same spot again, trapped in the narrow cubical room as she waited for her adversary to show up. Decades of prayers weren’t enough to prevent her from having to go back in this fateful arena. The words spoken by the surgeon before the anesthesia kicked in still echoed in her head.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said, blinding her with the frontal light fastened onto his head. “We’ll remove this tumor successfully. You have my word.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Dr. Clayton,” Nym replied. “We’re talking about drilling into my skull here. Anything goes. Last time, I lost usage of my legs.”

The anesthesiologist approached, his mask in hand.

“It’s bad practice to go into surgery expecting the worst,” cautioned Dr. Clayton. “Optimistic expectations are preferable, trust me. Paralyzed limbs are a very unfortunate consequence, but at least you’re still alive.”

“I know what to expect,” she said. “I’ve been there before.”

The sevoflurane gas soon made its way into her airways. She felt herself falling into a deep abyss of darkness, only to be blinded again by the light reflecting of the shiny surfaces of the Waiting Room after landing into the white armchair.

He wanted her not to be afraid; she needed to have optimistic expectations. Her heart had been filled with optimistic expectations twenty-four years ago after the tumor had been first removed, yet here she was again, fighting the same fight for her life. Even if she survived, would her entire body be paralyzed this time? The tragedy from her last surgery had made her distrustful of anyone who tried to help her.

“Are you lost in thought, dear?”

The voice brought her back to reality, or whatever form of reality the Waiting Room was. The foe now sat in front of her, across from a coffee table over which a red cloth had been drawn. Nym knew what the cloth concealed, but the sight of her adversary took her by surprise. It was a woman this time, albeit dressed in the exact same black trenchcoat.

“You seem surprised,” said Death, her face unreadable. “Were you not expecting me?”

“I was expecting someone,” replied Nym. “You’re different than the last one I faced. I didn’t know there were many of you.”

“We take many forms. At the end of the day, true Death is the destination. We are only the roads that lead to it.”

“Well, I have no intention of going down that road today.”

“No one ever does. Let’s see how things play out.”

Death reached for a leather briefcase resting against the side of her armchair and pulled out a file. Nym tried to get a glimpse of the pages as she flipped through them. For a fleeting moment, she saw pictures of her young self in the very armchair she occupied at the moment, moving pawns across a chessboard on the coffee table.

“This obviously isn’t your first time,” said Death, “but I do have to fill out some paperwork before we begin. Could you remind me how old you were the last time you visited the Waiting Room?”

“Eleven.”

“Do you have full recollection of the event?”

“Only pieces. I vividly remember my days at the hospital, waiting for the tumor removal. The doctor was very calm, and very handsome as well. Truth be told, I fancied him. Quite a bit.”

“Please skip the sentimentalities,” said Death. Nym shuddered at the coldness of her voice.

“As you wish. In any case, he told me anesthesia would be just like going to sleep. I was very surprised to find myself in this room all of sudden. Your colleague – I suppose that’s what he is – introduced himself as Death and challenged me to a game of chess.”

“How kind of him.”

The statement sent a wave of indignation through Nym’s body. As Death scribbled into her file, she rose up.

“Kind? He asked me to play for my life. If I lost, I died.”

“Precisely. You were a young chess prodigy by then. He might as well have given it to you for free.”

Nym glanced the coffee table again. It seemed as though her expectations had been subverted. Whatever the cloth concealed, it wasn’t a chess board.

“I presume this means we’ll be playing a different game today?”

“That’s an astute observation.”

“Why do you want me to die so badly? I’m only thirty-five, I have a life to live. The cancer was gone, I had freedom.”

“One is never free from Death. The shackles are simply hidden.”

She clapped her hands, and the ivory floor beneath Nym’s feet became translucent. Down below, the young woman saw her body lying on the operating table. Dr. Clayton’s hands hovered over her brain, poking at a dark mass with his scalpel. To her surprise, Nym noticed everyone in the room had chains tied to their ankles.

“Nobody sees them, but the shackles are there, all of them tied to Death at the other end. You never know when they can pull you over the edge. Count yourself lucky you had the time to prepare.”

Death pulled off the red cloth, revealing a video game console to underneath.

“A console?” questioned Nym, her brows frowned. “We sure have come a long way from chess.”

“At least, you’ll still be taking the matter in your own hands. Most people never get to experience the Waiting Room at all. We just reap them. Only a handful of individuals are given the privilege to fight for their lives.”

“Yes,” whispered Nym under her breath, still staring at the surgeon down below. “Let’s count my blessings.”

Both opponents took a controller. Death clapped again, and the wall to her left changed: one by one, pixels appeared on its surface, forming a mosaic of dancing colors. The virtual universe in which they were to compete had revealed itself.

“The first one to find and slay the Queen of Hell wins,” explained Death. “I hope you are just as skilled in virtual combat as you are in board game strategy.”

Of course, Death knew this wasn’t the case. Nym had never bought a video game in her life. As they began to play, their avatars explored a magical world where demons of all shapes and sizes crept out of the dungeons at the heart of a medieval fortress surrounded by tall mountains. Dragons with sharp wings flew by their side, spitting fire every time one of them escaped from the grasp of a devilish imp. As sorcerers, they had to rid this kingdom of the evil that plagued it, and Nym hated every second of it.

“Is this really what Hell looks like?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” replied Death. “We don’t come from Hell.”

“Have you never seen a demon?”

“It depends how you define demon. Imps like these don’t exist. I have crossed many humans, however, who would certainly qualify as demons.”

“Don’t you distinguish between the good and the bad when you reap?”

“No. Death doesn’t discriminate.”

The game characters reached the castle dungeons. They made their way through the labyrinthine network of dark corridors, slaughtering more demons with every turn. The creatures spawned endlessly, but as their density increased, Nym suspected they were getting closer to the Queen of Hell’s lair.

“Is this it?”

“Indeed.”

Both avatars now stood in front of two large wooden gates. Nym’s life bar was severely depleted, while Death’s had barely been impacted. The woman knew she stood no chance. From the beginning, her opponent had played her cards right. Unlike the Death she had met twenty-four years ago, this one had every intention of reaping her soul. She looked down at the surgeon once again: most of the tumor had been taken out. The game was no longer in her hands.

“Aren’t you going in?” asked Death, waiting for Nym to make the first move. “I’ll give you a headstart.”

“I don’t need a headstart.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll just trust the process instead.”

Nym grabbed the console and smashed it against the ground. For the first time, Death’s face showed an expression, one of horror.

“What have you done?”

The room around her dissolved. The bright lights and white surfaces were replaced by complete darkness, a void that swallowed her completely.

***

Nym woke up, Dr. Clayton by her side. Her body still felt numb, yet she could bend her fingers, which reassured her.

“Did you take it out?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Clayton. “All of it. Looks like your arms suffered no damage.”

“You lived up to your word. I knew I could trust you.”

The surgeon chuckled. Her legs remained paralyzed, but it barely mattered to her now. She was alive, and that was all that mattered.