In 27 Days

by Alison Gervais

  I hadn’t had any idea of what the future would hold when I accepted the contract Death offered. Now I was never going to get the chance to find out. Despite all the odds, wherever our crazy, mismatched friendship might have landed us, a part of me knew Archer and I would’ve been together—the way it was supposed to be. Now it had been taken away from me, from us. And it hurt more than broken bones ever could.

  I scrubbed at the tears my cheeks with the sleeve of my ruined shirt. I was on the verge of a breakdown, but I needed answers. “So . . . so where am I?”

  “Think of this place as a . . . waiting room of sorts,” Death told me. “Not heaven. Not hell. Just . . . here.”

  “What am I doing here if . . . if . . .” I swallowed back another wave of tears. “What am I doing here if I’m dead? Shouldn’t I be six feet under in a coffin now or something?”

  “That’s what you’re about to find out.” Death got to his feet and reached down to offer me a hand. “Let’s go for a little walk, shall we?”

  I grasped Death’s cold hand and he pulled me upright. I managed to take a few tentative steps forward, but my knees suddenly buckled. I would’ve hit the floor if Death hadn’t wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me steady. I couldn’t help but think how much nicer he seemed to be now that I was dead.

  “The first few minutes are always the worst. This way,” he said, nodding his head toward a door that suddenly appeared in the far corner of the room. I stumbled my way alongside Death until he pushed open the door, a massive wooden thing etched with intricate carvings of symbols and figures I couldn’t make light of.

  “Death, what are we— Oh.”

  I was standing inside a room made entirely out of glass.

  Nothing was visible beyond the sheets of clear glass except a white fog that pressed up against the sides of the room, even the floor, making it seem as if I was tucked away right in the middle of a massive cloud. Placed in the center of the room was a long table that wouldn’t have been out of place in a conference room, surrounded by large leather chairs.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Death said, gesturing to the chairs around the table. “We’ve got a lot to discuss, and we haven’t got that much time.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Don’t I have all the time in the world now?”

  “Do me a favor. Just sit.”

  Deciding not to push it, I took a few steps forward, and was relieved I didn’t hit the floor again. I dropped into the chair closest to me and settled back, turning to Death expectantly.

  He kicked back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table, tucking his arms behind his head.

  “Consider this a . . . performance review,” Death began.

  “A performance review,” I repeated. “Of what?”

  “The execution of your contract, of course.” Death reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the stack of crumpled papers I remembered having signed without reading twenty-five days ago.

  “Oh.”

  This didn’t sound promising. Now that I was dead, did that mean our contract was no longer valid? I hadn’t survived the full twenty-seven days. Would the world snap back to that original timeline, the one where Archer had killed himself?

  “No need to look so frightened,” Death said, a wry smile twisting his mouth as he stared at me. “All things considered, you did okay.”

  I stared blankly at him. “Okay? You think I did okay? I just died! I died before my twenty-seven days were up, Havoc waltzed right in and ruined pretty much everything, Victoria is in the hospital, and who knows where Archer is? If he’ll decide to . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “Death, I failed. That is the farthest thing from okay.”

  Death let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “Come on, kid, did you honestly think this would be easy? That everything would be sunshine and daisies and you’d be able to top it all off with a perfect little bow?”

  “Of course I didn’t think that,” I snapped. “I just thought—”

  “This might come as a surprise to you, Hadley, but very little in life is ever easy. That’s the way it’s been since the dawn of time, and I’m pretty sure that’s the way it’s always going to be. But the thing is?” Death scooted closer in his chair, gripping my knee, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “There are things in this life that make all the other crap worth it. So you grab those moments, those people, and you run with them and you fight with everything you have to never lose them. And at the end of your life, when you look back on all the things you’ve done, you’re going to be glad you went kicking and screaming.”

  It was the most I’d ever heard Death speak. I knew nothing about this . . . man, other than the fact that he called himself Death and he seemed content playing with my life and Archer’s like we all were in some sort of cosmic game. There was nothing about him that was human—at least not that I could see—but what he said had to have been the most human thing I’d ever heard.

  “You told me you failed,” Death went on. “I think you’re wrong. I picked you for a lot of reasons, but I saw right through you, you know. You may not have realized it, but you were just as lonely as Archer was. Just as lost. Just as scared as what the future would hold for you. You simply expressed it in different ways. I didn’t make a mistake picking you. And you didn’t fail.”

  It was silent in the room for several minutes while I thought about what he said.

  “Maybe you’re right.” My voice cracked as I spoke. “But there’s just so much more that I could’ve handled better, or thought about differently, or if I’d just figured things out sooner, I could’ve—”

  “You’re sixteen, kid. You’re kind of at a point in life where all you think you do is screw things up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If you didn’t have what it took, there’s no way you would’ve been able to stand up to Havoc the way you did,” Death said. “Everything that happened in the past week, all those accidents, just so happened to be some of the worst things Archer was afraid of happening. Havoc took his worst nightmares and turned them into reality.”

  It was so obvious Archer cared about his family above all else and would do anything to protect them. I could tell he was upset and frustrated with what was going on, but I hadn’t known to what degree his deepest, darkest fears were playing out before his eyes.

  “And did you notice that you happened to be included in that category too?”

  I whipped my head up so quickly to look at Death I got a crick in my neck. “Sorry, what?”

  “You were one of the first people outside Archer’s family to show you cared,” Death said. “You stuck with him through some of his biggest fears, and you didn’t judge him. How could he not come to care about you in his own way after that? I was watching when you fell down those stairs at school, and I saw the look on his face. He was scared you’d been hurt. So don’t think you aren’t important to him. That you didn’t make a difference. You’d be lying to yourself.”

  I may have made a difference, but there were still two days left before I would have known for sure if I had succeeded, and now I was never going to figure that out. I asked the question I’d been afraid to voice this whole time. “What happens if what I did wasn’t enough? What if I failed?”

  “There is always that chance, I suppose,” Death said hesitantly.

  “Then why did I die?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t counting on that,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “And I am sorry this happened to you. Well, not too sorry, actually.”

  “Not too sorry? What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded angrily. Death was pleased I was dead? Typical.

  “You weren’t supposed to die,” Death elaborated. “It’s a specific clause in the contract, actually. See?” He took the contract from me and flipped to the last page, pointing to a short paragraph right above my sloppy signature. The language was still totally unintelligible.

  “How was I supposed to know that?” I sa
id shrilly, snatching the contract back from him, giving it a shake. “Excuse me for not being able to understand whatever these little symbols are!”

  “No need to be so snippy,” Death retorted. “I’d be happy to tell you.” He grabbed the contract from me and skimmed through the paragraph before reading aloud, “It says, and I quote, in the event of my demise at the hands of supernatural forces, any ties that therefore bind me to death shall not be valid.”

  “Supernatural forces? You mean Havoc? What does that mean?” I asked frantically.

  I was dead, but somehow it felt like my heart was beating a painful rhythm against my chest.

  “It’s your turn to make the decision now, Hadley,” Death said, tossing the contract on the table. “I made sure to put a loophole in the contract just in case something unfortunate did happen to occur. I always do. Havoc has tried to hurt enough people that I’ve learned it’s best to have contingences, though I must admit this is the first time he’s actually succeeded in killing off someone I was working with. You are dead, make no mistake, but you have two options. You can choose to stay dead, wherever that may take you, or you can go back.”

  “Just . . . just like that?” I said. I didn’t even recognize my own voice with how squeaky it sounded. “I get to go back like nothing ever happened and the contract never existed?”

  What would that mean? That everything over the past twenty-five days never actually happened? I would’ve never met Archer or his family or grown as close to them as I did? Would Archer be dead? If that were the case, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go back. I knew I had things to live for and was fortunate in everything given to me, but it would be a very . . . lonely existence without them.

  “On the contrary,” Death said. “The contract was very real. Your past with the Incitti family has already solidified,” Death told me calmly, understanding my panic. “That won’t change. That reality, the one where Archer committed suicide, ceased to be.”

  Relief flooded through me so sharply I nearly fell out of my chair. “When . . . when was that? When did that happen?” I asked, afraid to meet his eye.

  “That first day you went to his family’s coffee shop. Helping you with your homework. He realized you were trying to get to know him, and . . . he liked that. He’d never admit it, but he was desperate for someone to show they care.”

  It was difficult to believe that Archer had tackled this life-changing decision so early on in my twenty-seven days, but what if that was all it took? Just one small moment to show someone genuinely cared? A feeling of warmth spread through me at the thought, making me feel elated and weightless.

  “Good,” I said, and my smile was effortless. “I’m glad.”

  So I really had succeeded after all.

  Death slapped a hand on the table. “Now let’s get to it.”

  “Get to— We’re leaving? Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Unless you’d rather stay here.”

  Death was already on his feet, heading for the door, and I tripped over my feet and almost landed flat on my face as I tried to catch up to him. I definitely did not want to stay behind.

  “Where are we going?” I asked nervously.

  “The next step,” Death answered as he swung open the door.

  I paused in the doorway, my knees getting a little weak from nerves or from the fact that I was walking around in my strange nothingness body. Death made an impatient sort of noise and gently gripped my forearm to tug me forward so he could wrap an arm around my waist to lead me from the room. “We’re on a bit of a tight schedule here, Hadley, if you don’t mind.”

  “Right,” I said, embarrassed at my lack of motor control. “Of course.”

  The door shut behind us as we stepped out of the glass room, and Death began leading me away, now to the left, back where we’d first come from. This time, however, the hallway seemed to be growing shorter and shorter, the shape of a gnarled-looking door coming into sight, one barely hanging on by its hinges.

  “Tada!” Death announced, gesturing grandly at the door.

  “Is this my light at the end of the tunnel?” I asked curiously. It felt a little anticlimactic at this point. I was thinking maybe I’d get pearly gates or something a little more lavish and impressive.

  Death rolled his eyes, his mouth twisted in a frown of annoyance. “If there’s one thing I want you to take away from this experience, it’s that you should never believe everything you see in Hollywood. That, and every place has a way in and a way out.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Death gently pressed against the door, and it swung open. I crept closer, trying to figure out what lay beyond the threshold, but I could see nothing but blackness. For all I knew, one step out there would send me plummeting down to someplace I really, really didn’t want to end up. I didn’t think Death would trick me into anything—beyond signing a life-altering contract, that was—but I didn’t relish the thought of taking that first step into an uncertain future.

  “Well, get to it,” Death said, giving me an encouraging nudge from behind. “Just keep walking. You won’t get lost, I promise.”

  “So, is this it, then?” I looked back to Death, still oddly afraid to move. “This is the end.”

  “Or the beginning,” he suggested.

  “There’s a part of me that wants to thank you beyond belief and tell you to keep in touch,” I said to him. “But then the other part just wants you to stay away from me.”

  Death let out a short laugh, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You wouldn’t be the first, Hadley. But don’t worry. You’re going to be fine on your own from now on.”

  “This isn’t the part where we hug, is it?”

  He looked horrified at the prospect. “Absolutely not. This is the part where you leave and start living your life again.”

  I didn’t imagine Death was capable of coming up with a better send-off than that.

  “You really need to work on your people skills, Death. But . . . thanks. For everything.” I hoped he understood how sincerely I meant that, even if I was unable to come up with the words to tell him.

  “Good luck, kid,” were Death’s last words before he gave me a push forward and the darkness swallowed me whole.

  CHAPTER 32

  Things Left Unsaid—Two Days After

  The first thing I heard were voices. They began to grow louder and louder, sounding garbled until I was finally able to make out what they were saying.

  “. . . How long she’s been out again?”

  A quiet sigh. “About three days now.”

  There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, then silence again.

  “Our hope with the medically induced coma is that her body would have an easier time healing, but I also don’t want to get your hopes up, Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. Your daughter really took a beating in that car accident. Her skull was fractured, her appendix ruptured, and three of her ribs broke along with her arm.”

  It sounded as if someone was now . . . crying?

  “So what exactly are you saying, doctor?”

  “What I’m saying, Mrs. Jamison, is that there is a chance your daughter may never wake up. We will do everything we can, but we need her to fight just as hard.”

  “But she . . .” The voice cracked with another sob. “She has to wake up. She has to. She can’t just . . . j-just . . .”

  I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t, as though bricks were weighing down my eyelids. It hurt to even try to move, but I had to stop the crying, I had to help. I needed to open my eyes.

  I don’t know how long I fought to see, but I was met with a blinding light as my eyelids finally slid open. I groaned from the pain that shot across my cheeks as I winced. There must have been something wrong with my face.

  I was in a small, cramped room, on a narrow bed with scratchy sheets—a hospital bed, I quickly realized. The walls were a shade of white that seemed faded from years of patients coming in and out. There was a mess of
machines surrounding the bed that were making all sorts of noises, my left arm was covered in a cast, an assortment of tubes were taped all over my right hand, and something was binding my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  Slumped over in a chair beside the bed, fast asleep, was my mother, looking disheveled and far from the fashionable, put-together woman I knew her to be. Lying on the couch underneath the window was my dad, looking just as exhausted as my mom, even while he was unconscious.

  I tried to move my hand to reach out and touch my mom’s arm, but that was even more difficult than opening my eyes had been.

  It took several moments of telling my brain that I needed to move my mouth to be able to speak. When everything somehow managed to click into place and I could actually get a sound out, my voice sounded raspy and out of use.

  “M-M-Mom . . .”

  My mother’s eyes flew open and she shot up like a rocket in her chair, lunging forward to grasp my hand. “Oh, thank God, Hadley, you’re awake,” she gasped. “You’ve been out for days, I thought— Kenneth! Kenneth, wake up!” She reached around and slapped my dad on the leg, giving him a shake. “Hadley’s awake!”

  My dad sat up immediately, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A look of total relief spread across his face as he looked at me. “You’re awake,” he said, quickly getting to his feet, coming to the bedside. “It’s so good to see your eyes open, Hadley.”

  I was even more confused now. “Was I asleep for a long time?” I asked slowly.

  My dad sighed, reaching out to gently place his hand over mine. “About four days now.”

  “Honey . . .” My mom squeezed my hand gently. I didn’t tell her that it hurt. It seemed to be doing something to calm her down. “You were in a car accident.”

  It was coming back to me, piece by piece. The accident. I was hit by a car. Two, actually. And I had . . . died. Death. I’d talked with him. That much I could distinctly remember.