Through the Windshield Glass

by Kristen Day

  Cadent was blue and looked terribly sorry for something; I assumed for dying in front of his wife.

  I turned to Michael before he got to the last bed, "Why are there so few people here? A lot of people had traumatic deaths and yet there are only five people here because of that, what else happened to these people?"

  "We don't know, Alice," Michael said. He looked around the room and his shoulders seemed to sag with the weight of the world, "The only plausible explanation seems to be the doors. Something must have happened in one of them that sent them over the edge. For some reason, the hallways are kinder to some people than others."

  I didn't know what to say so I just let Michael　lead me to the last bed on the right nearest to the curtain. The woman in the bed was wraith thin, her dark brown hair was patchy, snarled, and burned looking. Despite looking the sickliest of all, this woman seemed to be the most alert. Her mouth was moving rapidly and every few seconds she would cough. Her eyes were also darting from side to side and she was wringing her hands.

  "We never got her name, but she’s the neweset," Michael said. I could hear a bit of sorrow, and possibly frustration in his voice, "She came here like this, only then her clothes were still slightly on fire and the only thing she was able to say before she stopped functioning was 'Where's the baby? Where's my husband?' I can't comprehend how much pain she must have gone through to get here. Sometimes I think she, and even the rest of them have it easier in this state."

  I tore my eyes away from the woman and looked up into Michael's face, "How?"

  "They don't have to put up with being conscious for all of this," Michael gestured around him.

  I nodded and looked back over at the fretful woman, it was hard not to agree with Michael, "And yet when we were alive and the world had dumped us on our heads all we could do was think about how lucky everyone that had already died was. That's the definition of irony right there."

  Michael looked opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and shook his head.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I--I was one of those people. Daman died first and I watched it happen. I dragged his corpse into a foxhole and willed him to live again. In that moment I wanted to die, it seemed the easiest solution, especially when I thought about being the second favorite son going home to tell our parents that he had died. Minutes later, a grenade dropped right into my hole. I had enough time to run or at least throw it back, but I stayed and when I could see again, I was here."

  I fought against my feelings for a minute, I didn't want to feel sorry for Michael, I knew it might lead to friendship, reluctant or not, but I couldn't help it. I reached out and touched Michael's arm, "It's okay, just imagine if Daman had come here by himself, there might be no one trying so hard to stop him. I don't think it was a--"

  I meant to say coincidence, but I made the mistake of looking straight into Michael's eyes as I said it. The sensation I'd felt when viewing Daman's false life returned, except for this time I was seeing Michael, but not his whole life, just its close.

  The scene was almost exactly as Michael had described it. The dirt was littered with bodies, some whole, some not, puddles of blood reflected the moon, mocking its beauty and staining it red. I looked to my left and there was Michael, he was bent double pulling a limp form with him. A falling bomb lit the world around me; in an instant I saw a bead of sweat fall from Michael's nose and onto Daman's chest. His front was dark as night with his own blood and he was unmistakably dead.

  Bullets seemed to bend around Michael as he lowered his brother into a fox hole I hadn't even seen, seconds later, Michael disappeared into the earth. I raced to the edge and looked down into the hole. Michael had removed his helmet, his hair was matted with sweat, and although he sported the military cut, his curls still made him look almost boyish. It was then I realized Michael couldn't have been much more than seventeen or eighteen when he died. He must have chosen to age slightly, just as Daman obviously had, for he looked even younger. There was nothing in his face that would have led me to believe he would someday be a ruthless killer and a tyrannical king. He looked innocent.

  Michael pressed his ear to Daman's chest and listened for a heart beat. When he came up the left side of his head was smeared with blood, but he didn't seem to notice. Without seeming to realize what he was doing, Michael ripped open Daman's uniform exposing a surprisingly thin and unnaturally white chest. I had always imagined Daman to be exactly as he was when I met him, but not only was he much thinner and sicklier than Michael, he was also a good six inches shorter. Death had changed him in more than just attitude.

  I watched as Michael reached into his pack and drew out rolls of gauze. He bound the bandages around Daman's wound and propped him up. Michael looked pleadingly into Daman's still open eyes.

  "Wake up Daman," Michael begged, "Come on, you're stronger than this! It's just a scratch Daman, wake up!"

  Michael's voice became increasingly desperate as he encouraged his brother to live again. Nothing happened for a few moments, Michael became more frustrated, he opened his canteen and threw water at Daman's face before attempting to make him drink, but the water rolled uselessly out of Daman's unresponsive mouth and mixed with the blood already seeping through bandages around his chest.

  Finally, Michael gave up; he shut Daman's eyes and pulled his brother's head into his lap. I'd often read books and seen movies in which a character would close his friend's eyes when he died, but I'd never really understood why. It was their way of saying you've seen enough, rest now, go to sleep and don't worry yourself with the problems of this world anymore.

  Then I saw Michael do something I never thought I'd see, I saw him completely break down. Tears fell relentlessly down his cheeks cutting through the dirt and sweat that had dried there. I wanted to reach down into the hole and pull him out, I wanted to make him run, but I knew he would've hated for anyone to do that. He wanted to die with his brother and that's what he was going to do.

  Just as Michael had said, no more than two minutes later, a grenade flew overhead, not from the enemy side, but from somewhere in the smoke behind us. It landed next to Michael's left knee. He stared uncomprehendingly for a few seconds until survival instinct kicked in. His brother was dead, but he didn't have to be. Michael jumped up and attempted to scramble from the hole, but something grabbed his ankle. He looked down to see Daman, miraculously breathing, and holding onto his brother's leg.

  "Help me!" Daman beseeched. Michael completely forgot about himself. He jumped back down into the hole and within a second had forced Daman up and out. I looked down to find the grenade, I wanted to see how much time I had left before I had to look away, but it was gone. I looked at Michael, who was still attempting to crawl from the hole, then my eyes landed on Daman. He was standing and　grinning malevolently, the grenade in one hand, the pin still in place. In one swift movement, Daman pulled the pin and threw the grenade high into the air.

  "Michael!" Daman cried, "Look out!"

  "Daman, what are you—?"

  Daman cut Michael off by tackling him back into the fox hole.

  "We die together brother," Daman said. The grenade landed directly on top of Daman and before either brother could react, it detonated. Dirt　 flew into the sky and showered me, but I could still see through it as if it were only a mist of water. I looked down into the hole and saw something I will never forget. Daman's legs were the only whole thing left of him, Michael was covered in blood, his eyes open and glassy, his chest was completely blown open. The last thing I saw before I snapped back to reality was Michael's heart beat one last time.

  Wrenched from life

  And wrenched from kin,

  No more strife

  Or love to win

  The next second I was wrenching my hand off Michael's arm and looking at anything but him.

  "Alice?" Michael asked, "What did you see?"

  "Daman murdered you!" I didn't mean to say it like that, but it came out before I could stop it.


  "No he didn't! I just stayed put and didn't move before the grenade went off!"

  "Obviously, you blocked out the last part, because the pin on that thing wasn't even pulled! Daman grabbed it when you threw him out, he pulled the pin and he tackled you into the fox hole, there's no way you could have survived!" My voice had risen to dangerous levels and was attempting to go up two octaves.

  "Daman was dead, he never moved." Michael's voice was quiet. The memory was painful and I knew he wanted nothing more than for me to drop the argument, but I couldn't let him live with the guilt anymore. I told him exactly what I'd seen.

  When I finished you could have shoved a basketball in his mouth, "That's not possible," he muttered.

  "It is, and that's the truth, take it or leave it. Daman pulled the same kind of false memory thing on me."

  Michael quickly recovered himself, all emotion and disbelief left his face and he was once again stoic and professional, "Anyway, you need to see the other two people."

  "Hang on," I said. Michael had already begun to draw back the curtain, but he stopped and looked back at me.

  "What did you see?"

  Michael ran a hand through his hair, "I saw everything exactly as you described it. I'm sorry you had to die that way, but it's extremely admirable that you are so willing to help Maria after what she did."

  "How could I not help her? She's not the one who was driving the truck."

  "But she's the reason you were out."

  "She'd be doing the same for me."

  "Would she?" Michael asked. He looked deep into my eyes and for the first time I began to doubt Maria's benevolence.

  I didn't say anything else; Michael pulled back the curtains and allowed me to step through first. It was like walking into a totally different world.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The other side of the curtain looked like a child's nursery, except it was occupied by four adults, two lying complacently in larger, more comfortable looking beds than the ones that filled the rest of the infirmary, and two nurses, one of whom I immediately recognized.

  "Katelyn!" I exclaimed.

  "Well, look at you!" Katelyn said. She looked just as I remembered her, except maybe a little happier, "The name's really Maggie. I knew you'd get out of that hallway all right!"

  She enveloped me in a hug and I almost started crying into her shoulder again, she was the first familiar face I'd seen that hadn't greeted me in a depressingly uncharacteristic way.

  "I thought you were just someone my imagination created in that door," I said. I suddenly realized how silly that sounded.

  Katelyn laughed happily, "No, I'm just a helper."

  "A helper?" I asked.

  Michael butted in, "We don't know how or why, but sometimes people from here show up in other people's doors to help them out."

  "Like officer Parker?" I asked, "Is he here? Can I see him?"

  Michael scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, "Officer Parker? I don't think I know anyone who uses that as their alias. There are very few people who can do it; I think that person was just an illusion."

  "Oh," I said. I looked at the bed to my right. A woman was in it, propped up on three pillows and looking at me quizzically.

  "She's another Jane Doe," Katelyn informed me, "just appeared looking just like your friend here."

  I had completely forgotten that Maria was with us, I had subconsciously let go of her hand as Michael had been describing the events that had landed each of the patients in the infirmary. But she had followed like an obedient child follows his or her mother.

  "Did they ever say anything, or do anything to communicate?" I asked.

  "No," the other nurse said. He had finished whatever he was doing on the other side of the room and had come to join our conversation, "they just lie there and stare. We have to feed them, change them, bathe them. It's like taking care of newborn children, they can barely breathe for themselves. So far nothing we've done has helped."

  I nodded and looked around the room again, it was decorated in bright colors, and there were children's drawings on the walls by the beds.

  "Did they draw these?" I questioned. Everyone followed my gaze to the pictures.

  "Nope," Katelyn said, "that was Leigh. She's in here almost every day. Jane and John over there almost start improving when she's here. Jane blinks a lot and drums her fingers and John grunts like he's trying to speak or sing something but as soon as she leaves it goes back to the same thing. It's like they're having a staring contest but no one ever wins."

  I looked over at the other bed where the man was sitting in the same position as Jane. Each of Leigh's drawings for him read:

  　　　　　　　 To: John Doe

  　　　　　　　　From: Leigh

  "Have you tried teaching them to feed themselves?" I asked, "Or have you tried teaching them to bathe themselves, or get dressed?"

  The male nurse laughed, "Like I said little lady, they can barely breathe for themselves."

  I stared at the man in disbelief, "What's your name?" I questioned.

  "Danny Jones," the nurse replied.

  "Well, Danny Jones, maybe you should try teaching them how to do those things. They might be as far along as Maria is right now, possibly further since they've been here longer, but if you want to keep caring for them like their babies please, be my guest."

  Danny, Katelyn, and even Michael stared at me, "You mean she can feed herself?" Katelyn whispered.

  "Yes," I replied indignantly, "She can feed herself, she can help me know when she's hungry, she can nearly bathe by herself as long as I don't leave her alone for too long, we're working on the getting dressed part, and she doesn't need me to hold her hand to tell her where to go anymore."

  "How?" Danny sputtered.

  "I treated her like a child, a growing child; she just needs to be taught again. I think if I can get her far enough she might remember who she is. Leigh's been helping a lot, Maria positively adores her." I responded. I relished the look of admiration that covered the previously supercilious expression on Danny's face.

  "I guess you didn't try everything," I said to Michael.

  Michael was flabbergasted, "I just assumed Maria was less affected than these two, I had no idea you'd actually--"

  "Helped her? Didn't I just tell you that was practically my only motivation for helping you with this stupid plan of yours? I thought I'd have more ideas to use to help her and instead I come here and find out I made more advances with her in a few days than you've made in what, years?"

  Katelyn reached out to touch my arm, "Alice, remember, you know Maria better than we know Jane or John here. What you did was only natural and didn't occur to us because of our limited connection to them. We would really like your help on this though, if you're still willing."

  It was my turn to be surprised; Katelyn had taken my rage and dispelled it all in about five seconds. I felt like a child taken down to size. The feeling was so poignant I almost hung my head in shame before mumbling an apology. Instead, I did my best to maintain some of my dignity.

  "I am still willing to help," I said, "I--"

  A scream cut through the air, Katelyn and Danny were both suddenly alert. The scream echoed again and Katelyn and Danny ripped through the curtain into the main part of the infirmary with Michael and me hot on their heels.

  The last woman Michael had introduced me to, the one who had come to Beyond still smoldering from her death, was out of her bed, screeching, and running around the room tearing blankets off the unoccupied beds.

  "Stop!" Katelyn yelled. Katelyn ran at the rampaging woman and wrapped her arms tightly around her.

  "Shh," Katelyn murmured, "Everything's going to be okay, we'll find your baby, you'll be just fine. Shhh."

  Katelyn held the struggling woman just as she had held me during my misery door. Eventually the woman calmed and collapsed in Katelyn's arms, sobbing so bitterly it made my heart hurt. I don't know what made me do it, but I le
ft Michael's side and went over to where Katelyn was standing. I looked into the sobbing woman's face. Her eyes opened and she stared at me before grabbing my arm.

  I didn't launch into a memory like I had with Michael, but suddenly I knew exactly who the woman was.

  "Rebecca?" I asked, "Rebecca is that really you?"

  The woman nodded and mouthed my name, "Alice."

  "Yes?"

  "Where's James? Where's Ali? What am I doing here, who are these people?" At least that's what I think she said. I knew she already had trouble forming coherent sentences, but with the added challenges of her recent tantrum and her mouth being buried in Katelyn's shoulder it was triply hard to understand her.

  I looked back at Danny and Michael, "Can I have a minute alone to talk to Rebecca, she's my sister-in-law. I think it would be best if I explained exactly what's going on, she'll probably respond better if she hears it from someone she knows."

  Danny nodded; he was beyond arguing with me after he'd seen the progress I had made with Maria. Katelyn was a little more hesitant, but when she saw the conviction in my eyes she released Rebecca, grabbed Maria's hand　and followed Danny and Michael behind the curtain once more. I wasn't completely alone with Rebecca but it would have to do.

  "Rebecca, do you know who I am?" I asked.

  "Of course, you're Alice, Jamie's little sister, we were practically best friends before you di--" Rebecca cut herself off and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  "I know I'm dead, Rebecca," I said, "Unfortunately, you are too. This isn't just some dream, you and Jamie, and I, we're all-- dead."

  Rebecca gaped for a few moments. I could tell she was struggling to believe me. Honestly, I was a little shocked myself, I hadn't expected to find Rebecca here, and I hadn't expected her to suddenly start　acting so normal.

  "But what about my Ali? What about my Alice?" Rebecca asked desperately. Her words were surprisingly clear and distinct, "Where is she, who's taking care of her? I need to see her, she can't be without her mother, she's too young!"