by Jay Bell
“Him?” The stranger rolled the robber over with his foot. “He’s just a P rop, and anyway, dead? Bloody hell, you’re a fresh one, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” He managed to get to his feet and offered his hand. “John Grey” The I rishman eyed it wearily, holding the money bag behind his back before finally accepting it. “Dante.”
“No kidding?” J ohn snorted. His new companion didn’t share his amusement, so John stifled his laughter. “Look, we’re dead right?”
“As nails in a coffin, yeah.” Dante shrugged, as if it didn’t ma er to him. “Did you miss orientation? I barely paid attention myself. Took ages to believe any of it until—” Dante stopped speaking and stared at J ohn’s crotch. J ohn was beginning to feel self-conscious when he realized that Dante was looking at the triangular device.
“Now that’s something,” Dante murmured. “You say this is your first day?
Shouldn’t you be in the acclimation dorms?”
John tensed and eyed the alleyway entrance.
“No need to run from me, mate. I say fuck the rules. I’m just curious is all.”
“I got a little freaked out,” John admitted, “broke away from the group.”
“They forget to switch you on?”
J ohn shook his head. “I f ‘on’ means being made into a zombie, they didn’t forget. I was out of it until I put my hand through the beam and it broke.” Dante scoffed. “Touching the blue is enough to put any soul down for weeks.
There’s no escaping a dampener.”
“Maybe mine was defective.”
“L et’s see if it still works.” Dante made as if he were going to press the bu on and laughed when John jumped backwards.
“Don’t!” J ohn protested. He reached down and tugged at the device until it came off. Dante’s eyes widened twice as much as before.
“I don’t suppose I could have that?”
“B e my guest.” J ohn tossed it to him, happy to be rid of it. Already he had worried it might contain some sort of tracking device. Now it was no longer his problem.
“Well,” Dante said after quickly pocketing the dampener and turning to leave, “I have to return this money to the bank. O r give it to an orphanage or something.
Whatever gets me the most reds.”
“Bank robbery halted.”
The voice was high-pitched and monotone and came from the fallen robber. J ohn turned the body over and looked into an empty face. The only details were two black pin pricks for eyes and a slit where the mouth should be.
“Split Reward,” the non-living entity continued. “Dante S tewart: 146 redemption points.
John Grey: 146 redemption points.”
“That’s just great,” Dante spat. “S tupid P rops can’t even read intention. I t’s not like you meant to stop the robber.”
J ohn held up his hands defensively. “Don’t blame me. I don’t even know why I would need points. You can have mine if they mean so much to you.”
“I t isn’t worth the paperwork.” Dante stalked to the end of the alley and held up the money bag. “This one is all mine, got it? Sayonara!”
“Wait! I don’t know where I’m supposed to go or what I’m doing here.”
“Read your file!” Dante shouted as he disappeared around the corner.
“But I don’t have it anymore!” John yelled after him. Silence was the only response.
“Reset complete. Returning for reassignment.”
The P rop righted itself, rising from the ground like a puppet on invisible strings. I t oriented by spinning in a slow circle before zooming away and leaving J ohn alone in a barren alley somewhere in the afterlife.
Chapter Two
S trolling the city streets, this time without being spurred on by panic, J ohn noticed a number of details that he hadn’t before. The sky, for instance. Not a cloud was in it, nor any sign of sun or gradation of light. The heavens were a uniform gray from horizon to horizon. As for the ground, no plants, trees, or even a single weed were to be found.
Perhaps vegetation didn’t have a soul and thus couldn’t be here.
W hat cities lacked in natural beauty was often balanced out with unique architecture, but the buildings here were as drab as cardboard boxes. J ohn saw no parks, fountains, sculpture or other forms of art. J ust square tomb-shaped buildings and the streets that separated them.
The inhabitants of the city were a stark contrast to their monotone surroundings.
Walking the streets were people of all colors, wearing every conceivable style of dress.
The differing fashions between nationalities provided enough variety, but wasn’t the limit. O n the busy sidewalk E dwardian frock coats brushed against primitive pelts, delicate kimonos stepped out of the way of suits of armor, while grungy jeans and T-shirts walked next to regal Parisian dresses.
M ore than once J ohn stopped to stare at the unintended costume party on parade.
He suspected that people weren’t wearing what they had died in, but what had been fashionable at the time. M ost people died in bed, after all, and not while fully dressed.
He didn’t see anyone in underwear, pajamas, or the buff, which implied a change of clothes was possible after death. As an experiment, J ohn took off his suit jacket and tossed it over one shoulder for a bit before putting it back on again. That he could do so proved it wasn’t part of his soul, but left him clueless as to what it was made of.
I f there was a place to buy new clothing, J ohn hadn’t discovered it. The shops were only for show. They had display windows, prices, and even store names, but never an actual door. Almost every building on the street seemed to have been built that way, apartments included. M uch like a Hollywood set, nothing was behind the decorative facades. The city was a hollow shell.
R estaurants and cafes were the exception, seating and serving customers, but most diners didn’t seem the least bit interested in their food. Dead or not, J ohn had always appreciated a good meal. E ven if sustenance wasn’t required anymore, he still desired the pleasure of a rich cake or a good fat steak. His senses, from what he could tell so far, hadn’t been affected by being bodiless. J ohn considered stopping to eat, but didn’t have any currency.
The financial question was just one among many. O nly so much could be learned from wandering aimlessly. J ohn was forced to admit that he would probably have all the answers he needed if he hadn’t broken away from his group. W hat had Dante said? S omething about acclimatization dorms? He had also said that his file could help him understand what to do. To get his file, J ohn would have to return to where he had last seen it, which would mean turning himself in. At this point, that would probably be for the best.
He a empted to backtrack along the route he had taken and soon came upon a building of massive proportions with large block le ers that declared it was
“Administration.” The entire appearance of the building reminded J ohn of totalitarian architecture, a style that intimidated through sheer size and a generous amount of concrete. He stared, questioning the wisdom of his actions but unable to think of any other options.
J ohn entered through the spinning door. I f he was a wanted fugitive, the woman behind the counter didn’t show any sign of it. The same lady who had been there before was still on duty. S he was petite, modernly fashionable, and wearing a completely false smile.
“What can I do for you?”
J ohn stared for a moment, realizing that he hadn’t prepared what to say. “I don’t know what to do,” he blurted out.
The woman’s smile became even more forced.
“Let’s take a look in your file,” she said.
As they both stood motionless, J ohn realized that something was expected of him.
Another person entered from the street, the footsteps echoing loudly in the hollow room. S oon a line would form behind him, which would only increase the pressure he was feeling.
“I don’t have my file.”
The smile disappeared
. “R esidents are required to keep papers on their persons at all times, must consult them a minimum of three times per daylight period, and present them to any authority figure who requests to see them. Failure to comply can result in identity branding or therapeutic incarceration.” J ohn seriously considered running again. “W hat if someone loses their papers?” he ventured cautiously.
“R eplacement of your file is subject to a 300-point demerit along with another 150-point demerit for processing.” The smile on the woman’s face returned as if she were beginning to enjoy herself. “I also see—” she glanced down at a screen in the desk, “—
that you haven’t completed your acclimatization period and are not chaperoned, an offense that is punishable by—”
“Lay off, Nancy,” said a voice from behind. “I ’ll pay for his file replacement, and I ’ll be his bleeding mentor.”
J ohn turned, eyes widening with surprise when he saw Dante. G one was the safety-pinned leather jacket and S ex P istols T-shirt. I n its place was a finely cut suit that, while a li le outdated, still spoke volumes of his status. I f the clothing wasn’t enough, the scruff was gone from his face and his wild hair was neatly slicked back.
Nancy balked, but soon recovered. “Application for mentorship must be registered in the presence of the official chaperone.”
“So punish the original chaperone for failing in their duties,” Dante countered. “You can’t hold J ohn responsible, seeing how he’s not out of his acclimatization period. He hasn’t even had the rules presented to him, have you?”
“No, I haven’t!” John said, still entranced by Dante’s transformation.
“As I recall,” his would-be lawyer continued, “in the event that an assigned chaperone can no longer perform his or her duties, the responsibility passes to the nearest authority figure, which would be you.”
“M e?” Nancy spu ered, finally losing her composure. “B ut I have my own duties.
Chaperoning is a full-time engagement!”
“Day and night, around the clock,” Dante agreed. “S till, he’s a quick learner. I ’m sure he’ll be out of your hair in a few months. Unless of course—” Dante broke off meaningfully, eyebrows raised and waiting for Nancy to make the next move. I t didn’t take her long. I n a flurry of activity and whirlwind of technical jargon, she handed over papers to be filled out and signed. J ohn felt like a newly purchased appliance as his file was presented to Dante and they were pushed out the door.
Dante Stewart: 1,750 redemption points, a voice manifested from thin air.
“We can spend those right away,” Dante beamed. “I didn’t know chaperoning paid so well. I wonder if that’s a weekly rate.”
J ohn stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, intending to demand an explanation, but lost his train of thought when he noticed that Dante had completely reverted to his first guise as an Irish punk.
“I recognize that expression,” Dante spoke before J ohn could. “You’re on the verge of going off your rocker. You want to know what’s going on, and rightly so. J ust keep it together for five more minutes so we can do this over a pint, yeah?” This was the best idea that John had heard all day.
* * * * *
Welcome to Purgatory.
This was printed with a flourish across J ohn’s file in a cursive font that wanted desperately to appear hand-wri en. J ohn stared at it, set the file down, and carefully drained half of his beer. The taste wasn’t exceptional, and the brew itself was room temperature instead of ice cold like he preferred.
“You’ve caught on quickly there,” Dante said with a nod. “Downing it is the only way to get plastered in this place.”
J ohn shook his head, refusing to be sidetracked by tangents of information.
“Purgatory?” he asked.
“Not a C atholic then?” Dante chugged his pint, motioning to the waitress for more while still guzzling from the glass. “S implest way to put it,” he began after a satisfied sigh, “you’ve got Heaven up above, you’ve got Hell down below, but what’s in between?”
“Purgatory?” John ventured.
“That’s right.”
“But, why?”
“For all the in-between cases. S ay you kill Hitler. Knifing the bastard to death is doing humanity a favor, but it’s still murder, right? O r maybe you run a li le kid over, and you honestly didn’t see the little brat until he was under your wheels.”
“Jesus! Keep your voice down!”
“Nothing taboo about death on this side of the curtain,” Dante said. “Anyway, you get my point, right? All those trouble cases, the ones too hard to judge either way, they end up here. So what did you do?”
J ohn considered the question while he caught up with his drinking. He had been no saint in life. He had carelessly broken more than one heart, and his teenage years were riddled with the usual self-destructive behavior, but he had long since left his adolescent anger behind. S lowly, over the last ten years, he had grown more considerate of others’ feelings and taken responsibility for his own actions. This, when added to his innocent childhood years, meant that he had been “good” for two-thirds of his life. He couldn’t remember any morally hazy events in his past, not like Dante had described.
“I don’t know. Why are you here?” John asked. “Any idea?” Dante waited until the waitress set their beers on the table and left before he answered. “M e? I saved a man’s life. A good man. O ne who commi ed his life to charity, helping others and all that bloody nonsense.”
“A priest?”
“No, I said a good man. All priests are good for is pu ing you to sleep with sermons or breaking in choir boys.”
J ohn grinned before considering what was really being said. “S o if you only made it here because you saved a man’s life, that means—”
“That aside from that one uncharacteristic deed, I was a very, very bad boy.” Dante’s dark eyes glimmered wickedly over his glass as he drank to his own decadence. For one brief moment, J ohn wondered if he wasn’t actually in Hell, having a pint with the devil himself.
“W hat did you do?” J ohn ventured, unsure if he really wanted to know. After all, this was his only associate in the afterlife. I t would be a shame to become repulsed by his new friend so soon.
Dante shook his head. “Funny. I thought you’d have more questions about Purgatory. Instead you’re giving me the third degree.”
“Fair enough. B ack to P urgatory. S o souls here don’t fit into Heaven or Hell.” J ohn’s mind raced, connecting the puzzle pieces of the day’s events. “S o we play games, earning points to go to Heaven?”
“I f you consider foiling fake bank robberies and helping old ladies across the street games, then yes.”
As if on cue, a patron at the table next to them began making choking noises while motioning to his neck. John stood to help, but Dante grabbed his wrist.
“Not tonight, kiddo,” he muttered. “Sit.”
J ohn sat, only able to relax because so many other people came to the choking victim’s aid. He watched as an ill-informed version of the Heimlich maneuver was performed by a Native American chieftain. O nce J ohn overcame his surprise at seeing the classical depiction of an I ndian, he noticed that the choking person’s face was just as nondescript and featureless as the bank robber’s had been.
“C rap like this happens all the time,” Dante complained. “Drives me mental. You can’t walk down the street without a Prop setting up a good deed for you.” J ohn’s blood rushed, partially because of his buzz, but also out of excitement. “Then it’s easy! How long can it take to work off a few paltry sins? I play the game, and before you know it I’m in Heaven!”
Dante shrugged. “I f you’re so eager to get there. M ight as well take a look in your file. I ’m going to get us another couple of beers. I think the waitress had her fill of easy reds for the night. That’s short for redemption points, in case you’re slow.” J ohn nodded distractedly as Dante left, full a ention on his file. The first page inc
luded a photo of him wearing the same jacket he was currently wearing. The short blonde hair in the photo was messier than he preferred, causing him to reach up and fix it self-consciously. As soon as he did so, the photo changed, reflecting the adjustment he had just made. He thought of Dante’s drastic change in appearance at the administration building and realized that this must be for security purposes. I f Dante could change from a punk into a cleanly shaven bureaucrat, surely others could also easily adopt disguises. Thus the need for instantly up-to-date identification.
Below the photo were a number of statistics with the qualifier of “upon demise.” Age: 28
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 165lbs
Build: Normal
He skipped down the list, bored with the details that he already knew. Further down the statistics became more interesting. Listed was the fluctuating spectrum range of his aura, the diameter of his psychic field, and even the average pulse rate of his chakras.
The numbers listed after each entry were nothing to him, since he didn’t have the slightest idea what they meant.
At the very bo om of the page, in large bold text, were the meager 146 redemption points he had earned since arriving in P urgatory. B elow that was the amount needed until graduation, which was currently just under 100,000 points. J ohn did some quick mental calculations. E ven if he only managed to earn 100 points a day, that meant he would have to spend 1,000 days in P urgatory, somewhere close to three years. That wouldn’t be too bad, really. B e er than the eternity in the fiery pit that his grandma had always threatened him with.
And that was only the minimum of 100 points. He had already earned 146 by pure chance. I f he really applied himself, he would be out in no time. B ut where exactly was he going? He was sure it would be Heaven, but he couldn’t imagine what existence there would be like. B lue skies and clouds maybe, and every pet he had growing up, even the turtles. R elatives too, and angels, maybe even G od himself. The thought, or more likely the beer, made his head swim. The idea was too much to consider, so J ohn returned his attention to the file.