by Gillian Zane
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, shifting uneasily on my feet. I was tired, my feet hurt and I had almost reached my quota on socializing, even though I'd spoken to Brandon for most of this party.
“You start life with everything ahead of you, thousands of choices to be made. You can go forward, but have the possibility of turning off, or looping around. Once you make a decision to turn off, the lanes narrow.” He stopped talking as we had to back up quickly to avoid a volley of water balloons being lobbed from a second story apartment.
“You should join your party, Cassie,” Brandon encouraged quietly.
“I want to know about this. What do you mean lanes narrow?” I motioned with my hand for him to go on.
“They narrow, going from thousands of lanes, to only hundreds. Make another decision and turn-off and the highway gets even narrower. Sometimes there are roadblocks from outside sources, it all changes.”
“So when the lanes narrow you don’t have as many decisions to make?” I was getting the gist of it. When you go into high school, the sky is the limit. You can choose any career you want, but based on your grades, your performance in some subjects, those careers become more and more limited. Make a choice for what college you want to attend and the options get even less. It made sense.
“Right. The more you pigeon-hole yourself, the less options you have. They might be good options, but less. Sometimes you turn-off onto a wider highway and it stretches out further and further, you have more possibilities. Make a more impacting decision and your possibilities diminish, if that decision is a poor one, and the highway narrows until you have only a few choices left in front of you. Until finally you have only one option left, or so it seems.”
“What is that last decision?” I had an idea of what it would be, but I wanted him to explain it.
“To live or not to live.”
“You mean suicide?” I chewed on my bottom lip, not liking that outcome.
“No. Not always. It could be prison. It could be drugs. Anything that turns you from a functioning person to one without any options, or so it would seem. But, I know for a lot of people, they can look back on one moment, one decision that leads them to their terrible fate.”
“I’ve had a few of those moments,” I laughed.
“You’re remembering?”
“Well, I guess I would have.” I couldn’t remember any one in particular, but that statement had just popped out, like I was sure I had some bad decisions in my past.
“You’ll remember soon,” he reassured me.
“I wonder if that’s how I died. My path led me in front of a murderer because of some stupid decision.”
“It could be. Only the PTBs would know. A lot of the times the PTBs make that decision when someone gets on a path with only two choices. They take their life and place them in Afterlife to try and figure out where they went wrong. Maybe that's what happened to you. I think these are the lucky ones.”
“Lucky? Death. What else is there?” I shook my head not believing there could be anything worse.
“The ones left alive suffer in life. For a lot of those people, they might as well be dead. They’ve chosen not to live– even though they are still alive, building more and more blackness on their souls.”
“They give up?” He nodded. I think I knew what he meant and he was right, death was better. These people are what others call a waste of a life, a shell of a human. Not because of mental illness, which can’t be helped, but because of choices they’ve made in life. The majority of these cases are because of drug use.
“This is pretty deep conversation for a party celebrating your first case. Let’s change the subject.” He laughed, but it seemed strained.
“Is that what our main goal is? To help people avoid getting to that end point? I can see Bishop becoming a drugged out waste.”
The thought of having a reason for all this intrigued me. Brandon was trying to change the subject, direct me away from the topic at hand, but I wanted to know more about my job. If this was my purpose, to set people on the right path, it wasn't some kind of cruel cosmic joke. My existence wasn't so random. I could help people. It might not be how they want to be helped, but it would have positive repercussions. There was someone looking out for each and every one of us, or if these PTBs were in charge, then a group of someones. These someones were making conscious decisions to help us. If that someone or something, because I had no idea what the PTBs were, had taken an interest in Bishop, of all people, there was meaning to all this. They had helped him on the way to regain a balanced life, and that meant something, something big.
“Bishop’s case was specific. We don’t get many like that. And I think it was given to you for a reason.” He frowned as if he had said too much.
“Wait, what do you mean?” I grabbed his arm when he turned away.
“Look, I’ve said too much already, but I’ve been doing this for a long time, Cassie. I’ve only supervised a few cases like Bishop’s case. It’s usually much more black and white. Go in, dish it out, and get out. Everything about you has been different, from the time you spent in between processing to not being able to remember your life. It’s all making me think something is different about you,” he said quietly so we wouldn’t be overheard.
Not that anyone was paying attention. The group of Karma Incorporated operatives was in full swing party mode, talking, dancing, and pouring more drinks. The party was for me, but here I was standing on the sidelines looking in. It felt like a familiar position. I imagined this wasn't new for me. I seemed very comfortable with being on the outside.
“What does that mean for me?”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t,” he said, and I reacted with a huff of breath. “All I can do is speculate, but I have a feeling they’ve got something planned for you.”
“Is that good or bad?” I gulped. I didn’t like hearing there was a plan for me. Especially when I didn’t have a grasp on who or what was making the plans.
“It remains to be seen,” he said shaking his head. He glanced away from me as if impatient to get away from our conversation.
I knew from the way he was trying to change the subject I wasn’t getting any more out of him, but maybe I could sidetrack him and get more from a different angle.
“By long time, what do you mean? How old are you?” I asked a few octaves too high to make my tone light and joking.
“Kind of a sensitive subject, Cassie,” he said with a chuckle.
“Don’t play the chick card. Guys like to show off their experience. Really, how old are you?”
“Let’s just say, I died from a Confederate slug.” He pointed at his chest with a grimace, chewing on his bottom lip when he saw my reaction. My eyebrows were straining my eyes were so wide.
“Confederate. As in the Civil War, not some lame reenactment?”
“Ha!” He shook his head and slapped me on the back. “Lame reenactment, you’re funny. No, the real thing. Friendly fire, if you can believe it. I was rather angry when I realized what had happened to me.”
“Good Lord,” I said in awe. Brandon was over a hundred and fifty years old. Had probably died young in the war and had been at this for a century and a half.
“How long have you been in charge of this division?” My curiosity was turning this conversation into twenty-questions.
“Forty years. I was an operative myself before I got put in charge. I had a lot of negative energy to work off; dying in war does a lot of damage to your soul.” His eyes got a faraway look as if he was remembering exactly what had built up all that negative energy. I couldn’t imagine Brandon as a soldier, fighting in a war that seemed like ancient history to me.
I knew this conversation had taken a dark turn. It was time to let him off the hook.
“C’mon, let’s get another drink,” I said, leading him to the bar.
Chapter 4
The PTBs
The party went on for another couple hours, and I found myself having fun a
s the day got longer. I even went for a swim, enjoying the feel of the warm water on my usually unfeeling body. I came up from underneath the water and found Brandon’s eyes were on me, again with that sad look. I swam to the other end of the pool and pulled myself out.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” I said.
“I keep on thinking about all the paperwork I have to do,” he lied. I didn’t know if he was lying so he wouldn’t have to share his feelings with me, or because he was hiding something.
A loud hiss filled the air. It was out of place, and I had never heard anything like it in this area. It came from behind us. We both turned to see the door to the “electrical” closet open, and two men walk out. Their movements were graceful as they glided into the courtyard and took position on either side of the pathway that led to the pool. I blinked and stared at them in confusion.
What in the world?
Calling them men was misleading. They had the shape of a human, and wore clothes like men, but they were not men. They were taller, thinner, and their faces were strange, blank. I peered at them, intrigued and a little fearful. They were both bald and their skin was the color of coffee beans. Even their eyes were the same color as their skin. The only change in hue was the dark black iris in the middle of their dark brown eyes. Their teeth flashed bright white and too big. They had too many teeth in their mouths and the teeth were pointy, not flat. I gasped. Fear flooded through me. Their mouths opened, but their lips didn’t move as they spoke.
“Brandon. Presence Requested. She will attend. Five minutes. Your office,” they ordered in unison.
“Mother…” Brandon had gone pale.
“Who?” I asked. But Brandon ignored me.
“Enjoy the rest of your party, Cassie.” Brandon looked frazzled. He slid his hand into mine and gave it a slight squeeze.
I looked at him concerned, thrown off by these strange creatures. He made a cutting motion across his throat and gestured for me to get back in the pool. When I didn’t move, he threw his hands up in frustration and turned and walked to his office without a glance back. The strange men stayed put, and their gazes didn’t waver as Brandon walked past. They stared at the pool, their lips pulled into a tight impassive line. The others hadn’t noticed them. In fact, if the others glanced their way then their eyes darted right over them. Why was I seeing these men and my friends weren’t?
Fallon was doing her awkward dance moves and she beckoned me to join her. Thankfully, she had put her bikini back on. I didn’t want to dance, especially with these weird creatures staring at us, but I was curious if she could see them.
I walked to her. “Do you see them?”
“Who?”
As dead things, we couldn’t get drunk, even on Afterlife manifested margaritas, but Fallon was acting a little tipsy. She even keened to the side slightly as the music faded to the next song. I looked around at the group with surprise. Everyone seemed drunk. Which is impossible. People teetered this way and that. Jeffrey and William were making out in the corner! I knew they were sneaking around together, everyone knew, but they were keeping it a secret. Not anymore. From the stumbling, to the slurred speech, to the ridiculous booty shaking dance moves the girls were doing – they were all plowed. Impossible.
“The men standing by the electrical closet,” I said. I tried to subtly point in the direction of the creatures, grabbing her when she listed to the side again.
She looked over to where I was pointing and frowned.
“Are you messing with me, Cas? There’s no men over there?” She chewed on her bottom lip and peered at me, probably trying to gauge if I was messing with her.
“Are they hot? Do you see hot people? That’s much better than dead people,” she snorted and let out a laugh.
“They definitely are not hot,” I said.
“Well, they need to be hot. We need more hot people. I wonder if I could manifest some hot people,” she slurred her words. “Like you, you’re hot.”
“Don’t try to manifest anything.” I patted her arm, and she reached for my hips to pull me into the dance, a gleam in her eye that said she wanted more than dancing. Shit. What the hell? I pulled away and tried to disentangle myself from her without being rude. She shrugged and moved off to find Henry.
“Weird,” I muttered as I looked back at the closet.
The men hadn’t moved, but they were leaning their heads together and their mouths were open like they were talking. I heard no words, only an odd clicking noise that was uncomfortable to my ears.
As I watched, they went rigid, their heads straightening and at the same moment they stepped away from each other in opposite directions. The one on the right opened the door, and I gaped as a stunningly beautiful female walked through the door in a swirl of fabric and hair. I had never been into women, but even I could admit she was breathtaking. In fact, the adjective was probably made for this chick. There was an odd duality about her. The gown she wore was black and green, and her hair appeared black or maybe gold, it depended on how it caught the light. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. What was she?
The woman glided across the paver stones and onto the patio that surround the pool. Her gaze met mine and she regarded me with cold calculation. I felt goose bumps break out over my arms and I rubbed at them absently. She looked away and I felt the air fill my lungs again. She surveyed the pool area, and it seemed everyone was ignoring her, so her gaze came back to mine. She extended her hand palm up and crooked two fingers to beckon me over.
I had no will. I had no choice. I took two steps forward. Fallon reached for me, but her hands had no substance, they went through me. She glanced left and right, confused like I had disappeared. She couldn’t see me. I looked down at my hands, expecting them to be translucent. Was I finally becoming the ghost I was supposed to be? But, my hands were there. When I ran my palms across my forearms I felt them. My stomach roiled in nervousness as fear got the better of me. I was frozen with it, yet still my feet continued to move of their own volition. A cold wash of emotion pooled around my chest and made my body began to misfire. I shook. I cried. I began to pant. But none of it showed. I was still on the outside as I walked toward her. When I caught my reflection in the glass of the windows around me, I had a slight smile on my lips.
When I stood before her, her fingers reached toward me. Their warm flesh grabbed my chin and held on as she peered at me.
“You are Cassandra,” she said. She knew me. Her voice sounded like bells chiming in my ears. Painful. I grimaced, and she cocked her head. “You see through my glamour.”
The world dimmed and my ears popped. Her voice was easier to hear, her eyes more pleasing. Her duality was gone. She was a beautiful woman in a stylish pantsuit. There were a few gray streaks through her dark hair which fell in pleasing curls down her back. She could have been the CEO of a successful business, or a politician.
“You are beautiful,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“Come,” the woman said.
I followed. There was no other choice. My path was limited. I could only go forward in pursuit of this woman. And while my insides were a mass of writhing and misfiring neurons, all jostling against each other and pinging this way and that in confusion, I knew I had no choice but to go where she beckoned. I followed her through the courtyard to Brandon’s office. When her guard opened the door, we stepped into a richly decorated room. Plush rugs covered the floor, books lined the walls, and the scent of rosemary hung heavy in the air. I gaped at Brandon. He was dressed in an expensive and tailored suit that fit his slim build perfectly. His hair was combed and parted, cut into a nice fade, and his glasses were gone. He looked really good cleaned up.
“Persephone,” he said in a warm, but reserved greeting. He walked across the room and kissed her on each of her cheeks.
Her hands lingered too long on his shoulders, fluttering over his biceps as she took a deep breath like she was breathing him in. When she stepped back from him, he
r eyes were closed and a small smile was on her face.
“Brandon, as always, your energy is delicious,” she purred.
He looked over her shoulder and frowned at me.
“She sees through my glamour,” the woman– goddess, said.
Persephone. The name brought back high school classes on Greek gods and goddesses. Was she the Persephone? The daughter of Demeter? The female that had been taken by Hades to the underworld and that was the reason we had winter.
Was it her? Was it the goddess? It couldn’t be, but then again it made sense. We were technically in the underworld now. But, if she was the goddess of myth, my world just got a hella more complicated than it was ten minutes ago. I was expecting God. One ruling body, like an all-knowing dictator. You know, God, God. White beard. Big chair. Ten Commandments and shit. But gods and goddesses - that was so much messier. I read the myths, I knew their stores. This one ate the brother, that one slept with a goat. All of them were screwed in the head. Screwed in the head gods and goddesses that liked to play around with humans wasn’t my idea of a functioning Afterlife.
I could get behind the Ten Commandments, and even the Golden Rule, but the gods of the past, with their weird jealous and childish behavior, was scary as shit. This put a whole new dimension to the insanity that was my Afterlife.
“What does that mean?” Brandon asked.
Brandon and the goddess continued to talk about me as if I wasn’t in the room. I had a ton of questions, but something told me to stay quiet. Something made me stay quiet.
“It means that my darling husband is making a power play. I thought he held little interest in my holdings, especially ones that dealt with the living. I admit to being wrong.”
“Is that who sent her here?”
“Not directly.” The goddess glanced at me and pointed to the sofa. I assumed she wanted me there so I would be closer to them.
I walked toward her, my eyes never leaving hers. They were dark pools sucking me in, flashing warning signs with each step I took. They reminded me of someone else’s eyes, but I couldn’t make the connection as I stared into their icy depths.