by Jasmine Walt
“Hello, brother,” the man said, forcing his lips into a thin, grim line. “I see the news has spread all the way to you in the heavens.”
“How could it not?” His brother seemed amused, a contradiction to Plutus a moment before. “There's been an attempted murder on your son. I came as soon as I could.”
The man closed his eyes. Suddenly the weight of all his years pressed down on him making it hard to breathe. There were too many years to count and for the first time in thousands of years, he was scared. Only this time, it wasn't fear for his own well-being. It was for his son.
“Plutus thinks he should be the one who's dead,” he said.
“And?” his brother asked. “You know better than anyone that he must not die.” He waved his hands in a grandiose gesture. “Why, if he died—”
“...the world would be thrown off balance,” he answered reluctantly. He hated admitting that out loud.
“Which brings me to what I said before,” his brother said. “They won't stop. They've had a taste of success. You know that better than anyone.”
Yes, he did. He always knew everything better than anyone else. Someone who nearly killed their target would always try again. Time after time, mortals proved that they never quit trying to kill each other.
Everything always fell onto him.
He deferred to his brother and asked for his opinion. It was something that he only did every once in a few thousand years, but if it meant keeping Plutus safe, then he'd gladly turn to his brother for help.
“What can I do? He doesn't even want to help himself.”
His brother's eyes glittered with his usual mischief. That usually meant a bad thing. “A bodyguard.”
He scoffed at the suggestion. A bodyguard? The entire palace was filled with bodyguards. What could one bodyguard do to protect Plutus?
“We've already increased our guard.”
His brother waved that away. “That won't help. You know as well as I do that they'll still get in. No, I mean a bodyguard who will stay with Plutus, who will watch after him, and get to know him. Someone they'd never expect. And maybe we can figure out who's doing this.”
“I have my suspicions.”
His brother nodded sagely. “As do I.”
Silence hung between them like a heavy curtain.
“Plutus would never agree to it.” The idea of putting complete trust and faith into one person made him feel sick. He fought the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him. He was getting too old for this. Way too old.
“He doesn't have to agree to it. You're his father, aren't you?”
He was, but Plutus was a grown man himself now. He did things his own way, which was part of the problem. Perhaps a bodyguard would help. Maybe it would be good for Plutus, and possibly prevent the worst from happening.
“All right,” he said. “I'll see what I can do.”
1
It started on Market Street. Instead of going into work, I’d dressed in plain clothes and decided on a walk to clear my head. It was the first time I’d been off-duty on a Saturday in a very long time and while I felt a little guilty for taking a mental health day, the sunshine felt wonderful on my shoulders. I loved being a cop but sometimes the weight of the job got too heavy, the price of the badge was often too high. I’d been thinking about my ex-boyfriend and the work that had split us apart when I saw a small family ahead of me.
They were nothing special, just a family of four. Mom, dad, five or six-year-old daughter and a sleeping toddler in a stroller. They looked like so many other families in the Soma neighborhood. I have no idea why they caught my eye.
The little girl was talking animatedly to her parents. In her chubby hands, she held a stuffed teddy bear with a vice-like grip.
I smiled absently, watching them. The girl was cute. I saw a lot of myself in her. She was spunky, tomboyish, and I could tell by the way she looked up at her father that she was a daddy’s girl. My heart hitched up into my throat, and I sucked in a deep breath.
I should have gone into work today. At least I wouldn't be reminded of my own father.
Then everything turned to shit.
They were crossing the road at busy intersection. The little girl slowed, trailing behind her father. She dropped the teddy bear right in the middle of the intersection. She stopped, her hand slipping free from her father’s and turned back to pick it up.
The light changed, and there was no way the waiting Muni Bus could have seen her.
I don’t know what spurred me to move. Maybe it was being depressed from my recent break-up. Perhaps it was the realization that if I continued on the same path, I’d never have a little girl like her. Mostly, it was because instinct took over. If it was the last thing I did, I’d save that little girl’s life.
I ran toward her. Time slowed down, each second like a snapshot, frozen in time. I panicked knowing there was no way I’d make it in time. I pumped my legs harder and they burned with exertion.
Somehow I made it to the young girl in just enough time to push her out of the way, but time had run out for me. The Muni Bus saw me and honked, a desperate plea for me to get out of the way.
It was too late.
I crashed against the windshield of the bus, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My head cracked the glass, sending slivers of silver onto the pavement. I felt an immediate flash of white-hot pain that quickly dissolved into numbness as I was hurled into the middle of the intersection. I crumpled to the pavement, broken and fractured.
Someone screamed. I heard the high-pitched keening and dimly realized it was the little girl’s voice. Someone I didn’t recognize hovered over me. He was shouting but I couldn’t make out the words. The sounds were muted, bubbly, like we were all under water. They yelled for help. The bus’s horn blared loudly making everything even more confusion.
I faded, bounced between the oily smell of the asphalt and some gauzy ethereal version of the world where everything was soft and blurry.
My time was up.
I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to my mother, but if there was some sort of life after death, I’d be seeing my father soon. Hopefully. If there was any justice in the world, I’d be seeing my father again.
At least the little girl was alive. My only regret was that I never learned her name.
I sucked in one last breath and let the darkness envelop me.
And that was how I, Callie Saunders, aged twenty-seven, died on November 2nd in the middle of a San Francisco street on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.
2
Turns out, there is an Afterlife.
When I opened my eyes, I was in the back of a long queue. Newly deceased beings popped into existence behind me, looking as dazed as I felt. The line grew longer and longer. The whole place reminded me of the DMV and that wasn’t a compliment. No one seemed particularly happy to be here.
To be honest, it felt rather ordinary and anticlimactic.
There were no golden gates and Saint Peter must have been on break.
I stumbled, shaking the porridge from my head. Thankfully, the pain and confusion were gone, but it had been replaced with this. Monotony.
I glanced around, glimpsing at the people behind me. The little girl wasn’t here. Good. Hopefully that meant I saved her.
Looking around, I got a better view of where we actually were. We were standing in a cavern so large I couldn’t see the ceiling. Yet, there was the suffocating feeling of claustrophobia. Deep down, my soul knew that I was in a cave. Beautiful, luminescent gems glittered around the cavern, some as large as me. They bathed the entire place in an eternal twilight.
To the far left stood an imposing office building, one of the largest I’d ever seen. In front of me was a maze of switchbacks full of people waiting to be processed. And further, beyond even that, at the very edge of my rage of sight was a placid lake that branched off into five rivers.
The elderly woman in front of me watched me dubiously. I met her eyes
, questioning her in my facial expression. Judging by the deep wrinkles on her face and her thinning hair, she probably died of old age instead of something gruesome. She looked to be whole, while others were literally in pieces. Some were such a mess, they looked like they had stepped out of a zombie movie.
In my regular life, I’d loved horror movies, the more blood and dismemberment the better, but this was real. My stomach gave a lurch and I swallowed hard.
Oh God. I touched my face and ran my hands through my hair. Ten fingers, two arms, two legs, ten toes. I was still whole as far I could tell. It was strange, considering that I could see some other dead people who looked like they had been hit by a car. I’d been hit by a bus. Why was I in such good shape?
“What are you here for?” the old woman in front of me asked.
“I tried to save a little girl who dropped her teddy bear in the middle of the street,” I said. “The bus hit me instead.”
The woman harrumphed. “You don’t look like it, sugar. You actually look like you’re still alive.”
I chuckled uneasily. I did feel lively. I gingerly touched my ribs. Those were still under my skin. I leaned toward one of the glimmering jewels and checked my reflection. My face wasn’t scratched to hell. I was...fine.
“Why're you...in such a good shape?” a man behind me slurred. He breathed and I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Let me guess, drunk driving?” I asked tiredly. As a cop, I’d dealt with a few DUIs and my patience with drunk was non-existent.
He frowned, trying to decipher my meaning. I turned my back to him, shutting him down. Hopefully he hadn’t brought anyone with him when he showed up here.
By that point, other people had taken notice of me and started gathering around me. They barked questions, voiced their opinions about how unfair it was that I was still complete. They reached out, grabbed my clothing and trying pulling me towards them.
“Hey!” I cried, trying to get out of their reach. There were too many of them swarming around me and the claustrophobia was getting worse by the second. “Help,” I yelled as loudly as I could manage.
“YOU!” The voice was strong and authoritative. A man in a police uniform made his way down the line and stopped beside the cluster of people. Standing on my tiptoes, I didn’t get a good look at the badge, but he looked official and people were moving to let him pass.
“Oh thank God, officer!” I cried, happy to see a fellow cop.
He didn’t look happy to see me. He had parted the swarm and pointed an accusatory finger at me. What did I do? I was the one who was being mobbed. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the line.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he growled at me. It seemed, I caught him on a bad day. Lucky me.
“Where am I supposed to be?” I asked, exasperated.
“Don’t sass me, young lady.”
He continued to pull me through a roped off security area. A few guards checked his credentials. After wanding me, one of them gave me the nod and cleared me. “What am I going to do, shoot someone?” I joked, trying to be good-natured about the whole thing.
These cops apparently didn’t have a sense of humor. Not one of them cracked a smile.
I was shepherded past the gate into a pastel hallway lined with plain gray doors, the kind I’d expect to see in a hotel or a hospital. It was a long hallway and I had lost count of the number of doors we passed before I was hauled into a small office. I sat in an uncomfortable chair and stared at the walls.
Bored and curious, I looked over everything in the office.
The Afterlife wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d hoped it would be.
A desk dominated the 10x10 space, complete with a computer that hadn’t be upgraded since once of the Bushs was president. Little knickknacks filled the shelves. I smiled at the outdated Far Side wall calendars and laughed at the mug that said, “Kiss me, I’m Egyptian.”
Whoever worked here kept their workspace like a still-alive office worker without imagination. The place was entirely bland, without character. If the occupant of this office had tried to spruce it up, he’d failed miserably.
It was as depressing as any cubicle in the living world.
Office investigation finished, I sank back into the chair and took a deep breath. At least I was out of that line.
I was alone for a long time. Apparently, being dead removed urgency.
I was frowning when the door opened and a short, dark-skinned man with black hair cut in a regulation corporate style, bustled into the room. Pudgy around the middle, he looked like he’d eaten a few too many Twinkies. He rifled through a manila folder filled with papers.
“Miss Callista...Saunders...” he muttered as a way of introduction.
“Call me Callie,” I corrected him automatically.
He looked over the edge of his file and looked me up and down. “Of course,” he said. “My name is Ra and I will be your caseworker.”
“Caseworker?”
He sat down at his desk, plopping the folder in front of me. I saw a bad copy of my driver’s license photo and fought to hide my grimace. “Everyone who comes to Limbo under special...circumstances...has to see a caseworker in order to determine where they need to spend eternity.”
“I’m a special circumstance?”
“According to this, you are. You were causing quite the ruckus out there, Miss Saund—”
“Callie.”
He didn’t address my correction and gestured at a small pad with an indentation on it. “If I could have you place your thumb here?”
I did as he asked and screeched involuntarily when something pricked my thumb. “Ouch! What is this?” I cried out.
“We need to confirm that your identity,” Ra said nonchalantly, “with a blood sample.”
“You could have warned me,” I muttered. I nursed my sore thumb by putting it in my mouth. Okay, so even though I was dead, I definitely still felt pain like a living person. This really sucked.
I glared at him from my side of the desk. He ignored me, and punched a few commands into his computer. He did that two-finger type thing that drove me nuts, although judging by his decorating skills, I should’ve expected it.
“You have my file there. Isn’t my picture in there?” I asked him.
“We’re having a problem keeping up with illegal immigrants.” At my blank expression, he said, matter-of-factly, “Those who get lost in the Underworld.” Another blank expression. “Ghosts,” He said exasperatedly.
“So you’re like an immigration officer?” I asked, feeling almost disappointed. Was I going to have to jump through hoops to go to Heaven?
His irritation disappeared when the computer beeped at him upon pulling up my profile. He looked at the screen, looked at me, then back at the screen and whistled appreciatively. “You are a special case indeed, Miss Saunders.” This time, I didn’t bother telling him to call me “Callie”. I got the feeling he wasn't a first-name basis kind of guy. “You threw yourself in front of a bus?”
“To save a little girl,” I told him. “She was trying to get her teddy bear out of the street. I was just trying to help.” It was the honest truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Instinct had taken over and I didn’t have a logical explanation. The need to save the girl had overwhelmed me and I didn’t even know what her name was.
Ra was nonplussed. “She was supposed to die,” he said. “You’ve ruined quite a few timelines for the future.”
“Better me than her.” And I meant it completely.
He looked at me for a heartbeat too long before continuing. The silence made me wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling me, but he continued without revealing anything helpful. “That’s probably why the Big Boss wants to see you. As soon as possible, in fact. Come, I’ll get you clearance.”
My mind reeled with who the Big Boss could be. “Who's the Big Boss?” It sounded like something from a cartoon instead of a real title.
Ra gave an enigmatic chuck
le. “Why, he’s Lord Hades, ruler of the Underworld. You’re on his turf now, Miss Saunders.”
3
Hades?
Was I living in some sort of Greek parody of the Afterlife? After all I’d seen as a cop, I had actually become an atheist. Sure, I’d considered the possibility of some omniscient god, I just never expected it, him, whatever, to be Greek.
Without a further glance, Ra said, “Come along, Miss Saunders.” He said it like he was commanding a dog to do a trick and I didn’t like his tone. In my other life, I’d have balked, made a smartass comment but here I felt confused and out of my element so I bit my lip instead.
I allowed myself to be dragged through the hallways. Again, I lost count of all the doors we passed. We walked until we came to an elevator at the end of the hallway. I would have guessed the elevator to be at least half a kilometer from Ra’s office. This place was absolutely enormous.
Ra punched the down arrow. When the elevator dinged and the door opened, he gestured for me to step inside. As we were heading down, I couldn’t help but feel that we were burrowing deeper into the bowels of hell.
I should have been scared out of my wits, but instead, my mind wandered, tried to pull up everything I remembered about gods and goddesses but high school had been a long time ago and I couldn’t remember all the details.
Could there be an actual Hades? Were the myths real?
My mind reeled.
Although it had been awhile since I’d read anything about Greek mythology, I’d been obsessed with Hercules and Xena when I was younger. I couldn’t quite remember all the details, and I couldn't trust those stories because they probably took certain liberties with the source material.
Damn, I should have listened to Mom more when she talked about that stuff. Mom’s side of the family was Greek, and even though she was born in Connecticut, she embraced it proudly. She’d always talked about Greek mythology, and it was her interest in those myths that drove me to watch Hercules and Xena, I was trying to connect with my heritage.