Wynter's Horizon

by Dee C. May

  “Jesus, Abby. Watch it.”

  “Watch it?! Watch it?! Look at this! Is this some kind of fucking joke?” Her voice sounded high and tight, the surprise replaced with anger. She thrust her phone in my face, waving it in circles. My eyes went round and round before they finally figured out the picture—Jason nuzzling my neck. Someone must have just taken it. Shit! Abby’s eyes were pinned on me, fury on her face. “Are you whoring around with my boyfriend?”

  My stomach did a dive, and my heart started pounding. I glanced at the road as the truck pulled into our lane.

  “Abby!” I cried too late, reaching out a hand for the dashboard.

  She looked back, slamming her foot down as she did so. The brakes locked and squealed as we skidded sideways. I screamed, and the world turned upside down. Wrenching pain seared through my shoulder. The ripping sound of metal on metal. Glass bursting. It was dark and light and dark again. Smoke. I smelled smoke. Aching dull pain filled my head. My teeth crunched. Tiny bits of hard stuff. Glass. I choked, spitting it out.

  Sirens whistled. My eyes felt heavy. Open, please stay open. I turned my head, and pain tore down my spine. Was that Abby at that strange angle? I gave in and closed my eyes. Better not to see. Better not to move. Just breathe. In and out. Please help me.

  Chapter Three

  Beck—A Place in Between

  Wheels stood on the beach his face upturned to the sky. I wandered over, copying him and reveling in the sun’s heat on my cheeks. “Where have you been?” he asked casually, not looking at me.

  “I’m not sure. Floating around mostly, here and there, awake but not, if that makes sense. I can hear them talking, but my eyes don’t open. They’ve been working on me. Trying to bring me back, I guess.”

  “I wish I’d have had a chance.” Wheels had had some kind of decapitating accident.

  “Well, my legs don’t seem to work. I’m not sure how they’re going to fix that. They keep calling to me. They must have finally left, which is why I’m here. Peace at last.” It was quiet, but for the small waves lapping at the shore.

  “Clearly, they’re not ready to let you go.”

  I thought about this for a while. It beat the fuck out of me why.

  “Are you sure this isn’t Heaven?”

  “Does your wired jaw make you think its Heaven?” Wheels smiled condescendingly, motioning to some guy walking past with half an arm, skin ripped off his body, and a bullet hole through his chest. “I’d hope that guy would be put back better if it was Heaven.”

  He had a point. The landscape might be pleasant, New England on a nicer day, and we could walk and talk, but we couldn’t really touch anything. Nothing had actual matter, it seemed, except the ground, and those who weren’t ghosts had some serious injuries. Besides, if there was one thing I knew, I was not bound for Heaven. The fact I wasn’t in Hell and getting tortured twenty-four-seven was nothing short of a miracle.

  “Once they figure out how to fix your legs, you won’t be here,” Wheels stated. He sounded sad. I think I was the first one he had ever connected with.

  I understood. I had expected death in that dank room. Instead, I was unconscious in the real world, physically there and aware of it, but unable to move or talk, respond to anything or anyone But here I could walk and talk. It still surprised me. I had been so sure nothingness waited for me on the other side—or some fiery hell.

  A girl I didn’t recognize wandered past. She had blond hair matted with blood and stuck to her face. She stopped every few feet, trying to talk to someone. Most blew past her. A few stopped and gave her one-word answers before moving on.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Newbie. Came in a few hours ago. Car crash on I-90. A little put-out about the whole thing,” he surmised. Alfred, a ghost older than Wheels, stopped when the girl called out to him, gesturing wildly with her hands. He was the wrong person to pick, dead or alive, that much I could tell immediately.

  “Get the hell out of here and stop bothering everyone with your stupid questions,” he yelled at her. She stepped back, fear and embarrassment on her face, retreating to the water’s edge near us but keeping her eyes down.

  “Is she going to make it?” I asked.

  “I’m not God. I don’t know these things.” I ignored his biting tone. “Came in with another girl, but that girl’s gone.”

  . The girl stared at the water for a minute, then turned and walked past. I reached out to stop her, forgetting I couldn’t touch anything. She stopped as my hand passed through her. I wondered if she felt it in her real body. She stared at my hand for a moment, and then raised her eyes and looked into mine. They were smoky green.

  “What? Are you going to yell, too?”

  I shook my head.

  “Where am I? That’s all I want to know,”. She was beautiful, even with dried blood on her face.

  “Nowhere,” Wheels volunteered. “You are caught between death and life, this plane and that. Not Heaven or Hell.”

  She scowled. “What does that mean?” Good question. “Am I dying?”

  Wheels inspected her body front and back. “No. I’d say you’re fighting right now and, from the looks of it, you have a pretty good chance. Maybe a bit of a head injury.” He motioned to her shoulder hanging at a strange angle. “And a broken collarbone.”

  She pointed at him. “Are you dead?”

  “Yup. Decades. Motorcycle accident. Jack Wheeler. But call me Wheels.”

  “You?” She nodded at me.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here? Why am I here?”

  Wheels smiled. “Listen, doll. No easy answers. Some of us are dead, didn’t make it but also not allowed elsewhere yet. Some are hurt and just put here while they fight to live or die.”

  “So, this is like a holding pattern? Like the county jail?”

  Interesting concept. County jail. I liked the way her mind worked.

  “Are you a …” I searched for the American word “lawyer?” She looked at me like I was crazy, which wasn’t far off. Sometimes, I felt it, especially recently—since becoming friends with ghosts.

  “No. I’m a college junior,” she snapped back. “How do I get out of here? Why aren’t you in Heaven?”

  Wheels glanced at me, then answered in my silence.

  “Unfinished business. That’s who’s here—dead people who don’t fall into Heaven or Hell and those of you in between life and death.”

  She contemplated this for a bit. “Is this the only place? The only one like it? Because I can’t find someone, my friend.” She swept the vicinity with her eyes. “Have you seen her?”

  We shook our heads in unison.

  “I need to find her. I need…” She paused then added quietly, “I need to tell her something.” Her eyes went dark, a cloud passing over her face.

  Wheels shrugged. “You have a lot of questions. Don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” she answered dismissively. “Stop referring to me with endearments. I don’t know you.”

  I laughed. Angry, sad, defensive all rolled into one. Intriguing. Quinn would have liked her.

  “Don’t laugh at me. Don’t you have something or somewhere to be?” She pinned her eyes on me. I thought of being caught here indefinitely. I wouldn’t really mind if she was here. “I need to get back. And find my friend,” she added.

  “Sorry,” I answered, not sure what I meant. Was I apologizing for languishing here, for her current condition, or for Wheels? I didn’t have control of any of it.

  “What if I can’t find her?” Her voice rose in volume, laced with panic. “I mean, I really need to find her. I have to tell her…” Her gaze swept the area again. “Really, I need to tell her something.”

  “Doll, you’re on your own,” Wheels answered, smiling sarcastically.

  She turned then, desperation on her face. “Thanks for nothing,” she tossed back over her shoulder, picking up her pace to walk briskly away. She broke into
a run ten yards out, frantically calling her friend’s name. She fell once but drew herself back up, never breaking stride or her calls lessening. I felt a pull in my stomach as I watched her shape grow smaller and smaller. I wondered how far she could go.

  “Cute girl. Stubborn. I hope she finds her, but I doubt she’s down there,” Wheels interjected. Cute was not the word I’d have used. Cute implied a small lapdog. She was far better than that.

  “Yeah. You think she’ll be okay?”

  “Maybe. She better watch how far off she wanders.” Wheels knew the ins and outs of this place. I wondered what unfinished business kept him here. I couldn’t imagine not touching anything for so long.

  Just then the voices started.

  “Beck. Beck. Wake up, buddy. Come on. Enough of this.”

  Wheels stepped back, giving me space. He heard them, too.

  I hesitated, staring down the beach at the distant figure of the girl.

  “You going?” Wheels asked. I shook my head and moved off toward her. I wasn’t ready yet.

  Chapter Four

  Wynter—Somewhere Else

  The beach stretched on and on. She had to be here. I glanced back to see how far I had traveled. One of those stupid guys I talked to was following me. Damn. I started jogging again but had to stop. My legs felt heavy and slow, like I had worked out incredibly hard the day before. Up ahead, the beach was vacant. Abby wasn’t there. I sat down, suddenly wiped out. This didn’t make any sense. Where was I? And where was she? The last thing I remembered was Abby yelling at me, the picture of Jason and I plastered on her phone. I closed my eyes. Wake up. Wake up, I commanded silently.

  When I opened my eyes, the guy stood next to me. So much for that.

  “What do you want?” I tried to sound tougher than I felt. Maybe if I was rude enough, he’d leave.

  “Did you find her?”

  “Does it look like I did?” I tried picking up a handful of sand to throw, but my fingers spread right through like it was water. Strange. I was sitting on it wasn’t I?

  “Mind if I sit?” He had a bit of an accent, his voice raspy and rough. I stared at up him. He shoved one hand into the pockets of his faded jeans, and ran the other though his dark blond hair. It stuck up slightly in a messed-up, sexy way. I shrugged, and he deposited himself on the ground.

  “This girl is important to you?”

  I thought of Abby’s livid face in the car. “Yes. I need to find her.”

  “Why?” He leaned forward, arms draped over his knees, eyes meeting mine. He had a cut that ran down the side of his face. It looked halfway healed.

  “I need to explain something. Haven’t you ever done something you wanted to take back?” Why was I telling him this?

  He smiled, one side up and one side down. “Yes.”

  “Have you been here long? Like your friend there?”

  He stared at me. His eyes were brown, light with specks of green.

  “I think I’ve been here a few weeks. Someone tried to kill me, and I’m… recovering. My name is Beck.”

  I wondered why someone would try to kill him. “Well, Beck. I just want to be back in the world I know with my friends and … all my stuff. Not this freaky place with ghosts and...” I waved my hand “and everything else.”

  He chuckled, slow and easy. “Well, I don’t blame you…” He paused, and I realized he was waiting for my name. I didn’t offer it. “Whatever your name is, I don’t blame you for being put out. But, if you want to get home, you’d better focus on home and forget about your missing friend.”

  “Freaked is a better word for it. And is that how I get out of here?”

  Breaking my gaze, he stared out at the water. “I think you have to want it, yes. Don’t go wandering too far afield or get distracted. You may get lost and not be able to get out.”

  I stood up and started walking back. If that was the answer, I wasn’t staying here on this beach. Of course, why should I trust him or his advice? Even if he was good looking.

  He fell in step with me. I had a vague feeling I was getting picked up. Wonderful. Action while … somewhere else.

  “If you know so much, know how to get home, why don’t you go?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, just walked next to me. I noticed he favored one of his legs.

  “Well?” I prompted. If he was going to follow me, I wanted his story.

  “Things on my end are a bit more complicated.” He rubbed the leg he limped on.

  More than an epic misunderstanding involving your oldest friend’s boyfriend and causing the car accident that placed me here? I shook my head. Don’t think of that now.

  We walked to the point where I had first seen him and his ghost friend. A path led back up to where I had come from.

  “Well, Beck, my mother always says things are as complicated as you make them. All you have to do is have a little faith, take the first step, and the rest will fall into place.” Of course, she also said turn the other cheek and friends forgive everything, enemies nothing. The likelihood of Abby forgiving me for Jason was slim to none. Not that I blamed her. I didn’t bother to tell him that. He smiled at me, his eyes almost twinkling.

  “Well, thank you for the advice.” I walked a few feet up the path and glanced back.

  He was watching me.

  “Wynter. My name is Wynter,” I added.

  He cocked an eyebrow, as I figured he might. “Spelled with a y,” I explained. “January birthday. Change of life baby. My mom was in the middle of a mid-life crisis.”

  He smiled broadly now, his eyes pinned on me. “Well Wynter with a Y, safe travels.”

  “You, too.” I kept my eyes locked on him and backed up a few feet until I was sure I’d walk into something. Finally turning, I ran the rest of the way up.

  When I looked back, he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Beck—Decision

  Interstate 95 between New York City and Newport, Rhode Island, was always crowded, no matter what time of day I traveled it. Driving home after concluding an overnight trip to the city, I zigzagged around trucks and thought about my visit. It was the first since my near death by electrocution, and it felt good to be out. New York City was always a great place to wander and get lost among the businessmen, the fashionable, the commuters, the druggies, and the freaks. I could fade into the background there, and I had been doing just that for years.

  Drew, an ex-green beret and long-time friend, had called me in desperate straits. Trying to locate a missing executive in Mexico, he needed the information I had on rebels groups and drug cartels operating throughout South America. Drew worked in the private sector while I, until my recent discharge, had slogged it out for the British government. But public or private, we shared resources whenever needed. As long as we weren’t going for the same mark or rescue it didn’t matter. Drew knew what happened in Colombia and didn’t care about the British government’s position on the fiasco. He understood firsthand the precarious situations we dealt with.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a consultant or a mercenary but both were better than sitting at home and reliving the events of the past year. The last few months recuperating had been enough down time for me, and our finances needed a boost as well. The future was too uncertain.

  Cutting back across the traffic, I rubbed my right leg. It had suffered the most damage from the torture and electrocution; even after all this time, it still was not right.

  I called Quinn as I passed New Haven, letting him know to meet me in New London. We didn’t need two cars at the bar and being like me Quinn could run there in the same time it took me to drive. As much as I hated being different from normal people, there were times our unnatural “talents” were convenient.

  Jim’s Bar just off the exit had some of the best wings around. I had randomly stopped in a few years ago, and I’d been coming back ever since. It had a low-key atmosphere, with a good stock of beers and scotch and an even better menu of bar food. I hadn’t been in since
my near death and was looking forward to a change of pace—and the wings.

  An unusual amount of noise emanated from the bar into the parking lot, and I pushed the door open cautiously. The place was packed with people and music pulsed from every speaker. I navigated my way past a group of them, ignoring the urge to make most of them fly through the air, and made for an empty stool at the far end of the bar.

  I slid into the seat and inspected the crowd. They looked fairly young, moving from the bar to the pool table, jukebox and back with exuberance in their actions. Quinn would love this. I, on the other hand, avoided people like the plague. I hoped I wouldn’t have to find a new place. I would miss the wings.

  Turning my attention toward the hockey game on the television, I waited for either Jim or Quinn to arrive. Jim came first. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  I grabbed his outstretched hand in my own, giving it a good shake. “I’ve been out of town, but I was heading back from NY and thought I’d stop in for your wings.”

  He nodded. “Beer?”

  “Guinness.”

  “Hot and spicy?”

  “As hot as you can get it. What’s going on here?” I felt like I was yelling. I heard Jim just fine through the din, but I didn’t know how his hearing was. I was fairly certain mine was better.

  “College kids. This is their new hot spot . You should stick around. It only gets better.” He handed me a nicely poured beer, dark and rich looking with little foam. Someone bumped my elbow and my beer sloshed over the rim. Damn. I turned quickly. A short, red-haired guy leaned over the bar, empty glass in his hand motioning to Jim. Not a college kid, judging from the lines on his face.

  “Jimbo, Jimbo. Fill her up.”

  Jim smiled apologetically in my direction. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Mike?” He pried the glass out of the drunk’s hand.

  “No way. Give me another shot of Jamison’s and a draft.” The drunk plunked some money on the bar. Jim hesitated for a moment and then placed a shot glass out and filled it. The drunk threw it back and stumbled away, apparently forgetting his beer.