by Penni Jones
“I should have put on pants before I killed myself,” she says.
“Tell me about it.” I point at my chest. “I’ve had my tits out for a year.”
Louisa smiles. Just a slight smile, but it’s significant.
“What happens now?” she asks quietly.
“You have to watch everyone who loves you grieve. And you have to do it within a reasonable amount of time.”
“This is fucking bullshit.” She stands and tries to turn the table over, but her hands just go through it.
“What’s the problem? It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, all things considered.”
“I killed myself to get away from my molesty dad, and now I have to see him again. It’s not fucking fair.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
She’s right. It’s not fair. Souls should be able to skip the people who helped guide their path to suicide.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Hey! If you catch him asleep you can slap him or hit him and he’ll feel it. It’s really satisfying.”
Louisa narrows her eyes at me. “We can make actual contact?”
“Yeah. I slapped my ex-boyfriend. It was rad.”
Louisa lets her arms drop and sits back down. “Well, okay. When do I start?”
As soon as the question exits her lips, she is sucked away. She doesn’t have all of the instructions and helpful hints.
I guess whoever’s in charge here isn’t crazy about suicide souls having help.
Chapter 14
Luke
“Where’s Edgar?” the girl swivels her head, looking around the non-café. She’s more of a woman than a girl, I suppose. But she’s petite and blonde. Not bottle blonde, but that blonde that usually only occurs naturally in children. Like sin hasn’t had a chance to darken their heads yet. She’s wearing something that’s overalls on the top and a skirt on the bottom. It’s like a scout uniform without patches or buttons. The overall look is familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Was he your mentor?” I ask.
She nods and crosses her arms tightly across her chest like I’m trying to undress her with my eyes.
I honestly don’t think I was.
“I’m Luke.” I extend my hand.
She releases her right hand reluctantly and we do the fake shake that I’m growing used to.
“Sondra,” she says, and her right arm rejoins her left across her chest.
“Do you know how long you’ve been dead?” I ask.
She shakes her head and says, “I’m not sure. The last time I saw Edgar he said I was almost done.”
“I recently completed my grief watch after being dead about ten years.” An entire decade. Ten years of doing nothing but sitting around and not making people cry fast enough.
“Wow,” she says. “You must have been terrible at grief watch.”
“I’m really, really bad at it.”
Sondra smiles a little and looks down to her lap.
“Edgar’s gone, Sondra.”
“Gone? What do you mean?” Her eyes are back on me, but I’d rather they weren’t.
“Oblivion. The Shadow took him.” I’m not sure if I should explain further. I don’t think I know how.
I expect her to freak out. To cry or scream, or at least panic and tremble. She looks the type to do all of those things.
“Oh,” she says. She lets her arms drop to the table. “What now?”
“You’re okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Edgar was a butthole. He made fun of my hair and outfit every time he saw me. I had to put up with that crap when I was alive.”
“Well, okay.” Village of the Damned! It’s so obvious now. She even has those chunky bangs.
“But what happens now?”
“I don’t know.”
A file appears before me on the table. I’m not sure if it’s weird spirit magic or if Doris is Big-Brothering us.
I open it and there’s a form letter inside. I read it to myself first, almost forgetting that I’m not alone.
Congratulations Sondra Truman,
You have officially completed your Grief Watch. We trust that you have learned the impact of your actions and will strive to make better choices in your next life.
We hope you agree that this second chance is more than generous. If you choose to end your own life a second time, you will be immediately transported to Oblivion.
Your next stop is a waiting area until your Body Selection Concierge becomes available. Once the concierge is available, a selection of vapid bodies will be presented to you. You must then make a choice within twenty-four hours. You will be given an appropriate time-keeping device for this purpose. If you fail to choose a vapid body within the twenty-four hours, you will be moved to the end of the line. You are currently number 254 in queue. If you fail to choose the second time, you will be escorted to Oblivion by the Death Shadow.
Best of luck.
Sincerely,
Doris Westchester
Case Manager
Office of Suicide Soul Recycling
I don’t realize that my mouth is hanging open until Sondra says, “You look like you’re about to catch flies with that thing. What the heck does the paper say?”
My mouth closes, then opens again to say, “Sorry.” I read it to Sondra, even though she’s probably capable of reading it herself.
“So now I’m going to a waiting room for what is probably a long time?”
“Sounds like it.”
She leans forward and quietly says, “This place is a bunch of crap, isn’t it?”
I nod my head, even though I’m afraid that Doris is watching and listening.
“You don’t want to go to Oblivion, though. I saw Edgar go. It was terrifying.” I place the letter on the desk and slide it toward her. “Maybe the waiting area will be fun.”
“Fun?” she asks, raising her blonde eyebrows.
“If there are other souls there, you can make some new friends. You already have your icebreaker. You’ll all have suicide in common.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Look, I’m trying to process this information, too. I’ll be doing the same thing hopefully very soon.” I shrug and say, “It’s all you’ve got right now.”
“You’re right.” Sondra picks up the letter. I don’t know if she’s reading it, or just putting her eyes on it so she doesn’t have to look at me.
“Don’t you think it’s interesting that we’re going to have choices? I mean, what if we can choose a different race or gender?”
Sondra looks up and says, “Did you want to be a woman? Is that why you killed yourself?” Her eyes light up like she’s about to receive the best gossip ever.
“No. I did not want to be a woman. I just didn’t want to be alive.”
“I can relate to that. I guess that is the icebreaker.” She places the letter back on the table and says, “I know one thing: I don’t want to be a blonde again.”
Before I can respond that she probably just doesn’t want to be a natural blonde, she’s gone.
* * *
Naomi
The weird waiting room again. It seems like anything would be possible in this place. So why are there no Picassos on the wall? I’m sure they could find one to match the orange chairs.
Luke appears beside me.
“Hi.” He smiles at me without glancing at my tits. It’s sweet.
“Hi.”
“You’ll never believe what I just read.” He tucks his hair behind his ears, and he looks really young.
Is he ten years younger than me, or are we the same age? I’ve been trying to work that out since I met him, but my mind can’t seem to stick to a decision.
“What?” I’m so relieved to see him. He’s much less emo after losing Edgar.
I guess soul-eating shadows tend to remind a person that their problems really aren’t that big of a deal.
Doris appears through the undetectable door once again.
“Luke, Naomi.” She motions
for us to enter her office.
We stand and follow her in.
“Please, have a seat,” she says in a way that indicates it’s more of an order than an invitation.
I have no way to know for sure, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that our Doris didn’t get laid often when she was alive. She probably didn’t even own a vibrator.
“I have some good news and some bad news.”
Doris pauses as if she asked a question. Luke and I look at each other and then back to Doris.
“You are both off to a great start with your charges.” Doris smiles like she just gave us both a new car.
“That’s the good news, right?” I ask.
“Indeed, it is.” She sits behind the desk and says, “However, things are still out of balance.”
“Excuse me?” Luke asks.
“Well, Edgar’s shenanigans have thrown off the soul balance. Most souls are recycled, but at least ten percent are not. We must maintain that percentage because there are only so many vapid bodies to go around.” Doris clasps her hands in front of herself and continues, “Edgar is supposed to be here right now. At least one of you should have gone to the Death Shadow.” She gives a pursed-lip grin and says, “I think we all know which one of you that is.”
I grab Luke’s hand, wishing I could squeeze it.
“How is it out of balance if the Shadow got Edgar? That’s just one soul instead of another, right?” I ask.
“Sort of. He was also scheduled to send one more of his incoming souls to the Death Shadow to fulfill his requirements.”
“What are you getting at, Doris?” Luke asks.
“One of you must be sacrificed.”
We look at each other, both of us in a special kind of panic.
“It doesn’t have to be one of you two, but it can be. But it can also be Nolan or Louisa.” Doris smiles like this news is better than it is.
“You want me to sacrifice a fifteen-year-old girl?” I ask.
“I don’t want you to do anything. I’m just telling you what has to happen.” She turns her gaze directly on Luke. “It should have been you. Your grief watch was disgraceful.”
“He made it through in time.” I would punch this bitch if she would feel it.
“You are correct, Naomi. And he has taken to mentoring very well. It seems he is redeemable.”
“Thanks?” Luke responds.
“You two are free to work this out. Let me know whom you choose, and I’ll tell you what to do from there.”
I open my mouth to argue, and we’re back in the food court. This time there are a few other souls around us.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to go. It’s only fair,” Luke says. He puts his hands over mine across the table. “It’s okay. I wanted Oblivion before I met you. That really wasn’t that long ago. I think.”
“Fuck that,” I say. “That’s not how this is going to go down.”
Chapter 15
Luke
Naomi is pretending we have a choice in this matter. It’s kind of endearing. I would be more impressed if I wasn’t busy being terrified.
“What choice do you really think we have, Naomi?” I keep my voice steady, pretending I’m brave and not wondering if I’ll be able to hear myself screaming as I’m being sucked away by the Death Shadow.
“We’re going to throw Nolan under the metaphorical bus. The ‘death bus.’”
“No way.” I lean forward and look at her.
I’m sad that I won’t have a chance to get to know my son. But Alex and Daisy seem to have it covered.
“He lived to over sixty. That’s better than you or I did.”
“He’s an artist. He does woodwork.”
“Then you can learn woodwork in your next life to make up for any art the world will miss because he’s gone.” She leans closer to me, too. But she does it to make sure I can see her rack.
“I can’t do it,” I say, my eyes not leaving her cleavage.
“You have to,” she says.
“Why do you care so much?”
It’s a legitimate question, but I can tell it hurts her.
She leans back and crosses her arms.
“I like you. We’ve bonded. I kind of thought we would do this vapid body thing together. Maybe help each other out so we don’t make the same mistakes again.”
“Look. I get that. I like you, too.”
No way would a girl this hot have liked me before I was dead. But that’s not a good thing to point out right now.
“Maybe you can get his consent,” she says.
“How do I do that?”
“Convince him that he’s making a noble sacrifice. He’s going to Oblivion so the younger of us don’t have to. We can’t lie here, so however we do it will be the honest way.”
I hold out my hands and she places hers on them.
“I’ll try,” I say. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Nolan is standing next to our table. I don’t know how long he’s been there. I wish there was some kind of alert when someone transports to you. Maybe there’s a suggestion box I could submit that to. Probably not.
“Hi, Nolan.” I pull my hands away from Naomi’s. “This is Naomi.”
“Hello,” he says, but doesn’t sit down.
He seems so tall standing over us. A giant, lumbering force like Ron Perlman but softer.
“Would you like to join us?” Naomi gestures to an empty chair.
“Sure.” He pulls out the chair and sits. “This grief watch shit is trippy.”
“It really is. It’s tough work. Not everyone can do it,” Naomi says.
“How did you make the bartender cry?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I just kind of hung out with her until she felt me there.” He’s staring straight ahead, reliving what he just did. “She was pouring my favorite beer. And then she started crying. Didn’t even let go of the tap. The beer overflowed and she didn’t stop the tap until beer ran all over her hand.”
“I’m sorry,” Naomi says and leans toward him. “I know it’s tough.”
“She’s not even twenty-five. Too young to be so sad.” He looks down and says, “I did that to her. I made her feel that way.”
“If you don’t want to do it anymore, you don’t have to. You can give up,” Naomi says.
She’s a viper. A hot little blonde viper.
I’ve never understood exactly what it is that makes attractive women wield such power. Is the hope of getting laid? Or is it just a man’s desire to please a beautiful woman? Why are we so weak?
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You can die. Completely. Instead of finding another body.” The words come out of me quietly. I hate myself for saying it.
“That doesn’t sound like a good option,” Nolan says.
“That’s what you wanted in the first place, right?” Naomi asks. “To die? To be without pain?”
“Well, yeah. But now I’d like that second chance.” His resolve is growing before our eyes. He is immune to Naomi’s hot-girl charm. Probably due to the absence of flesh.
“One of us has to go,” I say.
“Why?” Nolan asks.
“That’s a fair question.” Naomi smiles at him like he’s the star student. “Our mentor screwed up and now things aren’t balanced and one of us has to go to the Death Shadow.” She describes it like a trip to the grocery store.
Nolan sits back in his chair and stares straight ahead again.
“Nolan?” Naomi reaches for his arm, and then he’s gone. “Well, shit.”
“I can’t help but feel that we’re screwed,” I say just before Naomi disappears, too.
* * *
Naomi
“For fuck’s sake. I was right in the middle of something.”
“Sorry to disturb you, princess melon-tits,” Louisa says.
We’re behind a couch. A plaid tweed couch. It’s the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.
Louisa is sitting with her knees to her chest.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My dad’s house.” She unfolds her legs and props them against the back of the couch. It would probably be uncomfortable if she could feel it.
“Where did you go the last time I saw you?”
“My mom’s. That was easy. Sad. But easy.”
My best friend in high school had an abortion when she was 14. If she had kept the baby, she would have a kid the same age as Louisa. It’s crazy. I couldn’t even take care of a cat when I was alive. No way I could have been a mother to a teenager.
“My mom was easy, too. I think she blamed herself,” I say for no clear reason. The thought had never entered my mind until that second. “When I was alive, she would barely talk to me. Always busy with church or coffee or shopping. She was the whitest white woman I ever knew. She had the best pills of anyone.”
“My mom drinks a lot. It’s not her fault. She was raped or something. I’m not sure exactly what happened. She only talked about it in vague terms. Like if she was specific it would happen again.”
“That’s sad,” I say. Sad. What a dumb, petty word to describe such a deep, gut-rotting emotion.
“Everything’s sad,” she says.
“Do you want to try again? Or are you over the idea of living?”
I’m not going to try to talk her into sacrificing herself. I just need to know where her head’s at.
Louisa shrugs. But a shrug from a teenager doesn’t reveal much.
A tall, scrawny man enters the room. He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a dirty T-shirt.
“Is that him?”
“Yep.” She looks at him and looks away.
“How did you make your mom cry?”
“I don’t really know. I think she was just still grieving and I caught her at the right time.”
“You can emit your scent. It’s the easiest way.”
“How?”
“Just think about it really hard,” I say.
The scent of clove cigarettes and lavender fills the air. I guess I can only smell soul scents these days. I couldn’t smell Jamie’s baby’s vomit (thank God), I couldn’t smell my mom’s vanilla candles, and I couldn’t smell Daisy’s mangy dog.