Suicide Souls

by Penni Jones

  Wow. She nailed that one.

  The only response I can give her is a nod. It’s not like I can argue her point, but I don’t want to wholeheartedly agree, either.

  “One thing I don’t think you’ve realized is that you won’t remember your former life when you transition to a new body. You will have the memories that come with the new life.”

  “Really?” Isn’t losing consciousness of myself the same thing as dying all the way? “I’ll remember nothing?”

  Doris pats my hand in the way we souls do and says, “You’ll have glimpses of memories. Certain songs, aromas, even clothing textures might trigger a little something. But it won’t be enough to give you your old life.”

  “Then how are we supposed to learn a lesson and not do it again?”

  She shrugs and says, “A lesson this strong is not restricted by memory. If you truly want to live again, that feeling becomes a part of your soul. That’s why we have rules here. That’s why you had to help Luke to move forward.”

  Doris’ words have distracted me from why I’m here. I have to get back on task.

  “Will I see Greg again before he transitions?”

  “Oh, darling. You and the boys.” She steeples her fingers together under her chin and stares at me for a couple of beats. “What will seeing him again accomplish?”

  “I need to make sure I’m not the reason he died.”

  “The reason he died is that he sliced his wrists with a retro straight razor. Cause of death: open arteries.” She puts her hands back on the desk. “There you go.”

  “But did I push him to it?”

  “No, Naomi. You did not. It was always his destiny to become a suicide soul, or he wouldn’t have become one. The same is true for you.”

  “If it was our destiny, why are we being punished?”

  “Perhaps ‘fate’ is a more appropriate word choice here. You had a choice. But we knew what choice you would make,” Doris says. “And you feel bad about his death. You are finally learning some lessons.”

  I don’t want to argue with what I assume is a compliment, but I have to. “I felt bad about Greg’s death before I was even dead. That’s not new.”

  “You felt bad in as much as you felt sorry for yourself. That’s why you committed suicide. Tragedies either make a person want to survive, or make a person want to die. How one reacts to tragedy can easily seal one’s fate.”

  Doris is suddenly my weird ghost-therapist. It’s unsettling.

  “Oh.”

  “I see great things for you if you learn how to focus.”

  “What do you mean?” A great new body? Someone who’s already successful?

  “How do you think I got this position?” She smiles a weird stretchy-looking smile. I wonder if it’s just a spirit thing, or if she smiled like that when she was still alive.

  “Is it punishment?”

  “No.” The stretchy smile goes wider before it dies off completely, like smiling bigger took all of her smile energy. “I was chosen because of my leadership abilities.”

  “Oh,” I say. It feels like this conversation is taking a long time. But, who knows?

  “You were raised religious, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you haven’t asked about God since you’ve been dead.” Doris steeples her hands in front of herself on the desk.

  “Should I ask? Will it make a difference?”

  Doris smiles again. It’s not quite as stretchy this time. It’s just on the up-turned side of neutral.

  I haven’t asked because when you’re raised fundamentalist Christian then start questioning things, realizing that it makes no sense, you’re left without coping skills. When the answer to all your problems growing up was “give it to God” or some form of that, you don’t know how to rely on yourself or process your emotions when you realize that either God doesn’t exist or if he does, he isn’t a micro-manager who cares if you say the word “fuck.” Because if God is so involved in our affairs, how come there are suicide bombers and kids with cancer?

  Maybe I never believed.

  “I am in this position until I find a suitable replacement. At that time, I have my choice of any available vapid body I want. I won’t have to pick the best of three.”

  “Are you offering me your job, Doris?”

  “Let’s just say I’m considering you for the position. Are you interested?”

  “I’ll think about it.” I stand up as if I can just walk out to my car and leave. “Will I be able to get out of this ridiculous dress?”

  “Yes. We will find you something more business-like.” Doris stands up from her desk chair. “Let’s both take some time to think. I’ll be in touch soon, Naomi.”

  We go through the motions of shaking hands, and I’m back in the food court. And so is Luke.

  Chapter 18

  Luke

  “Nolan is with his son,” I say as soon as Naomi appears. I can’t stop thinking about what that must be like. I want to be with my son.

  “I have to tell you something.” Naomi reaches her hand across the table and I take it.

  “What’s up?”

  “We won’t remember our lives once we’re in a new body. We’ll have the memories associated with that life, with occasional sparks of our former lives now and again.” She’s staring down at the table like she hasn’t quite processed this information herself yet.

  There is a Mentor’s Handbook on the table between us. It wasn’t there before she arrived.

  “What about Eben?” I ask.

  She shrugs and says, “I’m sorry.”

  Maybe she’s wrong. She’s not the leader here. She’s not God. She’s not even a real mentor. She’s just some dead chick in a slutty dress.

  “How do you know?”

  “Doris told me.”

  Doris. Proof that bureaucracy never dies. Fucking Doris and her weird stretchy body and smiles.

  “So, we won’t know each other.” It’s secondary to not knowing Eben, but it still matters.

  Naomi shakes her head.

  “The news just keeps getting shittier and shittier.” And I have no one to blame but myself. I did this. I blew my brains out. Me. No one else.

  Naomi grabs the handbook and opens it. “I want to find a loophole for this ‘giving a soul to the Death Shadow’ thing.”

  “One catastrophe at a time?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Something like that.” She scans the table of contents. “There are two sections about the Death Shadow: Death Shadow Requirements and Death Shadow Avoidance.”

  “We should probably read them both.”

  Naomi looks up and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t make sure you knew about Greg. I can see why that bothered you.”

  Her sincerity is both reassuring and disarming.

  “It’s okay.” I don’t know how else to answer. What does it matter now anyway? It’s not like we’re going to start dating after this. We won’t even know each other.

  “I want to be a better person next time around. I just hope I can remember.” She leaves a finger on the page where she was reading. “Doris said that if we really learn a lesson, it goes deeper than just memory. That’s what keeps us from killing ourselves again. Really learning our lessons.”

  “Well, I can say without a doubt that I’ve learned my fucking lesson.”

  Naomi smiles and bows her head to read. She seems different than the last time I saw her, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  * * *

  Naomi

  Fucking Doris. I’m trying to read the handbook and figure shit out but all I can think of is her weird offer.

  I would love to pretend that she’s wrong about me. That I don’t let myself get distracted by boys. But that would totally negate my self-awareness thing I have going.

  It’s just that boys are so enjoyable. Even if they’re infuriating.

  If I do her job, I can pick whatever body I want. If I won’t remember Luke or Greg anyway, then what’s the point of
hurrying?

  “Okay,” I say. Back on point. “Death Shadow Requirements.”

  Luke nods at me and I continue, reading out loud, “Due to the limited amount of vapid bodies, we must maintain the death/new body balance. The number of souls that go to the Death Shadow changes based upon the number of suicide souls in circulation.”

  Luke motions for me to speed up.

  “The souls that are fed to the Death Shadow are not predetermined. Each soul is given an equal chance to qualify for a new body regardless of gender.” Okay. That means God’s not sexist. I look up to say this to Luke, but he’s gone.

  I miss him. It’s weird. And I know I have to stop with the nonsense. He won’t remember me, and I won’t remember him, so this is pointless.

  You’d think that suicide would end the pain, but everything still seems like a punch to the crotch.

  “Hey.” I look up from the book. Poor pants-less Louisa is staring at me with her black-rimmed eyes. Woman’s make-up applied by a child. Her ears have multiple piercing holes that go all the way from the lobes to the tops. “Did you date much before you died?”

  “I guess.” She shrugs. “Not boys, though.” A slow grin spreads on her face. It’s the smile that comes from a memory.

  I have those memories. Mine are all of boys, though. Boys who made me laugh, boys who made me cry, boys who took me fancy places, boys who made me scream with ecstasy, boys who did all four.

  “I had, still have, a bit of a man-addiction.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s distracting.”

  “So’s hunger but it still happens every day. Or at least it used to.” She sighs. “I miss eating.”

  Her lipstick is orangey red. It’s not her color. I’m sure I didn’t wear the right color when I was her age, though. I didn’t learn about color until I tried to earn extra money by selling cosmetics when I was in college. I wanted enough money to go to Mexico for spring break, but all I got was some expensive samples and a color chart.

  “How’s it going in the land of the living?” I kind of miss the idleness of grief watch, as weird as that is.

  “My dad almost cried but I pulled back. I want to murder him and if he cries, I don’t think I’ll get another chance.”

  It should be shocking. I know that.

  “Louisa, what will that accomplish? Make him cry and then you never have to see him again.”

  “No. He shouldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else.” The determination on her face makes her look like an adult and a child at once. “What are you reading?” She leans forward to get a better look.

  “The Mentor’s Handbook. Trying to figure shit out.”

  “You’re learning as you go? That’s just great.” She tries to slap her hands on the table.

  “We’re all learning as we go, Louisa.”

  “Look and see if there’s anything about murdering living people. See if you can find out what will happen to me if I do it.” Louisa sticks her chin out.

  “Pretty sure they won’t have a section about murdering the mourners.” I flip another page. The heading reads SUICIDE SOULS AND MURDER. “Oh wait. There is a section on that.”

  “Duh,” she says. “I knew I couldn’t be the first one.”

  I scan the page and the answer isn’t good. I have to figure out the best way to tell her. In a way that she’ll understand the implications.

  Or I could not tell her. That would actually fix the biggest problem in my life, or afterlife. Whatever.

  “If you could pick any body to start over with, what exactly would you want?” I ask.

  It’s fun questioning Louisa. Because of our relationship, it feels like nothing is off limits. It’s almost like she’s obligated to answer because I’m a little bit in charge of her soul or something. And I guess she can’t lie to me even if she wants.

  Louisa looks away, staring into the distance that isn’t there.

  “Sometimes I think I want to look more like a boy. Narrow hips, defined muscles that aren’t too big. But sometimes I think I’d like to be curvy. Big ass, round boobs like yours, thick thighs.”

  “Too bad we can’t pick our bodies to match our moods every day,” I say and turn my attention back to the handbook.

  “Will I get a choice on my new body?”

  “From what I’ve heard, you get to choose from three pre-selected bodies.” I’m enjoying a conversation that doesn’t make me feel like an asshole. I’m actually helpful right now.

  “What if they’re all gross?”

  “You can go to the back of the line and try again, but if you don’t find one the second time you’re sent to Oblivion.” For just a second, I can almost feel the paper between my fingertips.

  “No matter what, I might end up being gross.” She’s staring at her chipped, blue fingernails. The blue is navy, almost black.

  “Or gone forever,” I say.

  I can feel Louisa’s gaze, so I look up from the book.

  “I thought suicide would bring relief, but really it’s just a new set of problems,” she says.

  “I’m afraid so.” I fake-grab her hands. They look like they would feel dry and coarse. I bet she never had a manicure. Imagine that. Dying before your first manicure. “I stopped going to church when I was twenty. For a long time, I thought every bad thing that happened to me was because of that. But later I figured out that every bad thing that happened to me was because I made bad choices.”

  As a child I prayed nonstop, oblivious to the narcissism required to believe that there was an ancient daddy in the sky who had a personal interest in me. Once I spotted the flaw in the logic, the blemish on my belief grew until it was nothing but a giant stain.

  “Your point is?”

  “I don’t know. This whole death-thing has put me on a path to enlightenment. Or something. I think. It’s got me all philosophical.” Even if I’ll benefit from it, I don’t want anything bad to happen to this girl. “Let’s talk about what will happen if you kill your dad.”

  And she’s gone. I should have told her as soon as I read the words.

  Maybe losing all of my old memories won’t be so bad. I haven’t felt remorse about how I treated my cousin Ruthie Mae in a long time. But just like Greg’s death, it’s something that pops up from time to time just to fuck with me. Obviously, I’ll have a different set of shit memories when I get a new body.

  Fuck. Suicide was not my best decision.

  Chapter 19

  Naomi

  Death Shadow Requirements. I’m dead and still dealing with red tape.

  The requirements change depending on how many bodies are available, just like Doris said. But the Death Shadow Requirements are not a prefect equation. If we wait, someone else might go instead of the one of us. I don’t know how to find that out.

  Or if I let Louisa kill her dad, she’ll go, and everything will be in balance. I don’t know if I should though. She’s just a child. I felt young until I met her. But I’m not that young.

  What I know for sure is that I’ve been in this shitty dress for an entire year. That I’ve been tasked with babysitting an emo but cute boy who has derailed my progress. That I have a job offer. That Greg won’t remember me in the next life anyway. And does that really matter?

  I concentrate on Doris. On her big Gloria Steinem bow and her weird tall and stretchy body.

  And then I’m in her office. Magic, purgatory style.

  “Do you want to know how I ended up here?” she asks. No “hello” or any of those other formalities.

  “Do you mean in this job or…”

  “A suicide soul. Do you want to know how I ended up a suicide soul?”

  It hadn’t crossed my mind. Doris and her tragic backstory weren’t really on my radar.

  “You’ve never even wondered, have you?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but there’s no point. I just shake my head and say, “Please. Go ahead.”

  “My husband left me for a younger woman. Patheti
c, right?” It’s a question but I can tell I’m not meant to respond. After all, who am I to judge pathetic? “I had a great job. I was an attorney on track to be the youngest and first female partner at my firm. The week I found out that my promotion went to a less qualified man was the same week my husband left.” She smiles a weird, creepy smile. “Life would have gotten better. I could have left everything behind and traveled the world. I could have taken up with a younger lover. But instead, I stepped in front of a bus during rush hour.”

  I’m not sure how to respond. Does she expect me to judge her weakness? To validate it? I don’t fucking know.

  “So, dear Naomi. You and I are more alike than you think. Capable women with a weakness for men. My husband ended up here, too. I guess we both favor problematic men.” She sweeps her hand out to indicate the frivolity of our choices.

  “If I do what you want, do we still have to sacrifice someone to the Death Shadow?”

  Doris slams her hands on the desk. Nothing changes. No shaking of the desk, no forced air from the impact.

  “Unless you learn how to sacrifice, you will never be successful.”

  “Look, Doris,” I stand and cross my arms over my chest, “first I was too selfish and sociopathic and now I should want to sacrifice someone else. Which the fuck is it?”

  “Which do you want it to be, Naomi?” She crosses her arms and smirks, mocking me like a bitch.

  I sit down again. “I don’t know.”

  “Everything is about balance. Both here and among the living.” Doris sits across from me and says, “When were you at your happiest?”

  It’s a simple question. Or should be. When was I at my happiest? When was I happy?

  “I had just landed a new account. A good one. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about my rent for the length of their contract, maybe longer. At least a year. And I met Greg. It was before I realized how dark he could get. How far he could pull me down. The future was bright. Perfect, even. I was getting laid on a regular basis, had a steady paycheck, and felt like I was doing things right.”

  “But it didn’t last.”