Suicide Souls

by Penni Jones

  I hope I always have Ernesto as an ally. If he can stand up for Doris, he’ll do the same for me if I need it someday.

  Again, I’m too wrapped up in boardroom drama to notice the pull. This time I’m with Nolan. I’d almost forgotten about him.

  He’s staring at a woman who appears to be in her late-50s. She has thick, shoulder-length hair and black-framed glasses. She’s sitting behind a large oak desk in a room with dark blue walls. She’s staring at a computer screen, occasionally clicking the mouse or a few keys.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  Nolan turns to me and frowns. “When did you get here?”

  “Just now.”

  “Hm.” He turns his gaze from me back to the woman. “She’s my sister.”

  “How many siblings did you have?” I’m not sure if I should have said “did” or “do.” Some of the semantics are still confusing.

  “Four. Two brothers and two sisters.” He doesn’t take his eyes off her.

  “What’s your plan here?”

  “Well, this one didn’t like me too much. I wasn’t very nice to her when she decided to become a lesbian.”

  “First of all, no one decides to be gay.” My anger surprises us both.

  He waves his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know.” He puts his hands down and continues, “It just took me some time to get used to it. She’s my baby sister. It was tough for me at first.”

  “Well, just imagine how tough it was for her.”

  “I know, okay?” Nolan looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Anyway, it took me some time to accept her announcement. Then once I dealt with it, it took her some time to forgive me for taking some time.”

  “Were you two okay by the time you died?”

  He shrugs and says, “Just okay. We’d see each other at family get-togethers and talk. But we’d never go out of our way to see each other. I called her occasionally, but she never called me. Can’t say that I blame her.”

  “Have you been here long?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so.”

  There’s really no reason for us to hurry, and I don’t want to be there for the judge’s ruling. I’ve seen enough soul-eating today. If things go badly for Doris, I’d rather be here than there.

  “I’ve got it!”

  “Great!” I’m being sarcastic, but I don’t think he notices.

  “See that carved wooden fish on the shelf?” He points to a bookshelf to our right of the oak desk.

  “Yeah. That’s pretty. Did you make it?”

  “I did.” He beams with pride and says, “It was a peace offering.”

  I don’t ask if the fish was supposed to represent anything. I’m not sure I want to know.

  “Can we knock it off the shelf?”

  I nod and motion for him to follow me to the shelf. We stand there together, both fully concentrating on moving the fish. I even go through the motions of knocking it over. After an almost exhausting effort, the fish teeters to the edge of the shelf and tumbles to the floor, resulting in a soft thud.

  Nolan’s sister gasps and looks up from the computer. She stands and approaches the shelf. We back up as if she’s going to run into us.

  She picks up the fish and her bottom lip starts to tremble. She hurls the fish against the wall, and tears start pouring down her face.

  “She didn’t have to do that,” he says.

  “Maybe she did. You got results.”

  The tug starts and I instinctively grab for Nolan’s hand, fearful for what awaits me back in the boardroom.

  * * *

  Luke

  On the train back to Connecticut I sit with my head against the window, using the dirty hard surface as a pillow. I didn’t even try to charm my way into a free ticket this time. I just gave the clerk dead Juniper’s money and kept my head down. If he recognized me, he didn’t let on.

  I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain that Juniper Haskell committed suicide in a young up-and-comer’s apartment today when we were supposed to be attending to her son. Her son. Shit. Juniper had kids. Three, I think. But maybe they’ll handle it all okay since she was already dying.

  I’m sure I had days that were this emotionally taxing when I was still alive. It’s hard to remember, though. It’s hard to remember much from those days at all. There is just the knowledge of another me, another life. A life that I ended myself because I couldn’t sack up and handle that sometimes life is shit.

  But I have to figure out this life. It’s the one I have now. And dammit, it’s a pretty good set up. I just have to live in a house with a bunch of entitled strangers for a couple of months and let people film my every move. No big deal.

  Who am I kidding? It’s terrible. Especially right now. I can’t have a camera in my face after everything I’ve been through today.

  I was so happy when I thought I was about to be a dad. And I don’t even know Rochelle. It just felt like everything was going to be fine. Like she and I would move in together, maybe get married after I made sure that we actually loved each other. But we would raise the baby together no matter what. But it was all a lie. And I chose her over Naomi.

  What will happen to Naomi? I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine. She’s tough. Much tougher than me. But I’ll never see her again. And I have to be okay with that.

  “Andy!”

  My reverie is broken by a woman standing in the aisle. I stare at her for a beat. She looks like she’s around thirty. She has brown curly hair and big green eyes. Her face attaches to a memory. It’s unnerving yet it’s exactly what I need.

  “Polly?”

  She sits down and scoots in, pushing my body closer to the window. I don’t mind though, because she smells like lavender. But she has always smelled like lavender. She puts lavender oil in her hair or something like that.

  “Yeah, it’s Polly. Why are you saying it like it’s a question, you big dummy?” She smiles broadly. “It hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Are you serious?” She crosses her arms, but the smile remains.

  “Sorry, Polly. Time has been weird for me lately.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be.” She uncrosses her arms and pats my left leg with her right hand. “I told you not to do that show. Everyone says they mess with your head.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” I say, returning her smile. “Where are you headed?”

  “It’s time for the quarterly visit to my dad’s. He’s in Milford now. Just moved from New Haven last month. I haven’t seen his new place yet. Hopefully this one is better than the last.”

  A room pops into my mind. It’s a small kitchen with dishes piled in the sink. Take-out containers and mail cover the countertop. Then a small living room. A fleece blanket thrown over a tweed couch.

  “Yeah, that last place wasn’t too awesome,” I say.

  “He’s back on his meds, so hopefully he’ll take better care of this one. It’s a little bigger, so it will be comfortable enough if I have to stay a few days and help him.” Polly is still smiling, but there is a touch of sadness to her smile.

  I wrap my arm around her and pull her close. I can tell I’ve done this hundreds of times.

  “I had a bad day, Polly,” I say quietly.

  “You didn’t go see her, did you?”

  “I went to see Rochelle.”

  Polly turns her body to face me. We’re no longer touching.

  “You are such an idiot sometimes. I love you. But really, you’re an idiot.”

  “I had to see her. I thought we were having a baby.” Tears form in my eyes. Should I cry? Would Andy let himself cry? Why am I thinking of myself in the third person?

  She slowly returns her body to its previous position. She stares straight ahead, processing my words.

  “So, it’s not yours?”

  “Nope.”

  “I hate to say I told you so,” she starts.

  “But you will anyway?”

&
nbsp; Polly leans her head on my shoulder and says, “I really am sorry. I promise you if neither of us has a baby by the time we’re thirty-five, I’ll happily bear the fruit of your loins.”

  I lean my head against hers. “Thank you. That really does help.”

  “Repeat after me,” she says. “I, Andy Sullivan.”

  “I. Andy Sullivan.”

  “Will no longer.”

  “Will no longer.”

  “Put my penis in young actresses.”

  “I don’t know if I should make such a bold statement,” I say.

  She raises up and says, “You need to trust me on this one, dude. Name one time that shagging a starlet has brought you anything good besides an orgasm.”

  I concentrate, searching for a memory that might not exist.

  “Well, to be fair, Rochelle brought me several orgasms.”

  Polly punches me playfully in the ribs and puts her head back on my shoulder. I breathe in the lavender, and I feel okay.

  Chapter 37

  Naomi

  We’re in a nursing home. And not a nice one. I’m really glad I can’t smell anything. There is an ancient man in a wheelchair next to me with a catheter bag hanging off the side in plain view. A woman with bright red hair and bright pink lipstick on her lips and the surrounding creases sits across from him in a plastic folding chair. She’s smacking gum loudly and staring at him.

  “Who are we here for?” I’m really hoping it’s not for the old man. I don’t want to see him cry.

  “My dad.” Nolan nods toward the old man.

  “Shit,” I say.

  “Watching him deteriorate the last few years has been hell. Really didn’t help me want to make it to old age.”

  “Who’s the classy lady?”

  “I think that one is Linda. He has a string of classy ladies,” he says.

  “How does he manage that?”

  “He used to be famous. Ever heard of the Leather Tones?”

  “That really old country band?”

  He nods and says, “That’s the one. He was the lead guitar. Some women think that means he has money. He lets them believe it.”

  “But if he had money, wouldn’t he be in a nicer place?” I ask.

  “Of course. But the women he’s pulling in aren’t exactly the best and brightest.”

  Linda pulls a tissue from her purse and wipes under the old man’s nose.

  He swiftly pulls the tissue from her hand. “I can do that myself.”

  “I didn’t expect that,” I say.

  “He’s doing better than the last time I saw him,” Nolan says.

  “Seriously, Mel. No need to be a dick. I was just trying to help,” Linda says. She pulls another tissue from her purse and puts her gum in it. She wads the tissue into a little ball and puts it on the table next to her. She stuffs a fresh stick of gum into her mouth and starts smacking again.

  “Why are you still here?” Nolan asks.

  “Because this is your last one and I’m making sure it goes smoothly.” I don’t know how I know this, but I do.

  Nolan shrugs and says, “He’s old as hell. He ran out of charm years ago.”

  And I can’t say that I blame him. I was crotchety as soon as I woke up as Juniper, and she wasn’t nearly as old as this man.

  “You know what?” Linda stands up and grabs her handbag. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t know why I’m still here. I don’t know why I still bother with you, you old sonofabitch.”

  “See you tomorrow, Linda.” He smiles at her in a way that tells me this is their routine.

  The old man reaches toward the table next to him and flips on a radio. Willie Nelson sings “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” Tears flow from his eyes.

  “I knew he’d be easy,” Nolan says right before we are pulled away.

  * * *

  Doris stands before the judge. She looks down as the judge speaks.

  I’m sitting between Ernesto and Edgar. I reach for each of their hands.

  Several gasps sound throughout the boardroom when the judge says, “You are hereby sentenced to eternity in Oblivion.” I’m surprised that so many of us still gasp.

  Doris turns to her audience before the Shadow arrives. She looks at me with a glint of malice in her eyes. A chill runs up my spine and I don’t know if it’s from her or the Shadow.

  “Clear the boardroom,” the judge says as the Shadow approaches Doris.

  “No!” she says. “Make them watch.”

  The judge shouts and bangs the gavel and we all stare helplessly as the Shadow wraps itself around Doris like a Python. It squeezes her, but she doesn’t scream.

  The Shadow twists its face in front of Doris’ and wraps its lips around her head. Cracking and sucking noises ring out like someone is eating a giant crawfish. I don’t look away. I’m here to bear witness to her demise. To see exactly what will happen to me if I do things the way she did.

  When it’s over and the Shadow has sucked Doris down its throat and nothing lingers but the chill, I realize that only Edgar remains with me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod and say, “You?”

  He nods and leans forward in his chair.

  “Should I be afraid?” I ask.

  Edgar looks at me and says, “Not afraid. Cautious.” He tosses a notebook to me. I flinch out of habit.

  The notebook floats into my open palm. “What’s this?”

  “Your boy Luke started writing things down when his memories began to fade. Thought you might want it.”

  The first couple of pages are just a list. “Daisy, Tom Waits T-shirt, Marlboro Lights,” etc.

  My name is written in block letters at the top of the third page.

  I want you to think of me. To wonder, to speculate what it is I do when I go inside my house. Do I roam the floor barefoot, the kitchen tiles cold against the naked skin of my feet? Do I turn on the TV or radio or do I wallow in the silence that fills each crevice of my home?

  Do I ever laugh or cry for no particular reason, breaking the silence with what would be perceived as madness if observed by someone passing by walking a dog or riding a bike?

  Because this is how I long to think of you. I wonder if not remembering you and our time together will leave me with an unidentifiable void. Maybe you’ll be that flash of memory some time, and if you’re thinking of me at the same time our souls will briefly join in someone’s mobile home and share a moment of clarity.

  Or if this is it for me and my soul is to be no more, maybe your memories of me will keep me alive in some small way. I know you tried to save me when I refused to save myself. No matter your motives, I am grateful. And it is enough for me to believe that I will be on your mind from time to time.

  For a while you were the only person I knew, and there is no one else I would rather know.

  Love,

  Luke

  If there was air in me, it would have been knocked out. I close the notebook and stare straight ahead.

  There’s no reason to second guess my decision to leave Luke behind. It’s too late for that. And he’s in a life that he wanted. He’s forgotten me, but he’ll make new memories with new people. And I get to remember him.

  “You okay?” Edgar asks.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.” I say more to myself than to Edgar.

  He stands and says, “Would you like me to escort you to your office?”

  My office. I have an office. I’ll go there. And I’ll change into my respectable clothes.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Edgar takes my hand, and we move on. Because really that’s all we can do.

  Almost the End

  Epilogue

  One month or one year later

  “Hey, Louisa. Have you seen Edgar today? A new vapid body just became ready and I think he might want it,” I say into the receiver. I know it’s antiquated, but I like our new system. Or old system. Whatever.

  I have a phone with an intercom t
hat I use to speak to Louisa, my talented and smart assistant. Making the system more human has made everything feel less vague and uncertain. It’s more comfortable for the incoming suicide souls, too.

  “He came by about three segments ago to make fun of my outfit.”

  “Okay. When he comes back, ask him to come see me.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  I’ve told her not to call me boss. But she likes it, so I’ve decided to let it go. I’ve been called worse.

  “You have a few new emails,” she adds.

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up and pull open the laptop. I’ve created a system with Ernesto’s help that gives me advance warning of incoming souls. I can start learning their information and determine their ideal mentor before their bodies hit the floor. It all comes through my email.

  I have four new messages. Three are incoming soul messages, but I don’t recognize the sender on the fourth at first glance.

  It’s from hadesdoris@oblivion.net. What the shit?

  Maybe it’s joke from Ernesto or Tony. I hope it’s a joke from Ernesto or Tony. As soon as I start reading, I know it’s not.

  Dear Naomi,

  I hope this email finds you well. Oblivion is not as bad as Edgar and Tony made it out to be. I’ve already been promoted to HBIC, which means “Head Bitch in Charge!” Isn’t that delightful? I’m reorganizing down here (I don’t know if it’s actually down, but that sounds appropriate) just as you are reorganizing up there. I’m getting everything ready for your eventual arrival. Women like you and I cannot escape damnation, just like God intended.

  I’ll write again soon.

  Doris

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  This part is always difficult. There is simply no way to include everyone who helped me write this book. I know I will leave people out, and that feels inexcusable. I will do the best I can, and if I let you down, you can let me know.

  For reading all the crappy drafts: Annette Weathers, Pete Magsig, Jeanne Adwani, Adrienne Losh, Libby Kirsch, Melanie McIntyre, and Jessi Lamb. For reading all the things and talking shit with me for endless hours: Chris Harris, Jesse Suphan, Ashlee McCaskill, Julie Newton, and Kim Hebbes. For making my work make sense: Heather Stewart and Rachel Schoenbauer. For making sure it gets where it needs to go: Elgon Williams, Zara Kramer, Allan Kramer, and Christine Gabriel. For reading and helping with the details: Matt Coleman, Stephanie Gayle, Alex Dolan, Kelly Ford, SA Cosby, Emily Ross, and Jacob de la Rosa. For always being excited that I have a book coming out: Richard, Samuel, and Molly.