“There. Got it.” He grunts. Stands. Inhales deeply. I am beginning to wonder if he has a breathing problem. Asthma, maybe? I want to ask, but with a faint static buzz the television screen springs to life. A woman in a flowery dress fills the screen. The camera is zoomed in too far, cutting off her head, but I can see her belly. Her big, round, pregnant belly. The video is a little burry and unfocused, as if I am watching a poorly shot home video. Whoever is holding the camera begins to zoom out, inch by inch. I hear laughter: the shrill giggle of a woman and the deep, resonating chuckle of a man.
Suddenly there is nothing I want more in this world than to see these two people. I need to see them like I need to breathe.
I flatten my stomach across the top of the desk and lean so far forward my chair threatens to tip over. My fingers curl around the edge of the desk to keep my balance. Just a little bit more… Come on, come on, zoom out just a little bit more…
The video freezes.
“What the hell!” I fly back, slamming my chair hard into the plain beige carpet, and glare at Sam, who doesn’t quite manage to hide the remote behind his back in time. “Press play, Sam. Press play RIGHT NOW!”
“I will,” he says. “I promise. I just need to explain a few things first.”
I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear anything. I just want to see. I want to see the people on the screen. If I can just seem them, everything will be all right. Everything will make sense. Because I recognize that giggle. I have seen that dress in pictures. I know who is waiting for me on that screen. “If you don’t press play right now I will take that remote and shove it up your –”
“Fine, fine,” he says hastily. “This isn’t the order it’s supposed to go in, but fine. Just know that once you watch this video things won’t… well, they won’t ever be the same again.”
“Press. Play. Now.”
He does, and I watch my life unfold in front of my eyes, starting from when I was nothing more than a tiny baby in my mother’s belly. She is beautiful on the screen, in the way all good things are beautiful. My dad is impossibly young. He smiles all the time, as if he doesn’t know how not to.
In a blur of bright colors and laughter, I see myself grow in a colorful blur of firsts.
My first birthday. My first Christmas. My first time on the school bus. My first visit from the tooth fairy. My first school play. My first goal in peewee soccer. My first vacation at Disney World. My first boyfriend. My first detention. My first heartbreak.
The birth of Brian. How jealous I was of him! I didn’t want a little brother. I wanted all the attention for myself. Then I held him, and I kissed him, and I loved him. Just like that.
I see my first prom. The ugly yellow dress that I thought was so amazing. My second boyfriend, a shy boy named Dustin who moved away. The basketball game I fell and sprained my ankle. The kitten my dad brought home one day after work.
The colors begin to fade from the screen, as if they’re being sucked away. The laughter dims. The smiles disappear.
I hear the phone call in the middle of the night as if for the first time. I see myself being shaken awake and the panic claws at my throat now just as it did then.
Faster and faster the images fly by, until I am dizzy from them.
Brian’s wailing. A vase shattering against the wall. My dad’s roar of anguish. The flash of red and blue lights. The phone ringing again, shrill, so shrill. The police officers at the door.
“Turn if off Sam.” I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding so loudly I don’t need a stethoscope to hear it now. My fingers turn to claws and dig into the desk so hard the edges of my nails begin to snap off one by one. “Sam, turn it off,” I plead when he does nothing.
He shakes his head, his smoke eyes impossibly sad. “I can’t, Winnie. I’m sorry.”
I try to close my eyes and cover my ears, but it is impossible. I have to watch and in watching, I have to remember.
The funeral. How bright and sunny it was. The endless food people gave us. The hugs and the tears and the promises. My dad’s face. Hard. Cold. Angry at the world. Angry at me. Coming home from school to see everything that used to be hers packed away into boxes, ready to be shipped to storage.
The fights. The screaming. The slap. Dying my hair black in the sink. Stealing makeup from the local drug store. Getting my nose pierced. My eyebrows. My lip. Quitting the basketball team. Failing math. The tattoo parlor.
My dad’s first girlfriend. The second. The third. The long trip up to Maine. Watching Brian bounce on the bed. Fighting in the restaurant. Walking with Sam. Looking for Brian. Running in the snow. Panic. Fear. The grove of trees. The flash of red. The lake. The crack of ice breaking. The shock of freezing water. Desperation. Fighting. Trying to breathe. Sinking. Sinking…
Leaning over the edge of the desk, I throw up all over the carpet as the television screen flickers to black.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I am dead.” The words come out flat, in the way all obvious and true things do. The sky is blue. The grass is green. The world is round. I am dead.
Sam straddles the chair in front of me and folds his arms across the top. “Yeah, he agrees. “You are.”
My eyes narrow. “And you’re dead. You liar. You’re not Sam Trent’s cousin. You are Sam Trent.”
Guilt flashes across his face, confirming my suspicion. “Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth.”
“Brian.” I sit bolt upright as I remember why I died. “My brother. Where is he? Is he okay? I have to go to him. I have to find him.” My heart – my cold, dead, still beating heart – pounds in my chest. Brian has to be alive. He has to. Wouldn’t I know if he was dead? Of course I would, I think bitterly. He would be here with me.
“Your brother has not come across,” Sam says softly.
“Then he’s still out in the woods somewhere. He’s in danger. I have to find him. I have to–”
“Winnie.” Sam reaches across the desk and gently takes my hand. His skin is warm. He squeezes, and I squeeze back, not because I want to, but because it seems like the right thing to do. The alive thing to do. “You can’t go to him. You can’t help him. It doesn’t work like that.”
“What doesn’t work like that? Where am I exactly? What is all of this? Are we…” My head slinks down between my shoulders. I glance up at the ceiling, biting my bottom lip. “Are in heaven?” I whisper.
“No,” Sam says. “Well, not exactly. Kind of. I mean, if you’re talking technically then I would have to say… Then again, all things considered…”
A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Tears fill my eyes. I blink them away, angry at the show of emotion. “I knew it,” I say and to my embarrassment my voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat and try again. “I just knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“It’s because I was such an awful person, isn’t it? I was mean to my dad, my friends, my teachers. I was horrible to Trish. She kind of deserved it, but still… and Brian. It was all my fault he got lost. If I had been there for him… If I had been a better big sister none of this would have h-happened.” My voice breaks. I draw in a deep, shaky breath and stare hard at my desk. The imitation wood blurs and refocuses as I rub my eyes. I really don’t want to cry. Especially not in front of Sam. Talk about ruining my tough girl persona.
“What you talking about?” he asks, looking at me strangely.
Is he really going to make me spell it out? “Hell, Sam. I’m in Hell,” I say quickly. I want the pain to be fast, like ripping off a band aid. I wait for Sam to console me. To tell me it won’t be so bad. I do not expect him to burst out laughing.
“This isn’t funny.”
Sam covers his mouth before another bark of laughter can escape. “I know. I know,” he says, sobering. “And I’m sorry. I’m not doing a good job of explaining things.”
“No,” I say tightly. “You’re not.”
“First of all, you are not in Hell.”
“Awes
ome. Great. Fantastic.” Somehow I can’t drum up any excitement. I may not be destined to writhe in boiling lava, but I’m still dead. That doesn’t exactly inspire me to stand up and jump for joy.
“This is my first time,” Sam admits. His smile turns a little sheepish and it would have been cute, if I was in the mood for cute, which I am definitely not.
“Your first time doing what?” I ask impatiently. I can feel my frustration building. I have never liked not knowing what is going on. I was always that girl, the one who insisted on reading every single rule before starting a new game. The one who asked ten questions when only one would have sufficed. Now I am in some strange place, with a strange boy – because really, how much do I know about Sam other than the fact that he’s lied about everything so far? – and apparently I’m dead.
Talk about not knowing what’s going on.
“It’s my first time guiding someone across,” Sam explains. “That’s why you could see me before. No one else could. Just you. I picked you. Out of everyone else I picked you.” He says it with significance, like the fact that he picked me is some kind of big honor or something. I really don’t care.
“You mean you knew I was going to die? And you didn’t tell me?” I say incredulously. “Didn’t think to warn me the last time you saw me? Give me a little heads up like ‘oh, by the way Win, don’t go out on that lake looking for your brother because you’re going to fall through the ice and DROWN?’” I have to stop and draw in a breath. That in itself is mind boggling. I’m dead, and I still have to breathe. Go figure. “That sucks, Sam. That really, really sucks.”
“Of course I didn’t tell you,” he says, looking aghast at the very idea. “It’s the first rule. You can’t change the lives of the living. It’s the second rule too. Like Fight Club.” His eyes light up. “You know, Fight Club? First rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club. Second rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club.”
I stare at him.
“Oh, come on. You’ve had to have seen it. With Brad Pitt and Edward Norton?”
“Nope.”
He sighs. Shakes his head. “You are seriously missing out.”
“I am dead Sam. I think I’m missing out on a little bit more than some stupid movie.”
“Yeah, well, you should watch it sometime.”
I’m DEAD!”
“So?” He shrugs. “You can still watch movies. You can still get on the computer. Go out to eat. Play sports. You can still do lots of stuff.”
“Sounds like a real blast.”
“There’s no reason to be sarcastic. I’m here to help you. To guide you through the First Level. You’re doing really well so far. You passed the acceptance phase with flying colors.” He smiles at me encouragingly, like I just aced some major test. I bite down on my lip ring. Wiggle it back and forth between my bottom lip and my teeth. Let it go.
“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
Sam sits back in his chair and rubs the side of his face. “I know. I’m sorry. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m not explaining things very well at all.”
I snort. Talk about the understatement of the year. “You think?”
“You’re not exactly making it easy.”
“Me? You just said I passed the acceptance test thingy with flying colors!”
“The acceptance phase,” he corrects me. “And cut me some slack. I said this was my first time.”
I could point out it is my first time too – never having been dead before as far as I can remember – but I bite my tongue. Maybe it isn’t the best idea in the world to piss off my guide. Not that Sam is a very good one. Figures I would be stuck with a newb.
Struck with the sudden urge to move around, I stand and walk to the front of the classroom. Squinting one eye, I peer out the small square window in the middle of the door.
I can see a hall, but it’s not the hall with the maroon carpet and fried food smell that we came from, it’s the hall from my old school. We not only switched rooms, we switched entire buildings. Entire places? Entire states? Do states exist here? Do countries? I push the questions aside before they overwhelm me. For once, I have no choice but to put my trust in someone else. I have to trust Sam that he’ll explain everything that needs explaining, and I’ll have to draw on every ounce of patience I possess to let him do it in his own time. As long as that time occurs within the next ten minutes.
Across the hall is the art room. The blue door is closed tight, the lights off. A faint smile captures my mouth as I remember how many hours I used to spend in there working on a variety of different projects. I wasn’t a great artist, but with Mr. Garrison you didn’t have to be. Art was one of the few classes where your best was always good enough.
I turn the door handle, but it holds firm, the sleek metal unyielding. Weird. I try pulling up. Nothing. I turn my shoulder into the door and push. Nada. Glancing at Sam over my shoulder, I say, “Why is this door locked?”
He drops his head on his arm and looks at me sideways. “Because I haven’t explained the rules yet. It’s like a big puzzle. Or a video game. You have played video games, right?”
I cross my arms and lean against the door. “Yes,” I tell him, not liking his snide tone one bit. “I have played video games. What’s your point?”
“So this place is like a video game, only bigger. Life size. There are levels you have to get through. Within each level there are certain steps that have to be completed. Just like in a video game. Complete enough steps and you unlock the next level. Unlock all the levels and you win.”
“Win what? Money? A cruise? A lifetime supply of candy bars?” I would have kept going, but Sam’s eyes have gone all sad again. Crap. Being mean to Sam is like kicking a puppy. If the puppy was three legged and starving.
Feeling like a jerk, I walk back over to him and perch on a desk upwind of my lovely vomit. “Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the carpet.
“It’s fine,” he says, but I can tell it is anything but fine. Great. I’ve finally worn him down with my bitchy attitude, just like I do with everyone else, and in record time too.
“Just… explain whatever you can. I’ll try not to interrupt.” It’s the best I can do.
Sam’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, you already know that you’re dead,” he begins after a long pause, as if testing to see if I’ll stay true to my word.
I draw in a deep breath and nod. Yes, my death has been established. Death by drowning. I didn’t exactly go out in a blaze of glory, but that’s something I’ll have to come to terms with later.
“That’s the first step,” he says, sitting up straighter as he warms to his topic. “Acceptance. Sometimes it takes people a day, a week, a month. You caught on pretty quick, though. Maybe even set a new record something.”
Records are nice. The only thing I’ve ever set a record in before now is the one hundred meter dash in gym and that’s only because my competition was Rebecca, the fat girl with asthma and Ricky, the kid who had to walk with a cane.
“I told you the number one rule,” Sam continues. “You can’t change the lives of the living. That’s really important, okay? No matter what. You can’t interfere. With anyone.”
“You interfered with me,” I point out.
“I did not interfere, I introduced,” he says, like there is a big difference. “They found out it helps people get pass the acceptance phase a lot easier if they see a familiar face when they cross over. That’s why the whole guide system was established. Kind of like a big brother, big sister kind of thing.”
“What about the levels?” I interrupt again. I know I’m breaking my promise, but I can’t help myself. The questions are just bubbling out, one after the other. There is no way I can hold them back. “What do I have to do to pass them? And who are ‘they’? Like angels or something? Are we ghosts? Can people see us? How do we get out of her
e?”
Sam straightens in his chair. He blinks twice at me, starts to say something, changes his mind. Shakes his head. “Is there something wrong with you?”
“Besides being dead?”
“Ha ha,” he grumbles. “Very funny. To answer your first question, there are five levels in the After. And just so you’re clear, that’s what we call it here. Not Heaven, not Hell, nor Nirvana or Elysium or Valhalla or whatever else you’ve heard it called. Just the After. And before you ask why I don’t know why, okay?”
My mouth snaps shut. Sam smiles thinly.
“Unless you’re some kind of saint, which, let’s face it, you’re not, you start off at Level One.”
“What level are you on?”
“Two,” he says smugly.
“You’ve been dead for seven years and you’re on Level Two?”
“Time works differently here.” His shoulders hunch defensively. “It passes much more slowly. A day here is almost a–”
Whatever he was about to say is drowned out by the long, low tolling of a bell. I ignore it, but Sam leaps to his feet like his jeans have caught on fire.
“We have to go,” he says.
I cock my head to the side. “Huh? You said like five minutes ago the door is locked. You can’t be done explaining the rules. You barely told me anything.”
“I’ll explain the rest later. Come on.” Sam grabs my arm in one hand and a chair in the other. Left with little choice, I let him haul me to the back of the classroom. We stop in front of the large sliding glass door. Through the glass I can see the soccer fields, and beyond them the woods that flank the entire school.
“Stand back,” Sam warns. He raises the chair high above his head, his jaw clenched with determination.
“Wait!”
The chair drops a few inches. Sam’s eyes flash. “What now?”
The Mysterious Death and Life of Winnie Coleman Page 8