My hands curl into fists of frustration as my search yields nothing save raw knuckles from pounding against the wall. I am sealed off completely from whatever is beyond this place, with no visible way in and certainly no way out.
I circle the room like a caged animal, going around and around the gurney so many times I have to change directions before I get dizzy. I need to find a way back to Sam. I need to find a way to save him, before the guilt from leaving him behind devours me from the inside out.
Suddenly an idea strikes me, so obvious and clear that I shake my head at my own stupidity. Of course. Why didn’t I think of it before?
Facing away from the gurney, I stare hard at one of the empty walls. My face tightens with concentration as I begin to visualize my elementary school, drawing on memories old and new. The maroon and white gymnasium. The library. The janitor’s closet. Sam, braced against the art room—
“If you are trying to make a Jump Door, dear, it will not work in here,” a familiar voice says kindly.
I whirl around. My jaw drops. Sitting on the gurney, her mile long legs crossed demurely at the ankles, is the woman whose voice I heard earlier. Except this woman does not belong to such an old, grandmotherly voice. No, this woman belongs on the cover of Vogue.
She is tall and thin, with flawless skin the color of dark chocolate. Her black hair is sheared close to her skull, which only serves to accentuate her high cheekbones, gleaming almond shaped eyes, and teeth that would make a dentist swoon with delight. Her tailored white suit hugs her body, ending just past her elbows and above her ankles to reveal feet that are bare and toenails that have been painted a bright pink.
“A little much, is it not?” she asks me. Her perfect lips curve into a rueful smile. “I am just trying it out for a little while. Honestly, it is a bit too high maintenance for my taste.” Thoughtfully she taps the side of her face. When she drops her finger an ugly mole has appeared, marring the smooth perfection of her cheek. “Better?” she says, flashing a megawatt smile.
“Who – how did you – what are you…” At a loss for words, I bite my lip and fall silent.
“Silly me. I did not introduce myself, did I?” The room echoes with her laughter. It ripples through the air, wind chimes on velvet. “My name is Elysia. You may call me Ellie if you wish. Much more modern, do you not agree? And you must be Winnifred. Or do you prefer Win? Winnie? Fred, perhaps?”
“Win is fine,” I say dazedly.
“Win it is then,” Ellie says, nodding. “Now Win, I have to ask – and please excuse me if this comes across as a bit rude – but why are you not resting? Solace rooms are quite hard to come by, you know. Why, this is the first one I have been in for over three decades!” She gazes at me expectantly, waiting for my answer, but I have no answer to give. My mouth opens. Closes. Helpless, I shrug my shoulders and do my best not to stare.
Until now it has been deceptively easy to think of the After as a normal place. My old classroom, my tree house, my hometown… all things that were familiar. All things that I had seen before. The Unknown was a bit of a shock, but even Craven in all his bloody glory is nothing compared to this woman who has appeared out of thin air. Some part of me understands without needing to be told that she is different. She is, for lack of a better word, more. More than me. More than Sam. More than human.
“This must be quite overwhelming for you,” says Ellie, her voice ripe with sympathy. Unwinding her legs she slides to the edge of the gurney and props her elbows on her knees, then her chin on her hands. “Do not worry, dear. I am not here to hurt you. I want to help you, actually. You really should sit down. You are looking a bit pale.” Her fingers snap and just like that a red leather chair fit for a Queen appears in the middle of the room. “Sit, sit,” she says, gesturing towards the chair with an elegant flick of her wrist. “It will not bite.”
I do as she asks. The leather is buttery smooth and my fingers can’t help but stroke across the rounded armrests.
“Lovely, is it not? That chair once belonged to a Duke, you know. Very stodgy old man. No sense of humor.”
“Why is it here?” I ask.
“Why?” Ellie echoes. One dark eyebrow arches. “I believe you mean how, my dear Win. How could a chair that was burned to ash in the Great London Fire of sixteen hundred and sixty six be here in this room?”
I sink lower into the cushion and tuck one of my legs up. “How could a chair that was burned to ash in the Great London Fire of sixteen hundred and sixty six be here in this room?” I repeat verbatim.
“What an excellent question!” Ellie beams. “Alas, I cannot give you the answer you seek. I do applaud your effort, however. That is a question few have thought to ask. For it, you are to be rewarded.”
The woman, I decide silently, is mad as a hatter.
Ellie tosses her head back, exposing the slim column of her throat. “I shall grant you one door, to where ever you wish to go.”
Doors. I have had enough doors to last a lifetime. The last door I went through was supposed to bring me back to the hallway and instead it dropped me here, a white walled cell with no way out. “No thank you,” I say politely.
Ellie’s lips pucker out in surprise. “Are you certain?”
I nod. Yes, I am certain.
“Very well… If that is your choice…” She leaps gracefully off the gurney and lands on her toes. Standing, she towers over me and I have to crane my neck up to look her in the eye. “Is that you final decision, then?” she asks.
Something in her tone warns me to reconsider. I hesitate, not sure what to do. If Sam was here, he would know. And just like that, my decision is made. “This door – it will take me anywhere?”
Ellie nods. “Yes, anywhere past or present. Any memory you can conjure, any place you have ever read about or yearned to visit. It really is a fabulous gift,” she says, looking rather pleased with herself.
“But I thought Jump Doors couldn’t take you somewhere you haven’t been. And you said before that they don’t work in here.”
The corners of her mouth tighten with amusement. “I said I would grant you one door. I did not say what kind. Jump Doors are only the beginning, my dear. Stepping stones, if you will. Certainly useful, but alas, filled with limitations.”
They really need to come up with a handbook for this place. “So you’re saying I could see my dad? My brother, Brian?” Something coils in my stomach. My throat constricts. “Or my mom?” I manage to ask in a strangled whisper.
“You cannot simultaneously visit the past and the present,” Ellie says slowly. Something flickers in the depths of her eyes – disappointment? annoyance? – but it is gone before it has time to take hold. “Many in the After choose to return to the present to see those they have left behind. I assume your guide has told you our most sacred law?”
“Don’t interfere with the lives of the living.”
“Very good. Well, if that is your request then please stand and–”
“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted. I just asked if I could.” Sweat coats my palms. I rub them on my knees before clasping my hands together and interlocking my fingers. I draw in a deep breath. Exhale slowly through my nose. What the hell am I doing? The right thing, I tell myself determinedly. For once, I am doing the right thing. “I want to go back to Sam.”
“Back to Sam?” Ellie repeats. Her head tilts to the side. Enormous gold hoop earrings that I would swear were not there a minute ago shimmer in the harsh fluorescent light. “Did you not just leave him?”
“Yeah, I did.” And the pain from the guilt is like a punch to the gut. Quick at first, then slow moving through the rest of my body until every fiber of my being aches from it. “But I shouldn’t have. I mean, he’s my guide,” I say hastily, less Ellie get the wrong impression. “And he told me to go. Well, actually he told me go back to the hallway. I don’t know how I ended up here in this sole – solar – uh…”
“Solace room,” Ellie provides helpfully.
“Right. How did I get h
ere, by the way?”
Her narrow shoulders dip up and down. “I have absolutely no idea. If you would like I could let you rest for a year or so. As I said, solace rooms are quite difficult to come by.”
A year or so? “No, no, that’s all right. I, uh, should probably get back to Sam now. He was kind of in trouble.”
“Yes,” she sighs. “He often seems to be.”
Something in her tone has me studying her face very carefully. “Do you know him?” I ask.
“Know who?” She blinks owlishly.
“Sam.”
“Sam…”
“My guide!” I burst out.
“Oh, that Sam. No, I am afraid not.”
“Then how did you know–”
Her hands clap briskly together, cutting me off. “Well,” she says brightly. “Best be getting on, my dear Win. I have other things to do, you know. Stand up, stand up, and face that wall.” She points to the wall directly in front of her, opposite of the one I tried to use to make a Jump Door appear.
I stand up. My gaze locks on the blank wall, my muscles tensing as I wait for a door to appear. Absently I wonder what color it will be – and what the color will signify.
“Now,” says Ellie, stepping beside me. “Click your heels together three times and say there is no place like home!”
I glance at her sideways. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well yes,” she admits, chuckling softly. “Yes I am. I do like you, Win. I just knew I would.”
“I… like you too?”
“Close your eyes,” she says, abruptly all business. “Quickly now. I do not have all decade.”
I pinch my eyelids together so hard I see white spots. I feel a faint pressure on my shoulder – Ellie’s fingers. They burn through my shirt, so hot I gasp and try to squirm away from them.
“Good luck!” she cries, and the fingers that were holding onto my shoulder splay flat across the middle of my back and shove with alarming force.
I fly forward and instinctively throw my hands up to brace myself, expecting to slam into the wall, but the wall is gone, replaced by a dark void that swirls in endless circles and spits bright, angry looking sparks.
I do not tumble gracefully through the darkness this time so much as I plummet head first. My hair tangles around my face, blinding me as I free fall towards the bottom, kicking my legs, flailing my arms, and shrieking bloody murder as my body spins like a bullet.
There is a flash of blinding light and suddenly I’m jerked back, as if someone has put an enormous hook through the back of my sweatshirt. The whip lash of stopping so quickly snaps my head up, and my arms fall limply by my sides as I dangle, helpless as a worm.
I open my mouth, prepared to shriek to the high heavens, but before I can utter a single syllable I am released. I land hard on my feet and crash forward into something solid that catches me right in the gut. Groaning, I stumble back as the room spins dizzily around me. My new surroundings come into focus slowly, just like they did before in the tree house.
Someone bumps me from the side and slides away, muttering an apology under their breath. I rub my eyes and blink, struggling to clear the blurriness from my vision. I see the pool table under the green tinted lights first. The outdated juke box in the corner second. My ears pop, and I hear Jon Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer wailing through the speakers.
The room is impossibly crowded. I take in the men with their leather jackets and sullen expression. The women wearing painted on dresses and mile high hair. My gaze flashes to the neon signs on the walls, and my nose recoils at the acrid scent of beer and smoke and smoothing a little too sweet as I realize where I am.
Holy crap.
I’m in a bar.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Sweet hair.” A man leans towards me and tugs at one of my dreads. He is older than me, late twenties or early thirties, and the goofy smile on his face combined with the half empty glass in his hand tells me is far from sober.
I duck my head and turn away without responding, edging my way down the long wooden bar that runs the length of the room, sucking in my belly as I go to avoid being squished. A few people glance my way before looking elsewhere, their expressions strangely vacant. One woman with curly blond hair teased high in a ponytail blows a long stream of smoke right in my face. I cough, choking on the smoke, and flip her the bird without breaking stride. She chuckles and twists around to murmur something to the man standing behind her. More people press in around me. I shimmy under arms stretching out for drinks. Jump over legs. I am searching for an exit, but the only sign that catches my eye is a blinking red one that points to the ladies room.
I burst into the bathroom choking on smoke and one guy’s particularly strong cologne. The door swings shut behind me, cutting off Bon Jovi mid wail.
It is brighter in here away from the heavy cloud of smoke and dim lights. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust. The floor to ceiling red tile is hideous and makes me feel like I’ve stepped inside someone’s stomach. Two women are crammed together in front of one of the four sinks, their lips puckered and their eyes extra wide as they carefully apply mascara. I manage a thin smile when our eyes catch in the mirror.
“Hi,” I say.
“A little underdressed, ain’t cha?” asks one of the women, looking pointedly at my plain t-shirt and jeans.
“I guess.” I wonder how they can breathe in their skin tight blue dresses. Fabric that tight has to cut off circulation somewhere. Probably to their brains. I don’t have to pee, but I duck inside one of the stalls anyways and lock the door firmly behind me. Taking a moment to clean off the seat with a few wads of toilet paper, I perch on the very edge of it and stare hard at the tile floor.
Where the hell did Ellie send me? This isn’t one of my memories. I have never been to a bar in my life, especially not this sleazy hole in the wall. Could Sam have come here to escape the Unknown? I bite down on my lower lip and draw it between my teeth to worry the silver hoop with my tongue.
Maybe. Maybe he had no choice but to create a Jump Door, even if it meant Craven would be able to follow. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes as I try to reason it all out. Nothing is adding up or making sense. If Sam did somehow manage to get away from Craven, why would he pick a place like this? So he could get lost in the crowd? Still, this doesn’t strike me as somewhere Sam has ever been before. So he wouldn’t have been able to create a Jump Door to get here… right? Damn it. I strike out with my right fist and hit the toilet paper dispenser in frustration. I’m no closer to finding Sam than I was before.
Someone knocks hard on the door, jolting me from my thoughts. I sit upright as I automatically say, “This stall is occupied.”
The knocking turns to pounding.
“Are you deaf? I said someone is in here!”
The entire door begins to rattle on its flimsy metal hinges. Furious, I spring to my feet, unlock the latch, and throw it open so hard it slams into the next stall over and bounces back. I stop it from hitting me by throwing up my left hand. It slaps hard against my palm, but I barely notice the sting. I am too busy staring down the girl who can’t take a hint.
Only slightly taller than me, she has olive skin and sleek black hair that looks natural as opposed to my out of the bottle color. Her features are delicate and refined and would have been quite pretty, if not for the sneer that twists her mouth to the side.
“Are you Winnifred Coleman?” she demands. She has a thick accent and hits the last part of my name hard, making it sound like Winnifredi.
“Who wants to know?” I cross my arms and lean into her as a renewed sense of confidence washes over me. I may not know about Solace Rooms or Jump Doors or where Sam is, but I do know how to hold my own against a chick with a bad attitude.
The two women in the skin blue dresses are still hovering around the sink. One look from Sneer Face has them fighting each other to be the first one out the door.
“My name is Francesca and my father he own th
is bar,” says the girl, tossing back her hair. It slips behind her shoulders, revealing a sparkling red top. Her dark eyes narrow to slits. “You are not welcome here Fresh Dead,” she spits.
Fresh dead? That’s a new one. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I said you is not welcome here!”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
“You will leave now,” she hisses. One heavily ringed finger jabs at my chest. I slap her hand away, not hard, just enough to tell her I don’t play those sorts of games. She gasps as if I have struck her across the face. “You dare touch me?”
“Listen Fran, I’m just trying to find my friend. I didn’t want to come here. I don’t even know where here is.”
“You are at Carlitos,” says Francesca, is if it should be obvious.
I strikes me suddenly that I am talking to another dead person. For all she appears to be a regular girl with a bad taste in clothes and a snotty attitude, Francesca is really a dead girl with a bad taste in clothes and a snotty attitude. At least I think she is. The rules of the After are still pretty hazy. Am I in the past, or the present? If this is Sam’s memory, does that mean this girl knows him? Or is she a memory within a memory, like the people I saw when Sam and I were walking through my hometown? Not dead, but not alive either – just recreations to fill a void.
“You do not listen! I said, you have to leave.” Francesca uses both arms to push against my chest and I don’t think, I just react.
My hands shoot out and grab her by her spindly arms. I shove her backwards into the bathroom counter and then hold her there while my face hovers an inch from her own. “Listen, bitch. I don’t know what is going on or who you are or how the hell I even got here, okay? All I need to know is where I can find Sam. You got that?”
Francesca strains against my grip, twisting left and right. I hold fast. If I can pin down fifty pounds of wriggling five year old, I can subdue one skinny girl. She releases a string of words in a language that sounds like Spanish. “You should not be here,” she says finally, breathing heavily as she resorts back to her accented English. “You must leave!”
The Mysterious Death and Life of Winnie Coleman Page 13