The Afterlife Academy

by Frank L. Cole

  “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take a walk after school to your place? You could show me where your dad parks his armored truck.” Mo peered over Charlie’s head, hamming it up for the amusement of his buddies.

  “He doesn’t park the truck at the apartments. He has to get it from the garage at work.” Charlie stared at a smidgeon of cheese stuck to the cafeteria table. Was that cheese from his sandwich, or was it there from a previous lunch? Charlie began to wonder how often the janitor cleaned the tables.

  Mo released his pinching grip on Charlie and leaned back in his chair. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  Charlie shook his head quickly. “No. I’m not smart. Oh, wait. Were you comparing me to you?”

  Mo’s lips curled upward, but his smile wavered. “I guess there’s no point talking to you about your worthless dad and his pathetic job. So why don’t we just take a walk to the bathroom instead?”

  “You ready to do as I say?” Walter piped up. “Okay. Slowly turn, and stare Mo right in the eyes. Don’t blink!” he instructed.

  Charlie flinched. There was no way he could do that without blinking.

  “I’m serious, Charlie. Do it!”

  Charlie gulped and followed the command. Mo, laughing at some inside joke Oswald had shared, had his eyes closed. Charlie found himself staring at the pimple-pocked cheek of the overgrown orangutan.

  “Whoa, Mo, check him out!” Vincent said. “You made him mad. Look out!” He drumrolled his hands against the table as the suspense began to build.

  Mo’s eyes leveled with Charlie’s.

  “Now, repeat after me,” Walter said. “Do you think you actually scare me?”

  Charlie’s jaw felt like it was wired shut, but he pried it open. “Do you think you actually scare me?”

  Mo looked baffled. “Yeah, I do.” He grabbed Charlie’s shirt collar with his free hand and yanked him forward. “In fact, I know I do.”

  “Grab his hand,” Walter said. “Don’t hesitate!”

  Walter was going to get him killed. But he had gone too far to turn back now. Charlie limply took hold of Mo’s hand, and Mo cackled.

  “Look, he’s trying to hold my hand!”

  “Squeeze it, Charlie. Don’t hold back,” Walter instructed confidently.

  Charlie took a deep breath and squeezed.

  Crunch.

  The sound carried across two cafeteria tables. Several of Charlie’s classmates turned to look because of Mo’s shriek of pain. He clamped his mouth shut, and his eyes darted back and forth from his hand to Charlie’s own shocked face.

  “Let…go!” Mo gasped.

  Charlie wanted to. But Walter wouldn’t let him. Just like the night before, Walter was channeling his own energy through Charlie’s body. Only now their strength had combined to form a death grip on Mo’s hand.

  Mo’s face turned from white to green to purple. He pulled back his fist that had been gripping Charlie’s shoulder for a punch, but appeared to lose momentum. Wheeler slung his arm around Charlie’s neck in a tight headlock, trying to wrench him away from Mo.

  “Tell them to back off!” Walter ordered.

  Charlie immediately obeyed. “Tell your friends to back off, or I’ll squeeze harder!” The pain in Mo’s eyes scared Charlie, but filled him with confidence.

  “Back…off,” Mo whined. “Back off!”

  Wheeler scooted back, letting go of Charlie’s neck, unsure of what to do with his hands.

  The table crowded with people watching, whispering, and pointing.

  “Okay, Charlie. Just so you know, there’s a teacher coming over here,” Walter warned. “I think it’s time to let go.”

  Charlie could see the cafeteria aide parting the wave of students. Just before she arrived at the table, Charlie squeezed Mo’s hand extra hard. “Next time you touch me, I’ll snap your hand off!” Both he and Walter released their grip. “And yours, too!” Charlie turned and pointed at Wheeler’s confused face.

  Mo stood, clutching his hand close to his chest, his eyes a mixture of pain and rage. Charlie noticed tears in his eyes. Part of him actually wanted to apologize.

  “What’s going on here?” the aide asked as she walked up.

  Charlie couldn’t speak. The realization of what he had done was hitting him. His heart raced, his stomach gurgled. If he didn’t escape the cafeteria immediately, he was going to have an accident.

  “Someone needs to start talking right now!” the aide ordered.

  Mo was silent.

  “Charlie broke Mo’s hand.”

  “Shut up, Wheeler!” Mo hissed through his clenched teeth.

  Wheeler looked puzzled. “But he did, didn’t he? Isn’t that what—”

  “I said, shut up!” Mo’s red-rimmed eyes glared at Wheeler, and the sniveling lackey promptly clamped his lips together.

  The aide looked from Charlie to Mo. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. Let’s get you to the school nurse, and then the office. That looks pretty bad, Mo.” Then she spun around and faced Charlie. “You too, Mr. Dewdle. I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain yourself to the principal.”

  “The principal?” Charlie whimpered. “But—”

  “No buts. Stand up and let’s go.”

  “Get up, Charlie,” Walter said. “Grab your things, but do it like you don’t even care.”

  Charlie stood, fumbled with his backpack strap, tripped over the bench, and had to be supported by Terry and a couple of the other kids still standing close to the table. His knees felt wobbly.

  Walter groaned. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

  Charlie muffled a burp and choked back the bile from his stomach. Don’t throw up! Please, don’t throw up! he begged himself. The only time he had ever visited the principal’s office was to receive an award for outstanding grades.

  “Just get out of the cafeteria before you pass out. And don’t look at anybody and…uh…frown. Like you’re mad at the world.”

  Too many instructions. Charlie needed a pen and paper to take down notes. He did his best to follow Walter’s advice, but he suspected he looked more like a lunatic than a rebel.

  “Let me get this straight,” Principal Epperson said to Charlie, after he’d talked alone with both Ms. Buttars and Mo. The lunchroom aide sat against the wall watching Charlie like a hawk, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Despite what Ms. Buttars has been saying, Maurice has informed me that what happened in the cafeteria was just an accident. He said you had nothing to do with his injury. Do you agree with that?”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “Mo said that?”

  “Is that not what happened?” Mr. Epperson asked. “Because Ms. Buttars here”—he pointed to the lunchroom aide—“says that she saw you squeezing Maurice’s hand.”

  “I told you already,” Mo grunted. “My hand got stuck between the tables. Charlie was helping me get it out.”

  Charlie shook his head in confusion and tried to process what Mo was saying. “What?” he said, shooting a quick glance over at Mo. Mo’s left eye twitched, and Charlie understood the warning.

  “Okay, genius. Didn’t I say you were in the clear?” Walter’s voice sounded in Charlie’s mind. “Now agree with Mo, and let’s get out of here.”

  “Uh—um—yeah, that’s right,” Charlie stammered. “I was just trying to help.”

  “You’re certain? Both of you?”

  Charlie and Mo nodded in agreement.

  “Mr. Epperson, I was there, and I assure you—” Ms. Buttars argued, but the principal held up his hand.

  “I appreciate your bringing this to my attention, but if Maurice says it was an accident, then we should be praising Charlie, not punishing him.”

  A bug the size of a grapefruit could’ve flown into Charlie’s open mouth and he wouldn’t have noticed. How was this happening? He’d thought for sure his days at Cunningham were over.

  Mr. Epperson glanced up at the clock above his bookshelf. “Well then, last period wi
ll be ending shortly. Maurice, you’ll wait here until your mother arrives to take you home. Charlie, you’re free to go back to class.”

  “That was amazing!” Charlie shouted, slamming his locker shut with a vigorous bang.

  “Settle down, man. It’s not like you did anything that great,” Walter said, edginess in his voice. “You know why Mo did that, right?”

  Charlie paused. “I think so.”

  “A whole bunch of your classmates saw what you did to him. He’s not going to rat you out to the principal and be known as a tattletale. But eventually, he’s going to come after you.”

  Charlie sighed. Leave it to Walter to ruin the mood. “He’ll probably pound me into a bloody pulp. But not if you help me.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “How did you do that anyways? You were really brilliant!”

  “I wasn’t planning on doing anything like that, but when he grabbed you, it made me mad. I think when I get mad, I can do things I normally can’t. Maybe it channels my energy or something.”

  “You’re like the Hulk! I still can’t believe it…Mo Horvath! The guy’s a monster!”

  Walter laughed. “Hey, I probably won’t say this too much, but you did pretty good yourself.”

  Charlie smiled, his eyes unfocused as his memories replayed in his mind, but then he shook the thoughts away. “Whatever. I almost peed my pants.” The last bell rang overhead, and Charlie got to his feet.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you and Mo were talking about earlier,” Walter said. “I wonder if your dad is involved after all.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with him. He’s been a driver since I was a baby.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What’s so interesting about it?”

  The hallways began to fill up with students, and something unusual happened. People actually noticed Charlie and started talking to him.

  “Nice job, dude,” Terry Romans said as he passed Charlie’s locker. “You really gave it to him.”

  “Thanks.” Charlie blushed.

  “I heard you broke three of his fingers,” said Patrick Dorrell. “And like six of his carpal bones.” Patrick had been Charlie’s friend in second grade, but they had rarely spoken since.

  “You actually broke his hand?” a girl’s voice asked from behind. Charlie turned and almost dropped his backpack when he saw Melissa Bitner standing by his locker.

  “Well, I—not exactly,” Charlie stammered. His chest swelled with pride. But only for a moment.

  “I thought you were better than that, Charlie Dewdle,” she said. Then she flipped a lock of hair behind her ear, nudged Patrick with her elbow, and pushed off down the hallway.

  Charlie didn’t know what to focus on—the fact that Melissa Bitner thought what he did was wrong, or the fact that—

  “Melissa Bitner knows my name! First and last!”

  Walter sighed. “That was definitely the takeaway.”

  Alton Tremonton marched along the path leading to Darwin’s office. He carried a handful of manila folders, which he straightened whenever his quickened pace jostled one loose. All around him, Afterlife Academy cadets hustled through the arena, firing weapons and running drills, but Alton didn’t acknowledge any of them.

  “Hey, look! It’s that guy from Categorizing! The one with the pig clock,” Alton heard one of the younger cadets announce. He pressed forward before anyone else could recognize him.

  One day, he told himself. One day, you’ll prove to everyone where you belong. Just be patient.

  “Ah, good. Thank you for coming so quickly,” Darwin said as Alton entered the office and walked past the large stone lion.

  “Did I have a choice?” Alton sneered.

  Darwin managed a slight smile. “Did you bring me what I asked for?”

  Alton handed over the stack of envelopes.

  Darwin removed a pair of bifocals from his suit coat pocket. “These are the personal files of the most recently Categorized?”

  Alton nodded. He glanced around the room and admired the mahogany-colored bookshelves. So many fancy books. Darwin also had a beautiful window that looked out on the massive Academy arena. Alton had none.

  Darwin flipped through one of the folders, the shuffling of papers the only sound in the office. “I just don’t understand it. This file doesn’t indicate anything unusual with this cadet.”

  “Why would it?” Alton asked dryly.

  Darwin glanced up over his bifocals. “Alton, how long have you been administering placement exams? Thirty years, is it?”

  Alton shrugged. “Give or take.”

  “And do you personally vouch for every cadet you send me?”

  “What is this about?” Alton leaned forward, trying to see over the edge of the folder in Darwin’s hand.

  Darwin sighed. “We’ve run into a little bit of a problem with one of our newer Agents.”

  “Which one? Do I know him?”

  Darwin narrowed his eyes and stared at Alton. “Oh, I think you do. Unfortunately, it’s confidential. I’m not at liberty to disclose information on the matter to any unauthorized personnel.”

  “Well, I have applied to the Academy many times. For some reason, the board continually rejects my requests.”

  “And I bet that’s made you angry. Has it not?”

  Alton cocked his head to one side. “What are you implying?”

  The two held each other’s gaze for several intense moments.

  Darwin’s eyes softened, and he removed his glasses. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m just worried, that’s all. I put the lives of others in jeopardy every day with my position. I need to have thorough information about my Agents. I need to feel confident they’ll perform to the best of their abilities. You do guarantee my confidence, do you not?”

  “That’s why I come to work every day,” Alton said, but his sarcasm was lost on his colleague. Darwin appeared satisfied by his response.

  “Very good. You may go.”

  Alton swiveled and headed for the door.

  “Oh, Alton,” Darwin said. Alton stopped and turned. “I saw that you applied once again for Team Leader. It’s a coveted position, and there are a number of fine candidates vying for the spot. I’m sure you’d make an excellent choice. I’ll pull some strings with the board to see if we can squeeze you in. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like another rejection to me,” Alton said as he shoved through the door and exited the office.

  That night, the Dewdle family sat down to dinner as usual. Charlie smiled almost nonstop as he slurped each bite of delicious, gooey lasagna. He couldn’t get over what he had accomplished that day at school. Charlie had beaten Mo Horvath! And suddenly, everyone had started acting differently around him. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was popular, but besting Mo in the packed cafeteria definitely boosted his chances of no longer being labeled a total geek. Even Melissa Bitner was taking notice. Yes, she seemed annoyed with his methods, but she didn’t know what it was like to be in Charlie’s shoes every day at Cunningham Middle School. Being picked on. Being ignored. Maybe Walter was right. All Charlie had to do was stick up for himself and his problems with Mo and every other moron would come to an end.

  “That’s it!” Walter exclaimed in Charlie’s ear.

  Charlie yelped.

  “What’s wrong? Is it too hot? Did you bite your tongue?” Charlie’s mother asked.

  “I’m okay,” he mumbled. He had bitten his tongue, but not because of his lasagna’s temperature. There had to be other Guardian Agents who handled themselves more appropriately, particularly during a family dinner.

  “All right. Just listen to me.” Walter’s voice returned to normal volume. “I know you can’t answer, but I want you to do something extremely important.”

  Charlie didn’t respond. He kept his mouth clamped tight and stared at his dinner plate.

  “Sniff once if you understand.”

  Charlie sniffed.


  “Your dad works at Carmichael Armored Vehicles.” Walter paused to laugh almost wildly. “This is so awesome! Okay, ask your dad who he works for.”

  Charlie fidgeted with his fork and scattered a few peas across his plate. He looked at his dad and shook his head. They had a healthy father-and-son relationship, but his dad had come straight from his stressful job—he hadn’t even changed out of his uniform—and he enjoyed eating his dinner in peace.

  “Just do it!” Walter ordered. “Ask him about his boss!”

  Charlie lowered his fork. “Hey, Dad. Who…uh…who do you work for?”

  Mr. Dewdle looked up from his plate, his mouth semi-full of lasagna and salad. “Carmichael Armored Vehicles.” Then he took a long gulp of water from his glass.

  Charlie nodded and exhaled. “I know that. I meant what’s your boss’s name?”

  “Why?” his dad asked. “Is this some sort of school project or something?”

  “Uh…”

  “Yes! Say yes!” Walter blurted out. “That’s a perfect reason!”

  “Yeah, we have a homework assignment.”

  Mr. Dewdle wiped his mouth with a napkin and gestured to his wife to pass the platter of lasagna. “I work for a guy named Howser. Lawrence Howser. He means well, I guess. He’s a young guy. Inexperienced. But he has his graduate degree. So…”

  “That’s why you’re going to get your master’s, dear,” Charlie’s mom whispered. “So you don’t have to put up with what your father goes through every day.”

  “Right.” His dad ladled another heaping serving onto his plate.

  “Great! Thanks,” Charlie said.

  “No, that’s not good enough,” Walter said. “You need to dig deeper. This could be the breakthrough we need to help us get out of this mess. Ask him who’s in charge of Howser. Who’s the top guy?”

  Charlie scratched his ear, and his knee began to knock up and down against the bottom of the table. “So…there’s Howser, but who’s his boss? Who runs the whole company?”

  “Of Carmichael? Like the CEO?” Mr. Dewdle asked, before shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

  “Yes!” Walter exclaimed.