Chasing Before

by Lenore Appelhans

  “We’ll put you in rooms across the hall for now, and if you want to move, you can tell me.” Libby scrawls something on one of her tattered sheets and hands it to Megan. Then she shuts the binder and taps the cover with her pencil. “Megan, go ahead and show Neil to his room. I want to talk to Felicia for a moment.”

  Neil raises one eyebrow but gives me a peck on the cheek and follows Megan. “See you in a second.”

  Once they’re out of earshot, Libby leads me to a bench and we sit down. “I think we need a second opinion regarding your mental fitness. You should go out for the seraphim guard. That’s the best way to develop the kind of skills you’d need to expose the Morati.”

  “But Neil wants to be a muse. Couldn’t I develop those skills another way?”

  Libby pats my arm. “You don’t have to share everything. I learned that the hard way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I came here with someone as well. My fiancé.” She pauses as if she’s lost in thought. “Life on Earth is finite, so we make promises easily. When we say ‘forever’ there, we know that it will end sometime. In the afterlife ‘forever’ is a much bigger promise. And it’s one that most of us are not capable of keeping.”

  My skin prickles. “But some people can.”

  I need to believe that this is true. Neil has saved me more than once already. I love him and I can’t lose him.

  She shrugs. “Maybe. But Jeremy and I couldn’t. It was his idea to camp out on the side of Interstate 70. I found it too difficult not to blame him for us getting murdered.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Look, all I’m saying is that you should do what’s best for you. You’re a person first, and part of a couple second.”

  I stand up, and immediately feel light-headed. “Yeah. I’ll keep it in mind.” I don’t care what Libby says. Neil and I will always be together. And I’d bet my afterlife on that.

  three

  LIBBY AND I WALK to the dorms in silence, ascend four flights of stairs, and then enter a wide hallway. With its red-and-gold-patterned carpet and white walls, it looks like a fancy hotel rather than a dorm. A bellboy pushing a luggage rack wouldn’t be the least bit out of place.

  Libby leads me to room 532 and opens the door. The room is completely bare except for beige wall-to-wall carpeting and a window. “This looks comfy,” I say, unable to stop the biting edge to my words. Thanks to her unwanted relationship advice, Libby’s not exactly my favorite person right now.

  “It’s up to you to materialize your own furniture.”

  When I respond only with a glare, she turns on her heel abruptly and walks off. “Neil’s in 531,” she calls. “Good luck.”

  Good riddance. I slam the door to my empty room, cross the hall, and raise my knuckles to knock on Neil’s door. Finding that it’s open a crack, I peek in. He’s laughing with Megan. He has already changed into an orange T-shirt and set the grass giraffes on his old desk from home. His curtains are there too, drawn over the window above his bed and his guitar stand. The only item I don’t recognize is a wooden kitchen chair. Megan sits on it with her hands tucked neatly under her thighs.

  “I’m here.” I push the door lightly and step in. “Libby left.”

  “Hey! Megan is ready to give us a tour. Isn’t that cool?” Neil asks.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It occurs to me that Neil’s bed looks lonely without his cat, Sugar, on it. It will look even lonelier without me in it with him at night.

  “You might want to change clothes.” Megan giggles. “Unless you want to attract more demon hunters.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I insist. I’d have to search long and hard through my memory to find anything orange in my wardrobe, and I don’t feel up to it right now. “I can’t recall ever wearing orange, to be honest.”

  “It doesn’t have to be something you wore, just something you touched.” Megan kicks up her legs. “I borrowed these socks from my sister’s Halloween costume. She dressed up as a pumpkin.”

  Neil puts his hands behind his back and then grins widely, his dimples on full display. “Before we go, I want to give you something.” He steps forward and extends his right hand, revealing a small box wrapped in silver paper, with silver bells dangling from a gold ribbon. It’s an exact replica of the gift he gave me in the car before we crashed. And died.

  My fingers fly to the hollow at the base of my throat. The skep charm. I never had the chance the wear it.

  “Go ahead.” Neil shakes it so that the bells swing back and forth. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but I think it’s time we finally celebrate your birthday.”

  It’s sweet how he’s trying to make up for disappointing me concerning our living arrangements. I take the box from him and rip into the paper, unwrapping the white fabric-covered ring box. I pop it open eagerly. It’s empty.

  “The skep charm’s not there.” I slam the box back into his palm harder than I intended, and the hinge snaps closed.

  Neil’s face falls when he reopens the box. “I don’t understand. Where is it?”

  “Maybe you never touched what was actually inside,” Megan suggests. “You have to have had physical contact with something in order to materialize it.”

  “I did touch it,” Neil insists. “I put it into the box.”

  “Try again,” Megan says.

  Neil sucks in a breath and tips his head slightly forward. It’s what he always does when he materializes something. But the charm still doesn’t come.

  “Wait,” I say. “I touched it too. Let me try.” I can see the charm’s beehive shape clearly in my mind, but when I try to produce it, it doesn’t work. I’ve never had that happen before.

  “Maybe you can’t make it appear because it was made out of traveler’s silver,” Megan says.

  “But it was gold,” I say.

  “Argentum viaticum can be gold plated.” Megan slips her hands into the side pockets of her dress. “Anyway, it’s the only substance I know of that can’t be replicated. But it’s not found on Earth. It can only be mined in the higher levels.”

  Neil retrieves the crumbled wrapping paper from his beige carpet and deposits it on his desk with the empty box. “Well, obviously the charm was not made of that, then.”

  Megan shrugs and then jumps up from her chair. “Yeah, of course not. I’ve only seen traveler’s silver in the obols that muses use to travel back and forth between here and Earth to do their jobs.”

  “Right! Muses travel back to Earth.” That’s what the brochure said too. It makes Level Three instantly more appealing. I could go back and visit my dad, and Grammy, if she’s still alive. Even though it seemed like I was in Level Two for an eternity, Julian told me that time worked differently there and that only two Earth years had passed since I’d died.

  Megan walks to the still-open door. “Shall we go?”

  “Sorry.” Neil draws me into a hug. I let him. He whispers into my ear, “Maybe I can find another way to cheer you up. Later.” It’s teasing and seductive at the same time, and it kinda makes me want to push Megan out the door and lock it behind her.

  But we follow Megan out for the grand tour around the campus. She leads us down a side road between the dorm buildings. “First I want to show you one of my favorite places, Western Bridge Park.”

  When we emerge from the passageway, we’re maybe twenty paces south of the bridge. It’s massive stone, but the way it’s constructed, it looks more like a footbridge you’d see over a babbling brook. It slopes gently upward from both ends with no support beams or girders. Its size makes it sturdy, and there are barriers and railings for added safety. Those who cross the bridge do so purposefully, but there’s a group of healers wearing red dresses lounging on benches nearby.

  The bridge spans a canyon approximately the width of a football field. Steep, rocky cliffs overlook a river that flows at least a thousand feet down below. It reminds me of the Royal Gorge above the Arkans
as River in Colorado.

  As we walk along the chasm heading north past the bridge, Megan answers our questions about Level Three. She explains that no one really knew why people stopped arriving from Level Two. The only new trainees that came in were people who had been murdered, so class sizes were small, and everyone got to know one another.

  Then, after about eight years, the first refugees from Level Two trickled in and started sharing their stories about the battle with the Morati. It was also at this time that the records room was destroyed.

  The bombing of the records room did not cause any structural impairment, and the population was told that there was nothing to worry about, and that the damage had been caused by an unfortunate accident. The only ones who knew otherwise were the heads of the careers, Libby, a few others, and now us. Those who’d been around during the era of limited arrivals questioned the need for the newly formed security force, but since those positions were filled mainly by seraphim guard trainees who were known to carry swords and knives anyway, the grumbles soon died out.

  We cut through another break in the row of dorms that seems to go on forever into the distance. We wander along the edges of sports fields, watching the rivalries play out between the various careers. Cheers of “Don’t lose your spirit!” erupt as a spirit trapper in a purple uniform tackles a green-clad caretaker.

  “As you can see,” Megan says, “no one is worried at all about the Morati. And personally, I don’t think you need to worry either. Libby can be a bit of a drama queen.”

  Megan’s assessment of Libby seems fair, but I can’t let my guard down yet. The low hum of the Morati’s signal buzzes through my veins, and if I can sense them, then they must be aware of me. With my luck they’re probably waiting until I’ll be alone and vulnerable in my room.

  Once we reach Eastern Avenue, we turn right and enter a steady flow of students as they make their way to and from classes. Megan points out the classroom where a new muse orientation will take place tomorrow. She explains that most of the career tracks have new orientations every few days now that the population is rapidly expanding.

  We’ve reached the lawn in front of the Muse Collection Library when Megan stops. “One of the demon hunters is flagging you down.”

  I turn in the direction that Megan’s head is tilted. Coming toward us is a guy in tight yellow workout gear who seems incredibly familiar somehow. His dimpled grin is on full display, and he struts like he’s a very big deal. When he gets closer, he holds out his arms for a hug. “Felicia! I thought that was you.” I shrink away, and he drops his arms casually to his side. I have no idea who he is.

  Megan gets giggly again and says, “Hey, Nate.”

  Neil whips his head around. “Nate?” His voice is all strangled and weird. That’s when I place the guy. He’s the one in the family portrait on Neil’s mantel. Back on Earth whenever I’d ask Neil about the other boy in the photo, he’d change the subject or flat-out ignore me. The one time I pressed him, it led to a fight, so I finally gave up. I never saw him in any of Neil’s memories either, because Neil was very careful to skip over anything from his freshman year of high school. Was Nate the reason? Nate has the same curly hair as Neil, though Nate’s is darker, almost black, as well as longer and floppier.

  Nate kisses Megan on the cheek, which makes her blush, and then slaps Neil on the back. “Good to see you again, Little Brother.” If this is Neil’s older brother, then Neil hid something seriously huge from me.

  Neil pats Nate on the arm, as if trying to ascertain if he’s real or not. Nate turns to me and squeezes my shoulders. Before I can ask how he knows me, Neil shoves him, and not in a playful way. “Leave her alone,” Neil growls. I’ve never seen him behave so aggressively. If he hates his brother this much, it could be why he never told me he even had one.

  Nate backs away from us. “Still haven’t forgiven me?” He chuckles and then lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Guess you’ll have to get over it, since I’m the head trainer for the demon hunters.” He nods at me in approval. “Excellent choice of career, by the way.”

  “Oh, I’m not joining the demon hunters. I just like this dress.”

  Neil squares his shoulders and regains his composure. “I’m over it.” He puts his arm around my neck like he’s staking his claim.

  Nate raises one eyebrow. “If you say so. Anyway, I’m glad to see you two back together. Always thought you made a cute couple.”

  “Um, thanks?” I scrunch my forehead. Someone who already came through must have told him that Neil and I were separated in Level Two. But that doesn’t explain the “back together” part. That assumes he knew me on Earth, which he didn’t.

  Nobody says a word. The air feels charged between us.

  “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Nate,” I say as sincerely as possible. “I wish I could say I’ve heard all about you, but I can’t. Neil kept you a secret.” I risk a quick glance at Neil and notice his clenched jaw and fists. Nate definitely gets under his skin. It’s a side to Neil I’ve not seen much of, that’s for sure. It hits me that as close as I am to him, I know only the version of Neil that he’s shown me. He could be hiding countless versions of himself beneath his usually calm exterior. It would be a wholly different experience to see Neil through his brother’s eyes.

  Nate looks at me in confusion. “Were you hit over the head or something?”

  Is he asking about my death? “Not exactly. I died in a car accident. I suppose a head injury could’ve been a part of it.”

  “Maybe, but head trauma and amnesia don’t follow you to the afterlife.” Nate rubs the back of his head. “If they did, my skull would still be caved in, thanks to that coward who did me in with a hammer.”

  “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that someone murdered you,” Neil says with a very un-Neil-like smirk.

  Megan gasps, looking wounded. Neil backpedals, realizing too late that Megan might have been murdered too. “I’m sorry, Megan. I—I didn’t mean—”

  “You get into a lot of car accidents?” Nate asks me, interrupting Neil’s stuttering apology.

  “No,” I say. “Only the one that killed me. The day before my eighteenth birthday.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nate shakes his head. “You didn’t die in that accident. I met you six weeks later in the hospital.”

  four

  NATE’S WORDS do not compute. “You must be confusing me with someone else.” I try to laugh, but it comes out choked.

  “See for yourself.” Nate darts forward and lines up his palm against mine.

  I’m immediately sucked into his memory. He’s walking down a hall that smells strongly of antiseptic and rotting flowers, and it takes me a second to adjust. Because exactly like all those times I rented memories off the net in Level Two, I’m inside this stranger’s head. I’m seeing what he sees, thinking what he thinks, feeling what he feels.

  Nate double-checks Neil’s room number. He’s been spaced out the past day—his jetlag is killer. Hence the “531” scrawled on his skin with a black Sharpie lifted from the nurse’s station.

  An orderly whizzes by, pushing an empty bed with rumpled sheets. Nate scans the room numbers until he’s outside 531. He puffs out his chest and hopes for the best.

  He makes his grand entrance back into Neil’s life after nearly four years away. Neil is sitting up in his bed. He wears a normal T-shirt and a pair of shorts over a long cast on his left leg. The cast extends all the way from his midthigh to his foot, and it hangs on a pulley.

  There’s a girl next to him, holding his hand. Short, spiky brown hair. Long legs. Neil’s so into this girl, it takes him a minute to notice that Nate is even in the room. Finally Neil squints up at Nate, and then his eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything.

  Best to plunge right in. “Hey, Little Brother,” Nate says. “Stoked you pulled through. Dad called and told me about the crash. Said some bastard stole a police car for a joyride.”

  “I wondered how long it wou
ld take for you to show your face around here again.” Neil leans forward with a wince, and the girl tucks another pillow behind his back. “Have you been to see Dad yet?”

  Nate ignores his question. Instead he swaggers over to the girl and extends his hand. “Name’s Nate. Neil’s brother. The pleasure is all yours.”

  She looks up at Nate with her huge brown eyes and shaky smile. She takes Nate’s hand politely. “I’m Felicia. Neil’s girlfriend.” There’s an angry red scar on her temple. And fading bruises that clash with her porcelain skin. She’s banged up. Picture-perfect damsel in distress. And she looks like Gracie, which could explain why Neil’s in love with her.

  “You never told me you had a brother,” Felicia says.

  “Half brother,” Neil clarifies.

  There are no free chairs in the small room. The windowsill is covered with get-well cards. Nate sits on the end of Neil’s bed. Then he pulls the Sharpie out of his pocket and uncaps it.

  “Better sign this before space runs out. How’d you get to be so popular? Dealing drugs?” Nate asks. Doodles and signatures compete for top billing on Neil’s cast. The only splashes of white are in awkward places, like under his thigh and the back of his ankle.

  Neil flinches. “Don’t bother.”

  Nate shrugs and poises the pen above Neil’s ankle. “I’m crashing at Vic’s. Good to see the old gang again.” He flashes his sincerest grin, the one he usually reserves for angry parents and highway patrolmen. “Ever hear anything from Gracie?”