“I’m Tommy.” He extended his hand which Anna shook without hesitation.
“I’m Anna, Bridget’s adjustment companion.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Anna, and it’s really good to see you, Bridget,” Tommy said, still grinning. “Like I said, I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“I’d say the same but I don’t know where here is.”
“Ah-ah.” Anna waggled a finger at Tommy when he opened his mouth. “I’d prefer Bridget receives all the information in the proper briefing.”
Tommy’s attention flicked to Anna and then back to me. He held his hands up in surrender, a grin spreading over his face. “Okay.”
“I’m so not liking the expression on your face right now,” I said, scowling at him.
“I’m just complying with the lady’s request.”
“Uh-huh.” I scanned the room again. Those with indifferent expressions were in professional dress, much like Evil Barbie, and those in varying stages of panic were wearing the different coloured jumpsuits of their professions. I turned back to Tommy and checked out his jumpsuit. It was mauve, the same as mine. I gestured to it. “So, you’re a facilitator?”
The room collectively sucked down a shocked breath and took yet another step back for us. Obviously, all our metal matchbox compatriots were fully briefed on the paradoxical rule of not talking about your job role despite being clad in a jumpsuit whose colour declared what your job was. Ah, the rules of the afterlife.
“Bridget, how many times, hon?” Anna hissed and checked over her shoulders, throwing apologetic glances in all directions.
“Ah, I’ve missed you, Bridget,” Tommy said, his smile stretching wider.
The screech of metal against metal echoed around the room. It took me a few seconds to realise it was someone sliding bolts open and not the walls closing in. There was no one doing that on the inside that I could see, so it had to be on the other side of the door. We’d been bolted in the metal matchbox room? First no tea and then this? It was just not a good start to the day.
A red light flashed above us in the centre of the ceiling and a man in a black-and-white checked jumpsuit, who had been hovering silently by the door, began undoing all the bolts on this side. I had an urge to shout for him to stop. If we were going somewhere that needed bolts on both sides of the doors I didn’t think that was exactly the type of place I wanted to be.
The door opened inward and a guard on the inside of the room stepped into the doorway, blocking our way out. He motioned people forward and checked the slips of paper they handed him. Only then did he inch slightly to the side to allow them to upright limbo past him. People moved towards him. I stayed where I was, like a rock in the ocean. Anna walked a few steps and turned, motioning me to follow. I didn’t.
“Come on, Bridget,” Tommy mumbled as he walked past. “How bad can it be?”
Chapter Four
I followed Tommy out with Anna’s insistent urging. The metal matchbox opened into a wall-to-ceiling beige corridor. Despite it being wide enough for four people to walk comfortably abreast, everyone walked in pairs, the maladjusts with their responsible adults. It reminded me of school trips. If Anna tried to make me hold her hand if we had to cross a road it would not end well for her. Then again, maybe I should, since I did get run over by a bus.
At the dull clang of the metal door slamming closed behind us, the whole procession jerked to a halt. As one, we all turned to look behind us. The guard who had checked our papers and let us out of the metal matchbox of death was oblivious to our attention. He headed into a small room off the corridor that looked distinctly like a guardhouse.
“Come on, folks. Let’s keep this moving.” Another guard in the same black-and-white checked jumpsuit called from the head of our column and waved us on.
I don’t know why I assumed they were guards. They didn’t have weapons or Kevlar vests or anything else that would make me think that. It was just the way they moved that gave me that impression. And the way they wore their jumpsuits. In the alive world, black-and-white checked uniforms usually meant chefs, but there was something a little more ominous about these guys.
With one more glance over my shoulder I turned back and followed the shuffling procession into a small room at the end of the corridor. It was the size of our kitchen. Unlike our kitchen, though, it had a projector screen at the front of the room and four rows of chairs facing it. At the back of the room sat a projector. All the responsible adults ushered their maladjusts into the seats and then hovered around the perimeter of the room. It was just like school. But then I was beginning to understand that so much of the afterlife was.
Tommy motioned me to a seat next to him at the left end of the second row from the front but Anna, obviously having decided he was a bad influence, guided me to the right-hand side of the row. I looked at the nervous middle-aged man twisting his fingers together, his left knee bouncing and sweat beading on his upper lip. I was absolutely not sitting next to him.
“Excuse me, can I just squeeze past, please?” I asked and shuffled along the row until I made it all the way to Tommy.
“Your adjustment companion doesn’t look too happy with you,” Tommy said as he moved up a seat and gave me his so I wouldn’t have to squeeze past him too.
“Well, she ate my omelette this morning so I don’t really care,” I said with shrug. Yes, I knew she’d taken it because I’d refused it but that was totally not the point. And I still wasn’t over her using the last teabag, but I wasn’t sure Tommy would appreciate that point.
“I hate it when people steal your food,” Tommy agreed and leaned around me to get a better look at Anna, who was pouting at me from across the room. “I’d have thought you’d be safe from all this stuff since you passed the assessment.”
“I could say the same thing to you.” I adjusted my fringe. It had become a nervous twitch. I knew since I was dead it couldn’t grow but I could’ve sworn it was getting longer. “Unless, of course, this is to do with your super-secret identity.”
Even Sabrina hadn’t been able to find anything out about this possibly super-secret police force but, whatever Tommy was, I was convinced he was definitely not just your run-of-the-mill newly dead person who wasn’t adjusting to his newly dead life.
“I’m beginning to think you might have a similar super-secret identity since you keep showing up in these places,” he said, gesturing around the room.
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m just unlucky. And poorly adjusted.”
“Can I have your attention please?” A willowy man with closely cropped dark hair in a red-and-white checked jumpsuit clapped his hands to get mainly Tommy’s and my attention, since everyone else was already focused on him. “My name is Galen Mendall and I’m the head physician here at Mendall Asylum.”
“I’m guessing from the way your whole body just stiffened no one told you this was a loony bin?” Tommy whispered in my ear.
I turned to glare at Anna, who was watching me. She did that super annoying double finger pointy thing to her own eyes and then to Dr Mendall. I assumed that meant she wanted me to pay attention.
“No,” I mumbled back to Tommy, but continued to stare at Anna for a moment longer. “No one mentioned that to me.”
“First of all,” Dr Mendall said, “I want to make it clear that you have nothing to worry about. You’re all here because you’re having some trouble adjusting to your new lives, that’s all. This is absolutely normal and absolutely nothing to worry about. It can be a difficult and confusing time for some of us. The rules can feel confining and perhaps, for some of you, worrisome. Some of you may also feel as though your job is pointless or unfulfilling. If that’s how you feel please don’t worry. Dying is a big change and it can be incredibly stressful. The important thing here, though, is that you don’t worry about it. Worrying will only make the situation more frustrating, and you might feel even more anxious and worried about it.”
I felt Tommy turn to look at me but I
kept my eyes focused on Mendall. If I looked at Tommy he would make me laugh and then I’d be in trouble. Whether I was worried about it or not.
“If you get to a point where your parole officer and your adjustment companion collectively don’t feel that they’re making the right impact or able to guide you appropriately,” Dr Mendall continued, ensuring he made eye contact with all audience members, trying to convey his sincerity, “then your parole officer will discuss your options with you. Now, if this happens, the most important thing is not to worry. The likelihood is you’ll come and stay here with us for a while so we can focus on helping you adjust properly.”
“We’re probably going to admit you all to this mental asylum,” Tommy whispered, unable to mask the laughter in his voice, “but the important thing is—”
“Not to worry?” I whispered back.
Anna coughed loudly, pointedly, from the other side of the room.
“How exactly are you going to help us?” asked a male voice. I looked around but couldn’t see the speaker. And then he helpfully stood up.
Everyone’s attention fell on him. I gave him a quick once over and guessed he was used to that reaction. And purposely cultivated it. Tall, adequately built, not particularly muscular but not skinny, and incredibly well groomed. Not in a clean-shaven way but in more of a girlish buffed, polished and manicured sort of way. His lime green jumpsuit of the trainee coordinators was open to halfway down his chest, exposing a tanned and totally hairless torso. How was he getting away with that? The open jumpsuit, not the hairless torso. He reminded me of a Ken doll.
“What are we talking here? Electroshock? Medication? Cognitive therapy? A combination?” he asked.
Although he was asking Dr Mendall, he was twisting back and forth, talking to the whole room. I might’ve been curious about how Dr Mendall was going to “help” us too if we were admitted, but I wasn’t stupid enough to voice it so openly or quite so caustically.
The doctor laughed but there was an edge to it. “We have a selection of very varied and individually tailored programmes. None of which utilises electroshock.” The doctor stressed the words with the implication that was the equivalent to asking if unicorns existed.
“What do you do, then?” the Ken doll asked.
The doctor pressed his hands together as though he were praying and then pointed them in the direction of the Ken doll. “Why don’t you sit back down, young man, and let me explain?”
“So long as you do explain,” the Ken doll said as he sat down.
“I’m going to,” the doctor said with a slightly bemused frown that added a silently “obviously” at the end of his sentence.
The Ken doll folded his arms and nodded at the doctor. “See that you do.”
The doctor flicked his eyes to one of the appropriate adults at the side of the room and then back to the man. “That’s the reason I’m standing up here.”
“Good.” The Ken doll motioned with his hand for the doctor to carry on. “Get on with it, then.”
The doctor laughed and threw his hands up in an helpless gesture. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” the Ken doll said. Clearly, he was one of these people who always liked to have the last word. Not an easy thing to do when you’re arguing with the person giving the presentation.
I spared an amazed glance at Tommy. He had one hand covering his eyes while his chin rested on his chest and his shoulders shook as though he were laughing silently.
“Would you care to make any further comments or am I free to continue?” the doctor asked the Ken doll.
“I’ll interject when I need to.” The Ken doll dismissed the doctor with a wave. “Until then you’re free to continue.”
“I think they might reconsider the use of electroshock treatment for him,” Tommy whispered.
I stole a glance at the Ken doll. “I know the doc said not to worry but I would definitely be worried if I were him.”
“As I was saying,” Dr Mendall continued with a pointed glance at the Ken doll, “we tailor adjustment programmes to suit each individual. Some are short. Some are long. Some are longer.”
“How long exactly?” the Ken doll interrupted again.
“How long is a piece of string?” the doctor returned.
“That depends on how long you cut it,” the Ken doll said.
“Is it just me or does he seem pretty rational to you?” Tommy whispered. “Annoying, but rational.”
I nodded. “Worryingly so.”
Apart from the irritating case of having the last word, so far I was in agreement with pretty much all of the Ken doll’s questions.
“And who decides on the length of the programmes?” Ken doll continued.
“We have a small team of doctors who discuss each case and weigh the individual needs of the patient and then decide on the best possible treatment,” Mendall said. “We have numerous discussions with the patient and come to a mutually agreeable solution.”
“We’re not being admitted here, right?” I whispered to Tommy. “Like, all of us, right now?”
Tommy shook his head. “They’re just trying to scare us straight. Showing you where you’ll come if you don’t behave.”
Dr Mendall held up his hands and patted at the air the same way Eleanor, my Ghostly Acclimatisation session leader, did when she was trying to quieten us down. “Let’s hold off on any more questions for the moment so I can explain how today is going to go. This morning will consist of three presentations. One very brief one from me, which will mainly be an introduction into the facility, what we do here and who we treat. Then Timothy, who is an incredibly experienced GA leader, will talk to you for a while about the therapy we do.” Dr Mendall gestured to a man in his late sixties standing at the side of the room. He had a bushy grey beard, had slicked his thick grey hair back and was wearing what reminded me of cricket whites. White trousers, white loafers, white shirt, white jumper.
“Hi everyone,” Timothy said and waved at us while all the responsible adults clapped him. His voice was much softer than I’d expected and his attire reminded me of the white suit I’d died in. I’d loved that suit. I’d had to get rid of it after it had been stained with several different people’s blood from when they’d been stuffed in my locker. I felt an irrational surge of dislike for the man for reminding me about it.
“And then Jason, who is one of our longest-serving nurses, will talk about the day-to-day schedules of patients,” Dr Mendall said and gestured to the man standing next to Timothy. Jason reminded me of Oz, physically speaking. He was tall, broad, had the same short dark blond hair. But when he smiled there was an arrogance in it. He gave the group a salute and a wink. And right there, that was another one I didn’t like. Again, the responsible adults clapped him. I wasn’t sure why, at that moment, I chose to look at Anna but I did. She was clapping like everyone else but the stiffness in her posture said it was under sufferance. He nodded generally at everyone applauding and then winked at her specifically before turning back to Mendall. Anna’s face spasmed. Wasn’t that interesting?
“After that,” Mendall continued, “we’ll break for lunch and then you’ll come back here for a tour of the facility and get to meet some of our patients.”
“This is a whole day type deal?” I mumbled to Tommy, who nodded. I tried to suffocate a sigh. This was the type of thing, in the alive world, you managed to get through because you knew you were getting paid to be there. Since, in the afterlife, I didn’t get paid for my job I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to get paid for this. Somehow that just made the day already seem so much longer.
“Shall we get started?” Mendall asked and all of the appropriate adults clapped again in what I assumed was agreement. What was wrong with these people? Why did they need to clap at everything? Mendall motioned to someone at the back of the room and all of the lights went out. An image of a laughing man and woman appeared on the projection screen, the kind of image you’d usually see on a dental advertisement.
&
nbsp; “This is not normally an image most of you would associate with being dead,” Mendall said and gestured to the screen before patting his pockets. Jason stepped forward and offered the doctor a thick stick about a foot in length. “Ah, thank you, Jason,” Mendall said and with a snap of his wrist the footlong stick extended to almost three feet.
“Is that a baton?” I whispered to Tommy, who wore a similar surprised expression. “Do the nurses have batons?”
Tommy pulled an I-don’t-know expression and shook his head, but he didn’t look happy about that revelation either.
“As I was saying,” Dr Mendall pointed to the picture with his borrowed baton, “this is probably not the image you have when you think of being dead.”
∞
Two and a half hours later Dr Mendall had finally finished his “very brief” presentation. He announced we would have a short respite before jumping back into the next two presentations. He directed us to the tea and coffee at the back of the room. Because we’d been sitting at the front, the rest of the room beat Tommy and me to the tea and biscuit station.
“Well, that was something,” Tommy mumbled.
“It was definitely something,” I agreed.
“I think my bum’s gone to sleep,” the woman in front of us complained to the man next to her.
“I think my brain’s gone to sleep,” the Ken doll said as he leaned past her to grab a handful of sugar sachets. I wasn’t surprised to find him heavily aftershaved, though I did wonder how he’d managed to get some. Was everybody able to get stuff apart from me?
“You’ll want to keep that part of you awake while you’re here,” she said.
The Ken doll waved his fistful of sugar sachets at her. “I’m trying.”
I edged forward so I was just behind her left shoulder. “Why would you say that?” I asked. I don’t know if Suspicious Sabrina was rubbing off on me, but something about the way the woman said it told me it was more than just a quip.
A Little More Dead Page 6