I dove into the water and held my breath. I thanked myself for not coming up with the idea of using bath salts or bubbles because this would’ve been very hard to do otherwise. I could see the smoke take over the entire room. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. The windows were too far away. I don’t think I’ll be conscious by the time I got to them. I knew I couldn’t die because I was already dead but tell that to my instincts, which flared to keep me alive with no sense of logic. I desperately needed air. I squirmed to keep my head underwater as my lower body, with the towel still around my waist, rose to the surface. The smoke dove under and grabbed me. It caught hold of my hair, neck, shoulders and carried me bodily out of the tub. Strange smoke-creatures stared down at me and stuffed something on my face.
I could breathe easier, but smoke still got in. Why were they trying to cut off my air supply and why didn’t I smell chloroform but something funny and pristine? The men in white coats dragged me away, the ones who work in the soulpitals, soul-medic hospitals. I fell unconscious when a needle found my arm.
I opened my eyes and there was Krell. It was the last face I wished to see, especially up close. If his ugliness didn’t kill me his breath would’ve done the job. What was that, squid kebab? I lifted a hand and placed it on his shoulder but the sleeping drug had sapped me of my strength.
“Don’t worry, Helidon, you’re going to be okay,” he said as he took my hand and placed it back on the bed though not too gently. He acted like he was allergic to me. “You have papers to sign,” he said in a high and almost friendly voice. I couldn’t speak so instead I grunted and took a weak hold of one of the papers. I made a gesture ‘what is this?’ and Krell said, “Oh, that’s a silly but important formality...sir. In case something happens to you. Who gets your office, your apartment and stuff like that.” I remember balling the paper, crushing it, and feeling new strength course through my body. I grunted and made sounds like a dying moose. I was Frankenstein come alive only faster as I got out of bed, threw the balled paper at Krell, grabbed my IV bag and chased him out the soulpital room. Orderlies sedated me, it was the only way I would’ve stopped or I’d have found a hundred methods right there in that soulpital floor on how to injure the dratted baasta.
I was under for another few hours. I woke up when I heard clinks and clanks beside my bed and a gorgeous redhead of a nurse attending me. Why are some nurses hotter than models? Well, I was glad I had a human nurse. She blushed and said, “I see you’re doing alright,” and I looked around to check who she was talking to. I tried to move something under my sheets out of the way so I could see better only to realize that she meant ‘it’. I was extremely embarassed, I mean don’t we all wake up to something like that? Well, not all of us, there are women and old people to discount, but still.
“I’m sorry,” I said and bent a leg up at the knee to hide my shame.
“It’s alright, I’ve seen worse.” That was insulting. Did she secretly hint that I was ‘small’?
“Nurse...Elena,” I said after I read her nametag. “Do you know what happened to me?”
“There was a fire at your apartment, Mr. Reincarnator. Professionals had to come get you. There was smoke inhalation and we had to clean up your lungs.”
“But, I was in the tub, I was bathing. How...?”
The soul-doc came in at that moment. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Reincarnator. We were all worried but it was only minor smoke inhalation.” He checked his chart and used his stethoscope on me as he asked me to breathe deeply. I coughed a couple of times. “Another hour and you can be out of here.” The nurse winked at me and left the room. Between a frown and a smile I asked the doctor what happened.
“Forensics discovered the source of your fire, Mr. Reincarnator. Your apartment is intact, just some smoke residues that need cleaning and a blasted appliance, that’s all. Apparently, Mr. Reincarnator, you left the chicken in the oven.” Holy Cannoli I did! I always eat a heavy meal on my day off. I wanted a nice hot soak and a nice hot meal. I was allowed to come in late the next day.
“I slept in the tub and forgot the chicken,” I muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, doc, it’s nothing.” I waited for him to adjust the IV and leave. “A good day gone bad,” I mumbled. “Can’t sleep without something happening. Costly chicken fed to the garbage, can’t enjoy coming in late to the office... The office!” I sat up in bed and shouted those last words.
The soul-doc came running back in. I saw the alarm on his human face. “What’s wrong, sir?”
“I’m late for work. My allowance has expired. I should have been in the office three hours ago.” My eyes didn’t leave the clock. “Where are my clothes? Get this needle out of me. Stat, or whatever it is you do.”
“Sir, you need another hour of lung cleaning before you can leave.”
“I am the Reincarnator,” I pulled the needle out and he ran to my side. “I demand you give me a clean bill of health and sign me out. If I can speak, I can breathe. Haven’t you heard of passive smokers? If they can do it, I can go without one hour of lung cleaning, thank you very much Doctor... Mezzinski.”
“You didn’t have any clothes on when we rescued you, Mr. Reincarnator. We needed space for the tubes so your soulpital gown needed to remain undone at the chest, which means...” He shifted his gaze down then up. I followed his gaze and saw that my untied gown had fallen when I stood, leaving me stark naked and telling the soul-doc off. I ran to the bed, grabbed the pillow and covered myself where it was most needed. “I’ll ask Nurse Elena to bring you the soulpital’s standard pyjamas, sir.”
“No!” He looked at me. “You bring it.” He nodded understanding.
“Do you have anyone I can call, sir? Government car?”
“No!” He looked at me. “Just call a cab.”
“Very well, Mr. Reincarnator.” He turned to go but stopped at the door. “What do I tell the Press?”
“What Press?!”
“Don’t you know? After the Soul Ferry event, sir, you have been put back up on the Press-interest charts. When they heard you were in hospital, Quadrant Chronicle wants a statement.”
“I didn’t even know we had a Press,” I said more to myself than anyone else. I never read the newspaper; there’s always more bad news than good in it, and I get enough of that at work.
“His Majesty banned the editors from crossing paths with some courtiers, sir, until said courtiers are ready. The Soul Ferry event determines that readiness, when King Death asked that you supervise the delivery of new souls.”
“I see. I wasn’t orientated on any of this.”
“They skip a few things in the one month they’re given to orientate us all, Mr. Reincarnator.”
“Doctor Mezzinski, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know so much about government and politics?”
“I read the papers. Where shall I have your cab wait, sir?”
“Out back, and please have an orderly escort me through the backdoor. I don’t know the way.”
“Very well, sir. You take care and if you need anything don’t hesitate to call.” He handed me a card. The politician in me said he was currying favor, the human in me said he was being nice.
“Thank you, doctor, for everything.”
The doctor had sent the orderly in with a generic pair of pyjamas. After what he’d seen me get into recently the doctor must probably be wondering what a crackpot His Majesty has placed in the office of Reincarnator. He could be right, maybe I’ll amount to nothing and all this is an elaborate joke played at my expense for some unknown cause. I’m dancing to a tune and nobody’s clapping. I was making a fool of myself. But where else could I go? What else could I do but the job given me? I had nobody to rely on, nobody who would give me advice and not ask a favor in return. To all of Quadrant City, I was a credit-source, a means to an end. I didn’t matter, just what I could do for them. As stupid as it may sound, if I hadn’t already taken my life I’d have done it again
what with the soup I’m in now. Helidon, you’re practically a slave. I told myself that so many times it has become fact.
After I got dressed, I dragged myself with a heavy sense of embarrassment out the hospital door. The bill always went to government in these matters. An emergency fund for courtiers, or something like that, handled expenses. It would hopefully be sufficient to cover cleaning and refurbishment costs for whatever damage had been done to my apartment. How could one chicken cause so much trouble? We took the fire-escape stairs and headed down a few flights. I couldn’t help but understand how easy it was to descend stairs than climb them. There’s a political reference in there somewhere but I didn’t care to analyse it.
It’s a good thing the Press didn’t catch on to my leaving out the back door or the humiliation would’ve been double. I could almost see the cover-story: ‘Reincarnator Gets Careless; leaves food in oven, sets apartment on fire, gets admitted for smoke poisoning, leaves out the back door in pyjamas, and is late for work’. I walked a bit faster and rushed right into the first cab I saw in the alley. I gave him my address and he took off. I couldn’t believe I’d escaped the Press. I didn’t know that the newspapers in Quadrant City had a whole business going for them. I’m no longer protected from public exposure. The Soul Ferry event, according to Doctor Mezzinski, bared my neck to the power of words to make or break careers. I had the Von Heisens sneaking up on me, and I can’t say when they’d pounce. The Press can smell blood in the water and I know I’ve been cut many times in the past few days. The people want favors for loved ones or I could hang for all they care. “Helidon, Helidon, what are we going to do with our afterlife?” I asked myself again. I can’t turn in my resignation. There’s no such thing in courtier contracts.
The soulpital had been close to where I lived. I paid the man his credits and headed across the street to my apartment. I was eager as well as reluctant to see the damage inside. There were papers to fill concerning how much credits I had cost His Majesty’s government. It wouldn’t sit well with him, not so soon after the day I already cost him with Lady Life’s interest rates for souls who’d comitted suicide and it was my job to pay her as well as stop the rates from going up. I was in office now, not my predecessor. I also had to reincarnate the ones in Quadrant City lest their interest rate accrues for simply being here. I’m not qualified for any of this. I was so desperate to give up my position that I wouldn’t mind if even Krell took over. But King Death’s word was law. If he chose a courtier, he would even extinguish the soul from the annals of existence but wouldn’t change his mind about what he intended that soul to do as long as it lived, in a manner of speaking.
My instincts told me something was wrong but I didn’t listen. A male Werea ran up to me with a huge camera on his vegetative shoulder. He apparently didn’t understand the delicacy of human feet because he stamped one of mine and didn’t even know it. Between the pain and loud shouts of ‘Mr. Reincarnator’ I was practically punched around by questions from the Press who’d ambushed me.
‘What does it feel like to have your apartment smoke-damaged and your lung cleansed?’, ‘What information do you have for us considering the rate of reincarnation in Quadrant City? Our readers want to know’, ‘What policies have begun and what still remains in the pipeline? Will you be making a public statement to that effect?’, ‘What kind of person is His Majesty and how does it feel to be the youngest Reincarnator to hold office?’, ‘What did you do to get it, you sod, I mean sir?’, ‘How much of our tax credits are funding your department?’, ‘Do you have anything to say about youth in politics?’
I couldn’t say ‘no comment’ because I had hundreds of them, I just couldn’t find the words to communicate them. This was classic mob harassment only legal. The Press have been given complete freedom to take or give privacy and nobody could do squat about it. As a farmhand back on Earth, I had never seen such a thing, because important people and the newspapers that made them so could only be found in high-end metropolises. Quadrant City, all this, all that, cameras, questions, scoldings, punishments, pressure, pressure, pressure. I caught hold of my hair, gave a primitive shout, ran into the apartment building, up seven flights of stairs, slammed the door to my home, ignored the large black scorch that covered one portion of my kitchen from ceiling to floor and fell smack on the bed. I pulled a pillow over my head and shouted into it.
I lay there staring at the ceiling and gave up trying to relax. I put on the official government suit provided to me, because I wanted to look proper and presentable when Death gave me a piece of his mind. Suits represented order and uniformity, values King Death found desirable. If I looked the part, maybe he’d go easy on me. There was no way I could avoid this. I dressed quick, shoved my way through the Press throng whose cameras flashed and questions sounded; I thought the flashes themselves were asking questions. I hadn’t booked a cab in advance. It was sunny out, which meant cars. I wouldn’t have time to stand on the curb and wave for one before the Press got to me again. I panicked. Just then a bright yellow savior came along and out popped a familiar head. Even though this man had saved me so much inconvenience with his almost perfect timing, I had never asked him his name. I leaped into the cab and he drove me to government building alpha.
“Are the horses alright? And the cart? The road to Castle Von Heisen didn’t go well on the wheel.”
“They’re all fine, sir. The cart is in the repair shed and the horses are safe. Thank you for asking, Mr. Reincarnator.”
This seemed a good time as any to ask the chipper bugger his name. Suddenly, seeing happy people didn’t make me too happy.
“It’s Nolan, sir. Nolan Weatherby.” I was glad to have a human friend. There were none at government. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Reincarnator, but you’ve gotten yourself into a tight spot these past few days.”
“That I have, Nolan.” I debated whether to start telling this just-made friend all my travails and tribulations but thought better of it. We spent the rest of the way in blessed silence. He was quite understanding for a taxi driver. He let me off, I paid him his credits and a little extra for being there when I needed him. He grinned, gave me a silly salute and was off.
I watched his taxi disappear, the red lights and yellow top and hood shining their way through the street. The bright colors seemed to lighten my mood a bit. I turned round to face the building in which I worked. It was dreadfully quiet like an abandoned cemetery. I didn’t want to go in. The huge double doors that I had passed through so many times now stood out in a discouraging light. I didn’t like the way my chest felt heavy and my stomach queasy.
“Helidon!” The shout was painfully loud. I crouched as if to evade a projectile. “My office! Alone! Now!” The voice reverberated through Quadrant City. Traffic noises went on but all life kept their biologically diverse mouths shut and pretended to go on with their day. I could see people on the opposite side of the street throw frightened glances at me. When they saw me looking, they jerked their heads away and mimed or gestured to carry out business. Not a word could be heard in the city.
The whole building buzzed with shuffling feet, paperwork being filed or shredded, pens scrawling on parchment, fingers clicking away at keyboards, cabinets opening and closing, pneumatic doors swishing to and fro. All the courtiers I could see kept their eyes averted and went on with their work. Most of them stared at the ground and it couldn’t be plainer that they were trying hard not to see me.
Several minutes later, and several pairs of averted eyes too, I arrived at the topmost floor and waited until the golden doors to his office opened. Stepping as softly as I could, I slipped in just as the doors closed shut behind me.
“Unpunctuality. Irrelevant attention gathering. Avoidable expenses. Careless mistakes. Loss of dignity. Need I go on?” I didn’t know if he seriously asked me or if he was just being sarcastic. “I am not pleased.” The tone of his voice dropped. I had never heard it take this turn before. I gulped. He stood before his desk, fingers on t
he surface, wings folded rigidly behind him. The lights were dim and his eyes gleamed like a predator. His head was angled slightly downward. It made him seem diabolic, more than usual. I tried to ignore the shaking in my left knee. “The sheer stupidity with which you, as Reincarnator under my direct authority, have conducted yourself, tsk tsk tsk.” That hissing sound alone made my insides curl up. “You seem to be using Quadrant City’s credits like they’re your own personal bank.”
He moved away from the table and toward me without breaking stride. I moved back a few steps but he had somehow manipulated space and appeared behind me. I bumped into His Majesty and felt a warm clawed hand on the back of my neck. He pushed gently. I took the hint and walked with him. His voice came from above my head, he was so tall. I kept my eyes on the carpeted floor as he guided me to the expansive balcony. “Look at it.” Twenty stories up and the sight of Quadrant City looked bleak and empty. Lights were on, sounds and noises could be heard but the city held no liveliness that I could feel. “This place isn’t even supposed to exist, Helidon. All these suicides should have moved into their next reincarnation cycles, their next lifetimes. Progress reports, consultations, short listing, action plans, deadlines, this is all part of your job yet after three months you have not provided any preliminary analysis on what to make of the whole suicide problem. You bring me forms to sign of souls that are eligible for transfer and not one of them really is. You do not take the time to read the fine print, as I’m sure you haven’t done with your own contract, let alone pending work from your predecessor. I know how long winded these procedures can be and you are, technically, only thirty-two years old. But there is no excuse for such things in the afterlife. Maybe when you were alive, things might have gotten better. After all, you’re only mortal. But in my realm, you may still be in the body you had when you took your life, you may still feel similar needs and all that nonsense because of the laws in some of these afterlives that require you to remain in a dense enough form to function.
Long Live Death: Welcome To The Afterlife Page 7