Aftermath

by Sandy Goldsworthy

  An older man with a scrappy, peppered beard, wearing a shabby, tan overcoat tried following us through the invisible field that authenticated our identities. I heard the sparking sound of the neon-blue web that prevented his access into my world, temporarily paralyzing his movement. It stirred unrest amongst the pending admittents, those people waiting in line for acceptance. Fear filled their minds, but they didn’t flinch. Within seconds, calmness overcame them again.

  A security officer waved his hand in the direction of the man, and the sparking vanished. The web disappeared, yet the old man did not move. The swarming crowd retreated as an unseen force separated them from him.

  I stopped and glanced at the suppressed chaos. The disruption was so commonplace that Jorgenson didn’t react. Most pending admittents understood they died. After all, their Admissions Guide told them. It was the first words a Guide verbalized to the deceased when they hovered over the remains of their human body. But with so many thoughts, emotions, and memories running through them, it was hard to understand what was happening, and unrest was expected.

  “Molly checked in a short time ago,” Jorgenson said. We followed the crowd. Most everyone was approved for entrance.

  “I didn’t realize she came home for a visit.”

  Jorgenson nodded as we passed slower-moving people in front of us.

  A quick update with her would be good before we were engaged in our assignment, and time in our world would be limited. Molly was placed in the field a human-year earlier. Time passed faster in my world.

  “Libertyville went well, I trust.” Jorgenson referred to the few hours I spent in the small Illinois town for a group compulsion at a high school football game. It was the easiest way to quickly plant memories in humans. Claire, a rookie, was assigned with me. We simply compelled the student body into remembering us before kickoff. Minutes later, we were greeted like long-lost pals by teens we never saw before.

  “Claire did well,” I said, looking Jorgenson in the eye. “She was a bit apprehensive at first, but the cover worked.” It gave us a backstory, should some idiot kid question who we were at some point in our mission. Now, we could legitimately say we were Ben and Claire Parker, two teen siblings previously enrolled at Libertyville High School, active in soccer and well liked. It worked, in case anyone wanted to check up on us. Given today’s technological advances and social networking, we needed to connect the dots ahead of time.

  “Good. I’m sure her handler will be happy. I’ll pass along the news. Claire chose not to come back with you?”

  I shook my head. “No, she wanted to stay.” I chuckled. “She’s enjoying the life of a high school student. Doing better than I expected. She’s made friends.”

  Jorgenson’s smirk was understood without my need to read his thoughts. Claire was a cute kid that spent a number of years in rehabilitation before entering the academy. Her past life ended tragically when she overdosed. It was a breach of her life contract. “She’s young, Pete.”

  Not that young, he said in thought.

  Young enough. She’s only been here a few decades… And she’s a rookie.

  We aren’t old. We’re just more experienced. Pete Jorgenson transitioned decades before me. He was forty-eight years old the day his third contract expired, when his human body died, and he stood in a similar admission line as the pending admittents we passed.

  “I’ll tell her that,” I said aloud.

  “By the way, Bianca asked about you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “She wants in on your assignment.”

  “Of course she does. Bianca is a very persuasive woman.” And she didn’t take no for an answer, despite the numerous times I told her I wasn’t interested in her romantically.

  She’s also very attractive. Most agents would jump at the chance—

  I’m not like most agents.

  But—

  Look, if you’re interested in her, go for it.

  She’s requesting you.

  “Not interested,” I said. We walked through the last checkpoint in the long tunnel called the Bridge. It connected the Hub with our world and provided a database purge or download, if that was necessary. An admittent, one who was approved for entrance to my world, would regain knowledge lost during their human life, here on the Bridge. Those taking on a new human life would lose our world’s memory as they walked the tunnel’s length on their way out. It was a good filtering system, but one that did not apply to me.

  I was an immortal agent.

  Chapter 4

  Emma's Story

  My heart began to race when I saw the police officer.

  He stood with the principal, school nurse, and a man in a gray sport coat. Despite being two classrooms away, an uneasy feeling came over me when the cop looked in my direction. This couldn’t be good.

  The man in the suit motioned his hands, exposing a badge and gun hanging on his belt. He looked like the detectives I saw on TV, and I guessed he was in charge.

  Two cops? Omigod. What did I do?

  Even though I tried to slow my breathing, my body took over. My chest rose and fell in extreme sways like the metronome I used to play with on Aunt Barb’s piano. A lump formed in my throat.

  What could I have done and what I would say in response?

  I didn’t even drink that beer at last weekend’s party.

  The secretary continued walking toward them, and I kept pace. I wondered if my knees would give out before we got there.

  What if I got kicked off the soccer team? How could I explain that to Dad?

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t do anything wrong. They had to believe me. Right?

  I have no idea who was drinking, I rehearsed in my head until Principal Davis motioned me inside the administrative office.

  The uniformed officer and the detective followed behind me.

  My heart thumped, and I couldn’t hear the words they spoke. Everything sounded like garbled mumbles. The nurse led the way past the reception counter, around the corner, and into a small conference room on the right. When she held the door open, I saw my aunt sitting at the table. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Aunt Barb rose to hug me, but I stood stiff, emotionless.

  I felt the weight of the air around me. They didn’t have to say a word.

  Suddenly, I knew.

  Instinctively, I touched my phone in my pocket. Dad never texted me back.

  Principal Davis suggested we sit. The door was shut, cutting me off from the outside world. Introductions were made, but I didn’t hear anyone’s name.

  My head started pounding.

  Aunt Barb sat across from me. The principal was to my right, the detective to my left. I looked around the room and noticed the uniformed officer at the door. His eyes were somber.

  The detective spoke first. His expression was serious, but his tone sympathetic. As he spoke, Aunt Barb’s eyes swam with tears. Mascara streaked across her cheek when she tried to catch the runaway river. She looked like hell.

  I couldn’t hear them.

  I didn’t want to know.

  My head hurt.

  My heart ached.

  I was in a trance. This couldn’t be real.

  I watched the detective’s lips move, but I only heard a few words. He spoke of an accident in the city, a car, and my dad.

  Aunt Barb sat with her arms crossed, her well-manicured fingers curled into fists. She periodically dabbed a torn-up tissue to her eyes. Her golden-brown hair was tousled, not in its usual, perfect form. She was a beautiful woman, always well dressed and physically fit, except today.

  Today, she was broken.

  “Emma?” The detective called my name, more than once, I thought.

  “Huh?” Was he talking to me? He looked familiar. Should he? My mind wandered. I couldn’t concentrate.

  “I know this is difficult,” he said.

  I heard noises in the hall. Voices, footsteps. The bell must have rung. Flashes of color passed th
e window, separating me from my life on the other side. It was lunchtime. Matt was going to have lunch with me.

  Wait.

  Was that Melissa’s voice? I caught a glimpse of blonde hair and a purple shirt through the partially opened blinds. What was Melissa wearing today?

  I had to get out of here.

  “Emma, is there anything I can get for you?” Principal Davis put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I… uh… I don’t know.”

  I heard Aunt Barb’s voice answer for me, but I couldn’t register what she said.

  The detective apologized for my loss. The uniformed officer nodded in consensus.

  Dad was gone. Hit by a car on his way to work. Aunt Barb identified the body.

  My dad’s body.

  “We’ll gather your things from your locker, if you’d like,” Principal Davis said in the same monotone voice he spoke with during announcements each morning. “Then you can head home.” He paused, looked at me, and then to Aunt Barb for response.

  “That would be nice, Mr. Davis. Thank you.” She turned to me and reached for my hand. “Is that okay with you, Emma?” She hesitated for a moment. “Or would you like to do it yourself?”

  I shook my head. Tears began to spill over the edges of my lids and down my cheeks. Aunt Barb pulled me to her, holding me while I cried. I closed my eyes tight and hoped this would all go away.

  Everyone made small talk. Everyone that is, except Aunt Barb and me. The detective assured the uniformed officer he would drive us home. The principal offered condolences.

  When the secretary came back with a bag full of the contents from my locker, it was time to go. While they could all go back to work, back to their daily routines in their normal lives, I could not.

  My life, as I knew it, was over.

  Chapter 5

  Ben's Story

  I watched her from the borrowed police car in the sweltering heat.

  It wasn’t noon, but the thermostat on the squad’s dashboard registered 88 degrees. Officer Scott Michaels wasn’t on duty—until I dropped in at the police station, that is. His uniform with badge and name tag hung neatly in his locker beside his gun belt. I slipped into his clothing, altered my appearance, and impersonated an officer. I had a discussion with the garage manager and took a squad for a few hours.

  Discussion was my term. In reality, I compelled him. It was a tactic I seldom used. Molly did it all the time. It was a tool available to undercover agents, but one we weren’t encouraged to use often. Even though the human had no residual effect, the remorse I felt lasted longer than it was worth. Of course, there were times I had no choice.

  Today seemed like one of those times.

  It was the date circled in thick, red marker on my calendar. The day I waited for since I learned the details of Emma’s life. Today, Brian Bennett would transition. In my world, that meant he would move on. In Emma’s world, it meant her father would die.

  Sometimes, I hated knowing the future.

  I drove around the neighborhood outside Highland Park High School. It was a series of dominos falling in sync that morning. First, there was the accident that killed Brian when he crossed Madison Avenue in downtown Chicago on his way to work. Then there were the phone calls to the various police departments looking for next of kin, and finally the one that reached his sister, Barbara Carmichael, in Westport, Wisconsin.

  When a squad was requested to accompany another municipality on a notification call, I responded, being the closest to the high school.

  I had to see Emma.

  I adjusted the rearview mirror in the police car and watched the detective load Emma’s things in the trunk. The reflection staring back at me was far different from my normal look, or any disguise I ever used. I had to resemble Officer Michaels, in the rare event I ran into anyone that knew him. He was thirty-eight, six-feet tall, and about ten pounds overweight. A little shorter than my actual height and older than I was when I died.

  Disguising our appearance was one of the benefits of being an immortal. It was something Molly enjoyed. She enhanced her looks every chance she got. Of course, not all missions allowed her to resemble a runway model. For the most part, immortals chose an appearance they were happy with when they were alive.

  Crandon, the detective, waved and drove out of the school lot. Emma didn’t make eye contact with me as they passed by.

  I heard her thoughts and felt her emotions long before I saw her in the hallway. It was a perk of the job, but it could also be a curse. Emma was cautious, nervous.

  I couldn’t blame her, knowing what she would face in the aftermath of this tragedy.

  When she turned the corner and saw us clustered at the doorway, her feelings changed to fear with thoughts flashing quickly between insignificant teenager things. She didn’t put it all together until she saw her aunt.

  There was nothing I could do but witness her reaction.

  Crandon explained how Brian Bennett was killed by a drunk driver, but Emma wasn’t paying attention. Her thoughts swirled with recollections of her dad, her friends, school, and someone named Matt.

  At one point, when our eyes locked, I almost blew my cover. Despite the look of pain on her face and the bloodshot eyes swimming with tears, she was beautiful. Deep down, behind the layers of innocence, she was the woman I once knew. It was my opportunity to compel Emma, to alleviate the sorrow, to release the block that prevented her from remembering me. It was my chance to save her. Instead, I looked away and did nothing.

  Molly’s voice screamed in my head, distracting the thoughts of my past life with Elizabeth. Are you seriously at her school? Of all times to stalk her, Benjamin, what are you doing?

  I sighed.

  Don’t ignore me, Benjamin! How do you expect to get away with this? She was right. I crossed the line. The commander will not condone this, and you know it, Molly continued.

  Being here was a mistake.

  Chapter 6

  Emma's Story

  Detective Neal Crandon placed my things in the trunk of an unmarked police car.

  Like a criminal, I sat in the back behind a Plexiglas divider.

  “We’re friends,” Aunt Barb said. She sat in front. The emblem on the dashboard read Westport, Wisconsin. “The Highland Park Police Department called him this morning.” Her tone was low. I didn’t answer. Instead, I stared out the window during the short drive to my house.

  Dad’s house.

  We pulled in the driveway on Cavell Street, and Neal shut off the engine. Even though I knew the house hadn’t changed since I left a few hours earlier, it suddenly seemed different.

  Aunt Barb got out of the car and retrieved the house key, leaving me alone with Neal.

  “I forgot my car at school,” I blurted out.

  “I know. Barb and I’ll take care of it.” He turned to face me. “Right now, the most important thing is to get you home. I’ll handle the rest.”

  I nodded when our eyes met.

  Neal carried my backpack inside. I stood firmly on the concrete step, refusing to enter. The house was oddly silent. Chester, our four-year-old English Mastiff, didn’t bark. He came bounding out to greet us, his tail wagging more sluggishly than normal. It was like he already knew.

  Thoughts circled in my mind so quickly I had trouble sorting them out. I was frozen in place. Regret for arguing with Dad hit me hard. I gasped for air. Aunt Barb wrapped me up in her arms. Chester sat at our feet.

  Then it dawned on me. Aunt Barb was all I had.

  “Emma, I want you to know that I will take care of you.” Tears poured down my cheeks. “I know this is the worst possible thing that could have happened, but you’re not alone.” She attempted a weak smile. “We’re in this together.”

  I wanted to run and hide, but I knew I couldn’t get away. I walked across the backyard and sat on the swing. Aunt Barb followed, sitting beside me.

  “We’ll need to make funeral arrangements… and then you’ll come
live with me.” She swung slowly, lifting her feet so her heels wouldn’t drag in the dirt.

  Suddenly, I realized the impact of her words. “But—”

  “I know. Your life is here.”

  My life here was over. I knew that back at school. “I’ll have to move?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Your dad and I talked about it, once. It was so far-fetched. I never thought it would happen.” She gazed at the house. “He wanted me to take care of you… if anything ever happened. I promised I would.” She wiped her eyes with a wadded tissue.

  Aunt Barb was the only close family I knew. Living with anyone else was something I couldn’t comprehend. But living with Aunt Barb meant giving up the only life I had ever known.

  We rocked back and forth. Our feet barely left the ground. Aunt Barb told me what to expect over the next few days. Neal would be leaving and her friend, Lisa Lambert, would be coming to stay with us. “To help out.”

  It didn’t matter to me. Nothing did. Not anymore.

  When a black sedan pulled into the driveway minutes later, Aunt Barb greeted the blonde I remembered from visits to Lake Bell.

  Lisa stood a few inches taller than Barb did, probably at about my height. She was slender with shoulder-length platinum hair and as kind as I remembered. Grabbing me, she hugged me hard. Her strength was infectious. “Honey, you’ll be fine. I know it seems like the world is ending right now, but it’s not. You’ll see.” She released her grip on me.

  Was she for real?

  Aunt Barb cleared her throat, and I noticed her glare. She squinted, lifting her eyebrows. Remembering my manners, I mumbled a thank you.

  “Emma, can I have your car keys?” Neal interrupted. “Lisa and I will get your car.” He turned to Aunt Barb. “A Jetta, right? Did you say it was silver?”

  Why couldn’t he ask me the type of car? I grabbed my keys from my bag and handed them over without saying a word.

  Chapter 7

  Ben's Story

  Downtown Westport hadn’t changed much.

  A few storefronts were painted brighter colors, and a few eateries switched names and menus. For the most part, the four-block strip on the shores of Lake Michigan looked the same.

  I parked atop the hill in front of Holy Name Church. It was where Elizabeth and I were married back in September of 1934. The carved-stone church was the largest in the area and the only catholic parish in Westport.