Aftermath

by Sandy Goldsworthy

  The brown-haired man brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, and I began to feel sick to my stomach. When he quickly slid his hand to his chin, my heart raced.

  Father Cornwell continued his prayer, but I didn’t listen.

  There was pressure in my chest, and I had a hard time catching my breath. I concentrated on inhaling and exhaling and watched the man. I focused on him, staring until he turned to look at me. I was convinced he saw me.

  I was afraid to move, afraid to blink.

  Then he smiled, and I knew.

  The man at the tree was my dad.

  I glanced at Aunt Barb for just a second. I wanted to nudge her, to tell her I saw Dad. But when I looked back at the tree, he was gone, replaced by a dark-haired woman in a black suit.

  Was my mind playing tricks on me?

  The tall, gray-haired man from the expensive car walked beside the woman from the tree. She leaned into him, clutching his arm as they reached the back row of guests.

  “Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,” Father Cornwell said.

  “And let perpetual light shine upon him,” Aunt Barb whispered beside me.

  “May he rest in peace.”

  “Amen,” the crowd responded in unison and slowly began to dissipate.

  The service was over.

  Aunt Barb reached for my hand. It was time to go. I looked for the man but didn’t see him or the woman he was with.

  When I got a good view of the road, I realized his car was already gone.

  Chapter 13

  Ben's Story

  My blood pressure was still elevated.

  “What the hell was Brian Bennett doing at his own funeral?” Molly and I sat in a corner booth at a diner in downtown Highland Park after the cemetery service. The restaurant was empty, except for a well-dressed couple at a table nearby.

  “From what I understand, his case worker turned her back for a second, or so she says. She’s new. First solo assignment.” Molly opened a menu.

  I shook my head in disgust. Having been a Field Training Officer years before, I knew the first rule was never to release an agent prematurely. Today’s incident was cause for a citation. “Who’s the FTO?”

  “You didn’t look?” She glanced at me and then continued, not waiting for my reply. “I’m sure it’s in the file. I didn’t pay much attention. If you want my opinion, she was released from training too early. These rookies today aren’t what they used to be.”

  I ignored her.

  “Are you even hungry? Didn’t you have lunch at school?” she asked. It was a little after two o’clock.

  I shrugged. “You really can’t call the cafeteria food a good lunch. Besides, my teenage body needs all the nourishment it can get.”

  “Hmm. Except, you’re disguised as a fifty year old right now, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled, put the menu down, and glanced at the specials written on the chalkboard.

  “Nice.” I shook my head.

  “So about Brian Bennett—” I began, after the waitress took our order.

  “You seem to have forgotten how new admissions are. They rarely want to leave their life behind, so they find a way back.”

  I sighed. She was right. Almost every admittent looked for an escape and Brian did just that, slipping through a portal at the cemetery that morning. Molly appeared after I pulled Brian behind a tree. I heard him coming. He sounded like a freight train chugging its way through a sleeping town.

  “I’m glad you came when you did,” I said. Brian’s thoughts were loud, full of anger and confusion. Admittents were rarely stable, their energy volatile. I didn’t want to startle him, but leaving him unattended had the potential for worse consequences, like human detection, which happened. “Emma saw her dad. She recognized him,” I said, though Molly already knew that. She heard my page to dispatch. It was standard protocol for an unsupervised, untrained immortal on earth. “Fortunately, you got there in time to deceive her.”

  “Yes. She’ll get over it. After all, she’s full of emotions right now. In a few days, she won’t even remember seeing him,” Molly answered.

  “Nice disguise, by the way.”

  Molly aged herself a couple of decades older than her natural age when she died. In the pencil skirt and blazer she wore to the cemetery, she reminded me of how she looked on our first assignment together, back in 1947. I was undercover as an adolescent boy. She played the role of my mother that cold February evening when we boarded the Red Arrow train in Detroit.

  “What are you saying? I’m completely presentable for the cemetery service.” She glared.

  “Yes, very appropriate,” I agreed. Molly had a thing for always looking her best. She was meticulous with her choice of clothing, hairstyle, and makeup. I told her not to worry about her appearance that night, as our train crossed into Pennsylvania. She patted her cheeks with pressed powder and applied red lipstick, anyway. Molly was never a mother in real life. Pretending to be maternal on assignment was a stretch for her.

  “Benjamin Parker Holmes, why is that smirk on your face?”

  “Wow. Full, formal name. You know I shorten it for assignments, right? I must be in trouble.” I chuckled, and then remembered the first time she called me by my human birth name on our first assignment. It was after our passenger car derailed and tumbled down the embankment outside of Altoona. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. I was fresh out of the academy and inexperienced. Cries from the injured pinned amongst the wreckage distracted me from my mission to lead the newly deceased to their waiting guides. Molly’s piercing voice snapped me back to attention that night.

  “Not yet. It’s still early,” she said with a smug smile.

  The waitress delivered our drinks and left without a word.

  “Bianca says hello,” Molly said.

  “Is that right?”

  “She’s still upset.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “She doesn’t understand why you didn’t pick her.”

  I took a deep breath, attempting to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time Bianca expressed disappointment, and I was quickly tiring of it.

  “She reminded me that she graduated top of her class and should have been awarded this post. After all, she’s spent time in the field, like you suggested. She said she’s paid her dues… And Claire… well, she’s fresh out of the academy.”

  “We both know why Claire is here,” I answered, firmly.

  “Yes. You made that very clear. Bianca doesn’t understand. That’s all.”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “Ben, she’s convinced there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

  “Never. You know that. And I chose someone else for the job. Period.”

  Molly was quiet for once, both verbally and mentally.

  “Besides, you know I have a soft spot for—” I began.

  “I know, I know. You like reconciling families,” she mumbled.

  Molly didn’t understand the importance of family. She never left anyone behind. She never searched for a loved one or waited for them to join her in our world. My need to find Elizabeth was completely foreign to her.

  “Then you need to explain that to Bianca the next time she’s here,” she blurted out.

  “I don’t owe Bianca Beringer anything,” I answered as our food was served.

  “May I trouble you for another slice of lemon?” Molly asked the waitress. Her British accent hinted in the air, so I knew I was getting on her nerves. Molly was born and raised in London, though she told no one of her past life. None of the other agents we worked with ever heard her history and never would, if she had anything to say about it. Of course, no other agent worked with her as long as I did.

  I sprinkled a good dose of salt over my meatloaf and mashed potatoes, but I avoided the pepper. Piperine had an adverse effect on our immortal powers. “Ena-thin’ else I can get cha?” the waitress asked when she returned.

  “No, that will be all. Thank you.” Molly stared at me as she re
sponded. Annunciation was her biggest pet peeve. The “cha” was nails on a chalkboard, scratchy and whiny.

  “Are you sure you weren’t an English teacher in a past life?” I whispered after the waitress was out of earshot.

  “Okay, I’ll tone it down.” She took a bite of her chicken wrap.

  “It’s fine for your current disguise. But I’m hoping your popular friends at Westport High School never saw the formal side of you. You wouldn’t fit in.” I raised my eyebrows and smiled.

  “Right. My high school friends.” She grinned as images of students she met over the past year filtered through her thoughts, then into mine. I wondered which guy was her boyfriend, but thought to keep that under wraps until another time. “Your friends too, I might add. As soon as you get to know them and we get out of this disguise.” Her tone on the latter part confirmed her disappointment with me when I requested a middle-aged character at the cemetery.

  You couldn’t show up looking like a teenager, I thought. It was a funeral. And Emma will run into you in high school.

  Eventually. Her firm tone echoed in my head.

  “Sooner than later.” I took a bite of my meatloaf. Not as good as my mother’s cooking when I was a kid. Then again, I never found human food to be as flavorful since I died.

  Molly was silent for a moment, and then said aloud, “I heard you were pretty impressive on the soccer field. I guess your training went well.”

  I nodded, swallowing the gravy-covered meat. “I had a great time. I can’t say Claire enjoyed it.” My partner and I had to train in soccer, Emma’s favorite sport. One of the requirements in any undercover assignment was to get to know your target’s likes and dislikes. Learning soccer was a requirement that Claire knew when she took the assignment. She just didn’t like it.

  “I gathered that,” Molly said. “She’s not terribly athletic, but she’s stirred some interest amongst the young lads since she’s arrived. Her golden-blonde hair and long, bouncy curls turned a few heads.”

  I put my fork down and looked into her eyes. “Jealous the attention’s off you?” I waited for a response. Molly was exceptionally attractive. Her dark hair and gray eyes made many men go weak in the knees. Both humans and other immortals, including other agents we had worked with.

  She remained silent, though her thoughts were teetering on anger.

  “This oughta be fun. I can’t wait to be a seventeen year old again.” I smirked, and then realized that being seventeen was probably not the age most people would want to repeat.

  I, on the other hand, enjoyed it. It was when I first met Elizabeth.

  Chapter 14

  Emma's Story

  There was a brief moment when I first opened my eyes that I forgot.

  I was me again—a high school senior looking forward to homecoming and graduation, applying for college, and hanging out with friends. That tiny split second of time disappeared as quickly as it came. The happiness and security I felt were suddenly replaced with pain and uncertainty.

  I remembered.

  It was the day after Dad’s funeral. The day the rest of the world went back to normal. Everyone returned home and back to school. My world was turned upside down.

  I heard clinking noises downstairs and found Aunt Barb putting a pan into the oven. She couldn’t sleep either, she said. It was six o’clock, yet she was already dressed in khaki shorts and a pale pink polo shirt with some embroidery on the sleeve. She looked like she was headed to the golf course with her long, light brown hair pulled loosely back. She wore a slim pair of blue-framed glasses resting low on her nose, but removed them when she explained our plan for the day.

  It wasn’t the first time I heard it, like I didn’t remember our discussion the night before, or the morning before that. The plan, she told me, was to pack up enough stuff to last me a week at her house. Then we’d come back and officially move. I got it. I had to move. Nothing else mattered. I had to leave everyone I knew here behind.

  She must have sensed my mood because she suddenly became quiet. Clutching her coffee cup with both hands, she laced her fingers together.

  “I’ve been thinking, Emma,” she began. “Did your dad ever tell you about the old house I renovated on Lake Michigan?”

  I shrugged. Aunt Barb always fixed up old houses. She practically renovated every house on Lake Bell, especially those around the Carmichael Inn. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized she and Uncle Rob owned the inn and that the homes Aunt Barb fixed up were rentals on their property.

  “Rob and I bought the house years ago. We planned to live there.”

  I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “I let it sit after my husband died.” She hesitated, her eyes focused on the contents of her mug. A moment later, she continued. “Then one day, your dad talked me into fixing it up. I think he knew it would be good for me. You know, to get my mind off Rob.” She took a sip of coffee. “Anyway, I think it would be the perfect new beginning for us.” Her smile was contagious. I saw the excitement in her eyes and realized I couldn’t be grumpy anymore.

  The wild, fun aunt I used to shop with was back.

  Aunt Barb pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and tipped her head to one side. Dad used to call it her mischievous look. She proceeded to tell me about the Victorian on a bluff overlooking the shores of Lake Michigan.

  “It needed a lot of work when we bought it,” she said. “You should’ve seen it. It was a disaster!”

  I felt the pride she had in her work. She was an accomplished architect with an eye for interior design, pairing period homes with modern amenities. At least, that was what the Midwest Architectural Digest reported on her work last year, when they highlighted a few of her homes on Lake Bell.

  I wasn’t sure if I would like the house, but with her excitement for it, I couldn’t help but hope.

  Chapter 15

  Ben's Story

  I couldn’t sleep.

  It was the third time in the past hour I woke up. The sun wasn’t out yet. I prepared for this since Molly called me at the lake to tell me she found Elizabeth.

  I should be ready, yet nerves got the best of me.

  Numbers flowed through my mind. 12219212129605102016. In my world, the numeric series represented a call dispatch received. Millions of requests came in annually. Human thoughts, pleas, and wishes were logged. Few cases were investigated.

  This sequence of digits was different. It identified a seventeen-year-old girl named Emma, the woman I loved and lost. My wife Elizabeth’s life contract was scheduled to terminate in 1972. Except, it didn’t happen that way. Elizabeth died in 1954, along with 71,046 others that same day.

  I didn’t know it at the time.

  The day she died, I was stationed in Plainfield, Wisconsin, covering Ed Gein, a serial killer the world came to hate. I was oblivious to what was going on back in my world. Molly and I were deep undercover. We were part of an exclusive division of the Special Investigative Unit.

  We were activated once Gein stopped robbing cemeteries and started engaging in abduction and murder. We knew it would happen. It was simply a matter of time.

  Molly was one of his first victims. As an immortal, however, no human reported her missing. No newspaper reported her amongst the victims. No name was assigned to the body parts police found years later, remnants of her fake human corpse.

  By 1957, our mission was complete, and Molly and I were reassigned.

  I didn’t realize Elizabeth had already transitioned. I didn’t even alert anyone in Admissions to look for her, to let her know I was waiting. After all, I still had fifteen years.

  While I waited for her, I chose cases in Wisconsin. I wanted to be close to where I thought Elizabeth lived. I expected her to be in Wisconsin, near Lake Bell, where we met. Finding her should have been easy. All I had to do was listen for her voice. It was how immortals kept track of loved ones, or our targets. If only I found her voice.

  With the prosecution
of Ed Gein, Molly and I were awarded assignments that were more delicate. It was a tough job being assigned to one serial killer case after another. Of course, there was no pain in the torture our immortal bodies endured during any attack. Instead, the mental trauma endured by human victims we befriended affected our spirits as we read their thoughts and felt their emotions.

  It was a stressful division for an operative. My partnership with Molly grew stronger over those years, and our senses hardened. We were no longer quietly sobbing for the pain victims felt during their deaths. Instead, we looked the other way.

  I hated myself on those occasions I couldn’t protect the innocent. I imagined how disappointed Elizabeth would be if I didn’t help. That was when I took matters into my own hands. It promoted me to higher profile cases. Molly and I were given authorization no other agents had. We were suddenly exempt from the rules and regulations other divisions abided by.

  The power and recognition meant nothing without Elizabeth. Between cases, I continued my search.

  I was confident Elizabeth was alive in Wisconsin, and I expected to find her.

  Chapter 16

  Emma's Story

  “Your friends miss you already, huh?” Aunt Barb asked after my phone buzzed.

  It was the fifth text from Melissa in the first thirty minutes of our drive to Westport.

  “Yeah,” I said, and then confessed my friends were headed to Lake Bell for the annual senior trip. I told her about the party at Lewis’ house, but intentionally left out the part about staying overnight and the fact that Dad and I argued about it the morning he died.

  “Hmm… I never realized Kathy’s son was your age,” Aunt Barb said. “Or, that he went to your school, for that matter. You know, I should call her.”

  I shot her a sideways glance.

  “It might be good to surround ourselves with people. You know. Get back into some kind of routine.” She focused on the road, looking at me occasionally out of the corner of her eye.

  “Ah, yeah.” I was anxious to see Melissa, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend a lot of time with anyone else. Even Matt.

  Was that wrong of me?

  Aunt Barb dialed before I realized what she was doing. She juggled her phone against her shoulder as she drove. It was obvious she reached Kathy Warner as one-sided conversation filled the air. Aunt Barb seemed sad one minute and then laughed the next. Clearly, they were friends. Was that was good for me or not?