by C. S. Wilde
Nah, mommy hormones and Santana Jones don’t belong in the same sentence.
We keep walking until we reach the top of the hill, entering the creepy forest that surrounds the Home. I’m soon covered in a cold sweat. The feeling someone watches us rings from all directions like a thousand alarm bells. Tommy and John look perfectly fine, probably because they’re used to it. When we’re out of the forest, relief replaces the paranoia from a moment ago.
Wow.
Ahead of us lie fields that bloom with vegetables, contoured by endless meadows brimming with all kinds of flowers: red roses, lilies, and rainbows of tulips. The sky bathes the scenery in the afternoon light, creating a stunning view drenched in gold and pink.
“It was winter in the year of our Lord, 1903,” Tommy says out of nowhere. “The streets were so cold, and I was so hungry. I closed meh eyes for a lill’ while and woke up here.”
He tells the story as if freezing to death is something he did the other day. This is so unfair. Children don’t deserve to die forgotten and alone; they don’t deserve to die at all.
“You didn’t have to tell me that.”
“I know.” He looks up to me with a sad smile, trying to be tough. “I’m fine with it now, misses.”
He lies.
I try to figure a thousand ways to comfort a dead child, but finding the right words is gut-wrenching hard.
Suddenly a red plasma bunny crosses our path as if sent by a higher force. Tommy’s sadness vanishes, and he almost squeals with excitement. The bunny looks at us for a moment, sniffs the air, and then hops away at amazing speed. Tommy jolts after it, and John reminds him to stay close, but I don’t think Tommy heard him.
There’s an unexplainable beauty in this scene: a dead child keeping his innocence for eternity, experiencing the afterlife as a simple, happy place, forever.
John and I walk across the fields at our own pace, while Tommy runs far ahead, chasing the bunny. The scenery is something out of paintings, and John Braver is walking by my side, our hands brushing every now and then. This is the closest to Heaven that I’ve ever been.
“Tommy likes you,” John says. “And he doesn’t like everyone.”
“He’s a good kid.”
The fading daylight reflects in John’s eyes and paints him in bronze, while the wind kindly plays with his golden hair. It’s a jaw-dropping view.
“Do I have something on my face, Miss Jones?”
If I were an ostrich I’d be hiding my face in the ground right now.
“Don’t do that. It’s such a pretty face.”
John’s voice. In my head. In my freaking head! “What was that?”
“I linked with you.”
“You can talk in my head as well?”
He nods.
“Does privacy mean anything to you?”
He laughs and lifts his palm as if he’s taking an oath. “I promise I’ll be more careful.”
“If only I believed that.”
“Hey, I’ll be more careful, which doesn’t mean I’ll succeed.” He winks at me. “My mom always told me I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep.”
I slap him in the arm. “Wiseass.”
We walk side by side for a while. Up ahead of us, Tommy plummets to the ground, but the bunny jumps out of his reach. He’s not one to give up easily, so he stands up and continues his chase. There should be a picture of Tommy in the thesaurus right next to the word ‘adorable.’
“So you guys have a library?” I say.
“We keep records, yes.” John clasps his hands behind his back. “Death has a history just like Life.”
“Do you think Molly will find something that can help me?”
“I’m sure Irving will. I think Molly is instructing the guard.”
“You have a guard?”
John nods. A chill runs down my spine when I remember the purpose of a guard: Battle.
“Why is Molly instructing them?”
“Red Seth knows you’re here.”
What? He has to be joking, and if so, what a terrible sense of humor.
“It’s not hard to figure out.” He shrugs. “The Home is our safe haven. It’s pretty obvious we’d bring you here.”
Tommy finally catches the bunny and hugs it. He’s innocent. All the people in this place did nothing to deserve what’s coming upon them. I’m a threat to the Home. People could get hurt because of me, and I have enough guilt in my life already. “We need to leave.”
John rests both hands on my shoulders. “There’s a reason Red Seth has never conquered the Home. We can take him.”
I don’t know what Red Seth can do to harm those who are already dead, but it can’t be good. I look at Tommy and picture Red Seth slashing his throat like he did with Barbie. “We need to go, now!”
John gently cups my cheeks so that I’m looking straight at him. “Santana, we can take him.”
John’s firm touch, his regal posture, his eyes—they calm me down. “How can you be so sure?”
“I just am. The Home will be fine, I promise.”
I see why he was called Honest John: it’s absurdly easy to trust this man. I’m sure he has the world under control, and that we’re all safe. It’s uncanny…John soothes me so completely and so quickly, that I forget what I was thinking a second ago.
His thumb caresses my lips slowly and I close my eyes so that I can feel his touch.
“Santy.” He leans closer. “About that day,”
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt, opening my eyes.
He chuckles. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to say almost kissing you meant nothing. It meant a lot.”
His right hand moves from my cheeks to the curve of my waist, pulling me closer to him.
“When we almost kissed, I felt alive for the first time ever since I can remember. Living time included.” He frowns and smiles at the same time. “Is that weird?”
Fireworks explode inside me and I can’t stop smiling.
He breathes, “You have a strange effect on me, Santana Jones.”
“Likewise, Mr. Braver,” my voice a dry whisper.
My legs weaken and my heart pumps blood at mad speed. I close my eyes and his breath mixes with mine. His hand tangles with the hair at the base of my neck as his lips delicately touch mine.
“Are you having intercourse?” Tommy says.
John and I push each other away, stumbling. Intercourse? Our lips barely touched! Someone needs to talk to this kid about the birds and the bees. I must be redder than Red Seth’s ruby pendant right now.
We clear our throats simultaneously.
“Hmm, no, we’re,” John glances at me, a laugh trapped in his lips. “We’re not having sex.”
“Seems like you found yourself a new friend,” I say, pointing at the red, shiny animal with dancing orange lava inside, sitting comfortably in Tommy’s grip. I hope this distracts him.
Tommy lifts the bunny with pride. “His name is James. He’s meh new best friend!”
“We should be going back.” John looks at the sky. Gold and pink have given way to purple and dark-blue.
Tommy nods and walks ahead with James.
John wraps his arm around my waist, and I feel as if butterflies are lifting me from the ground. He whispers, “Am I crossing a line here?”
Giggling, I lean my head against his chin. “I think we both are.”
This doesn’t feel like Heaven anymore. It is Heaven.
12
When I was eleven, a mean girl told me it was no wonder my mother had killed herself, that anyone would do that if they had me as a daughter. I punched that girl right in the face, broke her two front teeth. It felt awesome, but Dad was waiting for me when I got home, and I received the scolding of a lifetime. That’s how you know something is wrong: When people are waiting for you. You feel it in the air, like the calm before the storm.
It’s night by the time we return to the cabin. Molly and Irving wait for us, sitting at the table. A pi
le of books stands on the flowered armchair. The fireplace drowns the room in an eerie half light, burning wood crackling every now and then.
The calm before the storm.
Reluctantly, we sit. Molly hides her mouth behind clasped hands, her elbows resting on the table. Such a body posture never precedes good news.
“I found out how Red Seth brought ye here,” Irving says. “Silver medallion, squared markings on the pendant, awfully large ruby: it’s Belaphona.” Irving pulls an old paper from his pocket. It shows a drawing of the medallion. “It’s older than the books account for, but it seems that if a spirit wears Belaphona the day the moons meet, taken he gathers all he needs for the ritual, he’ll link his soul to the source and cross over.”
I stand up and walk to the window. The crescent moon is at the far end of the sky, while the round, fat moon rests at the opposite side. “That’s good news, right? They’re quite far apart.”
“Time here doesn’t flow as it does back on earth,” John says. “Irving, what will he need for the ritual?”
“A few items.” Irving looks at the ground. “And Santana, of course.”
Bile surges up when I remember Red Seth looking down at me, that evil smile stamped on his face, his hand stretched out to take me. I can’t go through that again.
“He’s done that once, you know,” Molly says from behind her hands. “With a man named Adolf Hitler.”
I let out a nervous laugh, but no one joins me. Is she serious? This has to be a joke, right?
“Young Hitler once found an old hand mirror in a homeless shelter,” Molly says. “In it, he met a new friend with red hair.”
This can’t be true. My history teacher would be having a stroke by now.
Molly goes on. “But when Red Seth told Hitler what they could do to the world, the man said no. Hitler arrived in Death before he knew it, and a few days later, Red Seth left Vienna as a decorated anti-Semite.”
The Holocaust is Red Seth’s fault, and Adolf Hitler has been in my shoes, is that what she’s saying? Is she freaking mad? Molly better tell me I’m on some sort of after-life prank TV show.
But she doesn’t.
Trying not to shudder, I ask, “How do you know all this?”
“Hitler stayed at the Home for a short while. The transition left him in a bad shape.”
“So if Red Seth takes my body, I’ll be responsible for something like World War III?” My voice starts faltering.
Molly nods. “Or worse.”
What’s worse than that? I picture Dad, thinking he’s giving me a hug, and Red Seth wearing my skin and slamming a knife across his stomach. Betrayal, blood. Dad, the first of many.
I can’t let that happen.
“Why did he choose me?” I sound so weak, helpless.
She doesn’t look me in the eye. “He seems to have a preference for morally weak souls.”
Now I understand. I’ve made my own bed, but I can’t let Red Seth use my body to destroy everything and everyone I love. I won’t let him. I may deserve a nasty ending, but I won’t drag millions of people with me.
“Molly, Santana is a good person,” John jumps in. “She’s not evil.”
“Few people are purely evil.” Her sigh comes from deep within. “Most are just tormented, lost perhaps. Like Hitler used to be, but not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once he saw what Red Seth was doing with his body, Hitler went mad. He became…something else. Something worse than anything in Hell.”
I want to ask her what he became, but I’m too scared. Will I share the same fate?
I guess I deserve all this. If I hadn’t defended guilty men, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Now it’s too late.
Molly rises from the table and walks to me. She lays a comforting hand over mine. “We’ve all made mistakes, dear. It doesn’t mean you deserve what’s happening to you.”
A piercing shriek bursts from the center of the village, reverberating through my bones.
Molly’s eyes widen at the window. If I didn’t know she was dead, I’d say she stopped breathing. “They’re here.”
13
Irving holds a heavy medieval sword, handle and blade the darkest silver. Molly claws her fists and grinds her teeth like a beast, while John wraps a black leather scabbard with blue round lines around his back. He unsheathes a Japanese sword: blade two feet long, its handle black crisscrossed with blue.
I had heard the sound of swords clashing when I arrived in Death, but blamed it on my imagination. I didn’t think they actually had weapons.
“Santy, stay here with Tommy,” John says as Irving and Molly bolt through the door.
Everything is happening so fast. It feels surreal. “John, what’s going on?”
“Shades.” He paces to the kitchen and hands me a big knife. “Hide. If they reach you, aim for the neck.” He kisses my forehead.
I gawk at the knife as my heart pounds in my ears. I never held a knife with the intention of drawing blood. But Mother has. She cut her wrists with a kitchen knife.
“I-I don’t think I can—” John has disappeared through the door. “John? John!” He’s gone.
Shit!
Slamming the door shut and locking it, I try to figure what to do next.
Outside, pained growls mingle with beastly howls. Words tangle in the cacophony but it’s hard to discern them, as if wolves were learning to speak. Whatever is out there isn’t human and it’s in big numbers. Molly, Irving, and John are alone with those creatures, those…demons. Have they escaped from Hell? It certainly sounds like it. I hear the sound of flesh being cut, organs and blood spattering on the ground.
They’re coming for me. The knife falls from my hand. Run, gotta run, but where? This has to be a nightmare, I have to wake up right now!
Something tugs at my leg. It’s Tommy. He has taken the knife and now tries to pull me toward the couch. Following his lead, we tumble it over, creating a bunker. He crouches behind it and his puppy eyes ask me to follow. Still in shock, I do.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper.
“What doesn’t?”
“Swords and blood! You’re all dead already!”
“Life doesn’t make sense,” Tommy tilts his head. “Why did you expect Death to?”
Did a child really say that to me? I gape at him, not knowing how to react. “A-aren’t you scared?”
Tommy looks at his hands. He’s trying to control their trembling. If injustice could be defined in one image it would be this: Tommy, dead at a tender age, grasping a kitchen knife and trying not to be afraid. This poor child is trying to protect me, the grown adult who’s freaking out.
I take the knife from his hand and hug him tight. His little heart drums. As the shy ba-dum echoes through my chest, I realize I’ll protect him with all that I’ve got.
“We’ll be fine, kid.”
A growl that says “Find her” echoes in the distance, sending shivers down my spine. I grasp the knife harder. The madness outside goes on for a while, shouts mingled with metallic clangs as the song of flesh and blood keeps a steady pace. But we’ll be safe if we hide and keep quiet. We might just make it, no, we will make it. That’s when the door flings open and something steps over the threshold, sniffing the air.
“You’re behind the co-ouuch,” it says with a creepy, rasping voice.
Adrenaline fills my veins and forces me up, knife in hand. No point in hiding anymore.
My breath fails for a moment. There’s a thing standing at the doorway, its skin dark blue, its eyes bright balls shining in the night like a wildcat. Its head is completely hairless. By his skinny bare chest and fragile arms, he must have been human once, but now he’s a deteriorating corpse, wrapped in rags instead of proper pants.
He smiles, showing teeth the color of chocolate as his thin, long fingers caress his pointy chin. He crouches in a subservient manner.
“I’m only a poor soul, looking for some food.”
He seems harmless: so skinny, so…dead. Still, I push Tommy behind me. “We want no trouble.”
“I wish you no harm,” he says lovingly. “I just want to make friends.”
“Tommy, backdoor.” We walk back, always facing the blue man.
My pulse thumps from grasping the knife too hard, but I can take him if he lunges. He looks weaker and shorter than me.
Another monster comes out of the darkness, walking half bent like the first. It stops at the door and looks at us, then at the first Shade. “Master said we shouldn’t play, Bowman.”
The first Shade looks at the second with a creepy smile. “Daniel, interrupt me again, and I’ll bite your fucking nose off.”
What the fuck!
The Shade called Bowman looks at me and rests a hand over his heart. “Are you scared of me?” He stretches a predator’s smile and jolts like a panther, becomes a blur.
Before my brain has time to process, his breath bangs against my neck. Shit, he’s behind me, and he’s much taller than I thought. I turn around and stare at irises burning in gray flares, shining against pitch-black eye whites. He slaps me on the ribs and the impact flings me across the room. My back hits the wall, and a sting spreads from my spine to the rest of my body as I bump against the ground. Shelves crumble over me, and pain catches up with the events, making my whole body pulse.
“Don’t hurt her!” Tommy yelps.
The monster laughs and lifts Tommy by his collar. Tommy kicks and punches the air, but it’s useless.
“Maybe we could keep him as a pet,” the second Shade says, standing by the door.
“Maybe,” Bowman growls. “But where’s the fun in that?”
I try to move, but the pain is rust spreading through my body. When I try to speak all that comes out are painful shrieks. My broken ribs have slashed some of my organs. My mouth tastes like copper. Spirits with organs and blood and swords…If only we had any idea that we could get hurt after death. Suddenly I think of Barbie, her neck drooling red. I won’t let the same happen to Tommy.