Life After: The Complete Series Page 2

  Twisting my neck, I peered over my shoulder at the man, who was now standing only an arm’s length in front of me. He was focused on something hidden from my view, nodding to himself and humming a tune I couldn’t place. I remained where I stood, uncertain; wanting to get his attention but unable to bring myself to move. The strangeness of the whole experience was too overwhelming. Unsure of what to do, I waited, convinced for some unknown reason that the man was also waiting for me.

  At last, he straightened and turned to face me. He was just a man. A man with skin darkened from either birth or sun, dressed in dark washed jeans and a smudged white T-shirt. His fingers were tinged with what looked like powder or paint. He brushed one hand over the other and then rubbed them on his jeans. They came up clean. A soft smile of contentment lit his lips.

  And then he spoke.

  “We’ve been waiting for you.” His baritone was as deep as it was soft.

  “You have?” I replied, not even trying to hide my confusion.

  He nodded.

  “Do I know you or something?”

  He shoved his hands in his pocks, smiled pleasantly, and nodded again. “I’m here to welcome you and to show you the way.”

  “Welcome me where?”

  “Welcome you home.” It was said simply and without irony. “So welcome home. You can call me Joe.”

  There was a familiarity in the man’s voice that distracted me, but what he was trying to explain was more important. Concentrating hard, I pulled as much of my attention back as possible to reconcile the word ‘home’ with where I was now. I rolled the word around in my mind, slowly, deliberately. And strangely, I discovered a deep-rooted sense of truth buried inside of me.

  “Home.” I tested the weight of the word in my mouth. “And . . . you’re Joe?”

  He just nodded, affording me the time I needed to process what he’d said. His eyes, so dark brown it was hard to see the pupils, appeared young and sharp, even with the faint age lines that sprayed from the corners like rays of sunlight. As with his voice, there was something distracting about his eyes. Something familiar that danced on the edge of my subconscious. I desperately grabbed for it, but it slipped by like water through cracks.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Something wasn’t clicking. I was unable to shake the feeling that there was truth to what he said, but this place felt completely alien.

  “Have I been here before?” I asked.

  “No, but this place has been prepared and waiting for you for a long time. From before you even learned the true meaning of home.”

  How could that be right? I had just watched this place be created from nothing.

  “I’m not where I used to be?”

  He smiled. “No, you’re not,” he said gently. “How about I show you around?”

  “I suppose . . .” but I paused in apprehension. “But shouldn’t I be somewhere else?”

  Another gentle smile. “No, I promise you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Not a moment too soon, not a moment too late.” He gestured forward. The air sweetened as we retreated from the ocean and through the lush greenery of the world he had just orchestrated.

  The grass tickled my ankles as I stole glances at Joe. I had trouble concentrating on his features. I’d look at his hair to memorize the exact shade of brown only to look away a moment later and forget. His build seemed average at first, but with each new look I was convinced he’d grown taller or shrunk to a smaller size. Even his skin seemed to lighten or darken with each glimpse.

  Most disorienting of all was the burning familiarity at the edge of my consciousness. Without a memory to search through, it was impossible to place him. Everything about him was so utterly nondescript—even racially ambiguous—it was possible I was trying to remember an entirely different person.

  We walked over fields of grass freckled with delicate flowers and through forests of trees that reached impossible heights. We traveled for what might have been hours, or mere minutes, until we stood on the banks of a tranquil river.

  “I thought you might be thirsty,” he said.

  Now that he said the words, I found I was parched. So much so I couldn’t get a response out, only nod in agreement.

  “Then drink as much as you please.” He sat down on the ground and crossed his legs, keeping a watchful eye on me.

  I dropped to my knees on the soft bank and cupped my hands to dip them into the water. My insatiable thirst was quenched in a moment. The water was so crisp and fresh I had the wild thought that I’d never be thirsty again—as if the river was flowing inside me. But what felt possible at the time seemed ridiculous when the moment passed.

  After drinking my fill, the water calmed, turning into a glassy mirror. I leaned forward eagerly—but the face that rippled on the surface was utterly unfamiliar to me.

  I brought a hand to my cheek, and the image in the water did the same. Large, dark brown eyes set in a petite, heart-shaped face, stared back wide-eyed. Equally dark straight hair poured over my shoulder as I leaned closer. It grazed the water’s surface and mingled with the reflection, creating an artificial curl in the mirror image. Who was this girl looking back at me? I touched a finger lightly to the surface, and her face distorted from view.

  “Would you like to tell me what you are wondering?”

  I looked back at the stranger sitting next to me with that unwavering smile on his lips. Now that we weren’t moving, his image was once again static. His hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, was a shade darker than my own. Stubble across his face aged what might have been a younger complexion. He appeared to be in his late twenties or thirties, but small physical contradictions prevented a more accurate guess. He was so normal, yet completely atypical at the same time.

  “Joe,” I once again tested his name on my tongue, “why don’t I remember anything? Why don’t I remember you if we’ve met before? Where am I? What happened?”

  “Good questions, but perhaps not the right ones. You will remember your life again in time, but for now, you’re meant to focus only on this new existence. It would be a distraction to have your memories before you settle into life in the ever after.”

  He leaned back, resting his weight on his arms. “You now have an eternity to experience.”

  It was then that I knew—I had died.

  It was strange the way my mind and body accepted the fact peacefully, even as I knew I should be feeling something else. Frightened, perhaps? Sad? Angry even? Emotions I told myself to have, yet was incapable of feeling.

  “Shall we continue?” Joe asked. He stood, never taking his eyes off me. “There is so much more waiting to be discovered.”

  I pushed to my feet and we continued along the river’s edge. I split my attention between the man and the scenery until a mountain range cut a jagged path through the landscape in the distance. The mountains, with whitened tips, grew before my eyes at a much faster pace than they should have. I looked down to see the land speeding along underneath me with each step. The details of the ground blurred, as if we were traveling too fast for eyes to focus.

  Giving up my attempts to make sense of it, I lifted my eyes to a radiant city that had suddenly come into view. Structures nestled snugly within a mass of piney trees at the feet of the mountains. Giant spiraling towers wove their way into the air. Glistening monuments reflected the light in every direction like crystals. Smaller buildings stood proudly at the feet of the others, refusing to be overshadowed, some with milky smooth façades and others with intricately carved corners and trim, all shining brightly.

  Both awed and repelled I fumbled a step. Was this where we were headed, and if so, how was I supposed to find a home in a place so splendid, so perfect? Would my own imperfections corrupt its purity?

  A chill ran down my spine as a breath caught in my throat. There was movement in the city. People dotted the ground around the magnificent buildings. That changed everything. Maybe someone there could help me understand. The beating in my chest
picked up a notch, hammering in my ears. I knew the city was where I was supposed to be.

  Below, the river had swelled to a powerful rush, and it stood in my way. I looked to the left and right but couldn’t find a bridge in either direction. The water was too ferocious to cross without one.

  I glanced at Joe, who was studying me silently.

  “Can you help? I don’t see a way across.”

  “And you’re sure you want to go forward?”

  “Yes, please. I want to see it up close.”

  He nodded. “Then that is where you shall go.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the water split in front of him, and a dry path formed on the riverbed. Not even a droplet of water remained.

  He turned to motion me forward.

  “Are you scared?” he asked, seeing my hesitation.

  “Yes,” I admitted. Afraid of not just walking through the waters, but also of what was ahead. The future I was taking a step toward, and the past I was leaving behind.

  “You needn’t be.”

  I believed him.

  An unexpected thrill of excitement suddenly propelled me to act, curiosity alongside apprehension. Striding forward, I marveled at the dryness of the ground below my feet. The walls of water shot well above my head, yet stood as still as glass as we passed. I stopped to take note of a brightly colored fish, at least the size of my forearm, the O shape of his mouth opening and closing as he watched us in return.

  Reaching a finger out, I touched the wall of water. The spooked fish vanished. The tip of my finger started a series of small ripples that caused the wall to undulate wildly.

  I looked back at Joe in alarm.

  “Not to worry, it’ll hold,” he said.

  Joe stayed next to me during the short walk between waters but stopped just before the river’s edge.

  “We’ve traveled together as long as needed. You’ll take the next steps on your own.”

  “But wait!” I was suddenly desperate to stay with the one person I knew. I couldn’t navigate the city before me alone. “What will happen to me? Will I see you again?”

  He stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms. He quietly said something in my hair—was it “I missed you”?—before he stepped back once again. It was the first time he’d touched me.

  “Yes, most certainly you will, Little One. But now you have other things to do.”

  “But isn’t this it? Is this how it ends?”

  An easy smile crossed his face, almost as if I’d said something he found amusing. “No, Audrey, this is how it begins.”

  He reached down to me, touched a hand to my cheek, and in a blink was gone. But he’d left me with something I hadn’t had before.

  A name.

  2

  Processed

  “Audrey?”

  I was shaken out of my reverie by that one simple word. The only thing I knew belonged to me.

  I fixed my eyes where I thought the voice had come from, but there wasn’t anyone there. Instead, across from me and to the right, an open doorway appeared where a smooth white wall had been a moment before.

  When I’d taken my first step out of the dry riverbed, it hadn’t been onto the soft green grass of the opposite bank as I expected. Instead, I stood alone in a room with four white walls and a glossy, unremarkable plastic chair. The first thing I did was tap the floor with my foot to ensure I was still on solid ground. As I moved the chair across the room, it scraped against the floor with a nails-on-the-chalkboard screech. The normalcy of the sound comforted me. A quick turn confirmed that the room didn’t have any doors or windows

  Glancing back down at the chair, a note on thick white parchment paper appeared. The marks on the paper were elegantly written in gold strokes. At first, the large swirls were illegible, but when I tilted the paper, my mind made sense of the characters.

  Please take a seat.

  We shall be with you shortly for processing.

  “Processing,” I mumbled under my breath. “What am I? A sheep?”

  Without any other options, I folded the paper and put it in the pocket of my pants, before obediently taking a seat. I’d lost awareness of time while trying to get past the jar of pickles and the confusion in my memory, until someone had called my name and the doorway had appeared on the wall across from me.

  “Okay, off to processing I go,” I said under my breath with a false sense of bravado.

  I pushed myself out of the chair and took a few tentative steps forward, just far enough to peer through the opening.

  A pretty blonde woman sat behind an oversized mahogany desk with a boxy-looking gray machine mounted on top. Carvings on the panels and legs of the desk depicted battle scenes.

  My eyes scanned the carvings as I hesitantly made my way through the doorway. Unfamiliar creatures were frozen in combat. Long and powerful wings spread behind some of them. Many brandished large swords, their faces oddly peaceful even in the midst of such turmoil. Others, with misshapen bodies bent over and twisted at impossible angles, extra appendages that often came to a sharp point, and faces utterly malformed, were sure to give me nightmares for days. That is, if I dreamed anymore. Did dead people dream?

  I was still studying the images when the blonde woman cleared her throat. My head snapped up, and I found myself staring at her. She couldn’t have been older than mid-thirties, with skin as luminous as porcelain. Her hair was carefully swept back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. What appeared to be a forgotten pencil stuck out of it.

  Blondie made another sound with her throat, and I realized I had missed something.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, forcing myself to pay attention to the words coming out of her mouth. Was she glowing?

  “Don’t worry about it, sugar. It happens all the time,” she drawled with a Southern accent as smooth and sweet as honey. She smiled at me. “It’s a big adjustment. Why don’t you come all the way in and sit down for a moment while we get your assignment figured out?”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I smiled and nodded anyway as I pulled out the only chair in front of her—an underwhelming black plastic one. “Um, I’m sorry. My assignment?”

  “Yes, of course. What you learned about in orientation, dear.” She smiled patiently back at me.

  “Orientation?”

  “Yes, orientation.” A wrinkle of concern appeared between her brows. “You did come here from orientation, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t like that she sounded so unsure. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I’ve been in the white room ever since I crossed the river.”

  Blondie’s eyebrows shot up, and I could swear she glowed even brighter. I twisted my head up to see if a spotlight or something was adding to the effect.

  “Really? Well, that is rather . . . unusual.”

  Her reaction gave me the urge to hop up on the desk and start demanding answers, but instead I sat rooted in place, patiently waiting to be herded to the next thing. Everything was so surreal.

  Whatever was so “unusual,” she recovered from it quicker than I did. The soothing tone returned to her voice. “We’ll get this all figured out in a snap. But to give you the abridged version, this is where you come to get your working assignment for eternity.”

  One heartbeat, then another.

  “I’m going to have the same job, like, forever? And I get assigned . . . as in, I don’t get a choice?”

  “Yes, of course you’ll have the same job for eternity, but it’s nothing to worry about. Everyone gets the right one.” She said that as if it would make everything all better, and then continued without giving me the opportunity to respond.

  “Let’s move forward, shall we? Can I ask you your name, sugar?”

  “Audrey.”

  “Can you tell me how old you were?”

  I didn’t know. I looked across the gleaming desk at the woman. She stared back at me patiently. Then suddenly there was a sound in my head like a cork being released fr
om a bottle, and my brain supplied the information.

  “Eighteen.” That surprised me. I thought the reflection in the river had looked younger than that.

  “And Audrey, dear, can you tell me how you died?”

  Finally, the words struck me with emotion. I bit back tears, making a mental note that you could still cry when you’re dead.

  “I’m not sure,” I whispered.

  I didn’t miss the softening of her eyes. “That’s okay, sugar bear. Sometimes it takes some extra time to get caught up.”

  I nodded numbly, not knowing how to respond.

  She reached forward to give my hand a reassuring squeeze. Her touch was more than just warm; it spread a feeling of goodwill throughout my body. It was both soothing and disconcerting at the same time. I pulled my hand back. I didn’t want to feel either of those emotions.

  Blondie gave me a small smile as if to say she understood before focusing her attention on the boxy object in front of her, which looked almost like a large, very outdated computer monitor. She worked for a few moments without looking up at me, her raised fingers moving quickly and silently over the screen. But that was the side I couldn’t see, so I really didn’t know what she was doing.

  Finally she said, “Oh, here we go, it’s coming up now.”

  Even though I had no idea what was going on, I held my breath in anticipation.

  “Oh dear,” she murmured.

  I let the breath I had been holding escape in a loud rush. She looked more flustered than when she’d found out I’d skipped orientation. The nervous itch returned. What I read on her face was a mixture of concern and confusion. That couldn’t be good.

  She suddenly remembered I was still there and tried to wipe the look from her face, replacing it with a mask of calm assurance.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me a moment, dear. I need to go get someone. I’ll be back in no time.”