by Julie Hall
What was happening? Where was I?
A stout woman dressed in mint-green hospital scrubs walked into the room, mumbling about faulty equipment. She went straight to the heart monitor and turned it off without even glancing at me.
Was I invisible? Somehow transported and trapped in an Earthly hospital?
Nothing about this made sense.
I tried to talk to the lady, but my voice failed me. Instead of coherent words, a weak wheezing noise emerged. If the woman could hear me, she was too focused on checking the various machines around her to notice. She checked each one, talking to herself about this or that, medical jargon that made zero sense.
Had that heart monitor still been on, it would have been flipping out right now, because my heartbeat was so fast and strong I could feel it thumping in my chest. One beat swallowing up the next.
I made another attempt to grab the woman’s attention, not caring what noise came out of my mouth. I just needed to let her know I was here.
The only thing I knew was that I was in some sort of medical facility that wasn’t the Healing Center. That meant I was either in a medical ward in another and more primitive section of the realm, or I was somehow trapped on Earth. If the latter was true, this woman couldn’t see me. The living couldn’t see the dead.
There was a crash at the end of my bed—the sound of someone tripping. My gaze snapped to the source.
My mother stood shock still. And she was looking straight at me.
The fist pressed to her mouth shook, and the tears that filled her eyes spilled down her cheeks.
I blinked back the wetness that filled my parched eyes.
She could see me. Something was very wrong . . . or very right.
“Oh, Mrs. Lyons.” The woman in the mint-green scrubs hustled to my mom’s side. “Is everything all right? I know it’s hard to see your baby like this. Let me help you clean up this mess. Take a seat. I’m sure your husband can get some more food.”
My mom didn’t look away from me, not for a moment, her body a living statue where she stood. When the lady tried to usher her into a seat, Mom finally moved. Her hand snapped down and grabbed the woman’s wrist.
“Linda, she’s awake.”
The woman, Linda, gasped and finally looked at me. Her mouth opened and closed several times without making a noise, until she uttered, “Thank the Lord.” She jerked her gaze back to my mother.
“I’ll find a doctor.” Linda ran from the room.
“Baby.” Mom sobbed and stumbled to the edge of my bed. She gingerly sat on the side of the mattress, in one of the few places free of tubes and wires. Grasping my hand, she offered a brilliant smile as tears flowed from her eyes. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
I tried to squeeze her hand but didn’t have any strength. Tears leaked from my eyes and spilled down the sides of my face.
“You were in an accident, baby. You were asleep for a very long time. We didn’t know if . . . That doesn’t matter now. You’re back with us, and everything is going to be okay. I promise, it’s all going to be better now.”
My mom’s face was so full of hope and joy. But my mind was a mix of disbelief and horror.
I had no idea how this was possible. I was truly back on Earth. Back in the body I thought I’d lost so long ago. Somehow I’d been given a second chance at life . . . and it was cracking my soul in two. For as unbelievable and miraculous as this was, this meant that I had unknowingly . . . unwillingly . . . left my other half in the heavenly realm.
And there was only one way I was ever going to be able to return.
Being alive was torture. My body hurt everywhere, and it didn’t feel like my body anymore. I’d been lying sedate for almost a full year, so my muscles had atrophied. Weakened and shrunk from disuse—now that I wanted to use them again—they rebelled.
I’d apparently spent most of that time at some fancy center for coma patients thousands of miles from my hometown. The financial strain I’d seen my parents suffering when I took part in the battle at their house made a lot more sense now. They hadn’t been given any guarantees, and the longer I remained in a coma, the lower my chances of ever waking up had grown, but my brain activity had stumped the doctors. According to their machines, my mind was functioning in a way they hadn’t expected, and so my family had trudged on with the hope that some day I’d wake up—and that ‘some day’ had finally come.
A physical therapist came in twice a day to move my body for me while I basically just watched her and tried not to cry when she twisted one of my limbs in a way it didn’t want to go.
A week after I woke up, I was finally able to move some parts of my body on my own, and I no longer felt quite so claustrophobic in my skin. I was told that next week I’d be taken to the in-house rehabilitation center twice a day for my physical and occupational therapy.
I wanted to explain everything to my family. Where I’d truly been all this time, but I was unable to communicate properly. My muscles weren’t the only parts of my body that had turned against me; my vocal cords and part of my mind had followed suit.
I could barely get a word out, both because my voice had been unused so long and also because parts of my brain were scrambled. At least, that was what my doctor said, but in a more sensitive way. Even though I could think relatively clearly—yeah, I suffered little glitches now and then when I’d temporarily forget a name with a face and things like that—I was told I was going to have to re-learn how to speak and read and write.
All of that news blew . . . big time. It meant I was stuck lying in this bed, feeling like a geriatric patient rather than the healthy eighteen-year-old I should have been, struggling out a word here and there, unable to explain what had happened to me.
I saved my tears for the dead of night when I knew the only people who might see them were the nurses. My family was beyond overjoyed to have me back. My parents had both been visiting me the day I ‘miraculously awoke,’ and so they made plans to stay with me for a few weeks and then switch off and on until I could go home. I had video calls with my sisters and brother that basically consisted of them talking at me while I just attempted to smile.
Everything was hard. Everything hurt. And I was a conflicted mess of emotions. Thankful to have my life returned, bitter to have lost the new existence I was building. I didn’t know whether to be angry at the Creator for sending me back or grateful.
My heart—my poor, shriveled, beat-up heart—hurt, big time.
Even thinking Logan’s name brought a fresh onslaught of tears to my eyes. Picking one existence over the other would have been a near-impossible choice. But I hadn’t been given that choice.
Was I relieved about that? Or angry? I didn’t know.
My opinion changed hourly. I’d spend time with my parents, listen to their stories from the last year—how much they had missed me and how happy they were to have me back—and think that despite the pain of leaving all I had built in the afterlife, being back on Earth was the right thing. But then in the dead of night I’d lie awake wondering what my friends, what Romona and Bear, were doing and how they were going on without me.
And I’d ache.
Then him.
I would have given up the world to be with him. How could I for one second think this Earthly life was preferable to an eternity with the other half of my heart?
The cycle went on and on, around and around, back and forth.
Did he know where I was, what had happened to me? Did he visit me when I wasn’t aware? Now that I had a living future . . . what should I do with my second chance at life? But what kind of life could I have without him? I would wait for him, but would he do the same?
What my family had gone through was a nightmare . . . one they were finally waking up from. Did I feel the same or not?
And I prayed. I prayed long and hard, beseeching the Creator for answers. But I didn’t receive any. It felt as if my lifeline to Him had been cut off, and all I was left with was my knowledge of Him.<
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And therein lay my choice.
Would I choose to believe what I knew to be true, that the Creator, my God, was a good God who wanted good things for me, or would I rely on how I felt in the moment?
Abandoned, betrayed, and broken.
I knew all of that to be untrue. I knew He was with me, even now in this bed, day and night. I knew my God wouldn’t leave my side.
The day on the mountain He’d showed me the many times He’d carried me through life’s trials. But this was so much bigger than those incidences. And the desire to give in to my feelings, rather than grasp the truth with both hands like a lifeline and hold tight, was strong.
I knew now that even if I did let go and rail at Him, He wouldn’t leave me. But that didn’t mean I felt any better.
“Honey, are you crying?”
Shoot.
I attempted to lift a wobbly hand to my face but didn’t have the strength.
My dad turned in the chair he occupied near my bed and pulled a tissue from a box. He quickly dabbed under my eyes and soaked up the moisture that had unwillingly collected.
“There you go.” His lips were smiling, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. He knew I was in pain; he just didn’t understand the extent of it. “Audrey, I promise things will get better. You’re growing stronger every day. We’ll be out of this place and back home in no time. You’ll get back to your old life, I promise.”
I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but I’m pretty sure the expression was crooked at best. I nodded slowly to indicate I understood. Getting out even a word took an exhausting amount of effort, and I didn’t feel up to it. A great deal of my mental strength went toward not thinking about a few key things and trying to live in the moment again. Pretending I wasn’t this broken shell of a person.
If I kept this up, I might never talk again. But I didn’t know how to process and move through the pain of what I’d lost to keep on living. I didn’t even know if I wanted to process it, because it meant I’d have to move on, and I wasn’t ready for that.
For the very first time, I could appreciate not having had my memories immediately returned when I arrived in the afterlife.
This was beyond overwhelming.
“Baby,” my dad went on, oblivious of the true cause of my inner turmoil, “I know life seems impossibly hard right now, but you’re a fighter. You. Are. A. Fighter.” The fierceness in my father’s eyes told me he truly believed that. That he desperately wanted me to believe that as well.
The prickle behind my eyes warned of more tears to come. I blinked them away. My parents needed strength from me right now.
“My sweet Audrey, you will fight your way back to us.” My dad gripped my hand tightly. “And you will go on to have a beautiful life. Full of laughter and joy and someday a love and family of your own.”
There was no holding back the tide of tears after those words. They welled up and spilled over onto my face unfettered. For what my dad didn’t know, couldn’t know because I couldn’t yet express it myself, was that I would never have a love in this life because I’d already given away my heart, and I refused to take it back. Part of myself belonged to someone I most likely wouldn’t see again for many years—for a lifetime.
So this life, this future, he spoke of, would never be a reality.
Yes, I’d go on. I’d live my life. And not only for my family, but for myself and for the Creator who gave it to me. I’d even live it for the people I knew who had moved on to their eternal existence, for life was truly a precious blessing. But I would never have love and a family. For there was one thing I’d resolved.
My heart belonged now and forever to Logan, and I wasn’t ever going to be whole again until the day I found myself back in his arms.
33
Training
“Just one more step. That’s great. Now just one more, and I promise that will be it. That one was so good I’m sure you can do another.”
“Hate . . . you,” I pushed out through clenched teeth as my pathetic muscles shook with fatigue. Sweat dripped down my face and soaked the back of my t-shirt as I forced one foot in front of the other again . . . and then again.
Lying jerk-face.
“Yeah, I know. You say that every time.” He chuckled. “I’m over it. You’re not my grumpiest patient by far.”
“Something . . . else . . . I can work on,” I puffed out. A chunk of wet hair fell in my face. They’d shaved my head after the accident, and the shortened grown out length was always getting in the way.
Jared just laughed at me again.
You won’t be laughing when I throat-punch you with one of these crazy cane contraptions.
But I’d never do that. Jared was my regular physical therapist at the hospital, and even though there were times I truly hated him, the truth of the matter was he was just here to help me. We’d been working together for almost a month now, and according to him I was making ‘amazing improvements.’
Pfft.
Being able to feed myself and walk a few incredibly slow laps around what I called the “baby loop”—imagine a track and field circle for toddlers—didn’t feel super amazing to me. The grueling work left me sore every day. I felt like I was training for the Olympics rather than simply getting back to a normal range of motion.
Jared was a cheerful taskmaster. He was quick to smile, and I’d yet been able to get under his skin in an irritating way. He basically ignored my sour moods, pretending I was talking pleasantly with him instead.
He was one of the younger therapists, probably in his mid-twenties. He had a mop of sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes with slight laugh lines running from the corners. His broad smile always reminded me of Kevin, which used to rub me the wrong way because I didn’t like to be reminded of my friends from the afterlife, but I’d gotten used to it over time.
He was certainly attractive, but I only noticed it in a detached way. Like I would notice the attractiveness of a stranger, not someone I spent time with on a daily basis. I wondered more than once if they’d assigned me the young ‘hot’ trainer, thinking it would be more motivating for me. It probably would have made a difference to the girl I’d once been, but it didn’t matter in the least to the warrior I’d become.
Throwing insults aside, I was determined to move on with my life. And in order to do so, I had to push myself to the limits. In the past month, I’d regained my ability to read almost completely. My writing was a bit sloppy, and that tied my mental and physical therapy together. Speech was the most frustrating. All the words were in my head, but I struggled to get them out. The doctors and therapist were very optimistic that it would come along as well and were quick to remind me how far I’d come in what they considered a short period of time, but my inability to communicate normally was still super frustrating.
In the days when I could hardly communicate at all, I’d decided not to tell my family about what had happened to me while my body wasted away without my knowledge. I debated it, but I couldn’t find a reason to unload that burden on them. At best, they’d believe I dreamed it all up. At worst, they’d think I had more severe mental issues than had already been identified.
And in a weird way, keeping the secret meant I could keep all of it. I didn’t want someone to tell me I had to give it up.
I would move on with my life because there had to be a reason I hadn’t died when I was struck by that car—some purpose the Creator had for me here on Earth in a living body—but I’d always carry those loved ones with me. I didn’t want to talk to someone who would try to force them from my thoughts in a futile attempt to make me forget and live a “happier, healthier life.” If the Creator had wanted me to forget, then I would have woken up without any memories of my year as a demon hunter or the relationships I had built during that time.
There was a reason for the remembering.
So instead of telling anyone about the afterlife, I spent time silently beseeching the Creator, Hugo, and Joe for wisdom, guidance, and a bre
ak from the soul-wrenching pain of loss I hid from all others. I knew they were with me and were the help I needed. It took supernatural effort to keep from being angry at my situation. Every day, I had to intentionally choose to believe there was a plan and purpose in all of this.
Some days were harder than others.
“All right, I think that’s good for today, Audrey. Up high for the amazing work.”
Jared held his hand so high that under normal circumstances I would have had to jump to reach it. I rolled my eyes and halfheartedly swiped at him with my high-tech crutch. He deftly stepped out of the way. “Close enough.”
I wrinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out at him. He had hints of Kaitlin in his personality too. I mentally slapped myself. I wasn’t ever going to let go of my friends, but I had to stop constantly comparing people to them.
Jared was just Jared. He was his own person, just as each of my friends in the heavenly realm were their own person and could never be replaced.
“Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have taken you out of the running for the grumpiest patient after all.”
I flopped into my wheelchair and shook my head. “Sorry, am I a . . .” No, that wasn’t right. “I am in”—there we go—“a”—get the word out, Audrey—“ju-junky mood today.”
I sighed. Having to concentrate so much on something that used to be so easy was wearisome.
Jared’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Like most people around me—lots of brave faces hiding their pity for me. Maybe someone else would be annoyed by their insincerity, but frankly, I’d rather have their poorly veiled pity than anything more forthcoming. If they wanted to believe I was buying what they were selling, that was fine with me.
In truth, I was doing a lot of play-acting myself. My parents now switched weeks flying back and forth from the hospital to stay with me, and for their sakes I made an effort to look happy. I wasn’t fooling them any more than they were fooling me. It was a charade we all played that I was happy to keep up.
Things would change, I told myself over and over again. Life wouldn’t always be this hard; it wouldn’t always hurt this much.
