Eternity's Echo

by H. C. Southwark

  The boy lifted his hand and displayed the park, a grand gesture. Ellie followed the line of his arm, saw a flock of Canadian geese rummaging through the slush and dead grass. One of them flung its head back and honked. Loud, like a car horn.

  The boy faltered, his moment broken. The girl giggled, but Ellie could hear underlying nerves in her levity. Keith Smithson the younger recovered quickly.

  “Anyway,” he said, “They think the world is only temporary. And they get to go to big sky daddy’s palace when they die. So who cares about the Earth, right? See?”

  “An afterlife doesn’t mean that they don’t care about the Earth,” said the girl. She sounded offended, but not on her own behalf. “My parents recycle and everything.”

  “But that’s like the bare minimum,” said Keith Smithson the younger. “The world is cooling, you know? There’s gonna be another ice age. Glaciers all the way down to the Ohio Valley. It’s do or die. Recycling isn’t enough. We have to curb emissions, oil spills. Twenty years. I’ll be almost forty, you too. Our kids would be our age.”

  “‘Our’ kids?” the girl laughed, another joking tone.

  This time her words had an effect. Both Keith Smithsons froze, and Ellie smirked at the stricken looks on their faces. Even fifty years later, Keith Smithson still responded to this girl. It was strange how some people affected one’s life.

  “Yeah,” said Keith Smithson the younger, and he crossed his arms and huddled in on himself. Beside her, Ellie saw Keith Smithson the elder shaking his head.

  “Don’t do it, you stupid kid,” he muttered.

  When Keith Smithson the younger raised his head again, Ellie saw his eyes, realized what was about to happen. He was going to confess. Aha, Ellie thought, this is it.

  A philosophical discussion, a love confession, first rejection, first broken heart, never forgotten pain. All very standard for a weighing of a soul’s heart—so many of Ellie’s assignments went this way, it was almost scripted.

  Then Keith Smithson the younger took in a deep breath—

  But the girl interrupted: “I see a problem.”

  “What?” said Keith Smithson, his moment broken again.

  “Your ideas. You’re right, people only do stuff because they believe in bigger reasons. Okay. Makes sense. But the problem is, you think that’s a bad thing.”

  “What’s that mean?” by the look on his face, Keith Smithson the younger was outraged on the new direction of the conversation.

  “Well,” said the girl, “take my parents. Dad only does recycling because he thinks God will get him if he doesn’t. But that means he has a good reason to do good things.”

  “Right,” said Keith Smithson. “He just can’t do a thing for its own sake. He only does the good thing because God’s hanging over his shoulder watching.”

  “But that gives him a reason to do the good thing, whether he wants to or not,” said the girl. “Now, take your side. You say you want to protect the Earth, because it’s all we’ve got. But if you’ve got yours, why do you care? You’re gonna die anyway.”

  “Because I’m a good person?” Keith Smithson sounded like he was talking to a small child, explaining what the color ‘blue’ was. “Because it’s the right thing?”

  “Sure. You can do the right thing, if you want. But—” and the girl shuffled upright. “Who says doing the right thing is necessary? I should just enjoy myself. I’m gonna die.”

  The boy had his response ready. “But it’s more than just you. You’ll die, but you’ll leave people behind. Friends, kids. You don’t want humanity to go extinct, right?”

  “But people will go extinct anyway. The world will end sometime.”

  “Earth will end. But the universe is huge. They put a man on the moon—remember? We’ll have spaceships in a hundred years. People’ll colonize the galaxy.”

  “But the universe will end, too. So humanity lasts a couple billion years longer. Big deal. Everything goes poof anyway—it’s not like anything will be left behind.”

  “Actually,” said the boy, “gravity will pull the universe back together. Before the big bang there was a singularity that banged out to make everything. At the end of our universe, it will collapse back down, and then boom out again. It’s called the heartbeat theory.”

  Ellie recalled what the younger Keith Smithson was talking about, but forgot where she learned it. Yet she did know this theory was no longer considered valid—instead, the universe would keep expanding into nothingness—and turn cold and lifeless.

  Like Keith Smithson’s corpse, back in the present.

  Well, she thought, this is the seventies. Science wasn’t that good.

  Briefly, Ellie wondered what reapers would do at the end of the world. She had only worked for three years—and she knew that she would be a reaper through all the future. She thought, I guess that means I’ll be able to see the end of everything.

  But what do reapers do when there isn’t anyone left to reap?

  Yet the girl was not finished, and she interrupted Ellie’s musing.

  “So what?” she asked. “No, seriously. Our universe collapses. Everything. Our planet. Our technology. Humans and aliens. It all goes down the drain. And then explodes, and brand new universe. But so what? Everything we are is still gone and dead.”

  “But while we’re here, we can enjoy our lives,” said Keith Smithson, as though this was a revelation, rather than circling back to the beginning of the discussion.

  “Exactly,” said the girl. “So why should I waste my life working instead of enjoying?”

  “Look,” said Keith Smithson. “I don’t get the point of all this. We just are, okay?”

  “My point is that you’re doing lots of work for a reason that doesn’t even make sense in the end. At least people who believe in God and souls and reincarnation have reasons that do make sense. They think long-term: they think about eternity.”

  “Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s real,” said Keith Smithson, and then, as if he was not now contradicting himself, he spoke in a lighter tone that signaled the end of the conversation: “That’s why you gotta live like you are gonna die tomorrow, I say.”

  Liar, Ellie thought. She scuffed her boot in the slush. Nobody really lives like that. If they did, then they wouldn’t beg so hard for another chance when I come for them.

  Ellie glanced at Keith Smithson the elder. His face was white again, same as in the hospital room. When he had first seen the girl, there had been nostalgia—followed by scorn for his younger self, some mistake he had made—but now, he looked nauseous.

  “I’ve seen enough,” he said. “I get it. I was bad to her. We don’t need to see this part.”

  “What makes you think I can stop this?” Ellie said, and Keith Smithson the elder wilted.

  His counterpart stood in front of the girl. Ellie watched as he entered the redhead’s personal bubble, and further, almost touching. The girl did not expect this, startled back.

  He’s not stopping, Ellie realized.

  Then Keith Smithson the younger was on his knees in front of the bench. His elder self moaned, softly. Ellie could not stop a smirk. No, she told herself. He wouldn’t dare.

  “What are you doing?” said the girl, between embarrassment and confusion.

  “Living for the moment,” said boy. “Like you said, everything will explode someday, God or no god. I can’t think of a person I’d rather explode with more than you.”

  Of all the corny lines, Ellie thought. The girl realized what was happening and horror dawned over her, mixed with something else that Ellie also felt: morbid fascination. This was something girls dreamed of, a love confession, but now it was too real.

  And yet—

  The boy’s expression was pure determination. He had been waiting to say this for a long time. There was something noble in his face, even as he stuttered: “I love you. I—”

  He had more to say, but Keith Smithso
n the elder tried to interrupt.

  “Come on, kid,” he said, loud enough that Ellie was having trouble hearing his other self. “Don’t do this. She’s going to break your heart. You know this is a bad idea.”

  Ellie would have let him keep trying, but she wanted to see—and hear—the ending. She said, “He can’t hear you. This is the past. Already done, can’t change it.”

  At that, Keith Smithson stood and turned away, with a look that read, If I can’t stop this, then I don’t have to witness it again. Ellie turned back to the scene, just in time to hear:

  “That’s why I want you to join me in saving the Earth. Would you marry me?”

  The world went quiet.

  No warning. Time suspended, again. A snapshot stretching one second to eternity.

  Just like before Keith Smithson’s death, fifty years later. Words came to Ellie’s lips, the ones she had not said before: Look out! But she did not say them now, either.

  Ellie felt her pocket-watch vibrate against her breast, the seconds hand straining to move forward from one tick to another. Her amusement felt stripped away, like time had bled her emotions and left her empty, ready to be filled by what she saw.

  A tableau: the boy, on his knees in slush before the girl on the park bench. His palms up, a giving gesture. Behind them the blue sky—geese paused midair, feathers, wings like halos. The whole world sloped and signaled toward the couple on the bench, the way perspective and line in a painting can draw the eye to a single point.

  The girl was mid-blink, muscles slack and relaxed, something like acceptance. The boy’s gaze was unwavering. The look on his face was almost painful to see. It was as though nobody had ever loved like him before and never would again.

  They were beautiful.

  Ellie could never predict these moments. But she sucked in a breath and believed—just—for that one breath, that anything could happen. Anything at all. Pure potentiality. The girl could say yes. Happily ever after. Everything was a breath away.

  Against Ellie’s breast the pocket-watch thrummed. Ticked.

  And then the girl laughed.

  Not a pretty laugh. Borderline hysteria. She kept laughing, horrified at herself, threw her hands onto her mouth to try and stop. The boy’s face broke like a mirror shattered into spiderwebs. Ellie saw so many emotions flicker through him—

  He settled on rage.

  His fists curled. He socked the girl in the solar plexus. She screamed. Doubled over, choking. Some bystanders several paces away on the park’s brick path let out yells of disapproval. Ellie’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Keith Smithson the younger shouted.

  “Me?” the girl managed to get out. “What’s wrong with me?” Last word raised higher, incredulous. “No, what’s wrong with you!” And she shoved him. The boy fell back, landing on his butt in a puddle. The approaching bystanders cheered.

  Ellie and Keith Smithson the elder watched the girl stalk away, holding her middle. The boy scrambled up from the slush and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Yeah, get out of here!” yelled young Keith Smithson. “I am going to save the planet—and you’ll be sorry you turned me down! I am saving the world, here!”

  He stopped shouting when the bystanders passed and gave him one-fingered salutes.

  Well that was a train wreck, Ellie thought.

  “Buddhism doesn’t actually believe in souls,” said Keith Smithson the elder. He sounded drained. Still did not look at his younger self, who was staring after the girl, seething.

  Ellie had reaped some Buddhists and had this conversation with them already. “Yep.”

  “They believe in karma,” said Keith Smithson, whose younger self stomped off, “handed down in pieces. Like how when you die, the atoms in your body are scattered around and put into new things. All of a person is like that. The ‘you’ is gone at death.”

  “Fascinating,” said Ellie, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. She evaluated Keith Smithson, in his green coat and salt-hair, a line of blood run down his temple. The bone structure, the frowning look of shame shared by his younger self. Distorted imagery.

  Ellie could see how Keith Smithson’s life unfolded from this moment: his obsession with the environment multiplied without anything else to focus on, choosing three wives, all chasing after this dream, this one moment where he had thought that he could have everything he ever wanted, and had his dream thrown back in his face.

  But Keith Smithson was watching the girl’s silhouette, almost out of sight.

  “I’m a soul now. That means that Buddhists are wrong,” said Keith Smithson. He turned to look at Ellie. “Unless that’s what this was. Was it like a karma evaluation?”

  “Nope,” said Ellie. “No reincarnation.” She did not add, Except for special cases. Because Ellie did not handle those—not her department.

  “So souls exist,” Keith Smithson said. “And no reincarnation. Buddhism and Atheism are off the table. Who is correct, then? Are any religions correct?”

  Ellie shrugged. “Does it matter? You’re dead. Exam’s over. You get the grade you get.”

  “It does matter, yes. More so than before.”

  No, thought Ellie. It mattered before, when you lived. When you made your choices.

  Not my problem. The words were ones she had said many times, to many assignments. Ellie knew this conversation was futile, would change nothing. Her mentor had instructed her not to get too deep into this topic. Some souls got upset.

  Yet, Ellie could not resist curiosity—what would he do if she told him?

  “As far as I’m told,” said Ellie, “the Jesus freaks have it right.”

  Before she could blink, Keith Smithson was gone. Running. For a guy over three times Ellie’s age with an extra forty pounds, he was quite fast.

  “Hey!” Ellie shouted. She tore after him, cursing herself. Stupid, stupid, I can’t believe how stupid I am—it’s been over a year since a runner, I got lazy.

  Ellie really hated her job. Not sometimes—all of the time.

  Chapter Four: Running Toward the Fire.

  Son of a bitch, get back here!

  Keith Smithson ran like he was still alive, a good parkgoer who obeyed rules. He kept to brick trail and off soggy, slushy grass. He also dodged around the living, who did not even glance at him. He only went off the brick to skirt around a mother and three children, not noticing that they were about to move out of his path.

  I hate exercise, Ellie thought, and called: “You idiot, where are you even going?”

  Keith Smithson turned his head and yelled back, sounding winded: “Go away!”

  “Not happening!” Ellie hollered. She should have been able to run faster, but Keith Smithson had a head start. “You’re making my job harder, asshole!”

  “You’re gonna put me in Hell!” he howled. “Go away!”

  Oh, thought Ellie. Right. I guess he would be worried about that.

  She called: “It’s not such a big deal!”

  “Not a big deal!” screeched Keith Smithson. He bumped into a jogger, who recovered and did not react. The same jogger stepped to the side as Ellie passed.

  “It’s not what you think, moron!” Ellie shouted. “You’ll like it there! It’s a lovely in winter!”

  “Bitch!” Keith Smithson yelled. Ellie realized what she had said, how easily her claim could be interpreted as a morbid joke. Hellfire, burning—lovely in winter, indeed.

  I wish I could send you into fire for this, Ellie thought. She was panting and gasping. At this rate he would escape. Then she would have to go upstairs and file a missing persons report. Susan would shake her head in that grandmotherly way, like Ellie had let her down. And her next assignment would be something extra horrible.

  Missing persons reports were twenty pages. Ellie was never filing one again. Not if she could help it. She put out an extra burst of speed.

  They
reached the parking lot. Keith Smithson ran past a parked car with an empty bike rack and a bumper sticker declaring, I’LL REST WHEN I’M DEAD.

  Sometimes, Ellie thought as she ran by, I think God has a really dark sense of humor.

  “Leave me alone!” Keith Smithson shouted. “I’ll be a ghost! I’ll work for a fortune teller, I’ll do Ouija boards—go away!”

  Clearly, Ellie thought, he had not listened to the conversation with the red-haired girl any more the second time around. Feeling vicious, she could not resist calling out: “But the universe will end someday, yeah? You’ll go there eventually anyway!”

  “Bitch!” And, with nothing else to say, he kept repeating: “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!—”

  That’s right, Ellie puffed. Waste your energy talking. She was gaining on him.

  Then she saw it.

  A rat-shape, but with eight spindly legs like a spider, crawling out from the bushes ahead. The rodent perked fleabitten ears, spotted Keith Smithson, and smiled like a human being—except with broken glass for teeth.

  Keith Smithson was too busy yelling his refrain to notice, and Ellie did not know whether non-reapers could see demons in their normal forms anyway. All she knew was that her assignment was about to experience some real Hellfire if she did not catch him soon.

  Forget a missing persons report. Ellie would fill out a “demon ate my homework” report. She had never filled out one of those, but she knew they were over a hundred pages.

  Hell no. Literally Hell.

  “Look out!” she shouted, the very words that she had almost said to Keith Smithson four hours before, when he had been crossing the street. The words that, if she had said them, perhaps would have stopped him from dying.

  Perhaps. Most likely not. The files upstairs were never wrong.

  But Keith Smithson did listen. He had turned his head back to cuss at her, and now he swiveled eyes-forward, just as the demon’s spine split open. Smoke, brimstone and glittery, billowed out like a volcano—and from the shadows came a monster.

  Gargoyle, reptilian, big teeth, leather wings, claws. Scaled, but dripping with red goo too thick to be blood. Three times the size of a human. The monster loomed over Keith Smithson, arms splayed to prevent him from running to the side.