Eternity's Echo

by H. C. Southwark

  “The world is ending?” Ellie offered, but the statement was phrased as a question.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Got the gist. You want my help?”

  “Would be nice,” said Ellie. “I mean, I don’t want the world to end, do you?”

  “Not in general,” said the young man. “Depends what it’s going to be replaced with.” He drew to his full height. “Now: what did you do to my mother?”

  Strange, Ellie thought, that he assumes the world ending means it will be replaced. That’s not a given. But I don’t know either way; they didn’t tell me.

  Trying to calm his obvious anger, she said, “I didn’t hurt your mom.”

  “Oh?” the creature replied. “Then why does she feel dead?”

  You can feel that she’s dead? Ellie wanted to say, but this seemed like a bad idea.

  “Well,” said Ellie, still fishing for words. And the absurdity of the situation struck her: here she was, trying to give the ‘you’re a dead man’ talk to a super-human thing, in front of Cookie and Shawn, like they were a panel grading her reaping style.

  Breathing in, she told herself: it’s just describing the basics. You’ve done this thousands of times. Just maybe use a little less snark here, he looks really mad.

  “I am a reaper,” she told him, gestured behind her to Cookie and Shawn. “We all are. We take the dead to the afterlife. Your mom’s upstairs now, which is safer because the world has gone bye-bye and the stars are going to fall. So we’re helping, see?”

  Lame, she thought. That was so lame. She glanced back at her companions. From the look on Shawn’s face, he agreed with her assessment. Cookie looked constipated.

  “Helping,” said the young man, his voice flat as glass. He seemed angrier.

  “Wait,” said Ellie. “I just explained why to you. Why are you still mad?”

  “How would you like it if someone reaped your parents?” said the young man. Ellie felt air catch against her ribs. But he was not finished. “Frankly, the only thing keeping me from giving you a beatdown right now is that I was taught not to hit girls.”

  Yay chivalry, thought Ellie.

  Shawn piped up, “Man... that’s dumb. I mean, girls did that feminism thing. So they should get treated equal. Not my fault if they think equality sucks.”

  “And you—” the man turned to Shawn, who flinched under his glare. “You are a little shit.” He paused, blurted—“Pardon my French”—and continued, “You give men a bad name. Frankly, I am half an opinion to give you a beatdown of your own.”

  Cookie snorted, blurted, “Get in line.”

  The man flashed a smile. Just briefly, just long enough for Ellie to see that he had a nice smile, the kind that worked on puppies and small children.

  Then he firmed up again. His eyes shot back to Ellie, and he said, “Did you hurt her?”

  “Nope,” said Ellie, quickly. “Uh. I mean, no. It’s painless.”

  “Is it?” said the young man. “It sure wasn’t for me.”

  “Oh,” was all Ellie could manage. She had never heard of a soul feeling even so much as discomfort while being removed. In her own experience with dying, leaving her body had not been painful. No—the part that hurt was the actual dying.

  But thinking of such things was a mistake. Realizing what she was doing, but not able to stop herself, she lifted her hand and pulled hard on her scarf, so that the bruises ringing her neck flared bright with pain. She swallowed, with difficulty.

  “Well?” said the young man. His voice was sharp, and yet oddly like quoting or mimicking someone unconsciously. “What do you say when you hurt someone?”

  What are you, my dad? The words came to Ellie, but she pushed them away. Now was not the time for snideness. She reminded herself: monster thing that can hurt reapers.

  “Uh,” Ellie searched her mind. “Um. Sorry?” And then corrected, “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” and the young man breathed in, then turned around and stood for a moment, clearly taking deep breaths. Ellie watched his shoulders move as his sides expanded and contracted. He was looking into his own body’s dead face, she realized.

  “Okay,” he repeated, and turned back around. Seemed calmer, now. “I forgive you.”

  Ellie blinked. Just like that? She wanted to ask—I say sorry, and everything’s cool? But she thought that this, too, was probably not a good thing to say aloud.

  Becoming a mantra: Don’t provoke the strong monster dangerous to reapers.

  The creature added, “I get a little angry sometimes. I’m working on it.”

  “But it’s understandable that you’re angry,” Cookie spoke. Apparently there was a limit to how long Cookie could keep quiet when confronted with an unhappy soul, regardless of her own fear. “I mean, you saw something unpleasant, and we haven’t exactly been kind back to you. Being forgiving like this is generous.”

  Ellie turned, gave Cookie a look that read, Hey, will you stop taking his side?

  But, she reminded herself, as she turned back to him, His side will be my side. Our side.

  If he will help me save the world.

  And that thought, even in her own head, sounded like something a movie character would say, so Ellie had to hold back a bark of laughter.

  Cookie’s words had some kind of effect on him, though. If anything, now the young man looked embarrassed. He lifted a hand and tugged at his coat, but kept quiet.

  So Ellie said, “I’m Ellie, soul reaper. That’s Cookie and Shawn. And you?”

  “Jude Wilson,” said the young man, “Second year student from Boulder.”

  This was mundane, not what Ellie had expected him to say, so she prompted, “And?”

  “And what?” asked Jude, as though confused she would want to know more.

  Ellie said, “Well? We’re reapers. What are you?”

  “Human,” said Jude, as though he thought she was off her rocker.

  Shawn snorted. And Ellie believed he had the same thought as her: Yeah, right.

  “Are you sure?” Ellie prodded. “I mean... I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re kind of the only person here who was not frozen. I had trouble pulling you out, too.”

  “I’m human,” Jude repeated, insisted, and something strange happened to the bookcases around him. At first Ellie thought it was a trick of perspective, or that she was indeed going mad, because the lines of the bookcases behind him began to—to—

  Warp, her mind supplied. That’s what I would call it.

  They were no longer straight. There was a curve forming, like a bow with its string being pulled, bending, but slowly, so subtly that you could miss it on first look. Just enough to notice—if you were paying close enough attention.

  Unknowing whether the young man was lying or not, but feeling her heartbeat stammer at the sight of warping space as well as time, Ellie said, “Okay. So you’re human.”

  “Right,” said Jude, and the curve of the bookcases snapped back into place like a rubber band, wobbling a bit as they did so, a thin quick vibration.

  Ellie felt, more than heard, Cookie’s sigh of relief behind her. The others saw the warping, too, Ellie thought, I must not be mad. Or at least, as mad as I could be.

  Does he not know what he is? Ellie wondered. Or is he in denial? Or lying?

  Back to the topic at hand. Ellie said, “You want a rundown of what’s happening?”

  “I think I got the basics. The world has ended. Time is stopped? Of course, that begs the question of how we can still move, but whatever.” He shrugged.

  “Right,” said Ellie. And, trying not to sound like an idiot, she announced:

  “That’s about it. I’m going to stop the end of the world. And you’re helping.”

  Jude had an expression that Ellie read as bemused. He said, “Bargain’s a bargain.”

  “Whoa,” said Shawn. “Wait. What?”

  Ellie turned to look at her fellow reapers. Shawn had droopy mou
th, as though the surprise of what she said made his jaw want to drop, but he was forcibly holding it up. Cookie’s eyes were wide. She was almost trembling, and Ellie did not know whether she would run, or rush to Ellie and do something—hug, attack, shake her, who knew.

  Ellie said: “Come on, guys. It’s the end of the world. We can’t just let it happen.”

  “Okay,” said Shawn. “Not that I want to stop mischief and mayhem... but seriously?”

  “Obviously I’m serious,” Ellie said, gesturing to Jude. “Would I have let out the soul of the potential monster thing that could hurt reapers if I wasn’t?”

  Jude snorted. Ellie glanced back at him, but he gave her a look that she interpreted meant he regarded her as crazy. Ellie shrugged at him, turned back.

  “This is the world, guys,” she said. “The whole world. Think. There’s gotta be someone you care about who is still alive. Or even just people in general.”

  She addressed Cookie, who started, crossed her arms. “Cookie. Think about your mom. Your dad. You had cousins. They’re still alive, even if your parents aren’t. And all your assignments—their family, friends, children. Should they die, all at once?”

  “They would have died anyway,” Cookie objected, but looked shaken.

  “Yes,” said Ellie. “But not right now. No, this is something else—something special that stopped time, something supernatural. That’s in our court. We’re responsible for it, not the world of the living. Not old age or disease or an accident. These people weren’t slated to die. When we pull them out, we’re probably killing them.”

  Jude shifted behind her, but Ellie did not look at him again. If he struck her, then she would take the hit. After what she had done to his mother, perhaps she deserved it.

  “You don’t know that,” said Cookie. “Besides, the sky is falling. You’re saving them.”

  “Am I?” said Ellie. “Saving them for what? Death? Real great save, there. You want to actually save them? Well, then saving the world is actually saving them. Reapers don’t kill. We collect. The commission is to comfort the dead—”

  And she faltered, because saying those words was difficult. Ellie realized she had never before said the words of the reaper’s commission aloud, and the bruises on her neck felt like they were brands instead, freshly hewn into her skin. Her scarf was a chain.

  Clearing her throat, as best she could, Ellie continued, “Well, these people aren’t dead. So we’re violating our commission, aren’t we? We only deal with the dead. And if people die now, then they don’t get the deaths meant for them later. It’s unjust. Why does everybody else since the beginning of time get to live their full lives, but not them?”

  Great, Ellie thought. Now even Shawn is staring at me like I’m a loony.

  But to save the world? Ellie figured: the more, the merrier. All help is appreciated. I’ll argue the both of them until they agree to help me and Jude.

  Cookie looked troubled. Her hands lifted, reached for Ellie, paused, fell back down and clasped. “I don’t know, Ellie... doesn’t this kind of talk remind you of something?”

  Ellie frowned. “Of what?”

  “Well,” said Cookie, “I know you’re not the best at giving them the talk, but while you’re bad at your part, you have to have heard their end of the talk before. Like, hundreds of times. Heck, I have the talk with every single soul I’ve reaped.”

  Suspicion slunk into Ellie’s mind. “Quit being cryptic, spit it out.”

  “All I’m saying,” said Cookie, holding up her hands to signify a truce. “Is that what you just said—‘it doesn’t have to end now,’ ‘we can fight to save the world,’ ‘this is all unfair’—doesn’t that sound awfully like souls do when they’ve just died? When they think that they can argue or bargain with you to keep on living?”

  Scuffing her boot, Ellie snorted, “Yeah, I thought of that already.”

  “Then you see why I’m concerned,” Cookie said. Her eyes were big and bright in their sockets. “When people face change, big change, they get scared. And death is the biggest change of all. Nobody can escape death, Ellie. Not even the universe.”

  “So we should just go on quietly into the good night, then?” Ellie shot back.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Cookie. “What I’m saying is, there is power in acceptance. Not in giving up, not when you do need to fight for something. But when something is inevitable, has already happened, struggling against it isn’t heroic. It’s damaging. It’s denialism of the truth because your view doesn’t align with reality anymore.”

  She paused. Visibly worked her tongue in her mouth. And Ellie wondered if Cookie was going back—traveling in her mind to another time, when there was the consequences of a mistake she had not entirely made in her belly, when she was looking at a pill bottle, when she was thinking she could make up for something already past.

  And then Cookie said, “In my own journey, a lot of what I learn is about alignment. God has made the world in certain ways. If you skew your perspective and fight those ways, you only damage yourself. Healing is about recognition and changing yourself. Not the world. Complaining and whining and struggling against the world is like beating yourself against a wall—painful for you, without purpose, because that wall’s not moving. This is the same with death—and maybe with stopping the end of the world.”

  Ellie did not have a good answer. The words felt stuck at the back of her throat.

  Jude interrupted. “Look... Cookie, is it? I’m not a reaper. I’m not afraid of death, either. I’m a Christian.” He pulled at the collar of his shirt, and between the muscles under his collar bones, Ellie saw the tattoo of a Jesus fish, two swoops crossing on one side.

  Cookie switched focus to him immediately. Apparently, Ellie thought, Jude’s wellbeing ranked above her own with Cookie, probably because she considered Jude similar to any other reaped soul, and as always Cookie took the commission seriously.

  “That’s nice,” she said, “lots of Christians get to Heaven. You stand a chance.”

  “Well,” said Jude, ignoring the potential patronizing in Cookie’s words. “A part of Christianity is about the end of the world. How it will be great, yadda yadda. And I guess I kind of agree. I mean, it would be nice to end suffering, have paradise...”

  He trailed off, and Ellie realized why: his eyes had drifted onto the corpse of his mother.

  Then he seemed to catch himself, and snapped back to focus. “But there is a reason for someone like me, who believes in Heaven, to want to stop the end of the world.”

  Cookie pursed her lips, no doubt thinking that this, too, sounded like a dead soul trying to reason his way alive again, but did not object. Ellie found herself filling with curiosity; lurking half-behind the bookshelf, even Shawn was attentive. Jude drew himself higher.

  “The Bible says that God is delaying the apocalypse. For the sake of the unbelievers. So everyone has a chance to hear the gospel. Make a choice of their own free will. If the apocalypse happens too soon, some people will be left behind.”

  And Jude gestured out to the library. Absurdly, Ellie was reminded of Keith Smithson, his pimply face so grand as he had gestured around that park fifty years ago. But this time there was no interrupting goose. This time, when Jude gestured, the whole world seemed to be enveloped by the sweep of his arm, leaving Ellie dizzy.

  “That’s why we have to try to stop this end of the world. If we’re wrong, and the world is supposed to end now, then you’re right—we won’t ultimately be able to stop it. So our fighting won’t harm anything, just waste some of our time and effort. Sure, we’ll feel bad and frustrated, but if we don’t at least try, then we’ll be haunted by the ‘what if’—what if we had tried, and managed to stop the end of the world? We will never know.”

  Cookie looked surprised, as though she had not thought of this. And Jude continued,

  “But if we’re right, then the world doesn’t have to end now. It could just be like an a
ccident—one of many potential times that the world could end. That means that stopping the apocalypse now is a good thing. I don’t believe that God—or whoever’s in charge, I imagine you reapers know more than me—would want the world to end prematurely. Otherwise, the world wouldn’t have lasted as long as it has.”

  And now Cookie was thoughtful. Ellie felt something like jealousy flare in her, but briefly. She had known Cookie for years and yet this stranger was better able to convince her than Ellie was. But she decided to be fine with this, if it meant Cookie would help them.

  Jude finished: “So it could be that we are the instruments of the Lord that will halt this apocalypse, so everyone will have more time to make their choice. Because the most important thing in life is choices—free will.”

  He turned to Ellie, and said, “That’s why I’ll help you. That’s why I’ll fight.”

  Ellie felt the smile pull across the bottom half of her face. She smirked often, so this should have been normal, but instead this smile felt strange. But then she realized: she was genuinely happy. It had been so long since she had felt like this, the muscles in her cheeks felt like some other kind of bodily motion, like the first smile in a long time.

  Cookie was looking at her, and from her expression she had realized the same thing as Ellie. She looked pleased, Ellie thought. Ever-grinning Cookie—now her grin was soft on her lips. Then she turned introspective, her eyes lowering as she considered her own response. Ellie found herself thinking the bits and bobs of a prayer: Oh, please...

  “Well,” Cooke said, after a moment, a bit hesitant between words. “He does have a point. If the end of the world is inevitable, we can’t stop it. But if we can...” and she paused, glanced down the hall at where they had helped Clara, the blue-haired woman.

  Cookie amended, “Then everyone has more time. So I guess I better come along, to make sure you both don’t get into trouble.” She smiled, and then her face settled into her usual grin. “You’re right, it would be better to give people more time to choose.”

  Three out of four, Ellie thought, and a flare of triumph burned upwards through her, ending at her bruised neck. The sting was only a small distraction from her satisfaction. She turned to Jude, who nodded. “Looks like a team, then.”