Eternity's Echo

by H. C. Southwark

  She stepped forward, and Jude followed, uncertainly. Ellie did not see any familiar faces—the reapers must have been near the doors, she thought. Just where we’re headed. But they’ll be busy. Maybe so busy that we’re overlooked. If we can just find Cookie first... then we’ll be in and out. No problem. The world’s greatest soul heist.

  I’m turning into an optimist, Ellie thought. Or else I’m going mad.

  Ellie had never heard of anyone stealing a soul before. She had heard horror stories about reapers trying to steal the souls of relatives, friends, even enemies. But those were more like moral fables, with the message, Do your job, don’t steal souls.

  Where would I find Cookie in all this? She wondered. And then Ellie passed one of the lines that told her everything she needed to know: a line of elderly people.

  “Bingo,” she whispered. Began jogging, following the line, smiling uncomfortably at any of the elderly souls who gazed at her curiously. Jude trailed after, mystified.

  The line ended in a branch that formed multiple smaller queues, with one of the offshoots always in motion, so the main line kept flowing even while the queues had a bit of a wait, individually. Ellie hung back among the line, observing, noting the familiar faces of reapers. As she suspected, this was mostly the expected deaths squad. None of them paid her any attention—they were the type to be dedicated to work.

  There was Cookie. She walked to the head of one of the queues that had been vacated by another reaper, who went off with a soul in tow, clearly ready to place the person through a door. Cookie started talking to the old man at the front of the line. Ellie crept up along through the queues, relieved that Cookie was on the last branch.

  “Hey,” Ellie stage-whispered, loud enough to be heard over the noise but not so loud that the next queue’s reaper was interrupted. Cookie startled, eyes widening at seeing Ellie, and she said something to her current assignment, who seemed content to wait.

  “What are you doing here?” Cookie hissed, stepping into the lines to observe Ellie and Jude. “You’ve gone rogue, right? We’ve orders to find you. Are you turning yourself in?”

  “What do you think?” said Ellie, stuffing her hands into her pockets, feeling the shard.

  Jude interrupted. “How is Shawn?”

  Cookie’s anger and hassle melted away. She said, “Josephina has him. She lugged him around for a bit like a sack of flour. He’s started moving on his own. But he doesn’t react when you talk to him and he hasn’t said a word.” She paused. Ellie saw anger return to her features, then she turned reflective. “We should have stopped him.”

  “Yeah,” said Jude. “We should have.”

  They were wasting time, Ellie thought. Shawn could probably recover enough to thank them for saving the world, if they managed to buy enough time for success. She said, “We are close to either winning or losing this, Cookie. The demons said that they’ve gathered almost all of the shards, so we only have the missing ones to find.”

  Cookie snorted. “And you believe them?”

  “What choice do I have?” Ellie said, and then realized her mistake.

  Cookie looked torn between pity and consternation. She said, “Everyone has choices.”

  “And I’m choosing to save the world, here,” Ellie said. “Are you going to help?”

  For a long moment, Cookie regarded her, observing. Ellie felt the muscles in her belly tighten, like a rubber band pulling taut. She was on the verge of thinking Cookie was going to refuse, or perhaps even turn them in, perhaps citing a lesson she had learned from Shawn’s demise—but then Cookie sighed, and nodded.

  “What do you need?” she said.

  “The dark man from the Holy Sepulchre,” said Ellie. “Ukraine. Obadiah Charon.”

  “Well that’s a mouthful,” Cookie muttered, barely audible. “You need a look-up?”

  “Yeah,” said Ellie, a bit of embarrassment leaking through her at Cookie’s acknowledgement that Ellie did not know how to work the files. Supposedly they were open for any reaper to go and find, but they operated under some kind of adjusted Dewey Decimal card-based catalogue system. Ellie was not learning numerical codes for topics that were then somehow attached to individual names.

  “Wait here,” said Cookie, and walked off in the direction of Susan’s desk.

  But as she moved toward the desk, Ellie’s line of sight was blocked by all the moving souls. And Ellie realized: she and Jude were in the center of attention. All the souls in the queues around them were peering over at the pair with curiosity, clearly having overheard parts of the conversation. Besides that, they were near the front of the branches, where the reapers were coming and going with assignments.

  “Hey,” Ellie said, “C’mon, let’s wait over there,” and pulled Jude along.

  If there had not been so many people, souls circling everywhere, then she and Jude would never have been able to blend in. As it was, they continued back down the line and soon were lost among all the wandering heads, sorrowful and joyful faces alike.

  “How’s your arm?” Ellie asked, noticing Jude wincing again.

  “It’s fine,” Jude replied, a little too quickly. Ellie halted and glared. He seemed to realize then that he was not fooling her, and said, “Feels like a sprain.”

  “Do you think ice would help?” asked Ellie, trying to think of first aid.

  “Unless you reapers got a break room with a fridge, where would we find ice?” said Jude, sounding amused. Then he said, “Wait. Do you have a break room?”

  “Nope,” said Ellie. “We just hang out on earth whenever we have free time.” She considered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find something to help. Asprin?”

  “Never sat well with my stomach,” said Jude, shrugging. Ellie sighed. He was troublesome, she thought, and if she had more guts then she would leave him here.

  “Ellie?” came a voice, and she started—for the sound of her name in this voice was like hearing her own voice played back on tape—something familiar, yet not. She found the creased face of an old woman who seemed a blur of faces, until the features resolved into someone she had known. From her father’s church.

  A Sunday School teacher who had known Ellie since the day she was born.

  “Mrs. Brummel, how are you?” she said, trying not to choke on the words, because the flare of bright pain around her throat was making breathing difficult.

  “Ellie!” the old woman repeated. There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Ellie! You’re here! We’ve all missed you—and when you died, we were so worried you went to Hell—”

  “Nope,” said Ellie, feeling as if she was lying: reaping had been a sort of Hell, she supposed. And then, because this part at least was true: “I repented before... the end.”

  “Oh,” the old woman nearly sobbed. “Ellie, come here. They say the world has ended and we’re all going to the afterlife. Your family can’t wait to see you—”

  The old woman tried to approach, but some invisible barrier or string prevented her from leaving the line. The woman’s reactions affected the rest of the group around her, who were now sniffing and wiping their own eyes. But they looked oddly glad, too. Ellie found she could not interpret these clashing emotions, understand why and how happiness and sadness could coexist within these onlookers upon seeing her, a stranger.

  Yet when Ellie’s vision blurred she knew there was a different cause—she knew her hand was pulling on her scarf, but could not seem to loosen her grip. She wanted to rage and scream and howl, not to cry. She wanted to run and not look back.

  Then there was a strong hand on her own, forcing her fingers open, other fingers at her neck untangling the knot. Jude’s voice, low and urgent, “We have a mission.”

  Exactly what I need to hear, Ellie realized. She let her hands relax, Jude pull her along.

  “Ellie!” the old woman called as they moved on, “We all forgive you! Do you forgive us?”

  She nearly whirled around and s
creamed something, she did not know what words, perhaps something about damning this old woman for distracting her, but she was certain she would regret this no matter what she said. Jude’s hand was in the middle of her back, and he said, “Keep going. Cookie’s probably back by now.”

  Forcing one foot before another, Ellie kept walking. Jude trailed after her, but closer this time, like a sheepdog herding. Where is the end of this damn line, she thought.

  They found the start of the queues and stopped there, still out of sight for the busy-bee reapers at the end. Ellie kept her head down, knowing that Jude was staring at her.

  “So,” Jude said. “First Shawn, now you. So ‘that’ is how you become a reaper?”

  Ellie jerked her head in what she hoped was a nod, feeling emptied, listless. “Yeah.”

  “Seems strange,” said Jude. “I mean, isn’t that self-murder? Shouldn’t murderers go to Hell? And if it’s not self-murder, if you were mentally ill, shouldn’t you go to Heaven? Or at least a limbo, a happy place where there isn’t suffering?”

  Glancing up at him through the bars of her hair, Ellie said, “No place is happy.”

  Then Cookie was there. She said, “Found him.”

  They followed Cookie through the lines, slipped past the distracted expected deaths squad, and walked past the many doors of many Hells—past the one where Keith Smithson had hurried joyfully into mere hours ago before time had stopped—

  The door for the dark man was wooden, thick and glossy wet as though from dew, with metal bars like a portcullis barring the way. There was no handle—but there was a lock.

  “That doesn’t look ominous at all,” said Jude, as they stood before it.

  Ellie squared her shoulders, told herself that there was not any danger—she was a reaper, after all. This door was not her afterlife. And Jude—well. She had not weighed his heart. But after her three years on the job, she reminded herself that she had begun to have a sense of these things: Jude was probably going to Heaven.

  But first, she told herself, after we re-start time, he’s going to have a long enjoyable life.

  Cookie stood next to the door and placed her fingertips on the wood, shivering a bit. Must be cold, Ellie thought, and really wet. There was a click as the door unlocked.

  “Are you coming with us?” Ellie asked her. She had a suspicion what the answer would be, based on how Cookie was looking—sullen, ready for an argument, but yet there was determination in the corners of her mouth.

  Cookie said, “I have work to do.” Her gaze seemed to say: So do you, Ellie.

  Where was ever-grinning Cookie, now? Ellie wondered. I’ve never seen you frown so much. She nearly spoke aloud: I’m sorry. This hasn’t been much of an adventure. I know you wanted to sometimes see something new and interesting, but there is a reason you’re on the expected deaths squad. Not the accident squad, like me.

  Instead, she said, “I understand.”

  Cookie was surprised. Then grateful. Ellie realized she had expected an argument. It was with relief that Cookie responded, “Oh, and one more thing before you go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Down Past the Gate.

  The door to Hell creaked as it swung behind them, but shut with a quiet click.

  Or perhaps, Ellie thought, that was the locking mechanism. Reaching, she pushed and found the door solidly in place. Worried, she tapped on the wood—but her reaper’s powers were the same as always, for the door unlocked with another click. When she did not immediately push it open, a third click told her it had self-locked again.

  Nobody gets out of here, she thought. Not if they aren’t reapers.

  But then again, reapers were either in the lowest circle of Heaven, or the highest circle of Hell. Either way, she had no escape from her own afterlife.

  Still, satisfied she could escape from here at least, Ellie turned front to observe this new world, shoulder to shoulder with Jude, who surveyed their surroundings with a frown.

  They were in an alley with sputtering torches instead of streetlights, the walls made of some kind of concrete or daubing. Wooden beams stood between the daub, bones upholding flesh. The far end of the alley was a T-shape meeting a larger road. Nobody was visible, but time was not frozen, either—for there were puffs of wind curling dust and the odd sprig of vegetation that peeked about.

  Underfoot was cobblestones, and above was the gloom of a sunset half done, no clouds, just wisps that made the sky look grimy. Trash, musty, salty like fish and yeasty like chicken, reached Ellie’s nose. The air was muggy, just warm enough to make Ellie feel the weight of her coat around her shoulders, the scarf about her neck. Everything seemed damp—the parts of the path that were not stone were mud.

  This is just like that beach, Ellie thought, remembering her one excursion with Shawn in the past, when the girl had drowned and the Spindle’s shard bubbled up through the water. The salt tang of the ocean had felt grubby, clinging, like her skin was made dirty by the air. Only this alley was further inland, away from the water. Still disgusting.

  “Maybe it just rained,” said Jude, and Ellie realized he was thinking the same.

  She lifted the pocket-watch. The time display was still frozen, despite that time was not ended in Hell. But the location display moved, gears turning as Ellie raised, lowered, and waved the pocket-watch from side to side. Seems to be working, Ellie thought.

  Cookie’s last act, before giving Ellie a hug on her way through the door, was to show Ellie how to turn her reaper’s tool into a sort of homing beacon for a specific soul. Before someone upstairs had come up with the idea of sorting souls into lines, the first rounds of weighing of hearts had used this technique to find souls and match them with files. But that took too long, and the lines of souls was considered a better method.

  Better, of course, meant faster. Which meant that Ellie and Jude were even more pressed for time—who knew if people, once their souls went through one of the doors, were able to be brought back if time re-started. Earth would be much depleted.

  There was always too many people on earth anyway, Ellie thought, flicking the end of her scarf in irritation. At least this way we know how to find Mr. Obadiah Charon from Northern Ukraine, a.k.a. the man responsible for the end of the world.

  Reading the dials and interpreting the distance, Ellie said, “This way.”

  She strode down the alley, Jude following, but almost irritatingly close behind, hovering over her like a worried parent. Glancing back, Ellie saw him peer cautiously around the corners as they approached the intersection. As if he expected trouble.

  Well, Ellie thought, this is Hell. And he hasn’t exactly seen what a reaper can normally do to a soul. I doubt any of the souls here could do anything to either of us.

  Keeping her pocket-watch raised, Ellie turned left and followed the street. They were walking along what looked like a series of shops, little hole-in-the-wall places with display cases and bells to ring whenever doors opened. Signs hung from the walls above their heads, advertising shoes, furniture, a clown-themed bar, a candy store.

  But everything was empty. There were no people, anywhere.

  There has to be somebody, Ellie thought, as they continued. Somebody has to staff these places. Buy music instruments or whatever. Maybe they’re all napping? Though you’d think a place like this would be busier during sundown—this concern rang in her mind as they passed by a neon sign advertising, BEST GENTLEMEN’S CLUB IN TOWN.

  And yet there was nobody on the street, no shadows in the storefronts.

  “This is creepy,” said Jude, after they had walked some blocks. His interruption of the silence startled Ellie, and she flinched, stopped walking. The pocket-watch told her they were almost a mile from Obadiah Charon, wherever he was.

  “Maybe they’re busy doing something else,” she said, glancing up at the sky. It was not changing—getting lighter or darker. Perhaps time was frozen here in a way, after all.

  “Or,” Jude said, his
voice low but startlingly loud by comparison to the quiet streets. “You saw all those people waiting for an afterlife, right?”

  “Right,” said Ellie, thinking to what all the versions of upstairs that must be full to the brim with unsorted souls right now, how much worse Denver and New York and Shanghai must be. By comparison, Colorado Springs had to be peaceful.

  “Does Hell grow over time?” Jude asked. “I mean, does it expand? Or was it created just the once, and is big enough to contain everyone who goes there?”

  Ellie frowned. Above her head, a torch sputtered, sparked. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe,” said Jude, “The reason it’s empty here now is because it’s waiting to be filled.”

  “It’s—” Ellie began, and then despite the muggy air a coldness swept through her.

  “You’ve been reaping souls, right?” Jude asked. “What percentage gets to Heaven?”

  “I dunno,” said Ellie. “I didn’t keep track.” But that was a cop-out, she knew. She may not have kept numerical data, but she knew in general. “Most went to the Hells.”

  “Well, then this place will get packed, soon,” said Jude. He crossed his arms, as if he also felt cold and wanted to warm himself. “Though, I have to say, this doesn’t seem so bad. I mean, it’s not a place I would want to vacation. Stinks. But still, no fire and brimstone.”

  Earlier in the day, Ellie had thought to herself that sometimes she believed God had a nasty sense of humor. And this thought was reiterated when, even as Jude spoke, she spotted the little monster crawling out of a grill on the other side of the street.

  Irony, she thought. I can appreciate irony. Hellfire and brimstone, indeed.

  Perching into a crouch, spindle-legs extending around like umbrella spokes, the demon lifted its frontmost claws and began bathing itself like a rodent, except the effect was to spread grime and filth further around its face and body.

  Jude was about to keep talking, but then Ellie’s obvious attention elsewhere caught his own. He turned to see the spectacle—and must have realized that demons did not disappear when they died any more than humans did, all claims to the contrary.