by C. L. Nelson
The living room is a one hundred and eighty degree turn away from the kitchen. It is just big enough for a navy-blue loveseat, a small matching armchair, and a television on a stand. I added some bright throw pillows and some colorful artwork for the walls to bring some life to the place.
My bedroom is basically a shoebox, but it’s big enough for a full-size bed, and really what more do I need. I have continued with the bright color accents in here as well. My soul may be dark, but I enjoy aesthetically pleasing colors. My closet is large enough for my clothes and a few boxes used as storage. It works for me and I don’t foresee needing to make room for anyone else, not to get into my pathetic dating life.
And finally, there is a small bathroom that is located off the short hallway between the living room and bedroom. The bathroom is only big enough for the essentials but doesn’t include a bathtub, only a shower stall. It’s not much, but it’s home.
I walk into the bathroom and I feel distant like this is all a dream. I turn on the shower, wait for it to get hot, and step in. I just let the hot water pour down on me for a few minutes, hoping it will wash away today’s events like they never happened. Suddenly, my legs give out and I end up sitting at the bottom of the shower. I pull my legs into my chest, put my head down, and start crying. I haven’t cried in a very long time. I can’t even remember the last time I cried, probably when I was a small child.
I start panicking and begin to scrub the blood off my skin. Bloody bodies with bullet holes start flashing through my mind. The death and violence I saw today are more than anyone should have to witness in their lifetime. I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw. When I feel sufficiently clean and the water is starting to get cold, I climb out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I go to my bedroom, lie down on my bed, and I pass out cold.
I wake up and it’s dark outside. How long have I been out? I am still wrapped in the towel I used after my shower, but I must have gotten up at some point because I am covered by a throw blanket that I usually keep in the living room. That’s weird. I don’t have any memory of getting out of bed.
I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I search for my phone on my bed, but I can’t find it to check the time. When is the last time I have seen my cell phone? I go out into the kitchen and the clock on the microwave said 2:12 am. I don’t know what time it was when I got out of the shower, but I had to have slept more than twelve hours.
Okay, let me think. When was the last time you saw your phone, Charlie? I had my phone after I left home for work, but I don’t remember having it at work. Maybe it slid when I swerved to avoid that damn squirrel. I cautiously run out to my car and look for my phone, still feeling jumpy. I find it on the passenger side, wedged next to the seat.
I check my phone and I have no missed calls or text messages. I have no family to worry about me. My birth parents gave me up when I was five. They didn’t want me. I have a vague memory of them telling the social worker that I wasn’t their child, that I didn’t look anything like them. I was raised by a nice family, but we were never close. I haven’t seen or heard from them since I was eighteen.
The only person I would expect to call me to see if I was alive would be Finlay. My heart stopped. Maybe he didn’t leave work early after all. Maybe he is dead or in the hospital. I go to my recent calls and hit his number. It rang several times, and just when I think it is about to go to voicemail, Finlay answers.
“Hello?” he answered warily. “Who is this?”
“What do you mean? It’s Charlie! Who else would be calling you from my number?” I asked. “Finlay, are you okay?”
“Am I okay? How are you even calling me right now? Why aren’t you dead?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?” I asked, glowering at the ground.
“I managed to get out of the building. I would have called you sooner, but I think I was in some state of shock or something. I passed out when I got home after I washed the blood off me,” I said. “Were you in the building when the shooting started?”
He ignores my question. “Charlie, I don’t know how you are alive right now, but I am coming over. I will see you in ten minutes,” he said and hung up the phone.
***
I watched Finlay arrived exactly ten minutes later in his silver BMW from my living room window. I buzzed him up and hugged him fiercely before he even made it across the threshold of my apartment. I was so happy to see him. I don’t know what I would do without him.
When we stepped apart, he seemed to scan my body for injuries. “Charlie, love, what happened?” he asked.
“You must have seen what happened on the news or got a call from work or something. The guy just came into the office and started shooting.”
“I knew something bad was going to happen. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know myself. I tried to get you to leave with me, but you were insistent on staying. I tried, but I can only do so much without stepping on Destiny’s toes. I am so happy you survived this time,” he rambled while hugging me again.
I took in all that information and didn’t know where to start. I moved to sit on the couch. Finlay sat next to me and held my hands in his.
“Fin, what do you mean you knew something bad was going to happen? Did you hear that guy say something before he was fired? And what do you mean you are happy I survived this time?”
He gathered himself and became the carefree, fun-loving flirt that I know so well. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and gave me his most alluring smile. I’ve seen women struck stupid by that smile.
“Love, don’t worry about any of that. You are alive, and I am alive. It is a time to celebrate. And I don’t know about you, but near-death experiences always get me hot.” He scooted closer to me and kissed my neck in an attempt to distract me.
“Cut the crap, Fin,” I said not amused. “You know that stuff doesn’t work on me,” I lied.
If I thought he was actually interested and I wasn’t worried that it would ruin our friendship, I would have tried to cross that line already. But he is my best friend and I won’t jeopardize that, especially since I don’t think a romantic relationship with him would work out.
He gives me a mischievous grin as he pulls away. “It was worth a shot, love. Now let’s get you back to bed until it’s a reasonable hour to be awake. I will tell you whatever you want to know in the morning,” he said as he pulled me toward my bedroom.
I think he is crazy if he thinks I can sleep after already sleeping for twelve hours or so. I climb into my bed just to humor him, but as I lay down, I am suddenly overcome with exhaustion. I must be emotionally and mentally drained. Finlay climbs into bed with me. It’s not the first time he has been in my bed, strictly platonically, of course. We usually have sleepovers and we cuddle. I lay on my side and Finlay wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me close.
As I begin to drift off, I mutter, “I punched an angel in the face yesterday.” I chuckle as sleep pulls me further from consciousness.
“What do you mean, love?”
“Man…angel…asked me…” I yawned. “…why I wasn’t dead,” I mumbled.
Finlay’s body stiffened for a moment before relaxing. I fight my exhaustion for a moment wondering why he had become tense. I feel like there is something I need to ask him, but as soon as I open my mouth, I feel my exhaustion hit me harder.
“Shhh. Sleep now, love,” he said.
I am just about to surrender to my exhaustion when I feel something hard press against my back.
“Go sleep on the couch,” I muttered.
“Sorry, gorgeous. I just can’t help myself around you,” He snickers as he climbs out of bed. “Sweet dreams, love. I will see you in the morning.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. See what I mean? He doesn’t actually want me. He just enjoys messing with me. I had a fleeting thought about buying a new sex toy before sleep pulled me under.
***
I woke up sometime late
r, and the sun was shining through my window. I turned on my phone and saw that it is a little after seven in the morning. It is probably pretty safe to say that work is canceled today. It most definitely is for me. If I ever get back to my real life, I am finding a new job.
I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and brushed my hair. When I was feeling slightly more human again, I went to the living room to see if Finlay is up.
When I go into the living room, I see he isn’t on the couch. I turn toward the kitchen and see that he is not there either. He must have ducked out some time while I slept because he is not here. I find a note on the refrigerator.
Dearest Charlie,
I am sorry I had to leave. I am going to find some answers about what happened yesterday. There are things you don’t know about our world. I will be back to explain things when I can. Please don’t be mad at me.
XOXO,
Finlay
I sink down onto one of the kitchen chairs, still clutching the note. My life has really taken some strange turns in less than twenty-four hours. What the hell is going on? Am I in a coma and this is just some really strange dream? I have too many questions and no one to answer them. I wish Finlay was still here.
While I am mulling over the strange events of the day before, my stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday morning. I guess it’s understandable that I haven’t thought about food with everything that is going on, but that’s not like me. I love food and I never miss a meal if I can help it. I probably have more jiggle than what societal standards tell me I should have, but society can go fuck itself.
I don’t feel like cooking, so I grab some cereal and pour myself a bowl. I go to the ‘fridge and grab the milk. When I turn around and look up, there is a man sitting at my kitchen table. I dropped the milk. Luckily, it’s almond milk and the cap was screwed on tight. I recognize the man as the crazy guy who grabbed me in the parking lot after the shooting.
“HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?” I yelled while looking for the nearest weapon.
He is sitting straight up in the chair as if he were tense. His midnight blue eyes are taking me in as if trying to decide what to do with me. He is frowning which is causing vertical wrinkles between his eyebrows that seem to suggest that he worries a lot. His medium-length black hair is a mess like he has been running his hand through it a lot, and he has a shadow of a beard growing in that wasn’t there yesterday. It looks like he hasn’t had a chance to shave, and he is still dressed like he is trying to make a good impression on a first date.
If I didn’t think he was going to try to kidnap me or kill me, I would probably think he could give Finlay a run for his money in the looks department, but you know, no time to think about that. There is danger afoot!
His gaze scans me from top to bottom and I suddenly wished I was wearing more clothes.
“Charlene, I need to talk to you. You must have some questions, and I need to explain some things to you,” he said, not at all concerned about the knife I am now clutching in my hand.
I take in his appearance and the fact that he appears tired. I may be crazy for not calling the police or trying to scare him out of my apartment, but I do want answers.
“You can say what you want to say from right where you are. If you attempt to come any closer to me, I will defend myself and scream for my neighbors. It’s still early and someone will be around to call the police,” I said while brandishing my knife for emphasis. “And the name’s Charlie.”
He nods his head to acknowledge that he understands our compromise.
“Okay, Charlie. Would you like to ask me questions first or shall I just start explaining our situation?” he asked gently as if trying not to scare me.
Too goddamn late for that.
“Who are you? How did you find me? And how did you get in here?” I figured I would start with those questions. The other questions I have seem like they will take longer to answer.
He thinks for a moment before responding. “I was trying to decide on how much I would tell you, but since the likely outcome is that you will not remember any of this, I figure I can be honest with you,” he paused for a moment before continuing. “My name is Kian, and I have the ability to locate you anywhere you go.”
I start to ask for more specifics, but he holds up his finger to tell me to wait. I resist the sudden urge to break that finger or hold up one of my own.
“My job is to collect the souls of those who have died. The souls I am tasked with collecting send out a sort of call. My soul feels the pull of their soul and knows where to go. As to how I got into your apartment, I astralocated here. That is what we call the form of travel that we use to collect souls,” he explained.
I stared at him incredulously. He has to be kidding, but he looks so serious. “Yeah…Okay. You just expect me to believe that load of bullshit?”
All of a sudden, he is gone. He just disappeared right before my eyes. My mouth falls open and I look around the room. In the next moment, he is standing by my couch in the living room. I put my hand on my chest. My heart is beating so fast. I am stunned, and I am having trouble forming a sentence.
“What…? How…? What?” I stammered.
“I figured a demonstration would help you put this into perspective. I am not lying,” he told me as he makes himself comfortable on my couch.
“What are you? Yesterday you asked me why I wasn’t dead. Are you an angel or the Grim Reaper or something?”
I enter the living room and sit on the chair to the side of the couch so I can face him. I lean forward to listen, but I notice his gaze has dropped. I look down and realize I am flashing a whole lot of cleavage. I forgot I was wearing a tank top. I straighten back up immediately.
Kian cleared his throat and looked away. After an awkward silence, he responds to my question. “I am not an angel. Though angels are real, that is not what they are called. You are close when you guessed grim reaper as stories of a grim reaper have been inspired by my species. We are called Reapers, and I suppose what we do could be considered grim by some. We are an original species brought into existence by the Creators, but that is a story for another time.”
“Wait! Creators? As in more than one? I’m not religious, but if people knew there were more than one god, they would lose their shit.”
He nodded his head. “Yes, that is why we let humans believe what they want to believe. To get back to what I was saying, the Reapers’ purpose is to take souls to their next destinations, whether that is the Waiting or the Provisional. The Provisional is the easiest realm to explain. That is where we are now. It is the mortal realm where souls are reborn, where they live their lives, and where they die.”
This guy likes to hear himself speak. I should probably pay better attention. Maybe I can make a break for the door while he is monologuing. I think to myself while half-listening.
Kian continued to overexplain. “The Waiting is where souls go after they finish one life. The souls are put into stasis and are maintained by Karma, Fate, and Destiny, who are also known as the Ladies of the Waiting, until they are ready for their next incarnation. That is where you are supposed to be now.” He paused briefly like he expected me to argue with him.
I want to ask him about these Ladies of the Waiting, but I am distracted by my annoyance. I have to fight my urge to hit him again. There is just something about him that makes me want to connect my fist with his face, but that’s probably just my temper and the situation talking.
He continued when I didn’t say anything. “Souls that need more time to learn and evolve are sent back into the Provisional for another lifetime. Souls that have learned all their lessons and have evolved, earn their final reward, and end up in the Everlasting, while souls that are deemed beyond saving are sent to the Pit. Reapers are allowed to travel to those locations too, but only for very short periods of time, usually only long enough to drop off a soul.” He looked at me expectantly as he waited for me to respond.<
br />
That is a lot to digest. I think it all over. “Okay, let me see if I got that all; so there are four realms or planes of existence created by more than one creator, and they are the Provisional, the Waiting, the Everlasting, and the Pit. The last two I am assuming are like heaven and hell. Angels are real, but that’s not what they are called. You are a reaper and that basically means you are FedEx for souls. And I’m supposed to be dead and my soul is supposed to be in the Waiting, being assessed for reincarnation. Is that fairly accurate?”
Kian frowned like he did not like something I said, probably my FedEx crack, but nodded his head anyway.
“Why did I survive if I was scheduled to die? Not that I am complaining, but why would that be a problem?” I asked.
“I have no idea why you weren’t dead when I came to collect you. Your name was on my list. Never once since creation has this ever happened. I have no idea if this is going to cause a problem, and that’s what we need to find out. If there is even a chance this is going to throw off the Balance, then we need to fix it.” He fidgeted like he was growing restless.
“What is this balance thing?” I asked.
He ran his fingers through his hair and then checked his watch. There he goes again looking anxious. I think my time for asking questions is running out.
“The Balance refers to the equilibrium between good and evil. It is important to maintain the Balance because when tipped too far in either direction, the end of existence will be set into motion.”
Well that is both vague and terrifying, but I am just one person. I couldn’t possibly affect the Balance enough to matter.
Kian is silent for a moment while he stares at me. Several emotions fly across his face, too fast for me to decipher. “Now that I have explained these things to you, I hope you understand why you cannot stay here in this life. We need to go see the Ladies of the Waiting to figure out our next step, and we have to leave now.”
