The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

  Stop it, Lizzie! she ordered herself. It was highly improper to look at a man in such a way. Then again, it was highly improper for a man to dress so minimally too.

  Her mind went back to something the man said earlier. "No heartbeat? I have no heartbeat?" Lizzie tried to raise her hand to her heart to check, but found her limbs wouldn't move. This wasn't looking good for her 'it was a dream' theory.

  The man shook his head. "None. Believe me. I've checked."

  The fact that this stranger felt her chest without her knowledge as she slept wasn't pleasant for Lizzie, but she had other things to dwell on at the moment. No heartbeat. She wasn't alive.

  "Is it still 1862?" She held her breath, hoping.

  "Not for a very long time," he said.

  Tears stung her eyes. What had she done? No heartbeat. She remembered the darkness of the box. It had felt so real because it was real. "Oh God," she said more to herself than the man next to her, or even to God for that matter.

  "I'd say God is the least of your worries," he said.

  So she was in Hell. In Hell with the devil himself. Maybe the curls on his head were really snakes. Perhaps this was all to confuse her before she fell into the next level of Hell. She'd died after all. Killed herself. Dead people went one of two places. The man certainly didn't look like God, but he could pass for the devil with the metal spikes in his ears and lip.

  The devil sat next to her but kept his distance. Through the light of the flameless lamp on a table next to her, she could see curly brown hair — or possibly worms — cascading past his ears and almost to his shoulders. His eyes confused her most. They weren't red like she imagined the devil would have. Instead, they were appeared brown. In fact, they looked worried. Why would the devil worry about her unless it was all a trick?

  She looked down as well as she could to make sure she had on something decent. The devil's attire made her concerned for her own.

  What she saw broke her non-beating heart. It was her wedding gown. It wasn't as clean and wonderful as it had been the last time she remembered wearing it when her mother perfected it. Now it appeared dingy and tattered. But the high neck still itched. It would be nice to scratch it. Was that Hell? A continual itch you were unable to scratch?

  Torture.

  "Can I get you something? Water? Tea? …Brains?" the devil asked, standoffish. Was he nervous? He couldn't be nervous. He was the devil.

  "Brains? Are we expected to eat brains here?" She certainly hoped not.

  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't because… eww. But seriously, do you need something?" he asked slowly as if talking to a child.

  "Why are you being so nice to me? I didn't think Hell was supposed to be nice. My father made it out to be all fire and brimstone." Her words sounded hoarse, like they weren't even her own. Some water would be good, but she'd never ask the devil for it. Who knew what he'd want in return?

  "Hell?" He laughed. "I've thought that a lot, but no, it's not actual Hell… I don't think anyway. My sister can make it Hell sometimes."

  "The devil has a sister?" she whispered in awe. Why did the Bible never speak of her?

  "Watch it. I might get offended if you keep calling me the devil and my room Hell."

  She definitely didn't want to offend Satan. None of this made any sense, though. None. The box had been Hell. Now she knew it hadn't been a dream, so the whole thing had really happened. She had been in Hell. She knew she had been. It was dark, cold, void of anything. Occasionally, she heard the voices of Heaven singing above her but not in a long while. So, where was she now?

  "Do you know where you are? Dumb question I know," the devil asked.

  Not a dumb question. A good question. "Not Hell?"

  "This house has been called many things, but, as far as I know, it isn't literally Hell." His brows furrowed.

  "I'm not in Hell?" She just couldn't believe she'd made it out of that dark, horrible place. It wasn't supposed to happen. "Are you the devil?"

  He seemed to consider that. "No. I'm not. Are you?"

  What sort of silly question was that? "I most certainly am not. My name is Lizzie Monroe."

  "You've said that before, but I'm having a hard time believing you," the man who claimed not to be the devil said.

  "Why not? I wouldn't lie."

  His eyes became very hard. "Because Lizzie Monroe died over one hundred and fifty some odd years ago. And you are talking to me in my room. Now, you don't have a pulse so that is a mark in the dead category, but still. This makes no sense."

  Something they agreed on. "My fiancé, Daniel, he died. And I couldn't handle it." Her eyes scanned down until they found her hand lying by her side. It took everything she could to wiggle her fingers, one with the ring Frederick had given her from Daniel. Her long, lace sleeve had rolled up enough to allow her to see the scar: the slit she put there a few minutes after Frederick left the farmhouse. The jagged line extended from one side to the other thanks to her father's knife she'd found in the barn.

  Seeing the damage made her physically ill, and she thought she'd throw up. Involuntarily, her body lurched and the gentleman caught her before she tumbled over the side. "Easy," he said. His voice was very soft. Very comforting. Definitely not the devil's.

  "I was dead," she said, letting it finally sink in.

  "I'd say from lack of heartbeat, you still are."

  Lizzie didn't know what to say to that. She just felt the warm tears stream down her cheeks. It felt so strange. "Shhh…" He hesitated before putting his hand on her head to soothe her. "Look, I have no idea what you are. I can touch you so you aren't a ghost. You have no pulse so I know you are dead. But I also know I'm talking to you, so something's going on. I know I'm not crazy, or at least I don't think I am, so that means you're real. Do you feel like sucking my blood?"

  That got her attention. "Blood? Drinking it? Like a monster?"

  "Like a vampire. That would explain you being in a coffin under a church all this time."

  Under the church? Was that why she'd heard the singing from Heaven? Lizzie thought a minute. "I can't say your blood sounds appetizing."

  "That's good. I'm glad my blood doesn't appeal to you." He let out a shaky laugh."No blood. No brains. We have that going for us."

  "Nothing sounded appealing in Hell," she added. She'd never been hungry. Never had any other human urges in the darkness either.

  "Hell? The box?"

  She nodded best she could.

  "What was it like?" He seemed genuinely curious. So, she supposed he wasn't lying when he said he was not the devil.

  "Dark. It was dark. Cold. Lonely. Hard. I tried to move, but couldn't very much. So, eventually, I just stopped trying. Endless is a good word for it. Boring. Exhausting."

  "Sounds horrible," he said compassionately.

  "It was. Very much so. I don't know what I was in exactly, but I know it was my Hell. And now I'm out. Why?"

  ****

  Shane had no idea.

  He knew he should be freaked out with the zombie-ish girl in his bed. Okay, sure it was pretty cool to have a zombie in his bed if he wanted to be honest, but who knew when she'd pop up and try to eat his brains. If zombie was the right word for her. He wasn't exactly sure what she was, but zombie seemed as good of a descriptor as any. She was dead, now she wasn't… or maybe she was. He was so confused.

  Lizzie Flippin' Monroe was in his bed, in his house, and he wasn't sure what to do with her.

  "I don't think you were in Hell."

  Her eyes furrowed. At least her forehead muscles moved. "Why would you say that?"

  "There is no God so I'm pretty sure He didn't send you into eternal damnation."

  Lizzie looked at him strangely which was saying a lot with her being formerly dead and all. "How do you not believe in God?"

  It was a simple enough question, but he didn't see the need in getting into it with her. She'd been though a lot and, for all he knew, could spontaneously combust at any second. "I have my reasons." />
  "And I have my reasons for believing and for knowing Hell is very real."

  Shane sighed and raked his hands through his hair. If only he were dreaming… "You weren't in Hell. You were in a wall at Dixon Church."

  Lizzie shook her head, causing her matted hair to barely move. Nice, her neck muscles moved too. "No. I was in Hell. I thought it was a dream at first, but now I know differently. I know where I was."

  "I'm sure it felt like it. I have no doubt. But Hell isn't real."

  "It is."

  "It's not, sweetheart. I'm sorry to break it to you." So, arguing with a nearly two hundred year old zombie probably wasn't the smartest idea, but he couldn't stop himself. Though if he didn't quiet down, Cheyenne would hear them and come check on him. She'd love to bust him for having a girl in his room at this time of night — though he didn't know how she'd react to it being the infamous Lizzie Monroe. There wasn't exactly a way to foresee something like that.

  A tear slid down her dirty cheek, making Shane uncomfortable. He hated seeing girls cry. He'd seen enough tears from his mother to last a lifetime. Having an undead girl in one's room was cool… having a crying undead girl in one's room… not so cool. "You might not believe me, Mr…"

  "Shane." He'd forgotten to tell her his name. Then again, she had assumed he was the devil.

  "Mr. Shane."

  "No. Just Shane. I'm Shane Davis. This is my house… well, my room at least."

  Shane didn't think eyes could get so wide. "Get away from me, Mr. Davis. Get away."

  "Hold up. I'm not going to hurt you."

  Lizzie didn't seem to see him, which was super creepy. It looked like she was the one looking at a ghost. "Frederick Davis?"

  "Shane. I'm Shane."

  "Shane." She tried his name on her tongue. Finally, the ghosts haunting her eyes disappeared.

  It took a minute for her to say anything else. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let on like I did. It's just… You have his last name."

  "Who?" Shane didn't think Davis was that uncommon of a name. His family was the only Davis in Dixon, though.

  "No matter." She stared at him like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Finally, she shook her head and said, "I can't be in your room unchaperoned. I'm… it isn't proper."

  "Honey, the definition of proper has changed in the last century." He smiled despite himself. He had a feeling he was going to get a crash course in old-fashioned etiquette from the dead girl. Could be interesting.

  "Oh my." She seemed to consider that. "Do women and men normally frequent each other's rooms?"

  "Yes, very often. In fact, it's a law." He got up and started toward the door. Shane could just imagine her face. She was probably flabbergasted by that prospect.

  "Are you leaving me?" Lizzie asked, causing Shane to stop. He turned to face her. For all intents and purposes, she looked like a normal girl in his bed. Except for the having no heartbeat and being covered in dirt.

  And most of all, she looked sad. Out of place. Alone.

  Shane couldn't say he ever really felt things for the girls he'd been with. Sure, lust. Occasionally pity. He wasn't a bad guy or anything. He just wasn't one to get emotionally attached.

  But the girl… He couldn't explain it. There was something about her — maybe the fact that she had to be even more screwed up than he was — that got to him.

  "I'll be back in just a second. I'm going to wet a wash cloth so I can get some of the dirt off of you."

  "With water? From inside the house?"

  "We have this new thing called indoor plumbing. Bathrooms… in the house."

  Lizzie looked horrified. "You do… that… in the house?"

  Shane winked. "We do a lot of things in the house."

  Shane walked as quietly as he could to the upstairs bathroom which happened to be right beside Cheyenne's room. She wouldn't question why he was in there so late at night — a man's body had its own timetable after all. However, it might wake her and that would be bad.

  He cringed when the door to the towel closet creaked on its hinges. Stupid old house. With deliberate movements, he pulled out a white washcloth and two towels — one white and one a worn dark blue. Rummaging around as quietly as he could, he found one of his mother's old lotion containers. A round one with barely any left.

  He shut the closet door and made it to the sink with as few steps as possible. The floor creaked and he sighed. Why was he trying to be quiet again? The universe was against him.

  It took a few minutes, but he finally got the gooey lotion out of his mom's container and filled it half way with water. He put the towels and washcloth under his arm, opened the door, and turned off the light.

  To heck with stealth, he just needed to get back to his room as quickly as he could. Holding the water out in front of him so he wouldn't slosh it, Shane ran on his tiptoes all the way down the hardwood floors to his room.

  In one swift, sort of awkward motion, he opened the door and shut it behind him — all without dropping a drip of water or the towels. He even impressed himself.

  "Whew." He smiled and leaned on the door, finally allowing himself to take a deep breath.

  Lizzie was biting her bottom lip. "So the water… is in the house?"

  She hadn't gotten past that yet.

  "Yeah. Miracle of modern technology."

  "How?" She seemed genuinely curious. Why wouldn't she be? Back in her day, people had to go outside in the middle of a snowstorm when nature called.

  Shane walked over to the table next to the bed and sat down the water. He laid the towels and wash cloth on the bed next to Lizzie. After that, he pulled up his rolling computer chair next to her. She kept looking at him strangely. He still hadn't answered her question. "Pipes. The water goes through the house in pipes. Don't ask me how because I don't know and don't care to know. It just happens."

  Lizzie shook her head. "It's a miracle."

  He'd never actually thought of it like that before. "It's… something. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

  You would have thought I'd told her we were going to have sex in front of her mother. "Cleaned up? As in washed? I can't move."

  "Luckily for you, I can." He picked up the container of water and dabbed the washcloth in it.

  Shane wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing this, but he couldn't just sit by and let her lay there — helpless and caked with dirt. And he couldn't exactly ask Cheyenne to help him. Inside, he was hesitating. Outwardly, he hoped he exuded confidence. Lizzie was giving off enough 'oh no' vibes for both of them.

  "You don't have to do that," Lizzie protested as the washcloth came just inches from her face. "I'm alright. I don't mind a little dirt."

  "Lizzie, there's a little dirt and then there's you. I'll probably have to burn these sheets when you get up and are able to move again. You, my dear, are a little dusty."

  "There has to be another way." She moved her head farther away. It gave him hope. The longer she was out, the more her muscles moved. Maybe, given a few hours, days even, she'd be able to walk and be out of his life for good.

  Maybe.

  "There isn't another way. You are moving your neck better. That's good. But it may be a day or two before you can move your arms. You don't want to lie here like this until then, do you?"

  She sighed. "Only my face. Please."

  Shane smiled. "It wasn't like I was offering to give you a full body sponge bath. How about this? I'll wash what I can see. Your face and your hands. The rest can wait until you can move. Deal?"

  "Deal." She relented.

  His joy about winning the argument was short lived when it hit him that he actually had to do it now. "Ready?"

  She nodded. She so wasn't ready, but oh well. It had to be done. "I tried to get the water warm, but it might be cool now. Sorry."

  She turned toward him, her neck really working now. "You have hot water?"

  "We have a lot of things," he said as he placed the rag on her left hand. Better to start off slow.

&nb
sp; Lizzie shut her eyes when the washcloth touched her skin. She didn't look pained. In fact, she appeared to be peaceful. "Like what?"

  "What else do we have?"

  She nodded, still with her eyes closed as he ran the washcloth over her fingers. "Um… well, we have cars. Motorized carriages I guess would be the best way to describe them. We have airplanes — uh — stage coaches in the sky."

  "With flying horses?" Her eyes fluttered open then shut again. He thought she might actually be going to sleep. The warm water must have felt good to her.

  He laughed. "No flying horses. With engines."

  "Steam? Like a locomotive?"

  How should he know how a train worked? "Something like that." He washed the ring on her left hand. It was beautiful when he got the grime off of it. A black stone, he thought.

  Once that hand was finished, put her right hand on her stomach and proceeded to get the dirt off of that one. He watched as her chest — he couldn't help himself — went up and down.

  "Why do you breathe?" he asked before he could stop himself.

  Lizzie looked up at him. "Pardon me?"

  He could feel his cheeks redden and he hated it. He'd never been embarrassed around girls before, so why was he around this one? "You're breathing. But you don't have to. You don't have a heartbeat. So…"

  "Perhaps I do have a heartbeat and you just missed it."

  "I checked all the pulse points." He checked her right wrist again. Sure enough. Nothing. Eerily nothing. "No heartbeat. Hmmm…. Stop breathing."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Stop breathing. See what happens." Asking a dead girl to 'see what happens' might not have been the smartest idea ever, but he had to know. Even if it was just for his own experiment.

  After a second or two, Lizzie shut her eyes and held her breath. For the first time, she truly looked like a corpse. Not her skin. It was pale. However, it hadn't turned grayish or the shade of blue he expected to see on a dead body.

  She was still. Lifeless.

  After four minutes, Shane shook her. "Okay, you can breathe now. You're starting to freak me out."

  Lizzie opened her eyes. "It didn't hurt. Felt a bit strange. It was as if my mind needed me to breathe, but my chest didn't require it."

  "Interesting," Shane said. "I just don't get how you're here. How you're talking. Do you have any ideas?"

  "None," Lizzie said sadly.