Reluctant Guardian

by Melissa Cunningham

  “He's an alcoholic,” the girl next to me whispers. “He just finished AA.”

  “Oh,” I whisper back. “So why is he at a bar?”

  The girl scowls at me like I'm an idiot. “That's the whole point. His guardian is trying to talk him out of going inside.”

  I have the feeling she wants to add a duh to the end of her sentence.

  The scene plays out and I lean forward, my toes clenched and my eyes straining even though the picture is crystal clear. I'm spellbound, holding my breath. Will the guy screw up months of success for just one drink? Will he throw all those torturous hours of AA away?

  Just when I'm sure he'll lose the battle, the man turn and hails an approaching taxi. The people sitting next to me jump up and cheer, their hands in the air. I find myself jumping up too, hugging the girl next to me in celebration of the man's success. A thrill of excitement rushes through us.

  Will my charge have temptations like this? Will people here watch my work? As cool as that sounds, I'm not someone who wants an audience. I'm sure to screw up if I know people can see me in a movie like this. “Do you watch these training visuals all the time?”

  “Oh sure,” she says. “Especially if there's a special situation where the task is difficult and the guardian is successful. They want us to learn from one another's achievements... and failures.”

  “Right. Got it.” I'm sure to be in lights someday. Probably to show what not to do. When the group disperses, I meander to a different part of the library, anxious to see what else this fascinating locality offers.

  I pass some high bookshelves and stop to pull a book down. The pages are thick and appear very old, crackling with a musty odor when the pages part. The words are in a strange language. One I don't understand, so I put it back and pull down another, only to find the same thing. What is this section? Where are the romance novels? The suspense thrillers?

  “Are you lost?” a voice behind me asks.

  I turn to see a small woman in white carrying a large stack of ancient tomes. Not unlike the one I'm holding.

  “You work here?” I feel an instant liking for this woman. She seems sweet, motherly.

  “Yes. I do. Are you lost? Most people don't wander around here aimlessly,” she says with a smile and a wink. “You must be new. Can I help you find something?”

  “Well, I came to read, but there's so much to see.” I look at all the different people watching videos, conversing, or in discussion groups. I can't see one person just lazing around reading.

  “This isn't a library like you'll find on Earth if that's what you mean,” she explains. Everyone has a job to do, or is in training.”

  “Oh. Well, I'm leaving for Earth soon to be a guardian.”

  “That says a lot about you.” She places her hand gently on my forearm. “You must be an old soul, wise and sent to earth quickly.”

  Old soul? Wise? She definitely has me mixed up with somebody else.

  “I have some time to visit if you'd like.” She smiles with a warmth I can't ignore, and I'm so lonely that I take her up on her offer.

  “My name is Annabelle. I've worked here for a long time. Over a century.” She sits down at a nearby table, so I sit opposite her.

  “You've worked here a hundred years?”

  “Yes. Time doesn't move the same here like it does on earth, but I love my job. I chose to come here, to help souls like you.” She sits back with a serene expression. “What is your name, dear?”

  “Alisa. Alisa Callahan.” This lady reminds me of my grandmother, which is actually kind of wonderful. She has the same oval face and twinkly blue eyes. Even their smiles are similar. She makes me feel wanted and comfortable. Something I've been craving for a long time.

  Annabelle leans forward, her countenance open and peaceful. “I died of natural causes in the late eighteen hundreds. After I died, I learned that all spirits continue to work, to help out in some way. There's a lot to be done in every area of existence.”

  Will I have to work for eternity too? Actually work? Did Gram have a job? Did Natty? I close my eyes in despair. I don't want to work forever. I want to rest. I'm tired. That was the whole point of killing myself. I shake my head and glance down at my hands.

  “What did you imagine people do after death?” she asks kindly. “Float on clouds of happiness all day?” She places her hand over mine and gives me a couple of squeezes. “That would get a little boring after a while. Don't you think?”

  Actually, no. I don't think it would. It sounds wonderful.

  “I know it's a lot to take in, but once you return from your guardianship, you'll be able to choose where you'd like to contribute. That is, if you succeed.”

  I glance back at her. “If I succeed? What happens if I don't?”

  She pauses and slowly raises her eyes to meet mine. “You go to Soul Prison.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  ~A Bad Deal~

  Brecken

  Brecken sits across the kitchen table from Damion, a kid he knows from school. He wouldn't exactly call him a friend, more of a means to an end... kind of. More and more often though, Brecken has been told to do things he doesn't like, things that cross the line, but how else will he get the extra money he needs?

  He can't call his dad. Those conversations always end in an argument, with his dad telling him what a crappy job he's doing paying the bills and saving the money he left them. Doesn't his dad realize they need food too?

  Anger at his hopeless situation sprouts anew, and his resolve to go along with Damion's latest scheme strengthens.

  “They're gone by eight in the morning,” Damian says, his dark eyes intense. “They have a dog, but it's little and can't do any damage. Kill it for all I care. They're crappy neighbors anyway. They leave their bathroom window cracked open. Idiots. Anyway, there's a screen on it, but you can easily push it out. Go for the master bedroom. Jewelry, that kind of stuff. All I want is a third of what you take.”

  “A quarter. I'm the one taking the risk.” Brecken gazes into Damion's muddy, brown eyes with disgust. The only reason he is still here is because their phone will be disconnected tomorrow if they don't pay the dumb bill. Brecken needs ninety-five bucks, and if he's late paying, not only will his cell phone be turned off, but his dad's too. It's a family plan, and his dad needs his phone for his business.

  “Fine.”

  Brecken grits his teeth and looks down at his hands, shame blossoming in his chest, making his heart feel as dirty as the grime under his fingernails.

  He leaves with not only regret, but a raw dose of fear too. How can he continue to live like this?

  CHAPTER TEN

  ~First Glimpse of Hell~

  Alisa

  “Soul Prison?” I repeat, staring into Annabelle's eyes in horror. “Like a penitentiary?” I don't want to be punished forever for one little misunderstanding. That doesn't seem fair. I want a shot at redemption, to be with my family, with Natty. I can't go to prison!

  Annabelle continues to smile as if it's no big deal, like it happens every day, and maybe it does for some, but not for me. I'm not the jail type. I've never stolen, done drugs, or anything else illegal. Okay, I did try alcohol once, but I didn't like it. That has to count for something. I've never even made out with a boy... officially. Nothing past first base.

  I killed myself to be free!

  “There are areas of Soul Prison that aren't so bad,” she says. “Some people even like it there. Other parts though... ” She shivers. “You don't want to know.”

  She is right about that.

  She twists away and closes her eyes, becoming quiet and perfectly still. “One moment, please,” she says putting her finger up for silence. “I'm getting a message.”

  I frown, waiting. “Annabelle?”

  She is still for a moment longer and then turns back to me. “Raphael... I assume you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “He knows you're here with me in the library.”

  Of course
he does. There is less privacy here than on Earth. What a surprise.

  “He says I should take you to visit Soul Prison so you can see firsthand what it's like. That the experience will help you. It's not one of my normal duties, but I would be happy to be your guide.” She stands and smiles sweetly, then offers me her hand.

  I stay in my seat, my hands in my lap. “I don't want to go there.”

  She chuckles and reaches for my hand anyway. “Not to be imprisoned. Just to see it.”

  She links arms with me, and I brace myself for what is sure to be torture.

  We disappear from the library with a blink of her eyes. It seems to take a long time and I wait to appear... somewhere. Anywhere. I feel suspended in darkness. The landscape looks unnaturally shadowy, and I can barely see Annabelle beside me. “When will we get there?” I whisper after a moment.

  “We are here, dear.”

  She pulls me down a slightly sloping path as a heavy blanket of fear wraps around me. The darkness is almost enough to drive me to my knees, because I feel it all around me. A viscous mist descends, its gummy substance accumulating on my arms. It won't come off and sticks to my fingers like gum. Horrifying screeches, like wounded animals dying in pain, rise on the dank air.

  I can't do this. I can’t be in this place. “What is this?” I shriek, trying to wipe my arms.

  “It's desperation, sweetie. Defeat. Agony. The torment of guilt.”

  The wailing grows louder, penetrating me like a dull knife, magnifying the horror of this evil place. “Can't someone help that poor... whatever it is?” I ask, distracted by the gooey mist collecting on me. It mushes between my toes, fills my hair, and sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  This evil place, this dark world, has wrapped its sinewy fingers around me, clinging with the icy chill of dead hands, dead souls, and dead dreams. Not only do I feel physically tormented but emotionally too. Hopelessness, fear, and anger, as though live entities, float in the mist, making me want to lie down and die all over again. This is way worse than my funeral.

  Annabelle pulls me further down the path. When I venture too close to the edge, the razor-sharp grass cuts painfully into my feet. Not in a physical way, but like a stab through my heart with feelings of shame and severe depression.

  “Somebody shut that thing up!” I finally scream, covering my ears, no longer able to tolerate the alarming cries. I've never heard anything so pitiful, so agonizing.

  “It's not a thing, dear. It's people. Souls,” she says.

  I stop, frozen to the mucky stones beneath my feet.

  “That's right, Alisa,” she says, turning to me. “What you hear is the wailing of anguish from people paying for their sins. People who refused to make amends during life.”

  “You’re kidding me.” My hands still cover my ears, but my eyes are adjusting. A short way off the path I see thin, dark arms, writhing, reaching upward, raspy voices crying for another chance, for forgiveness. My soul recoils, afraid they might touch me or contaminate me with their filth.

  “Please, let's leave.” I grasp Annabelle's hand. “I don't want to stay here.”

  “But you will if you fail in your mission. You can't stay in Idir Shaol indefinitely. You have to move on. One way or another.” For someone so small, she seems enormously strong, but I cling to her, desperate not to be left behind when she blinks away.

  “There's someone you need to see.”

  “Here? Who?” Annabelle pulls me further down the path.

  I've become a blubbering idiot, terrified, and clinging to her. “Please don't leave me,” I plead over and over.

  She stops and a dark... thing, half crawls, half stumbles toward us, the muck pulling against him like melted tar, holding him to the path. He stops before me, a bent figure carrying an agonized expression. I recognize his tortured face immediately.

  “Mr. Roland.” I'm breathless and suddenly nauseous.

  “Yeessss,” he rasps in a hot whisper. “You remember.”

  Of course I remember... I've tried to forget, to block the memories out, but I haven't been able to. Like a dog drawn to its vomit, they always came back to me.

  If anyone deserves to be here, he does. It happened so long ago, but the memories are instantly before me again, starkly clear. He molested me repeatedly, along with his own daughter, my best friend, Natasha, for over a year.

  I shrink back, horrified to see him. He ruined my life. He ruined Natty's. I was only twelve—so innocent, so good, so sweet. He took all that away from me, and for a moment, I itch to spring forward, to rake my fingernails down his already marred face, to spit in the dark coals of his eyes. I'm glad he's here. Glad he's miserable. I hate him. More than anyone or anything else in the world.

  The hot burn of tears—that aren't really there—press against the back of my eyes as I stare. His crime was discovered, and he went to jail just after my thirteenth birthday. I never saw him again. Every night—after I heard he'd died—I prayed he was roasting in hell.

  He moves toward me, reaching for my hand. I jump back with a shout. “Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me again!”

  He pulls away, scars streaking down his anguished face. “I'm sorry, Alisa. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me. If only I'd known... ” He looks pathetic. He is pathetic. He is a wretched creature with no hope of redemption. Ever, I hope.

  “I will never forgive you,” I say in a quiet growl, my jaw clenched. “Do you hear me? Never!”

  “Please,” he begs again, falling to the ground at my feet, groaning, the muck stretching over his back in a tight cocoon.

  I glance around at the inky darkness of this world, the heaviness of the very air. A world where no one glows with light. A world where souls live in darkness because of the terrible things they've done. He is getting what he deserves.

  “No.” I take Annabelle's hand, and we disappear with a blink of her eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ~The Heist~

  Brecken

  Brecken waits outside Damion's neighbor's house. He watches the couple leave for work in their Lexus, and wishes for the kind of ease these people have. How would it feel to have enough money for whatever you want? He doubts he'll ever know.

  He waits ten minutes, and then creeps around the corner of the house, keeping behind the bushes that shield him from pesky neighbors. He finds the bathroom window cracked open, just like Damion promised.

  With a screwdriver, he pries the screen away and then sets it down with a quiet twang against the bricks. The window is only four feet up but on the narrow side. He jumps, balancing on his hands until he hooks his knee on the sill, then slithers through, almost slipping and falling forward on this face. His shoes leave a scuff on the pristine white toilet seat.

  Brecken creeps to the bathroom door and peeks out. The house is silent except for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the living room just down the hall. Thick carpet cushions his feet and he takes off his shoes so he won't leave any prints. He wiggles his toes for a moment, awed by the lushness of something that is so ordinary for some people.

  Brecken turns toward the stairs. Light streams through high windows above the front door and into the living room, reflecting off a chandelier, creating rainbows on the beige walls. So beautiful, so quiet, so peaceful. So unlike his house.

  The master bedroom is at the end of the hall. He stops in the doorway for a moment, staring at the four-poster king-size bed. Satin quilts grace the mattress and ornate dressers stand on two of the walls. There is a tilting, full-length mirror in one corner. He can see marble countertops in the master bath.

  How much money do these people make anyway? What do they do for a living? He can't believe the luxury, the wealth, of this house. Shaking his head, he hurries over to the dresser and finds a beautiful jewelry box that matches the rest of the dark, glossy wood in the room.

  Brecken lifts the lid, hating himself for what he is about to do. This is not him. He doesn't have the heart of a criminal. He doesn't want to
hurt people. He doesn't want to take precious treasures that don't belong to him, but what choice does he have? What is left for him to do?

  Acid fills his throat and he almost turns around to run out. Backing up, he rests his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

  He has to do this. He has to. There is no other way. His eyes moisten in frustration. He wipes them dry, grits his teeth, and then goes to work.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ~A Visit From Heaven~

  Alisa

  Seeing Mr. Roland brings up all sorts of memories I don't want to think about or relive, but now I can't get them out of my head. They plague me. Like gnats flying around in my mind, nipping, biting, itching. I long for the sweet oblivion of sleep, which I can’t have.

  My thoughts turn to Natasha. Where is she now? Why haven't I seen her? Is she happy with loved ones? Has she forgiven her father? I meander along a path in Idir Shaol, the cool stones hard beneath my feet. I'm not in the mood for classes, interviews, and especially my roommates.

  I find a grassy knoll and sit down, my long, white robe covering my feet when I bend my knees and wrap my arms around them. I rest my chin on my arms and close my eyes, picturing Natty's almost white-blonde hair, her endearing, crooked front tooth, her bright blue eyes.

  I miss her. I actually thought that I'd be with her after I died. How disappointing. I let the hurt well up inside me like bubbling mud filling me with ache. She is up here somewhere. Does she even know I died? Or worse, does she know how I died?

  Natty and I were there for each other during and after the abuse we experienced at the hands of her father. She helped me cope, and I did the same for her. When she died, so did that critical support. Everything piled up with no escape. Suicide seemed my only option, my only way to rid myself of the shame and depression. What I wouldn't give to talk to her again, to feel her sisterly support, to feel her quiet strength.