It's a Wonderful Death

by Sarah J. Schmitt

  Out of the corner of my eye I see a Grim Reaper herding several people through a door that reads VIP.

  “Suicides,” someone says next to me.

  I turn to see a girl a few years older than me. “Excuse me?” The fact that she’s not catatonic like everyone else makes me suspicious and intrigued at the same time.

  She nods in the direction of the door. “That’s where they take the suicides. I guess they need extra counseling or something.”

  I look her up and down, sea-green eyes and raven hair that’s swept up in a high ponytail. If not for the scar that jags from her hairline to the opposite cheek, she’d be stunning. “How do you know?” I ask, glancing back to the door.

  “I’ve been around for a while,” she says, plopping down next to me before changing the subject. “So, what brings you here?”

  I think back to the reaction of the old woman on the train and my Reaper’s warning to keep a low profile. “Um, car accident.”

  Her one unmarred and perfectly shaped eyebrow arches up sharply. “You’re lying.”

  “I am not,” I answer, a little too defensively.

  She gives me a look of amusement. “Oh, please. If you were in a wreck you would be moping around like the rest of these poor suckers.”

  “What, are you an expert on dead people?” I ask, wishing she would go away.

  She shrugs. “When you have nothing to do but sit around and watch the new arrivals, you can pick up a thing or two. I’m Sandy, by the way.”

  “RJ,” I say automatically. “Like what kind of things?” I ask, hoping to turn her attention away from my end-of-life experience.

  She scans the room until she finds what she’s looking for. “See that guy over there?” she whispers, pointing toward the line at the front desk. “The one with a dazed look who keeps touching his head?”

  I look around the room until I spot him. “Yeah.”

  “Well, he has a biker jacket on, right? And not one of those expensive, flashy ones that college guys buy to wear when they show off their crotch rockets. We’re talking old-school biker gang jacket.”

  “Okay, he rides a motorcycle. Big deal.” I wish this chick would get to the point. I mean, I know we have eternity, but come on.

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t have a helmet with him.”

  “So.”

  “When you come here, whatever you have on when you die comes with you. Hats, gloves, jewelry, all of it comes along for the ride.” She gives me a mischievous grin. “Even dirty underwear.”

  “Gross.”

  She laughs and several nearby souls twitch but no one turns toward us. “Oh lighten up. But seriously, there was this guy who had a heart attack while playing video games. He showed up here with the controller still tethered to his wrist.”

  “You’re kidding,” I say, still trying to get the dirty underwear comment out of my head.

  “Nope. It just hung limp at his side until someone from processing took it from him.”

  “Why’d they do that?” I ask, leaning closer to her.

  Sandy shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I think it’s because they don’t want you taking anything with you that will tie you to your old life. You know, like if that guy was playing with his kids when he died, the remote might make it harder for him to move on.”

  “So maybe someone took the helmet from biker guy?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it.”

  I look back at the guy who’s examining his head. “Well, what do you think happened?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Apparently not or I wouldn’t be asking,” I snap.

  She puts her hands up in surrender. “Chill. Fine, what I think happened is he died in a bike wreck. He’s got that stunned look most people have when they die suddenly. And he keeps checking out his head. Classic sign that he sustained a head injury. He’s probably trying to figure out why his skull feels so mushy. That makes me think he was riding without a helmet.”

  “Huh,” I say, no longer looking at the biker.

  Sandy turns to follow my gaze. “What?”

  I nod toward a woman in a wedding gown. The middle of the dress is stained with blood. On the floor next to her sits a dented helmet. “Do you think they were together?”

  “Maybe,” Sandy says, standing and walking swiftly across the room to the line.

  I race after her. “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t you want to find out if you’re right?” she asks over her shoulder. I catch up with her just as she lays a hand on the biker. “Excuse me,” she says gently.

  He looks at her and almost recoils from her touch. “Yes?” His voice lacks surprise or confusion or any emotion at all.

  Sandy is looking him in the eye, unwilling to let him look away. “Were you in a motorcycle accident?”

  He nods and then shakes his head like it hurts to remember.

  “Maybe we should leave him alone,” I say, pulling on Sandy’s arm.

  She shakes me off and continues talking to the man. “Do you know where your helmet is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Were you wearing one when you crashed?”

  The man is still for a moment before finally saying, “I can’t remember. I don’t think so.”

  Sandy gives me a triumphant look before asking him, “Was someone else wearing it?”

  Slowly, he begins to nod. “She was.”

  “A woman in a pretty dress, maybe?” Sandy prompts, giving me a victory smile.

  The man’s head snaps up, his eyes growing clearer by the second.

  “How did you know?” he demands, the dazed look gone.

  Sandy takes a step back just as I answer, “I, uh, I saw a woman with a helmet. She was wearing a fancy white—”

  “Where?” he bellows, stepping over the rope line. The person behind him moves up to fill the void, oblivious to the confrontation taking place right in front of him.

  He looks wildly around the room until he sees the woman. His eyes grow wide and a guttural howl echoes throughout the hall. I look around, expecting everyone to be watching us, but like the man who took his place in line, no one seems to be aware of anything. The biker rushes past, knocking me and everyone in his path out of the way until he reaches the dead bride. Dropping to his knees, he lays his head down in her lap and begins to weep.

  It’s the first expression of emotion I’ve seen since my arrival, unless I count the old people with their geriatric posse. At first, the woman just looks blankly over the biker’s trembling body. Then, almost automatically, she lays one hand on the back of his head and absently strokes his hair. When her eyes drift down, she watches as his body shakes with sobs until, finally, she lifts his chin up. Their eyes meet and her blank stare vanishes as tears begin to stream down her face.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper to Sandy, who looks as freaked out as I feel.

  “No idea,” she admits, not able to take her eyes off the scene. Her body is stiff as a board. “This has never happened before. Maybe it’s you.”

  Oh no. She is not blaming this on me. Gideon’s warning to keep a low profile echoes in my mind. So much for that plan.

  “I’m so sorry,” the biker says over and over. “I didn’t mean …”

  She shushes him, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the lips. The moment they connect, a squadron of figures in white jumpsuits surrounds them, gently pulling the man to his feet and hustling both him and the woman through the unmarked door. One of them remains behind and turns to scan the room. Sandy shrinks behind me.

  “Don’t let her see me,” she hisses, but it’s too late. The angelic-looking being makes a beeline toward us. By the time she reaches us, her face is no longer beautiful. Instead, it’s a canvas of fury.

  “Sandra Donaldson,” her voice rings out and the sweetness is a direct contrast to the anger on her face. “What have you done now?”

  Sandy slinks out from my shadow. “Hey, Lillith.”

  “Don’t
‘hey’ me, Sandra. You know you aren’t supposed to interact with the new arrivals. Just because you’re pining for your happy-never-after doesn’t give you the right to jeopardize the fate of others.”

  I look between Sandy and Lillith. What does she mean by happy-never-after and who hit this chick with the rude stick?

  As if hearing my thoughts, Lillith turns and looks pointedly at me. “And you aren’t supposed to corrupt them, either.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause a problem,” Sandy argues. “I just asked what happened.”

  “What did you think was going to happen?” Lillith snaps. “And why would you reconnect him with the woman? You know the emotional trauma that could cause. Even for you this is a new low.”

  “Actually,” I say slowly, “that was me.”

  “But she didn’t know what could happen,” Sandy says, jumping in before Lillith can admonish me.

  I give her a sharp look. “I don’t need you to defend me.”

  “Both of you, quiet,” Lillith commands.

  I turn to argue, but I can’t. I mean, I literally cannot open my mouth or utter a sound. I look at Sandy. She isn’t even trying to speak. Who is this woman and why is Sandy afraid of her?

  Finally, our silence is met with a look of satisfaction and Lillith continues. “Until souls have gone through processing, we try to keep them unaware of certain events in their life that might prohibit their progress through the Afterlife. You two have managed to mess that up.” She turns to Sandy. “From you, I’m not surprised, but you,” she says, turning her steely eyes toward me. “Didn’t I just see you come off the train? This is indeed unexpected.”

  She cocks her head as if hearing a sound from somewhere far away and sighs. “Everything has been taken care of, but from now on, until you go through processing, talk to no one.” She turns to Sandy and repeats, “No one.”

  We both nod and watch as she strides away, fading into the crowd. Once she’s out of sight, I feel the tension on my lips ease. “What was that all about?” I gasp, grateful for the sound of my own voice. “Or should I ask, who was that?”

  Sandy looks shaken. Another round of names echoes over the loudspeaker and this time I hear Sandy’s name. “Hey, I think they’re calling you,” I say, expecting her to show some sign of relief about getting out of here.

  “They always call my name,” she replies with a sigh. “I just never go.”

  “Are you kidding me? What in the world would make you want to wait around here when you could go to the light or whatever it is?”

  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a huge ring. “Because I can’t let go of this.”

  Chapter 4

  I stare at the ring, not sure what to say next. It’s a piece of art. Two leaping dolphins encircle the diamond solitaire and the eyes are set with the most brilliant sapphires I have ever seen. I would kill for a ring like that.

  “He had it made,” Sandy says, holding her hand up to admire it. “My favorite book when I was a kid was Island of the Blue Dolphins. A friend of his, an art student, created the sketch based off the book as a project for an art class and a jeweler turned the drawing into a one-of-a-kind original.”

  “Who had it made for you?” I ask, studying the ring closer. It really is amazing.

  “My boyfriend, well, I guess it’s fiancé.” She pauses and her expression becomes soft and almost vacant. “Fiancé. Even after all this time, it still feels makes me want to giggle.”

  “So when you say you’ve been around a while …”

  “Nine months, sixteen days, and ten hours Earth time, give or take.” There are tears in her eyes and I wonder again why souls can cry. “For this place, that’s an eternity.”

  “Why don’t you go through processing and be done with it?”

  She motions for me to follow her and I do, mostly because I’m curious but also because the thought of being alone in this crowd of emotionally comatose people freaks me out. We find two chairs not far from the geriatrics and I wait for her to begin.

  “He came up to see me a few days after spring term started. I was a senior at Notre Dame, studying business. James and I wanted to open a bookstore when we graduated. You know, one of those cool, independent places that eventually becomes a must-stop on book tours?”

  I shake my head. I don’t exactly spend a lot of time in bookstores. Or I didn’t, I should say. My head starts going fuzzy just trying to think about my life.

  She gives a sad laugh and I force myself to pay attention. “Well, I thought it was a dream life. We were going to raise our kids on great literature and live happily ever after. Sure, we probably wouldn’t make much money, but we couldn’t imagine a better job than being surrounded by books and people who love them.” Another deep breath. “Anyway, that night, he was supposed to be at Northwestern, not in the lobby of my dorm. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” Her sad look slips away as happiness takes its place. “He was so excited. And when I say excited, I mean he was almost giggling. It was so cute. He had dinner reservations for seven o’clock but it was snowing like crazy and there was no way we were going to make it, so we stopped at a little sandwich shop and then headed for St. Joseph Lake.” She laughs and her face lights up, almost erasing the scar on her face.

  I’m not sure if Sandy is still in this conversation with me or lost in a memory, but I’m enchanted by her real-life fairy-tale love. “Did you know he was going to give you that rock when you saw him?” I ask.

  “No,” she answers in a dreamy voice. “I thought he was going to ask me while we were home for Christmas, but he didn’t. Then I figured it would be over spring break. We were supposed to go to Hawaii as one last hurrah before graduation.”

  “Wow,” is all I can say. Sandy’s life seems like a dream.

  “All through dinner I kept trying to get him to spill his secret, but he didn’t crack. Not even a little. I thought he might have heard back from our realtor on a couple storefronts we were interested in. When we finished eating, James really wanted to walk along the trail that runs next to the water. It was freezing but I would go anywhere with him. It was just one more adventure. I don’t think we were more than a few feet away from the parking lot when he dropped down on one knee. The snowflakes made his hair almost completely white and I thought ‘this is what he’ll look like when he’s seventy.’ That’s when I got it. My heart leapt into my throat.”

  “Wow. It’s so romantic.”

  She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are now filling with sadness. “The moon was shining overhead and the sparkle of the diamond and the stars blended together. I don’t even know if I gave him the chance to actually ask me to marry him. All I remember is saying yes over and over. And then he jumped up and pulled me close. His kisses melted on my lips. I had never been so happy. That’s when I saw them.”

  Her voice trickles off and she seems to be at a loss for words. Finally, in a whisper, she says, “The headlights. The car must have hit a patch of black ice or something. All I knew is it was coming straight for us. I watched it jump the curb and crash through the bushes. I tried to push James out of the way but I wasn’t fast enough. The car knocked him down before it ran over him on its way toward the lake.”

  I’m unable to keep from staring at her scar. “What happened to you?”

  Sensing my gaze, her hand raises self-consciously to her face. “I flew over the hood and through the windshield. Believe it or not, it wasn’t the head injury that killed me. When the car went into the lake, I was pinned under it.”

  I expect her to cry again but Sandy chuckles a low, sad laugh. “It was like being in a movie. I still remember flying through the air. I felt weightless and couldn’t stop looking at the moon. But then the glass shattered and the pain was unbearable. It was like a thousand fire ants biting every inch of me. And then it stopped. Just like that. The last thing I remember was the muffled sound of the ambulance and the shimmer of the lights dancing across the surface of the water.”r />
  My hand flies to my mouth to hold back a gasp. I fail miserably. “I’m so sorry,” I finally say.

  She flashes me a sad smile. “You want to know the funny part. I was a swimmer. I held three freestyle records on my college team. I could hold my breath longer than anyone else. And in the end, it was death by drowning. Personally, I blame the collapsed lung.”

  “That’s not funny,” I say. “It’s tragic.”

  She ignores me. “They pronounced me dead at the hospital, but I was gone long before that. The Grim Reaper met me on the shore of the lake. He tried to rush me away from the scene but I had to see if James was okay.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask in a whisper. “Did he die?”

  “Do you think I would be hanging around this place if he did?” she snaps.

  I sit back in surprise. “No. Probably not.”

  “Sorry,” she says. “To answer your question, no. He’s not dead. But he’s not alive either.”

  I give her a questioning look. “How is that possible?”

  She slumps down in her chair. “His stupid parents have him hooked up to all kinds of machines, but the only thing they’re doing is keeping him from coming here to be with me.” There’s a wildness in her eyes, like her mind is bordering on insanity and now I can see why souls shut off their emotions when they die. “What they need to do is let him go.”

  Again, the front desk calls her name. “How often does that happen?” I say to her.

  “What?” she asks, and I can tell by the blank stare she has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “They keep calling for you. How often do they do that?”

  “Every few minutes for the last nine months, sixteen days, and ten hours,” she ticks off.

  My mouth drops open. “They call your name every single time a new group goes up, and they’ve been doing it since you got here?”