He coaxes a nervous laugh out of me. “Okay, you win,” I say. “Let’s get out of here before they sic Gideon on me again.”
Franklin is assigning the group into pairs when we return. “Glad you could join us, Dez,” he says. “You’re just in time for Three P.”
“Three P?” I ask Charlie.
“Partnership Path to Progress,” he explains. It’s the next thing on the schedule after Morning Meditation.”
“Charlie, you’re with Ethan today,” Franklin says. “And Dez, you’re with Abbey. I’ve already handed out today’s assignments, so they’ll fill you in.”
Charlie joins a heavyset boy of about sixteen who has a head of thick, dark hair at a nearby table. A short, stick-thin girl waves to me from a table near the edge of the library, her blue eyes glimmering with enthusiasm. “Over here, Dez,” she calls.
I traipse over to the table, debating whether this really does beat the alternative of taking my chances with Gideon and Eliza.
Abbey points to the empty chair across the table. “Have a seat.” She slides a worksheet over to me. “So, how you holding up?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess. It’s been a pretty crazy twenty-four hours.”
“I know, right?” She nods in sympathy and gives me a sickly-sweet smile. “Don’t worry, it gets a lot better. Plus, Hannah’s a great roommate. She’s an old pro around here.” She looks over at Hannah, beaming.
Hannah is seated two tables over from us with a freckled girl who has long, strawberry blond curls. I smile at Hannah and wave. She scowls back at me.
Okay, then.
“So, Dez,” Abbey says, “I hear you had a little run-in with Herc yesterday.”
Herc again? “I really don’t want to rehash the whole thing,” I say.
Abbey pouts. “Not even a teensy detail or two? I’d love to hear it. Herc’s a dirtbag.” She puts her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that. I’m usually the nice girl around here.”
I throw an exasperated glance Hannah’s way, but she’s giving me the cold shoulder.
“Don’t we have something we’re supposed to be doing?” I ask.
“Oh, right.” Abbey giggles. “That’s me, always distracted by gossip.” She looks down at the worksheet. “You’re getting tossed right into the Franklin regimen.” She slides a pen over to me while I read.
With your partner, discuss self-help tactics that will assist afterlifers in their transition to the dormitory setting. Be prepared to offer at least six examples when you present your findings to the group.
“Afterlifers?” I ask.
“That’s a Franklinism.” She leans across the table and lowers her voice, yet somehow she still sounds like a cheerleader leading a pep rally. “It’s his way of trying to be relatable,” she says. “He thinks he sounds more like a teenager when he calls us that.”
My head begins to throb; my shoulders are heavy with the weight of this nightmare existence. The assignment and the perky partner I’ve been assigned, the daily reflection, and the propaganda posters practically screaming at me from every direction are just about enough to send me fleeing again. “Can’t this place give me a break? Just a moment’s peace?”
“Acceptance and cooperation, Dez.” Abbey taps her temple with the pen she’s holding. “Don’t forget.”
Her words ring familiar, but with all the slogans and rules swimming through my mind, I can’t place them. The cumulative effect of this place is dizzying. “I need to get out of here,” I say. “All these people? All this BS, rah-rah, ‘we’re all one’ crap? How can anybody stand it?”
Abbey frowns. “Oh, so you’re one of those girls.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She replies in a careless, breezy tone. “You know, the chip on your shoulder, loner, non-conformist, the-world-owes-me-something types.” She manages to make even that sound perky.
“And you’re one of those girls,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the acts sweet but talks behind your back, superficial, judgmental, gossipy type.”
Abbey stiffens. “You don’t even know me.”
“Exactly my point. You don’t know a damn thing about me, who I am, what I’ve been through, any of it.”
“So you’re looking for pity? Because there’s nothing special about being dead. We all are, so you’d better get used to it.”
The girl sitting with Hannah turns to us. “Knock it off,” she says. “She’s dealing with enough right now, so dial it down a bit, would you?”
“Stay out of it, Kira,” Abbey snaps. “Besides, I’m just saying what all of us are thinking.”
My face goes hot with anger and my hands tingle as I swallow back acrid fury. I force my palms flat against my thighs. “I know we’ve only just met, but this is not the day to be pushing me, Abbey.”
“Let me give you some advice, Dez.” Abbey’s voice is flat and even, all signs of bubbly enthusiasm gone. “You’re going to have to learn how to get along around here. Blowing up at every person for every little thing they say isn’t going to make you any friends, and eternity with no friends is not something I’d like to experience. Would you?”
“It’s nine twenty-eight, so you should be wrapping things up,” Franklin announces. “Since we’re running a bit behind today, we’ll go over your answers during Sharing Circle.”
“I’m going to be late for my meeting with Kay,” I say, shoving the worksheet back at Abbey.
I walk over to Hannah and grab her hand. “I need to talk to you for a second.” Not giving her the chance to ignore me, I pull her to her feet and head for the elevators.
When we’re out of range of prying eyes and ears, she opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. “I know you’re not happy with me right now, but just let me say this.”
She plants her hands on her hips, frowning.
“You’re my roommate, Hannah, and one of a whopping two friends I have here. I know he means a lot to you, more than I realized. I’ve only just met him, but … I don’t know how not to need Charlie right now.”
“Well neither do I.” She turns her back on me and walks away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A heavy heart weighs down my every step. Somehow I manage to make the journey from the dorms to Station Guidance and Assistance room 2108, almost on time and without getting lost.
Despite the cramped quarters, Kay’s office is a major improvement over the waiting area’s bland paint job and uninspired artwork. Recessed bookcases take up every inch of space, stacked to the ceiling with enormous volumes such as Dead Right: Understanding the Teen Perspective, Modern Trends and the Adolescent Mind, and Post-Mortem: The Diagnostic Manual, Volume MMDL.
“Do you feel comfortable talking about the events that have taken place since your arrival yesterday?” Kay asks.
I feel sick to my stomach. I shake my head. No way.
“How about we simply start with the link-burst and work our way back from there? One thing at a time, and we’ll see how you do.”
All she gets from me is an ambiguous “I guess.”
Kay folds her hands on her desk, thinking for a moment. “As you know, a link-burst can be a very powerful event. Due to the severity of your burst, it is possible that you received what we unofficially call a double shot, in which the energy of two grieving parties is transmitted simultaneously.”
I cover my face with my hands as I try to process what she’s telling me. Science and logic I get. This sounds like neither. “My parents, my friends … are they going to be okay? I mean, what does the burst do to them on their end?”
“The transmitter of the burst will feel no additional effects.”
“Can I send something back to them? Is there some way to let them know I’m here?”
Kay focuses on her notes, not even looking up to answer. “I’m afraid not. We have no way to contact the living world.”
“But what about all the ghost stories you h
ear? Hasn’t anyone found a way to communicate like that?”
“Earthly creations of vivid imaginations. Are you comfortable sharing your own link-burst experience with me?”
Reliving—but I need a different word now that I’m dead: redying?—that nightmare is not high on my to-do list. “Not really.”
“We can always come back to it another time. Today is not the day I will push you to participate.”
“I have a question,” I say, mustering the courage to ask it.
“By all means.”
“Yesterday, after Gideon … ” I swallow a lump in my throat. “I came to, and Eliza said something about a procedure. What did they do to me?”
“When a transitional soul requires additional psychiatric services, it is not uncommon to receive one of a number of procedures.” She shuffles the papers on her desk. “I haven’t yet received the paperwork on yours, so I’m afraid at the moment I can’t tell you the specific procedure you underwent.”
“But you were there when I came to. Right out in the hallway.”
“I know you have a lot on your mind, and this is all a lot to take in, but try to relax. Let’s not focus on the minor details right now. Our time today will be better spent dealing with big-picture issues. My staff is here to support you and help you through the awkward transitional period, and to bring focus to the steps needed to move you on to what’s next.”
“What about that woman in my DSR last night? Who is she?”
“I think we’re overreaching. This is all ground we’ll cover in subsequent sessions. Let’s try to focus on a few key points for now.”
I’m getting nowhere. A granite plaque on her desk advises: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.
I begin to tear up a small scrap of blank paper I find on the edge of Kay’s desk. “What happens when somebody with a chainsaw cuts right through the rope while you’re busy hanging on to that knot?”
“Is that what you feel happened to you yesterday?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Yes, I could. What matters, though, is whether you feel it’s true.”
I give her a noncommittal shrug and focus on tearing the bits of paper into tiny shreds.
“This is a point I think we need to revisit when you’re feeling better equipped to participate. It is very easy to become overwhelmed in these first days. Staying focused on the basics can be quite a challenge.” She clicks the top of her pen and scribbles a note on a memo pad. “How are things going with Hannah Yoon?”
“Everything’s fine,” I lie.
“Good.” She taps her pen on her notepad. “Why don’t we get back to what you’re doing here. Any questions?”
I drop the shreds of paper and they fall like snow to the carpeted floor. “So those questions I can ask? But anything outside of a few select topics is off-limits?”
“In this introductory session, it is my experience that sticking to a few select topics is of the greatest benefit to newly departed souls.” Kay gives me a look of encouragement, her pen at the ready.
“Do you have to take notes? I mean, is forgetfulness a problem once you’re dead?”
“Do you do this a lot?” she asks.
“What?”
“Deflect uncomfortable topics and questions with questions of your own?”
I frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me about what I’m doing here?”
“So, yes, you do.” She writes another quick note.
“Fine. What am I supposed to say?”
“You’re not supposed to say anything. There is no checklist; there are no magical phrases I need to cross off some inventory. What I hope is you will choose to share with me your experiences since arriving at Atman—your fears, your feelings of loss, confusion, anger. This is what we need to begin building a path toward earning your ticket. Together, we will examine your life, and I will give you the tools to address the things from your past that prevent you from moving on and the behaviors in the present that can stymie progress.”
I lay my head back against the chair and stare at the ceiling. We sit in silence for several minutes, until at last I speak. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I had a whole life to live.”
“Letting go is hard work, and it isn’t something that happens overnight.”
“I don’t want to let go. I want to go back,” I say in little more than a whisper.
“Looking back keeps you from seeing what’s ahead.”
“You sound like those posters plastered everywhere. It’s like I’m trapped inside a fortune cookie.”
Kay taps her pen against her lips as she looks at me. “That’s an interesting choice of words. Why don’t we consider what it is you mean by ‘fortune cookie’? Sometimes little slips lead to big discoveries.”
Oh, boy. This is going to be a long death.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The unnecessarily bright illumination of the message center greets me as I enter our suite. The canister contains a single message.
Hi Dez,
You’ll be receiving your first work assignment in nine days. Until that time, the work program hours will be free time for you (on-floor), which is meant to give you additional time to adjust to your new surroundings, reflect, and learn the new system and rules. During today’s work hours, I’d like to go over in greater detail the rules and expectations of dormitory life and our program. Please meet me in the common room today at 12:45.
I look forward to our meeting.
Sincerely,
Franklin
I fold up his note, shove it in my pocket, and head for my bed. With an hour to spare, I can think of nothing more appealing than hiding in that cozy cocoon of blankets and pillows. On my bed, I find an apple, a chocolate chip cookie, a sub sandwich, and a note. A big cup of soda sits on the bedside table.
Eat something. Seriously, the note says in big, flowery script.
A deep rumbling in my stomach reminds me I haven’t had a bite to eat since I’ve been here. The growling rivals the sense of pointlessness I feel about eating food in a realm where—to the best of my knowledge—nothing is real, existing simply because it’s “what we’re used to.”
Why the hell not? I break off a chunk of the cookie and begin to nibble at it. The act of eating sets me at ease immediately, and I proceed to wolf down every last bite of food and drain the cup.
Sated, I collapse back on the bed with a fresh feeling of—hope? Calm? No wonder everyone’s so hooked on eating.
Franklin looks up from a stack of paperwork. “You’re looking better.”
“I finally ate something.”
He gives me a friendly nod. “That’ll do it.” He points to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
As I pull the chair back, its legs grind against the floor. “Sorry,” I say, sitting down in the deserted common area as quietly as I can manage.
“Every little noise seems loud during work assignment hours. It’s like a ghost town around here.”
I fidget, uncomfortable and frowning.
He forces back the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry. Too soon for death humor.” Franklin grabs a file folder off the top of his stack of paperwork. “Now that you’ve passed the twenty-four hour mark, our first order of dorm-related business is to have you sign the pledge.” He slides a sheet of paper across the table to me.
Basic Rules of Conduct Agreement (all towers):
i. In order to progress through the levels, it is essential to participate in all facets of the program (see daily schedule), as well as your individualized plan.
ii. Underage souls are not to travel to, or within, Atman City.
iii. Learning from and with floormates is vital. Progress will not come without helping and being helped by those around you.
iv. You must learn to completely trust your Station Guidance and Assistance representative and Atman staff, and surrender yourself to their care.
v. Honesty is crucial. You
must not withhold information, or behave deceptively.
I understand and agree to the above terms.
Signed: ________________ ID#_______________
Witness: _______________ EID#______________
Franklin pushes a pen over to me.
“You have the Atman legal department write this up?”
Franklin crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Nothing’s legally binding, but we’ve found that signing a document tends to reinforce the gravity of its words. We take this pledge seriously, and expect all residents to do the same.”
“The rules seem pretty vague. How do you quantify some of these? If someone is really good at lying, how will you ever know they’re being deceptive? How do you measure whether or not…” I grab the document. “I completely trust my SGA rep and staff, and surrender myself to their care? Is there some sort of test?”
“This is simply a statement of the most crucial rules, spelling out what is expected of every transitional soul.”
I drop the form onto the table. “So what happens to rule breakers?”
“It depends upon the violation. Consequences can range from a loss of privileges to a loss of earned levels.”
“What about Bobby? I saw his bracelet. You don’t keep track of him like the rest of us?”
“Don’t concern yourself with matters that don’t involve you.”
“But I thought we were all in this together. Shouldn’t I be worried about his success?”
Franklin looks down at the pledge with exasperation on his face. “Let me add a little fact for you to weigh against your litany of questions: since its inception, not one afterlifer has moved on without signing the pledge.” He leans forward and taps the signature line. “You want out of here? This is your first step.”
His words are a well-delivered punch, knocking the resistance from me in a single blow. I grip the pen tightly and scrawl my signature across the line. My clumsy fingers scroll through the information on my bracelet so I can find my identification number.
Franklin signs the witness line and slips the pledge into a manila envelope. “Enjoy the rest of your free time this afternoon. Open rec is at fourteen-thirty, which might be a great opportunity for you to smooth things over with Abbey.”
Life, A.D. Page 9
