“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, but yes.”
Chelsea’s expression brightened. “Could I back home and do a little recreational haunting? Maybe put a little scare into my younger brother? Make his Matchbox cars float in midair?”
Oh, the newly dead and their preoccupation with ghosts. Truth was, there were no such things. What the living mistook for specters were just residual energy fields. The dead could only return to Earth under very special circumstances.
“I’m sorry. That won’t be possible. Shall we finish watching the DVD?”
“Do we have to?” Chelsea said with a frown. “I’m kind of jetlagged from the trip.”
“I suppose you can watch it later in your room. I’ll take you there.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
“Newcomer quarters, where you’ll be able to relax. Counselors are on hand at all hours to assist you should you feel sad or start to miss loved ones.”
Chelsea fiddled with a large shark’s tooth hanging from her neck. “When am I going to be interrogated?”
“Never. Contrary to what you may have been taught in vacation Bible school, Heaven isn’t a place of judgment.”
“Are you sure?” Chelsea said. “Because there might have been a time or two on Earth when I accidentally broke one of the Commandments. None of the really important ones, but—”
“I’m positive.”
“But if Heaven isn’t about judgment, what is it about?”
“Contentment,” Skye said with a smile. “Heaven is like that old Corona beer commercial—the one where the people on the beach toss their cell phones into the ocean without a care in the world.”
“Are you trying to tell me there aren’t any cell phones in Heaven?”
Skye suppressed a laugh. “Of course there are cell phones. There’s just never any bad news or telemarketers on the other line.”
Skye led Chelsea out of her cubicle, and the two of them stepped into a hall that contained a glass elevator. When they boarded, Joy, another Hospitality worker, was already inside, comforting a young woman garbed in a satin wedding dress with a long white train. Skye nodded a greeting as the bride sobbed into a bouquet of daffodils.
“Three hundred guests and not one of them knew the Heimlich,” the bride said. “I told Arnold we should have ordered salmon for the wedding dinner.”
“Chicken bone,” Joy mouthed.
“Skateboard mishap,” Skye mouthed back.
The elevator pinged when they reached the ground floor, and Skye and Chelsea exited and hopped onto a moving sidewalk.
“You are now entering the Newcomer Sector,” said a soothing disembodied voice. “Average newcomer stay is from five to seven days, Earth time. Concierge is located on the ground floor and manned twenty-four hours a day. Join us for a mixer in the Divine Ballroom at seven p.m. with piano stylings provided by Ray Charles.”
The sidewalk teemed with clients and their greeters. Some of the newly dead still looked pale and drawn from whatever ailment had claimed them. A group of high-school students in torn and bloodied formal wear rode the sidewalks in stunned silence.
Skye had forgotten it was prom season. Chelsea might meet some cute guys after all.
Chelsea scrutinized the knots of bedraggled people traveling with her on the sidewalks. She glanced at Skye with a questioning look. “Are all of these people...Are they all...” She made a cutting motion across her throat and emitted a gagging sound.
“Yes, Chelsea. They’re all dead. And while they might look shell-shocked right now, they’ll perk up soon enough. As your aunt Ethel said, Heaven is a fantastic place to be. It’s a lot like Earth, but with all the kinks ironed out.”
The sidewalk ended, and they entered a vast atrium that looked very much like the lobby of a luxury hotel. A black-suited bellhop, dressed in a white bow tie and gloves, greeted them and bowed at the waist.
“Welcome, Chelsea. You’re in guest-room suite 302. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
The elevator doors parted, and Skye and Chelsea boarded. There were more efficient ways to travel in Heaven, teleportation for instance, but many familiar elements of Earth were incorporated into the sector to make the newly dead feel at home.
They traveled to the third floor and strode down a lilac-scented hallway lined with several ornate gold mirrors and heavy wainscoting. When they arrived at room 302, Chelsea said, “We forgot to get the key.”
“No keys necessary in Heaven,” Skye said. Skye switched on the light in the bathroom. “This is a very special bathtub. It allows you to soak in anything from Perrier to rose petals to buttermilk. The controls are on the faucet.”
Chelsea stood behind her, glancing around as if looking for something. “Excuse me, but where’s the...you know?”
“A toilet is just one more thing you won’t need in Heaven.”
Skye stepped into the bedroom and drew the blinds to reveal the ocean lapping against an expanse of white sand.
“This is your view remote,” she said, picking up the oblong device. “You can change your view with a click of a button. Mountain vista, Paris skyline, Bavarian village, or you can program in your own preferences.”
She pointed to the four-poster king-sized bed covered with a down comforter, heaps of frilly pillows, and an assortment of stuffed animals.
“There’s a turn-down service every night. You can also use your WishBerry computer to redecorate this room any way you like, or you can put the room into mood mode, and your outer world will reflect your inner world. Why don’t you try it?”
Mood mode was a reliable way for Skye to gauge her client’s state of mind. If paintings like Munch’s The Scream suddenly appeared on the wall, she knew she should send up a grief counselor a.s.a.p.
She showed Chelsea the proper button to use, and as soon as the teen pushed it, loud punk music blared, posters of bare-chested teenage boys plastered the purple walls, and the smell of sausage pizza wafted through the air.
Skye covered her ears. “Your inner world is certainly lively.”
“I’ll save this for after you leave,” Chelsea said, changing the room back to its former state. Then she stroked her chin and quickly drew back her hand as if she’d been burned.
“Something’s weird.” She hurried to stare into the gilded framed mirror above the dresser. “Holy crap! My zits are all gone.”
Skye nodded. “That’s just one of the many benefits of life in Heaven. Your body gradually loses all of its flaws.”
“Wow,” Chelsea said, continuing to admire her unblemished chin in the mirror. “Selena Gomez, watch your back.”
“Are you going to be okay?” Skye asked. She felt slightly uneasy leaving such a young girl to her own devices. “Your aunt will be here shortly to welcome you.”
“I’ll be fine. My mom always used to say I was an old soul. She said she could see it in my eyes.” Chelsea frowned. “That’s weird.”
“What?”
“Five minutes ago I was really missing my mom, but all of the sudden she seems so far away now, like I’m looking at her from the wrong end of the binoculars. How can that be?”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be. The longer people are in Heaven, the less they tend to pine for those they’ve left behind.”
Chelsea kicked off her shoes, pushed aside a menagerie of plush toys, and flopped down on the bed. “How long ago did you die?”
“Actually, I’ve never died.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. I’m a brand-new soul—only a year off the assembly line.” Skye pretended to sniff her armpits. “Still have that new soul smell.”
“So are you ever going to Earth?”
“Not for a while. New souls usually spend years in Heaven before they’re selected to live their first life on Earth. Besides, I’m perfectly happy where I am.” She paused. “But if I were to go to Earth, what words of advice would you have for me?”
Chelsea wr
inkled her brow. “Obviously you should wear a helmet when you try an ollie.”
“An ollie?”
“Skateboard talk. And be sure and learn how to fall, ’cause you’re going to spend a lot of time on your butt.”
Skye laughed. “I’ll try and remember that.” She reached for the doorknob. “I better scoot. You sure you’re okay?”
Chelsea smothered a yawn. “I’m just a little tired. Death takes a lot out of you.” She plumped her pillow and sunk her head in the middle. “One more thing. I know there’s a turn-down service—”
“All you have to do is pick up the phone beside your bed.”
“I don’t suppose there’s also a tuck-in service? My mom still insisted on tucking me in even though I told her I was way too old. But now—”
“Now you wish she was here to do it?”
Chelsea nodded.
Skye tucked the blanket under her chin and brushed her lips across Chelsea’s broad forehead.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered.
Skye switched off the bedside lamp and tiptoed out of the room. She rode the elevator down to the lobby and boarded the moving sidewalks. Saturday was always a brisk day in the Hospitality Sector. People on Earth had more time to drown, wreck their cars, or fall off roofs. The only day busier than Saturday was Monday, which ushered in the cardiac arrest and stroke victims. Apparently the prospect of facing another long workweek eked the life out of many people on Earth.
A Muzak version of “Stairway to Heaven” competed with the thrum of the monorail as it wove its way around the building, delivering the newly deceased to various destinations throughout the area. There were an average of 146,000 deaths per day on Earth; thus, the Hospitality Sector was a mammoth operation. The monorail never stopped running, and the enormous glass structure always bustled with the comings and goings of greeters and their clients.
Skye closed her eyes and let the sidewalk transport her throughout the sector. “Stairway to Heaven” was replaced by Ella Fitzgerald singing, “Heaven, I’m in Heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”
She’d heard the song so many times before it barely made a blip in her consciousness. The Fitzgerald tune, along with “Pennies from Heaven,” “Tears in Heaven,” and “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” played continuously throughout the sector.
“Skye!”
Her best friend Rhianna was behind her. Skye waved.
“What’re your after-work plans?” Rhianna said.
“Nothing in particular,” Skye said.
“Why don’t we go in the Live A Little Lounge for a quickie?” Rhianna pointed at the bar, which was near the exit of the sector and only for greeters. “Glory and Joy said they were stopping by.”
Skye shook her head. “I feel like being outdoors.” Ever since she’d started dating her new boyfriend, Brock, she had much less interest in nightclubbing.
Two Hospitality workers staggered out of the bar. Obviously the evening’s festivities were already underway. Greeters were a notoriously wild bunch, and no wonder. In Heaven, there were no hangovers.
“Big birds, five o’clock,” Rhianna whispered.
Two guardian angels traveled on the adjacent sidewalk. They wore diaphanous white uniforms with gold wing-shaped pins fastened to their bodices. The two angels’ heads were nearly touching as they spoke in low tones.
“Who do you think will get promoted this year?” Rhianna said.
“Probably Joy,” Skye said. “She’s been nominated for Who’s Who in the Hereafter two years running.”
Greeters were evaluated each year. According to their performance, they either stayed in their positions or were promoted to guardian angels. Every once in a great while a greeter was selected to go to Earth—an incredibly rare honor. It indicated a new soul had developed, in a short time, the fortitude to live his or her very first life.
“I hear there are surprises every year,” Rhianna said. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be promoted.”
Skye laughed, knowing Rhianna was teasing. There were a handful of fiercely competitive greeters who desperately tried to distinguish themselves by taking continuing-education courses or volunteering for overtime after earthquakes and other natural disasters. Skye wasn’t among their numbers and was perfectly happy to put in her eight hours and toddle on home.
Rhianna and Skye exited the main entrance of the building.
“What do you feel like doing, Ms. Skye?” Rhianna said. She wore a gold ring on each one of her fingers and a silver hoop in her navel.
Navel rings weren’t regulation for greeters, but there was nothing regulation about Rhianna’s appearance. Her hair was a riot of red snarls and curls, and she’d woven various colors of shiny ribbons through them. She was frequently cited for violating the Hospitality Sector dress code. Once she even fashioned a little skirt out of all of her reprimands and wore it to work, earning yet another one.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“Cloud art? I’m feeling creative.” Rhianna waved her hands through the air as if swiping at a canvas on an easel.
“Okay. But I’m not very good at it. All my clouds look like fluffy blobs.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. They’re very artful blobs,” Rhianna said. “I think I’m in a Chagall mood today.”
They passed under an awning of oak trees and headed toward a park. Rhianna scampered in front of Skye, jingling merrily from all her bangles and chains. The waistband of her hospitality skirt had fallen down her hips, revealing a narrow strip of hot-pink underwear.
“On second thought, I’m not feeling ethereal enough for Chagall,” Rhianna said, dropping to the ground. “I want something with a touch of whimsy. Maybe Klee.”
Cloud art was a popular pastime in Heaven, and involved the use of a brush, pencil, or even a finger as an instrument to render objects in the sky.
“What’s it going to be today?”
“A goat maybe?” Skye dipped her finger into an imaginary inkwell.
“Boring.” Rhianna brayed like a goat.
“What can I say? Water vapor isn’t my preferred medium.”
Rhianna’s tongue peeped out of the corner of her mouth and as she began to draw Klee’s round-headed man, one of her favorites.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Rhianna asked.
“Fire away.”
“I’d really like to be chosen to go to Earth.”
“Why?”
“Lots of reasons. Body surfing in the ocean for one.”
“Why go to Earth when you can body surf right here in Heaven?”
“Not the same,” Rhianna said. She uprooted a dandelion and blew the fluff into the air.
“That’s right.” Skye caught one of the errant seeds with her thumb. “Surfing here is safe. No jellyfish, no undertow, and no sharks who like to snack on redheaded girls.”
“I happen to like jellyfish. They look like the ghosts of flowers. So pretty.” Rhianna wriggled her fingers to suggest tentacles.
“And pretty painful if they sting you.”
“A little pain never killed anyone.”
“What do you know about pain?” Skye said. Like Skye, Rhianna was a new soul and had never been to Earth. Physical pain was as foreign to her as the prick of a cactus needle was to a goldfish.
“The threat of pain or danger is exactly what makes surfing interesting on Earth.”
Skye had heard other greeters express similar desires. They seemed oddly attracted to the ceaseless drama of Earth life. Not Skye. Why should she ever want to leave a place that was so completely perfect?
“Earth is an extremely hazardous planet,” Skye said. “Babies should be born with hard hats and knee guards.”
Skye gazed at the pristine blue sky. The weather in Heaven was continuously mild and sunny. If a person longed for rain or snow, there were places in Heaven with diverse weather conditions, but Skye never had any desire to visit them.
“The most frightening thing on E
arth is the threat of death.” Rhianna wound a fiery curl around her finger. “And we already know what happens when you die, so what’s there to be scared of?”
“Maybe there are worse things on Earth than death.”
“Like what? Potted meat? Disco music? A Brady Bunch reunion show?”
Skye didn’t know why she’d said such a thing. It’s not like she knew anything about Earth. She stood and dusted off stray blades of grass from the back of her uniform. Her interest in cloud art was waning.
“You know what fascinates me the most about Earth?” Rhianna said.
“What?”
“Hardly anyone wants to leave.”
Very true, Skye thought. The first hours in Heaven were the most trying for the newly dead. They mourned the existence they’d left behind, not knowing the life ahead of them was far superior.
“Why are we even talking about this?” Skye said with a yawn. “Neither of us will be chosen to go to Earth anytime soon. Our lives will continue on just as they always have. Blissfully uncomplicated. Who could ask for anything more?”
Two
Caroline Brodie was watching General Hospital in her room at Magnolia Manor Nursing Home. The door opened and Mona Scales, the director, burst in without knocking. Two orderlies followed her, wheeling a sheet-covered gurney.
“Guess who has a new roomie?” she said.
“Not me, I hope,” Caroline said.
“Now, Mrs. Brodie, don’t be a sourpuss. Surely you can use the company. And this roommate will be very quiet. Emily’s from the Verandah Wing.”
“Then what’s she doing here?”
Magnolia Manor Nursing Home in Birmingham, Alabama, had two wings, the Terrace and the Verandah. The Terrace Wing was for residents who still had enough vinegar left in them to play Parcheesi in the parlor or take their bland meals in the dining room. The Verandah Wing, on the other hand, was the dying wing of the facility. Patients there were bedridden or spent their last days strapped into chairs in the hallways, staring at blank walls.
“The Verandah Wing is a bit overcrowded right now. You won’t even know Emily is here.”
Caroline turned her attention back to her television program; she had no interest in Emily, whoever she was.
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