Beyond Dead

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  “We’ve been selected to host the Midsummer Festival,” Alison and Debbie said in unison, both giddy as schoolgirls.

  Immediately the room erupted into excited chatter.

  Sabrina turned to me. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  I shook my head. “Not a clue. But I feel that way about most things since I died.”

  “We’ve offered to host it here at the fort,” one of them said. I had no idea who was who. “So we’ll need volunteers to help us organise everything from the music to the decorations.”

  “When’s this festival happening?” Sabrina asked over the chatter.

  Every head turned to us as the conversation died.

  “Tomorrow.” From Eleanor’s tone it was clear this was something she’d mentioned before. And more than once.

  “Oh.” Sabrina snapped her fingers and pointed at Eleanor as if she remembered. “Right.”

  I stuck my hand in the air and waved. “I’m an event planner. I can help you with the organisation. Especially with the short notice. A day is really a ridiculous timeframe.”

  “That’s very kind, Bridget but that would've perhaps been more of a helpful offer a few days ago when the ladies were actually planning the event.” Eleanor placed her palms together as though she were praying and pointed the fingers in my direction. “So how about we give Debbie and Alison the chance to learn how to do this on their own?”

  “This was my job for ten years.” I looked from Eleanor to the two women. “I’ve won awards. They would benefit immensely from my experience.”

  “And still,” Eleanor said, inclining her head to me, smile still in place, “I think we should let them do it.”

  I turned to Sabrina. “Seriously?” I looked back to Eleanor, who was speaking to the two women, and then back to Sabrina. “Seriously? I’m offering to get involved. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”

  “And that’s why you should never volunteer to help with this type of thing.”

  “We’re going to pass around this list.” The slightly chubbier of the pair handed the paper to the older man in the front row. “If you can write your name next to what you’re going to help with, that would be great.”

  “It would be lovely if this could be a group effort,” Eleanor said and glanced pointedly in our direction as if I hadn’t just offered to help. “It will count towards your acclimatisation assessment. Thank you, ladies.” Eleanor gestured for Debbie and Alison to take their seats. “This evening we’ll be working on ‘misting’ in pairs. Rows one, three and five, the person sitting directly behind you will be your partner.”

  “She’s splitting us up on purpose,” Sabrina mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. How come everyone seemed to be able to do that but me?

  “Told you, you’re a bad influence.”

  Sabrina was partnered with Warren, the goth boy, and I was with David. David the Ghosting Buster. He briefly glanced at me and almost looked as unhappy about it as I was. Almost.

  “Chairs to the centre, everyone, and spread out.” Eleanor waved her hands like she was parting the Red Sea and we didn’t understand what “spread out” meant. “Make sure you’re near something solid.”

  Everyone grouped their chairs and, except for us, talked excitedly about the festival. David didn’t even look at me as we positioned ourselves by a section of the fort’s wall.

  “Do you know what ‘misting’ is?” I asked when it was clear he had no intention of speaking to me.

  He looked anywhere but at me. “Walking through walls.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “This should be …” I’d been about to say “fun” then remembered Martin’s shoulder sticking out through Sabrina’s chest during the tunnelling practice. “How do you know what ‘misting’ is?”

  “Eleanor told us yesterday.” His tone wasn’t terse exactly but there was a definite hint of reproach in there.

  “Right.” I nodded. The silence dragged on. “I’m not going to tell anyone, y’know.”

  His head whipped to face me. His eyes were the palest blue I had ever seen and pinned me in place like a butterfly to a board. “Tell anyone what?”

  “Nothing. I’m not going to tell anyone anything,” I stammered before I could help it, the intensity in his eyes catching me off guard. “About, y’know, your vocation.”

  He shrugged. It was an odd gesture on him. “If you don’t cease and desist your investigation into Bartholomew Harlow immediately, everyone here will know when I arrest you anyway. And your friend.”

  “If you keep using phrases like ‘cease and desist’ people will know long before that. And what investigation? We’re not investigating anything. ”

  “Look.” He sighed, suddenly appearing older and very tired. “You have a death shroud. If you won’t stop because what you’re doing is illegal and possibly damaging to the emotional wellbeing of the Harlow family, then stop because every time I see you your death becomes a little more certain.”

  “What? What do you mean a death shroud? My death is certain? You do realise we’re all already dead?”

  “Your death in this world.”

  “But Madame Zorina said it had gone.”

  “Whoever she is,” he said, his eyes becoming unfocused as he looked over my shoulders, “she lied.”

  I sighed. “Figured as much. Guess that makes you a medium, then? Bet that comes in handy in your job.” David stared at me in stony silence. “Or any job. Or life in general. Or afterlife. Or whatever. So, hypothetically, if I were investigating Barry, which I am in no way admitting to, would you know how he died?” Silence. “Is that a no? Or you can’t tell me?” Silence. “Don’t suppose you know how I’m going to die?” Silence. “You know what I dislike about you? You talk too much.”

  “I’ve been told that before.” He nodded and I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  “Am I genuinely a suspect in Jim and Fenton’s murders?” I asked quietly.

  “Not with us. Don’t ask me any more questions.”

  “How come you didn’t turn us in if you suspected Sabrina and me of going to see Barry?” He raised an eyebrow and I winced. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

  “Right, everyone?” Eleanor tapped the side of the lectern. “Turn and face the wall, hold your hand out in front of you, fingertips pointing forwards, and try and push through the wall.”

  “Try and push through the wall?” Sabrina repeated on the other side of the room. “That’s the best direction you can give?”

  “It’s important that you concentrate.” Eleanor spoke over her. “Lose focus mid-mist and you could find yourself trapped in a wall. Okay, give it a try.”

  Thinking misty thoughts, I pushed my fingers slowly at the wall only for them to crumple against the solid barrier. A few more attempts and my fingers were getting sore.

  “You need to accept that you don’t belong to that world anymore,” David offered, watching me fail again. “Believe that you can move through it.” He pushed his hand through the wall to demonstrate. “Hold on to that thought and try again.”

  I did try. I tried and tried until the knuckles on both my hands were grazed from my hands crumpling against the wall.

  By the time Eleanor called a halt to the session I was ready to punch David in his very helpful face, sore knuckles or not

  “So he’s not going to turn us in?” Sabrina whispered as we waited at the back of the group to find out if we’d got the tasks we’d signed up for to help with the festival.

  “He didn’t say that exactly.”

  “Ladies.” The shorter of the two organisers, who I’d decided was Debbie, smiled her disturbingly over happy smile at us. “You both have decoration duty, as you wanted. You’ll need to be here at four tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” I showed her all my teeth but she took it as a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Her extreme happiness disturbs me.” Sabrina glanced back over her shoulder as we walked out of the fort. “It’s not normal to be perpetual
ly perky. It leads to depression. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Maybe she likes organising stuff and this has given her the opportunity to feel normal again.”

  Sabrina squinted at me. “That subtext was meant for me, wasn’t it?”

  I gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “If the cap fits.”

  Even though the sun was setting, it was still a pleasantly warm evening. One of the things I missed about being alive was sitting out in the summer evenings. I was hoping when I passed my acclimatisation assessment I’d have a little more freedom to do those things. Maybe that should be if I passed the assessment. Or if I was still alive to take the assessment.

  Oz appeared beside me wearing his usual shorts and t-shirt combo. “Ready?”

  “I get a treat for this, right?” I asked.

  “Midnight,” Sabrina mouthed and pointed to the ground while Oz wasn’t looking before tunnelling herself home.

  “For what?” Oz offered me his hand. “Capitulating to my psychotic whims?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No. What you get is a one-time pass for breaking the rules, which at some point we’ll still need to discuss. This is like a make-up test.”

  “So I get nothing?”

  “You get to not be arrested by the GBs for breaking the law.”

  “I’d prefer my hair straighteners.”

  He sighed out a long breath and tunnelled us without responding. We landed in a small doctor’s waiting room. The walls were a soothing lilac while both arm chairs and the two-seater sofas were a darker purple. Trashy celeb magazines and old issues of house and garden magazines littered the coffee table in the centre of the room. On the walls were a few framed inspiration pictures. One was of the sun shining brightly in the sky, the way you see it when flying, with the slogan “It’s always a beautiful day above the clouds”.

  “What is wrong with colour schemes in the afterlife?” The lilac walls of the waiting room surrounded me. “It’s like you people have forgotten what style is.”

  “Says the woman who wipes dirt on her face.”

  “How many times? It’s bronzer.”

  “Looks like dirt in a pot to me.”

  “That’s because you’re uneducated. Hey.” I held up the open magazine to show Oz a double page spread of blackness. “What’s this about?”

  “The majority of recently transitioned don’t get out like you. They have bureau jobs which keep them isolated from that world so news is filtered as a way of lessening connections to their old lives and interests in the attempt to promote quicker adjustment.”

  “And how does censoring which faux celebrity had botox or a shocking result from lip filler help with that?”

  Oz gestured around us. “Because that doesn’t matter here.”

  “It doesn’t matter in the alive world either but I’m still interested,” I said as I threw the magazine back on the table in disgust. “I’m surprised you don’t fit pacemakers as standard to ensure we don’t get too excited about anything either.”

  Oz caught my gaze. “We do.”

  My hand slapped straight over my heart and rubbed at my chest trying to feel for a scar. Did I have a fake heart? The corners of Oz’s lips slowly pulled up into a closed-mouth smile that showcased his dimples and laughter lines perfectly.

  “Oh, you’re just hilarious.”

  “Miss Sway?” A tall, slim lady in a prim black trouser suit with a flouncy white blouse stood in the doorway. It wasn’t until I saw her blocking it that I realised it was the only door in the room. She’d pulled her dark hair into a neat bun and the light gleamed off her silver-framed circular glasses. She’d be right at home in a Victorian costume drama. “Please, come in.”

  “I’ll wait for you here.” Oz relaxed back into the chair, laced his fingers together over his stomach and closed his eyes.

  “I can get home myself.”

  He nodded, eyes still closed. “I know.”

  Her office was spartan. An antique oversized desk sat directly opposite the door, a moderately filled bookshelf to the right of it and a tall potted plant to the left. In the centre of the room were two armchairs, big and soft enough to curl up in. The walls were a muted yellow while the carpet and both armchairs were beige. Everything about it was nondescript. I guess that way there was nothing to distract the patients.

  “I’m Dr Watson.” The Victorian lady closed the door behind me and gestured towards an armchair. “Please, sit.”

  “Is that your real name?” I sank into the armchair with a barely concealed sigh of delight.

  She gave me a practiced, neutral smile. Not too happy, but just engaged enough. “It is in this life.” She perched on the edge of the armchair opposite me.

  “I wish people would stop making that distinction.” I rubbed my temples. “It’s either your name or it’s not.”

  She sat opposite me and jotted something on her notepad. “That distinction bothers you?”

  It was going to be a long hour.

  ∞

  Oz was waiting outside for me, as he promised. “How did that go?”

  “Unexpectedly satisfying.”

  “Okay.” Oz’s eyebrows inched up in surprise. “Well, that’s good. I guess.”

  I offered him my hand. “Take me home.”

  “I’m your driver now?” He took my hand and tunnelled us back home. We landed in the garden as usual and I followed Oz inside to the kitchen. “So it went okay?”

  “It was actually quite cathartic.” I’d surprised myself. And I think poor Dr Watson had gotten more than she’d bargained for. She had to stop to sharpen her pencil twice she’d made so many notes. I was trying not to be concerned about that, though. No doubt Sabrina would be able to tell me what she’d written when a copy went into my file.

  “You think you’d want to go again?”

  “Nah.” I yawned and stretched my arms up over my head. “Think I’m going to get an early night.”

  Oz leaned back against the counter and watched me, arms folded over his chest and suspicion all over his face. “An early night?”

  “Yep.” I nodded, pretending to stifle another yawn. “All that talking tired me out.”

  “We still have to talk about it. You understand that? As your parole officer, I have to know.”

  “There you are.” Pam walked into the kitchen with a huge bowl of popcorn clutched to her chest. “We’ve been waiting on you two.”

  Petal skipped past Pam and grabbed my hand, tugging me towards the lounge. “Because you’re new, we thought we’d let you choose.”

  “Choose what?” I asked as she pulled me into the lounge.

  Lucy lay on her stomach, cushion propped under her chest, while Mark and Clem both sat on the sofa staring at the blank flat-screen TV mounted onto the chimney breast. Personally I doubted the wisdom of having a TV over the fireplace but, hey, wasn’t my insurance premium if it broke.

  “It’s movie night.” Petal released my hand and shoved five DVDs at me.

  I quickly flicked through them. It was a very odd mix. A children’s animated film, two romantic comedies, a crime thriller and a drama. I held them up in a fan arrangement. “These your choices, Clem?” I asked. Lucy laughed but Clem treated me to a scornful glare. “I’m going to head up to bed, so you choose.” I handed them back to Petal and turned towards the door. Oz blocked the way.

  “I’d very much prefer it if you joined us.” He didn’t exactly say that I had to, but that was the subtext.

  “Seriously? I’m tired.” I folded my arms to match his posture. “And you can’t force me to watch romantic comedies. That’s just too much.”

  The corners of his mouth kicked up into a smile that hinted at his dimples. “Then choose the drama.”

  “Come on.” Petal tugged at my elbow. “If you fall asleep on the sofa Oz will carry you upstairs. He has to do it for Lucy all the time. Once she’s out you can’t wake her. She sleeps like she’s dead.” I resisted the urge to say that was because she was dead.
I didn’t think Petal would take that too well and I could do without tears.

  “I heard that.” Lucy readjusted her cushions. “And it’s not all the time.”

  Petal turned back to me and nodded, wide-eyed, implying it was. I glanced over my shoulder at the doorway. Oz still blocked it.

  “Fine.” I flopped down onto the empty sofa.

  “Which one?” Petal offered me the selection of DVDs again.

  “Whichever.” I waved her away. “I’m going to be watching a film of my choosing in my head anyway.”

  Recognising his victory, Oz sat next to me on the sofa. When Pam came back in she positioned herself on Oz’s other side and shuffled him up closer to me. So, I was watching a film I didn’t want to see, with people I didn’t want to socialise with, with a handsome but excruciatingly annoying man pressed up against my side. I didn’t think it could get any worse. And then Petal turned the DVD on and within minutes she, Pam and Lucy were reciting the dialogue. My mistake.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What?” Bertha snapped when I checked in at the front desk for my assignment list and partner the next morning like Pete had told me.

  “Not a morning person?” I asked as she folded her arms and pouted her way through a stony silence. “Okay, you can keep the polite conversation, I’ll just take my assignment list.”

  Bertha spun around, her auburn plait whipping after her, and stormed into the back room. I heard a male voice speaking as she came back out and she slammed the door, cutting him off. Bertha slapped the clipboard on the counter.

  “Sign for it.” She jabbed a finger at the logbook.

  I signed. “Do you know who’s partnering me today?”

  “Do I look like your mother?”

  “Well, you do have the same crow’s feet and deeply etched frown lines. Don’t strain yourself. I’ll find out.” I scanned the list of assignments and halfway down recognised a name. “Do these have to be done in order?” I flipped through the sheet, seeing another name I recognised.