Beyond Dead

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  The sombre man shook his head. “Not going to happen. Her solicitor’s already threatening to sue for harassment.”

  “Since when’s investigating a murder harassment?”

  “And you’re sure it’s murder? What did the pathologist say?”

  “She said that—”

  Before I could learn what she’d said, a high-pitched scream tore through the office below. Everyone froze. When the scream ebbed, every person in the room charged for the door. By only the sheerest luck, I flattened myself to the wall just in time to avoid the stampede.

  I followed the tide of people back down into the main room where I’d completed my assignment. I hovered in the doorway, watching the jostling crowd, watching people shouting for an ambulance. I felt a chill trickle down my spine. Someone walking over my grave. And I’d not even been buried yet.

  “What’s going on?” A girl in her early twenties, dressed in office wear that was easily twenty years too old for her, appeared next to me.

  “I don’t know,” I said but I couldn’t shake the cold dread spreading out from my spine that I was somehow involved.

  My feet carried me forwards without my permission and I climbed up onto a nearby desk to see over the crowd. The girl who had just spoken to me was lying on the ground at the centre of the crowd with what looked like a fork through her chest. There was a small plastic container and several chunks of fruit lying a short distance away. But that wasn’t what took my breath away. It was the handbag tangled around her ankles. The handbag that I’d moved.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So what are you saying?” Sabrina whispered at the back of the hall, looping coloured strips of paper and gluing them together to make bright paper chain decorations.

  The fort was humming with activity as Eleanor and the rest of our GA members bustled in and out setting up the buffet and arranging chairs in preparation for the festival outside. Sabrina and I had made camp in a corner to keep out of their way.

  “I’m saying, I killed her,” I gritted out again, carelessly snipping at the coloured paper I was supposed to be cutting into even strips.

  “You don’t know that, though. You weren’t there. Someone else could’ve moved her bag after you. She could’ve moved it herself. There are a whole world of explanations for why she died that way, but you moving her bag from one side of her desk to the other would be one of the most unlikely.”

  “Then why did I need to do it?” I dropped the scissors and paper and folded my arms, mainly to hide my shaking hands. “How many people have I killed?”

  “Whoa, okay, hold up.” Sabrina stopped making her paper loops and reached for both my hands. “Let’s get some perspective. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t stab her with the fork. You moved her bag. That’s all. You moved her handbag. That doesn’t make you a murderer. At most it makes you mischievous.”

  “And yet she impaled herself on a fork after tripping over her bag. The bag that I moved.” I jabbed my finger against the floor in an attempt to emphasise the last two words but only ended up hurting my finger.

  “How do you know that she wasn’t already destined to trip over it where it was and crack her head open? How do you know that by moving her bag you weren’t trying to save her? Hmm?” Sabrina let go of my hand and picked up her strips to continue gluing, obviously feeling she’d made her point. “What if your assignments are last-ditch attempts to save people?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “I mean, I didn’t see what happened in between moving her bag and her dying. So …”

  “Okay, tomorrow we’ll observe what happens after you’ve done what you’re supposed to.” Sabrina tapped her rapidly decreasing pile of strips, implying she needed more. “One incident doesn’t make a pattern.”

  “Aren’t you working?” I asked, resuming my oh-so-important paper cutting task. “What are you going to do? Call in sick?”

  “Y’know, it’s funny.” Sabrina faked a cough. “Suddenly I do feel quite ill.”

  I was glad for the change of topic. Sabrina had made me feel a little better, though I still didn’t exactly buy her reasoning. “Do we even get sick days?”

  Sabrina snorted a laugh. “You’re not familiar with bureaucratic systems, are you?”

  “No, I worked for a living.”

  “Really? I thought you planned parties?” Sabrina asked. She was baiting me. I knew it. But I was also super grateful to be off the ‘death by handbag’ topic.

  “I planned weddings, christenings, birthday parties and everything in between. Dealing with bridezillas, overly emotional grandmothers and drunken birthday boys is work with a capital ‘W’.” I wagged my finger at her. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Sabrina grinned at me as she held up her paper chain to see if it was long enough. “But here everyone has an allocation of twenty-five sick days to use up. And that’s in addition to the thirty-three days holiday you get.”

  “We get holidays?” Suddenly the afterlife got a little brighter. I could tunnel to Aruba for a few days, then maybe Bora Bora. And Madagascar. And Bali. All the places I’d never have been able to afford without scrimping, and with no airport drama, lost luggage or endless plane rides.

  Sabrina shook her head before I could plan any further. “If you want a day off it’s easier to throw a sickie. To book a day’s holiday you need to fill out nine different forms, your parole officer needs to fill out five and your GA leader is required to write a three-thousand word essay on your progress with tunnelling/misting etcetera and how you’re adjusting. If you manage to complete all that, then the quoted processing time for the request is eight to twelve months.”

  And Aruba just drifted into the distance. “Sickie it is then,” I agreed. “How many more of these do you think we need?”

  “Lots!” Eleanor cried with a clap of her hands. “And I’ve had enough of you two hiding in here. You can finish these off outside with the others. Bridget,” Eleanor said, collecting up the stack of uncut paper and handing it back to me after I’d climbed to my feet. “Your task for tonight is to find out one interesting fact about ten people you don’t already know. Sabrina,” Eleanor said, collecting the paper and glue from the floor and placing them in Sabrina’s waiting hands when she was on her feet. “You have to find out the most important person to a different ten people you don’t already know. Neither of you can ask them directly, you have to engage them in conversation and get them to open up to you. And, yes,” Eleanor said before Sabrina could ask, “this will count towards your assessments.”

  “I know they’re telling me this is the afterlife …” Sabrina said and passed the glue and paper strips to me before picking up her mass of paper chain links and slinging them over her shoulder like ropes. “But it’s looking more like Hell by the minute.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir.” I clutched my armful of decoration making tools to my chest and picked up the chains trailing behind Sabrina with my free hand. “Just imagine you’re questioning them about Jim or Fenton and slip the most important person bit in at the end.”

  Outside was abuzz with the festive chaos. Poles imbedded into the grass in a large, rough circle were wrapped in colourful crepe. Several tables filled with food and drinks were dotted around just outside the poles. It reminded me of a summer fete, especially in the warm late afternoon air, the slight breeze carrying the salt from the sea up to us.

  “Actually, that’s not such a bad idea.” Sabrina glanced around the open space before us. “We can use this opportunity to find out about their enemies or other reasons people might have wanted them dead.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Because people regularly admit their homicidal tendencies when questioned at parties.”

  “Look.” Sabrina turned her back on the festivities, swinging her chains as she moved. “So far, the only motive we can find is that someone wants your area. Until now, we’ve been limited in who we can question. But tonight?” Sabrina turned and swept
her hand over the scene. “Tonight we can question everyone.”

  “You’re going to question everyone about Jim and Fenton?” There was no way that was going to end well.

  “We.” Sabrina gestured between us, paper chains rustling with the motion. “We are going to question everyone about them.”

  “And you don’t think anyone would notice that?”

  Sabrina dumped the mass of tangled paper onto the nearest empty table. “Anyone like who?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Like maybe the person or persons who killed them?”

  “But that would be good.” Sabrina leaned towards me and I slapped the glue and paper strips back in her empty palms. “It would force them to show their hand.”

  “Er, hello?” I waved the uncut paper and scissors I was still carrying around myself. “Death shroud.”

  “It’s a party.” Sabrina put the paper strips and glue next to her paper chain mountain. She draped her arm around my shoulders and steered me towards the pole at the centre of the bustle. “What type of idiot would try to kill someone at a party?”

  I pointed my scissors at her. “You do realise you’ve just jinxed me?”

  Sabrina gently pushed my hand down so the scissors were aimed at the floor. “Okay, but don’t stab me over it. Leave the murdering for your day job.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You did not just say that to me.”

  Sabrina grinned at me. “Too soon?”

  Less than an hour later we were standing back admiring our handiwork. Our bright paper chains stretched out from the central pole to each of the ten poles circling the area and linked each of those together. The tables brimmed with food, no more than an inch of white tablecloth visible between the dishes. The band was setting up on the far side of the enclosure with the occasional twang of a guitar punctuating the excited chatter. Everything was ready. All we needed now were the guests.

  “Are these real tables?” Sabrina glanced around. “Or ghost tables?”

  “What?” I rested my hand on the nearest tabletop. Felt solid to me. “What are ghost tables?”

  “I was just thinking,” Sabrina said as she turned in a circle to check out the whole space. “If these are real tables, filled with real food … what happens if an alive person finds their way up here, mid festival?”

  “That won’t happen,” Eleanor said from behind us. She was dressed in a long white robe, her hood reaching down to her eyebrows. “There are people stationed on the hill to discourage any unfortunates that find their way onto the path.”

  “Discourage them how?” Sabrina asked.

  “However they deem necessary.” Eleanor waved away our concerns. “I’m not a member of the police force so I’m not privy to the exact details.”

  “More and more,” Sabrina said, her mouth turned down at the corners, “I’m getting the impression it’s one rule for one and another for another around here.”

  “The same is true in life, though.” Eleanor gave me a small but knowing smile.

  I glanced around the hilltop. “But would they be able to see these tables?”

  Eleanor nodded. “They’re part of the living world. They would be able to see the cakes too, but as soon as you pick it up that removes it from their world and places it into ours.” Eleanor picked up a cake and placed it in Sabrina’s palm.

  “Okay.” I nodded. I could follow that. “What if I sat on the table? Because I’m touching it that pulls it into our world, right?”

  Eleanor hesitated. “No.”

  Sabrina pointed to the cake in her hand. “But—”

  “Life’s just not that simple,” Eleanor said with a smile.

  “Neither’s the afterlife,” Sabrina mumbled. “What if I picked up the table?”

  “They’d see a levitating table,” Eleanor said.

  “But how can you pick a cake up and it disappear but not a table?” I frowned looking back and forth between the two. I couldn’t see the difference. “How does that work?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “It just does.”

  “Okay. Maybe you can help with this.” I picked up the cake from Sabrina’s palm and and put it back down on the table, checking if I could see any change in it. I couldn’t. “How could that girl see Jenny in our first meeting but not the rest of us?”

  “Ladies …” Eleanor hesitated. She never wanted to tell us the good stuff.

  “It’s a genuine question. When I’m working mediums can see me but not my trainer.” Best keep Sabrina’s name out of it. “If that girl was a medium she should have seen us all, right? Not just Jenny?”

  “Jenny wanted to be seen by her,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “That desire made her visible because it placed her back in the alive world.”

  “So people can see us if we want them to?” Sabrina tried to keep the excitement out of her voice and failed. “But not if we don’t want them to.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Eleanor pointed her finger right in Sabrina’s face. “Now, do you two remember your assignments for tonight?”

  “Yup.” I gestured to myself. “Ten interesting facts.” Then to Sabrina. “Ten important people.”

  Eleanor clapped. “Super—”

  “I have one more question.”

  “Bridget …” Eleanor pursed her lips at me.

  “No, no, it’s on the topic of the festival. Sort of,” I said and Eleanor motioned for me to ask. “Is the nutritional value of food the same here as it is in the real world?”

  “The nutritional value?” Eleanor frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

  “She means is she going to get fat if she eats lots of cakes,” Sabrina translated.

  “Oh, Bridget,” Eleanor said with a laugh and squeezed my hand.

  “What?” I glanced to Sabrina and then back to Eleanor. “Was that a ‘no’?”

  “Now, ladies remember this counts towards your assessment, you can’t ask outright and don’t identify yourselves,” Eleanor said, ignoring my question and handing us each a white robe and a white version of the GB mask. “Here you are.”

  “Er?” Sabrina looked at it, to me, then back to Eleanor.

  I noticed for the first time the rest of our group were already wearing the same robes and all had their masks either in place or hanging loosely around their necks.

  “Is everybody going to be wearing these?” I asked, feeling the first hint of unease tiptoe across my chest.

  “You never listen.” Eleanor shook her head and sighed with exasperation. She turned and called over her shoulder as she walked away. “Just put them on and remember not to identify yourselves to anyone.”

  “This is going to make questioning people a little more difficult if we can’t identify who we’re questioning.” Sabrina turned the robe over in her hands.

  “Oh, yeah.” I held up the hooded cape. “That’s the biggest problem with this.”

  Sabrina frowned. “What else?”

  I flung the white robe around my shoulders, pulled up the hood and waited for her to realise.

  “It’ll get dirty quickly?” she guessed after a moment.

  “Death shroud,” I ground out.

  “Ohhhh.” She draped her own robe around her shoulders. “Nah, I’m sure they’re usually black. Like I said, our biggest problem is going to be identifying who’s underneath the masks.”

  “Oh, well, if you’re sure,” I snipped and shook my hair out of the ponytail because the hood kept snagging on it. Pointless as it was, I scrunched my hair up to give it a little more body and secured my mask to my face with the elastic before pulling my hood back up. “How are we going to recognise each other?”

  “Good point.” Sabrina adjusted her mask and tapped the pole next to us. Each pole was covered in a different colour crepe; this one was red. “Meet back here every half hour to compare notes?”

  The hilltop was filling up quickly. The guests lined up at the entrance to receive their whit
e cape and mask then, once covered, they wandered around the small hilltop sampling food and chatting to strangers. Sabrina mingled in with them and within a few seconds I couldn’t pick out which white cape was hers.

  “It’s to breach the divide between jobs.” David appeared beside me already caped, but black mask/white mask his eyes still gave him away. “The capes. They cover your uniform, allowing people to get to know you for who you are and not what you are.”

  I stared around at the increasing mass of capes, possibly hiding a killer somewhere in their anonymity. “I still think it’s a little creepy.”

  “Did your friend find what she was looking for in the restricted records?”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

  “You do realise what will happen if you get caught in there?” David watched the hooded figures interacting. “Or aiding a fugitive?”

  “Hypothetically, if someone had been in the restricted records area and the GBs knew, why wouldn’t they have arrested them?” David remained silent. “And, again hypothetically, if I did know which fugitive you meant, why are the GBs after her?” David surveyed the scene in front of him and remained silent. “No comment, huh?”

  “Just be careful, Bridget.” His voice was warm despite the warning. “Every action has a consequence.”

  “Bridget.” Pete lifted his mask to wink at me and took a second to study David’s masked form as he walked away. “Something I said?”

  I pointed to his mask. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be identifying yourself to me.”

  “Because normally I abide by all the rules.” He flashed me a quick grin that implied the contrary.

  I looked down at my cape for identifying marks. “How’d you know it was me, anyway?”

  Pete reached out and tugged a strand of my hair that had escaped my hood. “Who else has bright red hair around here?”

  “Ah.” I secured the escapee piece of hair. Let’s not make it that easy for the murderer.

  “Did Sabrina make any of this food?” Pete gestured to all the tables, focusing on the dessert table longest. “I wouldn’t put it past her to try and bump me off, heart of stone that one. Completely my type. So which table do I need to avoid?”