It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,3

disc turned out to be a major bust, we had some local scientists fix the flaws and started using them for the new arrivals.”

“Good to know Heaven upcycles.”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t Heaven.”

“It’s not? Then where are we?”

“Can’t you just wait and see?”

“No,” I answer, stealing his line. What do you know? It irritates him, too.

“RJ,” he says shortly. “I promise, all of your questions will be answered in time. Where we are, what happens, which way you’re going—”

I stop dead in my tracks. “Which way?”

He keeps moving. “Well, yeah. No one has a guarantee. Except for Gandhi and Mother Teresa. They were pretty much shoo-ins.”

“Wait a minute. By ‘way,’ you mean like Heaven or …” I can’t say the word.

Unfortunately, Gideon has no such qualms. “Hell.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Apparently Reapers are not fluent in sarcasm.

We catch up with the crowd from the train and amble along in silence. I want to ask more questions, but can’t think of any. It’s as if my brain is switching off. I shake my head slightly, trying to rattle something into place.

“You’ll get used to it,” the Reaper says, looking at me sideways.

I try to play it off like I don’t know what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?”

“The head thing. Your brain is finally accepting that your body is dead.”

“How do I make it stop?” I snap. “This is not happening to me. Remember, I’m going to find someone in processing to help me and then I’m going to get my life back.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t believe me?” I don’t know why, but his lack of faith stings a little. Maybe because he’s the one who gave me hope in the first place.

He leans closer to me. “Look,” he whispers, “in the thousand years I’ve been doing this, no one has ever gotten a do-over. It just doesn’t happen. If we make an exception for you, how long do you think it will take before everyone is trying to appeal their death?”

“But you said—”

“I said processing would figure it out,” he says, cutting me off. “And they will. I just wouldn’t get too excited if I were you.”

Much to my surprise, tears begin to fall down my cheek. How is it that, with all the parts of me that are now useless, the tear ducts still work? Whatever the reason, the salty drops have a transformable effect on the Reaper.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Tell you what. If it will help, I’ll vouch for you and what happened this afternoon.”

“You will?” I say, brightening slightly.

“Why not?” he says with a shrug. “Miracles happen all the time, don’t they?”

Chapter 3

Because of every movie made about what happens when you die, I prepare to shield my eyes from the blinding glare of white clouds. What I see is nothing like that. In fact, the movies have it all wrong. The Afterlife doesn’t have white clouds or angels with harps, at least not when you first arrive. It looks like a hotel lobby. A really big hotel lobby. For the most part, people are milling around with blank stares and there are small clusters of families huddling together in silence. It’s like being on the set of a zombie movie.

The liveliest crowd is made up of the old people. Like the woman on the train, they actually seem happy to be here. There’s no shock or confusion. In fact, they greet each other like long-lost friends. Who knows, maybe they did know each other before they got here. From time to time a voice booms over an invisible intercom, startling everyone as it lists off a series of names and directs the chosen few to line up by the front desk at the far end of the room. I find an empty seat and watch people stumble toward the waiting line.

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