It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,14
light from the hallway, and I’m pretty sure his smile could melt what’s left of the Arctic Circle.
“Well, look here,” he says, his thick Caribbean Island accent rolling off his tongue, and I can almost feel a tropical breeze blow gently through the room. “They told me I had a live one.”
His voice is hypnotic. An overwhelming sense of calm settles over me, and as hard as I try to shake it off, it’s impossible. “Who are you?”
He laughs again and I cover my ears to block the sound. It doesn’t work. My ears are still ringing when he speaks. “I’m Yeats, one of your Guardian Angels. But for now, think of me as your personal activity director during your time in limbo. I’m here to answer your questions and help you find peace before you sit in Judgment.”
“Judgment?” I ask. “You mean like if I’m going to …”
“Heaven or Hell?” he finishes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
He steps into the room, taking up what little space there is. If he’s working the intimidation angle, he’s doing an impressive job. Leaning against what passes for a wall, I clear my throat and say, “Then I might be your easiest job ever. I’m not going to Judgment.”
The only reaction I get is a slight pinching together of his eyebrows. Other than that, he’s unreadable. “You’re not going?” The laughter is still present in his voice and I flinch under the weight of his amused stare.
I shake my head. “No. In fact, if you could just tell me who I need to talk to about getting back to my life, I’ll be out of your hair.”
I expect him to laugh again but he doesn’t. What he does do is frown and the air around me rushes from the room. “And here I thought you were a sane one. Are you sure you aren’t a suicide?” he asks.
“What?” I ask in surprise.
He studies me before answering. “They tend to be in denial more than other souls.”
I can feel anger surging through me. Why would he think that? I have, or had, a great life. “I didn’t kill myself. If you had to call it anything, I was murdered—”
“Ah,” he says like he’s having some big revelation. “That was my second guess.”
“If you would let me finish, you would know that my soul was collected by accident.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. I see his mouth start twitching and know what’s coming next. I barely have time to cover my ears before he erupts in a belly laugh. It’s like a bomb going off in my head and I crouch down, turning my back to him. When the eardrum-busting sound stops, I look up from my semi-fetal position. He’s still chuckling to himself. “Accidental collection. Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. You’re funny.”
“I’m not joking,” I say, pushing off the ground. “If you’re really my Guardian Angel, shouldn’t you know that?”
“Well, technically, everyone has two Guardians. I oversee your mental and emotional state, regardless of the condition of your physical self.”
“So you don’t care if I’m supposed to be alive or dead?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. That’s Hazel’s job. I’ve got my own physical charges to worry about.”
“Hasn’t anyone around here heard of streamlining? If I had only one angel watching out for me, maybe I wouldn’t be here in the first place. And if you really are supposed to watch over my mental and emotional state, I would think you would know that all I want to do is get back to the life that was stolen from me.”
He shakes his head and steps out of the room. “That’s not how it works. Once you’re here, you stay. Now are you coming?”
“We’ll see,” I mutter, but follow him anyway. The sooner I find someone with decision-making authority, the sooner I’ll be rocketing back to my old life. Yeats is looking at me expectantly. “What?”
“This is the part where you ask why you had to die so young and what God looks like,” he says, leading me down the red carpet that doesn’t seem to end.
“I know why I died. An incompetent Reaper couldn’t stop his target from throwing me under the bus.”
“You don’t look like you were hit by a bus,” he says.
“I was speaking metaphorically. Hey, wait,” I say, stopping short. “I do have a question. Did a Reaper finally get her?”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he answers, waiting for me to start moving again.