It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,16

don’t think I can be more resistant to her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

She pulls back, her hands hanging onto my arms, and gives me a quick once over. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “I was worried sick.”

Her scolding only flames the anger I feel toward her. “I didn’t know you would be so concerned about a spoiled princess,” I say, giving her my best drop-dead look.

“I also said you’re redeemable.” She pauses, her face dropping as she whispers, “Were redeemable.” Turning to Yeats she adds, “This is all wrong.”

“Tell me what you know,” he says, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact that maybe I wasn’t making everything up after all.

She motions toward the sky and says, “Well, as I said, when I couldn’t find her, I went to look at the Akashic Records.”

“What are the Akashic Records?” I interject.

“It’s the compiled knowledge of all human experiences that have ever or will ever occur. It is the history, present, and future of every man, woman, and child,” Yeats answers without looking at me.

“Oh,” is all I can say.

Hazel continues to ignore me. “That doesn’t answer the question of why she’s here. According to the Records she still has—”

“Don’t say it,” he says, giving her a sharp look. “She can’t know anything from the Records. Not until after Judgment.”

“She’s right here,” I grumble before turning to Hazel. “Do you want to hear what happened to me?”

“No,” she says, flicking her hand toward me like I’m a fly buzzing around her perfect head. “You’re dead. That’s all the information I need to know.”

“But I’m not supposed to be dead. It was a mistake.” Even I’m aware that I’m starting to sound like a broken record.

Yeats interjects. “Are you telling me RJ disappeared from your radar? Without any warning or explanation?”

Hazel nods. “I felt a stabbing pain followed by hollow emptiness. And then her light was gone.”

“When was the last time you checked on her?”

“The party,” is all she says.

Yeats nods. “Right, the car accident.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, inching closer to them. “I wasn’t in an accident.”

Hazel glances at me. “No, you weren’t. And a thank you isn’t completely out of the question, you know.”

“For what?” I ask, but now they’re talking in that creepy angel language. All I can do is sit down and watch their verbal tennis match. From the way Hazel flails her arms, I can tell they’re arguing.

“Come on,” Yeats says, pulling me up.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Hazel takes my hand and places it on her robe. I start to pull it away until she says, “If you let go, you’ll fall.” Of course the thought doesn’t hit me until later that it doesn’t matter if I fall. It’s not like I can die again.

But that’s later. Now I find myself lifting off the ground and flying. At first I clutch so tightly onto Hazel that Sandy’s ring digs into my skin. But after a little while, it’s actually relaxing. Her fluttering wings create a gentle swooshing sound. When it’s really my time to go, I have got to get a pair of these! Too bad they don’t take credit cards here. I would make a hot angel for Halloween.

We reach our destination and Hazel lands gently on a grassy area. It’s a welcome break from the white fluffy cloud decor.

“Where are we?” I ask as her wings fold up neatly behind her.

“Judgment Hall.”

I stop suddenly. “Why?”

“You want answers,” she says, not bothering to turn around, “this is where they are, but don’t tell anyone we brought you through the back entrance.”

Yeats pushes open a set of doors so tall I can’t see the tops. When Hazel said we were going to Judgment Hall, I thought it would be a depressing place with organ music and quiet whispers, but this place is rockin’. Unlike the Lobby, it’s full of activity. Souls cluster together, laughing and hugging. It’s like a hundred—no, a thousand—family reunions happening in the same place at the same time.

“Who are these people?” I ask Yeats.

“Souls,” he answers, glancing around. “We call them souls. These are the newly departed. They’re meeting loved ones who have gone on before them. It’s the last step in the transition to the Afterlife.”

So it is a family reunion. “Like a personalized welcoming committee,” I say. “Nice.” I look around to see if I know anyone. I don’t, and even though it’s a good sign I’m not supposed to be dead, it still would have been