It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,35
perfectly matches the hue of the air around us.
“Hello, RJ. It’s nice to see you,” she says as she approaches. “I’m Angelica.”
“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath and her bright green eyes widen slightly. Remembering Gideon’s warning about souls being able to help me, I quickly add, “I meant hi.”
“Of course you did,” she says, and though her smile is perfectly in place, I can’t miss the slight hint of bitterness in her tone. She’s pretty in a willowy way and somewhere, in the far reaches of my memory, I know I should recognize her. I study her but just when I think I’m going to make the connection, the humming kicks in and I stop. That’s when it hits me that I’ve become the dog in Pavlov’s experiment.
An awkward silence follows as I wait for her to say something. Angelica, on the other hand, seems content to simply stare at me. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze before asking, “I guess you’re my first spirit guide?”
“Apparently.”
That’s all she’s got for me? Isn’t she the one who’s supposed to tell me what to do to fix my past so I can get back to my present? Where are the pearls of wisdom? Can’t she at least muster an inspiring “go get ’em, champ” speech? No. She just watches me, and while everything about her looks pleasant, I have this gut feeling that she hates me and has every reason to. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and blurt out, “I’m sorry, but is something wrong? Have I done something to irritate you in the whole minute you’ve known me?”
My question is met with a cool smile. “Of course not, RJ.”
Even though she only says four words, I don’t believe any of them. I know passive aggressive when I see it. I’ve made it an art form. What I don’t know is why I’m on the receiving end.
So I say, “Fine, if there’s no problem, maybe you could fill me in on what I’m supposed to do next?”
She sits next to me, tucking the edge of her dress under her, and then stares off into the mist.
My faith in Death Himself’s ghostly selection is fading fast.
Finally she says, “The moments of your life are passing by us.” I expect her to pause so she can deliver her explanation in a flowery prophecy. Much to my relief, she doesn’t. “Eventually, it will slow down and you will be able to see the memory unfold. Be ready. Your soul will be pulled back into the mortal plane and you’ll only have a few seconds to figure out how you are going to respond. Your future will be entirely in your hands. I cannot interfere.”
“That’s it?” I ask, not completely sure she’s telling me everything I need to know. “No offense, but it sounds a little too easy. I mean, if I go back and do the opposite of what I did the last time around, there’s no way I will fail.”
“I wouldn’t make that assumption if I were you. It’s true you will want to avoid the same choices as before, but that may not be enough.”
“Why not?” I ask. “Doesn’t it make sense that the opposite action will result in the opposite outcome?”
“It can,” she begins, her voice soft, almost like a lullaby. “Or it can result in far worse consequences. It’s not enough that the end result is different. It needs to be better.”
“How am I supposed to know if it’s going to be better before I change the past?”
She lets out a long sigh and I feel a pang of sadness. It’s the same sound my mom gives me when her patience is running thin. “Everything you do has a consequence. Good, bad, indifferent, there is always a price to pay. The question is: who pays? Sometimes making the right choice means you might lose something that seems important at the time.”
She looks pointedly at me and I know she’s trying to tell me something.
“But what’s the point of doing all this if my life is going to suck when I get back?”
“Look,” she says, slapping her hands on her thighs. All evidence of her cool exterior is gone. “You’ve done some crappy things in your life—”
“Who hasn’t?” I counter.
“You’re right. Everyone has regrets. But you have been given the chance to go back and change them. These points in your life aren’t random. They mark a time where your selfishness and ambition were more important to