It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,4
know?” I ask, glancing back to the door.
“I’ve been around for a while,” she says, plopping down next to me before changing the subject. “So, what brings you here?”
I think back to the reaction of the old woman on the train and my Reaper’s warning to keep a low profile. “Um, car accident.”
Her one unmarred and perfectly shaped eyebrow arches up sharply. “You’re lying.”
“I am not,” I answer, a little too defensively.
She gives me a look of amusement. “Oh, please. If you were in a wreck you would be moping around like the rest of these poor suckers.”
“What, are you an expert on dead people?” I ask, wishing she would go away.
She shrugs. “When you have nothing to do but sit around and watch the new arrivals, you can pick up a thing or two. I’m Sandy, by the way.”
“RJ,” I say automatically. “Like what kind of things?” I ask, hoping to turn her attention away from my end-of-life experience.
She scans the room until she finds what she’s looking for. “See that guy over there?” she whispers, pointing toward the line at the front desk. “The one with a dazed look who keeps touching his head?”
I look around the room until I spot him. “Yeah.”
“Well, he has a biker jacket on, right? And not one of those expensive, flashy ones that college guys buy to wear when they show off their crotch rockets. We’re talking old-school biker gang jacket.”
“Okay, he rides a motorcycle. Big deal.” I wish this chick would get to the point. I mean, I know we have eternity, but come on.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have a helmet with him.”
“So.”
“When you come here, whatever you have on when you die comes with you. Hats, gloves, jewelry, all of it comes along for the ride.” She gives me a mischievous grin. “Even dirty underwear.”
“Gross.”
She laughs and several nearby souls twitch but no one turns toward us. “Oh lighten up. But seriously, there was this guy who had a heart attack while playing video games. He showed up here with the controller still tethered to his wrist.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, still trying to get the dirty underwear comment out of my head.
“Nope. It just hung limp at his side until someone from processing took it from him.”
“Why’d they do that?” I ask, leaning closer to her.
Sandy shakes her head. “I’m not sure. I think it’s because they don’t want you taking anything with you that will tie you to your old life. You know, like if that guy was playing with his kids when he died, the remote might make it harder for him to move on.”
“So maybe someone took the helmet from biker guy?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.”
I look back at the guy who’s examining his head. “Well, what do you think happened?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be asking,” I snap.
She puts her hands up in surrender. “Chill. Fine, what I think happened is he died in a bike wreck. He’s got that stunned look most people have when they die suddenly. And he keeps checking out his head. Classic sign that he sustained a head injury. He’s probably trying to figure out why his skull feels so mushy. That makes me think he was riding without a helmet.”
“Huh,” I say, no longer looking at the biker.
Sandy turns to follow my gaze. “What?”
I nod toward a woman in a wedding gown. The middle of the dress is stained with blood. On the floor next to her sits a dented helmet. “Do you think they were together?”
“Maybe,” Sandy says, standing and walking swiftly across the room to the line.
I race after her. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t you want to find out if you’re right?” she asks over her shoulder. I catch up with her just as she lays a hand on the biker. “Excuse me,” she says gently.
He looks at her and almost recoils from her touch. “Yes?” His voice lacks surprise or confusion or any emotion at all.
Sandy is looking him in the eye, unwilling to let him look away. “Were you in a motorcycle accident?”
He nods and then shakes his head like it hurts to remember.
“Maybe we should leave him alone,” I say, pulling on Sandy’s arm.
She shakes me off and continues talking to the man. “Do you know where your helmet is?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you wearing one when you crashed?”
The man is still for a moment before finally saying, “I can’t remember. I don’t think so.”
Sandy gives me a triumphant look before asking him,