“Sometimes I think I want to look more like a boy. Narrow hips, defined muscles that aren’t too big. But sometimes I think I’d like to be curvy. Big ass, round boobs like yours, thick thighs.”
“Too bad we can’t pick our bodies to match our moods every day,” I say and turn my attention back to the handbook.
“Will I get a choice on my new body?”
“From what I’ve heard, you get to choose from three pre-selected bodies.” I’m enjoying a conversation that doesn’t make me feel like an asshole. I’m actually helpful right now.
“What if they’re all gross?”
“You can go to the back of the line and try again, but if you don’t find one the second time you’re sent to Oblivion.” For just a second, I can almost feel the paper between my fingertips.
“No matter what, I might end up being gross.” She’s staring at her chipped, blue fingernails. The blue is navy, almost black.
“Or gone forever,” I say.
I can feel Louisa’s gaze, so I look up from the book.
“I thought suicide would bring relief, but really it’s just a new set of problems,” she says.
“I’m afraid so.” I fake-grab her hands. They look like they would feel dry and coarse. I bet she never had a manicure. Imagine that. Dying before your first manicure. “I stopped going to church when I was twenty. For a long time, I thought every bad thing that happened to me was because of that. But later I figured out that every bad thing that happened to me was because I made bad choices.”
As a child I prayed nonstop, oblivious to the narcissism required to believe that there was an ancient daddy in the sky who had a personal interest in me. Once I spotted the flaw in the logic, the blemish on my belief grew until it was nothing but a giant stain.
“Your point is?”
“I don’t know. This whole death-thing has put me on a path to enlightenment. Or something. I think. It’s got me all philosophical.” Even if I’ll benefit from it, I don’t want anything bad to happen to this girl. “Let’s talk about what will happen if you kill your dad.”
And she’s gone. I should have told her as soon as I read the words.
Maybe losing all of my old memories won’t be so bad. I haven’t felt remorse about how I treated my cousin Ruthie Mae in a long time. But just like Greg’s death, it’s something that pops up from time to time just to fuck with me. Obviously, I’ll have a different set of shit memories when I get a new body.
Fuck. Suicide was not my best decision.
Chapter 19
Death Shadow Requirements. I’m dead and still dealing with red tape.
The requirements change depending on how many bodies are available, just like Doris said. But the Death Shadow Requirements are not a prefect equation. If we wait, someone else might go instead of the one of us. I don’t know how to find that out.
Or if I let Louisa kill her dad, she’ll go, and everything will be in balance. I don’t know if I should though. She’s just a child. I felt young until I met her. But I’m not that young.
What I know for sure is that I’ve been in this shitty dress for an entire year. That I’ve been tasked with babysitting an emo but cute boy who has derailed my progress. That I have a job offer. That Greg won’t remember me in the next life anyway. And does that really matter?
I concentrate on Doris. On her big Gloria Steinem bow and her weird tall and stretchy body.
And then I’m in her office. Magic, purgatory style.
“Do you want to know how I ended up here?” she asks. No “hello” or any of those other formalities.
“Do you mean in this job or…”
“A suicide soul. Do you want to know how I ended up a suicide soul?”
It hadn’t crossed my mind. Doris and her tragic backstory weren’t really on my radar.
“You’ve never even wondered, have you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but there’s no point. I just shake my head and say, “Please. Go ahead.”
“My husband left me for a younger woman. Pathetic, right?” It’s a question but I can tell I’m not meant to respond. After all, who am I to judge pathetic? “I had a great job. I was an attorney on track to be the youngest and first female partner at my firm. The week I found out that my promotion went to a less qualified man was the same week my husband left.” She smiles a weird, creepy smile. “Life would have gotten better. I could have left everything behind and traveled the world. I could have taken up with a younger lover. But instead, I stepped in front of a bus during rush hour.”
I’m not sure how to respond. Does she expect me to judge her weakness? To validate it? I don’t fucking know.
“So, dear Naomi. You and I are more alike than you think. Capable women with a weakness for men. My husband ended up here, too. I guess we both favor problematic men.” She sweeps her hand out to indicate the frivolity of our choices.
“If I do what you want, do we still have to sacrifice someone to the Death Shadow?”
Doris slams her hands on the desk. Nothing changes. No shaking of the desk, no forced air from the impact.
“Unless you learn how to sacrifice, you will never be successful.”
“Look, Doris,” I stand and cross my arms over my chest, “first I was too selfish and sociopathic and now I should want to sacrifice someone else. Which the fuck is it?”
“Which do you want it to be, Naomi?” She crosses her arms and smirks, mocking me like a bitch.
I sit down again. “I don’t know.”
“Everything is about balance. Both here and among the living.” Doris sits across from me and says, “When were you at your happiest?”
It’s a simple question. Or should be. When was I at my happiest? When was I happy?
“I had just landed a new account. A good one. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about my rent for the length of their contract, maybe longer. At least a year. And I met Greg. It was before I realized how dark he could get. How far he could pull me down. The future was bright. Perfect, even. I was getting laid on a regular basis, had a steady paycheck, and felt like I was doing things right.”
“But it didn’t last.”
“No.”
“You acknowledge the fleeting nature of happiness.”
Is she trying to trick me? She’s better at this than I am. Manipulating people. Making them feel less than.
“Stop mooning over Greg. Stop mooning over Luke. Deal with your own shit.”
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“Take my job. You’ll have time to work through any of your issues before you start over.”
“You’ve worked through your issues?” I want to add a “ha,” but I don’t.
Doris nods and says, “I think you know I have.”
And then, for a moment, it’s not about me.
“How do I get to Louisa? She’s about to make a terrible mistake.”
A sly smile spreads across her face. “And you care.”
“Yes. I care. Help me, please.”
“Okay. I’ll help you get to her.” She points to the Mentor’s Handbook and says, “But get your shit together. Don’t let me down.” The way she says it, I know she’ll sacrifice me if I let her down. That I’ve become her special project somehow. That it’s up to me to fix this when I didn’t even remember my nephew’s birthday the month before I killed myself.
Louisa is straddling her dad on the floor of his filthy living room. Her dainty hands are wrapped around his throat. Her face is contorted in pure rage.
“Louisa, no!” I grab her and try to pull her off but our bodies don’t work like that anymore.
“Leave me alone,” she says to me or to him, I’m not sure. She leans forward, pushing all her weight onto his throat.
“You’ll go to Oblivion if he dies like this.”