“You’re almost done,” Ernesto whispers into my ear. The whisper is warm and moist in my ear.
I feel myself swaying. I try to pick up more pills, but my fingers don’t work anymore. I look up.
“Where’s D—Doris?” I ask with the little strength I have left.
Tony and Ernesto look to the open door.
“Shit,” Tony says.
“She’s a slippery f—f—fucker,” I say.
Ernesto stands and gently lays me on the couch.
“Don’t leave me,” I think I say, but I’m not sure.
Ernesto bends down and we’re face-to-face. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll see you on the other side.”
The last thing I see is the attractive couple walking out of the apartment.
I’m running again. My old body’s lungs would have given up on me today. Once again, I’m thankful that Andy doesn’t smoke.
We’re down to four hours. I have to know if I can stay here. And I have to make things right with Naomi. She’s the only friend I’ve had in the last ten years. I’ll never see her again, and I can’t leave things this way. I can’t let her leave angry with me.
When I round the corner to Dylan’s building, a familiar figure emerges from the front door.
A young woman screeches, “Dylan Pine!” And the attractive young man waves the woman away humbly.
The attractive young man is Doris.
She doesn’t see me.
I slow my run so I can take her by surprise. I’m only about six feet away from her when she turns. Recognition spreads across her face. She breaks into a run.
Dylan is fast. Faster than Andy. But I keep running. I can’t stop. It’s too important. This neighborhood is more heavily populated than Rochelle’s. Doris sprints down the sidewalks, dodging tourists and young couples walking their dogs.
I hear a squish and look down. I’ve landed right in a pile of shit. From the look of it, it belonged to a giant dog or small horse. I want to stop and scrape my shoe on the curb. But I can’t. I keep running, leaving a trail of shitty footprints.
A group of young women spot Dylan coming toward them and block his path.
“Oh my god!! Dylan Pine!” one of them shouts.
Doris tries to dart around them but one of the girls grabs his arm. So rude but also so helpful.
“Can we please get a picture with you?”
Doris tries to wrench herself away from the girl and I lurch forward, tackling her, tackling Dylan, on the sidewalk.
“Is that…?” one of the girls starts to say.
“Andy Sullivan. Great to meet you.” I hoist Dylan from the ground. He may be faster than Andy, but he’s smaller.
I pull Doris back toward Dylan’s apartment. I can hear the girls’ phones taking pictures the entire time. It’s going to be a good day for the tabloids. “Where’s Naomi?”
“Like you care. You’re happy to be where you are. Just admit it,” she says.
“Sure, I am. I’m not stupid. But I need to talk to her.”
“It’s too late. Let me go.” Doris tries to wriggle from my grasp. I wrap my hand tighter around her arm. “Ouch. You’re hurting me,” she whines.
For just a second I think of her as a lady. But it doesn’t last. “Nice try.”
I pull Dylan toward the apartment building door. It’s locked.
“I don’t suppose you have a key on you?”
Doris’ smirk crosses Dylan’s face.
I tighten my grip and ring the buzzer to Dylan’s apartment.
“You can let me go. It’s not going to affect you one way or the other at this point,” Doris says.
“Shut up,” I say. It’s cathartic. I’ve wanted to tell her to shut up since the moment we met.
The girl from the train and a tall young Black man walk through the door. Bree grabs the door to keep it open.
I stare at Bree and the man, aware that I’m missing a connection. But what?
“Why are you here, Bree?” I ask.
“I’m Ernesto. Stop staring at my breasts.”
Ernesto. I’m sexually attracted to Ernesto. Is that gay?
I hadn’t even realized I was staring. I turn to face the man with her, I mean him. This is confusing.
“Tony,” he says. “Doris’ former husband.”
“Right.” My brain struggles to make the connections. This could be part of the memory purge, or it’s just been a goddamn confusing day.
I push Doris through the door, and we all move toward the elevator. The elevator door opens. Doris goes in first, resigned to her fate.
“Edgar told me you were looking for a young man named Trevor when you arrived,” Tony says.
Trevor? A face forms in my mind. Then it’s two boys, young teenagers. One of them is me. We’re listening to music in the bedroom with the door closed. Megadeth, maybe? He’s the other boy.
“Trevor was my cousin.”
Tony nods and says, “I was his mentor. He’s fine. In fact, he’s in the house in Connecticut. It’s always amazing to me how suicide souls find one another and they’re completely unaware.”
“Thank you,” I say and reach for the notebook that I’ve left somewhere in the afterlife.
The elevator doors open. Ernesto and Tony grab Doris and pull her to the apartment door.
“Where’s Naomi?” I ask from behind them.
Ernesto releases Doris’ arm and turns to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and I resist the urge to check out his boobs again.
“Her loaner body was dying. She had to kill herself again so she could return to Suicide Soul Station.”
I pull away from Ernesto and dart around him into the apartment. Juniper’s frail body is collapsed on Dylan’s couch.
My bottom lip trembles and I choke back the tears.
“It’s okay. She had to go before it was too late,” Ernesto says from behind me.
The woman on the couch is merely a shell. I know that. There’s a dribble of vomit and blood in the corner of her mouth. I touch the top of her head. It’s still slightly warm.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear even though it’s pointless.
Tony releases Doris by tossing her to the floor.
She looks around the room and says, “What a bunch of assholes. You can’t make me go back. You know that.” She stands, brushing imaginary debris from her jeans.
“Yes, we can.” Ernesto grabs Doris by the shoulders and pushes her to sit in the room’s only easy chair. Except it’s Bree pushing Dylan. I sit on the floor next to Juniper’s body. I’m not ready to move.
“Doris, we have someone who may be of interest to you,” Tony says.
“I doubt that,” she says. She is no longer the imposing figure she was in the afterlife, but her facial expressions have managed to carry over. I wonder if Dylan’s friends will notice that he’s different?
“Jennifer,” Tony says. “She arrived a few hours ago. Perfect timing if you ask me.”
Doris sits silent, defiant. She clenches her jaw and her nostrils flare. She puts her hands on the armrests and starts to push herself up to stand, but Ernesto pushes her back down.
“Who’s Jennifer?” I ask, tired of waiting for someone to fill in the blanks.
“Doris’ niece. Probably the only person she ever loved unconditionally.” There is sympathy in Ernesto’s voice. “Jennifer was a young child when Doris died. But Doris has managed to keep tabs on her. And Doris’ brother made sure Jennifer grew up seeing photographs of her aunt and hearing the best stories about her life.”