After Ever (13 page)

An inhuman snarl and the skin crawling sound of teeth snapping and grinding together cuts me off. The scent of rot and disease floods my nostrils. Something tangles in my hair and yanks. Heart pounding, eyes watering, I twist my head around and come face to face with the monster.

It has a fistful of my hair wrapped around its bloated, puss filled fingers. For a split second we are face to face and I see the trace of humanity lurking in the monster’s bloodshot eyes as they roll and bulge.

I try to move, but I can’t. I am frozen, as frozen as I was at the restaurant when Brian reached across the candle flames. The monster growls, flashing uneven teeth that have been filed down to jagged fangs. It’s putrid breath fans across my face and I gag, swallowing back vomit. Tears rain unchecked down my cheeks. The monster raises one massive arm. What remains of its fingers curls into a fist. I cower helplessly, waiting for the blow to fall.

And then strong hands shove me sideways, my hair rips free, and I am flying down, down, down into the dark abyss. The monster’s roar of disappointment follows me as I tumble head over heels, then heels over head, unable to find my balance, unable to tell up from down, down from up, for there is no up or down. No left or right. Only the vague sensation of falling
towards
something. 

When I land, it is with a hard jolt. Groaning, I heave myself into a sitting position. It is still dark, but as the seconds pass light begins to flicker in like a camera focusing. Bit by bit my surroundings reveal themselves. Dazedly I look around and see an old wooden rocking chair. Two desks pushed back to back. A corner filled with board games. And in the middle of the small, cluttered space, the coup de grace: a very familiar trunk plastered with magazine cut outs and hot pink glitter. My fingers brace against the plywood floor. I rise to a crouching position and look up, to the roughly cut window obscured by branches and bushy green leaves. My heart skips a beat. I know those leaves. I recognize that trunk. I know where I am.

I have landed in my old tree house.   

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sam appears a few seconds later. One second the rocking chair is empty, the next it is filled with one hundred and sixty pounds of kicking, cursing boy. I stay out of the way while he fights his invisible enemy, swinging his arms sideways and back with a ferocity I can admire. For a nerd, Sam fights like a champ.

He comes out of it the same way I did. A bit at a time, slowly and surely. His gray eyes blur, refocus, blink. “Win?” he says hoarsely.

“Here. I’m right here.” I straighten from my slouching position against the opposite wall and step out of the shadows. The top of my head nearly touches the ceiling, which isn’t a surprise. The tree house was, after all, built for children. I decide to sit and wriggle around until I find a comfortable position. I have a feeling we are going to be here for a while. At the very least, I am not leaving until I get some answers.

“And by here,” I continue, staring hard at Sam, “I mean the tree house my dad built when I was ten. The same tree house that got destroyed three years later by a hurricane. Start talking, oh powerful guide. You can begin with what the HELL that thing was that tried to decapitate me!”

“First of all, it was not a thing.”

“Then what is it? Some kind of monster? A demon?” I guess.

“No. It is an Unknown.”

Something in his tone has me sitting up a little straighter. “Have you seen it before?” I ask suspiciously. 

His expression darkens. “I have seen
an
Unknown before, but not that one. I’ve heard of him though. They call him Craven.”

“Craven?” I repeat skeptically. People around here really need to work on their names. Voldemort, now
that’s
terrifying. Craven? Eh, not so much. 

“Yes, Craven.” Sam must sense I’m not taking this very seriously, because he shifts forward on the rocking chair and says, “Unknowns are not something to take lightly. They are the one thing the dead fear.”

A valid point. Stupid name or not, I had plenty of fear for Craven when he was blowing his stinky breath in my face. “So what is he?”

Sitting back, Sam absently scratches at the wounds on his chest. They don’t look deep, and they’ve stopped bleeding. One even looks like it’s scabbing over. His shirt is still ripped to shreds, revealing a rather startling set of abdominal muscles. I ever would have figured sweater vest Sam to have a six pack. Noting the direction of my gaze, he scowls and stretches what fabric remains of his shirt across his stomach.

“Stop ogling me,” he says crossly.

“I wasn’t
ogling
you.”

“Yes you were. If I stared at some girl like you were just staring at me I would get slapped.”

“You wouldn’t… I wasn’t… Oh, just shut up and tell me what an Unknown is.” Crossing my arms, I glare down at the floor and fight back the blush that threatens to spread like wildfire over my neck and face. I wasn’t ogling Sam. I
wasn’t
. 

“Unknowns used to be people just like you and I,” Sam begins after giving me a narrow eyed glance. “Except they were people who did something so horrible and unforgivable that when they died and crossed over into the After they were not given a level.”

I am still getting used to the idea of death being divided into levels. The best I can figure is that it’s sort of like high school. Everyone starts off as a freshman and works their way up from there. It’s ironic, really. My guidance counselor always used to have these big assemblies where she went on and on about how life would get better after you left high school. That all you had to do was graduate and you would never have to go back. Guess the joke’s on her. 

“Is that why he was so gross looking?” I ask.

“Basically… yes. Remember before when I told you all your injuries and scars had been healed?”

I nod.

“And that’s because you’re a Level One. Nearly everyone who dies becomes one automatically, unless they’ve done something really awesome like save orphans from a burning building. Then they jump right to Level Two, but that doesn’t happen very often.”

I guess risking my life to save Brian doesn’t count as “really awesome.”

Because you didn’t save him. You died for nothing.

Zip it.

What? You did. You’re dead and you have no idea where your brother is. You didn’t save him. You didn’t even come close to saving him because guess what, genius? He wasn’t on the lake!

Shut. Up.

“Win, are you okay?”

I blink and look up at Sam. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

“You… Never mind. Just pay attention, okay? This stuff is really important.”

“Sure. Whatever. I’m paying attention.”

Sam frowns. “Like I was saying, because of the horrible things they did before they died, Unknowns aren’t given a level when they pass into the After. Which means the body they died in, wounds and scars and all, is the one they’re stuck with.”

“But how can that be?” I want to know. “You said in the After our souls control our bodies.”

“Exactly.” Sam nods. “Except since the Unknowns aren’t given a level to move up to, their souls remain trapped inside the bodies they died in. Or to be more specific, the soul’s
projection
of the body they died in since as you so eloquently put it earlier, your physical body is rotting away in some hole in the ground.”

It’s a lot to wrap my mind around. “So basically what you’re saying is that when evil people die they still come to the After, but their souls stay trapped in their bodies which don’t heal, thus explaining why Craven was all bloody and rotting and what not.”

Sam tilts his head to the side. “Did you just say ‘thus’?”

I ignore him. “So bad people get stuck in their own rotting bodies with no way to move up to the next level. Sounds fair to me. What’s the big deal?”

Sam is already shaking his head before I finish my question. “Because they’re not always stuck. If they can switch bodies with someone a level above them, then they can free themselves.”

“Switch bodies?” I scoff. “What is this, the Sci-Fi channel?”

“I told you Unknowns were nothing to laugh at. All they have to do is kill you. In that moment of death your soul will be disoriented and weak, weak enough for the Unknown to push it out and take its place. With no where else to go, your soul would be forced into the body of the Unknown.”

Muscles cramp and tighten low in my belly. “So that’s why Craven was chasing us? To – to
kill
one of us and steal our body? You know that sounds insane, right?”

Sam watches me steadily. “More insane than jumping through a door and landing in your old tree house?”

When he puts it that way… “Everything is different here, isn’t it?” I whisper.

“More different than you could ever imagine.”

“But if we’re already dead how can we die again?”

“A wooden stake through the heart,” Sam says solemnly.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I think you have us confused with vampires.”

“No, a wooden stake would do it. Or an axe. A knife. A hammer. Strangulation. Drowning. Fire. Bullet to the head.”

The laughter dries up in my throat and turns to dust. “Oh.”

“Winnie, just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t die again in a thousand different ways.”

His words send a shudder rippling down between my shoulder blades. I remember how close Craven got to me, the way his breath felt against my skin, the cruel grip of his fingers in my hair, and I shudder again. “What happens now?” I ask.

 “Now,” Sam says, glancing down at his exposed chest, “I need to change my shirt before you faint from the sight of my amazing muscles.”

And just like that, I feel like laughing again. “There.” I point to a box in the corner that is overflowing with an array of mismatched clothing. “There should be something in there.”

Sam stands. He has to duck his head to keep from hitting the ceiling and I try not to watch as he pulls his shredded shirt over his head, but it’s surprisingly difficult. My eyes linger a hair too long on his exposed abdomen before they jerk to his face. He catches me looking and grins ear to ear.

“What did I say? You’re a total ogler.”

I roll my eyes. “First, that isn’t even a real word. Second, my kid brother has more muscles than you.” Brian. Just the thought of him sends a pang of anxiety ricocheting through my body. I can’t help but wonder where he is. Did they find him? Is he safe? Does he know I’m dead? Is he afraid? Does he even understand? And my dad. He fell to pieces after Mom died. Is he even capable of taking care of Brian on his own?

Sam must read the sudden strain on my face because he kneels in front of me, resting his hands lightly on either side of my legs. “Brian hasn’t crossed over, Win. That means he is okay.”

“That does not mean he’s okay!” I don’t mean to shout. It takes us both by surprise. Sam jerks back like I’ve struck him. A line appears above his eyebrows.

“I know this is a difficult transition for you, but it’s best if you try not to think about the people you left behind.”

“You don’t know anything,” I snap. I don’t know why I am so angry, or even who I am angry at. The anger just fills me up and overflows, spewing out of my mouth like venom. “This isn’t what death is supposed to be like, Sam! I’m not supposed to be here talking to you. I should be decomposing in some hole in the ground, not… not running away from monsters and sitting in my old tree house like everything is normal. I’m not supposed to… I’m not supposed to…” The word catches in my throat like a hook. I swallow hard, trying to choke it back down.

“Take a deep breath, Winnie.” Sam’s hand shifts to rest gently on my knee. The pressure is as faint as it is reassuring. Comforting as it is unfamiliar. “You can say it. It’s okay.”

“It is NOT okay. None of this is okay.” To my utter horror I begin to cry, great fat salty tears born of anger and frustration and some other emotion I can’t even name. I draw in a deep, trembling breath. Try again. “I’m not supposed to… I’m not…”

“You’re not supposed to what?” Sam urges softly.

“I’m not supposed to still
feel
. I’m not supposed to hurt like this. I’m not supposed to be angry, or sad, or happy. Those feelings go away when you die. This isn’t right. I don’t want to feel anymore. Don’t you get it? We’re dead, Sam. We’re dead.” My voice drops to a whisper. Embarrassed, I use the hem of my sweatshirt to wipe away my tears. They black cotton is soft against my flushed skin and I bury my face in it, allowing myself to hide, even if it’s just for a moment.

Sam’s fingers squeeze my leg before he draws away. The rocking chair squeaks as he sits in it. The silence returns. It is so quiet I can hear Sam breathing. In and out, in and out, steady as a drop of rain on a windowsill.

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, but I think it might really be this. Sitting in front of a boy who died in a skiing accident seven years ago. Talking about souls and switching bodies. What is more insane than that?

“Where are the birds?” I ask the question into my sweatshirt. The words come out muffled. Unintelligible. I let the sleeve drop. “Where are the birds?” I say again.

“The birds?” Sam repeats, puzzled.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, the birds. It’s sunny out. There should be at least a dozen in the tree.” I look up, to the open window, where rays of light continue to stream in and dance across the crudely made plywood floor.

“I used to come up here when I was little and listen to the birds sing for hours. It got to where I could identify them just by the sound of their whistle. My mom called me her little bird whisperer.” A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I needed a happy memory.

“You’re observant.” Sam doesn’t make it seem like a compliment.

“And in the woods,” I say, determined to get one more question answered. “There weren’t any birds there either. Or deer. Or squirrels. I didn’t even see a bug.”