A/N - I know, I know, I know ... I have no business starting up new fanfictions when I have so many others to update but I've been out of action for six months and this is what you get ... random new stories and even more random updates on old stories. I have a lot to update and I'm going to do a few a week while I concentrate on finishing up the stories I have already going.

This is just to see if the story below is accepted and worth me finishing off as I'm only about half way through! I hope you like it as I quite enjoyed writing this but I know my sense of humour is quite odd.

Thank you for CajunQueen714 for giving this quick read through about six months ago! Any mistakes are my own as I never gave this awesome writer a chance to beta this properly. xx

Second Chance
.o0o. Chapter One - A Stairway To Heaven? More Like A Fast Moving Escalator .o0o.

Heaven.

I can wholeheartedly confirm that it's nothing like you imagine and it's certainly not all it's cracked up to be. I feel quite let down, if I'm honest and feel as if my whole life has been a lie. Let me explain.

For a start, there are no harps.

Yeah, you read that right. No harps! I know, right? There are no angels sitting on fluffy clouds shooting golden arrows filled with glitter, promises and love at each other either. I haven't seen a rainbow in over a decade and actually, despite there being no noise up here whatsoever, everything is not peaceful and serene. It's actually kind of eerie ... and the silence is deafening, especially for someone who loved music and sound as much as I did.

Birds are plentiful though and are said to carry prayers and thoughts from your loved ones back on Earth. They are known as The Messengers; go figure, right?. They resemble a cross between eagle and a dove in appearance but squawk like a parrot and only the intended recipient can hear their message. I guess it's like a private voicemail ... delivered by an overly egotistical pigeon. I stopped accepting any missives from the place I called home a while ago though. It hurts to have feelings up here as the pain and loneliness stay with you for eternity and as the old adage goes ... you are a long time dead.

Nobody wears the musty, old, long, white, floaty robes either; that's a complete myth ... unless you came up the hallowed staircase naked as the day you were born and you are given some weird cloth sack thing to wear until you have been healed in the hospital and released back into the general population. The Elders insist on modesty at all times which suits me fine; there's something about too much flesh on display that puts me off my herbal tea and why I avoided the beach back at home in California. There are no shopping malls, market stalls or goodwill shops available to buy anything to wear, although what amounts for clothes here are easily earned by performing tasks which please The Elders.

It's not as weird as it sounds, I swear.

And completely legal.

No one wears colour here and that's one thing more I really miss. Colour. I certainly didn't appreciate it when I lived on Earth. Nothing is white here, it's sort of blends into one singular tone that's pale in appearance. I'm told that in time, my eyes will adjust and I'll start to see the hues of the early morning and the pigments of people's skin. That's another weird thing though. People keep their skin tone from whatever race, religion, creed or background they are from. It's hard to explain I guess but it's not worth anyone dying to check it out for themselves.

The stereotypical halo's do exist here and the brighter the halo, the more of a troublemaker you are. That's just because they act as a tracking beacon and if you get misplaced or don't turn up for work, you can easily be found. My first thoughts were that it was the same in Heaven as it was on Earth but using a golden hoop instead of the sim card in your mobile phone. They change brightness, depending on your mood as well and acts as a way of communication until you get used to the odd no talking rule. Each Newcomer has to wear a halo for the first year after arrival so that The Settlers; or The Crew as I call them, can help the newbies establish themselves, get used to the lack of words and the change in altitude. After the long wait at the Pearly Gates to see whether there was a spot reserved for me in supposed paradise, I was ready to pretty much agree to wear anything in exchange for a sit down and a healing cup of tea.

After a year, unless the rules were continually being broken and believe me The Decrees that were set by The Council, made up of about thirty very old, boring and wrinkly beings that have been around since the dawn of time, are not that hard to follow in their set stupid ways, the halo can be removed and usually given to the next arrival. A couple of weirdos choose to wear them all the time by choice but they were clearly the nerds in High School and are to be avoided at all costs. So the idea is to keep your nose out of everyone else's business, do your assigned chores, don't get into trouble, obey The Elders and The Decrees and everything will be fine.

And yeah, I've also been wearing my halo since the day I got here.

And it's been just over ten Earthly years now.

I can't help it.

I wasn't born to fit into a set of rules; I have never played The Game the way I should have and while I don't mean to be disobedient and not follow The Code, I'm constantly breaching the peace. I continually question everything, want to do my own thing and not be governed by a clip board and a set of daily tasks which for me, urgh, include polishing shooting stars, mixing thunder powder and filling clouds with big old fat rain.

That's the other thing. I was always under the impression that Heaven was supposed to be a place of rest, happiness and playtime, so what's with the job roster and chore chart? Everyone is assigned duties on the day they arrive and unless you can find someone willing to swap, you are stuck with The Obligations for all eternity. I was lucky in a way, I didn't get assigned to The Placers, the ones that have to deal with The Takers; hooded figures that are a cross between the Grim Reaper and Santa Claus who bring you from Earth up to wherever the heck this place is. The Placers are like the prefects, the list makers, the vilified sector before The Settlers. They are the goody two shoes, rule abiding 'Aubrey Posen's' of the world. At least I get to make things go boom.

I often wonder why am I always in trouble, and constantly being hauled before The Council and told I have to accept my fate. But that's just it; I'm still fighting against being here, it still feels wrong and like I'm late for a party or something. It's often said that the ones who never settle are trapped souls, can't let go and can't settle. People like me have unfinished business back on Earth and it's usually the younger ones who struggle to accept. I shouldn't be here but I'll come back to that later on.

Meals are served in the Great Hall, which is neither a hall nor is it great. It, like everything else, is just an open, extensive mass of space that has no form or shape or purpose yet is just accepted that it is what it is. While the procession to enter the hall is as long as the eye can see, there is no real time here so everything actually moves quite quickly when you just embrace it. Food is not recognised as things that grow or farmed or created. It's more sustenance than enjoyment and, again, it's beige, bland and boring. Yet we line up for chow time to receive our big bowl of arrrgh. I don't know what else to call it.

You can spot a Newcomer a mile off, they are the ones who fidget the most and get huffy at the long line, constantly patting pockets for a phone that isn't there or a watch that no longer exists on their wrist, trying to make sense of what is going on. I try to avoid them as best I can; don't get me wrong, I don't hate people but there is only so much blinking and raising of eyebrows I can manage from them before I want to roll my eyes back at them and walk away.

Some things never change, eh?

Friendships are encouraged and it does help to pass the time of day. There's no talking, as I said, but it's actually quite fascinating how you learn to communicate without words. I'd be pretty spectacular at Charades now. I didn't set out to make any friends but after I realised I was a long time dead, I started to integrate myself a little more and see if there was any like-minded people, similar to me. The scene was awfully familiar to me and reminded me of my first semester at college when my Dad tried to get me to 'join in' with various groups. I hated that first year and was desperate to leave but falling in love and finding true friends made me stay. And yeah, I've got a couple of buddies now but it's not the same. Once a month, The Planners; imaginatively named members of the event planning department, organise a get together in Building Z, which is where everyone comes together and looks for their family members and former friends.

I was young when I died so I was quite grateful that I didn't actually have to find any friends although my Grandma, my mom's mom, found me within my first two months. She was exactly as I remembered her and she brought me comfort in my first year although she did encourage me to try to join her and her crusty old friends in card games. They actually gambled for better work permits or assignment swaps and Grandma is quite nifty at working long stretches in the Great Hall, rather than anywhere else like the toilet block or the therapy area.

No one is old here and at the same time, no one is young. Everyone is ageless, even the babies and children. They are just smaller versions of a human, which I guess isn't that different from their lives before. Sickness doesn't exist once you've been healed in the hospital and there's nothing to fall over or down on so you can't break a bone. People are cured of cancer and fixed of paralysis; it's actually pretty cool.

One of the biggest risks in Heaven is being smacked in the chest from an errant bolt of lightning. Those bad boys shoot any way they please and whilst body armour is encouraged, it's not enforced so obviously no one wears it. I've seen a couple of people hit and they smelt like crispy bacon for a day or so and were paralysed for about a week. Their hair never laid flat again but you can't die a second time so they kind of had to suck it up.

Former pets and other animals arrive by the purple bridge from the bottom level. Unlike humans, they are taken up from Earth in a Whirlwind which, as the name suggests, means they are transported quickly without fear, pain or prejudice. They spend a little time on the lower level where they are fixed, healed and made whole again before being allowed to roam and run free forever. Dogs don't chase cats, tigers don't maul springbok and fish and other sea life swim around the place like they own it; which is weird to see considering there are no oceans anywhere about.

Some animals choose to become pets and you are permitted to keep an animal if it selects you. Talk about role reversal. I've had my pal, a lopsided, wonky eared dog I called Trevor until he informed me he wanted to be known as The-Great-And-Powerful-And-Should-Be-Obeyed-Zeus. Yeah, I still call him Trevor and he's given up trying to govern me. We've hit a plateau and do our own thing but I admit, it's nice to have company.

On the top tier, away from everything else is Childrenland. I swear blind, if I'd been up here when Heaven was created, I'd have picked better names for everything. But still, it is what it is and that's a place where babies and young children are kept. Resembling a large and safe playground, the youngsters wait until a family member comes to collect them and Unification parties are something to behold.

Parents who lost their children young or those with babies who were born asleep are reunited in a highly emotional reunion session that is a blessing to witness. Yeah, yeah, yeah, through all of my discord and snark, I admit, it's quite meaningful. Some babies have been waiting sixty years for their parents and children never forget their mothers and fathers. Some choose not to reconcile, if neglect or suffering played a factor in their demise and they remain in Childrenland where they play forever amongst caregivers.

Childrenland is only accessible by The Bond, the invisible thread that is made up of true love and bonding and connects each child to a mother or father. An aunt, uncle or grandparent cannot enter Childrenland looking for their family member, it is only the bonded parent that can. The next time either of the expressions, 'Wait for me on the other side' or 'I'll be waiting for you' is uttered, hold onto it, for it really is true.

There is a small blue building that sits all on its own, away from everything else. Everyone knows what it is and what it stands for and although no one goes near it, it isn't frightening. It's an area of quiet and reflection, surrounded by fruit trees and vegetable gardens and holds, within its walls, the most tragic of people, The Lost Souls. Thankfully small in number, the humans who took their own lives wait in the Blue House for answers to their worries and to be healed of their troubles. The Resolvers work with The Lost Souls to restore them and make them whole again. Once they are ready, they are released and are swept up with the Newcomers and begin their journey.

Everyone gets a second chance; an opportunity to begin again with all records being wiped clean and past grievances expunged. A new identity or name can be taken for the new beginning but most stick with what they know. At least, I did. It's hard enough dealing with leaving everything behind, let alone trying to remember that I have been renamed as Bernadette Fairy Wings, or Reggie to my friends. Yes, I admit, I did toy with the idea for a split second but chose to remain as Beca Mitchell. It was familiar to me and comforting and I wanted to retain a sense of myself.

So, up in Heaven, it's sort of similar to Earth. People smile a lot more and wait their turn patiently. There are no traffic jams, no one gets sick and everyone is ever so nice. But it's boring, dull and bland. There's never anything new to do and while I can sleep to pass the time of day if I want to, it serves no purpose so I just stay awake and try to catch a glimpse of the world below me.

I long to go back.

I miss my life.

It took me a full year before I began to believe the notion ingrained in my head that I was to be stuck in the afterlife forever. My heart has still never accepted it and without words, it's impossible to explain to my fellow beings how I feel about it. I spent some time in The Blue House but I wasn't suicidal or lost, I just have never felt like I should be up here. I have been reassured on many occasions that for someone in my situation, it's actually quite common. As I said before, I died young and I wasn't ready. It wasn't my time.

I wasn't sick. I looked after myself and, while a little extra sleep wouldn't have gone amiss, I was in good health. I didn't take too many risks so my potential accident level was pretty low. I drank a few beers, partied a little but avoided cigarettes, drugs and running with scissors and I ate pretty well. I had a good life, plenty of weird friends and a family that loved me. I worked a bit too hard but weekends were all about my family. And, oh boy, did I miss them.

I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one ever solved my murder.

I know the Police did all they could and even I was impressed when the FBI got involved, desperately trying to follow the trail of breadcrumbs that could lead to a clue or a resolution. It was frustrating to watch and the Messengers would bring me fresh messages from everyone I knew, and I apparently knew a lot, begging me to help them resolve what happened to me. I wanted to help, needed to bring peace to my family and friends but the trouble was I didn't know how I died. I couldn't remember or recall the events leading up to the day. I just know it wasn't my choice to leave. I was in the hospital while they fought to save my life, I was watching by the door as the doctor had his hand in my chest, massaging my heart and willing me to live but it was hard to see and the noise in my ears was unfathomable. I know I left my body behind as the life force ebbed out of me. There was no floating on the ceiling and I did watch the doctors work on me but if I tried to look at myself, laying on the hospital bed or in the operating theatre, all I saw was grey fog, like a scratched out piece of a photograph. I remember hearing a nurse on the phone to Jesse telling him to get to Mercy West as soon as he could. And he tried, he really did. I knew he was close by, I could hear him running down the corridor calling out my name as everything went black around me and I began to float.

And just so you know, you go up feet first, pulled up by your ankles. It's just a warning.

I'll never understand why I couldn't wait for him to get there, for him to be able to say goodbye. As much for me as for him as I could have had one last look at his face. But it wasn't to be. I had to watch in slow motion as I ascended the golden staircase and the image of him sinking to his knees stayed with me for many years.

I have the opportunity every year to go before The Council to protest that I was taken too young, too soon, before my time. I join a very long line of people that are angry about the same thing. I am nothing different, I am not special in any way and my story resembles the next persons up to a point. But every time my name comes up, I am there, at the break of dawn, ready to plead my case.

They listen.

They have to.

They counteract each of my arguments with one of their own. They've heard me complain that I've had to watch my husband, Jesse, raise our children by himself. He's been alone all of this time and for the first year, he would talk to me all the time judging by the amount of times The Messengers would visit me with dispatches from the earthly plains. I look down all the time and every so often, he'll sit in the backyard of the home we shared for five years and drunkenly shout into the night sky, alternating between missing me, hating me for dying and confusion as to what to do next.

If I'd known it was going to happen, I'd have made plans for him. I'd have left instructions on how to raise our children. Two boys, Asher who would be fourteen and Kade who'd be thirteen in a few weeks if memory served me well and I had my dates right. They both looked so like their dad, it was quite breath taking. We also had a gorgeous baby girl who we called Freya who has just turned eleven and who I hardly got to spend any time with and who only got to know me through a few photographs and stories from her father. If I'd know I was going to die, I'd have gotten the washing machine door fixed so Jesse didn't have to spend the first two years after I'd gone fathoming just how to close it without resorting to jamming it shut with a wooden spoon.

I'd also have told him it was okay for him to move on, to let me go, to say goodbye. I know it would have been hard for me to have watch him do that, just as it was painful to see the children start Kindergarten and point up to the sky at night and pick one of the stars that I'd spent a month polishing so they could see the brightest one and pretend that it was me. I could hear their cries in my heart when they got sick and I was out of sorts the day when Asher broke his arm whilst playing on the swing set at the friend's house. I felt such anger when Kade was bullied at school and he was too scared to tell his dad as he didn't want to look like a wimp in front of his older brother. When Freya as eight and on a weekend visit with my Dad, she played in my old bedroom and tried on some of my old clothes, everyone commenting that she was my double. My Dad never quite go over that visit. I never wanted them to grow up without their mother but part of me loved Jesse even more for not replacing me.

And now, as I stood in front of The Council, pleading for the opportunity to be sent back to Earth in one form or another so that I could find my family, even for just a day, there was an unusual level of excitement amongst the wrinklies. I wondered if today could be the day that they'd agree I could have a second time around, to be reincarnated albeit as a family pet or a tree to be planted out in the street in front of my former home. I'd have accepted my role as a frog if it meant I could hop around in my own backyard again and watch my family.

I was trying not to fidget as they talked amongst themselves and I played my favourite song over and over in my head. I say favourite but really, as it was the last tune I remember, it had gotten stuck on a perpetual loop. Surely, that was another reason to get back down to Earth, if only to get some new songs and save my sanity.

While Jesse was a drama and music teacher in our local High School, I worked for a small recording studio producing music. I was just getting my name out into the showbiz world when I died. I actually hated that I had left my work unfinished and of the twenty or so times that I'd been able to get a glimpse of my former life on Earth, I understood the pieces I had scored and almost finished producing were very well received and still played on the radio some ten years later. It brought comfort knowing a small amount of money was being received by the family through my royalties program.

I could feel several pairs of eyes suddenly turn towards me and I hated, for the hundredth time, that my emotive thoughts were read by The Elders. Feeling and sentiments held no weight here; everyone missed home and everyone deserved to have a second chance. But as I brushed off the tears that dripped soundlessly onto my bare feet, I was aware of a heightened buzz within the room.

I could hear the voices in my head, varying languages and all types of tones; some yelling, some speaking softly but all talking at the same time. I was having trouble deciphering all words but one.

"Wormhole."

My memory banks were poor, my intellect having suffered without proper communication and upkeep. But I knew the word wormhole. My father was a Comparative Literature professor at the college I attended and while I had no interest in his subject, he spent most of my youth teaching me the importance of reading and would encourage me to find new and interesting material, whatever form it came in. Some stuff stayed buried deep in there and that word sparked a memory cell revolution.

I begged them to slow down, to explain and tell me what my purpose was. The information came through in pitted form.

"Wormhole."
"Yeah, I heard that the first time."

"First one in a gigaannum."
"No idea how long that is, but I'm guessing it's a really long time!"

"You've been chosen."
"For what?"

"Go through the wormhole."
"How?"

"You'll have memory."
"Of when?"

"Loved ones will not."
"My loved ones? They won't know me?"

"Prevent your murder."
"Why?"

"Solve your demise to stay."
"Oh."

"Unable to tell anyone of this."
"As is anyone would believe this."

"Granted up to eleven time twists."
"Wait, what?"

"Unable to change free will."
"Who's Will?"

"Do you want to go?"

I'd heard of time twists; a supposed time traveller could choose seven time spans to move too. The catch being that the visitor could only stay for a set amount of time but that the length was unknown. Without warning, the traveller would be yanked from the comfortable portal they'd found themselves in and placed at the next point of interest. Everything would have a reason and the pieces of the puzzle would have to be fitted together. It meant that to change the outcome of the future for yourself, you had to act quickly and make things happen without affecting someone's free will, or confessing what was going on. A little bit like Cinderella not being able to tell the Prince what and who she was.

Was this my opportunity to get back to Earth? When would I be transported back? I had a dozen questions running through my mind as I nodded my response vigorously to the last question I was asked, wondering when it would be and how long it would take to organise. I wanted to convey more, to ask for clarification on what was happening and have answers for the plethora of questions running through my head. but I could feel a cool, dampness on the back of my neck and a warmth in my fingers that made all rational thought leave my brain. I felt giddy, sick and a strange pain penetrated my chest, causing me fall to my knees and the room to blacken around me.

I tasted blood.

I inhaled deeply and I smelled the green grass of home that I'd missed so much but my throat constricted within seconds and I began to choke. There was a coolness being blown on my cheeks and a firmness underneath me that I couldn't fathom. I heard a tingle in my ears and a bird tweeting a merry song. I wanted to look around for one of The Messengers but I couldn't open my eyes for the brightness of the space around me. The ache in my heart became unbearable and I wanted to cry out as I could no longer tolerate it. And that's when it hit me, what the pain meant.

It was my heart beating again ... and I was back on Earth.

.o0o.

A/N - Worth continuing?! Delete the whole thing?! Piece of apple pie and a dollop of ice cream?! Let me know ... xx