"Where are we?"

It was the first time Emily spoke to me after she'd done all that crying. Poor, poor girl. When she broke down earlier, I just sat nearby and let her cry as much as she needed. I didn't say anything, and instead I just focused on watching the lone stretch of desert road. The world around us was as quiet as… Alright, here come the typical ones: quiet as death, quiet as a graveyard, quiet as a tomb—but really, it was that quiet. When you're dead, there wasn't a whole lot of noise, and sometimes that fact alone could drive a ghost mad. If one didn't stir themselves crazy with wanting to haunt the living, they'd go nuts over how still and silent their new world was.

The deafening silence was shattered earlier when Emily let out a mournful cry. Something must have happened to her physical body. I didn't look in her direction, wanting to continue giving her privacy, but I imagined she tried to stop whoever or whatever that removed her corpse. That surge of emotions, the overwhelming grief, made her react as passionately as she did.

I couldn't tell you how much time had passed since all of this went down. Time was meaningless when you were a ghost, and this was something she had to deal with and accept. The stillness settled in once again after she went through her episode, and it was only then did she ask me the question of where we were.

"Some might call this Purgatory," I finally answered as I stood from my spot and turned to my new companion. She was on her feet as well, but was clearly still confused and upset over what occurred.

With a broad sweep of my hand, I asked, "Everything you see with your own two eyes has this sepia, old time movie tint to it, doesn't it? Well, this is our world. We could see color, but that's gonna take some time to explain. For the most part, there's no changing how everything looks to us."

She blinked, and distress rippled across her sweet face. Now resting my arms across my chest, I added, "Not sure what your religious beliefs are, but it's easier to call it Purgatory. Some refer to it as 'the-in-between' or other ridiculously long-winded names others have referred to this."

"Some? Others?"

"Yeah, there are others like us all over. They're of all ages, races, genders, belief; if it wasn't your time to go, and you didn't make peace by the time it came to an end, this is where you wind up."

Her head bowed and her fingers drifted down to her abdomen. This was another reaction most new ghosts had, which was the attempt to flash back to the moment it all came to a head for them.

"Was that where you were killed?" I asked pointedly.

Her fingers curled into a tight fist, but then gradually relaxed.

"I... think so...?"

She was still skeptical. That was common. Memories became fuzzy for us after a while, but sometimes, those feelings could churn and turn for the worst if they didn't get their affairs in order. Even when death happened swiftly, the shock of it all could consume the individual if they weren't able to properly cope.

"What were you doing out here, Emily Walker?"

Lifting her head, Emily searched the same road I'd been looking at earlier. Her eyes narrowed slightly as if she were searching for someone or something to appear at a moment's notice.

"I was... doing..."

She drew in a shaky breath as she clearly struggled to recount the moments that led to her demise.

"It was… me and… and…"

Again, her hand made a fist against her stomach, and the longer she fought to remember, the more distraught she became. I decided that was enough for now.

"Come with me," I suggested. "You'll want to learn more about this new way of existing."

Emily didn't move. In fact, she now stared at me as if I had sprouted an extra eyeball on my forehead.

She innocently asked, "Are you Death?"

I held my non-existent breath. Well, that was a first. The few folks I directly encountered over the years had never straight up mistaken me for a world-famous personification of the Grim Reaper; Emily was the first.

Playfully, I couldn't help but answer back, "Death wouldn't have left this world with a badly botched hair dye job and eyebrows that desperately needed plucking."

Rendered speechless at first, a weak smile of her own unexpectedly broke out on Emily's lips. I chuckled and glanced aside. Least she had a sense of humor despite looking like the all-American "nice girl."

"Hey, Emily, Death really could break that tired stereotype of wearing that same old dusty black hooded robe, am I right?"

She maintained her smile and replied, "A little color would be more inviting."

I snickered as Emily laughed quietly. It was better knowing she wasn't as upset like before, at least for now. I didn't want her to become one of those angst-ridden ghosts doomed to haunt the spot where they were killed. I hadn't known her for long, but I had a gut feeling that staying in this state of Purgatory was not meant for her. She shouldn't be here that long, and I wanted to help her transition, if possible.

In a more somber tone, I said, "Plus, if I were Death, I wouldn't leave you stuck here, like I've been stuck here. The reaper's purpose is to guide souls to the other side."

"Wait, how long have you—"

I held my hand out to her and cut her off mid-sentence. "Come, we have a lot of ground to cover."

I didn't want to make this about me, as I had enough issues of my own to juggle, issues that prevented me from moving on. For now, my goal was to help Emily.

Before her fingers could grasp mine, she let out a gasp and froze in her tracks. From there, she whispered, "Cordell."

I tilted my head. "Excuse me?"

"Cordell!" she said again, this time in a louder, more excited voice. Her hands flew to her chest. "My husband's name is Cordell!"

"Oh…!" That was unexpected. Most ghosts took a while (if ever) before they could recall loved ones, due to the grief and sorrow they were constantly drowning in. Somehow, Emily managed to come up with not only a name, but a relationship important to her.

She took a hold of my hands, then gave them a firm, determined squeeze.

"I have to see him," she insisted.

"Emily…" It pained me to tell her it wasn't going to be that easy to see anyone. I did want to help her out, but it was going to be a gradual process—

"Please, I have to see if he's okay. I'm so worried about him! He's probably worried about me, and after he warned me to—"

The emotions that were spilling out of her reminded me of my own feelings I had thought I'd long pushed away, stuffed into a bottle and sealed shut.

"Stop!" I snapped and I yanked my hands away. Turning my back to her, I exclaimed, "You're dead, Emily! To even think about seeing a loved one again is going to take a ton of energy and focus! I'm beyond sorry for what happened to you, but you have to slow down!"

I swallowed hard and raked my fingers through my hair. I missed having long hair like Emily. Hers was soft and wavy. I had mine cropped rather short by the time I passed. It got me thinking of my last years as a living, breathing human, and the longings I had for the one of the most important people in my life.

Behind me, a quiet voice murmured, "I'm so sorry."

My shoulder sank but I said nothing. I'd told her to slow down, and I needed to take that same advice. Emily needed my help, and I wanted to help her, but with a clear head.

When I turned around, however, I discovered I was all alone.

"Emily?!"