Author's Note: Thanks so much to KeepCalmAndDoItLikeAFanGirl for being the first to favorite and follow! :-) Still looking for a beta, PM me and please please please review because it makes my day.
Chapter 2: In Which a Martyr Becomes a Soul
"Damn it," I moaned as I looked around me. "I'm definitely dead." I just couldn't figure out why the afterlife looked so much like Hogwarts.
The creamy, blue-veined marble floor reached so far around me that I swore I could see it curving with the earth- that is, if I was still on Earth, of course. Towering stone walls with intricate vines carved into them rose to an arched ceiling shrouded in shadows and sourceless candlelight. This place felt ancient, but not in a creepy way. It was stately and proud and safe, a bastion against anything evil. It emanated a strong sense of peace.
I approached one of the walls and saw that the carvings were even more detailed than I had first thought. I ran my finger along a deep trough which was shaped roughly like a letter "e". In fact, if I wasn't mistaken…
"The Bible?" The murmured thought traveled along the story of Adam and Eve and echoed over to the illustration of Noah's Ark.
"Yes," came the unexpected reply from behind me, "but a much more truthful version." I spun around.
The only way to describe the being standing before me was "angelic," which probably isn't very helpful considering that I was, in fact, staring at an angel. He seemed to be made up entirely of light and energy, but I somehow identified a face and body. Huge wings were folded against his back, and beyond that I couldn't see much. It was like my eyes were trying to form familiar shapes out of something which held none. Staring at his fiery presence for too long made my eyes feel like they were burning, but somehow all over me. The one word answer was enough to leave my ears ringing, so I squinted at the floor and didn't say anything.
"You may speak if you wish." This time the sound was softer and gentler, though still full of extreme power. "Many do not take the time to examine this place. They simply proceed to the entrance."
I looked around and saw several lines of what looked like ordinary people passing through a glowing golden gate. I managed to make eye contact with the angel's feet and decided it was worth it to talk.
"Where am I? Am I dead?" As soon as the words passed my lips, more sprung up to follow them, and before I could stop myself I was nearly crying with the rush of uncertainty. "I am, aren't I? Is this the afterlife? I'm not in heaven, am I? Are you an angel?"
"My name is Joshua, and I am an angel of the Lord, yes. And you're not technically in heaven yet. Tessa went ahead and brought you up and wiped your memory because you were so traumatized after the crash, but you still have a choice."
This didn't confuse me any less. "Tessa?"
"The reaper who collected your soul. She was concerned that you would make a regrettable decision before you were rational again."
"Wait, so I can choose not to be dead?" That sounded too good to be true.
The angel did something that seemed like shaking his head. "No, but you can choose whether your spirit remains on Earth or journeys on. The reason you are here in this entryway and not already in your heaven is that you still need to decide."
I looked down at my hands. They were paler than usual, but otherwise they seemed normal. Above my wrists I saw the familiar sleeves of my news coat. "What happens if I go back?"
"You walk the world as a spirit, unable to move from your point of death until you go insane and some hunter comes along and blasts your soul downstairs."
It was hard to tell, but that was a different angel's voice. I looked back up to see two radiant figures standing before me. The second was clearly trying to urge the first towards the gates to heaven, and it seemed agitated. It nodded- at least, I think that's what it did- and said "Zachariah. Come along, Joshua, I'm sure this young lady is capable of making the right decision without your intervention."
And just like that, I was left alone in the middle of heaven's hall. There was only the slight whisper of dead feet across marble to fill the echoing silence.
"Name?"
I blinked. "Andrea Fosters."
"Cause of death?" The tiny, bespectacled man stared at me fixedly, his pen poised over the giant book in front of him.
"Car crash."
"Decision?"
"Excuse me?"
The man looked annoyed. I noticed the neat rows of text which he had been writing and wondered whether his OCD little heaven was to be here, entering down names for eternity. "Heaven or earth?"
"Oh." I had had a lot of time to think while I made my way through the line, and I had decided that it was heaven for me. Spending the rest of time wandering around a dingy intersection without being able to interact with anyone didn't exactly sound pleasant. "Heaven, um, please."
The man finished the last "n" with a flourish and gestured me through the slightly-open gate ahead. I tried to go cautiously, but the entire line behind me shuffled forwards and I was bumped head-first into heaven.
The first thing that I thought of was my dream. The vaguely-remembered pinkish, cloud-like material made up the ground and sky of my world. I wondered whether this was how it was for everyone, or whether it was just my idea of heaven. A little cottage that I was sure I had seen in a book of fairy tales at some point was nestled in a copse of picturesque trees to my right, and a gorgeous garden bloomed to my left. I walked a few paces left.
Huge, antique white and red roses climbed over wild strawberries and raspberries. A giant chocolate fountain stood in a pink-paved circle in the center of the crazy arrangement. Exotic flowers wriggled their way in between paving stones and in patches of shade. A brilliant blue butterfly drifted lazily past my face and the gentle buzzing of distant insects filled the warm, deliciously-scented air. I suddenly recognized the garden as a much more realistic version of a wistful image I had scribbled when I was about eight.
A green wooden bench seemed to appear out of the undergrowth next to me and I sat down heavily on it, amazed. This was the most beautiful place that I could possibly imagine; I supposed that that was the point. I swung my feet and realized that there was a teetering pile of books underneath the bench. Some were in English, some in French (which I had a decent grasp on), and some in a language that didn't look like anything I had ever seen before. If I squinted at it long enough, I could make out the general meaning, which made me wonder if it was some kind of heavenly script. The symbols wavered and made my head hurt if I looked for too long, much like the angels themselves.
Holding some sort of leather-bound tome in my hand which was apparently a history of French journalism, the enormity of my situation hit me. I thought about Cas, sitting at home and whining in my apartment. I thought of my new boyfriend Rod, a really nice guy who worked down the street from the paper at an electronics store. I thought of poor old Mrs. Kennedy next door and all of my friends that I would never go out with again. Because I was dead. I was dead, in heaven, and I was never going home again.
I sniffed sadly. As a shining drop slid off of my chin, I felt something heavier than a tear land on my leg. I looked down to see a chocolate truffle sitting in my lap. I cocked my head in confusion and shook another tear loose, which transformed into a gummy cola bottle to fall on the ground.
So I cried candy in heaven. That was interesting. I kept sobbing quietly and pathetically and eating the candy that this produced until I felt a little calmer and my curiosity returned. Then I stood up, brushed the crushed nuts from my news coat, and wandered back in the direction of the cottage I had seen. The building was grey cobblestone with a thatched roof and cute little windows. The door, which was a deep navy blue, creaked open when I pushed on it.
Inside, there was just one room. A fireplace and low counter made up the kitchen, and the two-person table held a place setting and a big, old-fashioned typewriter. A neat bed was pushed against one wall and a few assorted stools and shelves were arranged in some sort of haphazard order throughout the room. I noticed a piece of paper protruding from the top of the typewriter and bent down to read it.
Welcome to Heaven!
Milk, meat, and vegetables, and other foods will be delivered every other day. The ice cream truck and travelling library come twice a week. If you have any other needs, feel free to type them out and leave them in the garden for your request to be processed.
Any written works may also be left in this location for publishing consideration.
The Management
I snorted; so my heaven was some conglomeration of a newspaper operation and an old-fashioned cottage. I didn't know what that said about me, but I decided it didn't matter. Mostly to keep myself from pacing, I sat down at the table, placed a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter, and made a list of questions to answer at some point.
1. Find out more about angels. I remembered how Zachariah had bossed Joshua. Hierarchy? How do they run heaven/what is their function? I left some space for jotting notes later and continued.
2. What happens to spirits who remain on earth?
3. Can I contact my friends and family?
4. If there's a heaven, is there a Hell? Purgatory?
5. What is the mysterious heaven language?
I remembered some of my conversation with the angels.
6. Reapers?
7. Hunters?
By the time I felt like my brain was empty of questions, the glow outside the windows of my new home had dimmed to a soft twilight interspersed with fireflies. I felt much better for having made a list. It brought some semblance of order to this nonsensical place.
When I stood up, I stretched, expecting to be stiff or sore after my ordeal. I felt… perfect. I glanced at my reflection in the window, then down at myself. As far as I could see, I looked exactly like I had when I had left the house this morning, down to the pumps which should have been torturing my feet right now. They weren't. My news coat and khakis still had smudges of ink on them and there was a dark streak on my forehead; the typewriter must have bled onto my hand. My legs weren't snapped like twigs and my arms weren't splintered, my skull was intact and I was clean of all blood.
I looked down at my bed and didn't feel at all tired. I wondered if I should poke around and look for some food, but I wasn't really hungry either. I suddenly felt incredibly weary at the prospect of living for the rest of eternity without any sleep to break up my time.
As soon as I thought this, I felt sleepy. It was a warm, comfortable kind of tiredness, but I knew what I needed. Feeling a little creeped out at how much this world was ruled by my consciousness, I sank down onto the bed. I barely had time to pull the soft blankets up to my shoulders before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.