This is part II of my short story series! Part one was posted on medium, before I found out about steemit. I'm not sure if I can post it on medium after steemit so if anyone can help me clear this out in the comments well, you'll have my upvote :)
You can read part I here.
For a second there I thought I had the answer. I could grasp it in my hands. I wasn’t alive, I never came back to life. This was all part of my afterlife transition process. I never got married, I never got off the boat, I never had a father in law pick me up from the hospital. I didn’t save the child, I didn’t hate the Naggy Norse Nurse Noira and the priest certainly wasn’t there. I had been dead for a while now and all of it was just a constant state of …
“No, you are not dead“ — She — spoke once again sending me into a frenzy spiral of doubt. “You are not dead and this isn’t a dream or a ploy. You are here because none of your deaths corresponded with our entries“. Before I had a chance to reply my wife chipped in, eagerly and abrasive as ever.
“Of course he’s not dead! He got out fine, a few scratches here and there but he was lucky “. She looked towards me with befuddlement. “Look, if you’re here for an interview or something I suggest you do it properly. Drop us an e-mail — here — let me give you my business business card and… I’ve let you in thinking you’re a friend but if you’re just a damn reporter you can-”.
I raised my hand and placed my palm in front of my wife’s face in a single, swift, motion. She stepped backwards, surprised and a bit shocked. She remained silent, not a single word joining the cascade of entangled and almost cohesive phrases that previously reigned.
I knew the consequences of shushing my wife but I wanted answers. What entries? What is -She-? Is -She- an angel? A reaper, an avatar of death or a spirit there to guide those who departed? Why do I feel so connected to her and why can my wife interact with her? I was more scared about the fact that she was visible not just to me but also to Clara. I looked behind me, towards the hallway, half wishing the door will open revealing my father in law’s tall figure. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice — her — but alas the door remained closed.
I looked at — her — again, at her curly blonde hair that swept across her shoulders, pouring over her red velvet jacket. “No earrings” I said to myself, almost scared but for no reason. I was grasping at straws, searching for clues that were nowhere to be found. If I could only figure out what she is I’d know how to handle this, how to handle everything, how to explain my situation and hopefully retain my sanity — and that of those around me.
“I cannot die and you have no earrings ” I shouted out. In my mind I had two separate sentences planned, sentences that made sense but somehow got mixed into a single one in the worst way possible. My only chance — or so I thought — to get some answers and anxiety took the best of me. I turned to face my little Clara and she just stared at me even more befuddled than before. Her entire expression mimicked that of a concerned parent observing a child gluing together dog excrement in a park and eating it. She was concerned and worried but too shocked to intervene, her brain just paralyzed by my previous action and current choice of words.
“I mean, why can’t I die? And I never saw any of you wearing jewelry or watches, ever!”. I still haven’t managed to transpose my thoughts properly but it was a step up.
“We don’t adorn jewelry, it is not needed. And the clothes we wear are only there because you deemed them appropriate when we met. My appearance doesn’t fluctuate between encounters and is shaped by your constant perpetuate absence from our realm” — She — said calmly, effortless even, like I just asked the most pointless question in existence. “You aren’t dead, yes and not for the lack of trying”.
My little Clara gasped but remained silent. I could see her going through the same process I was, trying to piece together what little information she had. I looked at her again trying to comfort her. I knew she thought about my failed suicide attempt from last year. Well, “failed” being the understatement of the year as I only failed in succeeding. I died that time too but when she found me I was wrestling with the rope trying to break free again from the cycle of death and rebirth that was happening for hours.
“You died a total of 74 times as recorded in our entries. Not a single one of them matching with the outcomes in the repository.”. She was right or at least in the ballpark. My long burned journal of experiments I performed had a a bit higher numbers. More questions, more discrepancies and a wife about to break into tears were added to my list of problems — and the day was not over yet.
— She — moved towards us, me anchoring me feet in the ground while Clara positioned herself between us. “Even now she’s trying to protect me” I thought, a feeling of warmth and pride engulfing me. We had our problems, but there she was trying to shield me from danger, face to face with something she did not understand, her mind filling with grief, anger and unknown. — She — stopped inches away form her.
“I mean no harm”, I heard — Her — whispering to my Clara and for the first time in 74 official encounters — She — showed empathy, her eyes lighting up with warm colors. Taken aback by this I hugged my wife out of the way and looked eyes with the beautiful being in front of me: “Then what do you want” I spurred! “What are you and why are you here?”.
“I’m a recorder”.
Those words echoed inside my head for what seemed to be a lifetime. So much time had past that I figured out the meaning behind them, behind everything. She was a recorder and her job was to record MY DEATHS, every one of them. Scribble them down in her report and compare them to the entries written before hand. If a match was found I would be allowed to pass into the afterlife. I wasn’t immortal, I was a glitch, an error, a mistake in their records.
Sadly the eternity didn’t last as long as I expected, or hoped, for that matter as I had my feet firmly planted on the grounds by the sound of a creaky door being opened.
“Your mother went off to Eva’s, looks like it’s just the three of us for the time being” said dad as he entered the hallway. “Why are the two of you still standing in here for?”
Clara looked at him confused, so did I. I turned around and scanned for the Recorder but — She — was nowhere to be seen. Father in law was visibly amused by what he thought was his daughter and groom playing a game of hide and seek with the house cat.
“You won’t find Karl you know. I saw him sleeping on the stove pipe when I was coming in. Want me to get him?”
“It’s ok” I said still visibly ogling the kitchen.
“He’ll come inside just as we get ready for bed! I’ll head upstairs and leave you two alone. Breakfast tomorrow at 9, get some rest and we can talk about what comes next in the morning”. He hugged Clara and went for the stairs, but not before raiding the cabinets for a glass and a bottle. As his the creaking got softer and softer I let out a small sigh and turned to Clara.
“Are you ok?” I asked trying to kiss her forehead. She brushed me off and made a b-line towards the office.
I stood there trying to comprehend what just happened, trying to figure out what she understood and searching for an explanation I could give to her. The thought that I wasn’t really immortal started weighing on me and for the first time in years I was scared of what would happen next. When you think you have an eternity in front of you the thought of a breakup isn’t hard — it means you have all the time in the world to make amends and fix things but now? My only solace was that if she wanted a divorce she’d need to come up with a good explanation for one. No sane-minded lawyer would believe the story that just happened. But maybe there wasn’t a need for one and maybe I could …
“Are you coming? Get IN HERE”. I heard her yell form the office and I instinctively rushed there.
“I think I understand what she is!” she said, with a grin on her face while swiping through a tablet! “She’s like a Witness like..” she paused for a second. “Like someone who witnesses — duh — people’s deaths and reports them”.
“Yes, I pieced that together myself but I need to — “
“Shut up and listen — we’ll talk about last year later — she was there to witness your death, wasn’t she? When you saved the kid, right?”
“Yes, she was there when I .. well when I “
“When you died, yeah I get it”. She wasn’t distressed anymore and I was visibly concerned about the ease of those words coming out of her mouth. “Look, it’s not easy saying that but I finally think I understand what was happening over the past few years — with your hanging and your search history and — it’s not logical and I can’t make much sense and — but I’m relieved, I thought I was going out of my mind thinking I’m the one that — anyway. Listen. I think — She — was there to record your deaths and the child’s death! But you didn’t die and neither did the kid”.
“Yes but she was only there for me, there wasn’t any other recorder there, on scene”.
“Wasn’t there? Did you look?” she started probing me story for details, something she did often.
“Yes I looked, I know how this works! I died before with other people and woke up to a bunch of this bastards flocking around — one for each person who died”. I was a bit annoyed and defensive for reasons that lacked logic. I felt vulnerable and weak.
“So there’s more of them then. In that case… I’m sorry to say this but the kid wasn’t meant to die, right? If she was the only one there it means the kid wasn’t about to die so… so you risked your life for nothing?”
I stood there, trying to understand where she’s going with this.
“Let’s say you did not intervene and the kid would have been hit by the car. Since — they — have entries telling them about the deaths of people and they witness them.. it just means the kid wouldn’t have died. BUT, and this is my point, she was still there. Which means she knew about your death at that point was there to witness it. Do you understand?”
“Understand what? I don’t know where you’re going with this? Are you saying I died for nothing and the kid would have been better off without my hel — “
“I’m saying that she may have planned it all! There’s no way that kid would have survived and with no other recorder there his death was unplanned. I’m saying that maybe she was behind everything this morning! What if she added your death as an entry in the repository and then staged it to match the records?”
“Maybe, but then why am I still alive?”
“Because the entries did not match again and because — She — screwed up! I understand now why you were so shocked when — She — spoke, I take it that never happened before! I think — She — screwed up and that’s why we’re here now!”.
I love her! I love the way her mind works, a true detective! My little Clara once again is on top of the the job. I love her!
“We need to find the kid! I think he’s in danger. The article I was reading on my way home with Sandra said the kid got off fine with a few scratches but a comment — here, from BeckyWhats93 — said he was rushed to a hospital later on due to some complications and headache’s! I think she’s trying to cover up her tracks and we need to find the kid”.
The way her eyes glowed and the grin on her face scare me more than the possibility of death. It’s unsettling a bit. It took me years to cope with my situation and months before I tried to take any action to figure out why I’m not dying but here we are; not 15 minutes later after facing an unknown being and having her marital life turned up-side-down she has a plan in place and wants to take action. I’m scared of her!