Better Off Dead (4 page)

“You replace it? And no one suspects anything? Do
n’t they see you replacing it?”

Jason shook his head. “No, they see nothing. It happens in a split second, like magic, I guess you could say.”

I couldn’t seem to get past the fact that my entire identity could be sucked up into a little vial. That, plus I was never good around needles. “Okay, let’s go back to the part about sucking up my soul into a syringe and then injecting it into the new body … You haven’t ever screwed this part up in the past, I hope?” I could just see myself coming back as a chimp.

“It’s virtually mistake-free. No need to worry,” he said with what I hoped was a genuine smile. “Now, time’s wasting. Let’s see what bodies are available for you.”

I shook my head and narrowed my gaze on his screen, trying not to quantify the words “virtually mistake-free.”

“How tall do you want to be?”

Okay, so I could kinda, sorta see how he could describe this part as fun. I mean, when did you ever get to build the perfect you? I turned my thoughts to the height question, but didn’t have to ponder it long. I was short, so I wanted to be tall. “Um, how about five foot eight, with long legs?”

“Okay, let’s give you a thirty-two-inch inseam.” He entered my desired height into the proper field and made a note about my inseam. “Great. Now,
how much do you want to weigh?”

Well, not as much as I did now, that was for sure. But I also didn’t want to be stick thin. “How about one hundred f
orty?”

Jason nodded. “Okay, what size breasts do you want?
”

Where my bust was concerned, all I could think about was the fact that throughout high school, the boys called me Billy instead of Lily. I wanted some serious boob
s. “How about a thirty-six, D?”

Jason gave me a smile. “Okay, done. What hair and eye col
or do you want?”

And suddenly it occurred to me that there had to be something about the new me that resembled the old me. “Let’s do
dark red hair and green eyes.”

“And age?”

That was easy. I didn’t want to be any older than I already was. “Twenty-two.”

Jason entered my final specification and clicked “submit
.” Instantly, about three hundred thumbnail-sized photos of women sprouted up.

“Okay, now scan through these profiles and decide w
hich one you like,” he ordered.

He stood up and motioned for me to take his seat. I did so and grabbed the mouse with a trembling hand. “This is final, right? I me
an, I can’t change my mind later?”

He nodded and leaned against his desk. “Yeah, no
changing your mind. And once you click on a profile, you have a few seconds to make your decision.”

Phew. That was a lot of pressure.

“Okay,” I said as I started scanning. Waves of faces danced before me and all I could do was quickly focus on each one, trying to decide if it was a face that I wanted to replace my own. If I hoped my specifications would only yield attractive people, I was wrong. I was introduced to buck teeth, wall-eyes, voluminous noses and ski-jump chins. I gulped, thinking I could end up less attractive than I already was.

That’s when I saw a face that truly could have launched a thousand ships.

“Wow, she’s beautiful,” I whispered, even though the image on her profile only revealed her head and shoulders. She had long, dark red hair and large, round, green eyes with a fringe of thick, dark eyelashes. Her eyebrows, which appeared to be natural, were narrow and perfectly arched in the middle. Her nose was pert and upturned, like something you’d imagine finding on a pixie. She was smiling in the photo and her smile revealed pouty lips and perfectly white, straight teeth. I eyed the red “reserve” button up above her smiling face with apprehension.

There was no going
back if I clicked that button.

“Two seconds remaining.”

It was like slow motion as I moved the mouse to the red button and clicked.

Then, before I could register what was happening, the tiny pinch of a pin-prick stung my arm. I glanced down to find Jason stabbing me with a syringe. My heart sped up as I watched the five-inch vial fill with blood.

Suddenly I felt faint, really faint.

“You’re going to be fine, Lily. This is all going to seem like a dream to you.”

“How do I get out of here?” I started, bracing myself against the desk in an effort to stand. Suddenly, the room was spinning and the white walls seemed to be breathing, pushing out against me only to suck themselves back in again.

“Everything will be taken care of for you.” Jason’s voice sounded distant, like he was whispering.

I wanted to say something. I had so many questions swimming through my brain, but all I could think about was closing my eyes.

I was suddenly so tired.

***

Something cold and hard pressed against my cheek. I opened my eyes to find myself lying on a hardwood floor. Pushing up on my hands and knees, I focused on the lines in the floor, which were knotted and
hinted at pine or rustic maple. Hmm, since my apartment in Colorado Springs was lavishly adorned with wall-to-wall, shaggy brown carpet, I couldn’t have been home.

Wondering if I were still asleep, I glanced around myself. Apparently, my brain hadn’t yet woken up, because I didn’t feel any panic at the sight of an unfurnished room dominated by a brick fireplace. To my left was a bay window that revealed acres of verdant grassland, bisected by paths and tall trees.

I had the feeling I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, much less Colorado.

Like a bitter aftertaste, images of a white office with cheap furniture kept haunting my mind. My heart started throbbing as I stood up: the blood rushing from my head and shooting stars in my eyes. I stumbled like a drunken college student and closed my eyes against another vision—that of a waiting room with an angry, old man.

Leaning against the whitewashed wall of the living room, my parched throat ached with the need for water. Glancing around, I spied the kitchen and made my way toward the sparkling marble countertops. My heart felt like it was climbing into my throat, and I had to swallow it down.

I turned on the faucet and cupped my hands under the ice blue flow, gulping the water like a thirsty dog. Then, hoping it might wake me up, I splashed my face
with the freezing cold water. That was when I realized I didn’t have a towel. Oh, well, my shirt would have to do.

Glancing down at myself, the image of white terry short-shorts
, a pink tube top and black high-heeled sandals met my delirious eyes. I never wore pink, since it clashed with my naturally red hair. But what floored me even more than the pink top were my legs. They were as long as flagpoles, long and skinny. Not my legs at all.

I felt a scream rising from my throat and collapsed against the marble countertop, smearing it with my sweaty palms. Flashes of miniature cat statues with musical instruments bounced through my head until it was all I could do to squeeze my eyes shut and hope the images disappeared.

“Adopting the right attitude can convert a negative stress into a positive one,” I said out loud, repeating Hans Selye’s mantra.

I forced my eyes open again and noticed a large, padded manila envelope lying on the counter before me. In scrawled, cursive writing, my first name was displayed like it was an invitation to Prince Charming’s ball. I tore into the package, hoping it held answers for me, hoping a conversation with a guy named Jason was merely the fabric of my dreams. I gripped the spine of what felt like a book, and pulling it out, noticed it was a copy of Dante’s
Inferno
. Not knowing what to make of the book, I set it on the counter beside the envelope and thrust my hand inside the package again. This time, I felt the thin edges of a piece of paper. I pulled it out and read:

Dear Lily,

I hope you like your new home. Please feel free to furnish it anyway you wish. Also, I forgot to mention that any contact with relatives only leads to complications. It’s for this reason that we strictly prohibit any of our employees from contacting former family members or close friends. As far as your previous possessions, they have all been surrendered to your former mother and your old apartment is empty.

As you have agreed to take up the position of Retriever for
AfterLife Enterprises, I searched our databases for openings, and found we are in desperate need of Retrievers in the Underground City. Before you worry yourself unnecessarily, you will be provided with a guide who will not only lead you through the City, but will also act as your guard. I’ve included a handbook to the Underground City which you might find useful.

I glanced at Dante’s Inferno and had the sudden heart-wrenching suspicion that Jason must have made a mistake and sent me the wrong book. My heart started palpitating at the very thought of becoming a Retriever in what basically amounted to
hell; and now it seemed I was even missing the proper guidebook. I glanced at the letter again, hoping Jason left some form of contact information.

The handbook, as you will find, is Dante’s
Inferno
. AfterLife Enterprises hired Mr. Alighieri back in the fourteenth century to chart a guide to the Underground City. While you will find many of his references and his writing, in general, a bit outdated, the book should certainly help you navigate your way throughout the levels of the Underground City.

Should you have any questions, please contact me at the number below. It was a pleasure meeting you and I am very happy to welcome you to the
AfterLife Enterprises team. We’re all pleased to have you on board.

Warm Regards,

Jason Streethorn

Manager,
AfterLife Enterprises

111-111-1111

I dropped the letter as if it burned me.

So it was true! Everything that seemed like a disturbing dream was reality. And a reality that meant I couldn’t ever see my mother
or Miranda again. I’d already assumed such was the case, but to see it in writing drilled the fact home even more. I couldn’t even contemplate the idea that I was going to be soul retrieving in hell. No, as soon as I could collect my wits, I was going to call Jason and demand he find me a more suitable, not to mention safer, career.

As for now, I wouldn’t allow myself to wallow in my own grief—I wouldn’t allow myself to worry over the fact that I was now in a foreign country and thousands of miles from Colorado Springs. No, I would not give myself a pity party. Not if this was going to be my new life.

My new life … I lurched forward, in search of a full-length mirror. The hallway off the kitchen led into a bedroom and I galloped down the hall like a newly born foal, feeling completely unaccustomed to my legs. Losing my balance, I careened into the wall and paced myself the rest of the way.

Not finding a mirror in the bedroom, I continued into the en-suite and was rewarded with an expanse of mirror above the dual sinks. Anxiety waged a destructive path from my gut to my head as I beheld the image reflecting back at me.

I was beautiful. Approaching the mirror tentatively, I couldn’t stop my hands from exploring my face like a blind person. Gone were my flared-nostrils and pig-like nose. In its place was something that would make Nicole Kidman envious. My once smallish eyes had become orbs of green, fringed by extraordinarily long, black lashes. My cheekbones looked like they’d been sculpted by Da Vinci himself. My face was undeniably beautiful, waves of natural auburn hair rippling around it, reaching the tops of my boobs. My boobs … I pulled my tank top forward and glanced down. I couldn’t help gasping. I finally had boobs and they were in a word … exquisite. I squeezed them to ascertain if they were real, and when the tensile spring of true flesh met my fingers, I couldn’t stop smiling.

But just as quickly, the smile dropped right off my lips as the gravity of everything I’d just been through—the accident; knowing I’d never see my mother again; dying
… mingled into a tempest and beat down on me. I couldn’t bear to watch my tears falling from alien green eyes, coursing down a perfectly sculpted cheek. Instead, I collapsed into a heap on the floor.

I wanted to fight against the sadness, but I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t even me! The tears didn’t let up and I rocked back and forth, huddled into a little ball, amid a vacuous room that offered no solace.

A melodic harmony interrupted my breakdown session and I cocked my head to my right side, trying to decipher where it was coming from. It repeated, sounding like notes being plucked on a harp. I stood up and glanced around, seeking the source. A strident knock at the front door alerted me that someone was outside. The symphony of notes? Just my doorbell.

On unstable legs, I reached the front door and opened it while castigating myself for not checking the peephole first.

“It’s about freakin’, deakin’ time.”

The little man frowned and strode inside as I stood there, gaping
at him. He threw his hands on his hips—spinning around as he surveyed the room with blatant approval. He was maybe five foot five, with a circular little body that made him look like an animated apple. His hair was thick and dark brown and looked as if it hadn’t seen a shampoo bottle in weeks. He faced me again, a smile on a face so round, you could’ve bounced it. He was maybe in his early thirties.