Something To Dream On (23 page)

Larry strolls into my room with no regard for the shut door. A bunch of twenties, some heroin, blow, and a bag of weed hit the bed. Whatever he wants, it’s gonna suck for me. I haven’t gotten heroin handed to me without a fight in weeks.

“What’s this for?”

“Good news! Your boyfriend’s about to come back.” Larry strolls out like he hasn’t a care in the world. “I heard it through the grapevine that Jensen’s girly is in the hospital and gearing up to die. Go do what ya gotta do to comfort him.”

The door clicks shut, and I’m left staring at my ammunition, awestruck.

Oh, thank you, God! Thank you, for my second chance.

The only limits our heart knows are the ones we give it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Thursday, July 20

I used to be afraid of the dark, but this black, this absolute void of all, brings about a sense of peace. A white light cuts through the darkness and enrobes me. My heart tells me that the melody that plays is the song of angels. Am I dead? If I no longer have a body, how do I feel the physical comfort of lying in a tub of warm water with whirlpool jets massaging my muscles into bliss?

No! I can’t get comfortable!

I’m not ready to leave Earth. Jensen and I are getting married!

The light pulls me upward. Questions spiral in my brain. Will I go to heaven? Are the pearly gates actually made out of pearl? Will I wait in a line to spin a giant wheel that decides my fate? Maybe there's a test. If there is a test, I am so hosed!

I thought you either went up or down. I’m being pulled up and back. Going up is good, but going back?
God, please help!

Is it dumb to ask for help if you are already dead?

The force grows stronger until it spins me around and plops me back into darkness. Silver light slips in, bringing life to a world of fluffy clouds. My feet stand on a flat surface, and there are walls. Is this a glass room above Earth?

Before me is a desk that is made of pearly wood. On it is a silver keyboard and a huge monitor, along with a stress ball shaped like the devil and an Oakland A's bobblehead. At least whomever I’m about to meet is a homie.

Silently, a woman seated in a silver chair, pops in behind the desk. My heart jumps and I gasp, causing me to giggle with embarrassment.

The woman twists back and forth while tapping a pencil into her palm. She acts as if she has been here the entire time.

“Miss Lansing?” She stands and extends a chocolate-toned hand that looks so buffed and polished that it almost dazzles. She’s intimidatingly tall—like the guys on
Supernatural
-type tall—and her grip is strong enough to make sure I know that she’s the one in charge. She’s also got the coolest, swirly purple and pink beads in her braids. “I’m Alvara. Welcome to the gateway. Won’t you have a seat?”

She motions behind me, and a silver toadstool appears. Am I in Wonderland? That seat is ridiculously small. Oh my God! Maybe I’m—
 

My eyes flash downward. My body is the same as when I woke this morning. Fish paste! I thought life on the other side would be different. I take a seat. The stool turns fluid and grows to conform to my tush and back. Crazy cool!

Wait. “The gateway? I can’t be dead! Not now! I'm at least about to enter heaven, right?”

Alvara’s eyes are locked on the monitor as she types with the efficiency of a secretary on
Mad Men
. “Think of this as where we review your files to verify that you qualify for the next round.”

Next round? What the hell? Whoops! I don’t swear. I
never
swear! Why did I do it here of all places? Did I just doom myself? Oh no! Lord, please don't let me be butterscotched before I even get started.

“Relax,” she assures. “You are not
butterscotched,
as you so eloquently put it. If you were, you would have gone straight down. Now, let's see what we have here.” She looks at the screen while letting out the occasional “umm hmm” and raising an eyebrow. I claw my nails into my arm and scratch. How can I itch when I have no true body? My actual body is waiting to be reunited with Jensen while what I have here is a ghostly shell. But I shook hands with the gatekeeper. Man, death is confusing!

“You've done a lot of wonderful work with animals. Your compassion has been exemplary. I see no reason not to move you on to the interview.”

Interview? That means going further into the process. “No! I’m engaged! This can't happen now!”

“Relax, Miss Lansing. I assure you that soon you will be at peace with the situation.”

Alvara resumes her typing while I scan the room. There are no doors, no windows—nothing but glass inside clouds. Impossible. If there is a way in, there is a way out. I just have to find the key.

That’s it! The Return key, just like in that TV show,
Drop Dead Diva
. She pressed Return, went back to Earth, and landed in a different body! My dream doesn’t mean I’m being replaced. I’m coming back in a different body and escaping my old issues!

I bounce up and reach for the keyboard, only to get my hand slapped. Alvara’s eyes flare in warning, and she stares me back down into my seat. I am definitely on to something, but now she knows that I am aware of the Return key trick. “Miss Lansing, there is no escape from fate.”

That’s it! I’ll reach to the other side and hit Escape! That can’t be much different.

I smack the key. Alvara’s “No!” screams through the air. A boom rings out, followed by a golden flash. Darkness sucks me in and drags me through a rollercoaster of motions—flying up, plummeting down, corkscrewing around. I tense in fear of this ending in a painful crash. Oh God. What have I done?

My reflexes have me screaming as the painless impact bounces my butt into a cool sea of tan. Have I made it? Is this one of the patches in the painting?

No, this is tile, not sand or dry grass.

“Code red, room five three three,” a woman’s voice blares above me. “Code red, five three three.”

What the—

A defibrillator cart zooms past as orderlies and nurses race down the hall. A few feet away, Griffin stands with his hand on Mom’s back, looking helpless as she cries onto Paul’s shoulder. Jimmy’s head hangs low as he exits a room.

“Mom! Paul!” I run to them. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Mom!” I tap her shoulder, but my finger doesn’t hit anything.

No! This can’t be!

Heavy sobs come from the room Jimmy just left—sobs that send me racing to find Jensen kneeling next to a bed. I try to throw my arms around him, but they whip right through, leaving them tingling. “Jensen. Honey, I'm here. Talk to me. Please.”

“He can't hear you,” a baritone voice, laced with the tone of compassion, says. Behind us stands a young man in a black suit and white shirt with an open collar. His orange hair is so vivid that it’s practically psychedelic. His eyes are deep blue while his skin is pale as snow. Except for his sculpted features, he reminds me of a statue of a clown in a drive-thru.

“What?”

“He can't hear you. You're not here to him.”

“Yes, I am!” My arms flail.

“Are you trying to signal a passing ship?” Oh, this guy is not only odd looking, he’s witty—or so he thinks! “Your soul may be here, but your body isn't.” He points just beyond me. “Your body is there.”

I whip around, and an unforgiving wave of nausea sweeps through my stomach and up my throat. Time and again I’ve nursed injured animals, but never have I seen a sight this disturbing. Lying under the rows of bandages and tangles of tubes is my body. That face, that figure that I have such a volatile relationship with, that golden hair that is my personal pride and joy—it all seems so impossible, yet my heart breaks in knowing that it is my body that lies under the attack of tubes and wires. We expect to see those in movies and nightmares, not in ourselves.

My heart weakens further when I absorb Jensen’s pain—watching him resting on his knees and releasing the tears I fight back. I drop to his side with my soul sinking at his suffering. Even if I can’t comfort him, that doesn’t mean I can’t give him all the love I have. Somehow, love always comes through, doesn’t it?

A wave of grief washes over me at the thought of losing Jensen, of never seeing my family again, and of never getting another kiss from Etta. Tears threaten to flow as my throat closes in, but I hold them back. I will not collapse. My broken body may be before me, yet somehow I am still here. Clearly I am meant to fight, which means the tears have to wait for another day.

“Please, someone tell me that this is a dream,” Jensen begs.

“What happened?” I ask the man behind us. Is he the Grim Reaper?

“My name is Harold, and you were obsessed with shopping for a dress.”

“Why would that land me in the hospital?”

“You failed to notice that you were walking under a piano.”

“So?”

“It was falling from twenty stories above.” He makes a dive-bombing noise while giving me a plummeting thumbs down.
 

Oh, there is someone with a sick sense of humor around here. One person says that death is not like a TV show, and now Harold tells me I am in a cartoon. I notice a silver tail coming off of me and going into my disabled body. What is going on here?

“If it were a cartoon, you would have a keyboard shaped head. This is real, and before you ask—no. No one is dreaming.”

My stomach gets swishy. I don’t like that these people can hear my thoughts. Are they undead, too? Is this guy a Zombie Angel?

I get an
Oh, please!
look. “No, I’m a run-of-the-mill angel, just like the ones who sing in Hark the Herald.” He waits for me to laugh. I don’t. “Herald and Harold, get it?” I stare. “Oh, come on!” He rolls his eyes at my lack of humor, and then gives up. “Things didn’t work out as orchestrated, but in our defense, our guys did warn that you were too far into the danger area.”

“Nobody warned me!”

He raises an index finger. “They yelled for you to stop. You were supposed to have a life-altering moment to lead you to … Never mind. It’s pointless now. Instead, you tuned us out, chowed it, and died. But then—”

“But then I hit the Escape key and sent myself back the wrong way.”

Harold leans back against the wall and examines his nails. “No. Then you pissed off the gatekeeper and insulted the Big Guy by rejecting Heaven. Thing is, just because you screwed up your destiny doesn’t mean you should screw up Jensen’s. He deserves peace, so you must still be involved in that.”

“So, I am coming back!”

“You know what I like about you? You believe in miracles.” Harold looks to my body in the bed and chuckles. “This isn’t one of those wacky TV shows on Lifetime. That silver tail coming off of your rump means you are tethered to that body. When it goes, so do you. Don’t think of this as your soul returning to Earth, think of it as Purgatory dropping by for tea. You and Jensen were brought into each other’s lives to fulfill destiny. That part hasn’t changed.”

Harold fades, and I’m left kneeling next to Jensen as he sobs. “Honey, I’m here. I am not leaving you.” The defeat in not being able to throw my arms around him cripples my soul.

Jimmy joins us on our knees. “You okay?” he asks Jensen.

Jensen’s irritation sprouts through his sobs. “They say Lizetta can’t hear us, but I swear she’s with us now. It’s her who can’t be heard. It's crazy, I know.”

“It's not crazy,” Jimmy says. “I didn’t feel that way before, but I do now.” Jimmy helps Jensen up, and the guys take seats beside my body. Griffin comes in and pulls up another chair, joining them in vigil. I lie down on the bed so that when Jensen grabs my shell’s hand, mine is right there with his.

Don't worry, honey. I promise that I am coming back to you.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Friday, July 21

Jensen sits with his mom, staring at my body in silent vigil. It’s so sweet that she has driven all this way to be with him for just a few hours. It is hard for her to get away from work, but she wants to be here for us all.

Before Arlene arrived, my night was filled with watching Jensen twist in that chair while struggling with sleep. When he found it, he also found nightmares. Why was I so determined to come back when the only thing I can do is watch the people I love suffer? If I can get through to one person …