5. Aster
Chapter 5
Aster
A fter reading a ton of books, I stand and stretch though I find that it does no good. I’m strangely numb, and even though my brain feels a little hazy, my body is fine. How long have I been reading anyway?
I look for the door, realizing there isn’t one. How do I get out of here?
“All done?” It’s Farnsworth’s voice.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Perfect.”
I jump slightly when he appears in front of me, then I realize I’m not in the room anymore but back where I first encountered him. One of the figures in black is beside him, holding a clipboard.
“What’s the first rule for a society member?”
Okay, we’re jumping right into the quiz.
“Uh, the living are on a need-to-know basis.”
“Good. What’s your story?”
“I’m a medium.”
“Excellent.”
The figure is checking off items as I speak.
“What special tools does a society member have in their arsenal?”
“We can see spirits.” I tap my chin. “We’re essentially immortal unless…”
Farnsworth tilts his head at an unusual angle. “Unless?”
“Unless we’re expelled from the society.”
“How does one get expelled?” he asks.
“Breaking the rules. Failing to meet the required quota.”
“And?”
“Accidental trade.”
“Correct. Do you understand the trade explanation? It trips up a lot of newbies.”
Nodding, I reply, “I think so. The spirits are tricky. They’ll try to negotiate with me. I have to be very measured and careful with the words I use.”
“Correct.” Farnsworth narrows his eyes, studying me. “What questions do you have?”
“Is there a training period?”
The group of spirits behind me laugh in unison. Abigail pops out from behind Farnsworth, shaking her head before ducking behind him again.
“I’m afraid not. We don’t have enough support for that. You jump right in.”
“Oh.”
“Continue to rely on the handbook. You may have a small lag before you’re assigned but?—”
A loud siren cuts off his sentence and suddenly there’s a flurry of activity. Purple strobe lights flash, casting shadows across the space. Abigail shrieks and disappears while the group of workers crowd around me and Farnsworth in a circle.
“Oh dear,” one of the figures in black says.
“We’ve got a hot one.” Farnsworth taps on what appears to be an electronic tablet that just appeared in his hand. He scrolls through several screens, nodding as his frown deepens. When he glances up at me, he looks almost apologetic. “You’ve got your first assignment.”
“Already?”
“Yes. You’ll get the details shortly. There are two escapees, and we have to wait to see where they plan to settle. I won’t lie to you, Aster. There’s an unpleasant one in the mix. You’ll receive a dossier and instructions on where to find the Horror.”
“Okay, but how will I know?—”
I fall backward, expecting to hit the floor, but instead, I’m suddenly standing in front of my apartment door. I suck in a breath as if I had been underwater, then exhale slowly. I’m home. What the fuck?
I dig my keys out of my pocket and open the door, worried about the state of my miniature poodle, Otto. I have no idea how long I’ve been gone. He must be starving and worried about me.
When I open the door and rush in, I’m surprised to see him curled up in his favorite spot on the couch, his food and water bowls still full. How was he fed?
He hops up, bouncing over to me and waiting to be picked up, acting like he does every day when I come home from work. Weird.
Oh god. Work. I need to call and somehow explain my absence. I wish I knew how long I’ve been gone and how to explain that everyone thought I was dead. Maybe I’ll just feel it out and see how it goes.
I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. Huh. How weird that I don’t have a bunch of missed calls or texts. I unlock the screen and scroll my contacts for my boss’s number. It’s not the best job in the world, but it pays the bills and I need to keep it. I press the Call button and wait for him to answer, catching the time as I do. It’s six p.m. He should be home by now.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hi, Brad. It’s Aster. Sorry to bother you at home, but I felt like I needed to explain my absence and that I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, there was this car accident this morning and, um, everyone thought I was hit, so I got sent to hospital.” That sounds plausible. “Turns out I’m fine.”
“What are you talking about, Aster? I just saw you two hours ago at your desk.”
“I’ll definitely be—what?”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No. Of course not. You saw me at work?”
“You conducted the staff meeting. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Uh. Right. Yeah. Was I late or anything?”
Brad scoffs. “The day you come in late, I will be worried. Did something happen on the way home? Bumped your head or…”
Thinking quickly, I blurt out what I hope is a plausible answer. “You know what? I’m sorry. I took some allergy medicine and must have drifted off and had one of those weird lucid dreams. Ignore me. Sorry again.”
“It’s no problem, but I can stop by if you need some help.”
“No, really, I’m fine. Promise. I’ll drink some water.”
“Okay. See you in the morning.”
“Yeah. Night, Brad.”
After hanging up, I rub my forehead. Maybe it was a dream. What else makes sense? Dying and becoming a Soul Chaser while my life didn’t skip a beat sounds a lot wilder than just a bizarre dream delusion.
I walk to the kitchen to give Otto his wet food while straining to recall my workday. How would I forget it considering I didn’t take any allergy medicines or drift off to sleep? But Otto is fine and Brad said I was at work. Did I somehow black out and forget reality for eight hours?
After I give Otto his food, there’s a knock at the door. When I open it, there’s a black figure standing there, faceless, devoid of anything human. A chill moves down my spine.
The figure hands me a manila folder then dissipates right before my eyes. Okay. Not a dream. I really did die, but how did life just go on without me?
“They aren’t very good at providing details, I’m afraid.”
I gasp, swinging around to see a young man standing behind me. Otto is staring at the man, unusually quiet for a dog known to alert to every person he sees.
“How did you get into my house?”
The man chuckles. “Page forty-eight of the handbook.”
I’m suddenly hit with images of the pages I read earlier in my head, flickering past at a rapid pace, until they stop on the page in question. Okay, good to know I didn’t have to memorize that.
Detecting the dead: Purple, hazy glow, clear blue eyes, slight scent of sulfur.
I look back at the man and sure enough… “You’re dead.”
“You could say that.”
“Are you my assignment?”
“Oh no. I doubt this interaction would be so pleasant if I were.” The man kneels and actually pets my dog, who wags his tail but makes no other sound.
He’s wearing regular, if somewhat outdated, clothing—a chunky gray knit sweater and acid washed jeans rolled at the ankles, with slouchy white socks and white canvas sneakers. His light brown hair is feathered and cut short on the sides, like those guys in the eighties movies my high school friend’s sister used to tell us were amazing.
“Who are you?”
“Page one hundred and seventeen.”
I’m jolted by the flutter of papers again, stopping on the correct page.
Benign entities: On occasion spirits escape from the Below that the society considers neutral and therefore not a threat or requiring containment. Identifying a benign spirit can be done through interaction with animals. Animals have no unpleasant or aggressive reaction to a benign entity.
“Oh. Can I do that?”
“What?”
“Recall the handbook whenever I want to?”
“Yes.” He smiles, standing fully. “Just call out what you want and it will appear.”
“Great. Do you have a name?”
“Michael, but you can call me Crash.”
“Why Crash?”
He shrugs. “It’s how I died. It’s easier than filtering through the millions of Michaels in the Below.” He grins, showing off perfectly straight teeth. “Page eighty-four.”
The book flips through my head again, highlighting a paragraph.
At times, benign entities will attach to Soul Chasers to provide assistance or company.
Crash smiles at me. “I like the newbies.”
I nod, moving to sit at my dining room table. “When did you die?”
“What year is it now?”
“Twenty twenty-four.”
“Whew. Time flies. I died in 1983. I was seventeen.”
“Shit. That’s young. Why weren’t you in the Soul Chasers?”
“Didn’t qualify. The crash was my fault. I was drinking after a party and went off the road. Slammed into a tree.” He smiles. “Didn’t hurt anyone else though.”
“That seems harsh punishment though.”
“It’s not really punishment, but it still blows. I hated the Below. Do you know what happens there?”
“No.”
“I was in the room where all the souls made stupid mistakes. You just sit in front of a screen and watch your life and your decisions replay. There are worse rooms though. Like if you were violent. You get to die the way you hurt people over and over again. The only nice room down there is where the old folks, natural causes, and kids go. It’s called the Garden. They hang out together and do fun things all the time. They get the puppies and kittens.”
“How did you get out?”
Crash raises his hand and a scroll appears in the air between us. As it unravels I see names speeding by, but it stops on his name.
Michael Christopher Andrews—Escaped via spirit board pretending to be the user’s grandfather.
Classification: Benign
“It’s not that hard to get out of my room. The Horrors have to go to extreme lengths to get out, but I guess you know that.”
“I think so. I read so much.”
“It’s a lot.”
“What about the souls in the room with Farnsworth? The beings in black and the others who look like they’re filing paperwork.”
“Ah. It’s complicated, but the black figures, they’re the Strays. Those are the souls that don’t really fit anywhere so they help keep things in the Afterlife organized. The others? They don’t have a name but most of us call them the Rejects. Those are former Soul Chasers who didn’t make it.”
“Didn’t make it?”
Crash scrunches his nose. “They were killed, spiritually speaking, by a Horror. Mission not accomplished.”
The explanation hits my stomach like a rock. “Oh.”
“But don’t you worry, dude. You’ll do fine.”
“If you say so.”
Crash nods, gesturing to the folder I’m still holding. “Let’s see who you’ve got.”
I flip it open to find a picture of a handsome man smiling back at me. It looks like a candid picture, taken at a wedding or another festive event given the black tux he’s wearing. He’s got sandy brown hair, styled in that way where it flips up in the front, but it’s shorter on the sides. His eyes are brown and inquisitive, framed by enviably long eyelashes. He’s happy in the photo, or at least appears to be, with a bright smile and a sprinkling of light freckles across his pale cheeks.
“Hudson Davis,” I read out loud. “Thirty-one. Single. Lives alone.”
“Who’s after him?” Crash asks, perching on my table.
I scan the rest of the paper. “Horror: origin unknown.” I look up. “What does that mean?”
“Hmm. Keep reading.”
Returning my attention to the paper, I continue down the rest of it, stopping on the suspected spirits list.
“Oh. Four spirits escaped at the same time, two are classified as Horrors. The two benign spirits are already attempting to attach themselves to humans. The two Horrors seem to be lost. One is particularly hostile.”
“Ah. That happens sometimes. It should give you some suggestions on who it could be.”
I nod, finding it just as he finishes speaking. “Celine Bradley or Chester Dillon. So the society knows which souls escaped, but not where they are exactly? Farnsworth seemed to know about the Horror’s demeanor.”
“He gets a highlight reel. This is why Soul Chasers exist. There’s a general sense of where the spirits are at all times, but it’s not like a…” He snaps his fingers. “What are those newfangled things called that direct you to places and stuff?”
“GPS?”
Crash nods, smiling. “GPS. It’s not that precise.”
“I see.” I lean back in my chair. “I asked Farnsworth if there was some kind of training or direction, but all of a sudden I blinked and I was here again.”
Crash nods with a disapproving twist to his lips, slipping off the table and floating in the air next to me before settling in a chair beside me.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s hard to do that. Everyone has their own skills and talents that will show up as you get deeper into this.”
“Like what?”
“Like some Chasers are good at talking to the spirits. Others trick them into compliance. Some others enjoy gadgets, trapping them in spirit boxes. You’ll find what works for you.”
I blow out a breath. “So I’m just supposed to…” I shrug.
“I’d start with a visit to Hudson Davis. One of the Horrors is headed his way.”
Crash disappears right before my eyes, but his voice tickles my ear.
“Hurry, newbie. He needs you.”