Chapter 15. Tessa
Tessa
“These rooms still give me the creeps,” I say as we edge onto the second-floor landing.
“Why do you think I was happy to stay downstairs when we divided up the house? I didn’t want to pass this area ever again.”
“Did you see your body? The morning we woke up here?”
“Oh yeah. And it wasn’t pretty.” Reed grimaces as we pass by the bathroom where he was found. I try very hard not to think about him lying in his own vomit, his body’s futile attempt to reject the poison.
“I’m glad they had me covered at first. Well, except for the boots.
” I shiver, glancing at the empty patch of floor near the windows where my body was discovered.
Memories of that first morning flash back to me: cops photographing the area, the red and blue lights outside, the group of detectives huddled around my crumpled frame on the floor.
The caution tape and plastic sheet are gone now. In fact, the only remaining trace of the investigation is a small pile of evidence flags forgotten on a dusty end table.
“Where should we begin the search?” Reed asks.
As I’m turning to suggest we divvy up the second floor to poke around, I spot the telltale glow of our door.
We had one all along, we just didn’t come up to this floor to investigate until now.
It’s outlined in light, straddling the wall that separates the front room from the bathroom, linking the dueling sites of our deaths.
A large series of numbers is ticking off backward, edged in light above the door frame.
I flip open our phone and find the numbers are in perfect sync: 1,900,498.
Reed puts a finger to his temple and closes his eyes.
It’s a pose I recognize from sitting diagonally from him in calculus.
It’s his doing-computations-in-my-head pose.
I always found it annoying, like he was showing off his “Big Brain” to the room as he worked without a calculator, but now I find myself somewhat endeared by it.
“Twenty-one days, twenty-three hours, fifty-four minutes, and change,” he says.
“That’s what I get, too,” I agree.
We both stare, hypnotized, while the numbers continue to tick down.
At least when we were alive, we had no idea when things would end.
This is so much worse. Time is literally slipping through our fingers.
“Where do you think it goes?” I ask, to distract myself before another minute vanishes forever. “Is it a doorway to heaven?”
“Isn’t it supposed to be a stairway?” he muses.
“Okay, Led Zeppelin. I didn’t know anyone listened to that song besides my dad.”
“You might be surprised by my tastes.” He nudges my shoulder, and my heart skips a beat. Then he turns back to study the door. “I mean, honestly, who knows? It could be heaven. Or hell. Or purgatory.”
“Is that what you believe?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what to believe. My family’s Catholic, but I’ve never been religious. The whole afterlife idea sounded like nonsense before, yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo, staring up at the big clock of doom.
It’s kind of like the stopwatch Tilly and I used when I was trying to perfect my time for the one-hundred-yard dash ahead of last spring’s track tryouts.
Thinking of that competition gives me an idea.
“Maybe it’s none of the above. Maybe it’s like a series of tests.
You confront how you died here, then you move on to some other challenge. ”
Reed wanders around the room, considering. He needs to move while he thinks. Like me. “Who knows if we even remain ourselves when we walk through? Maybe we disintegrate and become one with the universe or something.”
What? No. I want to stay me. “So we’re supposed to walk through without knowing? What a system. We have to trust that it’s better than staying here?” Why is that idea so terrifying? I’m already breaking out in a sweat.
“The way I see it, we didn’t really know what to expect before we died, so it’s not really that different. And we already know we don’t want to stay here, not if it means being stuck as one of those smoke creatures forever.” He glances out the window uneasily.
I stagger to the wall as my legs start to buckle. Why can’t we remain close to our friends and families? Why do we have to go at all?
“Tessa, are you okay?”
No. No, I’m not okay. Panic mounts. I don’t want to step through a door and disappear into nothing.
I don’t want to leave my dad behind. Or Jillian.
Or Tilly. How do I leave everyone I know and love?
We have only three weeks remaining. That’s no time at all.
“I’m not ready.” It’s all I can choke out.
I slide down to the floor, gasping for breath, a fish on dry land.
No. No. No. Not now. Not in front of Reed.
“Tessa?” he says again, but it sounds faraway this time.
It’s hard to hear him over the pounding of my heart.
I can’t get enough air. Can’t even think.
My mind is racing too fast to hold on to a single thought.
Better the devil you know. The idea’s there, then it’s gone.
If I stay and become one of those things in the mist at least I’m here.
Maybe I can still see my family sometimes.
Then like that, those thoughts are vapor, dissolving as fast as they arrived.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Reed slides down beside me. “I think you’re having a panic attack. It’s okay.”
I shake my head furiously, clutching at my sides, scared I can’t seem to draw a full breath. It most definitely is not okay. Nothing about our situation is okay. It could be so much worse on the other side. I don’t know what to trust.
“Hey, look at me. I’ve got you.” He reaches for my hand, steadies me. “Take a breath. In and out. Good. Focus on me. Slowly … in for five … shhhh … out for five … take your time. Breathe with me …”
Through the spiral of fear, his voice anchors me to the world.
I try to focus on his face, those kind eyes, his forehead cinched in worry, and his words.
The whooshing in my ears begins to take form, becomes language that I can understand, and I follow his lead, slowing down my breathing.
In and out … one breath … then another …
“There you go.” Relief breaks over his face.
I don’t know how long we sit like this, only that the afternoon shadows grow long. Eventually I start to feel more like myself.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, running his thumb along the back of my hand. The slow, repetitive rhythm is a comfort, like his solid presence.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” I confess, the words barely a whisper. “I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t know if I can go through that door. And then, what if I can’t? You’re going to leave me, and I’ll be stuck here all alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. That’s a promise. We will walk through that door together. When we’re ready. Okay?” He’s looking at me so intently—no joke, no smirk. There’s nothing casual about it.
“Okay.” My hands are shaking. I look down and notice I’m still clutching the phone.
He pries it gingerly from my fingers and pockets it, wrapping his hands around mine. “Together.”
“Together.” I nod, feeling incredibly grateful that he’s here with me.
After a moment, he drops my hands, mouth quirking up in a smile.
I’m becoming better at recognizing Reed’s moods.
This is how he likes to enter his smart-ass mode.
“Or we could stay and do the smoke thing. It might not be such a bad gig. We’d get to hang around the fields all day.
Take shape one creepy limb at a time. Scare the newbies. Could be kind of fun.”
“Stop.” Some kind of sniffle-snort-laugh erupts from my nose along with a bubble of snot.
Smooth. Real smooth.
I quickly wipe it away. How unfair is it that snot has followed me to the afterlife?
If he noticed, he doesn’t say. “I’m thinking we need better names, though, if we’re going to become one of the SPs.”
“SPs?”
“Smoke People.”
I wrack my brain for a good nickname but come up empty. My thoughts are still scattered.
“Like,” he continues, “I’m thinking you could be Smokey the Bear, and I could be … Smokin’ Hot?”
I almost choke. My cheeks flush, betraying me. “Wait, so I’m named after a firefighting bear in jeans and you’re what? A model?”
“Would you prefer I was Smoke ’Em if You Got ’Em? Or Holy Smokes?”
“How are these even nicknames? You seem confused about the concept.”
“Or, maybe Up in Smoke? Wait, I’ve got it.” He pivots toward me, fingers cocked. “Smoking Gun.”
“What is even happening right now?” I feel lighter and have no idea why. He’s such a goof. These antics shouldn’t be working, but they are.
“We’re doing nicknames for if we stay. Come on, keep up. I’m going to call you Smokey B. I think it has a better ring to it than Smokey the Bear, and—”
I interrupt before he can name himself. “And I’m going to call you Smoke Alarm because you’re loud and you won’t shut up.”
“Smokin’ Hot Alarm, you mean.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“Come on, let’s go explore the rest of the house.” Reed bumps his knee against mine. “Maybe there’s other important stuff we’ve missed.” He hops up, reaching a hand down for me to join him and providing me with just the distraction I need.
I’ve never appreciated him more.