Chapter 4 Monroe
MONROE
Rain pitter-patters at the corners of my mind, echoing through the pitch black surrounding me.
Up ahead rests a glowing bud, its layers of pink petals unfurling in the darkness.
With each one, more golden light emanates from the center, spilling out across the soil.
The closer I drift, the warmer I become, as if filled by the blossom.
Its glint of sunshine spreads along my chest, my arms, my legs, until it reaches every slip of skin from the top of my head to my toes.
“Monroe.”
The gentle lilt nearly blends with the rain.
Where am I? Who is calling to me?
The last thing I remember was an orange blur coming into focus and—
I wince with a hiss, halting the memory there.
As my eyes peel open, allowing the world back in, I anticipate a sterile hospital room, the sharp stench of disinfectant, beeping machines, blaring LED lights.
Instead, I’m in a small pink floral-papered room, sprawled across a queen-sized four-poster bed, surrounded by pillows.
And I’m not alone.
Pushing slowly onto my elbows, I squint at the woman draped across the loveseat at the window.
She gracefully stands and glides toward the bed, like her feet aren’t even touching the ground.
My attention dips to the long watercolored dress trailing behind her, the chiffon a swirl of shades, her skin a rose gold with a rainbow of hues streaked across every inch aside from her ethereal face.
Inhumanly timeless.
She sits on her hip next to me on the bed.
“Are you an angel?” I rasp through my disbelief, half wondering if I’m stuck in a dream. I never considered myself religious, and I was far from devout, but how else can I explain this otherworldly presence standing before me?
Her eyes, a radiant pair of color wheels, soften. “Not quite. You can call me Fate.”
My fingers fumble across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. Snapping my chin back toward the nightstand where my purple tortoiseshell glasses sit, I slip them on, though I don’t seem to need them anymore.
This is some really strange dream.
“What happened?”
“Do you remember anything?”
Rubber screeching against road. Orange metal. A smack. Crunch.
My fingers clutch the comforter, nails scraping the stitching. I hold tight and blink away the memory. Averting my gaze, I croak out words I never expected to say. “Did I…die?”
It’s a dumb question, but I’m truly dumbfounded by what I’m seeing.
Fate purses her rose-gold lips and nods. “You’ve crossed into the afterlife, beyond the mortal veil,” she whispers, her voice a soft hush.
“No, no, no, no, no…” I shake my head. “This can’t be right. I’m not ready.”
“Monroe—”
“I still have so much left to do,” I rasp.
She drifts a hand down my cheek, a nail sweeping away something wet. I stare at the droplet and my brows bunch.
A tear.
“This can’t be true.” I tug the comforter closer to myself and shiver against its warmth.
None of this makes sense. Everyone I loved, every client and Painting Hope member I was helping, everything I was building…
my entire life ripped from under my feet.
A future of possibility—of impact—cut off in an instant.
Gone.
“Is this heaven?” I sit up higher and glance out the window, searching for any hint of fire and brimstone, just in case. “Hell?”
“Neither. Think of it as a new beginning.” She holds out a hand and nods at the full-length mirror in the corner. As I slip my palm against hers, I start shaking, staring at my skin. It’s the color of pink quartz. I wobble with each step toward my reflection, blinking about ten times.
My hair is no longer blonde. It’s mint green with white and pink flowers pinned into the waves floating above my shoulders.
The shade matches my eyes, which used to be the hue of rich grass.
And every inch of skin showing beneath the white floral slip I’ve been dressed in is that pale pink, my body suspended in a permanent blush.
My chin wobbles in my reflection. “Why do I look like this?”
Fate steps up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “You’re a harbinger.”
“A what?” I set my hands on my hips, gripping so tight I pinch my skin, an eerie reminder that I am here, in the present. This is no dream nor nightmare.
I’m dead.
Discolored.
Whatever rock bottom is, I’m certain I’ve hit it.
“You’re an immortal.” Fate’s rose-gold brows lift, along with the corner of her lips. “More precisely, you’re a Bloom, a bringer of spring.”
A bringer of spring? They must have the wrong person. I’m more serial killer than gardener when it comes to foliage.
“I don’t understand.” I retreat a few steps. “How did this happen?”
Turning for the door, I rush through it, scanning over the other three lining the halls. They’re all shut, their rose-gold knobs glinting like beacons.
Who else is here?
I’m not sure I want to know, so instead of giving into my curiosity, I descend the spiral staircase. With each step toward the bottom floor, I hold my breath, unsure if the floating wooden planks will buckle beneath my feet.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Fate gently asks, following me.
“A bus.” My jaw screws shut.
“You died on impact.”
I halt at her words, my hand quivering over the doorknob, eager to leave whatever hellscape this is.
I want to go home. Wake up in my own bed, in my little apartment, and have some coffee in a hand-painted teacup that doesn’t match any of the others.
Shutting my eyes, I inhale and exhale, hesitating a moment before opening them again.
I’m still in front of that same door.
“When?”
“A few days ago… Sometimes it takes a bit to regain consciousness after.” Fate places a palm on my arm.
Did Beth think I stood her up when I never showed for Sunday dinner? Was she able to go see Richard in the hospital? Did he make it out okay? Do they even know I died? How did everyone find out? Were my parents the first ones notified as my next of kin? I hadn’t spoken to them in months.
The questions turn over and over in my mind, churning until bile rises up, clogging my throat.
Swallowing down my fear, I release my fists and clasp my hands together. The pads of my fingers drag over the crescent-shaped dents in my palms. I finally muster the courage to glance over my shoulder at Fate. “This must be some mistake. There’s still so much I have left to do. People who need me.”
“Yes, you do,” Fate says, but I’m too busy wondering if anyone knew where to look for my will… and what it even said. It’s been years since I had it drawn up. I thought I’d have time to redo it, but I’d been wrong. I guess the saying’s true:
Time waits for no one.
Fate brushes back some of the mint strands hanging in front of my face, tucking them behind my ear, then cradles my cheek. “That’s why I brought you here.”
“You don’t understand.” My hands fist at my sides.
This can’t be real. It’s a dream. A nightmare that I need to wake up from.
Wake the fuck up, Monroe.
I pinch my thigh until it sears.
“I do understand.” Fate drops her hand to mine and lifts it away from the skin, frowning at the dark-pink divots peeking from beneath the hem of my slip. “In time, you’ll come to embrace your new life here.”
“I have a life.” One I need to get back to.
Fate sighs. “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“That’s an understatement.” My hand grips the knob and I twist, but nothing prepares me for what’s beyond the porch draped in sunshine.
There are flowers everywhere, climbing along the vines reaching up the stony cottage I’m inside of.
Deep-green foliage and vibrant blossoms wrap around the walkways lining the row of houses circling the cul-de-sac.
At its center, a fountain burbles with pale-pink water that shifts into hues of green and lavender, pouring from an arrangement of wildflowers, each towering at different heights.
“What is this place?”
People stroll along the row, many unable to avert their stares.
Probably wondering who I am and why I’m in a slip.
Not that I mind their attention. I stare right back.
Their skin and hair is like mine, unusual hues ranging from dark-forest green to pale lilac and creams, as if I’ve wandered into some surrealist’s painting.
“This is spring’s territory.” Fate comes up next to me, nodding in acknowledgment at those who watch her, some in awe, others wary. “Welcome to your new home, Monroe.” She waves a hand toward the flourishing city poised ahead of us. “This is Florezca.”
I stagger back inside the doorway and shut it before Fate can enter. Turning around, I come face-to-face with rainbow-streaked hair and color-palette eyes narrowed on me, but she says nothing. A few doors groan from above and three multicolored people approach the balustrade and stare down at us.
“Right on time. Everyone, this is Monroe,” Fate says, gesturing at me with long, elegant fingers. “Why don’t you come introduce yourselves?”
The harbinger with cropped rich-rose hair and a slightly darker shade for her skin waves. She’s in denim overalls with a white tank beneath it. “You’re finally awake.”
“I’m Roxy,” says the lilac harbinger beside the rose-colored one. She loops an arm around a dark-lavender man who’s a full head taller than her. He gives her a goofy smile as she musses his green curls that are a hue lighter than my own. “This is Kendrick.”
The rosy harbinger taps her chest. “And I’m Cherri.”
“You all live here?” I gesture up toward the doors on the second level. A warm breeze blows from behind me, and I spin, finding the space where Fate once stood completely empty. My brows furrow. “Where—”
Cherri shrugs. “She tends to do that.”
The three descend the stairs one at a time, circling down the floating planks of wood. Kendrick turns to Roxy. “Probably has another harbinger to bring back.”
“How are you taking it?” Roxy asks, her focus wholly on me. She reaches the bottom stair and holds out a hand, waiting until I give her mine. She clasps it between her two, gently sketching circles over my palm with lilac fingertips inked in delicate black vines.
“Being dead?” I ask, eyes tracing where each black line disappears beneath the sleeves of her creamy blouse. “Just swell.”
She lets go of my hand, catching my chin with her knuckle and lifts it, her mossy gaze boring into mine. “Don’t worry. Breakdowns are pretty normal around here.”
Well, that’s reassuring…
Blush petals peek from between strands of dark hair, reaching the middle of her back. It’s nearly black, but when the light hits it from certain angles, there’s a green iridescent sheen to it.
She’s beautiful. They all are in an oddly ethereal way. Not as severely inhuman as Fate, but I still can’t help but be in awe of them. I’m supposed to be one of these…harbingers? Seems impossible until I wiggle pale-pink fingers in front of my face.
I frown. “How long have you been like this?”
It feels more polite to ask than when did you die?
“I’ve been a Bloom for about thirty mortal years,” says Kendrick, chest puffing with pride.
Roxy chuckles, scanning him up and down with a shake of her head. “Thirty-two here.”
“Six months.” Cherri beams and bounces on her heels. “I’ll be starting my training at the Conservatory soon.”
“It’s the academy for adult Blooms,” Roxy supplies. “And I’m a server at Novel Nibbles. It’s part bookstore, part café.”
A café? Maybe being dead won’t be an entire hellscape.
“It’s great.” She glances over at Kendrick. “I don’t go out for spring anymore. Paid my dues.”
“And I work over at the Sprouts School. Teaching the little blossoms Language Arts and Literature,” Kendrick says.
Roxy holds out her hand and nods toward the door. “Would you like a tour? Might help you get a bit more acclimated to harbinger life.”
“Umm…maybe later.” I gnaw at my bottom lip until it’s raw. While I’m sure getting my bearings would be helpful, what’s on the other side of that door is more than overwhelming. It’s dizzying. “Right now, I’d like to crawl back under the covers.”
“Understandable,” she says, swallowing thickly. “Get some rest. We’ll show you around another time.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say, trying to be polite. My foot wobbles against the woodgrain as I ascend the first step. Inhaling slowly, I count each inhalation and exhalation until I’m outside the room I woke up in.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Cherri calls up. Her chest is lifted, like she’s ready to jump in and assist. Kendrick nods next to her.
“Thanks.” I cast the three of them a shaky smile. “I think right now I just need some more sleep.”
Before they say another word, I slip into the room and shut the door behind me, unable to get into bed fast enough.
Pulling the blanket over myself, I sift through some breathing exercises, not sure which to try first. Heat stings behind my eyes, and I slam them shut, desperate for the tears not to flow.
All I want is to sleep, wake up from this fever dream, and be home.