If you haven’t read Part 1 this will make a lot more sense if you read that first.
Mitch climbed into the backseat of the black, driver-less, Tesla Model X, the falcon wing door closing after him. Andrew walked around to the other side and pulled his robe in before lowering his falcon-wing door. Mitch stared at the angel with a petulant look on his face as the car started moving by itself.
Andrew didn’t notice Mitch staring daggers at him for a good two minutes as he looked admiringly out the window at the buildings along the street. When he finally did notice Mitch, he started, “Signore? Is there a problem?”
“So what is this? Some kind of Uber for the dead?”
Andrew gestured past the unoccupied front seats to the windshield which held a swoopy logo similar to that of lyft, but instead it read “fall”.
“That’s cute,” Mitch shook his head. “Can you tell me where we’re going at least?”
“It is not far, Signore,” Andrew said, going back to staring out the window.
Mitch reflexively reached for his phone. When he pulled it out he let out a tiny shriek.
“Signore?”
“The screen of my phone is shattered,” he held up the handset for Andrew to inspect.
“Ah, yes. That is a feature of your new existence.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That is indeed your telefonino. You will find it is…” he searched for a euphemism, “…adequate. You have no data. You have no contacts. And no matter how you try you cannot replace the screen.” The phone binged a warning – through the cracked screen he could read “Alert: 10% battery left.” “Oh, and you cannot charge it beyond 12%.”
For the first time since he left the WeWork office, true open fear played across Mitch’s face. “That’s… that’s… that’s… insane,” he said.
“Ah, Signore Mitch, you are about to learn new levels of insanity. Oh, look, we are here!” The black Tesla turned from Harrison onto 13th street and pulled into a surprisingly large parking lot.
Mitch looked out the window at the big box retail store the car approached and the color drained from his face. “No, no, no… Andrew, why are you taking me here?”
The car slowed to a stop and Andrew opened his falcon wing door with one hand as he regarded Mitch with a beatific smile. Through the open door Mitch could make out the garish blue and yellow paint scheme and the unmistakable logo of the consumer electronics store, “Buy More”.
They both got out of the car. Andrew tapped on the glass of the passenger window and said, “per un momento, per favore” and the car silently glided away.
“Why are we here?” Mitch again asked as he hurried to catch up with Andrew already moving towards the sliding entry doors. Noticing the darkness inside the store, Mitch added, “Look, it’s not even open. Why are you walking towards the doors that are locked—”
The doors opened with a whoosh and the interior lights snapped to full illumination faster than is literally possible with florescent tubes. “Being an angel has its perks,” he smiled and walked in.
Mitch followed him as he made an immediate left and walked with purpose towards a red and black counter with a sign over it bearing a running stick figure with a briefcase flanked by the words “Nerd Herd.”
“Oh my God,” Mitch stared at the counter. “I’m in hell.”
Andrew let out a genuine laugh as he reached the counter, “Oh no, Signore Mitch, I assure you, you cannot begin to fathom the torment of hell. This,” he picked up a folded white button down shirt and a skinny black tie, “this is merely an irritant at best.” He thought about it a moment, then added, “Albeit a constant, nagging, incessant irritant. Your uniform, Signore.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Andrew?”
“No. Not in the slightest. You have a new job. This is your uniform, Signore.”
“Oh no, Andrew. I’ve got a job – I run a company. I’m not some sort of… technician,” the last word sour in his mouth. He pulled out his phone with the broken screen and tried to bring up the phone app. “One call and I’m out of here.”
Andrew instantly folded the shirt perfectly (because he’s an angel), placing it back on the counter and closed the distance to Mitch with two determined paces. The tall angel stood a half head over Mitch and leaned down to be perfectly eye level just inches from his face. “Signore,” he started with a stern tone barely above a whisper, “let me make something clear: you are dead. When you lived, you lived a terrible, immoral life. The only reason why you did not immediately join your brother in the fiery bowels of hell facing eternal torture and pain you cannot imagine is because your various companies did provide some good in the world – the charity donations, outreach, young student training. Make no mistake, it is abundantly clear none of these things came from a spirit of goodwill but as gestures intended to improve your standing. But these deeds have given you an opportunity that practically no mortal ever gets – you get to try to redeem yourself. But you get no choice in this matter. This, “he gestured behind him to the counter, “is your new job. You will work eight to twelve-hour days six days a week, and you will be the best Nerd Herder here. If you are not, you burn. If you are late, you burn. If you get so much as written up, you burn. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
For the first time in his life (and, for that matter, death), Mitch had no quip, no argument, no addendum or suggestion. His terrified eyes met Andrews and he said just one simple word: “Yes.”
“Good.” Andrew straightened and started back towards the entrance. “Don’t forget your uniform, Signore Mitch,” he said over his shoulder. “Your orientation is tomorrow at 9am sharp. Do not be late. Come!” he said as he walked through the doors.
Mitch didn’t move until he heard the whoosh of the automatic doors closing after Andrew. He hurried to the counter, gathered the clothes, then hurried towards the entrance himself. As he exited the building his breath caught in his throat. There, looming above him were the collective towers of San Francisco’s SoMa and Financial districts, so distinct and familiar they felt like family… only Andrew’s words echoed in his mind – “You are dead.” These buildings, the industries they stand for, the boardrooms he engaged in corporate battle, they were as much a corpse to him as his old body. Mitch finally recognized it: he was dead.
The black Tesla pulled silently up, and Mitch and Andrew wordlessly climbed into the backseat. The car moved out of the parking lot onto a deserted on-ramp for Interstate 80 east. As the ribbons of road began to close in around them for the beginning of the Bay Bridge, Mitch looked up at the sentry-like One Rincon Hill skyscraper and tried to catch sight of his now-dark window near the top but before he could the roads closed in above and they were in the tunnel approach for the bridge. When the black car emerged onto the eastern span of the bay bridge, Mitch gasped as the white suspension tower had been replaced by a giant pale white femur. He looked more closely and noticed that the cables were instead read sinews leading down to the deck of the bridge, glistening obscenely in the harsh LED lighting. “What is this, Andrew? What am I seeing?”
“Oh,” Andrew said nonchalantly, “Signore Mitch, this is the way you will see a lot of things from now on. Think of them as grisly reminders of where you are not.” Mitch looked at him quizzically, “In hell, they build this same bridge just this way every day using live souls. Then they enact a Loma Prieta-grade earthquake and rend it all apart to start another day.” He let the horror play across Mitch’s face for a moment longer then repeated his words from earlier, “Eternal torture and pain you cannot imagine.”
The rest of the drive passed wordlessly until they exited the freeway in Oakland. Mitch stared out at an unfamiliar, run down street with tents and lean-tos along the sidewalk. They finally stopped at what Mitch took to be a burned out three-story building. The falcon doors opened and they both got out. “Where are we?” Mitch asked.
“Your home,” Andrew gestured to the building that Mitch could now tell wasn’t actually burned out, but that he genuinely didn’t think a fire would make it look any worse. Andrew reached in his pocket and produced two objects: “Your key,” he handed the small brass colored key to Mitch adding, “Third story, rent is covered and you have bedbugs you cannot get rid of.” He smiled. “And your Clipper card,” he passed the plastic card over. “The Clipper card never runs out – remember, never be late. You cannot blame it on the card. Or, for that matter, the BART. Plan ahead, Signore! One last thing,” he took a step back and regarded Mitch for a moment. “You are realizing you are dead. You are realizing you have a job you never expected and that you cannot miss under penalty of your soul. This might be a bit…” he shrugged each shoulder back and forth, “overwhelming. It is. And it is an opportunity. Please, succeed, Signore Mitch! I have a bet riding on you,” and he disappeared.
Mitch stared dumbstruck at the sudden absence of the person who had been his guide. Disoriented, he turned towards the front door of the building. The glass in the top half had long been replaced by graffitied plywood. Mitch sighed and took two steps before he heard, “Hey, man…” Turning he saw a twitchy skinny white man with a stained green jacket on, mottled faux-fur hood pulled over his matted dreadlocks. “Hey, man…” he repeated then started, “do you have a light.” Before Mitch had a chance to answer he blurted, “Do you have any money?” louder. Before Mitch could react the man yelled, “Too late!” and pulled out a black snub-nosed revolver and fired three times at point blank range before turning and running off.
The shots caught Mitch in the chest and he collapsed with searing pain. He lay there confused about the pain and how he, who was already dead, was now going to die again. He touched his shirt expecting to feel blood. But he felt nothing but unmarred shirt… and now three very angry, painful bruises. He sat up and saw the man in the green jacket disappear around the corner at the end of the block. “So this is my afterlife,” he said and got to his feet.
I admit this ends in a fairly bleak place. That’s deliberate. Next month I hope to expand this story with a coterie of other characters and places into something approaching a novel. The storylines unfolded before me after I finished the first part, but instead of jumping into that right away I wanted to get Mitch settled here for now. Stay tuned next month for more on this story. But we’ve still got a week left in October and that is SEVEN MORE GHOSTS!!!! – Jordy 🙂
