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Wallace was dead. He knew this because he could see his corpse. It was under a tree. At least, its head was. What remained of it. He couldn't see it clearly, but judging from that almighty blast of nerve-shattering pain that flashed through his skull milliseconds before he died, he guessed what was left of his head wouldn't look out of place on a slaughterhouse floor.
For a man who just had his brain turned into gray matter puree, Wallace did not feel too shabby. Sure, his skin and clothes were chalk-white, he felt a little light-headed, and his feet listlessly floated a foot above the ground, but other than that: not too shabby. The environment shared his tranquility in the face of death. Birds resumed their perches and their songs after being frightened into the air by the cracking crash of the trunk. Dried leaves that had been thrown up by the impact were fluttering back to the ground, looking as if they had never been disturbed in the first place. Even the bone-white mushrooms Wallace had picked were back on the ground — the wicker basket he had carried them in was upturned a ways from his corpse.
As the light-headedness faded, Wallace found that looking at his own corpse was making him the exact opposite of 'not too shabby.' He wanted to get away from the gruesome sight and the gruesome site as soon as he could. Twisting around in the air, he floated away, legs swishing from side to side as he hovered above the forest floor.
Less than five swishes of the legs later, Wallace heard singing. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. The vocals were like nothing he had ever heard — it was a mixture of moans, coos, and hums, all interwoven into a single voice that flowed through the forest in a haunting, meandering tune. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head, trying to see if he could make out the source of the sound. He could. Further into the forest there was a faint, pulsating blue light peeking between the trees. Just a glimpse of it, and Wallace knew exactly where he wanted to be. Entranced, he hovered forwards, eyes fixed on the singing orb of light.
"Hey, hey! Whoa there, friend!"
Startled out of his entrancement, Wallace spun around towards the new voice.
A boy was jogging up to Wallace, waving his hand about in the air as he silently pattered across the dead leaves littering the ground. He wore a newsboy cap with a matching outfit — newspaper bag included. Wallace stared as the kid skidded to a halt, a sunny grin on his face.
"Phee-yoo! That would've made things a lot harder for me if I wasn't fleet on my feet. What's your name, friend?"
Still staring, Wallace opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a dry, rattling sigh.
The kid smacked a hand against his forehead. "Oh, aren't I a klutz of a reaper! Here, could you keep your mouth open for a sec?"
Too confused to refuse, Wallace left his jaw hanging. The kid reached into his bag and, after rummaging about, pulled out an exotic purple herb. He hopped off the ground, floating for a moment as he plopped it into Wallace's mouth.
"There you go, friend," the kid said as he drifted back down. "Just chew that up and swallow it down if it'd do you fine."
Wallace nodded. He chewed the herb. It had a tart grape taste that, while potent, wasn't unpleasant. After grounding it to a pulp, he swallowed. The effects were instant. Color returned to his form and a choke gurgled up from his previously dry and silent throat. He fell from the air onto his feet, then onto his knees and hands after losing his balance. Heaving pants and dry retches followed.
"Easy, easy," the kid said, putting a steadying hand on Wallace's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but unless someone starts burying the dead with thaselwort in their mouths, this is how you're gonna check in. I mean, the Moyarii came so close with their custom — they just had the wrong kind of plant. With so many worlds you'd think someone would get it right but—"
"Who... who are you?" Wallace croaked, massaging his throat.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon!" the kid said, hopping back with an apologetic smile. The smile turned golden and he thrust out his little hand. "The name's Pam; I'm the Reaper of Happenstance!"
Alternating between staring at Pam's face and staring at his hand, Wallace eventually took the latter and shakily shook it. "I'm Wallace... did you just say 'reaper?' "
Pam beamed as he let go of Wallace's hand. "Yes I did!"
Wallace's hand flopped to the ground. "S-So... I'm dead. I am dead."
" 'Fraid so. Because of something completely out of your control, too. That's why I'm here: I reap people that kick it too soon or too unjustly."
"You... don't look like a reaper."
Pam chuckled. "Yeah, I get that more often than I get gas. For some reason a whole lotta worlds seem to be filled with people that see death as something evil or frightening. But I'm not like that, okay? I'm just a humble guide."
"I see..." Wallace said as he picked himself up off the ground. Despite his movement, the leaves beneath him were undisturbed. He also noticed the singing had stopped.
"Glad you do. Now..." Pam rummaged through his bag again and whipped out a floppy black disc the size of a manhole cover. He threw it on the ground with a 'THWAP!'. Smiling, he gestured towards it. "Just follow me down this here hole, Wally. I'm sure you've got a whole bunch of million-dollar questions, and I'll do my best to answer them on the way back."
At the sight of that circle of void, the cold finality of Wallace's situation finally pierced his shroud of confusion. His face went from befuddled and bemused to distressed and dismayed. "W-Wait, no," he said, stepping back, "I... I can't go I'm... I... I'm not ready to pass on!"
Pam smiled in sympathy, stepping forward and reaching out for Wallace's hand. "You don't have to be ready, Wally, but you don't have to be scared either. I promise you: what's down that hole will make this mess a whole lot easier for you."
"No! This... I'm still young and I haven't done anything to deserves this and... and..." Wallace whipped his head around, desperately searching for help. His eyes settled on his corpse, and then on the bone-white mushrooms that had fallen from his basket.
It was Wallace's turn to smack his forehead. Face now beaming with elation, he turned back to Pam. "I don't have to go."
Pam's smile faltered ever-so-slightly. "Of course you have to go, Wally. Everyone does eventually. I know it's hard when it's suddenly put on you like this but—"
"No, no, you don't understand! I really don't have to go! Gods, I can't believe it took me this long to realize — I was even out picking laments for her..."
By then Pam's smile was only a few micrometers short of a straight line. "Wallace. We need to go."
"I'm not going anywhere; my wife's a lich!"
At that, Pam's smile disappeared completely. He said nothing.
"Y-You know, a necromancer?" Wallace said, nervously gesturing.
Silence.
Wallace's face clenched in annoyance. "She can bring me back!"
Pam closed his eyes, tilted his head down, and let out a long, tired sigh through his nose. When he opened his eyes and looked up at Wallace again, the child was gone. Clear and cold, he spoke:
"Wallace... she cannot."
For a moment, Wallace froze. He licked his lips. He stepped back. He took a shuddering breath. "You're lying."
"Wallace..."
"You're a liar!"
"This is your last chance to come willingly, Wallace."
"You're a liar! You just want to take me away from her! You're one of the Chief God's angels, aren't you! You... you won't take me!"
Wallace turned tail and bolted. Instantly, Pam raised his hands up and clapped twice in rapid succession. In the same instant, Wallace stumbled to a stop. He tried to yell, but his voice was gone again. Now there was only the muffled ambience of the forest and his own anxious breaths.
Pam walked up behind him. "Wallace, I must tell you that reapers... we really, really don't like intruding on the will of a soul. But there's always poor fools like you that make things difficult for us." He walked around Wallace's frozen body, looking up into his face. "Now, I hope this little demonstration of my power over you has knocked some sense into that head of yours. I am going to release you now. You are going to remain calm. We are going to go down that hole, and I'm going to show what lies ahead for you. Do we have a mutual understanding?"
Scowling, Wallace jerked his head down once.
"Good." Some of that childish glow began to seep back into Pam's face. "To tell you true, Wally, we just want to do our best to do what's best for you and the worlds at large. I'm sorry if I simmered some bad blood between us, but I'll make up for it. Somehow."
At that, Pam raised his hands and snapped clapped again. Wallace's limbs slackened and he regained control of his body. To Pam's pleasant surprise, he didn't lunge at him, or even raise his hands towards his neck. He only continued to scowl.
Clearing his throat again, Pam waved a hand towards the hole. "After you?"
Wallace crossed his arms. "Just one thing, tyke."
"Pam, Wallace. I'm not a tyke; I've had enough birthdays that you need scientific notation to properly write my age."
"Scientific notation?"
"Never mind. What is this 'just one thing' you need, Wally?"
Wallace glanced back at his dead body, then at Pam. "I need proof that my wife can't bring me back."
"Well... that's a fair request to make, Wally. But I have to ask you: do you really want to know?"
Wallace's scowl sharpened. "What the hell do you mean, 'do I really want to know?' You're about to steal me away from the love of my gods-damned life. Why wouldn't I want proof that you're telling the truth?"
Pam averted his eyes and tightened his mouth. "I know, Wally. I know I know. It's just that... if I... if we want to show you proof, you're going to have to see something that will make you very, very, very upset." He looked back at Wallace. "Whichever choice you make, you're still passing on. So I just have to ask you: do you really want to know?"
"Yes, damn it! I've been Shelley's assistant for five years now, and her husband for three! I'm not going to... to pass on without knowing for certain that there's no going back to her!"
Pam gave a very un-childlike smirk. "Two years? From what I know of this world, that's quite a slow boil, Wally."
"Prove. It. To. Me," Wallace said with clenched teeth and venomous eyes.
Pam raised his hands. "Very well. But I'm not going to be showing you the proof. You'll need Shdim for that."
"What?"
"The Reaper of Power. He handles people who lived impactful lives. Leaders. Creators. History's makers. You get the picture."
"Why would I need his help."
"Because," Pam said as he walked over to the circle of void, "your wife is quite a creator." When he reached the hole, he turned around and gave Wallace a smile. "Seeya on the other side, Wally." With that, he hopped down.
"Wait!" Wallace shouted, "How the hell am I supposed to meet Shim?"
"It's 'Shdim,' Wallace," a gruff voice said behind him.
With a sharp inhale, Wallace spun around.
He came face to face with the most bizarre man he had ever seen.
The first thing that caught Wallace's eye was the scruffy column of majesty that was Shdim's beard. Light brown and dropping from his sideburns, it cloaked his mouth and cheeks and hung all the way down to his chest.
The second thing that caught his eye was the fact that Shdim didn't have any eyes. At least, that's what it seemed like at first. On second glance Wallace realized that he had what looked like a pair of glossy, strapless eye patches perched on his nose. Wallace had never seen sunglasses before, so his misidentification could be forgiven. He had also never seen a black two-piece suit with matching dress shoes before, so he could be forgiven for being put off by those as well.
"Uh... hello?" Wallace said, hand on chest to still his thrashing heart.
Shdim grinned. "Greetings to you, Wallace." He extended his hand.
Gulping, Wallace pulled his hand from his chest and took Shdim's. In contrast to Pam's jovial little shake, Shdim's was firm and aggressive — a businessman's handshake.
"So, Wallace," he said, retracting his hand and clasping both behind his back, "little Pam told me you wanted to see 'proof' of your death's finality, correct?"
Wallace nodded, his expression hard set but uncomfortable. It was unnerving to talk to someone when you couldn't see their pupils, or where they were looking for that matter.
"Even though," Shdim continued, "as Pam warned you, what you'll see is guaranteed to make you 'very, very, very upset?' "
"I don't want to spend the rest of my... whatever this is... wondering whether I was fooled or not."
Another grin from Shdim. "What an admirable soul we have here. So be it!" He unclasped his hands and raised his arms in a redeemer pose. "I will show you the proof you desire, Wallace."
"How?"
"Well, Wallace. A plus of being a fundamental in the fabric between the worlds? We work on the other side of time."
Shdim snapped his fingers.
He and Wallace disappeared.
♦ ♦ ♦
One of the best benefits of living in a dungeon, Shelley found, was that the subterranean ambience was perfect for tome studying. The nearly subaudible drone of natural ventilation mixed in with the whispers of amethyst candlelight and the 'drip, drip, drip' of moist cavern walls were a soothing backing that helped her submerge herself in the enlightening scripts of yore.
Hovering before a semi-circle of granite desks, she flitted her eyes back and forth across the weathered pages of a tome — one of the many that were stacked all about her stone study in towers of binding and parchment. One of her marble-white hands was poised to turn the page while the other was raised off to the side. Its fingers wiggled intermittently, silently commanding a raven feather quill that scritched across a piece of parchment. It was Shelley's tried-and-true method of note-taking, and quite effective considering the three-meter long scroll cascading off of the desk.
Unblinking, Shelley read on, her face semi-hidden by the shadows of her hooded cloak. She had no need for its warmth — she was undead, after all — but, much like the dripping, droning ambience of the dungeon, she found that the cloak helped her scholarly juices flow.
And, when Wallace was around, its open nature helped certain other juices flow as well.
Devils must have been spoken of — Shelley could hear footsteps from the corridor. She didn't look up or turn around, but the pulsating necromantic energies that served as her heartbeat picked up their pace, then skipped a cycle when she heard a knock on the door frame.
"Hey, Shell," Wallace said.
Shelley's quill paused and she looked to the door. Even through the dim purple light, she could see her husband's ten-mile smile. It only showed up as a twitch of her lips, but on the inside she was smiling just as hard. "Hi."
Wallace looked about the room. "Is now a bad time?"
"Time spent with you is never bad," Shelley said. She hated how insincere it sounded thanks to her frigid monotone, but that's how things had to be. Keeping her emotions in check was a given if she wanted to get the most out of her research.
Fortunately, Wallace seemed to still understand that. He widened his smile and nodded. "Glad to hear it." He walked in, scooting between the tome towers as he made his way over to the desk. "How's work?"
"Satisfactory. I may be on the verge of discovering a new branch in the teachings of Maklict. I will have to cross-check my translations using one of her later works. This branch is not a certainty, but I have high hopes regardless." Shelley waved her hand and the quill plopped back into its inkwell. Leaning back in midair, she stretched. Her joints weren't stiff — the necromantic energies made sure they never were — she just wanted to subtly adjust her cloak so Wallace could get a good eyeful of her modest assets.
If he noticed, he did a good job of hiding it. "Sounds exciting."
"It is very."
Wallace chuckled. "Wonderful. Anyways, just came to ask if you have any spare laments left. I'm thinking of whipping up some Risotto ai funghi tonight."
"My favorite. Take as much as you need."
"Thanks, Shell." Leaning down, Wallace used a finger to lift up Shelley's hood so he could give her a proper peck on the forehead. Winking, he let the hood fall back over her eyes and began to walk back to the doorway.
"Wallace," Shelley said.
"Hm?"
Shelley turned towards him and spread her arms wide. "Hugs."
Wallace laughed and trotted back over to her, scooping her close and hugging her tight to his chest.
Shelley closed her eyes as she rubbed against her lover. She loved his warmth. She loved his scent of cooking herbs and spices. She loved his heartbeat, even if it never changed. She knew that as long as she existed, Wallace would remain her greatest love and her greatest triumph.
She really had done a magnificent job — couldn't even see the stitching holding his head together.
♦ ♦ ♦
"No.
"No!
"NO! NO! NO! NOOOO!"
The sight of Shelley wrapped up in the arms of his undead doppelganger was too much for Wallace. With a shriek of anguish he threw himself against the chamber wall, banging against the ashen stone with one hand while the other clasped his twisted face. "No! No! No! This isn't... NO!"
Shdim stood off to the side, hands behind his back and face somber. "Are you satisfied, Wallace?"
Wallace tore himself from the wall and glared at Shdim. "Like hell I am. This... this..." He looked back at Shelley for a moment. She had let go of the undead and was waving goodbye as he made his way out of the room. Wallace turned back to face Shdim. He had a look that said 'I've figured everything out and I'm desperately trying to convince myself it's true.' "This doesn't prove anything. This is a gods-damned illusion."
Shdim raised an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me like that, you bastard. Both you and the tyke... you're both angels working under that whore in heaven. I see it and I know it. You—"
"Wallace."
Wallace opened his mouth to continue lashing out, but his words failed to come. He didn't know whether it was because of magic or because of intimidation, but looking at Shdim's statuesque stature was enough to keep his tongue held and his lips sealed. Behind him, the muffled scritching of Shelley's pen started up again.
When Shdim was sure he wasn't going to be interrupted, he spoke: "Wallace, I want to make one thing very clear for you. Death is a force above all: above nature, above men, above gods. When your time comes, you come with it. It doesn't matter what you might lose, or what you might miss, or who you might leave behind. I didn't show you this to convince you to join us in the fabric between the worlds — you don't have a choice. I showed you this because you said you wanted to see proof."
"W-Well I reject your 'proof,' " Wallace said, voice straining against Shdim's aura.
"And why is that, Wallace?"
"Because... because Shelley wouldn't be satisfied with that!"
"With what?"
"With a fake!" Wallace spat.
Shdim crossed his arms. "Who said she knows?"
"...What?"
Shdim sighed and shook his head before walking over to Shelley. He stopped at her side, looking down as she worked. "Wallace... she doesn't know." He looked back at Wallace. "None of them know."
"That's... no, that's..."
"None of them know, Wallace. That's why she can accept the man who is not you, because he is you enough for her. Just like she was she enough for you, three years ago."
Wallace shook his head. "What the hell are you even saying!"
"What am I saying, Wallace? What I'm saying is she—" Shdim gestured at Shelley "—is undead."
Wallace stared. "Are you taking the piss?"
"You do understand what that means, correct? Now that you've experienced death for yourself?"
Face reddening in anger, Wallace looked ready to explode. Then a spark of realization wormed its way through the red mist. He narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying... that's not Shelley?"
"Well, to be fair with you Wallace, that's the only 'Shelley' you've ever known. You didn't see her when she still had color to her skin, nor did you see how she screamed and cried and pounded her skinny fists against my chest after I explained to her that the only person entering lichdom... was the corpse she had left behind.
"So yes, Wallace. That's not Shelley, and it doesn't even know it's not Shelley. None of them know."
Wallace was speechless. He stared at Shdim, hands limp at his sides and lips quivering. Shelley's (the undead's) quill continued its muffled scritching and scratching across the parchment.
Shdim sighed and stroked his beard. "I'm sorry Wallace," he said, "but as I said before, nobody is above death. I know it must hurt to have to find this out in one of the worst ways imaginable but..." Shdim sighed again and brought a hand to his face. Gently, he plucked his sunglasses off his nose. To Wallace's relief, it turned out he did have eyes. To Wallace's surprise, those eyes were soft and gray.
Fiddling with his glasses, Shdim continued: "We — the reapers, I mean — are not too fond of things like this ourselves. We—"
"Don't."
Shdim glanced up from his glasses to look at Wallace. But Wallace was doing his best to make sure the reaper couldn't see his eyes. "Don't what?" Shdim said.
"Don't you dare say that our feelings are similar in any gods-damned way. I've been with Shelley for over five years, but it only took me five days to find out that I wanted us to stay together to death and.. and beyond." Wiping his face with a trembling hand, Wallace turned back to Shdim. He seemed ready to talk again, but then his gaze shifted behind the reaper, and onto Shelley.
That heart-wrenchingly familiar sight of her floating form, her dull expression, her slender, bare feet swinging lazily in the air...
It all came crashing down on Wallace. He turned away from Shdim and forced himself against the wall again, burying his face in his arms as the tears fell. "Why..." he said, voice muffled by both his arms and his anguish. "Why, why, why, gods damn it, WHY?" Eventually his sobs overpowered his voice, and he could only let out intermittent 'huk's as he shuddered against the wall.
Closing his eyes, Shdim brought his hand up and snapped his fingers. The entire room, Shelley included, melted away. Color and form washed out into a white smoke that whirled around, making it seem as if the two men were in the eye of a tornado. Within seconds, they were standing in a white void.
Without a wall to support him, Wallace stumbled forward. He didn't even try to steady himself. He fell to his knees, then cradled his face in his hands as the tears continued. His sobbing was the only noise that could be heard in the shadowless expanse.
Shdim walked over to Wallace, still fidgeting with the sunglasses in his hands. He stopped behind him, silent and somber as he gave the grieving man his time.
After Wallace's sobs died down, Shdim spoke: "Wallace?"
Wallace didn't answer, but he didn't move away either.
"I would never," Shdim continued, "want to imply that the grief you feel now is in any way comparable to the feelings I and the other reapers have for undeath."
Sniffling, Wallace lowered his hands and turned around. With wet cheeks, red eyes, and a stony gaze, he looked up at Shdim. He asked him: "why?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you against undeath?"
Shdim gave a single chuckle of exasperation — he couldn't help himself. "Wallace, my good man, has this whole debacle not been explanation enough?"
"You must have been through this a lot of times. There must be more to it than having to see grown men cry."
"Oh, I could write enough books on this topic to fill an entire section of a Hosprary with my ire, but that's not what reapers do, Wallace. I'm a guide, not a faux philosopher."
Wallace slumped his shoulders and stared off into the non-distance. "So what now, then?"
"What now? Well, I suppose I'll just get little Pam back here so he can properly guide you to your new, temporary home." Shdim flicked his sunglasses open and popped them back on his face. "After all, I'm the Reaper of Power. It's up to Pam, as the Reaper of Happenstance, to be your true guide."
"Wait."
Pausing in the middle of raising his hand, Shdim glanced down. "Yes, Wallace?"
"You said you had to explain to Shelley that she couldn't bring herself back to life, right?"
Shdim's face darkened. "Wallace."
"Right?"
Shdim sighed. "Yes. That is correct."
"And you had to do that because, since you're the reaper of power, you were the one who had to guide Shelley into the afterlife?"
"We prefer not to use that term, but yes."
Wallace stood up, swaying slightly as he ascended. He turned to face Shdim. "So... you can take me to her."
For a while, Shdim just stared at Wallace. Then, he hung his head and slowly shook it. "Wallace. Haven't you hurt yourself enough already?"
"You can take me to her."
"But why?" Shdim said, snapping his head back up. "What do you possibly have to gain? She won't recognize you, Wallace! She doesn't have the memories of the lich — she didn't even bother to watch over that walking, talking corpse while—"
Shdim threw up his hand and snapped his fingers. Wallace froze, his balled fist inches from Shdim's nose. The reaper stared at Wallace, his look of shock hidden behind his sunglasses.
"Don't you ever," Wallace hissed through clenched teeth, "talk about Shelley like that again!"
Shdim's look of shock melted away, as did his patience. His eyes burned bright enough to be seen behind his sunglasses, and wisps of black smoke leaked from his snarling mouth like saliva from a rabid hound. He raised a hand, fingers trembling with fury. Wallace stared at those fingers, the digits poised to snap, and realized he was looking at the kill-switch for his very soul.
But then Shdim stopped trembling. The glow behind his sunglasses faded. He dropped his hand with a sigh that sent a mist of black smoke through his mouth and nostrils. Stepping back, he adjusted his sunglasses, fixed his tie, and ran a hand through his beard. Clearing his throat and smoothing out his hair, he set a stony gaze on Wallace.
"Alright Wallace," he said, "I'll take you to Shelley." He gently snapped his fingers without raising his hand, and Wallace could move again. "Consider it one last favor before we part ways — perhaps forever. Though, I think you'll find this to be more of a favor to me than it is to you."
Wallace dropped his fist, swaying a bit as he gathered his bearings. "S-So why the change of heart?"
"Because I want you to have Shelley's soul in your mind, not just her husk."
Shdim raised both hands and snapped his fingers.
♦ ♦ ♦
After a forest, a dungeon, and a featureless white expanse, Wallace found the picturesque medieval town plaza he and Shdim had arrived in to be a welcome change of locale. Cobblestone roads zigzagged between two-story cottages, their thatched roofs subtly shining with morning dew. Cooing pigeons strutted around the well centered in the town plaza, their pudgy round heads twisting about in jittery motion as they searched for food scraps. They would be searching for a long time, however, because the only people in the town besides Wallace and Shdim were gaggles of chalk-white townsfolk, all of them floating through the air with their legs gently swaying about.
Startled, Wallace looked down and turned up his palms, but both his skin and his clothes were still colored. He looked over at Shdim. "Is... is this Limbo?"
Shdim managed a small smile. "No, Wallace. They're not souls we have yet to stuff full of thaselwort. These are nothing more than the representations of people Shelley had positively impacted in her life. As you can see, she was a bit of a figure in her field."
"Ah..." Wallace looked around, taking in all the apparitions as they hovered about town. They weren't very interactive — just floating from place to place, the faintest murmurs of speech flowing out from the crowds. It wasn't an unpleasant sound by any means. Though there were no words, the whispers gave Wallace the feeling that he had just eavesdropped on a dear friend singing his praises. He couldn't help but smile at that sweet, gentle sound.
As he looked around, his gaze fell on a shadowy alley down a road. His smile faltered. He squinted, then widened his eyes. He pointed and said: "What's th—"
"A representation of a person Shelley had negatively impacted in her life," Shdim said.
The apparition certainly looked like it was composed of negative feeling. It crept in the shade of the alley, its trembling shadow-body blending in with the darkness as two pinpoint eyes, red and full of malice, stared out at the white figures in the light.
Wallace shuddered. "What's it doing here?"
"It's here," Shdim said, "because this is how we — or I, to be specific — judge the souls of powerful people."
"Saints and sinners?"
"No, Wallace. There's no spirituality or dogmatic rules when it comes to a powerful person's life in the fabric between the worlds. It's a simple equation. The more people your actions hurt, the more shadows there will be. The more people your actions help, the more light there will be.
"If the light outweighs the dark, then you will be treated to a peaceful realm where you can study the Hosprary at your leisure, moving on if you find a life of relative paradise is too dry for you. If it's a comparable mix of both light and dark, then you might find that you'll be wanting to move on sooner rather than later.
"But if the shadows outweigh the light..." Shdim paused, his mouth upturning in a smile of grim humor. "...I'm afraid even I am not above fire and damnation."
Wallace slowly nodded. "I see... but that's the second time you've mentioned a 'Hosprary.' I've never heard of such a thing."
"Pam will enlighten you when we're finished here. For now, we have a scientist to meet. Come." Shdim turned around, gesturing for Wallace to follow. Wallace turned around himself, then jumped in surprise.
Behind the two of them stood a white marble tower, simplistic as a rook yet tall enough to puncture the clouds. A door of shining mahogany with swirling wrought-iron inserts acted as the entrance; it looked large enough to comfortably fit a bull elephant.
"This is her home?" Wallace said.
"For now," Shdim said. He walked up to the door, knocked three times, then stepped back. There was a dull metallic thud loud enough to send a flock of pigeons flapping into the air. Slowly, the door swung inwards, filling the plaza with the sound of grinding machinery, creaking wood, and rhythmic, reverberant clunks. One final bang sounded off when the door reached its innermost point. Shdim waved a hand inside. "After you?"
Wallace walked through the doorway, head turning and mouth agape. He had never seen a room so huge; it was like an amphitheatre. A giant, rose-red carpet lead up to a pair of marble staircases that spiraled up along the tower walls. Dozens of people — some of them apparitional, others less so — filled the room as they milled and traveled about under the light of a chandelier composed of a thousand teardrop crystals. There were murmurs here as well, but they were more subtle and direct; there were actual conversations going on rather than spectral emanations.
"Impressive, yes?" Shdim said.
Wallace turned back to answer, but jumped when the door shut with a dull boom. He looked behind Shdim, marveling at the wall of clockwork that was the door's inner face. "Y-Yeah, she's got quite a place," Wallace said as he tried to trace the gear patterns. He quickly gave up.
"When you have enough light in your realm," Shdim said, "your limits reach dazzling heights."
Wallace craned his neck upwards. The ceiling of the ground floor looked high enough to have its own weather system. "I can see that."
Shdim nodded and walked ahead, motioning Wallace to follow. "It all depends on the person, really. Big egos result in big living. I remember one gentlemen, a leader in a charity, was perfectly content with a modest lodge in the wilderness. Almost all of his light companions manifested as forest animals."
"What, you mean animals count towards positively impacted people?" Wallace said, stumbling behind Shdim as he continued to look around. "And why are there normal people here?"
"One question at a time, Wallace." Shdim left the main carpet and walked towards a descending stair case.
"Alright, the normal people, then," Wallace said as he dodged between a few. One of them smiled and nodded at Shdim.
"Yes, well, the companions who were closer to Shelley in her life ended up with more cohesive forms."
"Friends and family?"
"Exactly," Shdim said, raising his voice a tad so Wallace could hear him over the sound of his dress shoes clopping down the steps.
"And the animals?"
"When it comes to the generic companions, they simply take whatever form is most comfortable for the deceased. A lot of people that the powerful impact are people they never see."
"Ah."
By the time they reached the bottom landing, the voices from above had shifted from murmurs to whispers. A hallway of obsidian tile, marble walls, and wall-mounted lamps spread out to their right and left. Shdim took the right, Wallace following at his heels.
"It's odd, though" Shdim said, "usually she's still up in her bedchambers this early."
"Huh?" Wallace said.
"Nothing, nothing. We'll be seeing her soon. In fact, we'll be seeing her now." Shdim stopped in front of an oak door. He glanced back at Wallace. "Remember: she won't have any memories of the time you spent with your wife. No matter how much she might look like the corpse, she is a stranger. Treat her like one."
Wallace scowled. "I told you never to—"
Shdim turned back and knocked on the door three times. Clenching his fists, Wallace looked ready to try and land a blow backside Shdim's head, but his scorn faded away once he heard the voice from within the room:
"Yeeees? The door's unlocked, you know. You can let yourself in."
Wallace didn't recognize the voice. It was cool. It was testy. It had a punch that made every word a challenge. He didn't recognize it, yet it was painfully familiar.
"Just the courtesy of a reaper, Shelley," Shdim said as he pushed open the door and walked inside. Wallace followed.
They entered a study jam-packed with knowledge. There wasn't a single bit of wall that didn't have a bookshelf covering it, and there wasn't a single space of shelf that wasn't taken up by a colorful, leather-bound book. There were no books on the green carpet — what wasn't on the shelves was stacked on three mahogany reading desks that were placed end-to-side to make a semisquare. An ornamental ceiling lamp hung above the tables, providing soft, amber reading light to the short, bespectacled woman sitting behind the desks. She looked up from her book.
"Shdim?" Shelley said, eyes widening with surprise.
"It is I," Shdim said.
"Well, that was an awfully short 'forever.' " Shelley pushed herself up with a sly smile. "I definitely wasn't expecting to see you again so soon, if at all. What's your business here?"
"Just a quick errand. But before that—" Shdim waved his hands at the bookshelves surrounding them "—I see you've been paying visits to the Hosprary."
Shelley shrugged. "Maybe I have."
"What gave you second thoughts?"
"Boredom, to be perfectly honest. There's only so many times you can walk around town soaking in that positive energy stuff before you start going a little slack in the head. So I said to myself 'well, I got a titanic library in my basement, why not do the thing I already loved doing when I was alive?' And here I am. I've been addicted ever since."
"Do you think you're getting close to a decision?"
"Oh, not even, my friend." Shelley tilted her head to the side. "By the way, who's this gentleman?"
Wallace flinched as an ice-cold pang struck his heart.
Shelley frowned. "I thought you said people I impacted tangentially didn't get fixed forms, Shdim?"
"He's not from here," Shdim said, "he's the errand. I'd like to intro—"
"Wait..." Wallace croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Wait. I can introduce myself." He walked up to the desk. Shdim gave him a dark glance that said 'don't do anything you'll regret.' He stood across from Shelley, taking a moment to regard the scholar.
Her skin was pink and healthy, her eyes were brown instead of purple, and her hair was sandy-blonde instead of white. Other than that and the spectacles, she was a carbon copy of the Shelley Wallace knew.
Except, that wasn't right. Because the carbon copy was the one that Wallace fell in love with.
Clearing his throat again, Wallace stuck out his hand and said: "I'm... my name's Wallace."
Shelley fixed him with a skewed glance. "Erm, Hello. I'm Shelley Brewer." For a moment it seemed she wouldn't take his hand, but then she reluctantly brought hers up and grasped his for a shake.
Another ice-pang struck Wallace's heart — in direct contrast to the warmth of Shelley's hand. But that was the problem. The warmth. It was a warmth that was not born from pulsing necromantic energies — it was a warmth born from the steady flow of blood coursing through veins. A human warmth. A warmth that, coming from 'Shelley' or anything that resembled 'Shelley,' made Wallace feel like he had vermin crawling all about his skin. It took all of his willpower to not wrench his hand away the second Shelley pushed her palm into his.
Two shakes were all Wallace could take. He slid his hand away, doing his best to keep his discomfort subtle, but he knew he was failing. He could see it in Shelley's eyes. They were not emotionlessly loving like his Shelley's. They were sharp and judgmental. He hated eyes like that — eyes that searched and probed for weakness. In Wallace's mind, he had been hard pressed to find a woman who didn't have eyes like that, which made Shelley's all the more special to him.
Shelley coughed, her eyes briefly flitting over to Shdim. "Is something wrong, Wallace? You look like you've seen a ghost." She nervously chuckled at her own joke, but the atmosphere stayed oppressive.
Wallace took a breath and tried to speak, but no words came. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand looking at that twisted mockery of his one true love. Finally, he forced something out: "I... I need to leave."
Without even giving Shelley a chance to raise an eyebrow, Wallace spun around and pushed himself out the door and stumbled down the hallway. He didn't see where he was going. He didn't want to see anything. He just wanted it all to stop. Enough was enough.
Slapping his hand against the wall, he stopped and bent over, chest heaving as he fought to keep his pants from turning into sobs. Enough crying for today. Enough pain for today. Enough madness for today. Enough was enough.
His legs crumpled beneath him like balsawood stilts. He slid to the floor, leaned his forehead against the cool marble wall, and closed his eyes.
Enough was enough.
"Not even going to give her a chance?" Shdim said.
Wallace opened his eyes but kept his gaze down the hallway — away from the reaper. "What, were you expecting me to fall in love with her?"
"No. But I was hoping you would at least want to learn more about your wife's past."
Wallace reclosed his eyes. "That wasn't my wife."
Shdim sighed. "If you insist. But you've had two different proofs shown to you now, Wallace. Are you satisfied?"
"No. I don't think satisfaction is something I can have without Shelley at my side."
"A phrase I've heard iterations of too many times to count, but those who say it always turn around in the end. It's just a matter of coping with loss. I know loss is something you don't really think about in a world filled with necromancy, but no matter how hard a world's inhabitants might try, the soul is not something you can cage forever." There were footsteps as Shdim walked away. "It's time I took my leave, Wallace. Again — though I question your views — you still get my sympathies for having to discover that truth in one of the worst ways imaginable." A pause. "To be honest, compared to many of the people I've dealt with, you've handled it quite admirably."
Wallace kept silent.
"And a heartfelt goodbye to you too. I leave you in the hands of your rightful guide."
Shdim snapped his fingers and disappeared.
"Did somebody say my name?" A childish voice said.
Wallace opened his eyes to see Pam's grinning face peeking out from a hole in the floor. Without waiting for a response to his question, Pam hopped out of the hole, his newspaper bag swinging at his hip.
"Heya, Wally! Hope Shdim didn't bully you too much." Pam's smile drooped. "Though, from the look on your face, I'd say he didn't pull no punches."
Wallace kept silent.
Pam sighed. "I'll say sorry for him, Wally. He can be really mean, I know. I think it's because he deals with both the very best the worlds have to offer and the very worst the worlds have to offer. When you deal with hundreds of thousands of those kinds of people in a single millisecond, you start to get really loopy in the patience department."
Wallace kept silent.
"Anyways," Pam said, "are you ready to pass over, Wally?"
"I'm ready to sleep," Wallace said.
"Well, you can do plenty of that where we're going. Though, I have to tell you that people who die from happenstance don't get to build up their realms. 'A privilege of the righteously powerful,' Shdim calls it. But don't worry, it's still comfortable. Now, up and at 'em!"
Pam got in front of Wallace and pulled at his shirt, urging him up. Though slack at first, he eventually relented and allowed himself to be guided to his feet. "You promise there's sleep?" he said.
"Absolutely, Wally," Pam said, gently pulling him towards the hole. They stood side by side before it. "Tuck your arms in when you jump, and don't worry, it's not a very big fall. Just remember to bend your knees when you land."
Pam crossed his arms on his chest like a mummy and crouched down. With a "hup!" he sprung up into the air and slipped down the hole, a fading "geeeronimoooooo!" following in his wake.
Looking around, Wallace wondered whether he should just wander off and make things difficult for his abductor. But he was too tired. With a heaving sigh, he snapped his arms against his sides and hopped down the hole.
♦ ♦ ♦
The hallway Wallace tumbled into was much more subdued compared to Shelley's grandiose architecture. Pine paneling and rugs instead of obsidian tile. Oak board walls instead of marble. Flickering candles instead of ornamental lamps. Homely and rustic instead of haughty and regal.
Wallace picked himself up, rubbing his kneecaps — a result of not taking all of Pam's advice. The reaper himself was down the hallway and in front of a door, rummaging in his newspaper bag. As Wallace trudged up to him, he mumbled an "a-ha!" and pulled out an antique copper key. After sliding it inside the keyhole, he paused and looked at Wallace. "Wally," he said, "I know you must be really, really tired, but can I show you one last thing before you take a well-earned rest?"
"Does it involve Shelley?"
"No, no. That's all behind you now as long as you want it to be."
Wallace shrugged his shoulders. "Alright. Fine."
"Good! This won't take a minute." Pam turned the key. There was a clunk that seemed far too loud for a door of that size, and then it slowly creaked open. Pam motioned Wallace inside. Sulking, he went in.
And gaped for the second time that day.
The room Wallace found himself in was so large that he simply had no building to compare it too. Maybe it was the size of a neighborhood, a city, or a county even — he couldn't say for sure because he couldn't see where it ended. And inside the room...
...were books.
Books. Books. Books.
The walls were bookshelves so tall that they seemed to curve inwards and become part of the ceiling. The ceiling itself was held up by columns the size of cathedral spires, and surrounding the columns from top to bottom? Bookshelves. The floor was a woody web of twenty-foot mahogany bookcases, rose-red carpets laid out between them and linking together like city boulevards. All of the carpets and all of the cases converged towards the door Wallace entered through, ending on a grand circle of stairs that lead up to the balcony he stood on.
For one euphoric moment, Wallace forgot Shelley, he forgot death, he even forgot his exhaustion. He just slumped against a guardrail and gaped, taking in the seemingly unending chamber of knowledge before him. Pam trotted up beside him and spread his little arms wide. He spoke:
"This... is the Hosprary. Your Hosprary, Wallace."
"Muh... m-my... mine?"
"Yes," Pam said, eyes alight with delight. "Every single book here is yours. Yours to read. Yours to study. Yours to enjoy. All yours."
"Wha... what are they?"
Pam lowered and crossed his arms. "Every book here tells the stories of the worlds connected by the fabric of death. If you picked one up and read it, you would be given a practically unending sample of life in that world, told through stories, folklore, memoirs, and the like."
"All of them?"
"All of the stories? Well, it may be hard to say depending on the timeframe, but—"
"N-No, I mean all of the... the worlds... all of the worlds in existence?"
Pam's face darkened for a moment. "All of them except one." The light came back. "But it doesn't matter, you still have a nearly infinite amount to choose from!"
And then Wallace remembered. His face sank. "The one I can't read about — It's my own world, isn't it?"
"No, it's not that. You could read about your own world if you wanted. The one you can't read about... it's not important. It doesn't matter."
Wallace gave Pam an aside glance, but he nodded anyways. "So am I supposed to entertain myself with this room until the end of time?"
Pam smiled. "Oh no, Wally. It is fun, but having fun isn't the main point at all. The main point is to find your new home."
"My..." Wallace's eyes widened. "I'm going to choose which world I'm going to live in?"
"Exactly right, Wally," Pam said, nodding. "But before you go hunting for that encyclopedia, you should know that you're not keeping your memories when you're born again. It's a blank-slate start. But really, after what you've been through, would you be against that?"
Wallace looked out across the Hosprary. "I guess if I was honest with myself... I wouldn't." He meant it. Though those painful memories had returned to him, they couldn't completely stifle the stunning wonder he felt in the face of the seemingly endless room before him. Stories upon stories, stacked higher than the tallest steeple, all of them waiting for his page-turning hands and text-soaking eyes. A near-infinite amount of secrets to discover, people to meet, and histories to uncover. All of it, sitting before him, in this silent, mahogany metropolis of leather-bound literature.
"But there's so much here," Wallace said as he turned back to Pam. "How am I supposed to choose which one'll be my new life?"
Pam gave his brightest smile yet. "That's the best part, Wally. You just read and sleep, read and sleep, read and sleep. Then one day, instead of waking up alone in your bed, you'll wake up in a mother's arms."
