After

You look around the dark and dusty office, not quite sure how you ended up here. It is actually bigger than it looks, but file cabinets and open boxes full of official forms clutter every wall and make the space claustrophobic. The office belongs to the woman behind the desk, who raises an unamused eyebrow as she looks first at you, then at the man sitting in the chair next to you. He wears eyeliner and a spiked choker, and the tips of his hair are dyed green. He squeezes the arms of the chair in a white-knuckle grip.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he says. “I was just doing my job. I didn’t mean to-“ he cuts off and gives you a sheepish glance.

The woman clasps her fingers in front of her. “Yes, that’s the thing about accidental manslaughter. It tends to be accidental.”

Manslaughter? You want to lean away from the man beside you, repulsed, but your body doesn’t seem to react normally. It feels more like you wobble a bit in your chair and the movement makes you lightheaded.

He gives a suave smile to the woman, his clenched fists the only indicator of nervousness. “But this is a technicality, right? I mean, come on,” he pauses here to glance at the nameplate on the desk. “Lydia. That’s such a great name. Lydia, what do you say we take a rain check on these forms and go grab lunch? I know a fantastic spot up the street that can almost make things taste the way they did in life.”

“I don’t eat. It’s a waste of time. I leave that to the life-wishing rabble.”

You blink, wondering if you’ve heard correctly. The woman, Lydia, looks to you and asks, “I need to collect your statement. In your own words, what happened today?”

“I… I got up for work, showered, brushed my teeth, and started making coffee. Then I… actually, I don’t remember after that. Did something happen? Was I in an accident?” The parts you do remember seem clear in your mind, but there are definitely memories missing, black and maroon spots in your mind like when you’ve stared at the sun for too long.

Lydia writes something down and mutters, “Victim still in post-mortem haze. Your turn, Melloy. How’d you get a sight-seeing pass to the land of the living?”

“As I explained to the police officers, I was working at my legitimate job, HauntHelp, and they issued me the pass. I located my client for the day,” the man nods in my direction, “prepared for the haunting – I wasn’t going to do it while they were in the shower, I’m not that unprofessional – and happened to enter the realm of the living at the exact same time that the police stormed the building. They tore down my cubicle wall! So I yelled at them. You can’t just tear down someone’s walls.”

“Yelled?”

“Well, yes, a somewhat high-pitched yell.”

“So you screamed in fear?” Lydia wrote something on her form.

“No! Don’t write that! The point is, it was a misunderstanding. I screamed, I mean yelled, just as I became visible to this live one, and they up and had a heart attack. Do you understand how I am the victim here?”

“Not at all. Your company is not legitimate, Melloy, which is why the police shut it down this morning. And since your company no longer exists, I’m afraid the blame for accidental manslaughter is solely on you. Your court hearing is on the date listed on the form. Good day.”

“Lydia, let’s be reasonable about this.”

Lydia doesn’t look like she has ever felt the need to be reasonable. She slides the form across to Melloy. “Good day.”

The door opens and a burly man claps his hand on Melloy’s shoulder, leading him out. Lydia shoos you out with a wave, and you find yourself following them, a growing realization in your chest.

The burly man tells you you’ll need to head over to customs to get checked in, but you ignore him, wanting to talk to Melloy first. You follow him outside. He notices, frowns, and stops walking. “Look, you don’t have to stick with me. It’d be a lot better for you if you didn’t.”

You swallow. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

His eyes widen. “You’re just now figuring that bit out? Slow, aren’t you? Head back inside to customs, they’ll set you straight.”

“What happ… no, where am I?”

“Here.” He shrugs and gestures around us. “Your spirit latched on to me once you crossed over, but you should be all right on your own now.”

“But where is here?”

“If you’re really that interested in the theology or whatever it’s called, there’s a college on fourth avenue where you can learn all about the afterlife. You ask me, it’s just the same as it was before. I mean, you’d think bureaucracy would end with death, but you’d be wrong.” He shakes the form in his hand as if to prove his point. “Or if you’d rather you can get a ticket to the Hall of Fame. It’s free for first timers.”

“What’s that?”

“You know when people ask, who would you most want to meet, living or dead? That’s basically it. Famous people everyone wants to meet hang out there. Ay, you’re not famous, are you?”

You shake your head, not remembering what you did in life, but pretty sure you’d remember being famous.

He frowns. “Memories still coming back, huh? Look, is there anyone you know? Anyone you could call?”

“Anyone dead?”

He nods, the green tips of his hair wavering slightly. “Obviously.”

“No, there’s no one.” You remember this, that you were a loner in life. You didn’t realize that character trait would follow you in death. You suppose your grandparents must be here, but why would you want to see them? There was a reason you never visited them when you were alive, not since you were a child. Would they even recognize you now?

“Sorry. Can’t help you then.” He turns and walks away.

A barn owl hoots from atop a streetlight. Whoo, whoo. To you, it sounds more like, Hmm, hmmm. As if he’s pondering something important, something that requires a great deal of thought.

You feel as stumped as the owl. You have no idea what to do, and the only person you know at all here is getting smaller and smaller. Something occurs to you, and a sudden rage fills you. You stomp after him.

“Hey! Hey, Melloy!”

He doesn’t stop, but you run in front of him and push him backwards. “It’s your fault I’m dead. You owe me.”

He puts up a hand, as if to wave away the blame, but you catch his wrist. Melloy tries to pull it free but you hold it still and grip it like you would a snake that you’re making sure doesn’t have the wiggle room to strike. He stares at you, wide-eyed. Your own strength surprises you too. You speak, and realize the words are true, though you didn’t take time to think about them first. “I hate people like you, going around slipping out of blame and sneaking under rules.”

“What do you want?” Melloy asks flatly.

“I want you to pay for what you’ve done. You can’t just murder someone and get away with it. Least of all me. Even if you are a ghost.” You say this last part, realizing that neither he nor you seem totally substantial, which accounts for the lightheadedness you felt earlier and the nausea you’re experiencing now. You don’t know how you’re holding his wrist if neither of you are corporeal, but you choose not to focus on it. Death is full of new experiences.

“First, accidental manslaughter. Second, I’m not getting away with it. Court date, remember? Third, how do you know you even wanted to keep living? And fourth, good job, you figured out we’re ghosts! It takes most people only a few minutes, but you got there eventually.”

“What? Of course I wanted to keep living!” You feel a hollow echo in your chest that says this isn’t true. At least, you don’t know for sure it is. You don’t remember.

“Are you absolutely sure?” He smirks, knowing you’re not. “You wanted the nights when you didn’t sleep so good, the people who cut you off in traffic, the mundane office job, the vacations you never took, the hours upon hours you wasted because you couldn’t figure out what the actual point was?”

You splutter, “Yes. Obviously you’re making it sound worse than it was, but yes, I want all that. If I could get it back I would.”

“Oh really?” He looks interested.

Hope soars in your chest. “Is there a way? Is there a way to go back, or make it so I didn’t die?”

“If there was, you’d really be interested? You want the good and the bad?”

“Yes!” This time you say it with certainty. Perhaps this isn’t the end.

Melloy’s eyes get a little gleam. “You’ve got the next best thing. Death isn’t what everyone thought. It’s just a round two. Version update. Everything I’ve just mentioned, you’ve got right here. So really, you don’t have a problem with me. I haven’t taken anything from you. Look around.”

He manages to slip out of your grip as you do look around, surprised. There are streets, cars, parking meters, shops, animals, people, garbage in the gutter, clouds in the sky. The only thing really different is your wavering ghostly form.

“Hey, you can’t walk away…” Melloy is gone. A few people give you cursory glances. You search the sidewalk for him, trying to spot that green hair, but he seems to have disappeared.

You look around. For a moment, you’re excited, thinking that maybe you can handle death after all. If it’s not so different from life, then there will still be beaches and movies and other nice things, right? But then Melloy’s words echo in your head. The good and the bad?

Both the earlier rage and the sudden excitement fade, leaving an emptiness inside you. You’ve just died, and you discover that it’s no horror, no release, just a feeling like finding the damp ring under your coffee mug when you’ve forgotten to use your coaster.

“Hey,” you say to the next person that walks by. “Can you direct me to the Hall of Fame?”