Life, A.D. Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Michelle E. Reed

  Life, A.D. by Michelle E. Reed

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC. Month9Books is a registered trademark, and its related logo is a registered trademark of Month9Books, LLC.

  Summary: A teen girl finds her death is not the end of the road as she boards a train for Atman Station, a seemingly benign stop between life and death and what comes after.

  ISBN 978-0-9883409-1-6 (tr. pbk) 978-0-9882513-4-2 (e-Book)

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information, address Month9Books, LLC, 4208 Six Forks Road Suite 1000, Raleigh, NC 27609.

  Visit us online at www.month9books.com

  eBook and print Cover Design by Stephanie Mooney

  Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Month9Books

  For John, who stole my heart in the Jell-O aisle, and Dominic, who stole my heart in Indiana.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The world around me is fuzzy.

  I’m lying on the ground and my face is wet. I blink. Drawing in a shot of frigid air, I shudder at the sensation of a million needles in my throat. Pain sets fire to my leg and shoots up my spine. My left arm is numb, useless. And my right arm is—gone? Mangled?

  I don’t know.

  Don’t panic. The fear grows and festers, running through my bloodstream like a virus.

  My breath comes in short, desperate gasps. The drumbeat rhythm of my heart pounds against my chest, sending shockwaves to my fingers and toes.

  My thoughts reach across five years, coming to rest on my last memory of Aaron. His lifeless body was still and silent, an empty shell of the boy I loved. I’m not ready to be with you. Not yet.

  I jerk my head off the ground. A scream escapes my lips as burning pain engulfs my every molecule. I fight to move. My unresponsive limbs refuse to help me shift position.

  I need help.

  Panic steals my concentration and threatens to drag me away. Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision, sending my labored breathing into overdrive.

  I’m going to die here.

  “Somebody, please … ” My voice is unrecognizable, deep and gurgling. I gag on blood and saliva.

  Where am I?

  I lift my head again in a frantic effort to get my bearings. I’m on the side of the road by a forest. Only the tiniest of buds peek from the trees and shrubs, and, after staring at them for a bit, I swear I can see them shiver. I, too, tremble, cold and shaken.

  A chickadee sings out its springtime call from a nearby tree, whistling “sweet weather” and waiting for a reply. A crunch of snow from the nearby forest signals a passing animal.

  Frost is still rooted in the ground, and the sky refuses to allow sunshine through the thick layer of haze. There is a freshness to the air. That must be what people mean when they say it smells like spring.

  The deserted stretch of highway offers little hope; the animals and forest are the only witnesses as life slips from my grasp.

  No one is coming.

  The blackness advances. I’m getting colder, the numbness spreading down my body from my arms.

  The sound of my ringtone snaps me back to reality. Where’s my phone? My teeth clench in agony. I manage to turn my head.

  How did I get here?

  The phone is well out of reach—ten feet or so away, ringing despite being trapped under the crumpled remains of the overturned car. My shoulder spasms and what’s left of my mangled right arm flops into view. My mind resists the image: twisted, bloodied flesh ripped from the visible bones of my forearm.

  My outstretched fingers refuse to budge, even to escape the slow-moving pool of red creeping toward them.

  My ragged breathing accelerates, my heart races, and I do something I’ve never done before: I pray.

  Stay calm.

  Survive.

  The sound of a distant whistle breaks through my raspy, disjointed plea for mercy, for life.

  My breath fogs up the window as I stare into the dark night from my seat. The landscape is a stark and eerie blur whipping past with unimaginable speed.

  “A train?” A strange echo distorts my voice. Terror threatens to roll over me like a tidal wave.

  How did I get here?

  There was a crash. A car accident. It was early morning.

  Why is it dark out?

  I cover my face with my hands, and it hits me: my arms work again. I stretch out my hands and wiggle my fingers. Both of my arms are unharmed. Pristine.

  What’s happening to me?

  The vast expanse of nothingness outside the window provides no clues—no hint of place, time, or destination. The only certainty is my need to get home.

  A pale hand comes to rest on my shoulder. An older man in an immaculate suit and overcoat braces against me for support as he sits down. “Sorry about that, sweetheart.” His voice is distant, hollow.

  I close my eyes. The scream of crumpling metal rings in my ears.

  I smell gasoline. Burned rubber. The engine hisses as fluids trickle through the overturned car to the pavement.

  There’s the rumble of an approaching diesel engine. The gravel pops as the vehicle comes to a stop. A door opens and shuts.

  “Aw, shit,” a man says. His footfalls are quick as he approaches. His phone beeps three times. “I need an ambulance! I’m on County D, about half a mile north … ”

  “Haven’t used my legs in a long time,” says the man in the suit. He tips his hat as he settles in his seat. “Looks like I need a refresher course.” The hollow ring to his voice is gone. He turns his attention to the window and shakes his head, his eyes bright with fascination. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

  A moan seeps from me like a toxic cloud.

  He puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Oh, now, everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  “I need to get out of here. My mom must be getting worried by now.”

  “She’ll be okay.”

  “No, she won’t! I wrecked the car. I have to explain. I have to get home.”

  “I don’t think we get to go home—not from this.” He gives the car a calm, methodical appraisal and nods.

  Why isn’t he panicking?

  “Don’t say that.” Grief and terror shake my body as I lean into this stranger’s shoulder and allow myself to fall apart.

  Time eludes me. For five minutes, or perhaps five hours, I cry ugly, desperate tears.

  “Feel better?” he finally asks.

  My breakdown has reduced from a crescendo of panic to a quiet sniffle. I nod, catching my breath. “A little.” My tears have run dry, but the feeling of dread remains. I try to wipe the mess I’ve made of his lapel clean with the back of my hand. “Your coat’s ruined.”

  He waves off my concern. “Don’t worry about it. They may have sent me in my best suit, but I don’t think it will matter where we’re going.”

  Panic grabs me again. “No. God, no. We can’t be—”

  “Ten minutes ago, I was lying in the hospital bed that’s crammed into my living room. Now I’m on a train.”

  His words are a punch in the gut, driving me to my feet. “I have to find my mom.”

  Even if it’s to say goodbye.

  His blue eyes are calm as he looks up from his seat. “Doesn’t seem right, you being so
young and all.” He extends a steady hand to me. “The name’s Sam, by the way.”

  “I’m Dez.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dez. The train’s a bit of a shocker, huh? Did you hear it coming? The distant rumble before it all went … ” He trails off as he searches for the right word. “ … lopsided?”

  I collapse back into my seat. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  “We sure can.”

  “This is all so … ” I scan the car, still looking for answers. Gleaming hardwood moldings in a rich, deep red run the length of the car. I run my fingers across the repeating lotus flower pattern. The wood is smooth as glass. Soft light filters down from the octagonal stained-glass fixtures above, leaving multi-hued patterns on the royal purple seats and plush emerald carpet. The colorful lights shift and dance on my arms.

  This must be what it’s like inside a kaleidoscope.

  Sam settles back into his seat. “Have you ever been on a train before?”

  “No,” I say, but a memory flashes in my mind. “Wait, that’s not true. When I was little. My parents took me to Chicago on a train.”

  “I wonder if this one has an observation car.”

  “Who cares? I just want to find a way off.”

  “I don’t think you want to go out there, dear girl, all alone, and no idea where we are. It sounds like a bad idea to me.”

  “Worse than just sitting here, waiting for god knows what?”

  “Let’s at least find out if there’s an observation car. That way we might be able to get the lay of the land.”

  “Fine,” I concede.

  Sam leads the way, and it seems we have the place to ourselves. Following close behind, I catch our reflections in the window and notice I’m wearing my favorite sundress. It’s the color of a ripe peach, and I’ve always loved the way it pops against my dark skin. It gives me an odd feeling of comfort to be joined in this place by something so simple that I love. I pause for a moment to smooth the gauzy fabric against my thighs.

  Sam slides open the door to the next car. The two cars are swaying in slightly different rhythms as we speed down the track. I take an unsteady step across the threshold.

  As the second door clicks behind me, I’m astonished to find an ancient-looking man falling asleep in his seat. His hat is tipped down over his eyes, and his breathing is slow and heavy. A pale, gaunt woman sits two rows ahead of him. She’s murmuring to herself and rocking back and forth in a daze with her arms wrapped around her body. She doesn’t seem to notice us as we pass.

  We find our way to a car with picture windows running its length on both sides. Sam takes a seat on a vibrant plum-colored couch, and I join him.

  He squints as he stares out the window. “Well, I can’t see a damn thing.”

  “Does it matter? I’m not sure I want to see where we’re going.”

  “Pessimism doesn’t suit you.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t even know me.” An idea pops into my head, and I sit up from my slouch. “Then again, maybe you do. Maybe you’re some sort of reaper, and you’ve been following me my whole life.” I shake my head. “Problem is, I don’t believe in any of that crap.”

  “I assure you, I am quite real, and not a reaper. Or at least I was real. I’m not so sure what we are right now.”

  From the next car, we hear the muffled voice of an approaching man.

  “I’d wager that’s the conductor,” Sam offers.

  The man enters our car, walking through as though on patrol. “Next stop, Atman Station! This is our final destination. Upon arrival, exit on the left side of the train. Please have your ticket out and ready for inspection. You will be given further instructions on the platform. This is the express to Atman Station!” The door shuts with a click as he leaves.

  Sam reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a boarding pass tucked into a ticket sleeve. “Looks like I’m going to track eight, platform R, train … ” He scratches the stubble on his chin as he searches. “ … twenty-six. How about you?”

  I make a quick inventory of my surroundings. “I never got a ticket.”

  Sam smiles. “I’m sure it’s just an oversight.”

  Something’s wrong. “I’m going to go check back at our seats. Maybe I left my ticket there.” I hurry to the door.

  My speed increases as I move through the cars. I’m almost at a run as I rush past the catatonic woman and the sleepy old man.

  Back at my seat, I take a frantic, hopeless inventory. On hands and knees, I search the floor and the crevices between the seat cushions.

  It’s not here.

  The door clicks as someone enters the car. I jump to my feet and pivot, nearly crashing headlong into the conductor.

  “I—I don’t have a ticket.”

  He frowns. “You’ll receive instructions at the station. Now, if you don’t mind … ” He sidesteps in an attempt to get around me.

  I grab his arm. “Wait. Maybe I’m not supposed to be here. I could be on the wrong train, or maybe it’s just a mistake.”

  He stares down at my hand.

  “If you’re here, young lady, it’s because you’re meant to be.”

  “But—”

  “We don’t make mistakes. Now take a seat. We’ll be at the station shortly.”

  I trudge back to the observation car and collapse on the couch next to Sam.

  “Didn’t find it?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “I’m sure they’ll get it straightened out once we get there.”

  We fall silent, staring out into the vast darkness.

  Sam lets out a deep sigh. “That bastard cancer got me. How about you?”

  I shake my head, refusing to answer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I stumble off the train, disoriented and clinging to Sam. Jewel-toned towers rise into an azure sky behind a sprawling silver train station that gleams in the bright sunlight. Hundreds of people are filing down the platform stairs, through a vast courtyard, and into what appears to be the station’s main entrance.

  “Sam, what is this?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

  A woman in a brilliant sky-blue uniform that perfectly matches her eyes stands on a raised platform, shouting directions. “Welcome to Atman Station! Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the entrance straight ahead. Have your tickets out and ready to scan. If you do not have a ticket, proceed to the information windows located on your right as you enter the station.”

  Stuck together like Velcro, Sam and I stand out in the huge crowd. She points to us and barks out an order. “Single file, please!”

  Sam gives me an encouraging smile and squeezes my fingertips before letting go and slipping from my grasp into a nearby line.

  “Sam, wait!” I reach for him, but the crush of the crowd is too strong. I grab for his coat sleeve, just beyond my outstretched hand. A surge of bodies forces me away and into a line of my own.

  He turns back to me. “Be bold, Dez! Great things are waiting for you!” With a wave goodbye, he disappears into the crowd.

  My anchor has broken free, leaving me adrift. People bump into me, but say nothing as they make their way around, proceeding toward the station’s main entrance.

  Tripping over my own clumsy feet, I realize I’m standing in a sea of tiny flowers that covers the courtyard in beautiful blooms. Tiny hummingbirds flit about, feeding on the sweet nectar and darting among the legs shuffling toward the station. The distraction is enough to get me moving toward a man who stands before the station’s entrance, directing traffic. Behind him, seven enormous revolving doors turn in slow motion, ushering passengers into the station one by one. He’s dwarfed by rows of towering marble pillars to either side of him. His smile is warm and welcoming, and his dark eyes twinkle with a genuine happiness.

  “Lucky number seven,” I murmur, fixated on the doors.

  He turns to me, but continues to gesture with his arms like a traffic cop. “Ah, yes, our seven doors. Not many take the time to cons
ider their significance, but seven is universal, is it not? The Seven Heavens of Islam. Buddha walked seven steps at birth. There were seven wonders of the ancient world. The walls of Jericho fell on the seventh day, after the city was circled seven times. There are seven Chakras. The Menorah has seven branches. Atlas had seven daughters. There are seven notes in the major scale—”

  “What’s with the train?” I interrupt, unimpressed with his trivia lesson. “What did you use before the invention of the steam engine?” Annoyance has taken the place of my fear.

  “So many questions from someone so new.” He focuses on the crowd. His eyes are bright with amusement.

  “Only two. Here’s another. If I’m dead, why am I breathing? And blinking?”

  Anandi—so says his nametag—reaches for me. His laughter is musical, hypnotic. He gives me his full attention and places his hands on my shoulders. His grasp is warm and strong. “If you’re dreaming, how can you feel this?” he asks with a gentle squeeze.

  I jerk free from his grip and stumble back in line, shaking.

  “It will all be explained in due time, Desiree.” His words trail behind me as I enter the station.

  The bold sense of empowerment I felt flutters away with the hummingbirds, gone as quickly as it arrived.

  Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this isn’t life.

  The line of people I’ve been following scatters. We reach the wide-open space of the station terminal, and something changes. The deer-in-headlights stares disappear; the slouches and shuffling of feet have been checked at the door. My mom believes with absolute certainty that the casinos in Las Vegas spray something in the air to keep you awake so you’ll keep gambling. Maybe here they’re piping calm through the vents. I just wish it would work on me.

  I have to get out of here and tell Mom I’m okay before she leaves for the airport. She’s going to freak when she sees the car.

  An enormous board with a rapidly climbing counter whips its way past eighty-eight thousand. It hangs high on a wall above a sign that reads “To All Trains.”