Life, A.D. Read online

  I step to the side. “You have no idea what I want.” He shadows me as I move back and forth.

  “There’s nowhere to go, Dez.”

  “This place seems pretty big. Lots of hallways. Lots of corridors.”

  He grabs my wrist, but I yank free. “Don’t!” I yell. “Don’t you put your hands on me.”

  “Let’s not do this again. You know how it’s going to end.” He glances back over his shoulder as Crosby and Eliza arrive at the end of the hall.

  “I thought you loved the chase?” I snap.

  “I don’t love lost causes.”

  “So I’m supposed to make your job easier?”

  He offers me his hand again, a peace offering tempered by a frown. “It’s enough, Dez. Don’t be stupid.”

  His words pull loose the last ratty thread holding me together. I lunge at him, screaming.

  There’s a blinding flash of light. A deafening shriek sends a shudder from my head to my toes. My knees buckle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  My head throbs. The pain is an electrical storm blazing through my brain.

  My limbs are leaden.

  My tongue feels big, my lips heavy. I manage a groan.

  “She’s coming to,” a voice says.

  A hand squeezes my shoulder. “Almost done, Dez,” another voice tells me. “You’ll be feeling much better in just a bit.”

  The room comes into focus. It’s small, with only a few feet of space between my bed and the walls. There are no windows and no decorations, except for a single poster on the wall. The simple design of black lettering on a white background declares its message in block print.

  RELEASE WHO YOU WERE, BECOME WHO YOU ARE

  Tube lighting on the ceiling casts the room in a yellow glow. There’s an open door to the right letting in the din of activity—conversations in the hallway, shuffling feet, electronic beeps—of whatever this place is.

  My mind races, but my mouth can’t form words.

  The woman standing over me flips her long ponytail off her shoulder. “Your thoughts will unmuddle in just a minute. You need some time to adjust, but it won’t take long.”

  Eliza.

  None of this makes sense. “Where am I?”

  She adjusts the pillow behind my head. “Just relax, Dez. You’re safe.”

  My clumsy hand goes to my face. “My head … ”

  “It’s a side effect of the procedure. Should pass soon.” Eliza turns to the door. “There’s someone here to see you.” She walks out of the room.

  “What procedure?” I call after her, my voice little more than a croak.

  A tall, lithe woman walks through the door. She greets me with a warm smile. “Desiree, I presume?”

  “Dez,” I say automatically.

  She sits on a chair next to the bed. “Of course. Dez, I’m Kay Robinson. I’ve been assigned as your SGA representative. I’m here to make certain you are prepared for integration to residency. I know you’re anxious for answers, so as soon as I deem you fit for release, we will get you on your way.” She flips open a notebook and clicks the top of a pen. “Do you have any feelings compelling you to self-harm, or to inflict harm upon others?”

  “What? Why would I?”

  She scribbles a quick note. “I’ll take that as a no. Are you experiencing any sentiments of anger, hostility, or unresolved grudges against any staff or residents?”

  “I haven’t met any residents.” The answer passes my lips, but I can barely hear myself over my own screaming thoughts. What is this? Who are these people?

  “And staff? Any lingering feelings of ill will?”

  “I guess not. I’m not even sure what’s going on.”

  “Do you recall today’s events? The inciting incident leading to the intervention?”

  “You mean with that man? Crosby?”

  She looks up from her note taking. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you are released from this ward—”

  “Can you please tell me where I am?” I interrupt.

  Kay nods. “This is the temporary placement ward of Resident Protection Services. On occasion, new residents require additional psychiatric assistance to ease their transition to Atman.”

  “So now I’m some sort of mental patient?”

  Kay shakes her head. “We don’t use pejorative terms like that. There is no shame in requiring additional services. In your case, I believe your need is limited. In fact, if you can promise me there will be no further outbursts from now until your intake assessment with me tomorrow, I will release you.”

  I hold up my hand in a pledge. “Fine. Best behavior, guaranteed. Are we done?”

  “Almost. There is still one administrative detail needing attention.”

  There’s a knock on the frame of the door, and Crosby leans into the room.

  Kay stands and looks down at me with what seems like real, agenda-free concern. “Be well, Dez. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Crosby takes the vacated seat next to the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  I struggle to sit up, my head throbbing in protest. “Lousy.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” He glances at the poster on the wall. “But you’ll be feeling a lot better soon. There’s just one thing left to do before we can get you out of here.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the strip of metal from his office.

  Gideon appears in the doorway. He stands in silence, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked on me.

  “What’s he doing here?” I shrink back against the bed.

  “He’s just here to make sure we don’t have another incident.” Crosby holds up the bracelet. “I promise it won’t hurt a bit. You ready?”

  I extend my shaking left arm to him, and he lays the cold, slippery band across my wrist. The metal comes to life, wrapping itself around me like a snake. It shimmers and bends, conforming to the contours of my flesh. A hot but painless sensation drifts up my arm. The ends of the bracelet seal with a hiss, sending up a tendril of smoke.

  I shake my arm and wiggle my fingers as my hand begins to tingle. “What’s it doing?”

  “Programming. Just give it a second.”

  “Can I take it off?”

  “I’m afraid not, but you’ll get used to it in no time.”

  Sure I will.

  The bracelet beeps three times. Glowing blue text appears on the metal surface, and begins to circle at a slow crawl.

  013-04-13-87948

  LEVEL 01-001-001

  15:34:48

  JHANA TOWERS—EMERALD

  The information disappears after a few seconds, leaving behind only LEVEL 01-001-001.

  “That’s your identification number, your level, and tower complex assignment,” Crosby says. “It will update with other pertinent data as it is assigned to you. Tap any point on the bracelet with your index finger to scroll through the information.”

  I rub my wrist and wiggle my fingers again, trying to get used to the bracelet’s warmth against my skin.

  “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get you out of here.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Crosby brings me to a spacious room in what he tells me is the admin building, just a few doors down from his office. We sit on an overstuffed couch facing a wall of windows. The view is stunning. A bustling city spreads out before us on the base of a hill. An array of wildly varying buildings climbs upward in a hodgepodge of organized chaos and vanishes into the clouds. Despite all that’s happened, it’s nearly impossible to look away, even to listen to Crosby and the answers he’s promised will be forthcoming.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s … wow.”

  “That’s Atman City for you. But don’t go getting any ideas. That place isn’t for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ll get into that in a bit.” He rests a thick manual against the arm of the couch. “I need you to really listen to what I’m about to tell you. Okay?”

  He locks eyes with me. “As to the ques
tion you’ve been too afraid to ask since you arrived, the answer is yes.”

  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because my legs have turned to jelly. “What do you mean?”

  “You died today, Dez.”

  The cruel words cut right through me. I shake my head in a weak attempt at denial.

  Is this what it was like for Aaron? Could the universe really do this to a twelve-year-old?

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” Crosby says. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but you really are dead. So am I. So is everyone you’ve encountered today, everyone in the station, and everyone on the train that brought you here.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He takes my hand in his, but I pull free. “Why are you doing this?” I’m shrill, hysterical. I jump to my feet and rush to the window.

  “Dez, honey, you need to calm down. I really don’t want to have to call for another intervention.”

  “Go ahead and call Gideon! What do I care? How much worse than dead can it get?”

  “It was your time.”

  “Bullshit!” I slap my palms and kick my feet against the window. “I don’t believe in fate!”

  “Does it matter? Look around. Fate believes in you.” His kind voice is wrapped in a sharp package.

  My foot crashes against the window with more than enough force to break bones, but a flash of pain is the only consequence. Unrelenting, my fists pound against the glass. It must be quite a sight, a petite teenager in a pretty dress going berserk, my carefully woven braids flying around my head as I rage, but I don’t care.

  I’m never going home again.

  No more Sunday morning pancakes. Mom always saves the biggest, fluffiest ones for me.

  No graduations—high school or college. I'll never know what it's like to take that walk across the stage.

  No more first kisses or first dances.

  No more first anything.

  “I want to go home!” I scream.

  Crosby joins me at the window but makes no physical attempt to stop me. He speaks like he’s talking to a frightened animal instead of a girl. “Slow down. I know it’s a lot to take in, but let it settle for a minute.” He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  I shove his hand away. “I’m seventeen! I have a whole life to live! I worked my ass off to get into Brown, and for what? Cello lessons, French club, track … what does any of it mean now?”

  “Look at me,” he orders.

  My breathing is ragged as I force myself to calm down. Thoughts of Gideon and the consequences of crossing him drag rational Dez back from the abyss.

  Crosby’s gaze is piercing. “I know you’re upset—”

  “Upset? I just found out the life I’ve been working so hard on is done before it even got going.”

  He nods. “It’s devastating, I know, but you need to let it settle. There’s something else we need to talk about right now.”

  “I can’t do this.” I collapse onto the couch.

  I’ll never see the lights of Paris.

  I’ll never be a maid of honor. I’ll never have a maid of honor.

  I don’t even get to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Crosby sits next to me. He must be a mind reader, because he speaks up just as I’m about to start screaming again. “We need to talk about why you’re flagged,” he says.

  “So that’s it? We’re going to just shrug my life off and change the subject?”

  Frustration flashes in Crosby’s eyes, but he doesn’t take the poisonous bait I’ve tossed out. “No more outbursts, okay?” His voice is calm, almost cheery.

  About a hundred responses flood my brain, none of them appropriate. “Whatever.”

  He stares at me. Waiting for something? Expecting me to go volcanic again? When I don’t, he continues. “For most souls, Atman Station is simply a transfer point, a way station between life and death. You come in, get a ticket, and you’re on your way.”

  “On your way to where?”

  “Heaven, nirvana, paradise … it goes by lots of names, but it’s all the same place.”

  “Heaven? Like harps, clouds, and pearly gates?” I roll my eyes.

  He shakes his head. “Forget what you learned in Sunday school.”

  “I never went to Sunday school.”

  “Well, forget whatever it is you’ve heard, because no religion gets it quite right.”

  I cross my arms. “Why don’t we skip past the part where you tell me what it isn’t and get to telling me what it is?”

  Crosby lets out a slow breath and drums his fingers on his knees. “Without getting into specifics, it’s the eternal utopia where you’ll be reunited with family and friends. Everyone you’ve ever wanted to meet, everything you’ve ever wanted to do—it’s all there.”

  “Why can’t you get into specifics? Is eternity in some sort of hurry? We on the clock or something?”

  “Because you need to focus on the here and now. You’re here because your soul isn’t ready to let go of the life you’ve left behind. There’s a war waging inside you, Dez, and we’re here to help.” He quickly glances at the watch on his wrist. “And yes, as far as Atman is concerned, we are on the clock. You’re about to be tossed into a highly regimented, time-oriented existence.”

  A frustrated groan is my only response as I head back to the window and its view of the beautiful, inexplicably forbidden city. “So I’m being punished for—what? Not wanting to be dead?”

  “I know you’ve been through a lot today. It may not seem like it right now, but we really do want you to succeed and move on. Our residents are our top priority.” He joins me at the window. “We’ve had a rough start, but you’re going to have to learn to trust me. Every rule and procedure has a purpose, stemming first and foremost from a concern for your well-being.”

  The memory of being pinned to the ground by him runs through me like a shockwave. Trust him? Are you kidding me?

  With nowhere safe to go, I settle for the couch again. “You and Gideon sure have a funny way of showing your ‘concern.’” I use exaggerated air quotes to make my point.

  Crosby leans against the wall next to the couch, keeping his distance. “I’m sorry things went the way they did, but you didn’t give us much choice.”

  I hug a throw pillow like a cushy shield against this man and this place. “This can’t be happening. I don’t believe in any of it.”

  “You’re going to have to open your mind, Dez. What you wanted, what you expected, what you believed before right now—none of it matters.”

  “So this is some sort of purgatory?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I don’t believe in that either.” With a surge of courage and anger, I throw the pillow at him.

  Crosby catches it with ease. “Think of it as a state of limbo.”

  “Purgatory, limbo … kind of splitting hairs, aren’t we?”

  “It’s an important distinction. Purgatory has a stigma of punishment and suffering attached to it. You’re not here to be punished.”

  I begin counting points off on my fingers. “And yet I’ve been tackled, chased, zapped, and placed in some sort of psychiatric ward.” The groggy, pain-riddled conversation when I came to pops into my mind. “Speaking of which, that Eliza lady said something about a procedure. What did she do to me?”

  Crosby shifts his weight and looks away. “You can discuss that with Kay, tomorrow.”

  “Or you could tell me now.”

  “I’m not privy to the psychiatric treatments utilized by our medical and intervention staff.”

  “Wow, that sounded like it was right out of the textbook.” I point to the thick manual he’s holding. “So she was dishing out some sort of punitive measure because I got out of line?”

  “I already told you, you’re not here to be punished.”

  “Doesn’t make me any less dead though, does it?”

  “No, but a journey of a thousand miles
—”

  “Begins with a single step?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Spare me the Lao Tzu crap. That’s a mistranslation, anyway.”

  “You’re something else, kiddo.” He rubs his face and sighs, then hands me the manual he’s been holding. “Here you go.”

  The manual sits heavy in my lap. Its heft surprises me. It’s plain white with bold black letters practically shouting their way off the page.

  ATMAN CONDUCT MANUAL: TOWER RESIDENTS (ALL PARKS)

  “Exciting,” I say flatly.

  “Important. Think it, believe it, become it.”

  Trying to quiet the angry thoughts running through my mind, I flip the manual open to a random page.

  Any shirts with sleeves that fall more than three inches below the elbow are strictly forbidden. You have been provided a full wardrobe with a variety of styles and accessories, custom made for your needs and size, falling within Atman’s dress code guidelines. Please wear only the clothes that have been provided to you, and avoid the exchange of items with roommates, floormates, etc.

  I slam the manual shut and glare at Crosby. “Sleeve length? Really? Of all the concerns that being dead brings, they’re going to give me crap about sleeve length?”

  He taps the bracelet on my wrist. “Your level and identification need to be visible at all times.”

  “So the goal is what? Irritate us into letting go?”

  “You have a lot of hard work ahead of you.”

  “Irritating work?”

  “We have very specific guidelines and goals,” he says. “Everything’s tailored to each individual out of our core philosophy and program. As you settle in, we’ll expand your goals. Information at Atman is rolled out slowly, as needed, rather than thrown at you all at once.”

  “Why can’t we just cut the crap, and you tell me what I need to do to get out of here?”

  “In your seventeen years, you’ve lived about a hundred and fifty thousand hours, give or take. In those hours, you experienced a plethora of moments that define you. We have to find the ones you can’t let go.”