The Black (6 page)

"Whoa, wait. This isn't the end of the line?"

"The Black? Nah, this is only a stop along the road. Everybody comes here first. What you do while you're here determines how long you stay, and where you go."

"How's that?"

"Nobody's perfect, Coop. We all had different lives. Different personalities. The way I understand it, being here in the Black gives you the chance to look back on your life and who you were and make whatever changes it takes that'll help you to move on. It's a chance to be the person you want to be. Or should be."

"And then what?" I asked.

Gramps shrugged. "Damned if I know. There ain't any instruction manuals. People come, people go. We all just kind of share information. But what I'm thinking is that once we make things right, we get to go on to the big reward."

"Heaven?"

"I guess. I don't know. Nobody calls it that. I can't imagine that floating around in white robes with wings and playing a harp is any kind of reward. If that's the case, I'd just as soon stay here and rock on the porch. But there's definitely something further down the road. I've seen lots of people move on."

I looked out over Gramps' yard. Every detail was familiar and perfect, right down to the wishing well in front. "You sure this isn't heaven?" I asked.

"To me it is, but it's only temporary."

"So we're supposed to go back to the Light and fix something we messed up? Like taking care of unfinished business?"

"No! Uh-uh." he said quickly. "That's the last thing we're
supposed to do. What's done is done. It's a big no-no to mess with things in the Light."

"Then, what are we supposed to change?"

"Ourselves. Like I said. You may have died but you're still you. What you get here is the chance to become the best person you can be. Personally, I don't know why I've been here as long as I have. Far as I can tell, I'm pretty near perfect."

He gave me a sly smile. "Then again, maybe that's why I'm still here. Humility isn't one of my strengths. I'm thinking you might suffer the same problem."

"So, what do I do?"

"For one, keep your nose clean. You may think you're all that and a bag of chips, but you've been acting like a fool with all your brawling and nonsense. And what you did with them fake tickets had 'dumb' written all over it."

"How did you know about all that? I thought you aren't supposed to interfere with the Light."

"Observing isn't the same as interfering. Fact is, what we are has a lot to do with the people we left back in the Light. We can learn from them and maybe see things about ourselves we couldn't see before."

"We can see into the Light?"

"Of course. It's one of the things that keeps me from missing your grandma too bad. And the family. And you. But you're here now, I'm sorry to say."

"Can I do it?" I asked.

"Look into the Light? Absolutely."

"How?"

"It's as simple as using your imagination. In fact, that's exactly how it works. Close your eyes and think about something you might want to see."

"That's it?"

"Give it a try."

Nothing I had seen since I woke up from that blackout-coma made much sense and this was no different. I had nothing to lose so I closed my eyes and thought about home. The first thing that popped into my head was Marsh. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I was thinking about him playing the drums just before—well, just before things went black.

"Take a look," Gramps said.

I opened my eyes to see that the multicolored fog had appeared as a small cloud that hovered in front of my face. "Look inside," he said, gesturing toward the cloud.

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but I leaned forward and put my face into the swirling cloud. It was like pushing my way through a curtain. I was still on Gramps' porch, but another
image appeared in front of me. It was mostly transparent so I could still see the yard, but I could definitely make out that I was seeing something else.

It was Marsh's bedroom.

The door flew open and Marsh hurried in. He stood at the foot of his bed with his fists clenched. I rarely saw Marsh get angry, but when he did, watch out.

"Marsh?" I called tentatively.

Marsh didn't react.

"He can't hear you," I heard Gramps say.

Marsh's whole body was tense. He whipped his head around as if looking for something. His eyes settled on a shelf next to his bed that was full of stuff his mom had sent him from her travels. It was mostly junk like small statues and bamboo flutes, but it all meant something to Marsh because it reminded him of his mom. He stormed over to the shelf and picked up a golden ball that was about the size of a plum. I'd never seen it before. It looked ancient, with odd characters carved all over it. Without hesitation, he spun around, cocked his arm, and threw it across the room.

"Whoa!" I shouted in surprise. Of course he didn't hear me.

The ball nailed a framed picture on the far wall and smashed to bits. I thought I saw it spew something red and wet all over the wall but I can't say for sure because as soon as the ball exploded, the ground moved as if the destruction of the ball had caused an earthquake. I saw Marsh grab on to his desk for balance.

Stranger still, I felt it too.

"Gramps?" I called out in confusion.

The image of Marsh's bedroom jumbled to nothing. The shaking was so severe it knocked me off my feet. As soon as I fell to my knees, the shaking stopped. The bizarre event lasted only a few seconds.

"What the heck was that?" I gasped.

I opened my eyes to see that I wasn't kneeling
on the wooden floor of Gramps'
porch anymore. I wasn't in Marsh's bedroom, either. I was on my hands and knees in brown, hard-packed sand. I lifted my hands to see they were covered with fine grit.

"What happened?" I asked Gramps as I got to my feet.

Gramps wasn't there. Or maybe I was the one who wasn't there. Wind kicked up more sand, stinging my eyes. I looked around to try and understand. What I saw made me want to drop to my knees again.

I was standing in front of an old-style stone building that looked like something out of ancient Greece. Only, the building didn't look all that ancient, and neither did the guy standing in the doorway.

"Hello," he called to me in a deep, booming voice. "I have been looking forward to meeting you."

5

Up until then, everything I had seen was familiar.

Weird, but familiar. Now I had landed in alien territory. I was standing in what looked like a village square straight out of ancient Rome. The buildings were made of stone, surrounding a fountain in the middle of the dusty street. The fountain was a huge stone sculpture of a muscular, godlike warrior with a massive sword battling scrawny soldiers half his size. The smaller statues in the fountain had water coming out of their mouths that didn't flow so much as trickle, landing at their feet with a steady
drip…drip…drip
like they were bleeding. The sound was small, but it filled the ancient-looking square.

The village was tucked into a narrow valley. Steep, rocky hills rose high up on either side, covered by what I'm guessing were olive trees. At one end of the square was a tall building with a dome that could have been a church or a temple or
a library or I really didn't know what. As old as the buildings looked, they weren't falling-down ancient. Still, it looked as though I had been transported to a vision in the Black from another era. Question was, whose vision was it?

I didn't have to wait long for the answer.

"I am so pleased that you have arrived!" the guy called to me from the building. He was short and stocky and looked to have come from a different time. Different from mine, that is. He wore a light brown loose-fitting wrapped thing that drooped down below his knees. On his feet were sandals with leather straps that wrapped around his lower legs. His hair was short and black with bangs that cut straight across his forehead. He hurried down the steps and shuffled toward me quickly with a broad, welcoming smile.

"I trust you have not been waiting long," he said.

"Where is this?" I asked.

"We are in my vision of the Black, of course. You would call it Macedonia."

"Who are you?"

The guy bowed formally but didn't take his eyes off me. "I am Damon of Epirus. Welcome to my humble village."

His dark eyes bugged out of his round face in a way that would have been comical if not for the fact that he kept staring at me as if expecting me to make a wrong move. Now that he was closer, I saw that his face was badly scarred. Dozens of thin white streaks crisscrossed his cheeks and nose. The guy had been messed up. I didn't think you could survive something like that.

Maybe he didn't.

"So…
you're dead?" I asked.

He shrugged and chuckled. "Aren't we all?"

"Right. Dumb question. Why am I here?"

He took my arm in a friendly way and we strolled toward the large building.

"I brought you here, Cooper Foley."

"Whoa, you know me?"

"I do. I know all about you. You are resourceful. And loyal. You never back away from a fight. In fact, you enjoy the occasional battle. Perhaps most important, you are a survivor."

"Yeah, well, not exactly. I'm here, right?"

"Indeed!" he exclaimed jovially. "Very good!"

"How do you know so much about me?"

"I have been observing you for quite some time now."

"How? I just got here."

"My observations of you have been in the Light."

The little guy was starting to creep me out. He seemed
harmless, but spying on me from the afterlife was just wrong. "Why?" I asked.

"To help you. There are many roads to take through the Black. Select your course wisely and your future can be a glorious one."

"What are you, my guardian angel?"

That made him chuckle. "Hardly."

"But you know the right roads to take?"

"I do," was his simple, confident answer.

"Wait, how long have you been here?"

He shrugged and scoffed. "Time has little meaning."

"Yeah, I heard that, but seriously. When did you die? People don't dress like that anymore, unless you drowned bobbing for apples at a Halloween party."

Damon shot me a quick, vicious glare. He didn't appreciate my sense of humor. The guy may have looked like a Hobbit, but he had a temper. The look disappeared as quickly as it arrived, and he smiled. "By your calendar I entered the Black in the year 323 BCE."

"Seriously? You've been here, like…
a couple thousand years?"

"That surprises you?"

"Well, yeah. I thought the point of being here is to become the person you're supposed to be and move on. What makes you think you can help me if you haven't figured out how to move on yourself?"

Damon lunged at me and grabbed my shirt. It was so sudden, I didn't have a chance to react. His eyes turned dark again. He was a few inches shorter than me and pulled me down so that our noses nearly touched. The guy was small, but strong.

"Use care," he said with a seething whisper. "Many graves hold the bones of those who have shown me disrespect."

I was so stunned by his sudden snap that I didn't pull away. But I didn't back down, either.

"Yeah, well, I'm already dead. What are you gonna do? Kill me again?"

His eyes flared. I'd seen that look before. We were about to fight. That was okay by me. Spirit or no, I'd kick his ass. But rather than attack, his lips twisted into a hideous smile. He laughed, sending out a spray of spittle.

My brain froze when I saw that his two front teeth came to sharp points. It was such a freakish look that it made me catch my breath.

"There are fates worse than death," he said with a giddy chuckle.

He shoved me and I stumbled to the ground, hitting my shoulder against the base of another statue. It hurt. I may have been a spirit, but I still felt pain.

"No matter," he declared cheerily as if it was all a big joke between friends. "You will learn."

His sudden mood swings had me totally off balance, in more ways than one.

He added, "We would all be best served if you understood the consequences you face."

"Consequences of what?" I asked.

"For underestimating me. I am not a typical spirit of the Black."

Damon gestured toward the big building. On cue, two other guys rushed out. They were big, dangerous-looking dudes with long, wild hair. Their raggedy clothes were covered with brown stains that could have been dirt . . . or dried blood. The two hurried up to Damon, keeping their heads bowed obediently. Whoever Damon of Epirus was, he was the boss.

One guy carried leather body armor that he helped Damon put on over his robe.