Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 3: PESTILENTIAL PAPERWORK

I sat on the disciplinary side of some woman's desk. It was the same place I would be sitting if I was in the principal's office. (Surprisingly to myself and everyone around me, I didn't end up there all that often.) 

She was short and wore a pink power suit (the kind with shoulder-pads). Her name was Sophie "Belladonna" Richmarsh, according to the red metal plaque on her desk. Her presence, alone, was enough to make me want to fold my hands in my lap and sit silently.

Ms. Belladonna (that's what she told me to call her) leaned on the edge of her desk. My file was open in her perfectly-manicured hands with stiletto nails the color of poison berries. It was a complete record of every single thing I had done. It wasn't as thick as I thought it would be. Good, bad, and neutral-- it was all there. 

She snapped the file shut. "Well, Eve," she sighed, "it's not looking bright."

"Ma'am?" Truth be told, I had no idea what she was talking about. 

"Eve, you were a bitch. You were cruel to just about everyone, including, but not limited to: your bishop's daughter, your younger sister, your younger sister's friends, several people at your high school, your junior high school Advanced Honors Math teacher, just to name a few. Plus, you stole from people a few times-- not corporations, people. Stealing pens is a capital offense down here, you know that? Sure, there were factors that explain this behavior, but they're not excuses. Lord, don't I know that."

I winced. I did have a habit of keeping other people's pens. I was kind of mean, too. There was a reason people didn't talk to me. Part of it was because they didn't like me in general; part of it was because it was easier to take out the aggression I had on everyone else. Once I got home, I was the emotional punching bag, and it was easier to be hostile outside the home than it was to be kind. I had always taken the easy way out on that one. I knew that. I didn't have to fix my behavior to understand it. 

"However, you were-- and are-- a child, and we make exceptions for children. Children tend to change, after all. Although, you're an odd case, considering that you were pretty close to adulthood as well. Tell me-- you're seventeen, correct?"

I nodded. I wasn't going to turn eighteen until April of the next year. It was October now-- or maybe November. I wasn't really sure about time anymore. How long had I been dead? How long had it taken for me to materialize here or whatever? Whatever the case, I guessed I would never turn eighteen anyway. That was fantastic. That was just great. I tried not to go down the spiral I already traversed in the Afterlife DMV waiting room. 

"Fantastic. I'm going to lay out your options, then. First, you can do public service, like working here at the Department of Spiritual Allocation and Relocation. That sentence will probably add up to about one hundred to two hundred years of service. You could also serve a brief stint in Hell or whatever your religion's equivalent of it-- punishment and all-- is. That would be a few years at most, but it would feel like an eternity. Between you and me, it's the worst option here. I regretted it at first. I like paperwork, though, and I like being stressed about it. Most people don't, though. I'm telling you now, don't take the second option." 

"I won't, then," I whispered. She didn't seem to hear me, because she plowed on through her spiel. 

"Of course, once either of those is finished, you could have the rest of your afterlife just like that." Ms. Belladonna snapped her fingers. As if from nowhere, she produced a lit cigarette and took a drag. "Since you're young and you were killed by something outside of the norm-- something not natural, if you will-- you have a third option: kill the thing that killed you. Provided you don't completely perish, soul and all, in the process, you'll be free to live out the rest of your real eternity in paradise or whatever you choose. Kill the monster, and you're home free."