© Copyright E. J. McFall
ISBN: 1-928973-86-8

She woke. Disoriented. In a small room. White walls, subdued light, midnight silence. Emergency room, she guessed. But why? She struggled to push through the mental haze. They’d finally been on the way to Europe, after all those years of procrastinating. Amber had been hyper and claustrophobic. She’d been exhausted and short-tempered. It was the start of another disastrous vacation when suddenly…

“Amber!” Morgan froze in terror as the past rushed through her. The explosion. The plane’s careening descent. Screams, curses, prayers, and Amber in her arms kissing her goodbye. “Amber!”

She ran from the room and halted in shock. The building was a maze of white cubicles. Dazed people were wandering out of the small rooms, calling for their loved ones. The gathering chaos summoned her social worker persona, but a more urgent concern demanded her energy. “Amber!”

“Morg!”

“Oh, thank God!” Morgan pulled her friend into a hug. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I think you did.” Amber pulled away, gestured at their surroundings. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“I know.” Morgan took a centering breath. Now that she had found Amber, her professional facade slipped into place and she was once again a social worker. Something had to be done to get these people organized before they hurt themselves. As she grew calm, she realized that a multilingual loudspeaker was repeating in the distance. She hushed Amber, closed her eyes, and focused on the announcement.

"Do not be afraid. You were on board a flight from New York to London that went down in the ocean. All young children have been processed through to Heaven. Any missing friends or relatives have been designated for Heaven or for Hell. You have been designated for Purgatory. Please follow the light and you will find staff members who will help you get settled. There is no torture in Purgatory. Do not be afraid. You were on board a flight…"

“This is a dream, right?” Amber slapped herself, scowled when their surroundings refused to change. “Okay. I’m awake, but I’m hallucinating.”

“I don’t think so.” Morgan put her arm around her friend. “We didn’t survive the plane crash. No one did.”

“We’re really in Purgatory?” Amber took a deep breath and forced a wry smile. “Jeez, Morg. After all those years of compulsive do-gooding, I thought you’d be a cinch for Heaven.”

“And with all your sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, I thought you’d be sent to a warmer climate.” Morgan found a measure of comfort in the gallows humor, but her professional side was distracted by the surrounding din. “This is no way to run a disaster. These people need help.”

“You show those lazy angels how it’s done.”

" I just meant…" Morgan sighed. "You stay with me."

Amber saluted with a smirk.

Morgan ignored her, headed for the nearest cubicle. An old man rocked on his bed, mumbled to himself.

“Sir?” Morgan sat beside him. “Can I help you?”

“Addie.” The man sobbed. “She’s left me.”

“Maybe we can find her.” Morgan tugged gently on his arm. “Come with me. We’ll go see the folks in charge.”

“What was your wife like?” Amber helped Morgan lead the man into the hall. “Was she a good woman?”

“Good? My Addie? She was an angel.” The man desperately scanned the wandering crowd. “She’s always been there. She wouldn’t leave me like this. We were holding hands when the plane went down; she promised we’d be together for eternity. Seventy years my Addie’s been there. Why would she leave me now?”

“I don’t think she’s left you. I think she might have been taken to Heaven.” Morgan patted the man’s arm. “We’ll find the staff. They’ll know.”

“Addie!”

“No offense, Morg.” Amber lowered her voice. “But I’m glad you’re too rotten to get into Heaven.”

“You’re a true friend.” Morgan left the elderly man in Amber’s care, concentrated on herding people towards the glowing light at the end of the maze of cubicles. “It’s alright. Follow the light. Everything’s okay. Just follow the light.”

“My children!” A terrified woman grabbed Morgan’s arm. “Help me! My three children! I can’t find them!”

“They’re gone to Heaven.” Morgan pointed at the ceiling. “Listen to the loudspeaker. The children are with God.”

“No! My babies! They need me! Who’ll take care of them?”

“It’s alright.” Morgan held the distraught woman. “It’s all over. Your children are safe in Heaven.”

“Morg, look.” Amber nudged her friend.

Morgan looked over the weeping mother’s shoulder. A few feet away a young woman was dancing an ecstatic ballet in the midst of a stunned audience.

“He’s gone! He’s gone!” The dancer spun joyously. “I’m free! I’m free!”

Morgan shook her head sadly. She’d seen the woman on the plane. Her husband had been a nasty, controlling S.O.B. Morgan had been waiting for the woman to go to the restroom so she could catch her alone and give her the You Can Get out of an Abusive Relationship speech, but Fate had intervened. Apparently death had its perks, at least for the dancer.

“Father O’Malley! Sarah! Josh! Where are you?”

Morgan turned at the chorus of voices. Four frightened teens clung together, helplessly calling for their companions. She shifted the grieving mother to Amber, approached the teens. “Are you kids alone?”

The answer was a babel of voices, but Morgan was able to sort out most of their story. They were the honors graduates from St Patrick’s High School, located somewhere in Iowa. They’d been huddled together in prayer when the plane went down, but now they’d lost their priest chaperone and two of their friends.

“Come with us.” Morgan gestured to her small group. “We’re going to see the staff. They’ll know where your priest and the other kids are.”

“We’re off to see the staff,” Amber sang under her breath, “the wonderful staff of Oz.”

“Death hasn’t improved your sense of humor any.” Morgan herded their small flock towards the light, stopping at each cubicle to check for shock victims. She smiled to herself as she realized that she and Amber had unconsciously divided the task. Morgan coaxed people out of their niches, and Amber shooed them down the corridor. Even in death, it appeared, they were each yin to the other’s yang.

They were shepherding a few dozen people by the time they reached the light. Rope dividers channeled the newly-dead into a semblance of a line that led to an official-looking office.

“Look at that!” Amber nodded at the placards directing people to fill out forms and wait patiently for their turn. “Eternal bureaucrats. You should feel right at home.”

“Very funny. Now all we need is an unemployment line for you to hang out at.”

“Oh, low blow.” Amber studied their surroundings. “What do you think happens now, Morg? We get issued a harp and a cloud?”

“You?” Morgan shook her head. “You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Maybe death has changed that.”

“Maybe.” Morgan was about to say something sarcastic when she noted the familiar shadow that crossed Amber’s face. Apparently death wasn’t a cure for depression. “Hey. You know I was just joking.”

Amber nodded.

“What is it then?”

“I’m dead.”

“Oh.” Morgan considered that fact, realized that she was too numb to face the truth. After years of crisis work she’d developed an automatic pilot system that allowed her to completely dissociate her mind from her emotions. It gave her the ability to function in any situation, but often left her feeling empty for weeks after an emergency. Amber, on the other hand, rode a perpetual roller coaster between emotional peaks and valleys. “I think we’ll be okay. As I recall my catechism, Purgatory isn’t such a bad place. At least we’ll be together.”

“I never got published.” Amber scowled at the other woman. “And I never made it to Europe.”

"That’s not my fault. I—"

“Next.” A tired bureaucrat called to them. “Keep the line moving, please.”

Morgan tugged Amber into the small office.

“One at a time, please.” The man behind the desk reached for a new file.

"Uh…we’re together." Morgan pushed Amber into a chair, took one herself. Some part of her knew she was being irrational, but she had no intention of being separated from her friend until she was certain that they truly were safe.

“Relationship?”

"We’re…" Morgan searched for the proper word. Over the last decade their relationship had mutated into many forms, from friend to enemy and back again—with stops at every variation in between. To slap a simple label on such a complicated…

“Boon companions.” Amber gestured at the form on the desk. “Put that down, Eternal Bureaucrat.”

"Amber…"

The man was unfazed. He reached for a lavender form, briefly made eye contact. “I’m Otto Mueller. Welcome to the Purgatory processing center.”

"Uh…thank you." Morgan craned her neck to see what the man was writing. Some part of her recalled how much she hated it when her clients did the same, but she was beyond caring. She suspected that Amber’s little joke had just earned them a trip to the undesirable side of town.

“Names?”

“Morgan McRaney.”

“Amber Naylor”

“Occupations in life?”

“Social worker.”

“Ne’er do well.”

"Let’s see." Otto consulted his computer. "McRaney—lack of compassion. Naylor—excessive pride."

“Lack of compassion?” Amber leaned across the desk, knocking over a photo of a young child. “You must have the wrong file. Morg’s a do-gooder. She’s always helping the down-trodden and feeding the homeless.”

Otto quickly rescued the fallen memento, glanced at Morgan. “Do you dispute your record?”

“No.” Morgan cut off Amber’s protest. “Let it go. The man knows what he’s talking about.”

"What—"

“Let it go.”

Otto cleared his throat. “Despite your failings, you do have a good record, Morgan. Jane will want to meet you.”

“Jane?”

“She runs this processing center.” Otto glanced at a monitor that showed the line of waiting souls outside. “We don’t have the staff to handle this volume. The fools keep making their flying machines bigger and bigger. Soon they’ll be loading thousands of people onto exploding death traps, and we’ll have souls backed up for days.”

“Sounds difficult.” Morgan used her soothing voice. “Have you been here long?”

“Decades.” Otto sighed. “When I started, only birds and lunatics tried to fly.”

“I’ll bet you could use a break.”

"Without a doubt. Just the other day—" Otto halted, embarrassed. "As I say, Jane will want to meet with you once you’re settled. You will be a welcome addition to our staff, if you choose to join us."

“What about me, Otto?” Amber feigned a hurt expression. “Won’t I be a welcome addition to the Afterlife?”

"I’m sure you will fit in quite nicely at the Eternal Cafe." Otto ignored Amber’s rebuttal question, handed them each a folder. "This is your welcome packet. You’ll find a map, orientation schedule, list of policies, and an overview of events and activities. Please become familiar with the material as soon as possible. I regret I don’t have time to go over the information with you personally, but you arrived on a particularly busy day. Not only do we have your plane crash to deal with, but there was an earthquake in Mexico. Horrible business—they don’t have the proper rescue equipment and…well, suffice it to say we expect to be swamped for the rest of the week."

Morgan nodded sympathetically, stopped Amber’s inevitable comment with her best authoritative look.

"Here are your keys. You’ll be in bungalow 1960. Follow the red path and you’ll go straight to it." Otto consulted his watch. "Now, if you’ll excuse me—"

“Of course. Thank you.” Morgan gestured for Amber to follow. Amber started to return a gesture of her own, but found herself being tugged out of the office.

“Frigging drone.” Amber shook off her friend’s hand. “How come you get the keys?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he did it just to annoy you.” Morgan tossed the keys to Amber. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Fine. Spend eternity in a sulk.” Morgan studied the sidewalk before them. It branched off into several directions, each of them painted a different color. “This shouldn’t be hard. The red path goes that-a-way.”

“I’d rather take the yellow brick road.”

“Go for it. Watch out for the flying monkeys.” Morgan headed down the red path. A moment later Amber followed, tunelessly singing “If I Only Had a Brain.” Morgan sighed. Eternity could be a very long time.