Straight On Til' Mourning

VIII.

When she awoke, she was in the racquetball courts.

At fourteen she had attended a boarding school in Massachusetts that had boasted a fitness center and a court similar to this one. White ceiling, white walls, striped wooden floor. A net split the room in two halves. The ropes holding it up didn't look strong enough to hang from anything; as soon as Kirsten realized that she was looking for somewhere to hang the ropes, if she could untie them, she stopped herself in horror.

From behind her, a loud screeching gave voice to her fears. She whipped around. The door - it was barely noticeable. White painted, white paneled, one square of glass at dead center. But on the other side, there was no opposing wall, no concrete indication that there was a solidity beyond where she stood. Instead, the window was filled with blue light.

"I'm dead," Kirsten said aloud. "Dead."

Did she have to experience death, then life, to choose between the two? But why the racquetball courts? She had never been afraid of athletics, or gym class, or even those who played sports.

No, she realized. This was because of what it resembled. Her mind could not conjure a mental ward but it could conjure up a place close enough to make her insides shrink tight: white, white, white. No room or sound or reflection.

She walked up to the door, and saw: the blue light was water. The hallway was missing. Beyond the water that pressed dense and heavy against the glass, she could see nothing.

Kirsten pounded on the window. "Help me!"

Her fists struck, and struck, and struck, to no avail. She wanted out - she wanted to escape. Was this the afterlife? Why was there no one to answer her questions? At the condo, in the forest, with the golf club - had that been death? Or was she now wavering in a coma in a hospital somewhere, motionless, chalked up as a rogue Jane Doe?

Unprepared for the room to change, she shrieked in fear as the glass parted beneath her palm. Jagged little lines turned her hand from white to red. And into her half-open mouth, salt water lunged forward.