Balance

Chapter 3

3

            Eleanor adjusted to life as a Sister snugly. She no longer felt as though she belonged to Earth. The girl was accepted in a society of children just like her: young souls who wanted nothing more than a home and a reason for existence.

            Her new Brothers and Sisters took to her immediately. With the help of Selma, she found and made more friends than she ever had the chance to on Earth. She was entwined in a new family of soul-gatherers that almost felt more authentic than her living family had.

            On the days when the workers were relieved from duty, they played games and relaxed and gossiped about other workers. Eleanor spent plenty of her free time to continuing the studies she had began as a mortal. Invisible to all, she would attend lectures in prestigious universities and watch surgeons or nurses operate countless times. When she couldn’t get the knowledge she needed from Earth, Death allowed her to peruse his private libraries for hours on end.   

            When they yearned for a good story, Brothers and Sisters enjoyed watching mortals. A pair of lovers fighting against odds, a hero bravely sacrificing himself, a scheming businessman’s ploys—all were rich wells of entertainment for the dead. The children sat in on theater productions and cinema shows, as well. Sisters wailed with one another at the end of a romantic tragedy, and Brothers hooted and hollered along with action films or comedies. Eleanor and the few friends who dared tag along preferred to ghost into the theaters playing chilling horror tales. They ritually laughed at the humans who screamed and taunted the ones who left the shows early.

            Throughout the years, Eleanor realized why more and more coworkers tended to shrug off the notion of Life and Death withholding secrets. Life was like a mother to every child; always doting and caring and pacifying those who needed it. Death was the steady voice of reason each child needed to move on or mend a fault. When they did all they could to keep the children safe and pleased, why would anyone want to accuse them of hiding something? Eleanor soon forgot the boy who warned her from the start. In the fifty-eight years that had passed since her death, Eleanor had found a family that she didn’t want to ruin, no matter how big the secret or how heavy the distrust.

            It was on a hot summer night after all those years that Eleanor was finishing up her work. She had completed nearly three stamps worth of souls to collect, and her wooden box brimmed with life. She floated along the shoulder of an old road, the painted lines dim from years of damage and the darkness of the night. Eleanor flipped open her ledger to the current page, and tapped a nail on the last death to be accounted for. Deidra Faulk. Age twenty-one. Dead from automobile accident.

            The Sister eyed each passing car, wondering which would make the fatal mistake. Only a few cars peppered the roads. It was late—too late for any sensible citizen of Knotweed, West Virginia to still be awake. The drivers that did face the night all had a glaze of sluggishness over their faces and movements. In contrast to the half-conscious drivers, Eleanor was alert and watchful. Spirits didn’t need sleep as much as humans did, and certainly not as often. She wondered if Deidra’s mistake would be falling asleep at the wheel.

A red Porsche sped down the road toward her. A dinky Sudan swerved suddenly across lanes, nearly totaling the Porsche. The driver of the sleek car dodged cleanly, yet propelled off the side of the road. The car was almost slung into a ditch, when…

            There.

            The driver over-corrected her vehicle in a frantic attempt to regain control. The tires screeched with the effort, and soon metal collided with asphalt as the car executed a perfect flip. Glass smashed and metal screamed as it bowed and twisted under such force. The burnt tires seemed to smoke just as much as the crumpled engine did. Bits of window and rubber and metal flew every this way and that. When the smoke cleared and the car was revealed to be lying upside-down, a single tire still spun on the axle.

            Eleanor inwardly cheered. What a magnificent way to die! The act was extraordinary. She was sure that those who found the crash would be taken aback by the volume of destruction. Even the car reflected the perfect image of loss with its fractured sides, crushed windows, and shredded tires. By far, this was the best death she had seen all day.

            Eleanor moved to examine the corpse. A single car stopped just before the totaled Porsche, and as Eleanor moved about shards of glass and bolts, she heard the door slam shut and footsteps on the road. She heard a voice proclaim, “Oh my God!” and spill a stream of constant curses. A boy, no older than Eleanor when she died, made it to Diedra before the Sister could. He pried open the driver’s side door, and out tumbled the battered body. The boy ran trembling hands through short red hair. He looked like he may cry, or vomit, or both.

            The spirit flew to Deidra, examining the river of blood that wet blonde hair and painted her face. “Call someone! 911, the police…anyone!” The boy screamed. Eleanor frowned. No one would be able to hear him from this distance. She neared closer.

            “Hello? Can you hear me?” The boy tried again. “Do something!”

            Eleanor paid him no heed. The Sister saw the first of the soul peek out from Diedra’s chest. As she watched, the soul rose until it was a small star suspended above the dead woman.

            “Oh my God,” the redhead said, again. “What is that? What are you doing?”

            Eleanor looked about, wondering who he was referring to. Seeing no one else on the street, she continued her work. Eleanor grasped the orb, and relished the small current of warmth that trickled into her from the soul. She placed it in her box. All souls accounted for; she happily began to turn away from the scene.

            A swat on the shoulder spun her back around. She faced the redheaded boy. A cocktail of emotions played on his face: anger, confusion, sickness, grief. “What did you do?” He barked.

            Eleanor was frozen. Could he see her? Had he just touched her?

            Her silence angered him further. “What did you just steal from her? What was that—that—light thing?” He gripped her wrist and pulled her near so she could see that under bushy, furrowed brows, were two burning red eyes. “Tell me!”

            Eleanor wrenched herself away from the boy. He struggled for a hold on her, but clamped a hand around her wooden box instead. The boy with the red eyes tore the box from her grip. Eleanor didn’t care. She gave him only one frightened glance as she scurried to The Heavens.

            She hadn’t any idea which side of The Heavens she had landed on, and hadn’t any mind to figure it out. The darkness of Earth had followed her to whatever side of the realm she occupied, but no roaring cars or busy roads shot through the silence.

            Alone, in her own little patch on night, Eleanor Dredge covered her mouth with a shaking hand. The places where he had held her by the wrist were now deep scarlet marks on her otherwise white arm.