CHAPTER SEVEN

Crosby sits next to me. He must be a mind reader, because he speaks up just as I’m about to start screaming again. “We need to talk about why you’re flagged,” he says.

“So that’s it? We’re going to just shrug my life off and change the subject?”

Frustration flashes in Crosby’s eyes, but he doesn’t take the poisonous bait I’ve tossed out. “No more outbursts, okay?” His voice is calm, almost cheery.

About a hundred responses flood my brain, none of them appropriate. “Whatever.”

He stares at me. Waiting for something? Expecting me to go volcanic again? When I don’t, he continues. “For most souls, Atman Station is simply a transfer point, a way station between life and death. You come in, get a ticket, and you’re on your way.”

“On your way to where?”

“Heaven, nirvana, paradise … it goes by lots of names, but it’s all the same place.”

“Heaven? Like harps, clouds, and pearly gates?” I roll my eyes.

He shakes his head. “Forget what you learned in Sunday school.”

“I never went to Sunday school.”

“Well, forget whatever it is you’ve heard, because no religion gets it quite right.”

I cross my arms. “Why don’t we skip past the part where you tell me what it isn’t and get to telling me what it is?”

Crosby lets out a slow breath and drums his fingers on his knees. “Without getting into specifics, it’s the eternal utopia where you’ll be reunited with family and friends. Everyone you’ve ever wanted to meet, everything you’ve ever wanted to do—it’s all there.”

“Why can’t you get into specifics? Is eternity in some sort of hurry? We on the clock or something?”

“Because you need to focus on the here and now. You’re here because your soul isn’t ready to let go of the life you’ve left behind. There’s a war waging inside you, Dez, and we’re here to help.” He quickly glances at the watch on his wrist. “And yes, as far as Atman is concerned, we are on the clock. You’re about to be tossed into a highly regimented, time-oriented existence.”

A frustrated groan is my only response as I head back to the window and its view of the beautiful, inexplicably forbidden city. “So I’m being punished for—what? Not wanting to be dead?”

“I know you’ve been through a lot today. It may not seem like it right now, but we really do want you to succeed and move on. Our residents are our top priority.” He joins me at the window. “We’ve had a rough start, but you’re going to have to learn to trust me. Every rule and procedure has a purpose, stemming first and foremost from a concern for your well-being.”

The memory of being pinned to the ground by him runs through me like a shockwave. Trust him? Are you kidding me?

With nowhere safe to go, I settle for the couch again. “You and Gideon sure have a funny way of showing your ‘concern.’” I use exaggerated air quotes to make my point.

Crosby leans against the wall next to the couch, keeping his distance. “I’m sorry things went the way they did, but you didn’t give us much choice.”

I hug a throw pillow like a cushy shield against this man and this place. “This can’t be happening. I don’t believe in any of it.”

“You’re going to have to open your mind, Dez. What you wanted, what you expected, what you believed before right now—none of it matters.”

“So this is some sort of purgatory?”

“No.”

“Good, because I don’t believe in that either.” With a surge of courage and anger, I throw the pillow at him.

Crosby catches it with ease. “Think of it as a state of limbo.”

“Purgatory, limbo … kind of splitting hairs, aren’t we?”

“It’s an important distinction. Purgatory has a stigma of punishment and suffering attached to it. You’re not here to be punished.”

I begin counting points off on my fingers. “And yet I’ve been tackled, chased, zapped, and placed in some sort of psychiatric ward.” The groggy, pain-riddled conversation when I came to pops into my mind. “Speaking of which, that Eliza lady said something about a procedure. What did she do to me?”

Crosby shifts his weight and looks away. “You can discuss that with Kay, tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me now.”

“I’m not privy to the psychiatric treatments utilized by our medical and intervention staff.”

“Wow, that sounded like it was right out of the textbook.” I point to the thick manual he’s holding. “So she was dishing out some sort of punitive measure because I got out of line?”

“I already told you, you’re not here to be punished.”

“Doesn’t make me any less dead though, does it?”

“No, but a journey of a thousand miles—”

“Begins with a single step?”

“Exactly.”

“Spare me the Lao Tzu crap. That’s a mistranslation, anyway.”

“You’re something else, kiddo.” He rubs his face and sighs, then hands me the manual he’s been holding. “Here you go.”

The manual sits heavy in my lap. Its heft surprises me. It’s plain white with bold black letters practically shouting their way off the page.

ATMAN CONDUCT MANUAL: TOWER RESIDENTS (ALL PARKS)

“Exciting,” I say flatly.

“Important. Think it, believe it, become it.”

Trying to quiet the angry thoughts running through my mind, I flip the manual open to a random page.

Any shirts with sleeves that fall more than three inches below the elbow are strictly forbidden. You have been provided a full wardrobe with a variety of styles and accessories, custom made for your needs and size, falling within Atman’s dress code guidelines. Please wear only the clothes that have been provided to you, and avoid the exchange of items with roommates, floormates, etc.

I slam the manual shut and glare at Crosby. “Sleeve length? Really? Of all the concerns that being dead brings, they’re going to give me crap about sleeve length?”

He taps the bracelet on my wrist. “Your level and identification need to be visible at all times.”

“So the goal is what? Irritate us into letting go?”

“You have a lot of hard work ahead of you.”

“Irritating work?”

“We have very specific guidelines and goals,” he says. “Everything’s tailored to each individual out of our core philosophy and program. As you settle in, we’ll expand your goals. Information at Atman is rolled out slowly, as needed, rather than thrown at you all at once.”

“Why can’t we just cut the crap, and you tell me what I need to do to get out of here?”

“In your seventeen years, you’ve lived about a hundred and fifty thousand hours, give or take. In those hours, you experienced a plethora of moments that define you. We have to find the ones you can’t let go.”

“That’s not exactly helpful.”

Crosby gives me a sideways look. “You ever go swimming in a lake?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just humor me.”

“I’m from Wisconsin and I went to Girl Scout camp. What do you think?”

“When you’re swimming in a lake, you can’t see where you’re going, right? Even in the best conditions, the water’s murky.”

I nod and sigh. “You can’t usually see more than a yard or so past your fingertips.”

“You can swim all the way across like that.”

“Yeah, but so what?” I ask.

“Atman is the same thing. If you only focus on what’s on the other side of the lake, you might forget to paddle.”

I lean back on the couch. “So, what’s at my fingertips right now?”

“In your first few days here, your focus is simple. You just need to remember the three A’s. Adapt, accept, acknowledge. You need to focus on adapting to your new environment. Take everything in, learn the rules, adjust to the schedule and your new living arrangements. Adapt.”

“I feel like I should be taking notes.”

“There’s no shortage of reminders and motivation around here.” He points to a sign hanging on the wall next to the door.

WE ARE ALL THREADS IN THE TAPESTRY OF ETERNITY

“You mean propaganda.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” He smiles. “But it works.”

“So, what’s accept?”

“Accept your surroundings. Your soul isn’t ready to move on, but accepting the fact that you really are here is an important first step.”

“And acknowledge?”

“Acknowledge your feelings. Whatever they may be. You’re on an emotional rollercoaster. It’s important to acknowledge and give voice to your feelings while maintaining control of your physical reactions.”

“Give voice? Okay, I’m feeling cranky. And tired. And overwhelmed. And pissed off. That a good start?”

“It’s important to take this seriously. Especially the acknowledge part. It helps minimize side effects in the immediate aftermath of death. Fatigue and mood swings are the most common. Anxiety can reach severe levels if you aren’t mindful of your feelings. You can also experience what is called a link-burst, which is an energy surge between yourself and a close family member or friend on the other side.”

“What?” I ask, alarmed.

He waves a dismissive hand. “Hardly ever happens. If it does, you’ll find yourself feeling a little queasy is all. Following the acknowledge rule can help you avoid it altogether.” He stands. “How about we get out of here? You need some time to clear your head before you really dive into the manual.”

“Can’t wait.”

“There’s a cafeteria not far from here. Do you want something to eat?”

“Why would I?”

“You’d be surprised. Eating is one of the hardest things for many of our transitional souls to let go of.”

“Well, I’m not hungry.”

He holds out his hand to me. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I consider him. “You done pinning me to the ground?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You done giving me a reason to?” He wiggles his fingers. “Come on. Fresh start, okay?”

I summon every bit of remaining irritation. “Fine. Lead the way, Bing.”