The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(70)

I peeked open one eye. “Yes.”

“Then it was partially your fault. Shared blame. Who do you blame?”

“I don’t. I mean … I was young. My parents were focused on my younger brother. It was my uncle’s house. Maybe he should have warned my parents of the hazards. And I should have known to not snoop around when they told me not to touch anything. But they always told me that. Isn’t that a pretty standard parental warning?”

“So it’s a trade.” She opened her eyes, tawny and owlish in their inspection of me. “What did you agree to do in exchange for continuing in this life as Ronin Alexander?”

How did she do that? Know that? Why did I find her knowledge so unbelievable?

Again …

I died.

Heard a voice.

Made a deal.

Lived to tell about it.

How insane and ironic that I maintained such a critical mind when it came to anyone who could help me understand my situation. Was the possibility of them knowing the meaning of the voice any more unbelievable than me hearing the voice in the first place?

“I’m not sure what I agreed to, but I think it involved not becoming a paramedic. I did it anyway.”

“Oh ….” Athelinda held up her shaky twig of a finger, leaned to the side, and retrieved a book from under her pillow. It had the same hundred-year weathered appearance as the hands that held it. The brown-stained cover read “I AM” followed by an ellipsis. The binding creaked as she opened the hardcover. “I think we can narrow this down.”

“I’m not looking to narrow anything down per se but rather completely remove its power over my life.”

She glanced up, eyes narrowed into catlike slits. “Young man, your life is contingent on its power. I fear you don’t have a true respect for it.”

“I don’t understand it. That makes it hard to respect it.”

“Is that not why you’re here? To shed the light of wisdom on this beautiful gift?”

“Curse.” I shook my head. “Not a gift.”

“You lived. That’s a gift.” She thumbed through the worn pages with curled corners and smudged ink spots and spewed off a string of questions. Some I knew the answers to, others I didn’t want to know the answers.

What was my first solid food?

How many permanent teeth did I have when I died the first time?

How do I picture God? Man, woman, beast? Vengeful, kind, both?

Recurring dreams?

Biggest fear?

After a series of nods and “I see’s,” Athelinda stopped on a page toward the back of the book. Stroking her palm over the wrinkled page several times, she smiled. “Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light, lest shards of darkness shed upon thee.”

“H-how did you know that?”

“I wrote the book.”

That didn’t answer my question. Writing a book and reading my mind were two different abilities.

“Was it you? Was it your voice I heard?”

Her chest vibrated with a tiny chuckle. “That’s a first. I’ve never had anyone ask me that before. I was twenty-one at the time of your accident. Believe me, I had better things to do than counsel the in-betweeners. Third year of college.” She shook her head. “My poor liver. I spent a full decade drinking myself into a coma. The twenties were brutal.”

I did the math in my head, and it didn’t add up. I was twelve at the time of my accident. If she was twenty-one at the same time, that meant she was only nine years older than me.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

The fragile woman before me could not possibly be thirty-six years old.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She winked with a wry grin on her face.

I no longer had any doubt that she knew all of my thoughts.

“I’ve had thirteen near-death experiences. That shit ages a person. I’ve seen many lights, heard many voices. The Keeper hasn’t been as generous to me. Not all of my deaths have been accidental.” She shrugged, scrunching her already wrinkled nose.

“The Keeper? You mean God?”

“The Keeper is definitely not God. If you ruled the world, would you seriously spend your days filtering through the dead? Hell no, you wouldn’t. You’d assign that shit to someone else. Delegate. Delegate. Delegate.”

“I’m …” I inched my head side to side.

“It’s confusing. I know.” She gathered her hair over one shoulder and began braiding it. “NDEs, OBEs, reincarnation, Heaven, Hell, eternal enlightenment … the possibilities seem endless. It’s easier to believe in the Big Bang Theory and resign yourself to the idea that the earth’s creatures will devour your remains when you die. The circle of life makes the most sense. Yet … here we are, knowing there’s some other factor, some other force. Such a small percentage of people come back. I mean … when the heart stops … that’s it. But humanity has messed with that. We like to swoop in and save lives—Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light.”

My brain hurt. It made no sense. Why would it be wrong to save a life? It was what I’d suspected the proverb or curse meant, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“I’m not supposed to save people?” I laughed.