The Forevers - Chapter One

These parties normally lasted until the early hours of the morning, and nobody in their right minds left early – not that the majority of the guests were in their right minds. Despite the chill, several teens lingered along the short stretch of beach behind the house, a few of whom even waded into the lake.

Down the beach, separated from the others, were two girls. The blonde waved her hands in the air frantically as she spoke. The brunette, who was several inches shorter, seemed to ignore the words as she took another sip of beer.

Nobody viewing the scene would think the girls were best friends. They were fighting, as they had many times before, over a boy named Jefferson.

“If you don't like Jeff,” the brunette said, “You should stop coming with us every time.”

She gave a huff and tossed the beer can onto the ground, before burying her hands in the pockets of an oversized jacket. Her boyfriend had been sweet enough to give it to her earlier that night, although her legs were still freezing in her red dress.

“Who else would drive you home, Ireland?” The blonde eyed her friend's clothing and briefly wondered if she noticed what the others wore to these parties – jeans and t-shirts. Certainly not three-inch heels.

The brunette, Ireland, sighed. “Why can't you quit nagging me for once?”

“That's enough.” The blonde spoke with finality that did nothing but anger her friend.

“God, Carissa, you think you're my mom or something.” She was now jumping up and down to keep warm, which made her statement seem less serious.

Carissa let out a long breath. Jefferson, the boy in question – the boy she never could tolerate, despite her best efforts – walked towards them.

“I'm not your mom,” she said, as he stopped a distance away. The boy tried to avoid the girls' bickering, difficult as it proved to be sometimes.

There were always those little first impressions people gave off to everyone who met them, parts of their personality that showed through clearly. Upon meeting Ireland, one of the first things a person would describe her as was stubborn. Perhaps that was why nobody fought her decision more.

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes, and said, “I'm leaving.”

Carissa reached for her, but she walked over to Jefferson and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “We're leaving, Jeff.”

“Ireland, I don't think ...” His words slurred. She giggled.

Again, Carissa threw her hands in the air. “You can't drive home when you're both drunk!”

“Jeff's a good driver.” She took the beer can from his hand and threw it down next to her own. “Come on, Jeff.”

“Maybe –” he began, but a determined glint in her eye stopped him. Sober, he would argue with her about anything. He could even win, sometimes. But when Jefferson drank, he became much more agreeable.

His car was parked houses down, in his aunt's driveway – it always made for convenient parking, her living so close. As they walked, Carissa followed on their heels. In the driveway she said, “Ireland, don't do this. I'm begging you.”

She gave a bright smile and slammed the door. Jefferson pulled out of the driveway. Down the beach, the party would continue throughout the night. An hour later, after calling her mom and giving as few details as possible, Carissa would be at home in her room.

In the morning, everyone – including Carissa's mother – would know exactly what happened: Two teens in a brutal car crash, not far from the beach. No injuries in the other car, aside from a bruise on someone's arm. The driver, an eighteen-year-old boy, made it out with a few scratches. The girl died on impact. Alcohol was believed to be a factor, but no charges would ensue.

~*~

Ireland woke up in a hospital. Her surroundings were typical – bright lights, white everywhere. No flowers, like she had seen so often in the movies. Nobody at her side, either. Maybe they stepped out for a moment?

Her back ached, and her head was fuzzy, but otherwise she felt impossibly healthy. She sat up and wondered if all hospital beds were so comfortable and warm. The place looked familiar, somehow – possibly the same place where Carissa's nephew was born? She tried to envision herself in the room, feeling slightly out of place as the family passed the baby boy around.

Wrong. But Ireland could count on one hand the number of times she visited a hospital.

This place did not have any machines, which felt strange. She expected to be hooked to IV's and such, but she knew nothing about medicine. Maybe she had not been injured so badly?

Finally, the door on the other side of the room opened. A tall woman with sleek black hair walked inside. There were wings on her back, and her dark skin glistened under the lighting. Unless she had been out for months, it was nowhere near Halloween.

“You're awake,” the woman said, and Ireland realized that she too had a familiar air about her. The memories felt just out of her reach.

“You have wings,” she retorted, clenching the blankets in her fists. “What's going on?”

I'm dead, she thought. A long time ago, Ireland stopped believing in an afterlife. She did not quite know what she did believe – thinking about it made her head hurt. But she did not like the idea of some superior being deciding her fate. Maybe it had to do with her hatred of rules.

The woman sat down on another bed, a few feet away. “Tell me what you remember.”

“I went to a party and left with my boyfriend,” she said, leaving out the parts that made her seem irresponsible. “We crashed on the way home.”

For the first time, she wondered if Jefferson was okay. Before, her confusion about the present stopped her from thinking about the past. She felt a tightness in her chest. If he did not make it, what was she supposed to do? How could she live with that?

“Do you know where you are?”

She felt helpless. With a shrug, she guessed, “A hospital?”

The woman laughed. “No, Ireland. You're at the Lakeview Missions Office. In Heaven.”

“Missions Office?” she asked. Heaven, she understood. What kind of mission was going on here? Did they need missions in Heaven, where everything was perfect? And if in fact they were in Heaven, where everything was perfect, why did she feel so lost? Why did she begin to feel afraid?

The woman took a deep breath. “Sometimes, angels go for missions back on Earth – but that's not important now, Ireland. You really don't remember anything?”

“I told you, there was a car crash. I remember the party and everything, too.”

The woman leaned in, placing her elbows on her knees to balance herself. “I know, Ireland, but do you remember anything else? Choosing your life, being here, anything from before?”

“Choosing my life? Anything before what?”

“Before you went to Earth.” Her voice was soothing, almost coaxing. Did she think Ireland was keeping something from her, or that her tone would bring back the memories?

“There was a time before I went to Earth?” she asked dumbly. “I mean … I was here, before then? Like this?”

The woman laughed. “Not exactly, no. You sure knew more back then.”

She paused, then said, “I'm Kyli. I'm the Mission's Coordinator for this building. We've known each other some time, although I haven't worked with you before.”

“Alright,” she said. “What about … Did you say I chose my life?”

“Not your whole life, precisely. When angels want to go back to Earth for a lifespan, we call it a vacation. Many people don't want to be here full-time, so they leave. You can choose the length of your stay.”

“So I chose to live seventeen years,” she said, not believing it. Why would she anyone do that? Did infants who died choose that as well – did they know how sad it was to lose a child? Ireland wrapped her arms around her stomach, her fear growing. This woman was lying to her.

Kyli's laugh sounded sweet; she must have had that perfect, heavenly thing going for her, being an angel and all. “This is so strange to explain to someone who is basically human. And I know it's even more difficult for you to understand.”

Ireland moved to the edge of the bed – the side furthest from Kyli. She needed to be left alone. She needed to figure out what was going on. If she found a way out of here, surely someone would tell her the truth – but who?

She did not realize she was still backing up until her wings hit against the wall. Her wings. Ireland looked behind her, seeing the white feathers. They were shaped different from Kyli's, and looked ruffled. They were big, too – no wonder her back hurt.

With a little concentration, she found she could flutter them. She began raising off the ground, and quickly stopped. The feeling of her feet rising from the ground startled her.

“They're probably stiff,” Kyli suggested. “You've been lying in bed so long – are you hurt?”

Ireland hesitated. “My back feels a little better, now that I … flew, or whatever.”

Kyli gestured around the room with her hand. It was large, with high ceilings and plenty of floor space. Even more, the floors were so soft. Like clouds.

“Fly around,” Kyli said. “I'll need to be going, but you'll have another visitor soon. Remington – he's an employee of mine – will be sharing your room for the night. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to answer your questions.

She did not seem at all sure that he would willingly answer questions, but she left before Ireland could say anything at all. Once the door closed behind her, Ireland fluttered her wings again – just a little.

The sensation of flying, leaving the ground – or was it ground, even? Were they actually in the sky already? – felt strange, unlike anything she experienced before.

She flew in short bursts, her body slowly relearning how to fly correctly. It occurred to her that, for angels, flying must be equivalent to walking. Most of them probably never questioned the wings on their backs, having learned long ago how to use them.

Feeling brave, she flew a bit higher. She did not have great control over where she went – she tried to go forward, but nearly crashed sideways into a wall instead.

That was the moment he chose to walk in. The boy looked about her own age, although she did not know how age worked in heaven – did they choose how old to look, like they chose how long to live on earth? Perhaps they chose their appearances, and that was why the only two people she had seen so far looked near-perfect.

As she fluttered to the ground, Ireland realized how tall he was – and, to her disappointment, both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground. She had to tilt her head up to see his face, and to notice the amusement in his eyes.

His expression quickly turned to annoyance. “You can't even fly properly,” he said, as though she could not have figured it out on her own.

“I'm trying to teach myself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She wondered if angels blushed, or if only she could notice the heat rushing to her face.

He sat down on the bed opposite her own. “How is that going for you?”

Ireland refused to answer. She thought of her many questions, unable to decide on only one, and unsure he would answer. Finally she settled on, “Why are you here?”

“Kyli thought it would be good if we talked, before going out on the mission tomorrow. Not that you would remember anyway, but we never worked together.”

That meant she had done work for Kyli before. “Have I always worked here?” she asked. “When I'm not on earth or whatever?”

“From what I understand, you did small missions. Kyli talked like you hopped around a lot – lots of travel, jumping between jobs. You volunteered more than you worked.”

The idea of travel interested her. Did she go back to earth, or explore heaven? Was there really that much to explore here? “Where did I travel to?”

He shrugged. “Different cities, probably.”

It sounded less exciting that way – but likely anything would sound less exciting once Remington had too much say in it. She disliked his attitude.

“So, I went all over the place and never saw you.”

Those words brought out a reaction. Angels could, in fact, blush. Remington ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn't around,” he said, like this was secret.

Ireland watched his expression changed – he tried to block out the embarrassment, but there was something else that he concealed better. His sadness only showed in his eyes. “Where were you?” she asked, not unkindly.

He straightened his back and held his head a bit higher, and she caught the way his mouth fell into a frown before he clenched his jaw. “I'm not talking about my life with you, Ireland. It's bad enough that I'm dragging a human along on this mission.”

“What is the mission?” she asked, but he already brought his legs onto the bed, underneath the blanket. She doubted she would get more information from him.

“We can talk about it in the morning,” he said. “Just get some sleep. Try to remember something.”