Destination Fear: Chapter 0

Chapter 0: Life
Everest, Ohio
May 5th, 8:50am



Anxiety and worry went hand-in-hand for Triton. Anxiety, a winner at teasing his mind. Worry, his mind home to it for as long as he could remember. Numerous thoughts ran through his mind that included worry, and eventually add to his anxiety. Losing his job, becoming homeless, developing a painful illness, developing a painful illness that prevented him from working… these were only a small percentage of the worrisome thoughts swimming circles in his mind. The mechanical partnered doors opened and he entered the store, feeling his anxiety level up. Four years ago, stress wasn’t a factor at the start of his job. As time passed, the stress added weight, eventually becoming overwhelming. Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult played on the in-store radio.
The store was a small one, sixteen aisles total, and the only business on Middleton Road off State HWY-11. Red, white, and blue streamers hung from the ceiling. Water sprayed from the sprinklers over the fresh produce. The shopping carts had the store logo printed. Shop Fresh Grocery, your family is our family.
Walking past the deli/bakery, he overheard an old lady ordering macaroni salad. I hope she knows the deli mixes mass amounts of mayonnaise with the potatoes, he thought, laughing in his head. The smell of produce and fried chicken entered his nostrils, making his stomach nauseous. He worked at Shop Fresh Grocery, located off Route fifty-five. These days, he felt burned out, especially from the stress and frustration the job brought him. Massive doses of it.
Since the age of fourteen, his anxiety caused the worst problems of problems to erupt. Problems that were disruptive to his social life, unbearable to his personal life, and uncontrollable to his love life. The types of anxiety that controlled him consisted of social anxiety, acute anxiety, and a severe panic disorder, which he was diagnosed with at the age of fifteen. Major depression was the culprit.
The people he worked with weren’t always such a delight either. Some posed as polite, others posed as decent, but many posed as mean jackasses. When it came to his disposition, a sunny one he handed on a plate to everyone. He offered politeness, no matter how bad others treated him. To put it simply, he was a pushover.


Walking down aisle four, he passed the baking supplies, stealing a whiff of the cinnamon from the spice section. The cool sensation of the ceiling vent blew through his hair. Reaching the back of the store, past meat and seafood, he headed to the break room where the time-clock hung on the dreary cracked wall. The room was a small one with four square tables, a refrigerator, a microwave, and a sink. This depressing room always smelled of sweet and sour sauce and hopelessness. Employees would push two or three tables together and sit around them, playing a game called “Pathetic cash.” This included Triton, who won at the game a handful of times.
Every Saturday, like clockwork, participating employees would throw a ten-dollar bill on the table and sit around, discussing the events that played out in their lives that week and comparing whose life was more pathetic, and whoever had the least amount of action would win the cash in the pool. Sometimes the pot got up to eighty-dollars. A dead-end job? Working at this store, yes. Employees would alternate being judges.
"Triton, I need you to do inventory this weekend," said Deanna, his supervising manager, walking into the room.
If she needed to talk to an employee, she checked the break room first, rather than hunting them down in the store.
“I requested this weekend off,” he said. “And I was told I was approved. I have a funeral to go to.”
Deanna was the type of person that understood when a person had a problem. Many guys around the store had a crush on her. She did look attractive with her golden curly hair and light blue eyes that glared under the florescent lighting in the store. Her glasses that made her look voluptuous, and she always wore a dress that stopped at her knees.
"Your request was approved at first but Mrs. Hodges changed it because she needs you to come in,” she explained, scratching her head.
“Ugh!” he shouted with his eyes to the ceiling.
“I warned you before, if you work hard here, it gives them a reason to string you along their fingers and make you do whatever the hell they want,” she chuckled. “That’s why I never work any harder than I have to.”
“Yeah, I should take a lesson from you,” he sighed with frustration. “I really should.”
The look of disappointment on his face unintentionally played a guilt trip on her. One rule he tried to live by was to never kill the messenger. “If you can find someone to replace you, I will let you have that day off,” she smiled, giving him two small pats on the back.
“What about Mrs. Hodges?”
“Don’t worry about that high-class wannabe. I can deal with her.”
“Thanks, Deanna” he said with a small smile. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he laughed.
“You are too kind,” she laughed with him.
Unlike other members of management, she paid attention to her job and never made it difficult for him to do his. He was well aware that sometimes jobs that look simple are actually quite the opposite and wished that others could see this. One thing for sure, he respected the stress she carried from being an underpaid manager.
Exiting the break room, he headed back into the store with his clipboard to do an inventory check on the alcohol. Kayla and Brad were stocking glass bottles of Foot Pride Wine. The label had a picture of the sole part of a foot stomping on a grape.
Not a day gone by when something didn’t spark his curiosity. Sometimes though, he bothered others with his questions from his mind wondering so much. Hanging around these two made him question why he even bothered.
“Forget it!” Brad laughed.
“Forget what?” he asked.
“Triton, I am NOT working this weekend!” Brad said in a tall voice.
“Me neither,” said Kayla. “I am going Jenna’s party!”
“How did you know I needed someone to replace me, anyway?”
The two individuals laughed at him, exchanging glances. He pondered who could have informed them of his time-off request.
"Deanna asked us a little bit ago,” said Kayla. “When we both told her we were busy, she said ‘Triton isn’t going to be happy with me’. I told her I had plans. We both did.”
“You cannot do me this one favor?” he asked, taking turns looking at both of them. “Either of you? Just this once? I’ll owe you one,” he said with a cocky grin.
“I can’t miss a good party!” she laughed, patting him on the back, and walking away.
“Same,” said Brad. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, following her.
“Loser,” Kayla muttered, bumping into Brad as they both laughed.
“Like I would do anything for that fag,” Brad muttered as they continued walking.
They were both still laughing at Triton as they walked, continuing to mutter rude remarks. Remarks he couldn’t hear but knew were still hurtful. Heading into the stockroom, he tried to shake off being laughed at. The room had a strange raw fish odor and contained hundreds of boxes with food items inside. He took a box-cutter and opened a box of Dream Island Banana Rum when Mrs. Hodges walked over to him. She was the assistant manger and called all the shots.
This woman always got down to business and intimidated the hell out of him. She was a person you could smell fifty feet away. Her cheap dollar store perfume gave it away every time.
"Triton, I was taking a look at aisle eight and it would be better to move the pancake mix to the baking aisle,” she said.
“The pancake mix is in aisle eight with the box meals because that is exactly what it is,” he chuckled. “A boxed meal.”
"Well, I got a memo that says we are not selling enough, and it’s probably because customers think they can find it in the baking aisle.”
"It is where it has always been. I don’t see why they would have trouble finding it now.”
Dollar signs was all this woman cared about, and she made damn sure everyone saw this side of her. She never talked about her personal life, nor did anyone know anything about her. "Triton, fix it or I fix you, which I mean fix you to where you'll be on unemployment."
"Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do," he said in an upset voice.
"Do not tell me you will see! You just do!" she said in a steep voice before walking away.
More than one tale was going around the store about her. One tale was about her sleeping around with people in upper management, and another one that had been going around for a while was about how she would “Markdown” items, but customers would still get charged full price at the register, and she would pocket the difference. The customers would have no idea they overpaid because she found clever ways to cover her tracks. Just a rumor though, with no way to prove it.
When these issues occurred, Triton had to fix them because these were the problems he had to deal with. Cleaning up other people’s messes. He wanted another life more than anything. A life in a different town. A life as a different person. A life with nothing to worry about. The type of life everyone under the sun dreams about.
As he headed back into store, clicking his black ink-pen. Last Kiss by Pearl Jam played on the in-store radio. The scent of sausage cooking flew into his nose, and that’s when he saw Jenna standing there, handing out samples of Bob Evans sausage links and an assortment of different cheeses. He thought, “Why not ask her?
“Try this,” she said, shoving a Townhouse cracker with Cheddar cheese into his mouth.
“Jeez, Jenna,” he mumbled with his mouth full, trying to chew fast.
“They’re good, right?” she giggled, putting a cracker with Swiss cheese into her mouth.
She was known for her impulsive attitude. It impressed management, but she didn’t care about impressing them.
"Hey, I’m having a party this weekend at the country club. How would you like to make a few bucks?" she asked, placing toothpicks into the sausage links.
"Make a few bucks?" What do I have to do? Strip?” he chuckled.
She stood there, staring at him, finding his humor dry. Three words described her. “Not a clue”. He stopped laughing, realizing he was the only one finding himself funny.
"Ewe, who would want to see that?” she asked, looking at him if he were weird. A hurt facial expression came upon his face. “All you have to do is park cars. We couldn’t find a valet. It will be an easy hundred bucks for four hours of work."
"I can’t anyway. I have a funeral to go to.”
“Oh, OK.”
Her family had more money than they could spend in a lifetime. The only reason she worked at the store was because her parents made her work there. Their theory was it would help her people skills for when she became Miss. America. More like a porn star from what Triton thought.
"You can go to a funeral at any little ole time,” she flirted, caressing her index finger down the center of this shirt.
"Sure I can!" he sarcastically remarked. “I have work to do. Mrs’ Hodges is bitching, saying she wants the pancake mix in the baking aisle.”
“Oh, well, shouldn’t that be in the cake aisle?” she asked with an innocent look.
“Cake aisle?”
"Yeah, like snack cakes. Pancakes are cakes.”
“You know, I never thought of it like that,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “I have to get back to work,” he said, walking away. “You uneducated, stupid little-" he muttered under his breath, not looking back.
Heading back into the break room, he felt irritated and tired, even though he had only walked in the store ten minutes ago. As he was checking the selections in the vending machine, Valery came into the room and put her coat in the locker.
Both she and Mrs. Hodges were buddies, and she thought whatever came out of Mrs. Hodges's mouth was pure gold. She pretended like the woman was a god. Everyone had to be careful what they said to her because whatever she heard, Mrs. Hodges heard. Word for word. Syllable to Syllable.
"Valery, do you-”
“No!” she interrupted Triton. “I have a life, Triton. I have a date this weekend. Ask Jenna. That girl’s family is rich. She don’t even need this job.”
“I asked her already. My friend Emma passed away yesterday and I really need to go to that funeral.”
Emma died of a sudden and rare illness. At one time, they were good friends, but grew apart over the years.
“Deanna asked me to trade shifts with you, and I told her I only answer to Mrs. Hodges,” she said in a stuck up way with nose in the air. “You could learn a lesson from her. Calling off work is for those who don’t want to succeed. I can tell you’re already going down that road.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled angrily. “Because attending a funeral of someone I care about is not as important as kissing a bitches ass-”
Pausing, he almost forgot who has was talking to. Saying anything remotely bad about Mrs. Hodges could get a person in hot water. Hot water and termination.
“I hope that you are not insinuating that Mrs. Hodges is a bitch,” she said, staring directly into his eyes. He had become quite good at knowing how to handle her in situations like this.
“I’m sorry, I have something in my ears. All I heard were the words ‘Mrs. Hodges is a bitch’,” he chuckled, hoping to gain some leverage.
“Well played, Triton. Well played,” she said, giving him a mean look. “Next time, I’ll tell her what you said,” she threatened, giving him a hateful look before leaving the room.
When he crossed her path, he tried to ignore every remark she made. He had been around long enough to know that sometimes people are just mean and you can’t win with people like that. Looking in the mirror that hung over the sink, he questioned himself, wondering how much of a pushover he was. He hated looking at himself in the mirror, thinking he looked unattractive.
Some girls thought his dark brown hair and deep blue eyes made him gorgeous. Standing six feet tall, he thought he looked attractive.







First National Bank Of Savings and Trust
May 5th, 3:00pm




The grandfather clock chimed three times. The motion of the pendulum swaying back and forth soothed her. The wind outside the glass doors whistled a loud tune, tapping against the window. The calming sound of the air blowing from the vent added to her tiredness. It felt chilly inside the bank, but manageable.
The smell of paper and money breezed through the air. A stack of deposit slips were stacked neatly on the table in the middle of the room. Four rows of black pens attached to twig-like silver chains were in the center of the table. The room was painted green, similar to the same color as money, the floor made of marble. Cheap brass light fixtures hing from the ceiling, four clear sixty watt bulbs attached to each one.
A woman in her twenties with long flowing blond hair and hazel eyes stood at the teller’s window. There were four teller windows total, only two of them currently open. Despite having only five customers throughout the entire day, she still felt exhausted. Her shift was not set to end until 5p.m.
Only two other customers were inside the bank. An old lady with her white poodle and a young man cashing his paycheck from his fast food job. They were both standing at the deposit slip table, filling out a slip with a cheap chain-pen.
Mr. Owens, the bank manager was on the phone in his office with the door closed. Standing at the window next to her was her best friend and co-worker, Myra, who glanced out the drive-up window at two children across the street running through sprinklers.
A man walked through the door, wearing a black trench coat with black dockers, black boots, and dark sunglasses concealing his eye color. His hair was black. The first thought that entered her mind when she noticed him was, “This guy looks like an undercover government agent.”
Everyone’s eyes watched as he whistled and walked to the deposit slip table, snatched a slip, took out a pen from the pocket of his coat, and flipped it over, writing on the back. Clicking his pen while placing it back in his pocket, he made a slow walk to her window as her eyes followed him.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered with a small smile, glancing at her name tag, which read, Annabelle. “Yes, Annabelle,” he said, handing her the deposit slip.
She noticed the front was blank and thought to herself that even the less intelligent customers know it has to be filled out to make a withdraw.
“Do you need assistance filling this out?” she asked. “I know it can be tricky,” she said, trying not to make him look stupid.
“Flip it over,” he said, pointing to the slip.
She flipped it over and it read, “Empty the drawer. No police. No alarms. You alert anyone, I have a gun. I will kill you.” She quickly glanced back up at him.
With her mouth falling open, her hands shook, but the rest of her body froze. Her heart felt as if it were jumping against the rib-cage. The first thought that entered her mind was, “I’m going to die.”
“Annabelle?” he said, waving his hands in front of her face, trying to get her attention. Paralyzed by the current shock placed before her, her body stayed froze. Sighing in frustration, he gave up and moved to the next part of his plan. "Everybody, hands up!" he yelled out, looking around, and causing her to jump back while he removed a 9mm from his trench coat and waved it around.
The two other customers in the bank put their hands up, the lady with the poodle, dropping her checkbook. Mr. Owens came to a standstill with his eyes popping out as he developed a nervous tickle in the back of his throat. Myra’s hands were raised high, and her body was tensed with fear.
Annabelle’s eyes stayed glued to him. Her stomach felt queasy, and her heart was jumping back and forth in her chest. He slammed a large black bag on the counter, causing a vibration. The bag was the size of a bowling ball case and had a black zipper at the top.
“Fill it!” he screamed in her face, causing her to jump and her hands to shake. "Now! And I don’t want to see any goddamn phones!” he shouted, looking around. “I wanna see Ten Fingers! Everyone!"
The thoughts raced through her head like a horse racing around a track. I’m going to die. What I do?
A button attached inside the drawer dialed the police when pressed. With his eyes glued to her hands, fear prevented her from reaching in to hit it.
"Annabelle, you have shiny lips,” he spoke softly, placing his hand to the side of her face and pressing his lips to hers.
Massaging his lips up and down hers for a second before pulling away, he gave her a feeling of intimidation. Her hands fell to her sides with her emotions racing. The man reeked of strong cologne, which caused her to cough. She felt grossed out but flattered at the same time by his flirtatious actions. Staring into his eyes, she felt helpless and confused.
“You can do this, Annabelle,” he said with a cocky grin while pointing to the black bag with one hand, and aiming the gun at her forehead with the other.
As she struggled with distressing and disorienting thoughts, she nervously reached for the drawer. His gaze was fixed on her every action as she grabbed handfuls of tens, twenties, and fifty-dollar bills, hastily stuffing them into a large black bag that caused the bills to spill onto the floor.
Her eyes remained focused on him, wondering how much longer this was going to play out. She unbuttoned the top button of her gray dress shirt, trying to keep herself cool from the nervous heat her body gave her.
Myra wanted to help Annabelle, though she didn’t handle stressful situations as well as her. Feeling frustrated, she picked up a table lamp and slammed it over the back of his head, shattering the emerald glass shade into pieces.
"You bitch!" he screamed, turning around as he fell to his knees with shards of glass embedded in his hair.
Landing on his knees with his fingers being pressed tight on the trigger, a shot fired, painting the bottom part of her gray shirt the color red. A hair-raising scream came from Annabelle’s mouth as Myra grabbed her stomach and collapsed to the floor. The two customers stood there with a look of shock on their faces.
“Myra!” Annabelle cried out.
He picked himself up from the floor, pulling out the bloody shards of glass.

"See what you made me do?!" he yelled before running toward the door, spilling bills out of his bag. “Goddamn it!” he screamed and pushed the doors open, exiting the bank.
The sounds of sirens wailed down the street. The robber jumped into his black Dodge Charger parked under the tree next to the bank. Driving off, he burned tire tracks into the road.
"Help!" Annabelle screamed at the top of her lungs, with her hands and body shaking while holding Myra. "Please don't die on me!" she said, holding her shivering body in her arms. “Please!”
"I, I, I couldn’t let him hurt you," she said, giving a small smile. “I, I pressed, I pressed the alarm button,” she said with a half smile before drawing a last breath in her arms. Her eyes stared off into space.
"No, no, no, no, no, no! Please wake up! Please! You're OK! Please wake up! Please-!"
"Help is coming!" said Mr. Owens, sprinting over to her. The sirens could be heard outside the bank now.
“Where were you?!” she asked, setting Myra’s body onto the floor.
“In my office. I called the police, but they told me they already been alerted.”
“That’s because Myra pressed the damn button, and she tried to save me! All you care about is this bank and what’s in it, and I'm only talking about whatever is green or holds monetary value!" she yelled in his face, slapping his cheek hard.
"Control yourself, Miss. Reagle!" he said with his eyebrows raising while he nervously adjusted his suit and clearing his throat, feeling embarrassed. “I have to protect the customer’s assets too.”
"Myra’s dead! She’s my best friend! I, I, I-” she paused, waving her fists. “You’re an asshole!” she screamed, pushing the doors open and bumping into a police officer walking into the bank.
“Is everything OK?” the police officer asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Owens. “She just lost her best friend. She’ll cool down.”
“Oh, so-” he paused, noticing the dead body on the floor. “OK, I’m going to need a statement from everyone.”
Heading to her Chevy Equinox with her keys jingling from her shaky hands, she unlocked the door and got inside the car. Only five words were on her mind and just those five words.
"This is far from over,” she said with tears in her eyes as she started the engine.






May 5th, 3:10pm,
Route 55







Inside the car with his two accomplices, the bank waited patiently for the money to be counted. Mr. Numbers was the accountant of the gang, and Pink, the getaway driver. A hell of one too. At one time, he entered local races and won a few here and there also.
Contemplating their next moves, they were filled with excitement, but also anxiety. Not one police vehicle was in sight. Driving at a study speed of 40 miles per hour, Pink focused on the road, and not drawing an attention to the vehicle. A few cars were on the road, but it wasn’t hard to pass them.
“Why is your head bleeding, Crank?” asked Mr. Numbers, sorting through the bills.
With hesitance, Crank put his hand over his head and played stupid.
“I didn’t even notice,” he said with a nervous laugh.
“Crank?! What happened?!”
It was impossible getting anything past Mr. Numbers. The man could read trouble just by looking at someone’s face.
“I accidentally shot the teller,” he answered.
“What???” Mr. Numbers and Pink said in unison.
“I should have went in with you!” said Mr. Numbers.
“That bitch struck me in the head and knocked me to the floor,” he said. “My fingers were on the trigger when I went down. It was an accident!”
“We said we were NOT going to shoot ANYONE, Crank!”
“Just let it go, Numbers!” said Pink. “We got the money! That’s all that matters!”
“You better hope you did not kill that girl!” Mr. Numbers shouted in his face, causing him to flinch. “That’s all I got to say!”
Guilt was one thing he felt. Guilt and remorse. A horrible feeling cruised through him. In his gut, he knew he murdered her.
“We can use our real names now,” said Mister Number.
“Not until we get out of this,” said Crank. “We don’t know how many cameras were outside that bank., and if we do get caught, we might need a hostage! So, no names!”
“The cops aren’t even on our tail,” Pink laughed.
Crank knew a murder charge would carry a higher sentence than robbery. When he was around his partners he lost much patients with them. He knew they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box but he had a theory. The theory went, dumb partners equal safer bet of not being betrayed.
When it came to counting money, Mr, Numbers could count every bill and every coin down to the exact denomination, and Pink’s excellent driving put Mr. Numbers’s mind at ease. With that being said, there’s a chance they couldn’t have been as dumb as they appeared to be.
"We have $4,268!" said Mr. Numbers in excitement.
"And zero sense," Crank laughed.
"At least we did not shoot anyone!” said Pink, giving him the eye.
“Next time, you jerks are doing the dirty work-” Interrupted by eight police cruisers headed straight toward them, taking up both sides of the road, he panicked. “Oh, shit! Guys, we’re in trouble!”
"How did they find us?!" yelled Mister Numbers.
“Like I told you, there were cameras at that bank!” Crank panicked. “Can you get them off our tail, pink?!”
"No problem!" Pink grinned in excitement.
He exited route 55 and pulled onto the first street on the right. He slammed his foot further onto the pedal. The sirens grew louder as the police cruisers came closer behind. Cars were parked on both sides of the street, but since there were no vehicles on the road, they had a clear path.
The police cruisers followed behind. Pink made a sharp right turn into the Clean em’ Up Car-Wash and sped up to 90 miles per hour. Crank and Mister Numbers looked at him at the same time, wondering what kind of plan he had in that brain of his.
"Why would you drive us in here?!" Crank panicked, watching police cruisers follow behind. “They followed us into car wash!”
Steamy water drenched the windshield, impairing their vision. Pink flipped the on switch for the windshield wipers. Soapy suds dropped onto the glass, making it hard to see yet again. Pink was growing impatient, but Crank felt pissed.
The sirens echoed inside the wash, which when the sound blended in with the machines, it sounded like being inside a noise factor.
“Get us out of here, jackass!” Crank yelled.
“Yeah, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Mr. Numbers shouted.
A sigh to the left read, Pre-wash, wash, soap, rinse, air dry, and hot wax. Down below was a sign that read, Stop, in red lights. Scalding pink, hot wax landed on the windshield, bubbling up.
"You want me to get you out?!” said Pink, hitting the button to turn the wipers to full blast. “OK!" he yelled, slamming the car in front of him out of the cash war wash and into the parking lot, which smashed into the side of a police cruiser.
Turning the wheel, he crashed through a display of air fresheners, and drove past two cute females in pink bikini’s holding a sign that read, Charity car wash.
"Hello beauties!" he flirted and waved.
Both of the beauties giggled and the one on the right blew him a kiss.
"You’ll have plenty of time to find a date once we’re out of this mess!" Crank commented angrily. "Besides, if we don’t lose those cops, the only date you are ever going to get is one from a roommate named Hatchet!"
"You know what?! I've had enough-!"
“Look out!”







May 5th, 2:35pm




Triton parked in front of his house, took a deep breath, and exhaled, being relieved to be home. When he stepped out his 2010 Chevy Impala, the sounds of the birds tweeting and a neighbor three houses down pounding nails hit his ears. The smell of fresh cut grass left a childhood nostalgia aroma in the air. Triton loved this smell. It reminded him of summers when he was a kid.
On his way to the door, he heard a voice from the other side of the street say, "Triton, just the man I wanted to see.”
He turned to see his neighbor, Dale, heading his way. They had been neighbors and some-what friends for three years. Yes, the word somewhat fits the description perfect because they were the kind of people that never admit to being friends. Dale lived in the light green house across the street.
"Dale, It has been a really long-ass day but you can come in," he said, taking out his house-key from his pocket and sighing.
"I won't take up too much of your time,” said Dale.
"It’s really no problem. Did you want something, or did you just want to shoot the breeze?" he chuckled.
"I have these raffle tickets and I-"
"Sorry, I don't want to buy or sale any."
"No, not that. I won on three of them but the rules say only one prize per customer."
"Then why did you buy three?"
Dale did things that were quite eccentric, and a number of those things was ridiculously questionable. Triton wanted to walk into the house, but it didn’t look as if Dale wanted to follow him inside. To avoid being rude, he closed the door and stayed outside with him.
"I didn't think I would win on all three, let alone one," Dale chuckled.
"And you want me to redeem one?"
“Yes, please.” Dale gave an innocent smile like a child. “One of the prizes was a thousand dollars. I'll give you half the money if you redeem this one," he said, holding up the ticket.
“What was the prize on the ticket you already redeemed?” he asked.
“A trip to Hawaii.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
“Uh, no, Triton. I just wanted to see you real quick.”
This wouldn’t be the first time Dale asked him to help him cheat at a contest. He knew the guy meant well, but him meaning well sometimes made a long day longer.
"You are something, maybe more, you know that?" Triton laughed.
"I know but I have bills too, you know, and I’m sure this will help you. I can always ask someone-"
"Alright, don't worry, I will redeem it for you. OK?"
"You’re a life saver! You are going to heaven! You are the man! You are my-"
"OK, don't oversell it,” he laughed.
Dale knew he had a soft spot for his persistent begging, though he has helped him out of jam on more than one occasion. This is why he had no problem helping him out when he could or when it consisted of something ridiculous.
"You look a little down. Is everything OK?" Dale asked in a concerned voice.
"Just fantastic!" he answered with sarcasm.
"Alright, Triton, what happened? Are those assholes at your job still treating you like a hobo crashing a picnic?"
"There’s a new one,” he laughed. “I would say yes but I can handle those jerks.”
“Eh, I know you can, but still, you let them walk all over you.”
“Maybe, well, I used to love my job but I feel as if I’m not going anywhere."
"Understandable, though I am going to give you some good advice and I want you to take it."
"If it involves running off to Vegas and paying for a girl, like I told you before, that is NOT a permanent solution."
"It would take care of your dry spell, but no, not that.”
“Dry spell,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“What I was going to say is that you are exactly where you are supposed to be and when that is supposed to change, it will, but for right now, enjoy the ride."
He thought, “This guy is giving some wise advice”. With a smile, he realized what Dale was saying made sense. Usually his advice wasn’t worth the time letting it go into your ear.
"You know, sometimes you give really good advice,” he smiled, patting Dale’s shoulder. “Just sometimes.”
"Of course, I do,” Dale chuckled. “And something else you could try is to rent a boat and sail into the ocean until you shipwreck on a deserted island."
"And your old unwise self is back,” he laughed. “Besides, I don't think the people that rent me the boat would like that.” Triton thought about the words that just came out of this mouth. “I guess they would never see me again and I will never see them again, wait a minute,” he paused, staring off into space, coming to a realization.
"Exactly!"
“Nice one!” he laughed.
Triton took this as nothing more than a joke but he considered every piece of advice he ever gave him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. The same questions burned through his mind day in and day out, how can the people I work with find me such a certifiable loser but the people outside of work see me differently.







May 5th, 3:05pm





Triton stepped out of the shower, shivering as he grabbed a navy blue towel from the metal rack. After giving himself a quick pat-down with the towel, he hung it back on the rack. Goosebumps formed on his arms and legs as he walked into the bedroom and to the closet. He slid the closet door open and slipped a black shirt over his head. The shirt had a picture of a yellow hand giving a thumbs up.
He put on a pair of dark brown cargo pants. Laying back on the bed, he slid on a pair of black dress socks and put on his black leather shoes. The shoes were comfortable and were the kind that had padding inside, and didn’t have laces.
A feeling sunk into his heart. A feeling of depression mixed with frustration, but worst of all, he felt as if he wasted his life doing nothing. He was lonely with no one to fill the void. His friends either stopped talking to him or moved away. When it came to family, he had none. They were all either far away or dead. Sometimes before bed, he would put his head on his pillow and cry before falling asleep.
Many nights he wished to fall asleep and never wake up again. He would sometimes picture his own funeral, and fantasize about the people that wronged him showing up, and he would think, “If I’m dead in a casket, they will see me there, and feel horrible that they did not spend more time with me.”
There were times when he wanted a better life. Who doesn’t? With him though, his life felt difficult. No one to share anything with. No one to love or care about him. One slip at his job, he would be out on the street. He knew when you’re alone in the world, you have to rely on yourself to survive, but counted his lucky stars he had a job and a place to live.
Not long ago the Covid-19 pandemic put him out of work at the store for a while. Living in poverty, he struggled to pay rent and buy food, not to mention he struggled to stay warm because he kept falling behind on his electric bill.
He walked into the living room and looked in the round mirror hanging on the wall, combed his wet hair, splashing water onto the floor, and headed out the front door.
While heading to his Chevy Impala, Miss. Tuller from two houses down noticed him, waving to get his attention, and walked in his direction.
"No, not her," he said to himself. “Anything, but her.”
Every person in the neighborhood, and even her own family thought of her as, The Cuckoo Lady. She would say things that sounded from out of this world and the next one. Avoiding her was like trying to avoid the plague.
In his book, he could describe her with only one word, Grade A weirdo, but she was so sure of the words that came out of her mouth and believed facts existed to support every word of it.
"Afternoon, Triton, this is your day," she said, staring into his eyes.
Not wanting to be rude, he regrettably engaged in the conversation.
"Of course, it is, Miss. Tuller, " he politely smiled, pretending to understand her. “And why is it my day?” he chuckled.
"I told you to call me Sophie, and I’m serious.”
“About what?” he asked giving a cocky grin. “This being my day or calling you Sophie?”
He thought to himself that it was too hot to stand out in the sun and listen to this. The sun’s rays were already drying his damp hair and he wanting nothing more than to get in his car and make this conversation a memory. A forgotten one.
“About you,” she said. “For the past three days,” she said, holding up three fingers. “I have seen a murder of crows fly over your house every hour on the hour."
“Every hour on the hour?” he chuckled. "You spying on my house and seeing this, does that mean I’m going to die?" he laughed.
Many times he would joke with her when they were talking, even though she didn’t get his sarcasm, or his jokes.
"It’s not about death. It is about a great change that is going to come into your life and once it does, there's no turning back."
"So, am I in danger?" he chuckled.
"The danger is the path on your journey,” she explained, looking into his eyes. “On the day of your departure, your song will play moments before and the crows will circle your house every second instead of every hour."
“My departure?” he laughed. “I thought you said I wasn’t going to die.”
“Please listen,” she said, putting both hands on his shoulders. “A new life will soon begin. This life will soon end. You will still live. You are going to live. Your life will find meaning.”
This should have freaked him out, but didn’t. Something inside of him said to pay attention to her words. Don’t ignore any of it.
"Um, I have to go," he said, shrugging it off and opening his car door.
"Al you fear will be your strength,” she said as he got into the car.
“Thanks for the talk!”
Giving a fake smile, he closed the door. Rolling down his window, he stared at her, waiting for her to say some other ridiculous thing. Something to him not to drive, but a voice in the back of his head told him to go.
“You WILL see,” she nodded. “The song will play. You WILL see,” she said, turning around and walking away.
"Loon," he muttered under his breath. “These days just keep getting longer and longer,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “I need to get a Pitbul.”
"I see she caught you," Dale laughed, approaching the car.
Seeing Dale could be a breath of fresh air compared to seeing her. Even though he had his unusual favors, at least Triton always got one in return. With Miss. Tuller, he received only free surveillance of his house and a free preview to, The nuthouse live every night, staring Henrietta Tuller.
"Yeah,” Triton laughed. “But unlike you, I amuse her instead of putting frogs in her birdbath and ants in her hummingbird feeder when she says that you are going to be awaken by frogs croaking at night and have ants in your kitchen."
"One time!" Dale chuckled.
"Maybe a half a dozen?" he grinned.
"OK, maybe three times, BUT I still say she is the one who put the frogs in my pool and the ants in my kitchen."
"Yeah, I'm sure she likes to use her free time to torture people who solve problems by asking a magic eight-ball.”
“You got it, buddy.”
As they laughed, a murder of crows flew over Triton’s house, circling around, making caw sounds.
“What in the-?”
“Hey, when you get back, come to my house. I’ll order a pizza and we’ll watch a movie,” Dale interrupted Triton.
“Um, uh, yeah,” he said, breaking his focus from the crows. “Sounds good. Hey, she said the crows came every hour on the hour. What time is is?”
“Uh, it’s 3:40p.m,” said Dale, checking his Timex watch. “Just ignore her.”
“But then she said the day of my departure, they would circle around every second.”
“Yeah, and she’s a goofball! You know that!” Going into deep though, he kept thinking about what she said. Dale noticed him daydreaming. “Triton, forget about that loon!”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he chuckled, coming out of his daydream. “Um, Dale, I’ll talk to you when I get back. See you for now.”
“OK, buddy. See you then.”
Rolling up the window, he took one more glance at the crows. After started the engine, I’m Gonna Live Till I Die by Frank Sinatra played on the radio.
“Hey, Frankie,” he chuckled. “A nice little tune-” he paused, listening to the song and remembering what Miss. Tuller said to him. For a moment, he took a serious look at what she said to him. He felt a little freaked out, but decided to ignore it. “Just a coincidence.”
Dale watched as he drove away, and said, “Triton, I hope your nervous soul finds peace,” and then he chuckled.





May 5th, 3:42p.m




Police cruisers chased behind and headed toward the mischievous bank robbers. Pink turned the wheel sharp, driving left onto an alley. Knocking down one trash can after another, he pressed the pedal to the floor. The cruisers were riding their tail.
"It must be trash day," said Pink.
"And you have to hit every one!" said Crank.
It was hard to tell how many cops were chasing them. Pink glanced out the back window, counting with his index finger.
"How many are behind us?" asked Crank.
"I don't know but-"
“Watch out!” Crank interrupted Pink.
Two police cruisers were driving toward them. With the ones behind them and the two now in front of them, Crank began to panic.
"Now what do we do?!" he asked.
"We drive through here!" yelled Pink, slamming through a chain-link fence.
Pulling into a yard, he knocked down a cloths line, disassembling a swing set and running over a bike, bending both rims. Mud and grass swung from the tires as the car lost traction, sliding. Turning the wheel back and forth and pressing his foot back onto the accelerator, he sped through the yard, pulling onto Elm street, a street big enough for two cars, which gave the police a chance to spread out into twos.
Up ahead, police cruisers were headed their way. An unknown number of cruisers drove behind and toward them. To the left was Clover street, which had no signs of traffic. The main question running through Pink’s mind, “Can we get there before the cruisers ahead cut us off?”
Going seventy-five miles per hour, he eased his foot off the pedal, dropping the speed to thirty miles an hour as he made the sharp turn onto Clover Street, and smashing into Triton’s Chevy Impala head-on, causing the hoods to dent upward on both cars.
Triton flew through the windshield as it shattered into hundreds of pieces. His body rolled onto the dented hood and landed on top of the beads of shattered glass on the ground.






Chapter 0: Death
May 5th, 3:52p.m





Droplets of blood painted the shards of glass red. The shattered pieces stuck to his body. He felt winded, moaning and groaning, trying to pick himself up, but fell back to the ground. Making another attempt, his dizziness prevented him from standing.
Forcing himself, he grabbed the side of his car and guided his body off the ground, noticing the blood and shards of glass beneath him. He didn’t feel weak or pain, nor the after result from the impact. A little shaken up and a little anxiety bothered him, but other than that, he felt calm. Brushing himself off, he noticed the front end of his car was connected to the front end of the other vehicle.
The police cruisers came to a stop, almost slamming into the two smashed cars. Officers jumped out of their cars, scattering everywhere, and one running over to the bank robber’s car.
"Both cars are totaled,” said an officer.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Triton panicked, pulling his hair. “My car! Goddamn my pathetic piece of shit life! Are you kidding me! This is such fucking bullshit!”” he pouted. Slamming his right foot on the ground, he was steamed with anger and frustration. “I don’t believe this goddamn shit! Fuck mother fucker! That’s the only car I have! What am I gonna do?! Shit!” he cried out with angry tears.
A crowd formed around his car, their mouths and eyes wide open from shock. Concerned words were spoken. "Is he OK?". “Is he breathing?”. “He’s not moving?”.
Noticing the blood-covered ground, he lifted his shirt to check his chest with his shaky hands but couldn’t identify a cut. Searching other areas of his body, pulling up his sleeves, checking his arms. Pulling up the pant legs, he checked his legs, but still, nothing. Not one wound, cut, scuff, or bruise could be found.
This made not one lick of sense to him. Blood surrounded the whole area and he couldn’t even figure out where it came from. An ambulance with flashing lights and a loud siren pulled up to the scene.
"I’m not this lucky!" he said, re-checking his body. “No way in hell!”
"You might have a point,” a voice spoke from behind him while he was rechecking his body. “I have seen people get right up and walk away from accidents before. That one could have waken up a dead man in a cemetery a mile away,” the voice spoke with laughter.
"Yeah, that’s for sure, as loud as it was," he said, turning to see a beautiful female standing behind him with a compassionate smile.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah, I think,” he answered, patting his body while looking at himself.
This girl looked like a hot punk rocker with long flowing black hair adorned with blue streaks on the left and right sides of her hair. She had on a black t-shirt with tears along the seams, a black transparent nylon long sleeve shirt underneath, a black skirt ending at her knees, black knee high socks, and black boots with silver skulls on the toes. These clothes brought out her bright blue eyes and light skin. She had a thin build and looked like she took care of herself.
"Are you with the EMT's?" he asked.
"No, I’m not exactly an emergency medical technician, but I am here to help you,” she said with a sunny smile. “My name is Mackenzie, but some people call me Mac.”
"I'm Triton.”
He stuck out his hand for her to shake, which was shaking like crazy. She stared at it for a moment, noticing the shaking before giving it a firm shake. Seeing him in this state made her feel sorry for him. Being shaken up by the accident, he was surprised that he wasn't mumbling, which he did in bad situations. Glancing at his car, the accident popped back into his mind.
“What am I going to do?!” he cried out with tears forming in his eyes. “I can’t afford another one!” he shouted, causing her to jump as her eyes bugged out.
“I, I, I’m really sorry, Triton,” she stuttered from the shock of his sudden outburst. “Are you OK though?” she asked in a sympathetic tone.
“I'm, I’m OK,” he answered, realizing he was screaming. “I’m so sorry I screamed,” he spoke in a lower tone.
“It’s OK, honey, really. I understand how upset you are.”
Taking a look at the antifreeze puddle on the ground, he noticed a body beside it. "Oh, what in the-?” he paused. “The other guy is hurt!" he panicked.
He saw that the guy had on a black shirt and cargo pants, and he noticed the person’s light brown hair. Circling the body to get a closer look, he saw the person’s eyes were wide open, staring off into space. Blood tricked down the cheeks onto the person’s lips. The left eye was bruised shut.
“The guy’s dead!” he said. “Jesus! He needs help! Hey!” he screamed at the police officers investigating the scene. “We need help over here!”
Ignoring him, not one of them bothered looking in his direction, let alone acknowledging he needed help.
“Triton?” said Mac with a sad, but serious look.
This girl was beginning to freak him out with the way she remained so calm.
“Who are you anyway?” he asked. “And what did you mean when you said you were here to help me?”
An ambulance siren wailed distracting him from the conversation. The vehicle stopped and two paramedics jumped out, dashing over to the accident scene. A female paramedic went to kneel down beside the lifeless body to take a look. She took a thin silver flashlight and shined it in the person’s eyes.
"Excuse me, do you think I could get some help?" Triton asked, but she ignored him. "Excuse me, Miss?"
The paramedic checked the man’s pulse. She wrapped her fingers around the wrist, but no pulse. After no luck at finding one, she walked over to the ambulance. A blue Toyota pulled up beside her and an unidentified man stepped out.
He walked over to the body, bent down, and checked the guy’s pulse while holding a stethoscope to his upper chest. His black bag read, “Medical examiner”.
“Excuse me,” said Triton, making an attempt to get his attention, but he was ignored. “Hey! Hey, hey!” he waved his hands.
“Triton?” said Mac, but he ignored her, only focused on getting the medical examiner’s attention.
“Even in an accident, people ignore me,” he said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I give up! I never have any luck! I must be a really bad person for the universe to hate me this much!”
"I ran his plates," said a female police officer, walking over to the scene with her hands tucked into her belt. "His name is Triton Miles," she said to the medical examiner, who continued to examine the body.
“That’s my name,” Triton pointed out with a chuckle.
“Woo doggy, what an accident,” said the one paramedic. “When they sent me over here, I couldn’t believe it.”
“I don’t know why they sent you here,” said the medical examiner. “The crash victim, Triton Miles, is DOA.”
"That’s still kind of funny that guy has the same name as me,” Triton laughed. “Ha, that’s uncanny really. He does kind of look like-" he paused, taking a closer look at the body as a confused generated on his face, and then he looked at Mac. With his mind baffled, he slowed down to think. Remembering the guy was wearing the same clothes as him, he glanced back at the body.
"Did you notice something?" Mac asked, staring into his eyes.
"That’s odd. He looks-” he paused, staring straight at the guy’s damaged face. “He has the same name as-” he paused again, putting a hand on his cheek. “Same clothes, same shoes, and he looks like me?” he muttered with confusion written all over his face, trying to put the pieces together.
A realization brought it all together, though he wasn’t sure what to believe. It was like looking in the mirror.
“Wait, no!” he shouted out with his eyes growing big. “That, that, that, that’s impossible!” he stuttered, looking at Mac. “No way in hell!”
"Triton, you died,” she frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said, giving him a sympathetic stare.
The shock made him a bit disoriented, his thoughts scattered. However, the recent events were coming together like jigsaw pieces close to completing the puzzle. As he looked again, he felt light-headed with his heart racing and a numb tingling sensation throughout his body, like the feeling of his foot falling asleep, but all over his body.
"This is a joke, right??? Of course, it’s a joke! Why wouldn’t it be? Right? Not a very funny joke! Am I, am I, am I making any sense? Am I?" he stuttered with his hands shaking, thinking to himself that he may be dreaming. “Maybe I’m dreaming. Yeah, I-”
“Everything is going to be OK,” she said, putting a hand on his back. "You just went through a traumatic event. Just relax and breath! Everything will be explained to you”. His hands continued to shake as his mind raced. “Shh, it’s OK,” she said, rubbing his back. “Shh, shh, you’re safe now,” she spoke in a comforting voice.
“I did this to myself!” he said, pacing around. “I didn’t have much to live for, hated my life, and now I’m being punished!” he cried out with tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Shh, it’s OK,” she said, rubbing his back. “Shh, shh, don’t cry.”
“How come you can see me and they can’t?” he asked, wiping the tears with the back of his hand.
“I’m a spiritual guide, Triton,” she explained. “You’re spiritual guide.”
“A spiritual-” he paused, losing his train of thought. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m so stupid,” he said, cupping his hands over his face, and crying into his hands. “I’m sorry I’m so upset.”
“Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for,” she said, pulling his right hand away from his face and squeezing it, trying to comfort him.
“This is such bullshit!” he said with anger in his voice. She could see his emotions were shifting around, and tried to listen to his concerns. “People never watch where they’re going!” he angrily stated, pointed to the other car. “Why were they in such a hurry?! Did they rob a bank or something?!” he joked angrily, waving his fists at the bank robber’s totaled car.
“Well, actually, Triton, they did,” she answered, staring at the two totaled cars. A confused look came upon his face. “They robbed the bank downtown and the police were chasing them.”
“Unbelievable!” he yelled, throwing his hands up with frustration all over his face. “This could only happen to a fucking loser like me!”
"Calm down, honey. You see that building there?" she asked, pointing behind him.
Across the street, a skyscraper stood a hundred stories high. He couldn’t see inside because the windows were tinted. Seeing this struck him as odd because he never noticed this building before.
"Yeah, I see it,” he said, wiping his tears. “Is that new? Never mind, what does it matter?”
"If follow me over there, I promise, all of your questions will be answered," she reassured him.
"I'm OK, really,” he said, glancing at the building with hesitation. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I’m OK, uh, Mackenzie? Is it?”
"You and I both know that you’re far from OK.” The look of sympathy on her face seemed sincere to him, but his fear took away his trust. “If you follow me, I believe I can help you.”
“What are you? An angel?” he asked with confusion written all over his face.
She giggled and said, “No.” Feeling beyond confused, he didn’t know what to do. The thought of moving from that spot frightened him. With his skeptical attitude, this appeared different from everything anyone had ever told him about death or what happens after you die.
"Well, shouldn't there be a light and shouldn't my body be floating into the sky or something like that?" he asked, looking at the sky.
"Oh, so we’re doing this?” she laughed. This wasn’t the first time she met someone who thought they knew how the afterlife worked. “OK, Triton, let me explain something to you," she chuckled, looking into his eyes. "Death is different for every person."
"So, I’m not going to heaven? Is there a heaven? Am I really dead? I don’t deserve to go to heaven anyway. I’m a horrible person. I know I am," he rambled on, pacing.
“Triton?” She grabbed his arm, stopping the pacing. “Calm down. You are NOT a bad person. You are anxious, scared, and you’re shaking a lot,” she said, looking at him with worry. “I am here now. You are safe,” she spoke in a comforting voice with a straight face.
“What am I going to do?! I’m not going to heaven, am I?”
"Well, let me ask, do you believe that is where you go?" she asked.
"Well, maybe, I don’t even know. Religion is so confusing!”
"There you go!" she chuckled.
"So am I being punished because I’m unsure about what to believe?"
“No, Triton, you’re not being punished,” she said with a convincing smile. “It’s OK to be unsure of your beliefs. Everyone questions afterlife’s existence. Hell, as confusing as everyone on earth has made religion, fighting over what to believe and who to believe in, I can understand your confusion!” she chuckled.
Feeling frustrated, his patience wore thin. He wasn’t upset with her, but aggravated over the situation. Nothing made sense. Not believing any of this was happening, he kept hoping that he would awake in his own bed any second.
"So, where am I going then?” he asked.
"Your anxiety and fears always held you back from your accomplishments," she pointed out. “I’m here to guide you and help you find your courage. As I’ve said, I’m a spiritual guide, your spiritual guide.”
"I’ve never been good at anything, Mackenzie!" he said, cupping his hands over his face and crying.
Putting her hand on his shoulder, she watched him weep, understanding his pain. Feeling uncomfortable, he had trouble keeping his thoughts in order. He felt like such a failure, not accomplishing anything before he died.
"Triton, I promise, you’re not the only one that has ever felt that way,” she smiled. “Honestly though, I thought you would be more happy now.”
“Why?” Glancing into his eyes, she could see he was in enough pain, and she knew the next words she spoke would embarrass him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Well, as your spiritual guide, there is certain information I obtain, and well, I know about the suicide notes,” she said in a serious tone.
The serious look on her face intimidated him. He felt as if his privacy had been invaded. Not knowing what to think, he played dumb, hoping he could fool her.
“I never wrote any suicide notes,” he said with a small nervous chuckle.
“Yes, you did. It’s OK though. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Well, I just wrote them to get my feelings out.”
Three to four times a week, he would write a suicide note and picture himself dying. He kept a bottle of sleeping pills in the top drawer of his nightstand.
“It’s OK, Triton,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “You can be honest with me. You tried to end your life by taking a bottle of sleeping pills four years ago. You didn’t take enough to kill yourself, but you did get sick.”
“I just, I-” he stuttered, feeling ashamed.
“And you almost made another attempt not long ago, but backed out.”
“How do you know all of this?” he asked, now feeling overwhelmed.
“I know enough to know that you need help,” she said with a sad look on her face. “If you follow me, that’s the first step at moving forward,” she said, pointing to the building. “Please trust me, Triton,” she said with a sincere stare.
Glancing at the building, he knew he had limited options. Hesitant, but terrified, he thought maybe he should follow her, and figured there’s not much else he could do. He followed her over. Holding the tinted glass door open, she signaled him to go inside first.
"I don't know about this,” he said with a hesitant look on his face.
“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, I promise,” she said, looking him in the eye.
Still hesitant, but curious, he caved, and walked through the door, knowing that she was the only person that could help him. He came to the conclusion that she appeared a nice and caring person, so maybe he should trust her for now. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep an eye on her.
The room was small with white walls. No pictures. No chairs. No decorations. Thirty feet straight ahead was an elevator with a potted fern on each side. The room had a quiet atmosphere and was narrow, ten feet between the walls to the left and right of him. The sounds of their feet hitting the gray tiled floor as they walked echoed.
"So, that paramedic couldn't hear me because I'm dead?" he asked.
"Yes, but you’re still here, and that’s all that matters, OK?" she said with a warm smile, pushing the button with the arrow going up.
"Where does the button with the arrow going down lead to?"
"Somewhere," she chuckled.
"Oh, it goes to the bad place?"
He felt stupid, thinking that should be the obvious answer, but then again, this is not the death he learned about. This didn’t feel much different than trying to interrupt the bible. Some details made sense, others, not one lick.
"It leads somewhere but nowhere you need to concern yourself with right now,” she winked, patting his shoulder and smiling.
"But it does lead to hell, right?" he grinned.
"Triton, please!" she chuckled.
"Alright, alright,” he laughed, feeling a little better.
The elevator doors opened.
"After you,” she said, pointing to the elevator.
Realizing he was using humor as a defense mechanism, he began to feel stupid, thinking he sounded as if he made no sense.
Staring inside the elevator, his hesitance kept his feet from entering. Fear had his body frozen. Mac could see his fearful reluctance, wrapped her fingers around his and assisted him inside. Her gentle touch eased his mind. The doors closed, and the mystery continued. Trembling with anxiety, he could feel the pins and needles flowing throughout his body. He figured if death is like this, there are going to be a lot of people with questions.
The button panel contained several numbers and letters. Symbols ran on the buttons underneath the numbers and letters panel. The numbers were listed, 0-9, and the letters went from A-Z. The symbols included # and *.
He wondered what was on each floor but of course, he knew this was no ordinary elevator, let alone no ordinary building. She pressed the number 7,4,2, which lit up. The elevator started its course. Wondering what was so significant about those numbers, he had to ask.
“Why seven, four, two?”
“Wow, you are quite a curious fellow, aren’t you?” she giggled.
“Yeah, I guess, sorry,” he said, feeling embarrassed.
“Curiosity is medicine for the mind!” she smiled. “Keeps it active! Actually, the numbers get us to where we need to go.”
“So, the numbers have no significance?”
“Everything has significance,” she winked.
The way she used her words impressed him, though, at this point in time, he would have done anything to take his mind off his totaled car, including letting his mind wonder about the numbers on an elevator in the afterlife. He wasn’t sure why he even cared, now that he was dead, but the vehicle still meant something to him.
"You don't give straight answers, do you?" he chuckled.
"I do give straight answers,” she smiled. “They might not make sense to you at the moment, but they are straight, she grinned.”
"Yeah, I can see that,” he laughed. “I'm asking too many questions."
"No, not at all. Always hold on to that curiosity. It'll keep your mind in one place, and I’m glad to see laughing."
"My curiosity does make me sound weird," he sighed, feeling depressed again.
"You’re too hard on yourself!" she said with a warm smile. “Always remember you have it, and it makes you a unique person with a mind full of wonder!”
The elevator doors opened, revealing a lobby with two chairs on one side and a white sofa and love-seat on the other side. Pictures of different parts of the world and the universe hung on the white walls. Only one door existed in the room, which was the same color as the walls. The room looked like the lobby at the doctor’s office. The air smelled fresh and pure.
The elevator doors closed behind them and she guided him to the chairs. He felt unsure as to whether he should be nervous, scared, frustrated, excited, or a dozen other emotions that randomly and consistently ran through his mind, although, nervous and frightened were currently winning.
"What is this place?" he asked, looking around.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said, walking to the one and only door.
“Please don’t leave me!” he begged.
“Relax, Triton,” she laughed. “I won’t be long,” she said right before walking through the door and closing it behind her.
He felt as if she shrugged him off and tried putting it out of his head, knowing he had bigger problems. Taking a seat in the love-seat, his mind raced with thoughts of the accident, what happened afterward, meeting Mackenzie, and what other disasters the future would bring.
The door opened and an attractive middle-aged woman stood in the doorway. She wore a black dress that ended at her ankles, which made her green broach stand out on her gray cardigan. Her black hair in curls flowed down past her back. The outfit brought out her brown eyes.
"Triton, come in," she said in a British accent, signaling for him to follow her inside the room. Her accent reminded him of that one strict head mistress in a British movie. Intimidating as hell. To him, anyway. The poor guy felt as if he had been called to the principle’s office. Even that would have been less frightening than this. He followed her through the door, which led to an office. She pointed to two comfy-looking chairs. "Take a seat."
"OK,” he said, picking the one to his right.
The office looked the same size as the lobby. Pictures hung on the wall of different places on the earth, monuments from different countries, mountains, oceans, lakes, and cities. A large black laptop sat on her desk, along with an office phone with extension buttons and yellow lights, a small pile of folders and documents. The chair he sat in felt like a soft cloud. Though it relaxed him, the current situation had the word ‘Worry’ written all over it. The anxiety mixed with the excitement equaled panic. Due to his anxiousness, he waited in silence for her to speak.
"My name is Marion, Marion Sharp,” she politely smiled, extending her hand for him to shake.
“Nice, uh, nice to meet you,” he smiled back with nervousness in his voice, shaking her hand.
From the beginning he felt as if he had not been given any straight answers. He hoped that she could answer at least a couple.
"I'll be outside," said Mac, backing out of the room.
"Thank you, Mackenzie," she said as Mac closed the door. Marion took a seat next to him. Now that Mackenzie wasn’t around, he felt lost. Lost and alone. Not only that but also scared and confused. There were times that he hated not knowing what the future will bring. “As I said, my name is Marion, Marion Sharp. I am in charge of watching over the universe’s creations.”
“So, are you and Mackenzie um, angels?” he asked with hesitation, not wanting to sound stupid. Even thought he already asked this question, he wanted to hear what response this Marion lady would give.
“It’s not like I haven’t heard that one before,” she chuckled. “No, I’m a spirit who has been watching over you for quite sometime, and Mackenzie is a spiritual guide who will be sending you back to earth.”
“Wait a tick, I have to go back to that corrupt dangerous place???” he asked with a shocked look on his face.
“Yes, Triton,” she answered with a small chuckle.
“But why?”
“You aren’t ready to move on.” A baffled look appeared on his face. “The ones on earth that struggle to make everyday decisions, become paralyzed by their own fears, who let their struggles hold them back in life... I feel their pain, their suffering, their tears, their hunger, I feel what’s in their hearts… in this case, your heart. I then pass these feelings off to a spiritual guide. Yours is Mackenzie. Her job as spiritual guide is to decide what is best for you… in this case again, she has decided to send you back to earth. Once you return, she and I work together on assisting you, though she’s more of a field person, and I’m more of an office person.”
“This is going to suck major ass!” he said, feeling frustrated. “I must say, that sounds exhausting feeling what others feel.”
“You have no idea, Triton,” she chuckled.
“Am I going back a ghost?”
“No, the spirit never dies. Every living thing in the universe is created, every living thing lives, and every living thing dies. When death finds those living things, those living things still live on… in the afterlife because they are a creation. Creations can die, but never be destroyed.”
"That makes sense, but what’s going to happen to me exactly?" he asked with his body shaking. “You said I’m going back to earth, but then what?”
"I'll explain,” she smiled. She noticed his hands shaking. “Are you OK?” she asked with a concerned look.
“Yeah, just a little anxiety,” he answered.
“I understand,” she said in a comforting voice. “Because of your anxiety, social interactions have always been a challenge, indecisiveness made it impossible for you to make simple choices, and crippling anxiety prevented you from acting.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” he chuckled. “Doctor ‘No Social Interactions’, Mr. Indecisiveness, and King Crippling anxiety,” he laughed.
“Yes,” she laughed with him. “And you’ve earned all of those tittles.”
What she said made sense but accepting the current situation was difficult for him. Dying and now this? He tried to get as many answers as possible. With other people he felt like a burden asking questions, but he no problem making an exception this time, asking as many questions as his mind conjured up.
“Can I ask you a question, Triton?” she asked, looking directly into his eyes.
He knew whenever a person said his name like that when asking “Can I ask you a question?”, he knew the question would be a serious one.
“Uh, sure,” he said.
“When you made your suicide attempt a few years ago, did you believe you had nothing worth living for?” she asked, looking him in the eye with sadness in her eyes.
This question made him feel uncomfortable. For certain, the girl knew everything about him, and it gave him the creeps.
“I don’t really know,” he answered as his face turned red with embarrassment.
“Sometimes when people struggle in life, they are under the impression they are out of options and the only solution for them is to end their life.”
“I guess I did think that.” He shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what else to say.
“The life you ran away from could have been one containing wonderful experiences. Not every single moment could have been wonderful, but some at least. That’s what life is though... risks! You opted out on living. You lost out on the pleasure from new experiences, some at which would have been amazing experiences, plus you were always afraid to take the first step or make the next move.”
She knew what kind of person he had become. Shy, backwards, nervous, and scared. In his opinion, she wasn't wrong about any of this.
"That sounds about right," he chuckled.
Figuring there’s no point in denying it, admitting it would make more sense.
“You could have had a successful career, fallen in love with someone right for you, and you could have made more friends, decent friends, and not the kind you had in the past that used you and took advantage of your kindness.”
“I don’t deserve a life like that,” he said, looking down at his hands, feeling worthless.
“Yes, you do, Triton! Mackenzie will be sending you back to earth to learn how to face obstacles, take on difficult challenges, and face fear… kind of like a learning experience. Everything from the social anxiety to the most debilitating fears."
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said with panic forming in his heart as his heart rate increased.
“This experience will be a life-changing one. You’ll learn how to live, accept happiness when it’s offered to you, enjoy every moment handed to you, and every experience will help your spirit grow flourish.”
Every horrid thought entered his mind. I’m going to get killed again. What if someone shoots me? I could get my throat slit. I’m going to get shot. A manic could even pull my teeth out one by one. Over and over again, his mind conjured up the most disturbing thoughts.
“Am I being reborn?!” he asked with a worried look. “I don't want to go through that again!"
"No, no, that's not it," she chuckled. “Relax!”
Now beyond overthinking, he felt a panic attack emerging. He tried pulling his thoughts together but the confusion kept taking over is brain.
"If I'm not being reborn, how am I going back?"
"You will go back to earth as you are now, same body, same person. Once you have learned how to face your fears, conqueror obstacles courageously, and restore complete faith in yourself, you move on to the next chapter. Easy as pie!”
“So, what happens after I’m done? I mean where do I move on to?"
"Baby steps! You don't need to concern yourself with that right now. This anxiety has crippled you long enough. You cannot be happy living like this. I know I wouldn’t be!”"
Returning to earth sounded like an utter nightmare. Every emotion and feeling paced around inside him. Fear. Frustration. Anger. Anxiety. Worry. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Sadness. Excitement. Anxiousness. All crammed together.
"I’m still not understand this,” he said in a confused voice. “If I'm not being reborn or returning as a ghost, how am I returning exactly?”
"Uh, well,” she chuckled. “Well, you’ll return in your spirit form, but you’ll also look like your everyday, normal self," she explained. "You will look like person, eat like a person, go to the bathroom like a person, and even talk to the TV like a person,” she laughed. “You will do all the normal and unusual things that people do. You will look like you do now, your own beautiful, brown hair, blue-eyed self,” she said with a kind smile.
“Oh, I think I understand now,” he said, blushing from her compliment, though he wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment, thinking she may be using it to prove a point. "I'm starting to feel a bit, uh-" he paused, moaning. It felt as if every emotion was coursing through his body at the same time.
“Anxious? Scared? Worried? All the above?"
"Yeah,” he chucked. “How did you know?"
"Because you’re ready," she said with a bright smile. His eyes watched as she walked to the door and signaling for Mac. "He's ready, Mackenzie!" she yelled out the door.
“Wait! Now???” he asked with his jaw dropped. “I don’t think I can do this?”
“It’s OK, Triton,” she said, handing him off to Mac, who grabbed his arm. “Returning to earth, the worse challenge that you will have to worry about facing is-” she paused, grinning. “You!”
“Follow me" said Mac.
“Good luck, Triton,” Marion said cheerfully before heading back inside her office and closing the door.
He followed Mac to the elevator. Hoping that this was all a dream, he tried to stay calm and kept telling himself that he would wake up any moment now. Until then, he convinced himself to go with the flow.
“So, do I call you Mackenzie or Mac?” he asked.
“Whatever you want to call me,” she chuckled. “Some people call me Mackenzie, other’s Mac. I’m not particular. To be honest, there was this one girl who started calling me Mac, and that’s what got it started, but I have no preference.”
“OK, just wondering. Um is Marion your boss or something?” he asked with curiosity on his face.
“No, she’s in charge of keeping an eye on the ones like yourself, who let their fears take over,” she answered. “Once that person dies, she sends them to me. My job is to send you back to earth and guide you spiritually.”
She pressed the arrow button that pointed down. The elevator door opened. "Ready?" she smiled, winking twice.
He felt far from ready though. Knowing that he barely survived on earth the first time, he dreaded the fact that he had to go back. Feeling sick to his stomach, he didn’t want to return at all.
"I’m not sure about this," he said in an uncertain voice.
"It’s OK,” she smiled, patting his back. “I’ll be with you.”
"You will?"
"Yes, Triton, as I said, I’m your spiritual guide. I’ll be walking you through this every step of the way. You will never have to worry about being alone ever again,” she said with a warm smile. “All you have to do, honey, is put in the work and I will help you figure the rest out." She noticed the him staring at the elevator with fear on his face, shaking. "Don’t worry,” she smiled, caressing his shoulder. “I know you’re scared, but it’s OK to be scared! You will figure it out as you go along! Now, it's time.” she grabbed his arm and walked him into the elevator. She pressed the ’Ground’ button and backed out of the elevator. “Please don’t worry!”
“You’re not going with me?”
“I will see you soon,” she said as the doors closed, vanishing from his view.
The display with the green lights above read, Floor: Director, but when the elevator began move, it changed to a green-lit arrow pointing down.
The elevator began moving at a rapid speed. He panicked, not knowing what to expect next. Sweat ran down his forehead and his stomach felt queasy while his breathing increased to heavy. A numbness feeling formed in his fingers and toes.
The numbers on the panel lit up in a sequence as the elevator speed increased. It felt like a ride at an amusement park.
“Heeeeyyyy! Mackenzie! Mackenzie! Heeeellllpppp meeeeeeee!” he screamed.
Confusion ran through his mind and fear coursed through his body. A loud screeching noise caused him to jump. The elevator continued to accelerate. The screeching grew louder with every passing moment. His heart felt as if it were jumping in and out of his chest. Butterflies flew around his stomach, giving him a nauseous feeling.
Pressing random buttons on the panel, he tried to bring the elevator to a stop, but nothing happened. He pressed them again, but still nothing. Slamming his hand onto multiple buttons, he still had no luck.
The screeching sound became unbearable, flooding his ears like fingernails scratching a chalkboard. He bounced from wall to wall. The elevator came to a complete stop, causing him to fall to the floor. The doors opened and a bright flash of light from outside blinded him. His mind went blank.