Hereafter (12 page)

Upon reading the last few words, I had the strangest sensation of the floor dropping out from under me.

“Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, study, in study hall?”

Joshua stared fully at me for a moment and then wrote again.

Bad idea?

I thought about that for a while. What was it about his suggestion that frightened me so much? After all, it might lead to some shred of information about my life. It might provide answers to so many of the questions that had plagued me the last few days, about who I had been, who I might become. Something that could combat what both Eli and Ruth had implied about me.

But therein lay the problem, too. Because once I knew this information, once I pieced together the missing parts of my identity, I would become
real
. I would be a real person, with a real story. A story that had ended.

Maybe that was the entire reason I’d never tried to find my headstone in the graveyard. Because, with such information, I would finally know—not just intuit, but truly know—I was dead.

And so would Joshua. This was a milestone for which I wasn’t completely sure we were ready.

“Joshua,” I started, my voice soft, “do you really believe . . . no, do you really
know
I’m dead? That I’m not alive? And I never will be again?”

As he looked up at me, all the playfulness, the relaxed confidence, left his face. His expression softened and became one that was simultaneously sad and sweet. Very slowly, he nodded.

I continued to stare at him. I really had no idea how to move forward from here. With my teeth clenched against the soft skin of my lip, I twisted my mouth to one side in frustration. In return Joshua gave me a small, close-lipped smile.

I wasn’t imagining the hope I saw in that smile. In it I could almost read his thoughts: yes, he knew I was dead; but he still hoped that this deficiency of mine wouldn’t be a problem. Or maybe he thought he could find some kind of solution for me. For us.

The incapacitating ache unfurled itself in my chest again. It told me, in the most basic if silent terms, what I knew I would do now. What I knew I would always do, whenever Joshua suggested something scary or unknown.

I sighed heavily. “Okay. We’ll go to the library. We’ll try to find my picture.”

It was now Joshua’s turn to frown.
You sure?
he mouthed.

I started to answer,
No, I’m not sure I want to know who I am.
Then I thought better of telling him the whole truth and instead chose to tell him only part of it.

“If you’re with me, I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

Chapter
Fourteen

A
fter Ms. Wolters’s class ended and other students made their way to their next classrooms, Joshua and I strolled across the empty back lawn of the school.

Every few seconds, Joshua would brush his hand against mine, sending sparks up, then down, then back up my arm. Despite the thrill of his touch, I moved with an intentional slowness toward the main building, knowing that through its door lay the library.

“You know,” Joshua said, interrupting my thoughts, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

He kept his expression perfectly even, perfectly casual. I knew better, though.

I’d only known Joshua for three days. Yet I knew him well enough to hear the false note in his words. I could see the thoughts dancing in his eyes: unlike me, he
wanted
to go to the library. He wanted the excitement of discovering something new about me, of piecing my past together.

And he was right; I knew it.

Last night, after talking with Eli, I knew that my “nature”—the kind of person I was, both before and after I died—played a crucial role in how I would spend my afterlife. So I needed to know everything I could about myself before I had to face Eli or Ruth again. In fact, if I was completely honest with myself, I knew how essential today’s mission was.

Of course, that didn’t mean I had to share Joshua’s enthusiasm. As he walked beside me, I could see him bouncing ever so slightly, jittery from excitement about our task. The brightness in his eyes and the happy swing of his arms contrasted starkly with my own appearance, which probably had a funereal sort of air.

Whatever my mood, it was hard not to be a little flattered by Joshua’s behavior. I stifled a sigh before plastering a cheerful smile on my face.

“No, Joshua, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He must have been too excited to catch on to the undercurrent of my words, because he looked completely satisfied by my terrible lie. His entire face lit up as he skidded to a stop and leaned close to me.

“Really? Because I had another idea. You know, if the whole yearbook thing works out.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Well, say we find your picture. That’ll mean we’ve also found your last name. All we have to do is find it in the phone book and then, presto, we’ve found your family. It’s not like Wilburton’s that big of a town. If you’ve got an uncommon last name, chances are pretty good the people who share it are related to you, right?”

When he finished his excited little rant, I gulped. His idea put another wrinkle in this afternoon’s plans—a new level of anticipation and fear.

“Let’s . . . uh . . . let’s take this one step at a time, okay?” I laughed shakily.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely right. One step at a time.”

Once again, he couldn’t fool me. Though he sounded serious and he frowned as he nodded, his eyes sparkled with his new idea. I didn’t even try to hide my sigh this time as he hurried toward the back door.

We entered the school and strode through its halls—each of them itching at me with familiarity, just as the buildings themselves had done previously—before we reached two double doors. Through their glass panes I could make out rows and rows of tall bookshelves. I grabbed the fabric of my skirt and began twisting it wildly.

With one hand pressed against a door, Joshua looked down at me. Though he seemed a little less eager now, his expression was still resolved. Whether I liked it or not, he was going into that room.

“Ready?” he asked.

No.

“Sure,” I squeaked aloud.

He nodded and pushed open one of the doors. I tried to clear my throat of the stupid squeak, steeled myself a bit, and then followed him into the library.

A long reception desk guarded the entrance. Its counter was piled high with returned books, and its sides were taped up with a cluster of inspirational posters. One proclaimed
YOU CAN DO IT
!, so I gave that poster a spiteful glare.

Joshua walked purposefully toward the back of the library, and I followed behind him as he wove through the rows of shelves. Finally, Joshua stopped between the last row of bookcases and the farthest wall of the library.

We were in the reference section, judging by all the outdated dictionaries and encyclopedias. Joshua bypassed these in favor of a few shelves near the floor. He crouched down and began running his index finger along a row of thin books, each covered in black or purple. I shuddered.

Yearbooks.

After only a few moments, Joshua apparently found the group of books he was seeking. He began pulling out handfuls, reading their spines before putting them back or tucking them into the crook of his arm. When he eventually stood, he held about ten Wilburton High School yearbooks. I leaned to one side in order to stare at their spines. Printed there in varying shades of metallic ink were dates, all ranging from the 1990s to the mid– 2000s. I leaned back up and stared at Joshua, terrified.

Joshua, however, was all business as he carried the stack of yearbooks over to a desk. He separated the books into two piles on the desktop, drew out one chair for me, and sat down in his own. I slipped into my chair and folded my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do next.

Joshua pushed one of the stacks closer to me and then pulled the other toward him. He opened the yearbook on top of his stack and flipped through its pages until he found the first one with student pictures. Placing a finger on the page, he began to scan the photos, comparing each face to the corresponding name printed near the margins.

After he’d done so for a few minutes, I cleared my throat. He glanced up at me, still frowning in concentration. Then he frowned harder and tilted his head.

“Why aren’t you looking through your books?” he whispered. I answered in my regular voice, although the words themselves came out soaked in embarrassment.

“Because I can’t open the books, Joshua.”

“Huh?”

I stared down at my lap and began to scratch at my dress with one fingernail. “I told you—you’re the only thing in the living world I can feel or affect. I can’t open doors, remember? So why would I be able to open a book?”

I just shrugged, but Joshua tucked a finger under my chin and lifted my head, holding it up until I met his gaze. When I looked, he was still frowning.

“Oh.” Joshua now sounded embarrassed, too. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

I shrugged again, this time smiling wanly. “No big deal.”

He shook his head, not fooled, but returned the yearbook without another comment. He scooted the book closer to me on the desktop and leaned over as he flipped the pages, clearly intending for me to search with him. I chuckled a little to myself. Obviously, no death-related disability could get me out of going through these yearbooks with him.

We sat there, flipping through page after page in book after book, to no avail. We chose the books in no particular order, jumping from the 2000s to the 1990s and back again. I made no effort to point out the inefficiency of this process to Joshua, since each page-flip made my stomach drop in anticipation.

At one point Joshua looked down at his watch impatiently. It was almost 2:40, only fifteen minutes until the end of school. As he read his watch, I could see one emotion all over his face: frustration at the apparent failure of his brilliant plan. He grabbed one of the few books left on the stack, handling it with less care than the others and flopping it open to the first page.

That’s when it happened.

The first page was as innocuous as those of the other yearbooks. It boasted a picture of a cartoon man in a hardhat (a Digger, apparently the school’s mascot), and the dates 1998 to 1999. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The second page, however, was much different. This second page contained a large, full-color photograph of a girl. Underneath the picture was a caption, which read:

In Loving Memory of Amelia Elizabeth Ashley

April 30, 1981—April 30, 1999

I stopped breathing. Then I began to choke.

I stood up suddenly, forcefully. The chair in which I’d been sitting flew back across the tiles with a loud screech before it slammed against the library wall.

My head swung around toward the sound. I stared at the chair, openmouthed. It seemed ordinary enough—a red plastic seat atop thin metal legs. Just a plain old chair. And the first object in the living world, other than Joshua, I’d been able to move since my death.

The thought of my death sent my head flying back around to the photograph in the yearbook. To the girl in it, and the name under it.

The chair would have to wait.

This picture scared the hell out of me. I wanted nothing more in this world than to turn away from it. But I was transfixed.

The girl in the picture stared up with the tiniest smile on her lips. The smile curved up just a bit at the corners; it was pleasant but wary, as though the girl had heard something funny but wasn’t sure if it was okay to laugh. Her eyes—a bright, woodsy green that matched her dress—sparkled with the laugh. Her wavy brown hair fell past her shoulders and framed her thin, oval face. A pink flush couldn’t quite cover the tiny freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

She looked timid and sweet, but also vibrant. And very alive.

A drop of liquid fell from my chin and hit the page, darkening into a round little spot on the girl’s neck. I wiped at my cheek, reflexively knowing the droplet was a tear—my tear.

“That’s me in the picture, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t even look at Joshua, couldn’t pull my eyes away from the picture as I spoke. I whispered, as if a loud noise might break the spell that had fallen over us. Nothing but silence answered me. Then—

“Told you you’re beautiful.”

I turned toward the soft sound of his voice. Actually, only my head moved, since my body appeared to be anchored to the desk. I didn’t realize until now that I’d gripped the edge of the desk with both hands, knuckles clenched to white above the wood grain. Under my fingertips, I could feel the slick surface of the wood breaking through the numbness. This sudden, physical sensation didn’t surprise me in the least; actually, I was kind of shocked I hadn’t splintered the desk with the force of my grip.

I wasn’t the only one in shock, either. Joshua stared back at me; belief, disbelief, and a multitude of other emotions played across his face. But no matter how disparate his changing facial expressions might be, each of them told me the same thing.

He knew. Beyond any doubt, beyond any wish, beyond any hope. He knew I was Amelia Elizabeth Ashley. And I was dead.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

Joshua slowly rose from his chair. He held out his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. The action reminded me of the way he’d approached me three days ago, on High Bridge Road. Like he expected me to run away at any second.

Still moving with absolute care, Joshua placed his hands on either side of my face but didn’t touch me. He looked directly into my eyes and raised his eyebrows. Warning me of his next move, or maybe asking permission for it.

Though I didn’t respond, he must have sensed some kind of assent on my part. He lowered both of his hands to my cheeks, gently cupping my face. I held perfectly still, even when it felt as if his hands had burned prints onto my skin. Joshua leaned forward and, very softly, pressed his lips to my forehead, just above my eyebrow.

The kiss sent a jolt through my entire body. The sensation was more intense than any I’d felt until now—a pure shock wave rushing along my spine and down each of my limbs. I gasped from the strength of it, dragging in a near-shriek of air.

Reacting to the sound, Joshua tried to pull away to see if I was okay; but I clamped my hands down on his, holding them to my cheeks. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my ragged breath. I shook my head
No,
willing him not to move.

He complied, standing close to me and cupping one side of my face in his left hand while stroking my other cheek with the fingertips of his right hand. Eventually, my breathing began to even itself, coming out in a slightly less alarming way than its previous pant. After a few seconds I released his hands and nodded to let him know I was better. Far from okay. But better.

Joshua ran his fingers down my cheek once more and then dropped his hands. I felt him move away from me, though I didn’t open my eyes. I could hear him rustling around somewhere a few feet behind me. Slowly, I opened one eye, then the other. I turned my head to peek at my picture, which stared up innocently from the desktop.

I was still staring at the picture when Joshua walked back around me and placed something on the table next to my picture. It was a phone book.

“Trying to find the Ashleys?” My voice broke and cracked, as if it had been hours since I’d last used it instead of minutes.

“Only if you want to,” Joshua whispered.

“Open it,” I said, not taking my eyes from the desk.

Joshua leaned around me and bent over the phone book. He flipped through each of the vellum-thin pages until he reached one specific page. He traced his index finger down the list of
A
names and then stopped, leaving his finger in the middle of the page. I leaned over him and stared at the spot where he pointed. Above his finger, one line held my attention.

Accompanying a phone number and an address was a singular name. A very familiar name.

Ashley, E.

I stared at that line for an eternity. I stared at it when the bell rang, signifying the end of the school day. I stared at it while the other students packed up their things and left Joshua and me frozen in the back row of the library.

Finally, I stirred.

“E. Ashley—that’s probably my mom, Elizabeth. I don’t know why my dad’s initial isn’t there. His name is Todd. Todd Ashley.”

My voice came out flat, unemotional. Nonetheless, I began to shake a little.

The image of that printed name and its missing companion floated around in my head. Then, mixing in with the names were flashes of other, blurrier images. The faces associated with those names. The faces of my family.