Shadow Life

All Rights Reserved

Shadow Life © 2024 by Anatolian Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, email [email protected]

Cover design by Get Covers

Edited by CD McKenna

First paperback edition July 2024

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-959396-55-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-959396-56-7

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-959396-57-4

Please visit us at

www.anatolianpressllc.com and

www.linchristie.com

The End

Case Number: FSG/00027

Rock Bottom

Case Number: FSG/00073

Thanksgiving

Case Number: FSG/00089

Visiting Hours

Case Number: FSG/000124

The Boss

Case Number: FSG/00149

A Guide Goes into a Bar . . .

Case Number: FSG/00177

Before the Storm

Case Number FSG/00249

Recalled to Life

The Beginning

This book is dedicated to the memory of three who have moved on.

My father Keith, who taught his children the true meaning of love and support, and whose character is the yardstick against which all other men are measured.

My brother Leslie, who was my first and dearest friend, who brought his own unique vision and humor everywhere he went.

My sister Vickie, who was the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, and whose feisty spirit was a formidable force to her foes, but a gift to her allies.

May their memories continue to lighten the loads of those who remain behind.

The End

Clients ask me how I got this job. The truth is: pretty much the same as with most jobs. I filled out an application, had an interview, and got the call. Three weeks later, I was cashing my first paycheck.

Yeah, pretty normal. Except for the dying part. 

Isn’t that the way things always go? Everything was going great for the first time in my life—decent job, new apartment, a sweet new bike, and a beautiful fiancée. Then one night, it was over. A rain-slick road. The skid. Shelley’s grip tightened around my waist. The curb. Bounce. Shelley jerked away. Bounce, bounce, slide. Black.

Time stopped. All was still. I was floating. Silent. Warm. Nothing bad could find me here. No pain. No fear. Nothing.

A disturbance tore through the peace and shattered my dark, quiet cocoon. The bubble exploded as a tightness compressed in me. Tiny sparks like a million golden fireflies rose from my dark place and the cold rushed in. A sphere, warm and glowing, coalesced before me. I fought to remain behind, but the lure of the warmth was too much.

When the gentle breath moved across it, I awoke at once.

A small blonde woman offered me a hand up. I stood.

The air was a jumble of sounds and odors and sights. The smell of gasoline and burned rubber and grass and blood and exhaust fumes hit me. Screeching sirens from several vehicles overlapped then died with slamming doors and raised voices. Flashing lights and flashlights and hammering footfalls as the occupants of those vehicles moved quickly toward the chaos. Police officers. EMTs.

We’ve got a live one! a male voice shouted, and a swarm of medics crowded around a figure on the pavement.

Curious onlookers gawked. A tall man in a tattered overcoat moved his lips silently as he made the sign of the cross. A woman kneeled in front of her young daughter, talking softly. The girl stared blankly beyond her mother’s shoulder.

Don’t look, I whispered too late. Her expression told me she had seen whatever horrible thing lay beyond her mother’s shoulder. I knew from the look on her face that I shouldn’t look either, but I didn’t have enough sense to follow my own advice.

I scanned the scene, searching for my love in the most twisted game of I Spy ever played. I spy a mangled tailpipe. A single red Doc Martin. A foot clad only in a bright red sock attached to a leg protruding from beneath a pile of dark clothing.

Horrified, I recognized the clothing—and the body within—laying absolutely, unnaturally still.

Shelley! I screamed. At least I felt myself scream. Maybe it was all in my mind.

I struggled against a pair of powerful arms, thrashed violently against the human wall that would not permit me to pass. I had to go to her, to hold her, to stop this thing from happening. This could not be real. I couldn’t let it be real. Digging my toes in hard, I tried to gain some traction against the immovable object braced against me.

Ferris! snapped the force holding me in place.

My name. Just my name, that was all the woman said, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks. Finding her face, I pleaded with the petite woman who blocked my passage. Please. You have to help me.

A gentle, sad smile crossed her lips. That’s what I’m here for, Ferris. I’m here to help you. My name is Lydia. I’m your Guide.

I strained against her strong grip, struggling to move, to reach Shelley. Wrestling to free myself, agitation built, boiling over. Let me go! I need to. . . But I couldn’t really articulate what I needed to do. I pushed harder against the woman’s strength, more in frustration than anything else. Frustration at not knowing what was happening. Frustration at not being allowed to find out. Frustration at not being able to get to Shelley. I began cursing the woman who kept me from my fiancé.

Hush, the woman whispered as she placed her small brown hand on my shoulder, and as she did, I was filled with a sudden calm. Soul deep. A calm that permeates the bones. Timeless, faceless nothingness. My agitation evaporated immediately, my struggles vanished.

I blinked a couple of times, confused by the abrupt change in my emotional state. What the hell? I exhaled in a hoarse whisper.

You’re confused. Too much is happening too fast, the woman said. I’m here to help you sort things out. That’s my job. To guide you through this thing.

What—what do you mean? What thing? Who are you?

Lydia. My name is Lydia. She extended her hand, which I shook absently. There’s been a terrible accident. Your life has changed, Ferris. Completely and irrevocably. She kept talking, but I wasn’t listening.

The woman, whose name I forgot as soon as she said it, looped her arm around mine, pulling me along as she continued to babble. Her words were lost to me. I trudged unthinkingly beside her, my attention glued to the still form of my love. At last, the woman seemed to realize I wasn’t listening, because she fell silent and loosened her grip.

I pulled free of her restraint and took several slow, hesitant steps toward Shelley. My throat constricted as I studied her inert body. Cuts and abrasions covered every visible inch of her. The jagged end of a bone protruded from her leg. Blood had pooled on the roadway, though the flow had stopped. A fly landed on the puddle, struggling against the thickening, darkening surface. Shelley’s parted lips drew no breath. Her eyes, once lovely and lively, were open but held nothing.

Her head was unnaturally flat against the pavement.

The lump in my throat grew till I could no longer swallow or even breathe. The beating of my heart became the pounding. A cop directed the backup of cars around the corner, away from the noisy confusion of the scene. The gathered crowd faded when encouraged to do so by another officer. Slowly the ambient noises were dying away, and all I could hear was the deafening whomp-whomp of blood in my ears.

Shrouded in heavy silence, one team of EMTs spread a plastic sheet over the person who gave my life meaning. The sheeting drove the point home more clearly and eloquently than any words could have: Shelley was dead.

A sound escaped from me. It was meant to be a sob, but died before it could fully form. I staggered, and the woman moved quickly to tighten her hold on me, steering me to a nearby curb, where she indicated I should sit. I dropped hard, never losing sight of the swathed body in the road. Trying to put the broken bits and pieces back together, to reform into my beautiful Shelley. But it was too late: my reason d’etre was gone, and try as I might, I could not make her whole again, not even in my mind.

Slowly, breath came back to me and noises started to fill the background. The other EMTs, the second team, continued their work, moving in a precise ballet to save the lump lying next to the wreckage of the bike. My eyes focused, falling on that crumpled form—and that was when the full impact of the accident became clear. Because as much as I tried to deny it, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew who the second victim was.

Shit.

Yeah. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Her voice was barely a whisper.

A shiver ran through me. Is he—?

He is . . . well, he was you. And who knows? He may be you again. And no, you’re not dead. Not yet, anyway. The woman settled in beside me.

I opened my eyes wide, confused by this strange woman. She must be crazy. That was the only explanation that made any sense. My attention turned from her to the near-lifeless body that lay in the middle of the road. The body that resembled me. Then I looked back at the woman.

You don’t believe me, do you? The strange woman smiled.

I slowly shook my head.

Don’t worry. It happens all the time. Her mouth hitched up into a crooked smile. You don’t know what it is you’re looking at, eh, Ferris?

Again, a head shake. This time because nothing was making sense.

She took a deep breath. That—she indicated the person in the road with a slight incline of her head—is one version of you. What’s left of your physical self. And this—she continued as she placed her hand on my shoulder—this is what was inside you. Your essence. Who you really are, at the core. Her eyes bored into mine. Some people might even call it your soul.

I froze. This lady had to be a certified wack job. That had to be it. Otherwise, I was the crazy one.

She snorted a laugh. You think I’m crazy, don’t you?

I didn’t deny it, holding my gaze steady and attempting to arrange my face into a stoic expression.

Okay, okay. I get it. Quit trying to go all stone-faced on me. You’ll hurt yourself. The woman rose. You need proof. Most people do. Hell, I did. Come on with me.

I took her offered hand and pulled myself up. The woman led the way across the field of carnage and into the back of an ambulance. Again, she offered a hand up. I hesitated.

Jeez, Ferris. Climb in. The bus is about to pull out.

Glancing around, I saw no reason for me to stay. Shelley was no longer here, in any sense of the word. The other victim—the one Crazy Lady said was me—was now in the ambulance. Move along, folks. Nothing to see. I took her hand and climbed aboard.

Following her lead, I took one of the jump seats next to the gurney. She smiled at me and, with a nod of the head, indicated that I should look down at the patient.

I stared at the face, my face. My too-small eyes. My too-big mouth. My too-crooked nose, broken all-too-many times. When you’re the skinny, geeky kid who always has his nose in a book, you tend to get beaten up a lot in middle school. I swallowed hard as my eyes traced his features.

Look at his arm. Below the right elbow, the voice beside me gently urged.

The scar was there. Long, curved, a faint hint of long-ago stitches. My left hand went automatically to the matching scar on my arm, tracing the line as my eyes traced the line of the scar on the other me.

Seventeen stitches when you were fourteen, the woman recounted. You told your folks that you cut yourself when you were climbing through the window of an abandoned house to rescue a hurt kitten. The abandoned house part was true, but the rest of it was bullshit. There was never any cat. You were looking for a quiet place to read because your mom wouldn’t let you in the house. She said you needed fresh air and sunshine and a little bit of exercise.

Wha . . . Who are you? How did you know that? I’ve never told anyone that.

The woman smiled. I’m Lydia, your Guide. I know a lot about you, Ferris.

I stared down at my face, pale against the black plastic mat on the gurney. He’s me, I thought. I’m him. The world went a little wonky again, becoming a spinning spiral. A deep breath brought equilibrium. I processed this new idea.

Looking back at Lydia, I barely managed to choke out the question. And you are? What? An angel?

That elicited a chuckle. Hardly. No, Ferris. It’s my job to help you decide where to go and then to help you get there.

###

That was the first time I heard about the Three Realms. Till then, I just kind of thought you live, you die, the end. Well, some days I thought you live, you die, you go to Heaven. Or you live, you die, you live again. On bad days, it was you live, you die, welcome to Hell and on really bad days, oh, hell. This is Hell. My belief system was still pretty pliable, so my view of the afterlife was kind of fluid. Still is, now that I think of it; the job doesn’t come with any new spiritual insight.

The way Lydia told it, spiritual insight wasn’t necessary. In fact, spirituality seemed to play very little role in my future. As I understood things, I had three choices: the Spirit Realm meant I could hang around with my family. The catch? I would be a ghost. Kind of a bummer to be with my family but not on the same plane. Reentering the Living Realm also had an unpleasant aspect: I would have to go back to my body as it was right now. From the looks of things, my right-now body was in really bad shape. Who knows what the lingering effects of the crash might be? That question, however, might be answered shortly.

The ambulance arrived at the medical center and we disembarked, following the gurney through ER and into the trauma bay. Lydia continued explaining while we passed through automatic doors into the packed ER, every gurney filled. I noticed my footsteps had unconsciously fallen in step with the rhythm of the machines. With each ding or buzz or click, doctors and nurses and interns and phlebotomists moved from bed to bed, fighting hard to keep the patients alive just one more day.

The final option is the Next Realm. Frankly, I can’t tell you much about that. Having reached the room where my body rested, Lydia stopped before entering. Most people who go that route assume it’s some kind of Heaven. But we’ve never been able to peg it, not really. We’ve sent in a couple of research teams, but they never returned. So it’s kind of a mystery—sort of like Mystery Date, but no one else knows if you got the dreamboat or the dud.

Lydia smiled at her analogy, then indicated I should step up to the bed. That’s about it. So, Ferris, do you have any questions?

I stared at her, not quite knowing what to say. Not that I didn’t have any questions. I did, a shitload of them. But my mind was having trouble organizing all the new concepts that were swimming in it and the confusion was making my head hurt.

I thought about the changes I faced. Angels and demons, gods and devils, creatures of all moral stripes: the traditional images of good and evil, as defined within the confines of organized religions and ancient mythologies, were part of this game of spiritual Let’s Make A Deal. All I had to do was select which of the three doors I wanted and bam! I’d be off on an all-expenses paid trip to a new life in a different reality for all of eternity. But for me, there was only one place I wanted to be.

When do you need an answer? I wasn’t ready to make a commitment about where I wanted to go for the rest of my life—no, strike that—about where I wanted to go without giving it a great deal of thought.

Lydia sucked her teeth. Just take your time. Whenever.

There was something she wasn’t telling me.

But . . . I urged her to continue.

But—oh, it’s nothing.

I’m holding you up. I filled in the blank, nodding.

Trying to act nonchalantly, Lydia said, Naw. Don’t worry about it. Her eyes betrayed her lie. Take all the time you need. She busied herself studying her ragged nails, digging dirt from under one with another.

While Lydia pretended not to be in a hurry, I started weighing my options. Having her there feigning patience helped me focus on the task at hand. I zoned in on what seemed to be the most vital questions: what did I want—what did I need—in my next life? But how could I know that without knowing what the next life held? Of course, I only had one thing to compare it to—the life I’d lived so far. What had been important in this life? What was the one thing I would miss the most? What was the one thing that I didn’t want to lose?

The answer was easy.

I want to be with Shelley. Wherever Shelley is, that’s good enough for me.

Lydia placed a hand on mine and squeezed. I know, buddy. I know.

I stared at her, waiting for the but part of that sentence, because it was coming. I heard it in her voice.

But that’s not how it works. Shelley is gone. I don’t know where. I’m not her Guide.

Can you ask her? Shelley’s Guide?

Shaking her head, Lydia said, No. That’s not how it works.

Why?

There are plenty of really good reasons for that rule. You’ll have to trust me on this one.

Drawing a deep, painful breath, I nodded. Figures.

Here I was, dying, and the one thing, the one person that would make that bearable, was Shelley. Unfortunately, that was also the one thing that I couldn’t have. The one thing that had made my life worth living was gone. Now what? What else was there?

Then it hit me. 

My family, we were always really tight. When Mom died, we just sort of solidified. Became even closer. And the thing is, this—I gestured toward my injured self—this will kill them.

Swallowing against a catch in my throat, I found it hard to continue. It hasn’t even been eight months since Mom died. And I know it may be my time and all that. Hell, that doesn’t matter much. Not now. Not without Shelley. I dragged my sleeve across my eyes. But I’ve been thinking: if I’ve got to choose, I want to make the choice that will be easiest on them.

Lydia stared at me, and her expression intensified as she studied my face. Finally, I had to break away from the power of her gaze, and my eyes fell to my hands. We were both so quiet, I could hear Lydia’s breathing. I felt her eyes still on me, and I raised my head in response. I didn’t know what she was looking for. At last, her stare released me, and her head bobbed in a slow nod.

Believe it or not, I get that. I’m tight with my family, too. I’d never do anything to hurt them. She paused, seeming to consider her next words carefully. "I’d like to recommend you for a special program. It’s not something I can offer to very many people, so I don’t tell most of my clients about it.

You seem like a good guy—compassionate, honest. The kind of person who puts the needs of others before his own. At the scene, right after you were Extracted, it was like you weren’t even aware of your predicament—you worried about others. Shelley. And now, your family. I like that. And before. You told that girl not to look. You hadn’t even looked at yourself, but you knew it had to be bad, and you told her not to look.

My head kind of reeled at that. In all the chaos of the last several minutes, I’d forgotten the girl. But Lydia—without being near me—Lydia knew. I opened my mouth to ask how, but Lydia beat me to the punch.

I heard what you said. Guides have a kind of ‘super-hearing’.

Normally, I would have scoffed at that, but hey. The past hour had pretty much shaken reality for me. I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

When you spoke to that kid, that told me more about you than anything I learned by reading your dossier. You’re a good person, Ferris. Lydia paused, tiny lines furrowing into her brow as she raised her brows. Chewing her lower lip, she concentrated on my face. Not for the first time tonight, she seemed to be considering something very carefully. After a few seconds, her forehead smoothed. Whatever it was that she was uncertain about, she appeared to have come to a decision.

I know we just met, but I’ve just got a gut feeling about you. I think you’d be a pretty good Guide. Doing what I do. It would mean some major life changes, but there are some great perks, too.

Lydia went on to explain. There’s a nice pay and benefits package, including a good dental plan. All paid for. There’s a small co-pay, but it’s pretty manageable. But you get to keep your family. Of course, things are different, because you’d live in the Shadow Realm and they’d be in the Living Realm. You have to cross realms to visit them, so their recollections of you visits will be a little fuzzy.

I had no idea what this chick was talking about and I guess it showed on my face.

Lydia stared at me then twisted her mouth. I’m not explaining this well. She sprung out of her chair. Come on. Show and tell time.

I followed her out the door and down the hallway toward the corridor we’d passed through when the ambulance arrived. Her hand shot out to stop me mid-step and she nodded to the intersection.

See how these two halls intersect? Here we are in one of the busiest places in the whole city and where these two halls intersect, there’s a blind corner. Could make for some nasty collisions.

I nodded.

But look up there. Lydia pointed to the silver disc near the ceiling. That mirror provides a view of what’s coming down both hallways towards us. Sure, it’s distorted and a bit out of focus, but we can see if the hall is clear. Your family will remember your visits in the same way. Kind of distorted and definitely out of focus. But that’s out of necessity. Letting your family see everything would be too overwhelming.

Okay. So that’s what happens when we’re not together? I asked. What about when I’m in the Dead Zone? Are they just forget about me when I’m not around?

First of all, it’s not the ‘dead zone.’ It’s the Shadow Realm. And no. They remember you came for a visit, but the details aren’t sharply drawn. You don’t get to see them very often, but it’s better than a stick in the eye. Of course, the best thing about the job is that you get to help people. You get to be there, to help them through the most difficult decisions as they transition from one state to another.

Lydia was right. With Shelley gone, my reasons for staying had diminished. But I still had my family, and I focused on them as I made my selection. My choice had to bring them as much peace as possible. In the end, there was only one option.

I don’t regret my decision. I really do like my job. I’m good at it, and I do get to help people. My assigned territory is the U.S. and English-speaking Canada. Occasionally, I get to travel abroad to assist an expat. Every day is a new adventure; I never know where I’ll be.

I have a quiet life, a normal life. I have plenty of time to read. I get to visit my family a couple of times a year. I have friends I hang out with.

I have no regrets about my decision.

But now and then, I wonder what my life would have been like if the accident had never happened. If I had slowed down when the rain began. If we had decided to stay in that day. If Shelley was still alive. And every day I have to deal with the guilt. The guilt of having survived.

My only regrets are about the past. And no one can change the past.

Sometimes, things are just fucked up.

Case Number: FSG/00027

Cupcake

The night I met Maggie, she’d made her bed in the park. The tiny woman sleeping under the clump of bushes did not resemble the photo in her dossier. That Maggie, the public defense lawyer, wife, and mother, was a far cry from the near-skeletal woman