Proof of Life

By Nicholas Creamer

Who'd have thought cheating death would be so complicated?

Zoe Victoria isn't sure how she feels about her classmate Sean. There's his so-called personality; half gallant gentleman, half angry little twerp. There's the issue of him being six inches shorter than she is, making for frequent nose-to-collarbone conversations. And there's the fact that he's the grim reaper.

Well. A grim reaper, at least; apparently one of many at the Agency, sworn to police the ethereal world AND carry on with all that reaping business. And honestly, even that wouldn't be a deal breaker; after all, Zoe has her own bone to pick with mortality, and cheating death seems a lot more reasonable when death is short enough to stuff in a locker. But as Sean's new assistant, Zoe is quickly learning that conviction alone can't change fate – and that saving lives might just put her own life at risk. Between hunting down supernatural psychopaths and rescuing people from certain death, it’s looking like Zoe might be getting a crash course in life expectancy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas Creamer
• Release date: Mar 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310002977

Nicholas Creamer

Nicholas Creamer graduated from Vassar College with a flimsy English degree, determined to either write stories or slowly fade into obscurity trying. After an abortive attempt at rock stardom and a series of tangentially writing-related jobs and projects, he suddenly remembered his original goal and set to work. You can find his thoughts on storytelling, criticism, and cartoons online at wrongeverytime.com.

Book preview

Prospects for treatment are higher if we…

I’m not listening.

I’m sorry. I understand this is…

No. Stop it. You don’t.

We simply don’t have the means to…

Why even… That doesn’t…

It could be years before…

Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.

Chapter One

I feel like I’m in a Hallmark-sponsored prison. Fuzzy jacketed inmates shuffle past nutcrackers and candy cane cells. Speakers blare toxic pop at just the right volume to kill hope. Gaudy glass balls hang like trussed-up warnings to other snowglobes.

This place sucks.

Chloe pouts at me. "Oh, come on, it’s festive. Everybody loves Chriiistmaaas." She nearly bounces as she says this, fists balled and sandy curls springing like happy terriers.

I wince and rub my forehead as we push through the atrium, where a line of kids are shuffling across a part-time actor’s big jolly lap. Chloe, this is where tinsel and top 40 go to die. I’m gonna get a headache.

She stares at me with those wide puppy eyes, letting her lip tremble a little… and then is grinning and bouncing again, staring past my shoulder. Mood whiplash is pretty much a constant with Chloe.

Steph! Over heeere!

And suddenly Steph is there, stepping gracefully between us like a prim Victorian Batman.

I twitch. Steph, you need to stop doing that.

Sorry. The meeting finished early. Steph brushes aside a strand of perfect silken hair as she smiles. I’d kill for that hair – my own dust-colored mop can barely be convinced to fall straight, much less… shimmer like that. Jeez.

Have you two decided on a booth yet?

Burgers! Chloe shouts this like it’s some great victory, but it was basically the first thing we thought of. Along with finals, which are still far enough away that they don’t actually exist, this stupid school fair is the only thing standing between us and a long, lazy winter break.

Steph taps her cheek, That sounds… simple. I’ll be cooking, I assume?

Why does she give Chloe openings like that? I shake my head as Chloe waves her hand wildly. Ooh, pick me, I’ll help! I’m super good at burgers. I think. She tilts her head, the jury apparently still deciding how super good at burgers she is.

Steph glances at me expectantly, and I cut in before this actually becomes a thing, Actually, I was thinking you might want to… handle customer service. Since you’re so good with people.

Steph nods tactfully. Yes. That might be best.

Chloe pouts at this, Aw, don’t you guys trust me to…

Steph smiles, Sorry, Chloe. I’m sure you’ll do well with the customers… but I love you too much to let you near a stove. She glances at the clock and frowns, Shouldn’t we be heading back? Lunch will be ending soon.

Chloe bobs her head in agreement, but I am on a mission. Sorry girls. I still need to find Mom something. After school then?

Steph offers a sympathetic nod that shouldn’t sting, it wasn’t intended that way… and then they’re gone, their familiar mismatched heads sinking into the crowd.

Right. Time to Get This Done.

I sigh and turn, shuffling over to join the ranks of window shopping zombies. I kind of know what I want to get, but the ridiculous bustle and glitter of the mall in full holiday season has a way of distracting me. Loud noises and shiny things; apparently I’m five years old.

Eventually I stop outside a jewelry store, my eye caught by a necklace in the window. A simple gold chain, nothing really showy… but I think it would suit her. Far outside my price range, obviously. But it’s nice. Classy. Elegant.

Aw, screw it. I reach for the door, and then freeze as something tugs the inner lining of my stomach. Yes, the interior. No, that doesn’t make any sense.

I turn with a jumping spin, as if to catch some actual perpetrator casually yanking on my stomach lining, but I am alone in the crowd.

The tug comes again, insistent, impossible. South.

South? What is south? I look back down the annex and take in the mall’s centerpiece, a gaudy Santa-ogre three stories high. He appears frozen in mid-prance, his merry pose kinda undercut by how ridiculously huge and heavy he looks. One gloved hand extends toward the ceiling, a bowtied present balanced merrily on his finger. That’s south, right?

The tug comes again, like a tremor in my chest.

I glance around, but see no change in the crowd’s shuffle. So it’s just me, then. Am I hungry? I do feel… empty, somehow. Like there’s a vacuum inside me and some new, unfriendly gravity is pulling me in. I turn back down the annex, away from the Santa, and the tug comes again, stronger, almost painful.

Huh.

Beginning to freak out here. Am I… what, pregnant? All right, I know I’m not pregnant. I’m pretty sure I’m not crazy. Okay. Investigate? Another tremor passes, like a hand twisting in my gut. It wills me towards the Santa.

I don’t like this. I’m not used to being controlled, and I’m not going to start now; I take care of myself. I take a step backwards and wince, nearly falling as a sharp pain rips through my stomach. Whatever. It’s not the boss of me. I take another step and double over, grinding my teeth as lights flash before my eyes. The pain is intense and constant, each tremor sending fire through my nerves, into my bones.

I can’t fight it.

I take a step forward and the pain recedes, dropping to an insistent tug in seconds. In a few more steps, the tug is replaced by a warm, encouraging feeling, a fuzziness all through my body that only makes me even more nervous. What is happening to me?

Happy thoughts, Zoe. Don’t think about it. Don’t panic.

I focus on the Santa, willing myself to distraction. His neon paint job is pealing in spots, with the wires sunk in his arms (to keep him from rampaging through the mall, I guess) looking frayed as well. One bulbous eye seems to stare right at me as I approach, my own nerves making his sinister grin widen hideously. And the present he… the present… the present is definitely tilting. The present is clearly unstable, is that supposed to happen or… no, no, I can see a support wire wiggling, vibrating, worming its way free of the ceiling and now it’s wrenched loose with a violent, angry twang, whipping the ceiling and bouncing towards ground and the present is tilting, tilting, tilting and…

Somebody screams. I lift my hands and realize my mouth is open, I am the one screaming. I shut my mouth and there is a terrible silence, the present hypnotizing as it sways, tilts, strains against its tethers. My heart beats. I pray it is hollow, it is made of cardboard, it is… clearly not, not if it was secured so tightly, clearly it’s… The present leans forward. Another heartbeat and it’s in the air, falling… it…

The mall holds its breath.

The crash is met by screams, and then the floor is a riot. Shoppers gush from stores, stampeding, ants fleeing their smashed anthill. I step forward, the path strangely clear in no direction but the Santa. The present has made a crater where a bench should be. I squint, see movement, and gag. A woman is there, struggling, pinned. I turn, looking for somebody, anybody who knows what’s supposed to happen, what I’m supposed to do.

The speaker system tells everyone to be calm, because everything is okay.

I take another step forward, my body lurching and unfamiliar. I can see her arm grasp the floor and there is blood, so much blood, far too much and nobody else is helping, everyone is running and screaming and not even seeing. A man knocks me aside as he shoves past, a girl clinging to his arm, staring right through me. Why is nobody helping? I take another step forward, entering the Santa’s plaza. Why is nobody doing anything?

A boy steps out of the tide, walking straight towards the woman. I can only see the back of his head and his navy backpack. What is he…

Time is stumbling, the crowd a blur, only us in focus. As the boy kneels beside her I’m suddenly conscious of our privacy, the only two who’ve entered the square, the only two to witness this. What can he possibly do? She needs a doctor, she needs…

He reaches out to the woman. There is blood across her face; her eyes are sick with panic. Most of her is beneath the present, there’s no way…

I watch her look up at the boy, see recognition as he lays a hand on hers; she smiles, and her eyes turn bright for a moment, and then they are gray and she is slumping and I know it’s finished, it’s already over, and the boy is stepping away, walking back into the crowd as time regains its frenzied pace and I need him to STOP.

The boy turns back.

Did I say that out loud?

His eyes are wide, and I realize his face is one I’ve seen before, between classes, glanced in hallways. He meets my stare for a moment, grimaces, and spins, diving into the stampede of shoppers. What is going on?

I dash after the boy, knowing I’m already too late, grappling with the slowing tide as people realize it’s over, they’re okay, whatever has happened has only happened to somebody else. I reach the exit in a state of disgrace, sweating and panting and suddenly realizing I’m going to be horribly, terribly sick. I slam the door open and empty my stomach over the curb, feeling weak and wretched. What just happened? Who the hell was that boy? Nothing makes any sense, it’s all jumbled pieces that don’t fit and… God, that woman… I’m down to just stomach acid now, teeth chattering against each other, my whole body crumpled, shaking. I crouch and hug my knees, slumping on the pavement. Why did I have to see that? What drew me back there? The feeling is gone, now, the tugging, but what, what… Why did… why did any of it happen? And that boy, how… what…

I push a hand against the concrete to prop myself.

The curb’s resistance feels good. Solid.

Pull it together Zoe. Everything. Is going. To be fine.

I don’t have any answers.

I have to find him.

Chapter Two

On the day after the incident, school is a jealous tyrant, fruitlessly stamping and shouting for my attention. I lurch from class to class with a boulder in my gut heavier than my spine-crushing backpack. My thoughts twist and boil, struggling to orient themselves to the new facts of my life. That girl not only saw me, she understood. I could see the realization in her eyes. Through her thoughtless blundering she has hideously complicated my world, adding a nattering girl-shaped variable where before there had been order and professionalism and accord.

But I can still fix this.

If I can find her, if I can rewrite what she thinks she knows, most likely by taking advantage of her flighty, witless teenage brain, I might have a chance of stopping this.

And so I have to find her.

But I’m not going to let it rattle me. I’ll attend my classes, play my usual part. The last thing I want to do is blow my own cover.

And so, for now, I eat.

I munch without tasting, staring glumly at a sandwich that stares glumly back at me. Food has no flavor in a world where my life resembles a coming-of-age cliché. Finally I toss the sandwich aside, standing and trudging meaningfully across the cafeteria. From a table by the windows, some kids from class wave in my direction.

I can handle this.

I keep my eyes rigidly forward, then jerk them down, fishing through my pocket and yanking out my cellphone. I glance at the blank device and let my eyes go wide, then rush out of the cafeteria, shoving the phone back in my pocket and regaining my neutral expression.

Tiresome.

I’m trudging aimlessly towards the science wing, my mind still mulling over the Santa fiasco, when an arm jabs out from the chemistry lab, seizing my coat and dragging me into darkness. The door slams, light floods the room, and there she is, arm planted firmly on hip, her short, dust blond hair strewn disarmingly across her brow. Her face seems a war of tensions, incredulity sparring with… anger? Fear?

Okay. Damage control.

I get in the first word, Hello?

Don’t. Don’t play dumb with me. I saw you. What the hell was that thing you did, yesterday? At the… accident? She leans back, her crossed arms brooking no argument. I don’t have the time or inclination for this – even if she has the talent, that doesn’t mean I have to train her. I don’t need this condescending child meddling with my work. I stick to my story.

Yesterday? What? Yesterday I was at school, and then I went home. What are you even talking about? Keep it simple. No temper. Only the vaguest appearance of interest in the conversation. Do I think she is crazy? How do I display that?

Don’t lie to me. I saw you, at the mall. I couldn’t believe it, but… She pauses, eyes glowing. She takes a breath, "I saw you, and I know you saw me, and I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, but I… I won’t let you leave until you tell me."

A staggeringly coherent accusation for a giggling nitwit. What can she possibly know? She saw me at the mall, and she’s sure of it. So? She can’t actually keep me here forever. I move towards the door and she blocks it. I am confronted with the harsh, inescapable fact that she is a lot bigger than me.

"Did you kill that woman? I mean, not really killed, but… it looked like…" She looks away, apparently shamed by the absurdity of her accusation. That’s right. Realize this is crazy talk. Let me out of here. I take another step towards the door and am blocked again. She stares, downward, at me. Fine. The hard way, then.

I sigh. Yes, I was there, okay? But… I don’t know what you’re talking about. My eyes turn toward the window, hopefully moistening a bit, What do you think I could do? By the time I got there, that statue had already… I turn and level my gaze, complimenting my assault of reason with a withering lowered eyebrow. Are you listening to yourself right now? You sound absolutely crazy. I soften my tone, You might be in shock. Want me to take you to the nurse?

The girl shakes her head angrily, then frowns. "It is pretty crazy, isn’t it? But you…"

I wanted to help her. I look down, imagining how some near-child utterly ruled by their emotions would react at this juncture. I droop my eyebrows and lower my voice, I’m sorry. I couldn’t do anything.

I glance up to see the girl staring straight at me, an expression I can’t interpret playing across her face. It’s not your fault. She leans forward and I realize far too late what she is going to do. I try to take a step back, but am swallowed by her hug, Neither of us could. I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.

My mind is blank. My throat is tight. I grimace, feeling my face turn red and then purple and then blue.

Eventually she breaks away and I can breathe again. I pause to inhale, then, I better get going, or I’ll miss my next class. I’m Sean, by the way.

Zoe. Zoe Vic… She stops suddenly, frowning, and then I feel it too. A tug. A tremor. A jolt in my mind, in my stomach, echoing across my body. The need to fulfill my duty. Another wave shakes us and we grimace in unison. Her eyes lock with mine.

Uh oh.

We wince as a third tremor strikes, and through the squinting of her eyes I see that crazed suspicion has turned to blasted certainty. "Well, it was nice meeting you. We can talk about this some other time, but I haave to get to class now, I’ve got a presentation and I’m gaoing to be late…" I can tell she doesn’t buy it. Of course not, why the hell would she? She’s feeling the same wrenching at the same time, and I’m staggering like a buffoon whenever a pulse hits, embarrassing myself in front of her. It’s too soon and too far away and I need to get moving now, and here I am cringing like a first-time apprentice at every jolt, and why the hell am I handling it so poorly anyway? What is wrong with me?

"This means it’s gonna happen again, right? Is someone… is someone going to die here, at the school? Tell me what’s going to happen!" The girl grabs my shoulders, shaking me, compounding my nausea. I feel sick with the pangs of Ether, choking on the bitter thought that this is unavoidable, this is inevitable, this is my judgment for the failure I thought I’d repaid. Does it think I’ll fail again? Is she here to replace me, like I did Saul? I don’t need this. I don’t need her. Oh god… I can feel it, I know it’s going to… make it… make it stop… The girl doubles over and clutches her stomach. I wish she would just shut up. I wish she would go away. I wish none of this had ever happened, and now I’m angry and disgusted at my own passive wishing, as if I can’t handle this situation. As if I really do need anyone’s help. I can do it myself.

I reach an arm towards her and then draw it back; I don’t have that power, and even if I did, an arbiter would be here in moments. It’s right… it’s right… She crumples, and then points "there!" and what, how can she even pretend to know that? I’m too angry to think clearly, furious at her presumption and even more furious that she’s actually right. How could she know that?

I’m being stupid and hasty and nothing like myself. None of these complications should have caught me off guard. Okay, maybe she’s stupidly gifted. That’s fine, that’s something I should have anticipated – even the fact that she remembered seeing me puts her off the chart. Think. Process. Recalibrate.

Another pang hits and I know that I must move, that I am already late, that I probably can’t even arrive in time now. I doubt the Agency would accept tardiness on the basis of a useless, hysterical Second, and I seriously doubt this girl would vouch it was her fault anyway. I am not going to let this nobody cause my second reprimanding in three years. I need to get out of here.

I feint for the door and she buys it, showing surprising strength of will as she dives to block me. Spinning in place, I sprint for the window, hugging my stomach and willing myself calm. I yank the latch and leap, clinging to the sill, pushing myself up and over. I land in a tangle of limbs, rolling, kicking off and sprinting across the field. A sigh of relief escapes my lungs just before I’m tackled from behind, slamming unceremoniously into the grass. Zoe sits with her knees against my back, pinning me to the ground.

You’re taking me with you.

Wonderful.

Chapter Three

I march two steps behind him, wary of any more escape attempts. The kid is pretty scrappy for such a small, out of shape twerp, and fighting these psychic stomach cramps while chasing him is not an experience I’m eager to revisit.

We reach the parking lot and he turns to me, jerking at a particularly nasty tremor, his face screwed up in that apparently standard ‘life is pain woe is me blah blah blah’ look. Not that I’m one to judge… well, actually I am one to judge, but regardless, he really can’t pull it off. I should be afraid of him; I don’t even know what he really did yesterday, but… he’s too shrimpy, and his hair is too neat, and I’m just thinking how it’s silly to be intimidated by such a weed of a person when he speaks.

Alright, this should be far enough. He glances back at me, frowning, and then reaches into his pocket. He pulls out some kind of shiny bauble, gripping it tightly in one hand, his eyes closed.

What is he doing? I bite my lip, knees tensed. What is he really capable of? Do I want to know what happened yesterday? I can still leave. I can still forget any of this happened.

But… I can’t. Not really.

If he really has that power…

I picture that great gray bed, then shake my head clear.

This is too important.

I don’t have the right to walk away.

I step forward, What are you doing?

Quiet. I’m concentrating.

I cross my arms. What is that thing?

It’s a Sigil, He drops his hand and sighs, apparently exhausted with this trial of exposition. We need to travel some distance for the job, and the Sigil will get us there and back. Don’t ask stupid questions.

I resist the urge to backhand his prickly little head, Where are we going?

Another sigh. What did I just say? He winces, breathes deeply, and takes my hand.

• • •

I can’t feel the wind. I can’t feel my feet. Houses and trees whip by in a gray-green nightmare of color and light and I think I’m going to be sick. I look down to see the ground is a blur, my feet barely touching it as they move beyond my control, the sidewalks and streets merging into an uneven streak of pastel static. I try to focus on the horizon, but the horizon refuses to stand still.

It might be more comfortable if you close your eyes, Sean mentions helpfully, and I shoot him a scathing look. So, no suspicions any more – Sean really is some kind of impossible death-wizard. The twerp seems almost bored by the stomach-churning experience, In my line of work, you often need to get around in a hurry. So they let us bend a few minor rules. Despite his monotone, I can tell he’s enjoying this – he’s showing off. I swallow hard, determined not to let my discomfort show. Trees flash and meld and turn to houses turn to roads turn to flashing lights and buildings and the honks of cars rise and recede like a kind of music and then we are there, stopping as suddenly as we started. I lurch forward and fall to one knee, bracing against momentum that isn’t there. As my breathing slows, I feel the pain in my chest subside – sharp jabs of demand fading to gentle tugs of insistence, and then to the same feeling of rightness I experienced at the mall. Like I’m being rewarded for doing as I’m told. I shudder, rise to my feet, and take stock.

Cars rush past behind us, their drivers honking and swearing merrily at each other. Wind shuffles through concrete avenues, carrying the thin fragrance of exhaust and burnt cat. The mid-afternoon sun beams reproachfully