Missing Bessie

By Jody Overend

It's the summer of 1972 and Bessie has just turned fifteen in Ravenspond, Canada. She is young, curious and restless.

Having just broken up with her boyfriend Jason, she decides to hitchhike to Vancouver with her best pal, Ash, and catch her hero Chris Lisacker in concert. But instead of ending up on the West Coast, Bessie and Ash find themselves in Heaven, with no idea how they got there.

With the help of the Hawaiian-shirted Angel, Mel, Bessie gradually recovers her memories. But when her fate is about to be revealed, does she really want to know the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022

Book preview

PROLOGUE

RAVENSPOND 2014

On the afternoon of my fifteenth birthday, my Great Aunt Bessie, affectionately known as Grantie, led me into her garden after the rest of the family drove off into Ravenspond in search of my present – a kitten as it turned out. Sitting in her favorite wicker chair near the rose garden, Grantie told me of a fantastical journey that she had experienced when she was just my age.

But don’t tell a single soul, she cautioned me. You must pledge on this 4-leaf clover. With that she took off the emerald and silver brooch she always wore day in, day out, and laid it in my open palm. Swear that what I’m about to reveal will remain between us until I tell you otherwise. Someday this story needs to be told, but not yet. I’ll let you know when.

I promise, I replied solemnly. Cross my heart and hope to die.

Now be a sweetheart and fetch me a glass of white wine, no ice, she whispered with a smile. And when you come back, grab your pen and notebook so you can write it down. And I will tell you all about my visit to another dimension all those years ago.

When I returned, Grantie began her tale. It was the summer of 1972 when everything felt free, fresh, and hopeful. Music playing everywhere. When the boys wore their hair long, with guitars slung over their shoulders. And girls wore miniskirts, flowing dresses, tie-dyed blouses, and flowers in their hair. Everyone was young and happy and carefree. The world was our oyster, and we couldn’t wait to see it all.

She sipped her wine, her head leaning back on the chair, her eyes drifting off to a faraway time. It was back then when I visited another dimension, we call Heaven. But nothing like the Heaven they teach you about. She lowered her voice. It began on a July morning much like this one ….

Looking back now, all these years later, I’m not sure whether my great auntie was remembering an incredibly magical, mystical dream, or if it was a life-altering adventure that had really happened to her. Maybe it was an hallucination? Rumor has it, she had indulged in a few drugs back in those young years. One thing I know for sure is that she believed her story with her whole heart.

Is it truth or pure fantasy? I will leave that up to you to decide.

CHAPTER 1

HEAVEN

Bessie lies on a grassy hillside peppered with wildflowers, pillowing her head on her arms. Her eyes close, dreamlike. Her thoughts drift like clouds in a breeze, as they always do when she’s alone. She loves being in Heaven, adores it, but she can’t help feeling a sense of anxiety, a kind of dread of not knowing how she had ended up here. And when. Was it last week? A month ago? A year? Longer? And why is Ash here, too? They are only fifteen. Way too young to be in Heaven. So, what happened to them? And why can’t she remember?

Fragments of memories drift across her mind but nothing holds together. A warm breeze lifts her pale red bangs, revealing an inch-long scar over her left eyebrow in the shape of a small bird.

From somewhere behind her, a fluttery voice materializes disrupting her thoughts. Bess, where’d you go? Bess!

She turns her head to catch the familiar sound. Hunching up on her elbows, she looks back up the hill from where she has just been. In the distance, a school bell rings. She ignores it, starting to giggle.

Bess? You over here? The girly-girl voice is attached, finally, to a stunning beauty of mixed heritage in a blazing hot pink mini skirt. Lean as a stick, her poodle-like hair flowers ten inches around her movie starlet makeup; and her copper complexion glows. She stumbles over the hilltop in one lime green platform, carrying the other. Plopping down beside Bessie, she tosses the broken footwear on the grass. Stupid shoe, anyway.

Ash, focus. How many deaths will there be on this flight from, say, traffic accidents? Bessie picks up a blade of grass to chew. Guess how many accidents, not how many dead people.

Ash leans back, her elegant hands displaying a remarkable color of cerise nail polish, complete with rhinestones. Just this next flight coming? she asks. Okay, I say thirty to forty car wrecks, maybe three trucks. Does a bicycle count as a vehicle? One bus, and … my feet hurt.

The school bell rings again with neither girl acknowledging it. Ash leans forward to rub the toes of her left foot before stretching her leg back out. Pulling from her giant shoulder bag two cans of Hector’s Nectar: a heavenly honey and nectarine soda that was concocted by Angel Hector eons ago, Ash snaps the tabs and hands one to Bessie. Then there’s the suicides, she adds. Murders, of course.

Don’t forget the obvious, Bessie reminds her, taking a long gulp and turning to her friend, smiling.

They stare into each other’s eyes and chime in unison, War.

The girls, still slurping their sodas, gaze out over the lush hillsides spreading out around the airport in the valley below. The word airport is somewhat of a misnomer; the building resembles more of an open-air platform. A pine floor is attached to a peaked cedar-shingled roof with four sturdy posts at each corner, but without walls. On the top of the roof, an impressive crystal tower houses a magnificent golden bell. At one end of the platform furthest away from the girls, a crystal door is suspended in midair, glowing with a colorless aura. Outside the door, an airport runway is clearly visible. The front entrance is located at the opposite end of the platform — an arched doorway wreathed in flowers. Above the entrance, a carved plaque hanging on chains modestly announces: Heaven Interportal.

Gardens of extraordinary beauty surround the platform like a flowery hug. Winding away from the structure, small flagstone walkways bordered in stout hedges thread through the valley and up into the surrounding hills.

As the girls creep down towards their usual hiding place behind a particular hedge running horizontally about halfway down the hill, clusters of spirit people stream along the walkways to join an excited crowd gathering at the front of the airport. They look very much like their former selves, except for their air of weightlessness and ageless incandescence; and like Bessie and Ash, they cast no shadows.

Angels materialize amongst the crowd, some in their spiffy, powder blue Air Heaven uniforms, and others in regular street clothes. Unlike all other beings in Heaven, angels are distinguished by their silvery auras that sparkle and glow in any light.

Still moving in a crouched position, Bessie hisses at Ash behind her, News flash. Over there to your left. Angel Mel.

Huge and bald and dressed in jeans, sandals, and his hallmark Hawaiian shirt over a rotund belly, Angel Mel clasps a half-inch wad of typed paper held precariously together with two brass fasteners on the top and bottom. Talking excitedly to a fellow angel, his voice booms so loudly that it carries up to the girls. Yeah, so, I’m going to channel it tomorrow to that young actress Goldie Hawn during her yoga session. She’s very spiritual. She’ll love it, I tell ya. Luh-ve it. He listens for a bit. "What’s that? Oh, I call it A Bouquet of Reincarnations, haha. Get it? Pretty on-the-pulse if I do say so myself, which I just did, haha."

Such a goof, Bessie says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She searches for their special spot — a little space they carved out inside the hedge — before holding a branch up so Ash can squeeze in first.

The bell in the steeple begins to swing in slow motion, ringing seven distinct times. As the spectators watch, a huge white, jet-like cloud moves swiftly across the sky towards the rear of the airport. The massive crystal door slowly opens wide, activating the Sacred Portal – the gateway between Earth and Heaven.

Gotta run, Angel Mel shouts, running towards the platform. For whom the bell tolls, haha. He turns his attention to the docking plane.

The jet-cloud hovers in place overhead while a hatch at the front of the aircraft swings open, spilling out a white staircase that attaches to the Sacred Portal.

A pilot angel emerges from the plane first, spectacularly handsome in his white and gold Air Heaven uniform. Last stop, Heaven! he announces cheerfully. Under his breath, he murmurs, And you can thank the good Lord for that.

He ducks back inside, allowing a frail, elderly woman to step onto the staircase. She shakes the hand of an unseen flight attendant inside the plane before making her way smartly down the steps, clutching her purse to her chest.

As she steps through the entrance onto the platform, a ground crew angel (his name tag identifies him as Angel Stewart) approaches her. Linda, welcome home. Long time, no see. He tucks her arm through his, and together they stroll towards the waiting crowds. Before releasing her, he gives her a warm hug, creating a rosy glow that envelops them both. She now looks like the essence of health, with an ageless radiance.

Thank you, Stewart, dear, Linda returns, grinning fondly while she holds his hands in both of hers, facing him. Let’s see, it’s been, what, ninety-six years and five days? She looks around. Where’s Howard?

From behind the hedge, Ash whispers, Natural causes?

Bessie nods. Agreed. Died in her sleep.

Meanwhile Angel Stewart directs Linda’s attention to a tall, bowlegged man waving a bouquet of yellow roses wildly in the air outside the front arch. There he is! the angel booms. He can’t wait to see you. How long has it been?

Thirty-three years and fifteen days since he walked in front of that ice-cream truck, the big, stupid dummy, she tells the angel before giving him a farewell peck. She walks briskly out the floral arch and into the waiting arms of Howard. He hugs and kisses her like he’ll never let her go. At last, he takes her hand as they begin to stroll along an uphill pathway, mumbling, I know, I know. Should have been more careful. I know, I know.

Linda stops for a moment to punch him in the shoulder. I’ve missed you all these years, and for what? A banana split.

Owww! Howard rubs his arm. A strawberry sundae, actually. He grins at her, flirting like a schoolboy. Hey, Lindy, know what else I’ve missed?

As more transitioning souls descend the staircase to enter Heaven Interportal, Ash and Bessie focus silently on the parade of newly dead humanity. They appear in all ages and nationalities, and all manners of death. Some look peaceful, and others seem highly agitated.

A group of dark-skinned children, emaciated beyond imagination, huddle near the base of the staircase, shuffling their feet, their arms clutched around their torsos, fearful of what the next moment will bring. Several angels rush towards them with open palms. A slight hope flickers on the children’s faces. Anything is better than where they’ve been.

Outside, a man of impressive height and equally dark skin rushes to the front of the milling crowd, shouting, Milata, Gibral! Daddy is here! Mama is here! All your families are here!

One by one, the angels on the platform envelop the little ones in healing hugs. Once released, the children newly restored to glowing health, race through the archway to be scooped up by their joyful family members.

Tears dribble down Bessie’s cheeks as she turns away. I miss my …

Ash lays her arm around her friend’s shoulder, mascara dripping in lines of navy blue. Me, too.

A commotion draws their attention back to the Arrivals area. A cluster of soldiers dazed and confused, crowd together, staring at another military cluster across the platform. It’s evident by their mode of dress that they’re from opposite sides of the same conflict.

Ash and Bessie turn to share a look. Bessie pipes up, You guess first.

Ash doesn’t hesitate. Viet Nam.

As they watch, angels greet each soldier and give them hugs. In the rosy glow that’s created, the warriors return to their youthful, pre-death images. The two groups stare at each other, reality sinking in.

A few feet away, an Air Heaven angel with a checklist outside the airport turns to her companion. "War is hell, she says, shaking her head. When on Earth are they going to figure that out?"

Back behind the hedge, Bessie absentmindedly rubs her forehead scar, staring at the spectacle. Hey, Ash? How come we can’t remember how we died?

Ash twists a curl around a fingernail. She turns to look at Bessie for a moment, her eyes sad. Then her short attention span is drawn back to the airport. Look, she whispers.

A straggling passenger stumbles down the staircase. His bellowing accent is cranky cockney. With his tie-dye shirt hanging half-in, half-out of his jeans, his tattooed arms flail in the air. Eye makeup smears his pitted features. He yells at the top of his lungs, Where’s me limo driver? I say, is this LAX or what? Show’s in ‘alf an hour!

A stunning blonde angel rushes over while he bangs and batters his way through the sacred crystal entrance.

Got no time for groupies now, dearie! the passenger shouts. Need me freakin’ driver! Where’s me limo?

The angelic beauty glows rosily. The late arrival shrinks back in surprise, almost toppling over, and shouting, Bloody ‘ell! What kind of groupie are you?

The girls giggle inside their leafy shelter, all thoughts of sadness having passed. Barely able to contain themselves, Bessie finally spits out, Mister Rock Star thinks he’s going to his concert.

She jumps up, brushing herself off. Fifty feet below them, the staircase is folding back into the plane. A stocky male angel has joined the blonde to help her deal with the still-protesting arrival. The engine of the jet-cloud begins to hum as the plane vanishes into the sky. Slowly the crowd drifts away from the airport, strolling up and along the pathways.

Show’s over. The words are barely out of Bessie’s mouth when someone catches her eye. One last passenger, a tall, fair youth about seventeen, all limbs and sticking-out hair, steps out from behind a corner post to stand alone on the platform. His pale eyes are filled with unbearable pain. He watches listlessly while an angel approaches, glowing rosily to encircle him in her gentle embrace. Afterwards his image returns to a healthier, although still skinny, version of himself. They walk quietly arm-in-arm to the exit arch.

As the young man steps off the platform, a man of similar build, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, walks up to him. They hug shyly. No words are spoken. The older one leads his younger counterpart along a path, gesturing upwards. Then, without warning, the young man stops in his tracks and spins around. He stares up the opposite hillside, directly at Bessie. Gasping for breath, the young girl reaches up to touch her scar, her fingers trembling.

Ash glances at the scene below. "What’s he doing here? she cries. I thought he … never mind."

Soon the girls’ attention is diverted by something far more important. A figure: a petite, middle-aged angel in a tailored suit, marches smartly towards their hiding place. The silver chains on her reading glasses dance back and forth, and her features scowl.

Bessie’s eyes widen. Uh-oh.

Ash hisses, Angel Rachel.

As the two girls disappear over the hilltop, the manicured hand of Angel Rachel reaches down to pick up a lime green shoe. She holds it away from her as though it were a dead fish, shaking her head. One of these days, they’ll be the death of me, those two. She smirks at her own joke.

CHAPTER 2

HEAVEN

Bessie and Ash stand outside a modern glass and steel structure known as the Seventh Heaven Mall, which is sprawled in a field surrounded by a parking lot. Vehicles come and go in all shapes and sizes, similar to the Earth dimension, but with one major difference: no engines, and no fuel. There is no need for such things, as the vehicles run on universal energy.

The girls head towards the far end of the mall, where the Past Lives Movie Theater is located. Looking up at the marquee, they see what is currently playing: Arthur Bester, Accountant With a Secret File. The next one: Arazadin Vellani: Terrorist or Philosopher? And finally: Maria Helena: From Castle to Crackhead.

Did you see that one about Princess Maria Helena? Bessie comments, She had seventeen lovers, some of them priests, even, before she was run over by a donkey cart.

I know, that was wild. Loved that one, Ash agrees.

They turn to walk back to the central mall entrance. Inside, hallways travel in each direction, filled with shops boasting Heaven-ware fashions and accessories, the latest footgear, bags, reincarnation bookstores, cosmetics, and small eateries. In other words, it is a mall that’s an awful lot like malls on Earth.

Ash starts walking left. Shall we, my dear? she asks in an exaggerated British accent. Snickering, they soon enter the tiny, crowded shop called Bodysuits Boutique.

A nervous-Nellie angel peers out at them over her glasses from behind the counter. She stands all of four-foot-seven. On her flowered dress, the word Soulslady is elaborately lettered on a ceramic rectangle. At the sight of the girls, she pushes her glasses up her nose and squares her scrawny shoulders.

All around them hang neat rows of bodysuits: the outer identities of souls in Heaven who have decided to reincarnate and no longer need them; they will be getting new ones upon their return to the Earth dimension. The bodysuits seem to float on hangers like mystical Halloween costumes. There must be thousands of them, all organized beneath various signs like: Slightly Used; Go Retro; What’s Your Favorite Century? And, Just in: The New Summer Collection.

An elderly gent lifts down the bodysuit of the legendary balladeer of the sixties, Johnny Horton. Pretending to play a drum, he marches like a soldier singing Horton’s classic hit, Sink the Bismarck. At the top of his lungs, he bellows, "We'll find the German battleship that's makin' such a fuss; we gotta sink the Bismarck 'cause the world depends on us." Still strumming his drum, he marches into the change room as Bessie and Ash smile.

Anything in particular today, ladies? the Soulslady asks, spitting out every syllable.

Ash smiles warmly and insincerely. Just browsing.

The Soulslady sniffs as she turns to walk away. As per the usual.

Ash mimics the woman under her breath, As per the usual.

The store clerk stops for a moment before being distracted by a young nerdy type making a mess out of the Go Retro selections.

Ash and Bessie eavesdrop as the nerd asks politely, Got Jim Morrison?

The Soulslady points him to a crowded rack. Used & Abused. But it’s probably out. Everybody wants to wear Jim Morrison, for some weird reason.

The girls smile at Nerd Boy as they finger walk through the hangers in the Slightly Used section. Bessie pulls out the John F. Kennedy shell to hold it up to her. I remember I was watching cartoons on TV when my mom came in and switched the channel. Her face was chalk white and she was trembling.

Soon Ash is standing beside her, holding up the bodysuit of John’s brother, Robert. They check themselves in the full-length mirror. Both assassinated in their prime, Ash adds.

A true American tragedy, Bessie murmurs.

Sensing the Soulslady’s glare, the girls smile brightly, hanging up the shells in the wrong places. The angel stomps over in her quick little annoying steps, just as Ash and Bessie rush over to the Used & Abused section and yank out the bodysuits of Janis Joplin and Dinah Washington. Smirking, they rush into the change room before the clerk can catch them.

Lifting the bodysuits from their hangers, they tug them over their heads, smoothing them down around themselves, admiring each other for a moment. The images of Ash and Bessie are nowhere to be seen; only those of Janis and Dinah. It’s a game they never tire of in the endless time of Heaven. Janis (Ash) pulls back the changing room curtain, dancing out into the tiny shop, pulling Dinah (Bessie) by her hand. The Queen of the Blues Dinah belts out, You’re Nobody ‘til Somebody Loves You while Janis intertwines with a rousing version of Me and Bobby McGee.

Other customers join in, clapping their hands and singing along.

O-kay, ladies, that’s it. Quite enough fun for one day, the Soulslady commands. Furiously, she drags them by their arms towards the change room. Good-bye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, bye-bye.

Back outside in the parking lot, Ash and Bessie notice a guy on a spindly ladder who is painstakingly changing the names of the movies on the Past Lives marquee, letter by letter. Down come the names of Maria Helena, Arthur, and Arazadin. Up go this week’s first offering: Edna Snerd: The Tale of a Small Town Nurse with a Twist. Then, Chelsea Bunn: A Baker with a Sense of Humor.

Wish they’d have a movie star for a change, Ash complains. As more letters go up, her face breaks into a smile. The man climbs down his ladder while the girls gaze up in awe to see: Marilyn Monroe: From Hollywood to Heavenwood.

Marilyn was so beautiful and talented. Tragically she died way too soon, Ash sighs deeply. Just like us.

And just like Marilyn, someday we’ll be bodysuits hanging up, after we reincarnate, that is, Bessie muses. What category will we be in, I wonder?

Ash stops to brush a speck of dust from the toe of her purple stiletto. Her voice is tinged with sadness. Slightly Used. What else?

Hey, wait up! Bessie breaks into a run towards a rather tall, older woman who is busy jabbing at the kickstand of a rickety bicycle with her toe. As Bessie gets closer, she sees the bike’s basket is overflowing with cleaning supplies: polishes and soaps, a replacement mop head, dust rags, and a new whisk. Grandma, wait up!

The older woman turns, flicking a gray ponytail over her shoulder before kicking the stand back down and holding out strong arms.

As Ash wobbles across the parking lot, Bessie is swallowed into her grandmother’s warm, hearty hug before the older woman pulls back to take a good look at her. As always, her grandma is sporting a shapeless floral dress. On the left side of her chest, a gaudy green 4-leaf clover brooch perches haphazardly. Her skin is bronzed and freckled from so much time outdoors. When she speaks, her voice is thick with Irish lilting. Well, how in the blazes are you two rascals? Heard you played hooky and went to the airport again. She winks at Bessie, her rough hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Good for you, sugar plum. Good for you.

How’s Grandpa? Bessie manages to ask before Ash dives in for her hug.

Well, hello, Ashley dear, the older woman says kindly. Still working on that still in the orchard, bless his old heart. Making hooch out of nectarines this time. Pretty good batch, I must say.

Need to talk to you about something, Gran. Bessie pokes around in the basket. Hey, how come you bought all this cleaning stuff, anyways? Expecting company?

Grandma Millie shoos Bessie’s hands away. None of your beeswax, missy. Not yet anyway. Well … Her eyes fill with kindness. She asks, So, what’s on your mind? Trouble in paradise?

Ash pipes up, We saw Jason yesterday.

Just arrived on the nine o’clock flight, Bessie fills in, her fingers rubbing her scar.

You sure it was him? her grandmother asks, touching Bessie’s chin with her fingertips to tilt her face towards her. Positive? Lots of skinny lads crashing up their cars on the Earth roads these days. God only knows.

Oh, it was him alright, Millie. I’d swear it was him, Ash confirms, putting her hands on her hips in a cover girl pose.

Millie glances back and forth between them before she speaks. Well, in that case, you both better come and visit soon. We’ll have a nice long chat and decide what to do. Bessie? Old blue eyes pour love into young blue ones. You’ll come soon?

Sure, Gran. Bessie smiles. It’s not as if we’re going to school or anything.

That’s my girl. Millie kisses the top of her granddaughter’s head. Turning away, she grabs hold of her handlebars, kicking up the stand before climbing onto her bike. Can’t leave the old fart alone too long. You know how he is. She mimes pouring and tossing back a generous slug of whiskey.

Riding off down the road, Millie yells back over her shoulder. Soon, then, come and visit very soon. Now you two keep in trouble, you hear? Her giggle fades as she gets further and further from sight.

Wanna go watch the cows recycle? Ash suggests, sticking a pink jawbreaker into her mouth and chewing vigorously for a moment. Blowing out a huge bubble, she sucks the air back in, expertly popping it with a loud smack.

No can do, Bessie replies. Her fingers are back on her scar again.

CHAPTER 3

HEAVEN

Bessie slumps in an armchair positioned front and center of a spacious office decorated in old movie posters and memorabilia. Windows face out onto magnificent formal gardens. She’s alone until Angel Mel materializes out of thin air, binoculars in hand. With his back to her, he focuses outside on the manicured lawns laced with winding pathways.

About time, Bessie snaps.

He ignores her rudeness. Movie ran late. You’ve seen it yet? About that nurse, Edna Snerd? Or should I say, nurse-slash-serial-killer? Emphasis on the slash. Too bad for her men friends that she collected all those hunting knives, haha. Okay, where were we? Trying to recall your death. Any luck?

Bessie stares at his peony-shirted back. His shoulders are pit bull wide. I try, she answers, but the harder I try, the less I can remember. Grandma remembers hers, clear as a bell. Drifted off on a deck chair at the cottage reading an Agatha Christie murder mystery.

She changes positions in the chair, flicking her coppery bob to get her bangs out of her eyes. And even Grandpa remembers his. Fell out of a tree celebrating his birthday with a bottle of Irish whiskey.

Angel Mel turns and smiles; he’s got the face of everybody’s favorite uncle. He says, Maybe you should stop trying so hard. Let it flow, like a breeze. He sets down the binoculars on top of a messy pile of paper on his desk. His hands flutter back and forth in front of his portly figure like a caricature of a hula dancer. Let the breeze catch your memories and bring them to you. He turns back to the window before adding, When it’s time.

Bessie’s in no mood for his theatrical explanations. She shouts, And when will that be, Mel?

What am I, God? The time will be when the time will be. He leans down to her level, touching her shoulder. You need to heal first.

Heal from what, Mel? Her eyes accuse him. And you know. And I know you know.

He stares back for a long moment. His lips wobble in and out of a smile. Distracted by something or someone outside the window, he grabs his binoculars to rush over. In the distance, a tall lean man dressed in black with a guitar slung over his shoulder walks in the park.

Angel Mel dances with excitement. Why, I’ll be darned. I do believe that’s Buddy Holly, one of the great pioneers of rock and roll! He begins to sing, Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, Peggy Sue … Oh, Peggy, my Peggy Sue … Oh well, I love you, gal … Yes, I need you, Peggy Sue…

Bessie jumps up to join him. Together they watch the tall slim man with dark-rimmed glasses dressed in a suit make his way slowly and deliberately towards the rose gardens. She mumbles, So, how long have I been here? Can you answer me that, at least?

There is no time here, Bessie. No beginning, no middle, no end. Just timelessness. She gives no reaction, so he barrels on. "You know when