The scene played out as so many others before it. The old man closed his eyes for the last time, the machines played their final, most recognisable music, and the family who had been sitting, waiting, finally stopped.
The nurses, grown somewhat attached to the now deceased, went about their jobs, professionally, but with the respect owed to the family. Each member thanking them quietly as they shuffled, single file, out of the room.
The last one to leave, the woman who had been holding the old mans hand at the end, a single tear running down her face, waited just a minute longer. Just in case.
There wasnt a just in case; not in this scene. The man had died. It had been a long, sometimes painful, illness, but it had taken him regardless. The woman, the mans oldest and closest daughter, got up and left, saying nothing to the nurses for fear of starting to cry again, choosing to nod at them instead. They understood. Better than anyone, they understood.
Then, after a few minutes of cleaning up, the nurses left. And it was just the old man.
Well, she was there too, the young woman. She hadnt been there before. She wasnt a nurse, nor was she family. In fact, when a nurse strode in and picked up a plastic meal tray she had forgotten before, she strode straight through the young woman as if she wasnt even there. The young woman, silver hair, kind yet sad eyes, didnt even notice.
“Jeffrey Parker,” she said. Her voice was ice cold, but there was a tinge of something else at its corners. It wasnt sadness, but it wasnt not sadness either. It was a playful melancholy. A perfect sunset about to reach that most satisfying point as the storm clouds rolled in.
She had often been teased or even mocked for her voice, the way it played with peoples emotions. She couldnt help it, though. This was who she was. You cannot ask the winter to not be cold and you cannot ask her to sound any different.
“What is this?” a male voice said. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. An echo, of sorts. “Where am I?”
This time, when she spoke, the playfulness was not subtle or hidden, it was on full display. “The same place you were a few moments ago,” she said. “Waiting for me.”
Out of the body laying on the bed a sliver of something emerged. It was not substantial. It was barely anything at all. It was all that remained of the man who had been called Jeffrey Parker.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am who you think,” she said, standing full upright, her scythe in one hand. “Most people call me Alicia.”
He considered this for a moment before shrugging. “I expected someone taller.”
“Expectations are why youre here,” she said, shrugging. “The doctors can tell you all sorts of numbers and percentages, but you still end up here.”
“A few years later than I would have been,” he replied. And it was true, all the work the doctors had put into treating him had gained him almost three quarters of a decade more time to spend with his family.
“I hope you made the most of it,” she said, her voice back to normal. But she meant it. She always did.
There he went, racing his car down the dirt road. He flung it around a corner and felt the g-force push him towards the door. The wheels regained their grip right at the last minute. Any longer and they would have missed the shingle and hit the grass and the mud and he would have gone sliding off into the trees.
The car screamed in agony as he pushed with all his might on the accelerator and changed into a different gear. The car still screamed, but it was not in agony this time, mostly terror.
Ahead, the most dangerous corner of the course, the one with the huge oak tree in it. Many cars had come off there; none of them had won their fight with the mighty oak.
Unseen by anyone, anyone except the driver at the last possible moment, a silver haired woman of about 26 leaned on the trunk. Over her shoulder, a scythe. She watched the car, not with interest or pity, but a fleeting jealousy. Life, as they said, was for the living.
By the time the dust settled, and the emergency services arrived, it was too late. The driver was already dead. The car was never going to drive again and the silver haired woman had a soft companion next to her.
“Jeffrey Park…” she started. “What?” she said. She produced a clipboard out of the air and ran her finger down the list. She stopped at a seemingly random place and tapped it twice. “Jeffrey Parker,” she said slowly, turning to face the remains of the driver. Her face was a contortion of confusion and almost nausea.
“Ok, listen,” Jeffrey said. “This isnt my fault.”
“How are you here?” she asked, dropping the scythe from her shoulder so the wooden end was submerged into the dirt a small way. She held it in her hand and her look dared Jeffrey to say something she didnt like.
“After you,” he stopped speaking and considered the last time the two of them met. “Dealt with me last time, I didnt really fit in, I guess, with any of the options presented to me. I asked if reincarnation was an option.”
“It isnt,” she said darkly.
“Right, thats what the creepy man with the things said. But I guess someone fucked up, because the next thing I knew, I was being born again. All my memories intact.”
“All of them?” she asked.
“Not that it could do me much good. It got me good grades, sure. A decent job, yeah, but look around,” he motioned to things in general. “Everything is still shit. So I tried this instead. Bit of fun. Wanted to something like this last time around but the wife never let me.”
Alicia sighed and put her free hand on his shoulder. “I hope it was worth it.”
“You dont have to do this,” the detective shouted. “You have other options.”
Above him, just out of sight, the hostage taker stood with the gun to the girls head. She couldnt have been more than eight. She was crying and bleeding and kicking at the man who held her tight.
“Fuck off,” the hostage taker shouted back. “Wheres my helicopter?”
“It isnt coming,” the detective shouted back. “Youre alone up here.”
“I still have her,” he snarled and across the roof, everyone froze.
“This isnt like you, Jeffrey,” Alicia said, sitting on an air conditioning box next to wear he stood with the little girl. She looked down at the child and, this time, true sadness lined her face. “I am sorry, little one,” she said.
“If youre here...” Jeffrey said.
“It wasnt worth it,” Alicia said, waiting for the inevitable.
There arent many people who get to travel to the very ends of the world. Both poles, the Marianas Trench, the top of Everest. The list of people who have done all of them, and come back to tell people about it is exactly one.
Jeffrey Parker pulled up to the hotel in a sleek red sports car and hopped out, ignoring the teenager valet who was to park the car. Inside the hotel the lobby was already packed with his fans, his followers and his legions of easily manipulated merch buying public.
He waved to them all and put a fake face of happiness on. He hated this part. The part where he had to walk and talk through all of these people. To pretend he liked having to interact with them.
He had already picked out a few people he would take back to his hotel room after the talk later and he surreptitiously let his entourage know which ones so they could make the arrangements.
He was welcomed onstage by a booming crowd and he waved to them all as he pranced across, heading to where his host, applauding and waiting, stood.
“Thank you, thank you,” he called out to the audience before gripping the other mans hand and shaking it hard. “Thank you too, of course,” he said with a laugh and the two of them sat across from each other. Already on stage was another guest, the previous talker, an African woman who had walked across the sub-continent in order to raise money for the plight of her impoverished village. Her story had so captured the world that not only had her village been lifted out of poverty, but global change had started around her story; people were actually working for change in the under-developed parts of the world.
Jeffrey was here to jump on that bandwagon and hitch his name to a much more philanthropic venture. He knew certain things were about to be made public and he needed to clean his image as much as possible.
The panel discussion between the three of them and the audience questions went exactly as he had hoped and by the end of it, once again, people were shouting his name and idolising him. Another escape from bad press.
As he left the stage, the woman and their host right behind him, he caught a glimpse of his manager who beckoned him aside. He told the others he would meet them in the bar and went into a quiet corner with his manager.
“Got this for you,” he said and handed Jeffrey a large block of a familiar white powder. “Its the good stuff, dont worry. Our guy at the place made sure of it. I would advise you to be cautious tonight, though. We dont know when the story will drop, but if theres anything other than what happened on stage tonight before it does, youre in trouble. An overdose, or a death, or anything, and youre shot, understand?”
“I get it,” Jeffrey said, impatiently. “But I have to go and -”
“Yeah, I know. Remember, though, midday tomorrow, hotel lobby, right?”
“Yeah yeah,” Jeffrey replied and waved off the other man who simply disappeared into the shadows.
A few drinks at the bar, an informal meet and greet with some very well paying fans, and not a small amount of the white powder later and Jeffrey was in his suite, high up in the hotel. As he had arranged, a half dozen women were already there, waiting. Each of them was wearing only her underwear and his people had already given them their own white powder.
“Six?” he said, looking around. “I asked for five,” he said, angrily smashing his bag of cocaine on the table, sending it spraying everywhere. The women who were still conscious scurried after it.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” Alicia said, stepping forward. “One more time?”