L.I.M.B.O.

content warning: suicidal ideation

     Roland sits at his desk, sipping his coffee, watching as the sunrise overtakes the sky. From his office on the top floor of the building, he watches as the pinks, purples, oranges, (salmons? He thinks salmon), and reds change and shift in the expansive and endless blue. The colors touch the tips of trees and roofs of buildings first, the kisses of a careful lover, before engulfing the rest of the city below in morning.

     Roland's tie drapes carelessly across the back of his chair. He stretches and sinks into the soft leather, setting his coffee down and sighing. He's not quite ready to look over the case file in front of him. He ties the silk around his throat first, a double Windsor knot laying gently across the bottom of his throat in just a few seconds time.

     It must be hard, he thinks, to be on the other side of this desk.

     The desk itself is beautiful. The woodwork is top of the line, handcrafted by some of the greatest artisans of all time. It was rumored when Roland took the job years ago that Da Vinci himself had once laid hands on the desk. Roland isn't sure if that rumor is true, but he knows he's sat behind the desk for six years now, and Da Vinci hasn't ever been seen in the room.

     Roland didn't have time to worry about careless rumors. His job was far too important.

     He himself, despite the grandeur of the job and the desk, is unassuming. His presence is meant to be as unthreatening as possible. He's medium height, medium build, medium coloring. Completely and totally average, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He was handpicked and hand trained for the difficult job he performs every day.

     Roland checks his watch. With just an hour before his first (and possible only, he thinks dramatically) appointment, he finally turns toward the file. He lifts the manilla envelope from his desk and starts leafing through, immersing himself into someone else's life.

     He drops the envelope quickly, as if his hands are on fire.

     "Marjorie, this will be my only appointment," he whispers into the intercom.

**

     Angela stands on the top of the cliff, looking down to the deep waters below. It's got to be a 300 foot drop, she thinks, 30 stories to the water below. She knows that the combination of gravity and kinetic energy will pull her at least another 10 stories under, and she won't ever be able to swim back to the surface.

     She watches the line where the ocean meets the sky as she sits, her feet dangling over the edge, bare apart from the chipped nail polish on her toes. The sounds of the gentle waves hitting against the land are soothing to her, but she's past being soothed.

     A year long battle with cancer, a car crash, the loss of her best friend. All of the same desperate thoughts rush around her head. She can't get over the amount of time she's spent dying instead of living in the last few years, and her support system is gone.

     She stands back up, walking away from the ledge. Her hands are knotted in her only chin length and curly red hair. When the chemo was over and the cancer was gone, Serena had convinced her not to continue dying her naturally red hair darker.

     "You look vibrant, like fire. You could turn the head of a monk, babe", she'd said, sitting on Angela's bed. They'd been staring at the ceiling together, talking all through the night, when Angela had gotten the urge to dye her only then two inches of hair.

     Six months later, Serena lost her life in a head on collision with a drunk driver.

     Angela's parents were long gone, at an advanced age when they had her, leaving her alone from the age of 17. Proud, Irish, Catholic… her father would never understand why she chose now.

     The thought of her father and mother while watching the sun finish it's ascent for the morning is enough. Angela runs, bare feet digging into the rocky earth below her, and jumps. She hits the water, but never sinks.

**

     "Welcome to Lyons, Indigo, Mortley, Barrows, and Oakstin. I'm Roland."

     Angela looks up at the calming man and screams. Roland has his hand extended over the desk, but frowns slightly at the corners of his mouth and withdraws his hand, straightening his tie nervously. It's always worse when they scream. This one in particular, he thinks, is about as bad as the last. She's soaked from head to toe.

     "Marjorie, can I get a towel and a blanket and perhaps a change of clothes," Roland says, pressing the intercom button on the phone.

     "Right away sir."

     Angela isn't sitting anymore, instead searching for a door, a way out, some kind of escape.

     "We at L.I.M.B.O. do not wish for you to be uncomfortable Miss Perkins," Roland says quietly.

     "L.I.M.B.O.? I'm in limbo?!" Angela continues pounding on the walls, completely and utterly panicking. Roland clears his throat uncomfortably, and Angela looks at him. On the desk in front of him are all the things he'd requested, but no one had entered the room from what Angela could tell. She holds her hands to her chest, unsure of what to think.

     "Miss Perkins, it is my job to figure out where you're going, so to speak."

     "Excuse me, what?" Angela takes a step toward Roland's desk, which makes the corners of his lips twitch upward in slight pleasure. It's easier, he thinks, when they just relax.

     "For lack of a better term, this is your judgement day."

     Angela takes the towel off the desk as she approaches her seat, setting the towel beneath her.

     "I'm dead. I died. I hit the water and never came back up."

     "No… not technically. Not quite. You see, here at L.I.M.B.O. we have a policy of extracting you from the situation before your soul fully leaves your body. We need to know what you want to do… with your soul."

     Angela sinks into the chair, almost falling.

     "With my soul? What is this?"

     Roland flips through the envelope in front of him again, looking over Angela's stats and details.

     "You are a three time cancer survivor, baptised and confirmed in the Catholic church, and your choice was to jump off a cliff to end your life," Roland says. Angela winces, but nods.

     "Your soul has lived for longer than you can imagine Angela. This isn't our first meeting," Roland says, looking at a cabinet off to the right of his room. Inside, there are hundreds of pictures of different people. Angela stands as Roland does, and they approach the cabinet together. Four times Angela sees herself, but the pictures shift and change, and what started as her face turns into something almost the same. Not quite right, but almost.

     She looks at Roland, and he touches her hand slightly.

     It all comes back to her. Every death, every meeting, every fleeting and stolen moment she's been given in every life. Every heartache and every triumph. She breathes deeply, tears cascading down her face without her permission. She wipes her face with the back of her impatiently and looks over at Roland, who has turned his back to her to stare out the window.

     His choice to give her privacy is a good one.

     "I want to Re-Cycle," she says, touching him on the shoulder. Roland is kind, turning around and smiling a small smile.

     "Angela… this will be your last Cycle. I cannot allow you to go back without finishing an entire lifetime."

     Angela steps back.

     "What do you mean?"

     "I can't give you another body. This is your fifth. I can't continue to let you ruin them. So we have to Cycle you back, until the natural end of your life, if you want to Re-Cycle."

     Angela steps slowly toward the window, staring as the sun brightens the street below. She knows it's not a real street, or at least, not one that she could physically touch. Not now. Not at this cycle. She has to reach the 10th Cycle to be free. This isn't the first time her soul has tried to restart.

     "How broken will this body be?" She asks, touching the desk lightly. Roland's back is turned, and she steals a pen.

     "I can reset to three seconds before you jump. I can only give you the thought not to."

     Angela nods.

     "Okay. Okay. I'll do it. I want to be free."

     Roland nods, ready for her answer. This soul has always been persistent.

     "No more jumps, Angela. You need to finish this cycle before you can move on to the next."

     "I understand."

     Roland points behind her. A door is there now.

     "Walk through and you'll reset. Don't jump."

     Angela walks toward the door slowly, but turns around at the last second and hugs Roland.

     "Thank you."

     Angela runs through the door, flinging it open…

     And the dirt digs into her toes as she stops herself, feeling a foreign object in her pocket. The waves crashing against the land soothe her, and her hand touches the pen. She quickly backs away from the edge of the cliff, falling into a seated position safely.

     "L.I.M.B.O., good for your soul?" She reads, unsure of the meaning.

     "Hey, Miss, are you all right?" Someone shouts. A man's voice, coming closer.

     Angela looks up to find a medium build, brown haired man with a twinkle in his eyes that immediately calms her.

     "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He reaches for her hand and she allows him to help her up.

     "I'm Roland," he says, smiling at her. His teeth are perfect.

     "Yanno, I really like that name," she says.