Not Exactly Heavenward

The room eventually came into focus. Jane felt a little nauseous, to say the least, and her head pounded from the onslaught of brilliant lights. She looked around, almost too overwhelmed to absorb her surroundings, but she recognized the lobby of her apartment building. Except it wasn't the lobby she'd come to know so well in the past three years. There was something odd about it all. The white marble floor was glistening so brightly, she could see her reflection in it. A petite girl with shoulder-length raven hair framing a round face and dark brown eyes stared back at her. She turned her gaze upward. The golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling was too golden. Even that cushion on the dark green couches near the revolving doors didn't have that irremovable coffee stain anymore. (How had they finally washed it out?) And there was this... smell. Jane lifted her nose and inhaled deeply. This... aroma. That light, earthy fragrance after a rain shower in April. What was the word for all of this? Why couldn't she find it—

Clean.

Jane froze. The lobby of Carlton Heights Apartments had never been clean. In all the three years she'd lived here, there had been webs of mold on the ceiling, deep brown stains on the couches, and balls of dust rolling across the receptionist's desk.

What had happened? Where was she, really? Because this certainly wasn't home.

Home. Apartment 314 on the fifteenth floor. That was home. Ignoring her growing headache, Jane marched determinedly across the empty lobby toward the only elevator in the entire building. An unwanted thought flitted through her mind: where was everyone? But immediately Jane brushed it off. Maybe they were all at lunch. It was noon after all. Wasn't it? Instinctively, Jane glanced down at her watch. 12:00 PM, it read.

When she'd reached the elevator she punched the upward arrow and then stood back to wait.

After a long, frustrating moment, the elevator went ding and the doors finally glided open. Jane quickly stepped inside and they shut after her.

"Hello."

She squealed and recoiled against the wall of the elevator, slamming her head against it in the shock. "Dammit," she growled as she rubbed the back of her head and turned her eyes on the man who had suddenly appeared next to her. "What the hell, man?"

"What-the-hell-man, indeed," the man replied in a strangely cheerful voice. "Going up, Jane? Fifteenth floor, yes?"

Jane squinted at him, scanning him up and down. He looked oddly familiar— a lanky figure in a black suit and tie, with a mop of chocolate hair and glistening emerald eyes that always seemed amused at something.

"Yes," she replied slowly, drawing out the word. She hated this tug at her gut, that she knew this man from somewhere, but she couldn't quite place his name. As Jane watched the man press the golden cursive 15 on the panel, she added, "Do I know you?"

"No." He paused, his brows furrowing. "Yes." Another beat. "Yes and no."

Jane folded her arms. She didn't really like people who weren't straightforward, and this guy definitely wasn't. "Explain," she said with a scowl. The screen above the doors illuminated the floor levels they were passing. 2... 3... As usual, the elevator was moving excruciatingly slowly. At least that was one thing Jane could recognize in this building.

The abrupt noise of the man clearing his throat brought her attention back to him. "I think you saw this face in the fire," he stated simply.

"Fire? What are you talking about?" Jane asked with a derisive scoff. Maybe she hadn't seen this guy before. Didn’t people get these feelings of déjà vu all the time? Or maybe she was just dreaming. As if reading her thoughts, the man reached over and pinched her arm. Hard.

"Ow!" Jane squeaked, rubbing the aching spot and tossing him a dark glare. "What's wrong with you?"

"I know what you're thinking," he said matter-of-factly. "That this isn't real, you're in dreamland, you've had too much to drink, or you've finally lost your marbles." He lifted and dropped a thin shoulder. "I'm here to say that you're wrong."

Jane eyed him carefully. "Fine then, Mr. Know-It-All—"

"Actually," he cut in politely, "I'm called Raphael."

She paused. And then obliged. "Raphael," she said. "Tell me about the fire."

The man nodded. "You remember, don't you? You died in it."

"I... died in it," Jane repeated, raising a brow in disgust. "I don't like joking about death, Raphael."

"Neither do I," he said with a solemn face. "I'm not joking. You're Jane Baxter. And you died in a fire in the lobby at exactly noon."

5...6...

"The lobby." Jane frowned. "The one I was just in?"

Raphael put his head to the side, as if contemplating whether to tell her everything. "No," he finally said. "That lobby is only a replica of the real one. And so is this whole building. Everything has been specifically designed so that you can feel comfortable here."

Okay, that was just insane. She put up her hands, as if surrendering. "If this is some sort of prank..." she trailed off when he didn't agree.

"You'll know when I'm joking, Jane. This is not one of those times."

She didn't like this. Not one bit. "So you’re saying... I died. In a fire that happened in the lobby of my apartment building. And I'm riding the elevator beside... a guy that died with me?"

Raphael had been nodding the whole time Jane was summarizing for herself, but now he shook his head firmly. "My name is Raphael but the face that you see in front of you is just a replica of the—"

"Let me guess, the last person I saw?" she asked.

"You're catching on fast." His grin was almost as white as the fake floors in the fake lobby. Not fake, Jane thought, catching herself. Just replicas.

9...10...

"Is this heaven, then?" she suddenly realized aloud.

Raphael shook his head with a small, upward quirk of a smile. "This is an elevator, Jane." He paused, as if pondering what he had just said, and then nodded once. "That is a joke."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Hilarious." She glanced up at the screen as the numbers kept climbing. "Where are we going, then?"

12...13...

"Home," Raphael replied simply.

14...

Abruptly, the lights went out and they were plunged into darkness. Instinctively, Jane reached out and found Raphael's hand. She held her breath and listened. The soft whirring of the elevator mechanisms had stopped.

"What..." she dropped her voice to a whisper, realizing how loud it sounded against the booming silence. "What happened?"

"Hmm," Raphael mused. He didn't sound so much frightened as curious. But he didn't tear his hand from Jane's and she was quietly grateful about it. "I think there might be a problem with the corporeal world,” he murmured slowly. 

“You mean... back in the real world?”

She almost saw his face twitch into a smile in the darkness. “This world is very much real, Jane,” he said quietly. “But, yes, in the world from which you came, I believe we’re experiencing some… technical issues.”

“What kind of technical issues?” Jane asked. 

“It happens very rarely,” was all he said.

“What does?” she prodded with a frown. He was still being irritatingly obscure.

His green eyes glinted as they turned to her. “You’re being returned,” he breathed.

Jane blinked. Returned? “You mean, I’m going back?”

“Yes.” He paused and then she felt his fingers brush past her other hand as he took it in his. His green gaze burned into her. “You’re going back into the fire,” he said. “Someone came back for you, and you’re balanced precariously between life and death as of this very moment.”

Someone came back for me. What does that mean? Jane didn’t know what to think, let alone what to say.

Suddenly, a deep rumbling filled the air. It rattled her bones and made her head throb. 

“Raphael?” she squeaked. The trembling was nearly unbearable now. And somehow she knew that it threatened to tear her whole self apart.

“Just remember!” he called over the noise, still gripping her hands tightly. “Come home!”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut.

The shaking stopped.

The first thing she noticed was the odor that flooded her senses. Something was burning, someone was coughing, and the hammering in her head had only increased. The crackling of fire. The orange-and-blue light from wild flames danced through her closed eyelids.

Immediately, her eyes snapped open and she felt a burning sensation so strong that they began to water. There was smoke everywhere, so thick that she could barely see her hand in front of her. She was sweating profusely and her clothes were soaked through. 

She was on the floor of the elevator, coughing, heaving, desperate for oxygen. And, as if she’d left her body and was just watching herself from somewhere up above, she vaguely realized that someone was trying to drag her out of the fire. And he was yelling something as a group of people pried the doors open even wider than it was to help the both of them out.

Her throat felt so dry. And she was so tired. She wanted the cool comfort of a nice, cold shower. For the rest of the night, Jane drifted in and out of consciousness.

Four paramedics surrounding her, gently rolling her into an ambulance...

The white of the hospital ceiling...

Black for a long time. Was she back in the elevator with Raphael?... 

A murmur of low voices at the foot of her hospital bed, and one that sounded strangely familiar...

Her eyelids fluttered open. It was morning. She glanced up at the ceiling. A bit of mold was eating up a corner of it. She sighed, partly in relief, but with a tinge of sadness. 

There was a brief knock at the door and a nurse entered. She had kind dark brown eyes and blonde hair tied back in a bun. “Ms. Baxter?” she said gently. “Someone’s asked to see you.” 

With her help, Jane struggled into a sitting position, and then the nurse— her name tag read Lauren— left to get her visitor. While she waited, she looked around. The analog clock on the wall read nine a.m. A vase of flowers sat on a small bedside table. There was a single chair in the room, but nothing else. A wave of homesickness washed over her. She missed her own apartment so much.

A knock at the door brought her back to the present. Jane’s gaze turned from the vase of tulips and a small gasp escaped her.

It was Raphael. But it wasn’t Raphael. Was this his replica? No, Jane reminded herself firmly as the brown-haired man in the suit crossed the room and sat down carefully in the seat beside her bed. This is the last face I saw before I died. 

“You’re awake,” he said with that familiarly pearly smile.

Jane opened her mouth, and then shut it quickly. She didn’t trust herself to speak. He sounded exactly like Raphael.

His face reddened slightly in the silence. “Um,” he managed, running a hand through his wavy hair, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Jane’s eyes widened at that. He was the one who’d come back for her. Carefully, painfully, she cleared her throat, and he looked at her, waiting expectantly. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “For saving me.”

He shook his head, obviously embarrassed now. “It wasn’t very graceful, I’m afraid,” he said. 

Jane laughed at that, but quickly stopped when doing so seared her throat. “Graceful doesn’t save lives,” she said quietly, offering him an encouraging smile. 

He nodded slowly, seeming to silently appreciate her words. With a small, almost invisible sigh, he got to his feet. “I’m glad you’re on your way to recovery,” he said, his voice suddenly awkward and formal. 

Jane raised her brows as she watched him. At least doing that didn’t hurt. She wondered what she must look like to him, laying there in her hospital clothes. Her hair must be a mess. “Will I see you again…” she trailed off, stopping herself before she could say Raphael.

“Danny Rivera,” he filled in. And then, after a moment of hesitation, “I’m counting on it.” His green eyes twinkled kindly, and then he turned, and walked out the door.

With a contented sigh, Jane watched the door close gently and then she snuggled back under the covers and closed her eyes. A small smile crept up her face. It was ironic, she thought, having had to die in order to realize what she wanted to do with her life. Not everyone had that chance, so she couldn’t let this one go to waste. 

And Raphael, for one, would have laughed.