How to Kill Someone after You're Dead

I didn’t know my murderer, and he didn’t know me.

Carl Bronson was his name. He killed me with a 2021 Ford Mustang. The man was drunk and ran a red light, going at a speed not meant for city streets.

The impact was terrific. I felt intense pain and I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. All I could do was groan weakly and suffer; fortunately, the pain quickly dissipated. A sort of dull euphoria overtook me, a washing away of pain, replaced by a tiredness and sleepiness that felt soothing and natural.

And then…permanent oblivion. Or so I thought.

*********************

The city park was awash in spring sunlight and bright green growth. Birds chirped excitedly from their treetop perches, squirrels ran amuck along with little kids and untrained dogs. Penelope Lanier watched all of this with fascination and dread. She knew she was dead, but she didn’t feel dead.

“May I have a seat?”

An old man looked at Penelope quizzically, his bespectacled face and thin goatee at odds with the casual dress sported by the denizens of the park. He wore a suit that appeared to be several centuries old, and his walking cane reminded Penelope of a character from old British movies.

She assented with a nod of her head and promptly ignored the old man. She had other things to think about, and none of the thoughts were comfortable.

“Cyrus Campion, at your service.”

Penelope eyed the man with mild approbation before going back to ignoring him and concentrating on her own woes. Mainly, she wondered why she was here after being dead for…she checked her phone…five days.

“That is, I am here to help you navigate your new life,” the old man said. He cleared his throat and looked at Penelope with kind eyes and an impassive expression.

Penelope looked at the old man sharply, suspicion etched in her features. Cyrus smiled and nodded. He had been through this scenario dozens of times.

“I know. Bit of a shock, I imagine. Takes time to acclimate oneself to the situation. Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of time. One week, to be precise.”

“Uh…wha…”

Cyrus held up a hand. Penelope stopped talking. The old man scared her and intrigued her.

“You’re dead, not to put too fine a point on it. You know that, of course.” Cyrus stood up, beckoning Penelope to follow. “Walk with me.”

Penelope walked with him, mystified by what was transpiring but seemingly unable to resist the old man’s commands.

Cyrus took a very direct route to their first destination. To wit: he walked through trees, buildings, cars, and people along the way. Penelope tried to do the same and found that she could do the same thing. She didn’t know how to feel about that, so she reserved her emotions for later.

Cyrus opened a door to a house in an exclusive part of town. Nice, Penelope thought, looking around. He handed the keys to Penelope; she had no idea what to do with them, so she laid them on a nearby table. Cyrus clucked at her and indicated that she should put them in her purse.

“This is your new home, at least temporarily. It can be your permanent home if you do as you’re asked to do.”

Penelope had questions.

“I have some questions, old man.”

The answers amazed her.

*********************

I watched everything. The police coming to deal with the wreck. The coroner. The autopsy. Being buried.

The only person I knew who attended my funeral was my aunt Iona. My uncle and cousins couldn’t be bothered, I guess.

It makes you think. A life can be judged by the people at the funeral. I had no one except my aunt, and I think she went because she felt it was a duty. That’s not to say that she didn’t care for me. I think she did. After mom and dad died, she would call me up every so often to see how I was doing. I hate to say it, but I always rushed her off the phone. I had better things to do than to talk to an aunt.

Drinking. I did a lot of that. When I look back on my life, I see that I didn’t do much with it. I didn’t care for school. I just wanted to have fun, so I did. Then I had to get a job after I graduated, and that sucked. I didn’t have any skills, so I became a waitress. Twenty-five years later and I was still a waitress.

Wow. Nothing really changed. I went to work. I came home and drank. I went to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I am just now realizing how terrible my life was. I wish I had someone to blame except myself. Maybe I can blame Cyrus.

*********************

“Look in the mirror,” Cyrus commanded, but it didn’t feel like a command to Penelope. Nice trick, she thought.

She looked in the mirror. She inspected herself carefully and thoughtfully before turning to Cyrus and asking him what the hell was going on.

“What the hell is going on?”

Cyrus sat down and propped his cane against the arm of the sofa. He leaned back and sighed a little before beginning. This was the part he didn’t like. Explaining. They always had an issue with what was happening.

“Yes, you are now blonde. Blondes have more fun, you know,” Cyrus chuckled at his own joke. Penelope was not amused.

“And you are quite young again,” Cyrus continued, “not to mention fit, and devoid of any craving for alcohol. So far, I’d venture to say that you are coming out quite well in this deal.”

Penelope thought so too, but she wasn’t about to let Cyrus know that. She was still having trouble reconciling what was currently happening to her with her death. As far as she knew, people didn’t just come back to life after they died. They stayed in the ground and decomposed. God would eventually judge them for their sins and then they would be sent to the hot place or the wonderful place.

“Explain what I’m doing here. No, scratch that. Explain why I’m even here. Alive. Walking around with an old man who dresses like Mr. Darcy.”

“Look at your bank accounts. It’s on the computer screen. Your password is PennyLane77!”

Penelope looked at the figure at the bottom and stopped breathing.

“Breathe!”

Penelope breathed. She turned to Cyrus, speechless.

“Yes. High seven figures. Take my advice and put the money in municipal bonds and money market accounts. You can live comfortably off the interest. The house is paid for, by the way.”

“Um…”

“Look in the garage,” Cyrus said, standing and leading her to the garage.

A gleaming Mercedes-Benz and an equally gleaming Jeep Wrangler reposed quietly in the space, shining modestly amid the lawn hoses and empty flower pots.

“Paid for as well. In fact, everything is paid for.”

“I still don’t…”

“Of course you don’t. I haven’t told you yet. We had better sit down before I divulge the rest of the story.”

Penelope looked at Cyrus with an unwavering gaze.

“I’m not gonna like it, am I?”

Cyrus handed Penelope a handgun and sat down. Penelope fell into a chair, holding the gun like it might bite her.

“No, my dear. You will not like it at all.”

*********************

Despite the horrible task Cyrus set for me, I recognize this for what it is. A second chance – as long as I’m willing to pay the price. I don’t know if I am, though.

Being young and rich is very nice. I’d rather have black hair, but I don’t think Cyrus is the kind of guy you can negotiate with. If he’s even a guy. I mean, is he an angel, maybe? I want to ask him, but there’s too much stuff in my head already.

I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. Aim and squeeze, Cyrus says. Big help, old man.

*********************

“His name is Harrison Chandler. He’s an accountant with a small firm near downtown. He cheats on his wife and ignores his kids as much as possible. Likes to play golf on weekends. Drinks cheap beer and watches about twenty hours of sports programming a week.”

Penelope nodded absently. Her mind was in a whirl.

“So, you want me to kill this man because he…what…cheats on his wife?”

“No.”

“Ignores his kids?”

“No.”

“Drinks cheap beer?”

“No.”

Penelope nodded at Cyrus before exploding in anger.

“What the hell, Cyrus! Don’t keep on saying ‘no’ to all my questions! Tell me!”

Cyrus got up and made himself a drink. He offered to make one for Penelope but she declined. Good for her, Cyrus thought.

“Because next week he’ll have a fender bender. Harrison will roll through a stop sign and run into Estelle Richardson’s car.”

“Ok. Death to all fender bender culprits, then.”

“No. I have more to say.”

Penelope scoffed at Cyrus and sat down. Nothing hurts. I feel great!

“Estelle will then miss her book club meeting.”

“Tragic.”

“Yes, it would be. She has a unique insight into Maria Bandera’s manuscript. An insight that will make the novel a best seller.”

“Really? So this is all about someone’s success?”

“Not yet. Let me continue without interruption, young lady.”

“Quit pausing so long.”

“I pause the appropriate amount of time.”

“No you don’t. I feel like I need to check your pulse when you pause.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The afternoon sun washed the living area in muted light, giving the area an aura of quiet splendor. The richness of the carpet and the quality of the furniture could be seen and admired, and Penelope duly admired it all. Even the cat looked expensive.

“I have a cat!”

“Yes. You love cats, so we provided you with a cat of high quality. A top-of-the-feline product, you might say,” Cyrus snickered.

“Your puns are terrible,” Penelope retorted.

“All puns are terrible,” Cyrus said.

Penelope agreed silently. Her glare, however, was giving nothing away.

“Ok. Continue on with your story. So this Maria woman is writing a book…”

“Has already written it, in fact, but it lacks a certain something. Estelle could provide this certain something.”

“Still, why does he have to die?”

“Maria,” Cyrus continued, ignoring the question, “if successful, would meet a man at a book signing. Conner Blaylock. They would get married and have three kids: two boys and a girl. The girl’s name would be Esperanza Maria Blaylock. She would go on to become the wife of a preacher. Norbert Green.”

“My head can’t keep up with all this, Cy.”

“My name is Cyrus, not Cy. Have the goodness to address me by my full Christian name.”

“You’re a Christian.”

“Beside the point.”

“Is it?”

“I will continue, despite your blathering.”

“Hey!”

“Norbert and Esperanza would have two children. The eldest, a girl, would eventually create a vaccine that would effectively protect more than 99% of the human population from all viruses in the future.”

“Ah!”

“As you say. Ah.”

Penelope got up and opened a bottle of soda. She sipped it pensively, gazing at Cyrus the entire time. He retrieved his cane and sat up, placing both hands on top of the cane and leaning forward slightly. He looks like he’s waiting for a bingo number to be called.

“But still.”

Cyrus looked at Penelope severely, shaking his head and pursing his lips.

“There is no debate, Penelope. Estelle must, I say must, meet with her book club.

Penelope was lost in thought. Everything that she knew about life and the cessation of life had been upended.

“If you fail in your task, someone else will develop the vaccine.”

“So, not all that important then, what you want me to do.”

Cyrus turned slightly to face Penelope.

“The vaccine would be developed eleven years later, and over six billion people will have died.”

“Oh.”

The two people sat in silence. Sounds from outside died down. The sun had dropped below the horizon and dusk had settled in. Penelope’s cat sat on her lap, purring gently and waiting to be fed.

“I have a question, old man.”

“Cyrus.”

“Cyrus. How did you die? I mean, you used to be like me, right? Some sort of loser.”

Cyrus shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He sighed and then spoke, his voice taking on a different timber.

“I was…well…a bit of a lad.”

Penelope looked at him with a quizzical frown.

“What?”

“I liked the ladies. A little too much, you see.”

“No. I don’t see. Explain it to me like I know nothing about you, which I don’t.”

Penelope leaned forward and waited. The cat jumped down and went in search of sustenance.

“I frequented the brothels of London. Nineteenth century London. Unfortunately, I contracted syphilis. Horrible disease. The last three months of my life were agonizing, to say the least.”

“Ah! So you screwed prostitutes. That’s kind of funny, actually.”

“Yes, very amusing.” Cyrus stood up and walked to the bar to get another drink.

“You will kill Harrison, young lady, before he has the chance to ruin humanity. If not, well…”

Cyrus left the sentence unfinished. He had learned that the threat of hell was stronger than anything else he could say.

“Then I go to hell. No parting gifts in purgatory. Just straight into the fire. That it?”

Cyrus looked at her and nodded. That wasn’t what would happen at all, but he didn’t want her to know that. A little nod, a little lie, and six billion people would not suffer the consequences of a major pandemic.

Penelope sighed and picked up the gun. She pointed it at a painting on the wall and pulled the trigger. She spun and pointed it at Cyrus.

“Do I get bullets for this thing?”

*********************

I didn’t kill him. But I did shoot out all four tires of his car. Harrison called an Uber and went to work. I paid a visit to Mrs. Chandler, detailing the steamy nights Chandler and I spent together. A small lie that readjusted things in her favor.

I wrote her a check for $25,000 to get her started on a new life. Harrison came home to emptiness.

I returned to my own home, awaiting my fate. My cat curled up in my lap and went to sleep. I don’t think he concerned himself with the bigger issues of humanity. I can’t say that I blame him for this attitude. People suck.

Maybe it’s all for the best. I don’t deserve all this money. This new, youthful me. I’ll miss the cat, though.

*********************

“I spoke to the council,” Cyrus said. He had fixed himself a drink and sat on the sofa, just as he did the first time he was in Penelope’s house. He wore the same suit. Penelope thought it smelled of peppermint and dust.

“And?” Penelope was nervous. A prisoner awaiting sentencing couldn’t be more anxious.

“Your actions were highly irregular, but you did what was needed, technically.”

“And?”

“You get the house, the money, the second chance at life.”

Penelope squealed and hugged Cyrus. He cleared his throat and muttered something about personal space before standing up and exiting the house.

“You won’t see me again, Penny Lane. I advise you to do something with your life.”

“Like you did, right? I mean, you were a dog, but now you work to help others.”

Cyrus looked at Penelope and smiled. He liked this girl, and his sins were committed so long ago. Wild nights in the brothels had to be paid for with more than money.

Cyrus turned away and began walking towards the park where they first met.

“Wait! I…uh…I have a favor to ask, Cyrus.”

Cyrus turned to her, leaning on his cane with both hands.

Penelope whispered something in his ear. He leaned back, surprised and thoughtful. After a few seconds, he reluctantly nodded.

“That would be highly irregular.”

“Please?”

Cyrus wiped his glasses with a pocket handkerchief and shook his head.

“I’ll speak to the council.”

*********************

Carl Bronson was released from prison seven years later. He reclaimed his 2021 Ford Mustang and drove away, looking for a bar. He hadn’t had a drink in ages, and he felt the need to get very drunk.

Penelope Lanier was waiting for him when he exited the bar. She put a bullet in his brain, dropped the gun beside him, and walked off. She returned home to the certainty of feline company.

Cyrus was in Cairo when he heard the news. He nodded approvingly before returning to reading the latest best-seller by Maria Bandera.