Jean and Jace

“‘We’re running out of time.’”

“Shut up, Mike,” Linda groaned and adjusted the thick collar of her bomb disposal suit.

“I’d say that’s famous last words, but I don’t know if anyone heard them.” Mike stood on his toes to see the long line dwindling to a speck in front of the pair, to the limitless white that was the group, horizon, and sky, then to the line behind them just as long.

“Our radios were open. Someone heard it.”

Mike shifted the weight between his feet and looked down at the fluffy white wisps billowing around his shins. “What’s taking this so long?”

“It’s the gates of heaven, of course there’s a line,” Linda said with an eye-roll behind her face shield. “I’m sure the rate of deaths is a lot higher now than when it was built. Think of how much I-696 gets backed up at rush hour. Except it’s always rush hour.”

“I didn’t realize you were such an expert in the afterlife.”

“I’ve thought about it often in our line of work.”

“So what went wrong?” Mike asked. “We traced the circuit, eliminated the false ones. I’d stake…” He paused with a chuckle. “I was about to say I’d stake my life on being right. You know what I mean.”

The pair shuffled forward to close up the gap forming in front of them.

Linda shrugged, her heavy suit barely moving with the motion. “Maybe the timer was counting down to ninety seconds, maybe there was another device, maybe a meteor landed on us. Maybe we can ask when we get to the front of the line. Maybe we’ll never know.”

They shuffled forward again.

“At least we’re moving,” said Mike and craned his neck to catch the first glint of light off the distant pearly silver. “Ever wonder why heaven has gates? Are they keeping something in? Or something out? Do gates mean there are defined borders?”

“It’s all symbolism,” said Linda. “We’re limited mortals that can’t truly comprehend the abstract. We have to label and categorize everything, know how it feels and tastes, how it reacts under an electrical current. We’re just creating a visual representation of input our minds can’t comprehend; seeing what we expect to see.”

Mike scratched at the hood of his suit. “I’d expect this line would move faster.”

They shuffled forward.

“I just realized…” Mike started. “We’re dead. This sucks, but I expected to be more broken up about it. I just sort of feel hollow.”

“I know, right?”

They kept pace in silence for a while before Mike broke it. “You really have thought about this a lot. We worked together for four years and I don’t really know you, Linda.”

“That’s intentional, Mike. Our job is nothing but stress and I want nothing to do with it when I’m off the clock.”

Mike grunted thoughtfully. “Makes sense. So now that it doesn’t matter, tell me, who did you leave behind?”

“A wife, a hamster, a crippling mortgage.”

“A wife? No shit.” Mike repeated with a wide grin hidden behind his mask. “My boyfriend was about to move in. We’ve been together two years, but his cat hates my dog.” He paused and let the conversation drift away. “I’m sad thinking about Jace, but it’s more than I’m sad that I’m not sad. Being upset about the lack of something I know should be there.” He paused and licked his dry lips. “Am I making any sense?”

“I didn’t finish my novel,” Linda whispered. “I worked on it every morning before Jean woke up. She didn’t know about it, but I was going to give her the first draft on our tenth anniversary. Now when she gets the dump of my digital legacy cloud backups, she won’t know to look for it.”

They stepped forward.

“What’s it about?” Mike asked.

“It’s trash, just a gigantic pile of the worst tropes. A big city lawyer — Jean’s an attorney — goes home to the ranch — like what I grew up on — for the holidays and falls for the lady shepherd her family hired. It’s stupid, something that would be on an off-brand Hallmark station after midnight on a Tuesday.”

“I mean, I don’t know Jean at all, but that sounds like just about the most romantic thing someone could do; create something to symbolize your love.”

Linda chuckled wryly and wiped pointlessly at her mask. “Thinking of that has me thinking about Jean. I’m finally starting to miss her, not just sad about the lack of sadness, like you said. Actually missing her.”

The group in front of the pair shuffled closer, forcing Mike and Linda to retreat a step.

“Rude,” Mike grumbled.

“How were you going to have Jace’s cat and your dog to get along?”

“I suggested we let them share a steak,” said Mike. “Food is always the best unifier.”

“Unless your dog runs off with it.”

“Ser Corgnealius is fifteen, toothless, and not stealing anyone’s steak. He’d just have the juices while Steve eats the actual meat and growls the whole time.” He sighed.

“What?”

The group pressed at the pair again and they stepped back.

“Thinking about Jace, I felt nothing. Now I’m on the verge of collapsing into a blubbery mess, thinking about what we won’t have together. Like you and the book with Jean. Jace is an installation artist. He had cosmic-level plans for my loft apartment with all that exposed brick.”

A stab of pain shot through Mike’s chest, doubling him forward. Linda dropped to a knee in her bulky suit. The group before them pressed back, pushing the pair from the line that quickly closed up. The agony shot through him again, like his heart would explode from his chest. He struggled to breathe through burning lungs, though he couldn’t remember needing air while standing in line. As he collapsed to his knees, then to his side, he faced the line of recently deceased that shrank and lost focus with each labored hammer of his heart. Mike struggled to turn toward the pearly gates once more, to catch a last view of the light glinting so far away.

A regular, high beep crept into Mike’s mind, instantly recognizable as a heart rate monitor. He took a thin breath, cringing at the ache in his chest, but the tube across his nose helped to press oxygen into him. Mike struggled to open his mouth that felt like it was full of glue and moaned instead.

He felt pressure on his right hand, a soft squeeze perhaps. Someone made gentle shushing sounds and a plastic straw touched his lips. He sucked in the tepid water that burned all the way down to his stomach. Despite the discomfort, he drank more to unstick his mouth and form a single word.

“Linda?”

The silence lasted long enough that Mike was unsure he’d made any sound.

“She’s alive,” Jace whispered. “Focus on you right now.”

Days passed until the bandages were removed to let Mike see the world again. The doctors told him the concussive force of the device stopped his heart for two full minutes. Other than burns and a pacemaker at twenty-nine, he was whole. Saved by the protective gear, Linda was as well off, but had yet to wake.

Three weeks later, the doctors release him. Though he could walk, Jace wheeled him to the exit, in accordance with hospital regulations. Mike stood and walked back in, aiming for the long-term care with Jace on his heels.

The ward held six beds. A woman with dark hair pulled back in a tie sat near the window, holding the hand of the room’s only patient. She quickly snatched her hand back to her lap and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes that hadn’t seen descent sleep in a month.

“It’s okay, Jean,” Mike said and started, unsure of how he knew her name.

She relaxed and returned her hand to Linda’s. “You must be Mike. Linda never told me much about you, but if you know of me, you know why.”

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Mike said and sat on the edge of the nearest empty bed. He looked down at Linda, looking restful with a few light bruises on her cheek and a suture on her forehead. “I feel like she and I talked for hours on everything. I know all about you, your hamster, the summer cottage, her secret boo—” He caught himself quickly and raised his voice to cover it. “But don’t remember having the actual conversations. We must have talked while on the job and the adrenaline did something to my memory. Getting blown up jostled it all to the front.” Jace sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

With a sudden gasp, Linda jerked upright, her hair tangling around her shoulders and her eyes wide as though she couldn’t see everything fast enough. Her shoulders relaxed and her gaze settled on Jean as she grinned. It just as quickly twitched to Mike and drifted to the one beside him.

Her voice was a strained whisper. “You must be Jace.”