AfterLife Read online

  AfterLife

  BY S. P. Cloward

  Copyright 2012 S.P. Cloward

  All Rights Reserved

  All the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The following are some of the trademarks and registered marks owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc.: Magic Kingdom® Park, Main Street, U.S.A, Cinderella Castle®, Walt Disney World® Railroad, Splash Mountain® Attraction, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad® Attraction, Adventureland®, Frontierland®, Fantasyland®, Tomorrowland®, Space Mountain® Attraction, Tomorrowland Transit Authority Peoplemover®, Hall of Presidents, Haunted Mansion®, Liberty Belle®, Rivers of America, Tom Sawyer Island, Liberty Square®, Audio-Animatronics® Figures.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  To all you antemorts

  who gave me a little bit of your life

  so I could tell this story.

  This one is for you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum—Say Only Good About The Dead

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Prologue: De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum—

  Say Only Good About The Dead

  “Normally, I don’t have time for something like this, and you would be thrown out,” the senator said as he leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his suit jacket. His face held an expression of amusement. “However, you go right ahead and tell me your crazy story. I happen to have a little extra time this morning, and I could use a good laugh.”

  “I guarantee, Senator, I’m not here to peddle fairy tales.” Seth sat confidently in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He was not intimidated by this man’s pompous attitude. The senator was still unaware that Seth was not only the superior man, he was also the superior species, and he held the senator’s life in his hands. He could end it at any moment, if he wanted. He might look as if he was fresh out of grad school, but in truth he was more than three times the age of the salt-and-pepper-haired senator. “I can also guarantee that you will come to see our time together as time well spent.”

  Seth’s purpose was to give the man a small introduction to the world of the living dead. Not the world that existed in fictional stories of vampires, zombies, and other superstitious tales, but the truth that inspired those stories. A truth that was more fantastic than fiction. A truth that took time for the living to digest. Seth would have to explain it a little at a time, idea upon idea, letting the senator absorb one fact before feeding him another.

  There was much the senator didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to hear how ancient civilizations had worshipped the Mortuis as gods, fearing them and serving their every need. He wouldn’t be told about the occasional uprisings by the living that would devastate the Mortuis’ numbers for a short time and end their rightful dominance. Those facts might prevent him from doing what Seth wanted him to do. After all, Seth’s goal was to restore that dominance, and right now he needed the senator.

  What the senator had been told was that the Mortuis had been around for millennia; that they were a human race resulting from a small genetic evolution that occurred during the dawn of man and could now be found in every civilization and every corner of the globe. He had explained that Mortuis are born alive, but a premature death would prevent the soul from severing from the body. This in turn prevented the Mortuis from becoming victim to a full death. These were only the first small pieces of information he’d revealed, but there was much more. Seth would be careful how and what he revealed, though. His goal was manipulation, and he would control what information the senator was given. After all, Seth was a master at both — controlling information and manipulation.

  “Okay, Mr. Apep—"

  “Please, call me Seth,” he said, interrupting the senator.

  “Fine, Seth. Let’s pretend, for argument’s sake, that everything you’ve just told me is fact. Let’s say there are dead people who walk among us. Let me even suspend my disbelief that you yourself are one of these Mortuis, as you call them. Are you telling me you can prove all this?”

  “I can prove it right now, right here, if that’s what you want, but there’s really no need,” Seth said. “You already know it’s the truth. You living beings, or antemorts as we call you, have an instinctual knowledge of our existence. Why do you think people are afraid to look into the eyes of strangers, or avoid the gazes of those they pass? It comes from an intuitive need to protect yourself from us.”

  The senator leaned forward in his chair and a trail of sunlight falling through the window lit his face. “If all this is true, I have two questions for you. How will this information help me, and what do you expect me to do with it?”

  The corners of Seth’s mouth slowly rose to display a grin.

  Chapter 1

  Suffocating heat was to be expected. The roof was really only usable in the spring and fall due to the extreme weather conditions the rest of the year. Stepping off the elevator, Wesley Lohmann climbed the final set of stairs to the access door and a blast of hot air hit him in the face as he opened it. Looking around, he was grateful to see the space deserted. The roof was set up for the enjoyment of tenants and was equipped with several small barbecue grills and a couple wooden picnic tables – but no one was enjoying it now. Mid-summer was much too hot. A slight breeze broke through the high temperature, blowing the smell of cooling tar from under Wes’s feet to his nose. He took a drink from the bottle he was still holding, his second bottle of 190 proof Everclear – he was drinking to numb his thoughts, not for pleasure – and walked to the low concrete wall that ran around the top of the building.

  The building, though smaller than those surrounding it, was close enough to Lake Michigan to provide a narrow view of the water between two taller buildings. Wes looked out at the lake, the setting sun at his back. He loved sunsets. Climbing up onto the wall, he sat looking down at the cracked pavement below. Yes, this building was tall enough for his needs.

  He lifted the glass bottle to his lips to take another gulp, placed it on the wall next to him, and then tried to pull his feet over to the street side of the wall. As his leg came around it bumped the bottle, sending it over the edge. He watched as the glass shattered on the hard surface below. The remnants of his evening companion glistened in the glow of a nearby streetlight as it combined with the light from the setting sun reflecting off an adjacent building.

  A sliver of rational thought returned. What was he doing? This was stupid. Was he really considering suicide? W
es pulled his legs back over the wall as carefully as he could in his inebriated state, and stepped down onto the black surface of the rooftop. He needed an escape, but death was not the answer. If his father’s death had taught him anything, it was that death only resulted in more problems. He wanted only a temporary escape, not a permanent one. He left the roof and made his way back to his apartment.

  Stepping into the bathroom, Wes turned on the faucet and watched as the cold water poured into the basin. Slowly, he splashed handfuls of icy liquid on his face, repeating the action again and again. When he felt he’d done it enough, he stood and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. What was wrong with him? He felt drained, tired, unimportant, and insignificant. This wasn’t like him. His usual positive outlook and confidence were gone.

  Water dripped down his face as Wes tried to see himself as others might see him. He knew he was considered a good-looking guy. His face was kind of pale, not enough sun maybe, but he had good hair – light brown and plenty of it. His eyes were a dark hazel – they were probably a little too close together, and his nose was kind of crooked from a childhood accident. Well, maybe not all that good looking, but he was athletic and in good shape. He worked out at a gym in the neighborhood a few days a week.

  One thing was true; he was smart and had always been told he had an active imagination. He’d coupled those qualities with the good education that had helped him land a great job. Okay, maybe it was just an entry-level position with an architectural firm, but it was a well-known firm in the big city of Chicago, and he was working hard to carve out a place for himself. He knew the company considered him an asset and “one to watch.” Weren’t these things important to women? Maybe he just didn’t have any social skills. Okay, there was no maybe about it. Jezebel had gotten to him in a way no one else ever had and he’d scared her away. What was he thinking? That someone could actually care about him enough to stick around? He gave a bitter laugh. His own family hadn’t done that.

  Wes splashed a few more handfuls of water on his face, turned off the faucet, and grabbed a towel to dry off. What he really needed was to take his mind off Jez and how he was destined to spend another night alone. He grabbed a new bottle of liquor out of the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard until he found the pills his doctor had given him when his father died. Maybe they would help. Opening the bottle, he poured a few pills into his palm and sat back down on the couch. This should help. He took a few more than prescribed, but he needed a stronger effect than the suggested dose would offer. The act itself was enough to make him happy, and he sat quietly and let the blissful feeling of numbness take over.

  Suddenly his cell phone rang.

  Wes, drunk and already feeling the effects of the pills looked at his caller ID. It was Jez. This was by far the most inconvenient time for her to call. The universe must hate him.

  “Hello?” He realized he was slurring his words and cleared his throat.

  “Wes! Gosh, I’m so sorry. We need to talk.”

  “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” His voice was still slightly slurred.

  “I know. I’ve been sort of preoccupied. There’s more to it than that, though. Can we talk?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Look, I’m sorry if—”

  “No, not over the phone. I’m actually close to your building. Do you mind if I come over to see you?”

  “Sure, come right up. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  Wes sat for a minute with his eyes closed, thinking about the conversation. It would be nice to finally talk things through with her. He stumbled to the front door and unlocked it. He didn’t like that he would be drunk when they talked. That was not how he pictured this going. He was feeling very fuzzy and thought about the pills. Once his mind focused on the severity of the situation, he stumbled toward the bathroom to expel the contents of his stomach but fell before he could reach it.

  His vision was blurry; he must have passed out. Wes stared up at Jez, her black hair framing her face above him. His brain struggled to process thought. She looked nervous. He felt himself slipping away, but she kept slapping his face and telling him to open his eyes and look at her. Echoing in his head, the meaning of her statement slowly processed through his inebriated mind. Struggling against the weight of them, he forced his eyelids open one last time. His eyes locked with Jez’s and he passed out again.

  Wes was awakened by the echo of a car alarm going off. It was morning, but he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He slowly got up off the bathroom floor. His body moved sluggishly and his joints were stiff. What had happened? Where was Jez? He looked around the apartment but could see no evidence she’d been there at all. Something about Jez was confusing him. He could see the door was slightly ajar, but his vision was hazy and he couldn’t focus. The images he saw seemed disconnected, as if he was looking through a camera lens. He hated hangovers.

  Wes walked to the window in his bedroom and looked out at the busy street below. In spite of the blurry vision and hangover, he felt good. Whatever he’d done last night to improve his spirits had worked. Yes, today was a good day for a new start, and he suddenly felt optimistic about the future.

  That is, he would if he could see. Wes tried rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, but discovered he couldn’t feel his hands touch his face. He opened his eyes wider, thinking it would help him see better, then looked at his hands. They seemed okay, so he tried rubbing his eyes again. He still couldn’t feel anything. He tried pinching himself. No, he couldn’t feel anything. Anywhere.

  An hour later, he sat on a chair in the corner of the local Urgent Care Center’s waiting area. He’d decided to go there rather than spend more time and money at an emergency room where a nurse would tell him his electrolytes were low and send him home. In disgust, Wes watched as the lady across from him blew chunks of green snot into the dozens of Kleenexes she kept pulling from her purse. From her appearance, she was probably there because her new-age herbal medicines hadn’t worked. A man on the far side of the room stared into oblivion and wheezed while he murmured phrases in some language that sounded like German. Wes hoped he wouldn’t catch anything from the dozens of sick people who entered and exited the waiting room.

  The woman across from Wes noticed his expression when she filled yet another Kleenex with the contents of her nose. “What are you looking at?” she said, scowling at him. “You don’t look so hot yourself. The rest of us should be worried about you. You look like death warmed over.”

  “Yeaaeaa weeealll―”

  Wes stopped himself. He didn’t know why he wasn’t able to talk. Did the pills and booze have something to do with it? Wes tried to remember if he’d spoken earlier and realized this was the first time he’d said anything all day. The receptionist had been on the phone and had simply handed him a clipboard stacked with papers to fill out.

  He took in a breath of air and contracted his diaphragm, making another series of grunts and noises similar to the ones a deflating tire might make. He moved his tongue around, not realizing that because he had no sense of touch his tongue was extended as far out of his mouth as it could possibly go. The lady sitting opposite him stood up after watching the show for about 30 seconds.

  “You really aren’t okay, are ya? Well, I’m not one to be rude, but I’m gonna move to another chair. Don’t take offense, now.”

  Wes didn’t notice the woman get up and move. He concentrated on trying to form words – without success. A nurse waved her hand in front of his face.

  “Wes Lohmann? You can come with me.”

  He stood up and followed the large black woman through a door and down a hallway. She patted her head a couple of times as they walked; probably had an itchy scalp because of her weave. She led Wes to a large room divided into sections by long curtains hanging from the ceiling. These served as movable walls, effectively dividing the space into smaller rooms for the examination of patients. Unlike the more common white ones found in most exam rooms, these were pi
nk. Wes hated pink, but noticed the color complimented his nurse’s purple scrubs. She must have chosen her outfit for that purpose, Wes thought. She’s perfectly coordinated with her surroundings. She had painted her nails pink and placed pink shoelaces in her white tennis shoes.

  The nurse directed Wes to sit on an empty exam table and pulled the curtain along a track separating her and Wes from the rest of the room. There were a handful of other patients in the room, and through the closed curtain on his left, Wes could hear a doctor talking to the Kleenex lady from the waiting room.

  “So Mr. Lohmann, what’s the problem today,” the nurse asked, looking through the forms Wes filled out when he arrived.

  Wes attempted to talk but only managed a series of grunts.

  “Um… okay. I think that says a lot right there,” the nurse said, making a note on the papers. “You just don’t worry about talking anymore. I’ll do enough of that for both of us.”

  Wes forced a smile. He really would have liked this woman under different circumstances. The nurse placed a thermometer in his ear, waited for the beep, looked at it, and tried it again. After the device beeped again, the nurse looked at it, shook her head, and placed it down on a small table next to the exam chair where he was seated. She pulled an oral thermometer out of a drawer, gave it a couple of swipes with an alcohol wipe, put it in his mouth, then wheeled over a small blood pressure machine.

  “Let’s see here, let me just get this cuff around your arm to get your blood pressure. Wes, huh? That’s an interesting name. I don’t think I’ve known a Wes since high school.” She took the thermometer out of Wes’s mouth, looked at it, shook it, and put it back in. “Yes, I think he was on the football team. I was in choir though. Our paths never really crossed. He was in my English class one year. Dumb as dumb can be, but that boy sure filled out a shirt nice. Mmmm hmmm.”