Short Story: Dead Days

 I was dead. That much was sure. On the bright side, it must have been painless. I couldn’t recall how it happened, and looking at the body, it was fairly recent.

“Mr. Crayne?” 

I jumped out of my skin…so to speak. I turned to see a rather average looking woman. Not “average looking” in terms of attractiveness. She actually looked pretty nice. But no wings or horns. No spectral glow or ethereal smoke. Just a regular woman. Standing in my office. 

“So… are you my guide to the afterlife?” 

“You could say that.” She looked at the office door, then her watch, then my body on the floor. “What do you remember?” 

I took a moment to try to recall what I had just been doing. “Nothing unusual. I was waiting for an appointment. The last thing I remember is checking Twitter. I think the client was running late.” I walked closer to my body and leaned over. The skin was still fairly pink and flush. There was a wet mark on the carpet by the desk. Wow. I really hope I didn’t piss myself. “Do you know how I died? Was it a heart attack? Dammit. All that healthy living and exercise and Eddy outlives me on a diet of burgers and fries and Netflix marathons. He is never going to let me live this down.” 

“Yeah. Ah. Look. I just need to confirm a few things. Are you Thomas Crayne, Licensed Private Detective in the district of California?”

“That’s me, formerly at your service. I’m going to haunt my doctor for missing whatever got me.” 

It was dawning on me that I was taking being dead remarkably well. When Carla Friedman dumped me for Manny Keisic in fifth grade, I cried for the entire weekend and ate a whole two litre tub of salted caramel ice cream while watching Jurassic Park on cable. That was a rough night hugging the toilet bowl. I wish I could say at least I enjoyed the movie, but it was the third one, not the original.

“Do you recall working with a Mr. Miguel Park?” The woman hadn’t moved from where she was standing. “It would have been several years ago.”

“I don’t know if being dead voids confidentially agreements, but until I know for sure, I can’t discuss anything about past clients.” I stood up and looked around the office. My phone was in its charge cradle. There was an almost full glass of water on the far side of the desk. The rim had a slight smudge of lipstick. I touched my lips, and looked back down at my body. Nope. Definitely not me. 

That’s when I saw a second glass on its side under my desk. 

“How did I die, Mrs. Park?”

“Your expertise is required, Mr. Crayne. The situation is…complex. I had to expedite the initial requirements of your employ. Time is a factor in this case. It’s already taken you longer to materialize that I was told to expect.”

“You killed me? I don’t recall agreeing to that, as a requirement for my employ or otherwise. I enjoyed being alive. I’d been practising for 38 years! I was just getting good at it.” I lunged at Joanna Park, but was abruptly stopped by a very solid, very invisible, very firm wall. Pain must have a psychological aspect. I was pretty sure all my nerve endings were lying on the floor, but my present form still felt like it had just run full speed into a brick wall without inhibition. I bounced back and found myself on the floor of my office, gasping for air through apparent pain. My face was right in front of me. 

I was breathing. I mean dead me. My body. My body was breathing. I wasn’t dead. Maybe?

Mrs. Park looked down at me. “I really need you to calm down. You’ll be returned to your physical body once the contract is complete, regardless of outcome. My team will be here in a few minutes to remove and store your body. Your consciousness has been discorporated and tied to this device.” She held up her left arm, showing what appeared to be a smartwatch. 

“Yours has a bigger memory than mine, it seems. I hope it has a better battery too. I have to charge mine every night.”

She turned towards the door at some noise from the reception area. Glancing back over her shoulder at me, she tapped twice on the watch. A green circle appeared on the screen. “Remember when I said time was a factor?”