“Helen, what year is it to you?”
“1942, of course,” she said.
Monica stared at the girl. “Oh my God.”
“Look,” Shannon started. She had no idea how to break the news to them. “Like I said, I died a week ago. I was lucky enough to appear outside the town borders, so I was never put into that... trance thing that everybody else seems to have going on.
“I know what you're getting at,” Monica interjected. “Just cut to the chase and tell us what year it is.”
“It's 2015,” Ben said quickly.
“Oh my God,” Monica bent herself in half and rubbed her forehead. “No. You can't just tell me I've been dead for twenty years!”
Helen began counting on her fingers. “Seventy-three...”
“It's a lot to process,” said Ben. “Just think back. What's the last thing you remember?”
“Look,” said Monica. “All I know is I went to bed last night, and I woke up standing behind a counter today.”
“That's what I thought at first, too,” Shannon encouraged. “But think. Did you have any weird dreams? Anything that seemed violent or out of place?”
“No!” Monica exclaimed. “I'd had a great day! I got a promotion, went out to celebrate with my boyfriend, and watched Golden Girls reruns 'til I fell asleep!”
“Golden Girls?” Shannon asked.
“Don't judge me, 2015. I will defend that show to my dying – well, you know what I mean. And it doesn't matter. I shouldn't be here!”
“None of us should be here,” said Ben. “Our souls have been collected by some... well, we're not certain who or what he is.”
“Collected,” Monica said shortly. “What does that mean? Like we've got some Grim Reaper stuff going on here?”
“Not exactly,” Shannon shrugged. “He's, uh... he's actually pretty attractive.”
“You think he's attractive?” Ben raised his eyebrows.
“In a Patrick Bateman kind of way,” she admitted quietly.
“Oh, great!” Monica threw her arms in the air. “I'm dead and stuck with someone who admires a serial killer!”
“You've never seen the Christian Bale movie!”
“Who the hell is Christian Bale?”
“She does this all the time,” Ben mumbled to Monica. “I don't understand half of what she says.”
Shannon put her hands on her hips. “I do not! It's not my fault you guys –”
A small sob came from the seat next to Monica. Helen stared down at the ground, tears dripping onto her green coat.
Monica pulled the girl close and ran her fingers through her hair. “Hey, hon, you okay?”
She shook her head, but didn't respond. Shannon didn't know what to say. They'd been selfish, bickering and arguing while this little girl was trapped here with no one to talk to. It was terrifying enough for three adults, but Helen had never even had the chance to grow up. What she really needed was a hug and a cup of Ovaltine – or whatever kids drank in the forties.
“I want my sister back,” she wiped a tear from her cheek. “I'm too old to say this, but I don't care. I wish my mom were here. She'd get through to Ruth.”
“Her name is Ruth?” Monica took Helen's hand and led her to her sister.
She looked down, scarcely daring to glance at the face that looked almost identical to her own.
“Must be pretty freaky seeing yourself like this, huh?” Monica sympathized.
“We're not as alike as everyone thinks,” said Helen. “She has a lot more freckles. See? And her eyes are a little wider than mine.”
“Perhaps we could attempt to wake your sister,” Ben suggested. “We're trapped here for the night, and it may be the only structure we have for the foreseeable future. I, for one, am too worked up to sleep.”
“I thought we were dead,” Monica raised an eyebrow.
“Dead people can sleep,” Shannon said. “Don't ask me how, or why, but it's a nice reprieve.”
“I'm not sleeping until I get my sister back,” Helen reached forward and touched the girl's hand.
“Helen's right,” Shannon agreed. “We need to work on waking these people up and figuring out what's going on. We'll have a better way of fighting back against the guy who's keeping us here if we have more minds to put to the task. We need to figure out how to get out of this town. And we need to get Sato back.”
“Where did he take Sato?” Ben pulled Shannon aside. “He mentioned something about a fly lord, whatever that is.”
Sitting cross-legged, Shannon placed her hands on her head and closed her eyes. “Lord of the Flies. It's a really famous book they make you read in school nowadays. Long story short, these kids get marooned on an island, and when they can't get along they end up fighting and killing each other.”
“So he's taken Sato to a place he's created... to emulate that book? That's disgusting!”
She tried to remain calm. Shannon hadn't known Sato for very long, but they'd bonded over the past week. He was a sweet and understanding kid, and they communicated well despite the language barrier.
“The guy's nuts,” she kept her head down, and a lump rose in her throat. “We have to figure out a way to get out of this town, or whatever's left of it. We need to find Sato. He was five years old when he died! How do you think he's going to do in a town full of children who constantly terrorize each other? He's –”
Ben placed a hand on Shannon's shoulder. “He's going to be fine.”
“How the hell do you know? We might be trapped here forever.”
“We're dealing with a man, not a god,” Ben said. “I might not know much about this world, but that much is true. He's fallible. He must be.”
“That's not necessarily true.”
“It is,” he continued. “I was a damned good lawyer, Shannon. I... I haven't mentioned it much, but I only lost three cases in the five years I practiced. There is always a weakness. Always a way to chip away at the strongest defense. At the most powerful defendant. It's just about finding a way in.”
“The rules work differently here,” Shannon argued. “He doesn't have to abide by any laws. This is his system.”
“He's just another corrupt government official, as far as I'm concerned. Controlling us. Keeping us here... why? Because he's bored? I put over a hundred years of work into those novels and stories!” Ben pounded his fist on the ground, knocking up a cloud of dust. “And he thinks he can just come in and destroy them?”
Shannon wiped away the tears that had built in her eyes. “You're right. He does think that he has every right to this place, even though you've been here for ages. I think... I think he's trying to make us all into stories.”
“What story are we in, then?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. The memoirs of a hermit? Pick something. How do I fit in after all these years? He brought me here for a reason, and I don't want to fulfill whatever destiny he's set out for me.”
“I've done a fine enough job of that on my own.”
Getting to her feet, Shannon offered Ben her hand. He reluctantly accepted, and she helped him up. Entwining his fingers in hers, she squeezed his hand gently. “Not anymore. Right?”
“Right,” he nodded. “But you'll have to be patient with me. I'm not exactly one to break the mold.”
Shannon grinned. “Oh, we're going to smash the crap out of this mold. We're going to be loud. We're going to get his attention. And then we're going to take him down.”
The doors snapped open suddenly, and wind thundered through the church. Shannon ducked down, bracing herself against the pews. Peering above the low-backed seat, she watched in horror as their captor stormed into the church, his clothes and hair gusting with the gale. He straightened his boutonniere, and the wind stopped as suddenly as it had come. Running his fingers through his hair to put it back into place, he walked past Shannon and positioned himself in front of the altar.
; “Shannon Sullivan,” he glared at her, expressionless. “There are few souls I've regretted reaping more than yours. What has meddling gotten you? How many souls were whisked away, or destroyed in my fire?”
“That's on you,” her voice quivered. “From what I can tell, I shouldn't even be here. None of us should.”
“Really?” the man smiled wryly. “What would you prefer? Heaven? Hell? Tír na nÓg? Oh, Tír na nÓg... I thought it was my destiny. It didn't exactly play out that way, did it? The afterlife is never what people expect.”
“Stop spewing out gibberish,” Ben fumed.
The man glared at Ben. “Stop messing with my world. You were so subdued and apathetic until this woman came around. I have to say, it's nice to see you've grown a pair. But it's really inconveniencing me, so we're going to have to put a stop to it immediately.”
He walked toward the pews and put his hand Martha's shoulder.
“You call her Martha, yes? You're disturbingly attached to a lot of people in this town for having never spoken to them.”
Placing his hand on the boutonniere, the man closed his eyes, and a gentle breeze whistled through the church.
“What are you doing?” Ben jumped up and sprinted toward him.
“Stop,” the man commanded, and Ben froze in mid-step. Shannon tried to combat him, but when she attempted to move, it felt as though her joints had frozen in place
The man cleared his throat and placed his whole palm over the flower. The white wisps that floated through the church circled around Martha.
“Alma, how 'bout a little ditty?” he asked. “Let's hear an Irish song. Something from my