Hereafter (Shadowlands 2)

“They’re our new arrivals,” Tristan confirmed, glancing at me. “Fresh souls.”

My grip on the guardrail tightened, remembering my first few moments on the island. How Tristan had watched me so closely as my dad drove past him and his friends outside the general store. I’d felt our connection even then—this sense that somehow we knew each other, that we belonged together.

“I’ve gotten pretty good, over time, predicting who’s destined for the Shadowlands and who’s moving on to the Light,” Tristan said, leaning his forearms into the top of the fence.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

Tristan stared across at the gangway, turning so that all I could see was the back of his ear. “A long time.”

I bit my lip, feeling as though I’d accidentally crossed a line.

“Check it out,” he said, his tone light. He stood up straight and pushed his hands into the back pockets of his shorts. “Good. Good. Very good,” he said, nodding as each passenger appeared on the gangway. “Bad but thinks he’s good. Good. Bad.” Then, all of a sudden, his expression darkened. “Okay…bad. Really, really bad.”

His gaze was on a boy who looked to be a few years older than I was, with shaggy dark hair, a silver stud earring, and ripped jeans. He carried a stuffed green rucksack and wore a blank expression as he looked around at the peppy dockworkers and the carved wooden sign welcoming him to Juniper Landing. But he had a baby face, and his shoulders were hunched in a way that made me feel more like he was a victim than anything sinister.

“He looks normal to me,” I said. “Just…sad.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, the longer you’re here,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re meant for this place, Rory Miller.”

My heart skipped a beat at hearing Tristan say my real name.

“There’s something I have to ask you,” I said, steeling myself.

“Anything,” he replied.

“What about my dad and my sister?” My voice caught. “They died unnatural deaths, too.”

A shadow crossed Tristan’s face, and I held my breath.

Please don’t take them from me. Not now. Not after everything. Please, please, please.

“They did,” he said. “The jury’s still out on them. They might stay or they might—”

“Don’t,” I said, my gut suddenly wrenching in pain. I had thought I was ready to hear this, but I wasn’t. “Just don’t.”

“But there is a chance they’ll stay,” he assured me. “We just have to wait and see.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod, trying to hold the tears back. “Okay.”

“Rory, it’s not all bad news. Being here, being a Lifer…it’s a good thing,” Tristan said, placing his hand on my back. “You’ll get to usher souls to their final destinations. You’ll be playing a huge role in their journey from life to afterlife. It’s an amazing thing. You’ll have a purpose now. A mission.”

I took in a sharp breath and looked out over the water. “I had a mission,” I said, trying not to feel suddenly sorry for myself—for the hopeful planner I’d been. The girl who had no idea she would never achieve all the goals she’d always dreamed of achieving. I was going to med school. I was going to cure cancer. I was going to make sure that no one else ever had to suffer the way my family did when we lost my mom. “And now all of that…it’s just gone.”

At the edge of the marina, I noticed a figure move in the shade of an elm tree. She flinched when I spotted her, then emerged from her position, half tucked behind the trunk of the tree, and walked off quickly, her head bowed. It was Mohawk Girl. Now I was certain she had a crush on Tristan. She looked up once, her eyes glittering black, before turning her back on me and heading for the bay.

“You don’t get it,” Tristan said, oblivious to the girl. “That’s what makes you all the more perfect as a Lifer. You want to help people. You have the drive. You wanted your life to have meaning. Now it can.”

A smile twitched at my lips. “You mean my afterlife will have meaning.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

I gazed past Tristan toward town, studying the worn wooden shingles of the buildings on the square; the windsocks fluttering in the breeze; the joggers and the bikers and the morning strollers; the shopkeepers sweeping their walks, propping their doors open, greeting the first customers of the day.

If I had to live someplace forever, this certainly wasn’t the worst place to end up. Even so, I felt the frightening pull of the unknown in the pit of my stomach. The sharp heaviness of the truth threatening to crush me if I chose to let it, if I chose to wallow. It had happened to me once before, after my mother died. It had sucked me into the darkest period of my life, a period I refused to revisit. Even now.

“I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been for me, keeping all this from you,” Tristan said quietly, his voice thick. “You mean a lot to me—you know that, right? I can’t wait to share all of this with you.”

My heart swelled. This was Tristan’s life. His world. And he wanted me to be a part of it. He wanted to share it with me.