Since it had been his turn to cook dinner, Auric had made the executive decision to reheat the frozen pizza that had been shoved in the back of the fridge for the last month. Sure, it might have been suspiciously soggy, but it was edible and that was all that mattered. 

He was about to yell that dinner was ready, but the food vanished, leaving him holding nothing. Auric looked down in confusion, but his plate had already disappeared. 

He stared at his empty hands with a blank expression, trying to force his meal to reappear through sheer willpower. Then, he looked up, meeting the gaze of a teenage boy sitting at a desk before him. 

This was not his house. 

There was a sudden ache in the back of his head that wouldn’t go away, and Auric blamed that for his lack of reaction when he noticed the wings flaring out of the teen’s back. Along with the golden circlet sitting on top of the boy’s curly blond hair, he seemed like the poster child for a Halloween store.

Slightly dazed, he said, “I can’t find my dinner.”

His companion nodded in condolence. “We don’t serve dinner here,” he replied. “I’m Hadriel. Nice to meet you.”

Hadriel offered a hand, and Auric shook it uncertainly, wondering if it would be impolite to ask about the wings. He decided to ignore them, brushing them aside in favor of more pressing matters. 

“Where am I?” 

In response, Hadriel withdrew a sheaf of documents from one of his drawers and set it on the table, flicking through the pages. At the same time, he flipped through a How-to manual which he left open on the tabletop. “Well, we’re looking through your application.”

“. . . I see.” 

“Found it.” Hadriel hummed, skimming through the pages. “Aurelio Eric Eure, born January 15th, 2001, died March 1st, 2017—today. Shot in the front of the head. It must have been traumatic to die looking at your killer.” 

Auric frowned, trying to figure out what to do. Of all the things he’d been accused of, he’d never been told point-blank that he was dead, nor had he ever had a reason to try to prove that he was, contrary to popular belief, alive.

“Hadriel,” he said, trying to be gentle but failing. His headache worsened. “I’m not dead. I didn’t apply for anything, and I’ve never been shot in my life. I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’ll just see myself out. I’m watching my sister tonight.”

Auric patted the table and stood, heading toward the only two doors in the room. They were parallel to each other. One had golden streaks embedded in the wood that mimicked the branches of an endowed tree. The other was painted with gradients of gray, the circular strokes becoming darker toward the middle as if it were a void, a black hole waiting to suck him in.

He tried both knobs, but neither would turn.

“This isn’t funny,” he groused, twisting each knob so hard that his skin started to chafe. Shaking the knob of the first door, he jerked his head back to glare, trying to hide his growing anxiety under a front of irritation. “This isn’t—”

The look on Hadriel’s face made him falter. There was no glee or knowing pleasure at a prank gone well, and every other emotion that Auric might have expected to see was absent. Instead, Hadriel seemed confused and frustrated, as if he were trying to solve a particularly challenging puzzle and had just discovered he didn’t have all the pieces.

Hadriel stood at such an angle that the sunlight from the high window hit him directly, and whatever argument Auric had prepared was lost. No argument could hold up against the glowing circlet—no, the halo—that floated above Hadriel’s head, nor could an argument win against translucent, delicate wings that seemed far more realistic in the light than it had under the shade of a dimly lit room.

His head throbbed—the headache from before lashing out—and he rubbed at it, trying to ease the pain with soft, soothing motions. But pressing down only made the pain worse, and when he pulled his hand away, his palm was stained red.

“You don’t remember,” Hadriel said, his brow furrowing even as he clutched his sheaf of documents to his chest. “But you should. A soul should be able to remember their own—” He cut himself off and paused, tilting his head back in thought. His halo dipped backward, bobbing at a sharp angle but never falling. Auric was fascinated. 

Hadriel snapped out the trance he was in and shuffled through the papers, reading quickly. “On March 1st, 7:47 p.m., in Los Angeles, you’d finished making dinner for you and your sister, Alejandra, more commonly known as Argent. You were in the living room when you were shot in the head. You died quickly. Only one bullet was fired, and your killer was—” Hadriel paused, his gaze scanning the page meticulously. “It doesn’t say. There’s a lot of your life that was blocked out; something must have gone wrong when your soul was processed.”

The light was much closer and it reached for him. A hand pressed against his cheek, and it was warm like the blood that coated the back of his head, sliding down his neck and dripping—

He staggered back against one of the doors, his eyes wide as the vision that had overtaken him faded from view, tucking itself into the archives of his mind. 

He breathed just to prove he could. He inhaled, felt the air fill his lungs, and then felt it leave just as quickly. He breathed because he was alive. He was living. He was, he was—

But he’d also felt himself bleed out. Auric only had to touch his head to know.

“The three judges are examining your life now,” Hadriel said, brushing past all potential complications. “They’ll decide which door you go through. Then, you’ll leave the In Between and go where you’re meant to be.”

The angel’s gaze settled on him, conflicted, and Auric could feel the taste of iron lingering on his tongue. He tried to get the blood off his hand by using the hem of his shirt to rub it away, but he only made a larger mess. Pursing his lips, he hid his hand in his pocket, not wanting to see the red smear anymore. 

It was there that his hand bumped against something smooth, and he frowned, feeling the small object before he remembered what it was. It was the carnelian necklace he’d bought for Argent’s upcoming birthday. Like their mother, she’d always had a soft spot for gemstones. 

He wouldn’t have the chance to wrap her gift. 

“My sister. Is she dead?”

Hadriel shrugged, smiling haplessly. “It’s not my job to keep track of the humans outside of my jurisdiction, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. No, Argent Eure hasn’t appeared on the death register thus far.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he took out the necklace, careful not to smudge it by holding it with the tips of his fingers. The carnelian was a bright vermilion with veins of lighter orange and white running through the gemstone, and it hung on a thick, coarse rope. With his clean hand, he rubbed a thumb over the stone, brushing away a small piece of lint that lingered on the surface. 

He put the necklace on, the heavy weight of the carnelian settling against his chest. When he saw Argent again, he’d have to give it to her. 

Hadriel was busy flipping through his papers, his wings fluttering behind him. Auric watched him listlessly, leaning back against the gray door. As the minutes ticked by, the angel’s wings flittered back and forth anxiously even as Hadriel’s face stayed impassive. 

For a judging meant to send him to paradise or damnation, this was incredibly lackluster. Auric turned and tried to open the golden door. Then he tried the gray door. Nothing budged.

“If no results come in fifteen minutes, I’m legally allowed to leave.” 

“You can try,” Hadriel said sourly, glancing up at the ceiling as if waiting for a sign from the heavens. Auric looked up too, just to mimic Hadriel. The bumps on the ceiling were rather interesting. 

The bumps on the ceiling. The old, rickety fan lightly spun, groaning with each turn. Someone wept beside him.

That’s right. He had died looking at the ceiling. 

Auric averted his gaze.

It was fitting that the moment he looked away was the moment a flash of light appeared, blinding him. He flinched just as Hadriel beamed, grabbing the document that had descended with two hands. The rest of his papers fell to the ground, no longer needed.

It was also fitting that the locked door he leaned against suddenly swung open, making him fall backward. Behind the door, he belatedly realized, was an endless expanse of darkness with no floors or walls, and he barely had time to realize where it led before he was falling, the void pulling him in. 

For one calm, deadly moment, he was weightless, suspended in the air like a puppet that had fallen and hadn’t yet reached the end of its strings. For that moment, he was almost frightened.

Then a hand grabbed his wrist and his string grew taut. He stopped falling. 

Hadriel’s wings were spread wide, flapping back and forth to keep them both from plummeting into the abyss. The angel’s dark blue eyes peered down without emotion as if Hadriel were looking through him, and Auric thought this was the most Hadriel had seemed like a heavenly messenger since he’d met him. Someone from the heavens would have to be distant and uncaring. They’d be someone who could choose to aid or punish arbitrarily, who could watch the accumulation of all the pain and suffering in the world and still remain detached. 

The facade was broken when Hadriel sighed. “The worst part was that you chose the right door,” he said, annoyed. “I’d have let you drop if I wasn’t so surprised, but I’m going to put an appeal through. I looked through your file and I didn’t see anything too bad, but I can’t be sure since so much was redacted—”

“You read through my life story?” Auric asked, offended. 

“You are literally dangling above an abyss of malice. Reorder your priorities,” Hadriel groused. “And I only read the overview. Either way, because it’s procedure, you have two options. Either you stay in the In Between, or I let you drop into Hell or Gehenna or whatever you’d like to call it, and I’ll summon you later when the appeal is reviewed.”

It should have been an obvious decision. It was an obvious decision, on the surface. Take the first offer and claim the plush sofa that had been pushed into the back corner. Anything was preferable to the force that was trying to drag him down with a viciousness gravity didn’t possess. He could already feel the tips of his fingers trembling, a reaction to the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him.

But first, he had questions, and he wouldn’t do anything until they were answered. “From the In Between, can you visit the living?”

Hadriel’s grip on his wrist tightened. “The dead don’t mix with the living, no matter where you are. That’s especially true in the In Between. There is no leaving. There is only existing. Why?”

He didn’t bother to answer. “If the appeal is approved, I’ll go to Heaven. Can I visit the living if I go there?”

The angel furrowed his brow, his lips curving down angrily as he realized why Auric was asking. “No, you cannot. You won’t be allowed to; only trusted personnel can go to the surface. Which shouldn’t matter,” Hadriel stressed, “because the living can’t see us anyway. You can’t visit your sister. It’s against the rules to visit a living person on purpose, and she won’t be able to see, hear, or speak to you anyway.”

Auric’s eyes gleamed. “Can I visit the living if I go down there?”

Hadriel grimaced. “Anywhere you go, it’s against the rules.”

It was just as he suspected; Auric was sure it was much easier to bypass certain rules when everyone was down there for doing something wrong, and he was sure there were many rule breakers in Hell. 

He’d just have to be careful, to watch himself, to make sure he wasn’t taken in by stray charlatans. But it was easier when he was like this; since he was dead, he didn’t have to worry about another death. He’d already checked off that milestone. 

He started to smile. There had never been any other choice he could have made. He had a familial duty to fulfill, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t around. In the end, he could never go where she couldn’t follow, and right now, she was still alive and safe back at home. She had to be. He wouldn’t entertain any thought that suggested otherwise. 

Auric tried to shrug, but he couldn’t with one arm being stretched up. “You see, I have a little sister who’s about to turn thirteen. And I have to give the birthday girl her present or she’ll be intolerable.”

Hadriel huffed, incredulous. “You’re crazy.”

“Give me a break; I just died.” Auric let his hand go slack, waiting for Hadriel to release him. “Let go.”

Hadriel’s grip loosened. “Have it your way. Beware of strangers, find yourself someone to protect you, and don’t be alarmed if you sprout fangs or bat wings. Don’t think about it too hard either, it’s natural. Think of it like puberty.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at his wrist.

Hadriel smiled and said nothing more. With no fanfare, the angel let go and Auric was falling again, the darkness wrapping around him and pulling him down into its maw. He closed his eyes and sank into its embrace.

That ugly sound. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape it. It kept ringing in his ears, consuming him until he could no longer hear the girl weeping his name.

The memory only took a few seconds, but he was certain of it because now that he had remembered, he couldn’t forget that sound. He knew he wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried, but that was understandable.

Because really, he didn’t think anyone would forget the sound of someone laughing at them when they died.