#after-death

It turned out that being dead meant Greg could hold his breath for as long as he wanted without any real immediate effect. He’d discovered this when he’d finally gathered the courage to go back to the hallway where he’d left Jacqueline’s body just a few minutes ago. It wasn’t that hard to find, he’d only died just down the hall from where she’d been laying. But some heavy pit in his stomach had been keeping him away from the spot. 

He didn’t know what he’d find there. Maybe just her body, maybe her, or maybe nothing. Greg wasn’t sure which one would feel worse. He licked his suddenly dry lips and finally exhaled uselessly. He had to at least see what was there, even if it was Jacqueline herself. Even if with a little time to think after the shock had settled, she’d decided that she did blame Greg for her death, that she did hate him after all. It was hardly anything less than what he deserved. 

After another few seconds of berating himself, Greg squared his shoulders and took a few steps forward. The hallway he’d left her in was just around the corner. He didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. 

Was this really what being dead felt like? It didn’t feel much different than being alive, only now he knew he’d be stuck here for a while, maybe forever. That was a scary thought, one Greg wanted to push back for as long as he could. “Is there anyone else down here?” he called, turning a corner, but trying to keep away from the church. Even dead, Greg couldn’t bring himself to go back there, or down the hallway where Jacqueline’s body was. 

It took Greg fifteen minutes to die of blood loss, or maybe it was shock, he wasn’t really in any position to tell. All he knew was that everything had started to fade, things had become less painful, he’d stopped struggling. The heartbeat that had beat in his ears insistently, like a call for help, suddenly quieted. Then it was like going to sleep, which he supposed was a mercy. 

When Greg next opened his eyes, he felt whole again. His left eye was back and his shoulders no longer had hooks in them. He was standing in a hallway, the same hallways he’d chased his killer down. “Hello?” he called, not sure what else to say. Maybe this was a dream, the last synapses of his brain firing before death.