Alex stood closest to the rightmost staircase, where she noticed artistic calligraphy carved into the stone that read “To the Grandiuse.”
Below the writing and at her feet jumped no less than five hundred tiny blue birds, chirping on the shiny black floor. How something so unusual was the last thing she noticed was evidence that she was beginning to expect the unexpected.
“What is this?” Tess lifted her leg and skipped over one of the creatures. The large elaborate tail feathers of the miniature peacocks fanned out behind them.
“These aren’t usually here?” Alex asked. One of the birds pecked at her ankle, but she felt nothing.
“No! Absolutely not!”
And then Alex heard Tess inhale sharply like she’d been stung. Calla Bond had appeared beside them. Tess attempted to move away, but the entryway was much too crowded.
“What’s going on?” Alex heard Calla ask a nearby student.
In response, the boy grabbed his ear and slunk away. Despite the obvious distraction, Alex noticed that every eye in the room had shifted from the flock of blue birds to focus on Calla, but no one waved, smiled, or spoke to her.
Alex couldn’t help but rubberneck at the strange girl too, until a shadow fell over them. A man entered the hall. His long coat billowed behind him, and he waved his burly arms. The force of his motions sent a furious gust through the entryway, impelling each student to the wall like bugs to flypaper, Alex included. She craned her neck to watch the man swish his arms, the conductor of a squawking orchestra. He created a swirling maelstrom to eat up each and every bird. His wild hair strewed erratically across his face, which trembled in concentration.
He filled the vortex and began to march out the door, but stopped abruptly to frown back at the newburies. Alex couldn’t tell if his focus was on her or Tess or Calla—perhaps all three—but the weight of his stare made Alex feel faint. And then he was gone, the chirping tornado following behind him.
Alex released herself from the wall. “Who,” she gasped, “was that?”
“Good question. I’ve never seen him before.” Tess rubbed her head and moved away from Calla. “I need to go find my brothers. Just take that center staircase to the second floor. Hang a left, and it’s the first door. Your doctor will be waiting.”
Alex was confused. “What doctor?”
“For psychology. You have a meeting, right? What were you expecting?” Tess huffed impatiently.
She’d been expecting a class, not therapy! She’d had enough of that when she was alive. Dread crept in and set up camp.
When Alex reached the room labeled psychology, she waited for the door to open, but it didn’t. She wondered if this room wanted her to make the decision for herself.
The circle of white chairs was empty, but she still felt she was disturbing something. The dimly lit space had a life of its own and the lingering aura of something that tasted like stale grief.
She tiptoed past a desk that supported stacks of tattered accordion folders stuffed with yellowed papers. Each folder had the name Crete Reynes stenciled elegantly at the bottom, and they were all labeled the same: Paradise. She lowered herself to a seat and set down her new belongings, feeling haunted. She couldn’t accept the atmosphere of the room. The emotions that lived here were not her own. Someone else had left them behind.
She pulled her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees tightly, and then she felt him. She closed her eyes and breathed in the same air she’d sensed in Miss Petra’s classroom, like a storm had blown through with Chase saddled on the breeze. Was it his sorrow she could taste?
Sadness or not, she reveled in his presence, so minutes later when someone else overshadowed it, disappointment tapped her on the shoulder. “Hello there.”
The voice belonged to a skinny little boy with limbs that had never quite filled out and an outdated haircut. Her heart lifted when she recognized the adorable face of Ellington Reynes. The walls seemed to sigh and relax, perhaps happy to see him, too.
“Why are you here?”
Ellington beamed. “Some people call me Dr. Reynes, but I would prefer if you continued to call me Ellington.”
“You’re the shrink?”
“There are several of us, but yes, I am one of them. All part of my job description. Who better to analyze the newburies than someone who has already seen their past?”
She liked Ellington, but Alex had never had a positive experience with therapy. She nodded toward the circle of chairs. “You enjoy all this?”
“It’s in my genes,” he explained. “For the most part, I do enjoy it. I like helping the newburies adjust to this world, to find peace with it. I do believe that peace is my purpose.”
Alex rested her chin on her knees, condensing into a tighter ball of vulnerability. “Is this where you met my mother?”
Ellington pulled his mouth tight as though this would keep too many words from escaping. “Yes.”
Alex scooted closer and waited for him to share more.
“We had to spend a great deal of time together. Those who have gifted minds usually need a bit more help.”
“She was gifted?”
“No. But it was expected she would be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand at this time. We have plenty to discuss, and your mother is a topic for later.”
Alex relented, but the ache didn’t subside. “How is it possible to still feel my heart?”
“Your mind makes it so. Old habits die hard. I still bite my nails.” He held out his little hand to show her and then patted her knee. “You can relax. No need to be afraid here. It’s a safe zone.”
“It doesn’t feel safe at all.”
“Don’t be afraid of the things that have been left here. You can leave things too. Things you don’t want or need anymore.”
Alex surmised he was not talking about tangible things. “I don’t think I belong here, Ellington.”
“Everyone says that at some point. I’ll confess I didn’t expect it from you.”
“No, I don’t mean here, like afterlife here. I don’t belong here in this room.” Alex said in exasperation. “I don’t need therapy. I hate therapy.”
“Everyone needs to talk about their death.”
“That’s just it. I’ve spent an entire lifetime talking about death. You should know that if you saw some ‘movie trailer’ of my life.”
He thumbed through his papers. “Alexandra Ash. Seventeen. Ehlers-Danlos. Resident of Parrish and then the Eskers Rehabilitation Center. When were you diagnosed?”
“With insanity?” Alex was only half kidding.
“No, with Ehlers-Danlos.”
“Birth.”
“Hereditary … obviously.” He made a note on his legal pad.
“We’ve already discussed this, Ellington.”
“I know, but it is protocol. My reports must be documented and submitted to the powers that be. Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Where shall we start?”
Alex shrugged. “Life. Death. Whatever.”
“You forget they are one and the same. Remember that spirits are more alive than any of the bodied.”
“The bodied?”
“Those with a body. It sounds silly to say ‘humans’ because are we not humane as well? We are nowhere near dead, though we say it so frequently. After all, the life we have left can still be taken from us. The human body was glass, yes, but glass doesn’t slip through your fingers. Being a spirit is like trying to hold water in your hands. Don’t get me wrong. Fear is healthy for the mind. And your mind is the most powerful thing you have now.”
Alex’s doctors in life had caused her to build a wall, bricks of obstinacy, but Ellington’s soft, melodic tone was enough to chip away at that wall. She was aware of it, and it alarmed her. Alex counted the empty chairs. “Am I really early?” she asked. “Or is everyone else just really late?”