DEADMAN'S PASS

“So let me get this straight,” Eli said, staring at Cass like she was insane.

“You’re saying I’m…. dead?”

Cass didn’t even look up. She was busy peeling a fresh piece of pink bubblegum from its wrapper with surgical precision, then popped it in her mouth.

“Technically, yes….” she blew the bubble until it was the size of a grapefruit and let it snap with a sound like a gunshot. “…. technically, not. Look, it’s rare, but not unheard of. That’s why we’re heading to the ABC.”

“What? But….”

Eli’s heart bounced in his chest —a strange sensation, considering he wasn't sure he still had a heart. He felt a frantic, buzzing energy under his skin, like he’d drank ten espressos followed by an energy drink.

“Well, how it works is that souls arrive in Limbo like packages,” Cass sighed, finally turning toward him. “You my friend are a lost package and the ABC is where we find your destination. Get all that?”

“I guess,” Eli muttered stopping to look at his wrist again. Where the strange watch was his skin that looked similar enough to his real skin but when he touched it, he couldn’t feel it. He brushed it off looking around —at the coffee mug on the desk that said #1 Boss floating in the air and a wallpaper that seemed to peel upward instead of down.

‘Strange,’ he thought.

“I understand what you’re saying, but…” He shook his head, “…what if this is a dreamlike experience caused by a coma. That could explain why the physics are off.”

“Okay, Einstein. You keep holding onto that ‘coma’ theory,” she called back over her shoulder. “Hurry up, I’m sure the guys at the Bureau will love your input on the matter. Hope that works out for ya.”

They got to a hallway that was dark, it seemed like light was siphoned from it. Eli glanced back; the sunlit corridor they’d just left was still shining. So why was it suddenly darker here? ‘This must be a weird dream.’ Still firm on that thought, he kept finding clues that would ‘wake him up.’

Ahead, the air filled with the sound of thousands of wet fingers tapping on mechanical keyboards.

Clack-clack-clack-squelch.

“Hey!” A voice barked.

Eli nearly jumped out of his skin. A man in a sweat-stained short-sleeve shirt was aggressively stabbing a vending machine with a wooden letter opener. Before he could process that, he collided with a woman sitting at a side desk that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

He went down hard but she didn’t move.

“Watch it, Pending,” she hissed. The sound came from her three heads that didn’t have a mouth, their voices overlapping like a scratched CD. “I’m trying to calculate the recent arrivals here and you’re messing up my margins.”

“Are you okay?” another voice asked helping him get up. “Don’t mind Sharon. She lost her peripheral vision in the Great Transition of ’89.”

“Thanks,” Eli muttered, dusting himself off. Then he saw his helper.

The man had no head, only a clean cauterized stump yet his voice sounded like it was coming from a radio in his chest.

“If you want, I can represent you,” the headless man whispered. “You see I used to be a Prosecutor…..a damn good one. All you have to do is sign this….”

He produced a scroll that shimmered in gold and offered Eli a black feather quill.

Before Eli could grab it, Cass’ hand clamped onto his bicep like a vice.

“Let’s go, Einstein.”

“Come on, Cass, you’re killing my commission here!” the man shouted, grabbing her shoulder. “I found him. Fair and square!”

Cass stopped. She blew a bubble, let it linger, then turned slowly. “Don’t test my patience, Steve.”

Steve let go, cursing quietly.

“And you, don’t speak to weirdos,” she muttered, dragging Eli toward a door.

“But…. he said he was a prosecutor,” Eli stumbled, looking back at the headless man who was now dejectedly rolling up his contract.

“Yeah, well, keep your soul in your pants, Einstein.”

They stepped through the door and the world flipped. The transition was like a light switch —the light was so intense it felt like a physical weight. As Eli’s vision cleared, he realized they were standing in a rundown DMV from hell. The air smelled of burnt coffee. Flickering fluorescent lights hummed to the side where an old number dispenser was spitting out tickets.

“Great. A line,” Cass sighed, moving toward the dispenser.

At the front sat two figures behind a desk made of compressed filing cabinets.

On the left was 'B. L. Zeebub. His name tag, which floated above him read: Junior Waste Manager. He was a hulking, orange-skinned man squeezed into a blazer three sizes too small. Every time he exhaled a thin puff of black smoke drifted from his nostrils into a small ink-well on his desk.

“C’mere fresh meat,” B.L. croaked. His hand which had four fingers and two thumbs beckoned Eli forward. “Line’s clear as day. Sign the waiver, join the pile. I’ve got a lunch break in ten thousand years and I’m not missing it.”

Next to him sat Grin.

Compared to B.L., Grin was all smiles. He had perfect teeth, albeit more than normal, all blindingly white. He wore a bolo tie with a piece of turquoise that looked like a shriveled eye.

“Now, now, Beezy, don’t scare the lad,” Grin said, his thick Texan drawl cutting through the gloom like a rusty saw. He stamped a heavy stamp onto a woman’s head.

“Ms. Jasmine Lois…all your paperwork is in order. Enjoy your stay Upstairs.”

The Elderly woman smiled, walking away. A path of golden lilies guiding her.

Cass came back with a ticket and pulled Eli away from B.L’s line.

“Grin, He’s the pending Case. Give me his file.”

Grin froze, his stamp hovering mid-air. He faced Eli.

“Well, I’ll be. So this here’s the anomaly that’s got the upstairs brass all shook up? Lookin’ like a deer caught in the high-beams of a cosmic eighteen-wheeler.”

Grin let out a wet, rattling chuckle that vibrated in his chest. “Wait... that’s what got ya, right?”

Eli blinked. “Huh?”

“Still on the memory fritz,” Grin noted bending to bring up a stack of files. “Don’t you worry. It’ll come back. Usually, right when the truth sets in.”

“What do you mean?” Eli asked. “What truth?”

Grin removed a file and gave it to Cass. “The gist of it is…there’s an issue with your claim. Protocol says I gotta ask if you wanna go fer a pass.”

“A pass for what?” Eli asked. He adjusted his collar, feeling a phantom sweat trickling down. My brain is just misfiring, he told himself. A car accident, yeah, that’s it, and now I’m in an ambulance or something. Yeah…I should be awake any minute. Just buy time.

Grin leaned forward. “A Deadman’s Pass. It’s a temporary visa back to the world of the breathers. Basically, it allows you to contest yer claim.”

Eli let out a dry, nervous laugh. “Riight. A visa. And let me guess, you get to stamp in my passport if I’m dead.”

He looked at Cass, expecting her to break character and tell him he was on a Truman Show of some kind. She was chewing gum while checking her tracksuit.

Grin didn't lose his smile. In fact, it seemed to grow, showing a few extra molars that definitely shouldn't have been there. “Whatever helps ya process. Either way, you gotta pick an Attendee.”

“It’s like a supervisor,” Cass said flatly.

Grin tapped a rhythm on the desk with his many-jointed fingers. “Usually, folks pick a loved one. Someone livin’ who can advocate for ‘em. A mama, a sister, maybe a goldfish if the bond was particularly strong.”

Eli stiffened at the mention of his sister. She would be a perfect choice. But…if this was a dream, choosing her would only feed his subconscious. And his didn’t want to drag her into this nightmare, even if it was a hallucination. No. He needed someone who knew the ‘lay of the land’ as it were. Someone like…

“I choose her,” Eli said, pointing at Cass.

Cass’s bubble snapped loudly against her lips. Her bored expression shattered into pure, unadulterated shock. “Huh?!”

B.L. Zeebub let out a wet, smoky chortle. “Oh, that’s rich. You just got drafted.”

Grin’s eyes crinkled with genuine delight. He pulled out a heavy, iron-bound stamp. “Well now, ain't no rule sayin' it has to be a livin' soul.”

“Wait, no…whoa!” Cass stepped forward.

THWACK

Grin slammed the stamp onto Eli’s head. It didn’t hurt but a cold blossomed under his skin. Instantly, a countdown started on his watch.

06:59:59:59

“Seven days,” Grin chirped, sliding a set of glowing papers across the desk. “One week to prove you’re a clerical error. That’s all you get. When that hits zero…well, let’s say the wake-up call is gonna be real permanent.”