A/N: Since all I’ve been posting lately is Fanfiction, I figured it was time to post something that isn’t. I wrote this for my fiction writing class (which my professor forgot that he assigned this one but oh well I handed it in anyway and was the only one who did). It’s probably not that good because it’s only a first draft. I have thought of revising it, but not sure if I actually will or not. I liked the idea at first, but not as much now.

“Bethany.” Her head snapped up, tears stopping immediately. Fog danced around her feet, giving the first sign that she was no longer in her bedroom closet.

“Bethany.” She looked to the left. A light shone in the distance, calling out to her. Standing up, Bethany walked toward the light, curious to know what it was. As she drew closer it started to burn her eyes, so she closed them and followed the light by its heat.

“Open your eyes, Bethany.” Slowly her eyelids lifted. The light was dimmer now, less painful. As her eyes adjusted, a woman’s face came into view. She didn’t look very old, but Bethany had the sense that she was. The woman smiled. “Hello, Bethany. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Bethany smiled. She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Grabbing Bethany’s hand, the woman walked with her around the white room. “Do you know where you are, Bethany?” Still not able to speak, she decided to shake her head instead. “This is heaven.” Bethany stopped. Horrified, she stared at the woman in disbelief. “Don’t act so surprised, my dear. You should have known you would be coming here soon.” Letting go of her hand, the woman walked across the room and sat in a white chair that Bethany almost didn’t see. “Isn’t this want you wanted? Or were you expected to turn up in hell?” Still not sure what to think, Bethany wrapped her hands around her neck, trying to feel any signs of the scarf she had artfully wrapped around it.

“I honestly didn’t expect you so soon,” the woman continued, “but then, you never expect your own children to show up, even when you know they are coming.”

Bethany’s eyes shot open. “You-“

“Don’t try so hard, Bethany,” the woman continued, a sad smile coming across her face. “You’re going to hurt yourself even more.”  A thousand questions poured into her head, none of which she could ask. “You aren’t quite dead yet,” the woman said, beginning to answer her list of questions, as if she could read her mind. “They are trying to revive you as I speak. But the real question is do you want to be revived?” Their eyes met, the woman’s serious, Bethany’s sad. Tear’s started rolling down her cheeks again. The woman stood up and walked over to her, wrapping her arms around her. “Shhh,” she tried to sooth her. “I know it’s hard. I know life is hard, but sometimes we just have to hold on.” Bethany shook her head, mouthing ‘no.’ The woman sighed. “That’s what I thought.” Giving her one more tight squeeze, the light suddenly faded, the woman’s arms disappearing, no matter how hard Bethany held on to her. Darkness surrounded her. Curling into a ball, she cried, repeating over and over, “God save me.”

I never thought my life would end so abruptly. I always pictured myself going peacefully in my sleep, my loved one’s surrounding my sick bed. So imagine my surprise when I climbed out of the hole I was digging for the next poor lifeless body that was coming in the morning to find a gun pointed in my face.
“Don’t make a sound,” a voice from behind the gun whispered. I froze. Words were exchanged, I don’t remember what now, than a loud bang went off. As fast as darkness engulfed me, white light woke me up. I blinked, trying to get the room into focus.
“Ah, you’re awake Stephen.” I bolted up to see a man dressed in a white gown, standing at the end of the bed I was resting in.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked. From what I gathered from the room I had to be in some sort of hospital or doctor’s office, although there was no medical equipment around me.
The man laughed. “Well, not exactly.” He walked over to the side of my bed and held out his hand. “Stand up Stephen.” I expected to feel weak or find difficulty standing, but I had no problem. The man took me by the shoulder and steered me out the door and into a white hallway. “My name is Peter,” he said, “and this is Heaven.” I laughed and Peter looked at me curiously.
“Sorry,” I said, “but you must get some grief from people for naming your hospital ‘Heaven’.”
“Hospital?” asked Peter, stopping in the middle of the hall to look at me. After a few seconds he chuckled. “You’ve been mistaken Stephen. This isn’t a hospital. You’re dead.”
“Dead?” I asked astonished. “B-but I can’t be dead! I haven’t turned 50 yet! There must be a mistake.”
Peter looked at me with sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry Stephen, there’s no mistake,” he said and continued walking. I followed reluctantly, a million thoughts racing through my head at once. Being in a coma for a few years I could deal with, but being dead meant the end of everything.
“Send me back.” The words slipped from my lips so suddenly I couldn’t stop them, but it was what I truly wanted.
Peter stopped. He turned and looked me in the eye. “I can’t Stephen.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you were shot point blank in the face. You were found with your head split open. It’s impossible for you to come back to life after that. Even if that wasn’t the case it’s against the rules to send someone back. Once you come here that’s it.”
“What about my family? My wife- I have a son-” Peter cut me off.
“I can’t send you back.” My heart sank faster and faster. How could he expect me to accept the fact that I would never see my family again so quickly? Not only was I angry that he refused to help me, but that he didn’t even try. He kept going on about how the rules forbid it. In the 42 years that I was alive, I never once heard about there being rules in Heaven.
“Okay, so I can’t go back. What do you expect me to do up here? Sit and watch the clouds roll by.”
Peter took a long look at me and at first I thought he was going to yell at me, and part of me wished that he would. I was pretty sure saints weren’t allowed to lose their temper so it would be interesting to see what would happen if one did. Instead of yelling, Peter said, “Well, there is a job opening that I think might interest you.”

Months might have passed by, years even, but to the Grim Reaper it seems like minutes, even hours. I’ve killed hundreds of people, and at first it was a bit exciting. Peter warned me in the beginning that this job was not for just anybody. The person assigned had a big responsibility and could not, under any circumstances, neglect the duties of the Grim Reaper. “There will be dire consequences for the Earth and for you if anything is messed up,” he warned. I simply told him I understood and signed for my rule book, which I carried around with me at all times. There were times when I would be called to collect people who I was familiar with: neighbors, family friends, old colleagues, etc. and at first it shocked me, but as time went on I got over the shock and just reminded myself it was a way of life.
One day I received the call to head onto the scene of a car crash. As I touched down and surveyed the scene around me I heard a familiar voice screaming from across the road.
“Charlie! Charlie, wake up! Please Charlie!”
Heading over to the sobs I stopped as the scene flooded my senses. There was my wife, kneeling on the asphalt over my son, Charlie. He had to be at least 15 by now, which meant ten years passed since I last saw him. As his mother continued to beg him to wake up I knew it was hopeless. There was only one body I was coming for today and his was the only one lying lifeless in the middle of the road. The police and ambulance arrived and I watched as my wife fought them off as they tried to drag her away so they could get to the body. Everything seemed in slow motion.
“Is there anything wrong, Stephen?” a voice said close to my ear.
I blinked away tears that clouded my eyes. “Nothing, Peter.”
“You have a job to do Stephen. Don’t let your emotions get in the way.”
“But he’s only a child. Can’t you do anything to help?”
“You know I-”
“No, you can. I know the rules by now Peter. He hasn’t lost that much blood and his body is in fair condition. Please don’t make his mother suffer any more. He’s all she has.” Silence met my request. Peter sighed.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied before he left me. I stayed there to watch. If anything was going to happen it would happen within the next minute. Finally, after what felt like an eternity I heard an EMT say, “We got a pulse!” I could finally breathe again. I watched as my sons eyes fluttered open before the ambulance doors were closed and he was driven to the hospital. Returning, Peter was waiting for me.
“Thank you,” I said.
Peter smiled, “Don’t mention it. But don’t expect things to work out that way every time. You still have a job to do and can’t let your feelings get in the way every time.” I nodded my head and Peter left me. Although he was right, I was glad that I acted when I did. While part of me wanted my son here with me I knew I couldn’t do that to my wife. I couldn’t take everything from her, not right now anyway. Next time, I knew there wasn’t anything I could do. Next time I had to do my job.

Dr. Taft (6/15/09 10:45P.M.): He had a bullet hole through his back. It was obviously someone that owns a gun.

Professor McHale (6/15/09 11:00P.M.): We can eliminate the girls then.

Duchess Bianca (6/15/09 11:05P.M.): Just because we’re women doesn’t mean we don’t know how to handle a gun. I wouldn’t count your eggs before they hatch.

Professor McHale (6/15/09 11:07P.M.): But if you don’t own a gun how did you acquire one?

Duchess Bianca (6/15/09 11:15P.M.): Anyone of us could’ve taken the gun from someone who owns one. You shouldn’t only be looking at the weapon, even though it is important. You should also look at who was with the stable boy last, and who would have the motive to kill him.

Michelle stared at the computer screen, contemplating the conversation that happened 45 minutes earlier. She processed the investigation thoroughly before typing in her response.

Ms Shelly (6/16/09 12:01A.M.): It was obviously Madame DuPont. She’s well known for seducing men, which is how she could’ve acquired the gun. And he did accidently injure her prize horse which would be a good motive.

Satisfied with her guess, Michelle got up from the computer and went downstairs for a snack. This investigation was probably the hardest yet. Michelle was part of a mystery solving forum. They discussed anything mystery from books to movies and television shows. One section of the board was dedicated to mystery games and the game she was addicted to was The Investigator. It was similar to clue, except the players only had to guess who the killer was. Finishing her bowl of cereal, Michelle headed back upstairs to see if anyone had responded to her guess.

Madame DuPont (6/16/09 12:06A.M.): Well I never! Sure at times I may be a bit… promiscuous and the stable boy did hurt my Bonnie but that doesn’t give me reason enough to kill him. In case you all forgot Miss Lily, the maid, is dating him and she does have quite a temper. I think she was a tad jealous when she caught us together one night, which to me would be perfect reason for her to finally snap. I mean who wouldn’t be jealous of me? My guess is she stole the master’s gun and shot the stable boy.

Sir Byron (6/16/09 12:11A.M.) Congrats Madame DuPont! You cracked the case! Now before the next person PM’s me with an idea I wanted to throw an idea I had out. Would anyone be interested in meeting up at my place one night and playing a live version of this game?

Michelle’s jaw sagged. Quickly she typed back her answer, her hands shaking with excitement

Ms Shelly (6/16/09 12:15A.M.): Of course! That would be awesome! Just say place and time and I’ll be there!

~~*~~

Michelle’s hand shook as she used the door knocker on the old fashioned row home in Philadelphia. She was hoping she had the right house to save her from utter embarrassment. Having the wrong house would be so embarrassing if she wasn’t dressed up as her character, Ms Shelly. She had her hair back in a tight bun and was wearing a Victorian era maroon dress. Michelle let her breath out when a thin blonde girl in a maid outfit answered the door.

“Hello there. You must be Ms Shelly. We’ve been waiting for you.” Opening the door wider, she let Michelle inside. “I’m Miss Lily, the maid. If you would so kindly follow me I’ll lead you downstairs.” Miss Lily led her through a hallway and into the kitchen where a door on the far wall stood ajar. Going through the door and down a flight of stairs, Michelle was shocked by the view. Upstairs looked like any other home, but downstairs was transformed into a Colonial style living room. Everyone was already there, mingling with one another.

“Ah! Ms Shelly!” Turning to her right, Michelle was met with a tall, lean man who was dressed like Sherlock Holmes. “We’re all so glad you could make it. I’m Sir Byron, over by the piano are Professor McHale and Dr. Taft, on the couch are Madame DuPont, Duke Marshall and Duchess Bianca, and over in the corner waiting for Miss Lily is Nathan, the stable boy. Make yourself comfortable and we will begin shortly.” Without another word, Byron stepped around her and went upstairs. Stepping farther into the room, Michelle crossed slowly over to the table, listening to the conversations around her as she went. She didn’t like that she was late to the event. If she had been earlier she wouldn’t have felt so shy and would’ve had more time to get to know everyone. Instead she stood on the far end of the table away from everyone and watched what was going on instead. Just as she gathered enough courage to go over and start a conversation with the group on the couch Sir Byron returned.

“Gather round everyone,” Sir Byron said, clapping his hands together for attention. The group grew silent. “Now,” he continued, “we all know how the game is played. Someone will die. Everyone is a suspect, so trust no one or you may be next.” He sounded so serious, nervous laughter filled the room. Michelle looked around. Several people were listening politely, others looked bored. Everyone was itching to begin. Just as Sir Byron opened his mouth to continue, there was a loud crash. Everyone turned and several people gasped. Professor McHale had collapsed, hitting his head on the corner of the piano as he fell. Bending over him, Dr. Taft checked his vitals.

“He’s dead,” he said astonished and everyone began to murmur.

Smirking, Sir Byron announced, “Let the game begin.”

The room became dead silent. “You must be joking,” Madame DuPont said.

“A man is dead, Byron!” Dr. Taft exclaimed.

“Isn’t that the point of the game? Someone has to die.”

“But not literally!” The room grew quiet again as everyone stared between Byron and Taft.

Byron began to laugh, “Well of course he isn’t really dead.”

“He’s not?” Miss Lily asked.

“Of course not! What do you take me for? I wouldn’t really kill a man for a game. I just slipped a little sleeping draught into the drink he had upon arrival. All it does is lower the pulse so it’s hard to detect, but doesn’t stop it. He’ll be passed out for several hours but he’ll be fine.” The whole room seemed to breathe again. “Now, does anyone have any guesses?”

“He might have been offered food that was laced with something he was allergic to,” Miss Lily guessed.

“He doesn’t look like he was allergic to any food to me,” Madame DuPont replied, receiving glares from several people. “What? It was just an observation.”

“Maybe it was poison,” Nathan suggested.

“Or strangulation,” Byron said.

“Let’s go back to how he was killed later,” Dr. Taft said. “Who would have the motive to kill him?”

~~*~~

Almost two hours had passed since the game began and the only part they figured out was that Professor McHale had been poisoned. To get away for a bit, Michelle excused herself to use the bathroom. Although she was having fun, part of her wanted the game to end so they would be able to have normal conversation.

Her long brown hair cascaded onto her shoulders as she removed the rubber bands that held it back. There were black circles under her eyes. Ripping off a piece of toilet paper she rubbed at the circles hoping it was just her makeup running. When it wouldn’t come off, she threw the crumpled piece of toilet paper toward the trash can, but missed. She retrieved it, and when placing it in the trash she noticed an empty bottle of Tylenol sitting on top. Picking up the bottle, she slipped it into her the only pocket she had on her dress, put up her hair, and went back downstairs. Returning to the group she walked into the middle of an argument.

“This is ridiculous! Someone had to have done it! He didn’t just accidently swallow a bottle of poison,” Duchess Bianca was saying.

“How do we know it wasn’t a suicide?” Madame DuPont replied.

“That’s not the point of the game.”

“Sir Byron,” Michelle said, “where were you when Professor McHale was poisoned?”

Everyone looked up at her. Until this moment, Michelle had kept quiet listening to the accusations instead of creating them.

“I was in the kitchen.”

“What were you doing in there?” she asked, walking closer to him.

“I was making lunch.”

“Was it for Professor McHale?”

“No, it was for myself.”

“Huh, interesting.” Michelle walked toward the middle of the room, knowing that all eyes were on her.

“What’s so interesting about it?”

“Well I was just wondering what else you would use a bottle of Tylenol for.” She removed the empty bottle from her pocket for everyone to see. “Are you sure you didn’t grind a few pills up into a sandwich and give it to Professor McHale?”

Byron began to laugh. Sticking his hand into his coat he pulled out a pistol and aimed it right at Michelle. Miss Lily screamed, and everyone backed away from Byron. “Congrats, Ms Shelly, you guessed right. I killed Professor McHale by grinding up some Tylenol and sprinkled them onto his sandwich. He was the first one here so it was easy to get away with.”

“So he really is dead?” Nathan asked, confused.

“Yes, Professor McHale is dead. Like I said someone had to die to play the game.”

“I thought it was just a sleeping draught,” Madame DuPont said.

“A little fib to get the game rolling, otherwise it would’ve ended before it began.”

“You’re mad!” Duke Marshall yelled. Grabbing Duchess Bianca’s hand he said, “Come Bianca, we’re leaving. I will not associate myself any longer with this crazy person!” He didn’t take more than two steps forward when the gun was turned onto him.

“No one is going anywhere,” Byron said. “You all allowed the poison to take full effect which makes you all accomplices. If anyone tries to turn me in they’ll be turning everyone in.” The gun went off, the bullet buried into Duke Marshall’s leg, as Dr. Taft tackled Byron to the ground.

“Quick! Someone, help me tie him up!” he yelled and everyone, except Duke Marshall and Duchess Bianca, began to help. Miss Lily ran upstairs and called 911. Within 20 minutes the cops and ambulance had arrived and everyone was being questioned. As they were taking Byron away, Michelle told herself she would never go on another forum as long as she lived.