The Resurrected Compendium Read online

  What bell saved me, folks?

  The short answer is…I don’t know.

  I can’t be more honest than that. I just don’t know. I don’t know why I died, because I didn’t see it. All I can say is that every step I’ve taken in my life has led me here, to this place. To this point, this stage, in front of you all gathered here in this tent with open minds and hopefully, open hearts.

  I can tell you what I think, though.

  I think that I was meant to die, and to return, because that got your attention. Didn’t it? How many of you knew who I was one week ago? Two weeks ago? A month?

  A few of you, and I thank you for your support. We’ve been traveling a long strange journey together, my friends. I see some familiar faces out there. Barry, hi there. Maureen, thanks for coming and for the casseroles. Maureen, everyone, stand up and let everyone take a look at you. Maureen’s been making sure I eat and get my sleep since I came home — that’s right, everyone, listen to her. I’m the worst patient in the world. She threatened to actually tie me into a chair and force-feed me macaroni and cheese.

  See? You all can laugh at that. We laugh together, and isn’t that a much better feeling, sharing that laughter, than it is to face each other warily and without trust? Now listen, I want you all here to do something for me. I want you to turn and face the person next to you. Go on now. Don’t be shy, even if it’s a stranger. Face the person next to you, look into their faces.

  Now, think to yourselves, what would I do to help this person in front of me?

  Sure, we all like to think we’d help each other, wouldn’t we? But the truth is, we don’t always make the best choices for other people. We think of ourselves first, don’t we? There’s no shame in admitting that. I can tell you that when the voice started showing me all the choices I could make and where they’d lead, there were many times I went for the easier path, the one that benefited me. It’s the natural choice. It’s the…human…thing to do.

  No, I’m okay. Just give me a second or two to catch my breath. It’s not easy, you know, coming back from the dead. Just let me clear my throat. Maureen, can you give me a glass of water, please?

  Thank you.

  Where was I?

  What was I…

  Oh…right.

  Let me just catch my breath.

  15

  Nothing much about the house had changed. The yard wasn’t mowed, the flowerbeds not weeded, but that wasn’t terribly unusual. She’d always been the one grubbing in the dirt. Ryan had hired someone to come and do the yard work after she’d moved out, but the service had been sporadic, and nobody had been able to care about the hydrangea bushes the way she had…

  “Stupid,” Abbie muttered. Stupid to stand here in the driveway, her car door still open like she might hop back in and drive away if anyone came to the front door, and think about the grass. The grass didn’t matter.

  She didn’t want to remember the times she’d spent on this porch, waiting for the door to open for her like she’d never lived here. The screen door hung open a little, like someone had run out and not bothered to close it completely. She pushed the doorbell, but heard nothing from inside. Abbie waited a minute, then opened the screen door and used the brass knocker she and Ryan had bought on their honeymoon. It was in the shape of a pair of hands holding a heart. The claddagh. Symbol of love, loyalty and friendship. It rang against the metal with a hollow thud that made her fingers tingle.

  Abbie waited another few minutes, craning her neck for the sound of running feet, the shouts of “Dad, someone’s at the door!” Nothing. She would’ve checked her watch, if she was wearing one. What time was it? For that matter, what day? She tipped her face toward the sky, but that was useless, clouded and gray with only a hint of sun.

  She couldn’t remember the date. Were the boys at school or had they already been let out for the summer? Was Ryan at work? She took two steps back, her heels on the edge of the concrete porch, and studied the door and windows next to it. If she pressed her face against the clear design in the frosted glass she might be able to get a peek inside, but what would happen if someone was in there, watching her or waiting for her to go away? She’d look like a lunatic. Likewise if she hiked into the overgrown flower bed to look in the dining room windows.

  She knocked again, longer this time. Waiting, she looked around at the yard again. Several of the trees had bent, limbs broken and littering the overlong grass. A section of the fence had been torn away. Around the side of the house, the shed roof bore its own load of scattered branches, one of which looked to have punctured a hole through the roof itself. She’d been unable to get concrete information on the damage done by tornados in this part of town, too much time spent on the road without access to national news, and no cell phone to call home or any of the neighbors, or to check social media sites. The newscasts she’d seen had mentioned uncommon storm activity all over the country, a rash of tornados in places that had normally never seen one, as well as especially aggressive wind and thunderstorms without tornadic activity.

  She’d passed through the closest town on the way here to the house, had seen evidence of storm damage there. A few downed signs, debris in the yards much like what she was seeing now. The storm had been hard enough to knock out power for a few days and cause a mess.

  Nothing, of course, like she’d seen in Oklahoma.

  Abbie left the porch and moved through the grass, which was long enough to tickle her bare shins and make her cringe, thinking of ticks. Around the side of the house, past a rusty scooter and a basketball abandoned to the weather. The closer she got to the shed, the more difficult it was to see the roof, but when she tugged open the never-locked door, she saw clearly enough that the big limb had indeed punched a hole straight through. As thick as her whole body on top, it tapered down to the width of her forearm by the time it reached the pile of chair cushions it had speared. It looked sort of like a giant spider leg, and Abbie recoiled though she knew, of course, it wasn’t any such thing. But the thought of a giant, hairy spider crouching on top of her, one leg ready to feel if she were there…God. Gross. She shuddered and looked around in the shed’s dim light.

  She smelled gasoline from the lawn mower, some other sharply bitter scent from the bags of fertilizer that hadn’t been touched since she left. Two of them, along with a half-used plastic sack of mulch, were in the oversized wheelbarrow exactly where she’d left them, along with an array of tools which ought to have been hung on their hooks. She always returned her tools to their proper places, so it would be easy for her to find them again…but then she remembered a haze of work, dumping mulch and spreading it with her hands because she wanted to feel the dirt under her fingernails. She’d been terrifically drunk. Terribly stupid.

  There was another smell too, underlying the others. Something sneaky about it, something sly. It tickled the back of her throat and her nose, and she sneezed rapidly. Dust motes swirled in the shaft of light that came in alongside the tree limb. Something skittered in the darkness toward the back, but it was small. A mouse, surely nothing bigger or scarier than that, or maybe a chipmunk.

  She moved toward the wheelbarrow. The smell got stronger. She sneezed again, dust in her nostrils but not so thick it hampered her from smelling this…whatever it was. She tore at the plastic, exposing the mulch to the light, such as it was.

  The blue and purple flowers.

  Abbie clapped both hands over her mouth to cover her automatic scream. She pinched her nostrils shut at the same time. She hadn’t had time to take a breath, and her head spun, dizzy, as she backed away. She’d seen them how many times now? Each time, they’d bloomed and died in minutes. These looked a little different. Thicker stems, fleshier petals. The smell was strong enough to seep through the gate of her fingers. She turned, panicky and unwilling to wind her way back through the maze of junk in the shed. She hopped over a snow shovel and a pair of skis, then fought with the handle until she could twist it and shove up the heavy garage door. It