Beyond by Graham McNamee Page A

unique when it comes to these near-death things. Some of what you saw fits the usual story. You did the out-of-body stuff, saw the light and went for it. But then you took a wrong turn.”
    “Seriously wrong.”
    “Most people get life reviews , like a replay of their greatest hits. From their first breath to last.”
    “I got one of those, but it wasn’t my life.”
    I’ve rerun that vision in my head a thousand times, trying to make sense of it. That little seaside town, the blue house. The woman waiting out front. There was such an overwhelming feeling of loss at the sight of her. Then, upstairs in the guy’s room. That stuff seems easier to understand, memories of a lost life. But then the vision turned dark and strange, with the bald skeleton man. A crow on his shoulder. What does it all mean?
    “Where did you find this stuff?” I lean in to study the afterlife images.
    “I joined an online support group for the resurrected, pretending to be one of them. They call themselves Second Chancers . I told them your story, saying it was mine. You know, to see if anybody had a similar experience.”
    Lexi loves these online encounters where she can be anybody. She uses about a dozen cyber aliases and personalities.
    “Did you find any like mine?”
    “Well, ninety-nine percent of these visions are positive. Even a few atheists found religion after what they saw. The resurrected come back renewed, and the only regret they have is that they didn’t get to stay in the light. But they find peace knowing it’s there waiting for them when their time finally comes.”
    I spot a welcoming spirit in one picture, in the shine from the other side. I remember how that light felt, sweeter than anything ever.
    But there were no guiding spirits waiting to show me the way. And no peace now, knowing what else is waiting.

Sanctuary.
    I find a quiet spot to sit near the back of St. Mary’s, a cozy little church in the center of Edgewood. One of the oldest places around here, it was built using wood from the ancient forest they cut down to make room for the town. Behind the simple altar there’s a stained-glass scene of Mary in mourning, sitting on a rock and looking out to a stormy sea.
    But I’m not really here to claim sanctuary. I’m the floral director for the wedding that’s just about to start.
    Mom usually handles this stuff while I watch the shop. But I didn’t want to be left alone there.
    I breathe in the smell of incense, roses and burning candles, relaxing for the first time in days. I already set up the arrangements, handed out bouquets to the bridesmaids, tied bundles of white lilies to the pews along the center aisle, decorated the altar with pink carnations and filled the flower girl’s basket with crimson rose petals. Now I hang around for the show. Such a love junkie.
    My addiction to romance novels started years back.
    Maybe it comes from having a lusty heart, or maybe I crave what I can’t have. I mean, it’s never going to be me at the altar.
    I tried making up my own stories, to live out my fantasies that way. I used to be good with words. Writing was my thing . Like Lexi and her movies, words were how I made sense of stuff.
    But everything I wrote came out wrong. Where I was trying for romance, passion and desire, everything turned all doom and gloom. So I quit.
    Now I just stick to the love library in my closet.
    I can’t take any chances. I have to keep my distance from Ryan, and every other guy. No flirting, no messages, nothing. I’m still playing by my shadow’s rules. Because as long as I’ve stayed alone, it’s let me live. I want to believe I got rid of that thing, but I’m not going to risk it.
    The priest steps up to the altar. The show’s about to start. Maybe I should confess everything to him, see if he can cure my haunted self. Get him to hose me down with holy water and set me free.
    But I know there’s no miracle for me here. Just a moment of peace.

I bolt awake. My heart