Okay, so, we’re standing outside the shoe store. There is fire extinguishers going off every where, it’s hard to breathe. People are running every which way to escape the fire. One firefighter escorts a coughing, wheezing Susan from the shop. The older woman turns around and faces the flames, fear etched in deep lines on her face.

“Audrey!” she screams, crumpling to the ground in an outward display of grief. I turn my attention to Audrey Stemple, standing beside me. She’s watching Susan with disbelief. Slowly, she turns and faces the store as another firefighter drags from the rubble the remains of a young woman. Susan crawls across the floor toward the body, but paramedics pull her away.

The whole hallway is barricaded off, the mall has been evacuated. It’s just me, Audrey Stemple, the firefighters and Susan. Of course the latter can’t see us. We stand a safe distance from them, although safe from what I’m not sure. Audrey Stemple has yet to speak, she’s yet to move anything other than her head.

Finally, she looks at me and says, “I was wondering what it feels like to die.”

At first I was startled. Normally the first question that they open with is, ‘am I really dead?’. Nope, you’re just going back to your original body, of course you’re dead, you moron.

“And what does it feel like, Audrey Stemple?” I ask her, not really caring for an answer. She couldn’t give me a description that I hadn’t thought of already.

Big brown eyes were even wider with comprehension. She was still going through the process of what had happen when she spoke. Her voice was strangely thick, as if her tongue was too big for her mouth. “Like I’m falling in a dream, but I can’t jerk myself awake…” she whispered, staring up at me.

My sarcasm has always been my defense against things like this. I’ve been the Angel of Death for what seems like forever, but I’ve never heard something like that. No one I’ve ever reaped compared death to a dream. “A dream?” I asked, my voice pitching itself halfway through the second word.

“Yes, like one of the surreal dreams where nothing is really proportioned properly, and everyone is walking on their hands. You feel like you’re tumbling, but when you jerk yourself to find a way to stop the freefall you find that you’re safe in your bed. But I can’t seem to stop the freefall.”

“You’re not falling,” I reply softly. “You’re very dead, Audrey Stemple.”

“I know that,” she said softly. “What can I call you?”

The same as everything with Audrey Stemple, this question took me by surprise. No one had ever asked me my name before. Especially not someone I had reaped.

“Evan, I’m Evan.”

She offered her hand, finally moving something beside her head. “I’m Audrey, Audrey Stemple.” She laughed. “But I guess you already knew that…” Never before had a person I reaped laughed. And never before had I heard such a musical laugh. Her eyes danced, albeit sadly, and she glanced away. “Sorry. I’ve just never… died before.”

I nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to react to her, how to comfort her. I wasn’t good at it in life, let alone in death. “Well, look at it this way. You’ll never have to do it again.”

She glanced back to me, startled. It was almost as if she had forgotten that I was there, forgotten what had happened to put her in the smoke filled hallway of the mall. Almost as if she had forgotten to notice she was dead.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and her brown eyes were just deep pools of chocolate once again. “I suppose you’re right, Evan. I was so afraid of death, and in the end there’s really no point.”

“Every one is afraid of death, Audrey Stemple.”

Audrey Stemple nodded and turned away from the shoe store. I followed her as we strolled away. I know that Evie and Lucy are waiting outside the mall for us to arrive, but I’m not quite ready to deliver Audrey Stemple to them. Her take on this is far too interesting to be bogged down by Lucy Fehr’s tyrannical attitude on death in general.

After a long moment, Audrey Stemple stopped in front of Abercrombie and Fitch. “Yes, I suppose everyone fears death. But why do we? I mean, it’s inevitable. Everyone has to die sooner or later. And hey, after it happens, life can’t get worse. So, it’s basically a blessing, right?”

She looked at me, and I froze. Was she really expecting an answer to that question? What was the question? Had she been speaking? Where was I? Who was she? My vision blurred.

I panicked briefly, then shook my head as if trying to remove water from my ears. Audrey Stemple came back into focus. “A blessing?” I repeated, trying to fabricate a good reply.

“Well, yes,” Audrey Stemple said. “Think about it. Death is the final step. It’s the last thing that will ever happen to you. It’s the worst thing that will happen in your life. But when it’s over, it’s over. The end. Curtain. Roll credits.”

With a smirk, I replied, “Audrey Stemple. You sound like me.” She cocked an eyebrow at me, a dark slash in the otherwise perfect skin. “So, what, pray tell, do you make of death?”

Silence fell over her once more. She shifted her gaze back to the Abercrombie and Fitch sign. The store front was carved of mahogany, with silver lettering spelling out the name. In the windows there were mannequins in stiff poses and generic expressions, modeling for the random passersby. Incidentally, the only passerby was myself and Audrey Stemple, since there was a fiery inferno being extinguished behind us. They wore the latest fashions on their bulimia inspired forms, hands firm and wrists inflexible. Skeletons of the real, fleshy, rounded homosapien. The reflection of the flames behind us created the illusion that the skeletons of white were trapped in a bonfire of epic proportions.

She turned back to me, and opened her mouth as if to speak. Then she closed it again. Without another word, she turned to watch the reflected flames dance in the storefront window. I wanted to urge her to speak, but for a long moment the silence was comforting. For a moment it felt as though she was still alive, and I was intruding on her solitude, a forgotten and invisible entity.

“I suppose it feels like I assumed it would. I mean, it feels as though I’m standing in a mall, staring at a store. Nothing has changed within me, except…” She trailed off.

“Except what, Audrey Stemple?” I asked.

She turned back to me, a smile in place, and laughed. Glancing down at the torturous stilettos she wore, she said with a smile, “My feet don’t hurt anymore.”