Suicide Girls In The AfterLife Read Free

the grand white structure lit up as if for a debutante’s ball. “What is this place?”
   “This,” Salvadore says, “is the Sterling Hotel.”
   
     

Chapter 7
       We move through the crowd and begin ascending the hotel’s two dozen marble stairs to the revolving glass doors that allow us access into the elegant building and its beautifully refined lobby.
   Despite all the bustling outside, the lobby is relatively calm. A few people are seated on lush white furniture, speaking in soothing tones and smiling and nodding at each other.
   “This is too weird for me,” I say, stopping in my tracks. “Why does everyone seem so nice?”
   Salvadore shrugs. “They’re mostly pretty nice, I suppose.”
   “Is this the afterlife? A fancy hotel? Because if it is, I have to tell you, I’m kind of disappointed.”
   He stares at me, looking vaguely annoyed. “We have to get you checked in. As I think I mentioned, I have other appointments.”
   “Are most people happy to find out this is the afterlife?” I glance around again. “I can’t believe they’re happy about it.”
   Salvadore sighs. “This isn’t quite the afterlife, Pogue.”
   “It’s not?”
   “I’m not supposed to say anything about this. But, frankly, you’re getting on my nerves. You were supposed to go to the seminar.”
   “What seminar?”
   “The seminar that would explain all this to you.” He gestures at our surroundings. “This is just where we have to put you up for a while. Free of charge, of course.”
   “Put me up? What are you talking about?” I am beginning to suspect that I’m not actually dead at all. My suicide attempt must have failed and now I’m in some loony-bin, probably imagining all of this. Salvadore is probably a head shrinker. Unless I’m imagining him too. “I’m not really dead, am I? Fuck! I knew I’d manage to screw it up somehow.” I stand there shaking my head, disgusted with myself.
   “You’re dead all right,” Salvadore says.
   I look at him, skeptical. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
   He holds up a hand, his thumb and pinky folded down. “Scout’s Honor, Pogue. You are indeed dead.”
   It takes me a second to decide whether or not I believe him, but then I smile. He does seem like an honest old coot. “Oh, thank God. I was sick of my life. You have no idea.”
   Rolling his eyes, he says, “Can we get back to business, please?”
   “Oh, right. Sure. You were saying something about a seminar?”
   “Yes. But never mind that because you won’t need to attend it now.”
   “Why not?” For some reason I feel slightly jilted.
   Salvadore is starting to look extremely distressed and impatient, so I just forget my last question and resign myself to let him tell me whatever it is he needs to tell me. Which turns out to be this: “Both Heaven and Hell are undergoing some renovations right now. Everyone who’s already there is fine. But we have nowhere to put up all the newcomers, like yourself. You have to understand, both places—but particularly Hell—are growing in scope and size every day. So, every few millennia, we have to make renovations here and there. Spruce the place up, if you will.”
   I listen to all this, nodding as if I know what he’s talking about. When it seems like he’s finished, I say, “So, you put everyone in a hotel?”
   “That’s correct, yes.”
   It’s my turn to sigh and I let out a huge one. “Wow. That’s pretty fucked up. When will the renovations be complete?”
   He smiles, like he’s finally on familiar ground again. “Any day now.” He holds out a hand to me. “Shall we get you checked in now?”
   I think about it, regarding his outstretched hand carefully. “I guess so,” I say finally, taking his hand and allowing him to lead me to the front desk where a clerk with a pencil-thin mustache awaits,