“Ah.” Farnsworth purses his lips for a moment. “As I stated when you arrived, your man-made religions don’t apply here. You are no more an abomination than any of your neighbors.”
“It’s not a sin?”
His features soften somewhat. “You did not harm people or animals. Nor did you steal, lie, or cheat. You did not murder. You did your very best up to the end. This opportunity is your reward.”
“Reward?” My eyes sting with emotion. “I’m listening.”
“As a Soul Chaser, you’ll return to the Above, but with a small caveat. You’ll be tasked with hunting down assigned Horrors and returning them to the Below where they belong. Should you accept, we’ll begin your orientation.”
“What do you mean when you say I’ll return to the Above?”
“You will rejoin the living, but you must understand all that comes with it. This work is a difficult endeavor. The Horrors don’t wish to return, and they will go to great lengths to avoid it.”
“I see.”
“You will never die, Edward,” Farnsworth continues. “It can be a very long and lonely existence.”
“But it is an existence?”
“Yes.”
“If I decline, what happens?”
“You’ll go to the Below for proper sorting. It’s not all bad down there.” His lips curl into the slightest smile. “Though I do hope you’ll consider the offer. We’re in need of more Chasers.”
“There are many Horrors in the Above?”
“Unfortunately, yes. There’s an ever-increasing interest in the world beyond the veil amongst the living, and with that interest comes opportunities for the Horrors to escape.”
“Will I go back to the life I just left?”
“The moment you died will rewrite itself and you will live.”
I think of the new life I was just starting in Salem, of Lucy’s kindness, of Samuel’s beauty, of the black stray cat I’ve taken to calling Shadow. It’s a chance to go back and start again. I could be happy. It would be nice to know what that feels like before accepting my death.
“I need an answer, Edward, before we can proceed,” Farnsworth says.
The answer bubbles up inside me. “I accept your offer.”
Farnsworth smiles. “Very good. Let’s get started.”
Chapter 1
Wilder
Present Day
The knock on my door is expected, but unwelcome. I already know who it is, given my centuries of doing this work. With a heavy sigh, I heave myself off the couch and trudge across the room to open the door, blasted by a gust of cold air as I do.
As anticipated, a shadowy figure stands before me, holding my next assignment in a manila folder. The figure disappears once I take the folder. It can’t talk, so there’s never any exchanges or cordialities.
I open the folder as I walk back to my couch, skimming over the details. It doesn’t matter what they are, really. It’s always the same—human and or location haunted by a malevolent spirit. I could do this in my sleep at this point, but I don’t regret my choice. Though I should have read the fine print a little more clearly. When Farnsworth warned me that this is a long life, I failed to understand the truth of his words. Years become decades. Decades become centuries. And I admit, I’m a bit bored.
Even with the most challenging cases thrown my way, nothing is that difficult for me anymore, but I hold out hope thatone day, a truly nasty Horror will arrive. Perhaps today is that day.
I plop down on the couch, reading over the details. Target: Keagan Bishop, twenty-nine, Beverly, Mass. Now to read about the Horror and what’s happening to the target. I flip through a few more pages containing basic details about Keagan, but I’m far more interested in the Horror.
Harold Bishop, father of Keagan. What? The Horror is the target’s father? I continue reading, hoping there are more details. There aren’t always, but I’m in luck this time. The next few pages contain copies of articles about Harold Bishop. He was a suspect in the rash of serial killings that have plagued the North Shore the last five years, but they were never able to charge him with anything due to lack of evidence. He was shot in his own driveway by the grieving father of a dead girl just under a year ago. He escaped the Below two weeks ago, and was initially thought to be benign, until he found his target: his own son.
