Step up,” Brutus urged with a smile of sympathy. Brian was not reassured.
He stepped onto the scale. An arrow began to climb its way around the circle clockwise, from six o’clock up to nine, then twelve. There were murmurs of expectation from the peanut gallery that grew more and more anxious the higher the arrow climbed.
Brian had no clue what he was looking at, but he felt his anxiety climbing along with the crowd’s. What if this wasn’t a dream? If he really were dead, this was important, right? And red couldn’t be good, could it?
Round and round the arrow inched, one o’clock, two, three. Now it was getting close to the red area. Slower. Slower. Ding! The arrow stopped. It appeared to be right on the line between gold and red. Above the circle a word flashed: “LIMBO.” The invisible crowd murmured and gasped in surprise.
“What does that mean?” Brian asked Brutus anxiously. “Is that bad?”
Brutus nodded toward the man at the desk.
The white-haired judge spoke in a droll voice. “Oh, goodie. Another one.”
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“You’re in the gray zone. You’re fortunate that truck came along when it did. At the rate you were going, a few more days and you would have been as crimson as a Sahara sunrise.”
Brian squinted hard at the circle. There was, indeed, a tiny sliver of gray between the gold and the red and that’s where the arrow sat. “What happens when you’re in the red?”
The man at the desk didn’t blink, but suddenly the floor opened up near Brian, sliding back an invisible trap door. From below, flames and firelight flickered up. There was a horrible smell like rotten eggs and there were the most hideous sounds—screaming and wailing and what sounded like bones crunching and….
“Oh, my God,” Brian whispered, terrified.
“The name is Peter,” the man replied with a cold smile. “But I’ll pass your invocation along.”
The trapdoor slid shut and instantly the smell, and the sounds, vanished as if they’d never been.
“Are you saying I could have gone to hell ?”
“You are in the gray zone,” Peter said distinctly, not answering the question. “That means you get one last chance to redeem yourself. You need a certain volume of good deeds to push yourself back into the gold. Should you fail to achieve that in the time allotted, you will be in the red. Do you accept this challenge, or do you wish to forfeit? If you forfeit you take the red now.”
Brian felt his mouth hanging open. He tried to summon a coherent thought beyond sheer panic. “But what if I can’t do it? How does it—”
“Yes or no! Decide!” Peter barked.
“Y-yes. The challenge. The not-red option. Just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything!”
“Excellent choice,” Peter said crisply. He raised his fingers.
Snap .
I NSTANTLY , B RIAN was somewhere else. It was a much smaller room, all white, with a white couch made of something shiny like vinyl. Brutus had come along and he didn’t seem at all alarmed at the quick change. He smiled amiably and stared off into space. Brian felt a little woozy and decided to sit down. No refreshments were offered. Maybe Brian’s body—if it could be called that—didn’t need any.
He took stock. Unfortunately, he was starting to feel certain this wasn’t a dream. He would have expected to be a lot more horrified by that than he was—because, like, dead. Being dead was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to anyone, anywhere, any time. Yet the idea, I am dead , did not seem as awful as it should have. Maybe it wasn’t that terrible because it had already happened, or because he was still… him, or maybe because somehow he’d skipped over the pain and blood part. Go, shock-induced amnesia! Then again, maybe he wasn’t feeling panicked because that light was so amazing! It made him feel blissed out, like emotional Novocain or a rockin’ smooth buzz.
He turned up his face and drank it in. Ah. How
He stepped onto the scale. An arrow began to climb its way around the circle clockwise, from six o’clock up to nine, then twelve. There were murmurs of expectation from the peanut gallery that grew more and more anxious the higher the arrow climbed.
Brian had no clue what he was looking at, but he felt his anxiety climbing along with the crowd’s. What if this wasn’t a dream? If he really were dead, this was important, right? And red couldn’t be good, could it?
Round and round the arrow inched, one o’clock, two, three. Now it was getting close to the red area. Slower. Slower. Ding! The arrow stopped. It appeared to be right on the line between gold and red. Above the circle a word flashed: “LIMBO.” The invisible crowd murmured and gasped in surprise.
“What does that mean?” Brian asked Brutus anxiously. “Is that bad?”
Brutus nodded toward the man at the desk.
The white-haired judge spoke in a droll voice. “Oh, goodie. Another one.”
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“You’re in the gray zone. You’re fortunate that truck came along when it did. At the rate you were going, a few more days and you would have been as crimson as a Sahara sunrise.”
Brian squinted hard at the circle. There was, indeed, a tiny sliver of gray between the gold and the red and that’s where the arrow sat. “What happens when you’re in the red?”
The man at the desk didn’t blink, but suddenly the floor opened up near Brian, sliding back an invisible trap door. From below, flames and firelight flickered up. There was a horrible smell like rotten eggs and there were the most hideous sounds—screaming and wailing and what sounded like bones crunching and….
“Oh, my God,” Brian whispered, terrified.
“The name is Peter,” the man replied with a cold smile. “But I’ll pass your invocation along.”
The trapdoor slid shut and instantly the smell, and the sounds, vanished as if they’d never been.
“Are you saying I could have gone to hell ?”
“You are in the gray zone,” Peter said distinctly, not answering the question. “That means you get one last chance to redeem yourself. You need a certain volume of good deeds to push yourself back into the gold. Should you fail to achieve that in the time allotted, you will be in the red. Do you accept this challenge, or do you wish to forfeit? If you forfeit you take the red now.”
Brian felt his mouth hanging open. He tried to summon a coherent thought beyond sheer panic. “But what if I can’t do it? How does it—”
“Yes or no! Decide!” Peter barked.
“Y-yes. The challenge. The not-red option. Just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything!”
“Excellent choice,” Peter said crisply. He raised his fingers.
Snap .
I NSTANTLY , B RIAN was somewhere else. It was a much smaller room, all white, with a white couch made of something shiny like vinyl. Brutus had come along and he didn’t seem at all alarmed at the quick change. He smiled amiably and stared off into space. Brian felt a little woozy and decided to sit down. No refreshments were offered. Maybe Brian’s body—if it could be called that—didn’t need any.
He took stock. Unfortunately, he was starting to feel certain this wasn’t a dream. He would have expected to be a lot more horrified by that than he was—because, like, dead. Being dead was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to anyone, anywhere, any time. Yet the idea, I am dead , did not seem as awful as it should have. Maybe it wasn’t that terrible because it had already happened, or because he was still… him, or maybe because somehow he’d skipped over the pain and blood part. Go, shock-induced amnesia! Then again, maybe he wasn’t feeling panicked because that light was so amazing! It made him feel blissed out, like emotional Novocain or a rockin’ smooth buzz.
He turned up his face and drank it in. Ah. How
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