Page 2 of Meet Me After Life

‘So, what you’re saying is: you’re not sad and you’d like me to fuck off.’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Well, okay then. I’ll let you find the door yourself.’

‘Thank you.’ And as I said it the goat trod away into the thicket, so I decided to walk not that way.

I kept walking. Walking seemed the only reasonable thing to do. And after a while, I came to a series of doors. Hills and hills filled with doors. They stood with nothing before or behind them. And I realised what the goat meant. Because above each door was a word. And each word was almost like a magnet. Some I felt a small pull towards. Others I felt pushed away. I read each one with passing intrigue. Spite, ambition, greed, harmony, resonance. The doors went on and on. I searched for a long while. But nothing really felt like me. And when I thought I could force it — I couldn’t. I’d try the handles but they wouldn’t open. Not until I found the one. My one.

The word inscribed above it felt like a beacon, a light, a mast. It became clear that all along, this was the word I’d been searching for. And all along was a lot longer than the distance of this journey. This was my door. It was not especially beautiful. No flashy displays. No intricate details. Just a large door, painted white. It was perfect. I reached for it, and in turn, I felt something reach back for me. It felt like greeting an old friend, it felt like coming home.

My fingertips glided across the brass handle. A high tinkering sound rung, like the high notes on a piano being played.

‘Miller.’

I turned.

A man?

A man. In a suit. A tailored black suit. It fit him well. He had incredible bone structure. And those eyes…

‘Hello,’ I told the stranger.

I watched his brows pinch with confusion. Or maybe anger, fear… longing?

The goat would have had a fucking field day trying to find this guy’s door.

The stranger had strange tattoos to match his overall handsome brand of strangeness. I looked at them and tried to think. There was something. Something about him I could feel, but I couldn’t place. His thumb tapped against his fingers at his side, drawing my attention. I swear I knew the feeling of those hands. Large and warm, holding me, guiding my hips. And those fingers. A chill raced up my spine. And that body — tall, lean, and powerful — crowding me, backed against hardwood.

The corner of his mouth lifted and a spark of recognition fired in my mind, and all that fear and sadness and dread came bowling into me.

Walker.

I couldn’t catch my breath. I felt myself scatter like pins in the pit. I felt myself ripping apart again. I felt myself falling to pieces as he watched.

A smile. Cruel? Elated? Fuck, where was the goat?

He was not a good man, this I knew.

What he said next, I’ll never forget.

He said⁠—

Hold it, Hold it.

I’ve completely fucked the formatting.

Sorry about this guys.

—the story actually starts⁠—

Here…

Chapter One

The Move

I wait on the loveseat in my lounge, which also happens to be my bed, since this space doubles as my bedroom, triples as my kitchen and – on the frequent occasion my ensuite door decides to jam – it becomes my bathroom, too. (I’m not proud of the things I’ve had to do in the kitchen sink.)