The ambulance lights flashed in shades of blue and red, reflecting off puddles of oil and blood scattered across the asphalt. Rick stood just a few feet from the pickup truck.
He stepped closer slowly, his movements heavy, as if the ground itself resisted him.
Inside the vehicle, the body lay slumped over the steering wheel. Blood trickled down his forehead, too dark — almost black — like old ink.
The window glass was cracked, and the radio played some random country tune. mocked the horror unfolding before it, or tried to mask what had happened.
Outside, two officers observed the scene. One gestured to the other, pointing at Rick's lifeless body.
But Rick heard nothing. It was as if the world had been drowned in silence and strangeness.
"Hey, what's going on?" he shouted, trying to get their attention.
No one looked his way.
"Officer, what's happening here?" — he called out again, louder, his voice trembling.
His words echoed, but no one reacted. It was like speaking to walls.
He stepped toward one of the officers, reaching out to touch his shoulder — but his hand passed through, like smoke.
"What...?" — his voice shook with confusion.
"I'm right here!" he yelled, desperate.
Nothing.
The officer kept talking, but his lips moved without sound. Rick turned back to the truck. To himself. To the blood. To the lifeless face.
"This can't be happening..."
The radio grew louder. And for a moment, he heard a voice:
You shouldn't be here.
He stepped back, staring at his own body again. The blood seemed to shift, as if it had a pulse. One eye was slightly open — and for a second, Rick thought it was looking at him.
The siren flashed. The world spun. And Rick felt something approaching — something that didn't belong to either side of reality.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Calm. Reassuring.
Rick turned and saw a beautiful woman gazing at him warmly, her eyes maternal and kind.
"Rick, we need to talk."
~~~~~~
"So I'm dead…" Rick said, his voice hoarse, trying to make sense of the strange world he'd been plunged into.
Tessa smiled gently. There was no judgment in her eyes — only understanding.
"Yes, Rick."
He tried to sit up, his muscles still heavy, as if his own body rejected him.
"Is this… real? Am I really dead?"
She nodded softly, her gaze drifting toward the other side of the room, where a corpse lay beneath a white sheet.
Rick looked down at himself. He was dressed, intact — but something was missing. Something essential. Like a soul poorly stitched into a shell.
"Is this some kind of punishment?"
Tessa stepped closer, her voice low and soothing.
"No. It's a transition. And I'm here to help you accept it."
He laughed, bitterly.
"Accept it? How does anyone accept being dead?"
She touched his hand, and Rick felt an unexpected warmth. A strange comfort, familiar yet foreign. Like sipping something hot on a cold day, or the quiet after a long, chaotic one.
"Because there's peace on the other side. There's rest. And staying here… might be far more painful."
Rick looked at the body. At the sheet. At the silence.
"So I go to heaven or something?" — his voice was detached, hopeless.
She looked him in the eyes, deeply.
"I can't tell you that."
Rick frowned, fists clenched at his sides.
"What if I don't want to go?"
Tessa looked away for a moment, staring into the surrounding void.
"It's not about wanting, Rick. It's about what's already been decided."
He stepped forward, voice cracking.
"There's no way back?"
Tessa answered with a calm that bordered on cruel, as if what was happening was nothing unusual.
"No, Rick."
He clenched his jaw, trying to appear strong, but vulnerability leaked through every word.
"Then I'll stay."
Tessa sighed, like someone who had heard that line many times before.
"Then you'll be trapped. Between worlds. Between pain. Between memories that no longer belong to you. Stuck in a place of suffering, until it changes you."
Rick closed his eyes. And for the first time, the silence felt comforting. But a bubbling rage followed.
"I shouldn't be dead," he shouted.
"That bastard… that unnatural thing. That abomination killed me." — Rick spat the words with fury, his eyes burning. "I should be alive."
He looked at her with restrained fury, as if Tessa were complicit simply for existing in that liminal space. Another supernatural entity.
His voice was a mix of pain and defiance.
"What's the logic in this, huh? You show up, unnatural things mess with the rules, decide who lives and who dies… and I'm just supposed to accept it?"
Tessa held her gaze, but there was weight in her expression. She wasn't indifferent — she simply knew truths Rick couldn't yet grasp.
For the first time, Tessa's eyes hardened.
"Rick, it doesn't matter anymore. These things aren't meant to be understood. You just have to accept and move on."
With growing anger, he asked — more to himself than to her:
"So I go to heaven, hell, or something? Is that it? It all ends?"
Rick began pacing, agitated. The world seemed to lose its color, dissolving like ink in water, until only shades of gray remained.
It was like being trapped in an old film — everything black and white, except for the rage boiling in his chest. The walls trembled ominously.
Tessa looked around, surprised and slightly frightened.
"Rick… anger and hatred have turned you into the very thing that killed you."
She stepped closer, cautiously.
Rick stopped and looked at her. But in his mind, only rage had a voice now.
"The same thing?" — he snapped.
"The same damn thing? You've got to be kidding me!"
Rick stepped forward, eyes ablaze.
"I was killed by something — some unnatural freak. And now you tell me I have to accept it calmly? Without even feeling angry?"
He breathed heavily, each word spat with pain.
"You want me to swallow all this in silence? Just move on like nothing happened?"
Rick turned, eyes locked on her, searching for a justification.
"You talk like it's easy. Like dying is a relief."
He stepped back, breath ragged.
"But what about everything I was? Everything I felt? Everything it ripped away from me?"
The silence between them was thick, almost tangible.
"You want me to let go of that? To say goodbye without a fight?"
Tessa held her gaze, but a shadow of sorrow lingered in her eyes.
"Rick, you mustn't fear death. Only accept it." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Rick calmed down. He felt peace. The colors seemed to return to the world, and Tessa's expression softened.
"No." He slapped her hand away and stepped back.
"This isn't how it ends." — he growled through clenched teeth. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered to a deep, dark black.
The world drained of color again, and the shelves began to shake.
The shelves trembled. Reality seemed to fade, as if being drained from within. Tessa stepped back, eyes locked on Rick, who now shook with rage.
But then… everything stopped.
A deafening silence took over the morgue. The light flickered once. Then again. And then, everything settled.
Tessa stood still, eyes fixed on something unseen — as if listening to a whisper from far away. A faint scent of sulfur spread through the air, subtle but present.
Then she looked at the body beneath the white sheet. Something was wrong.
The sheet… moved.
She stepped closer, eyes wide. The fabric trembled slightly, as if something beneath it was breathing.
Outside, a nurse entered the morgue with a clipboard in hand. She was there to log the body's arrival. Just routine.
"Body of Rick Vexley, arrived at 3:17 AM…" — she murmured, not looking directly at the sheet.
But as she approached, she stopped.
The sheet was moving.
She frowned, gently pulled the fabric back.
Rick was there. Pale. Motionless.
But then… the fingers of his right hand twitched.
The nurse stepped back, dropping the clipboard. Then she returned, checking his pulse.
A look of shock crossed her face.
"Alive…" — she whispered, barely believing it.
She leaned in again, trembling, and placed two fingers on Rick's neck. The pulse was weak, but real. The body, once cold, now gave off a faint warmth.
Tessa watched in silence, her face tense. This wasn't normal. This wasn't natural.
"What did you do…?"