Devorah flickered into existence like a lamp just switched on. Half expecting to still be in the parlor, she looked around. There were two immediate noticeable differences.
The first was an ever present nagging at the back of her mind. A little presence that said open me! Pay attention to me! Hello! Like she had a mailbox attached to her brain. Devorah decided to ignore it for the time being.
The second was that her surroundings had changed. Devorah was alone, and in another mishmash of an accurate set designer’s worst nightmare. It seemed to be some kind of office, and one that clearly resonated with the room she had been in earlier. One wall was completely lined with books, which upon closer inspection were in a dense mix of languages and forms of binding. All were aged, whether by time or from matches and liberally applied citric acid. The others were stacked with shelves of all kinds of strange paraphernalia, but on a quick glance seemed to primarily follow a nautical and whaling theme.
There’s a flash of pain in warning- or perhaps in sympathy for the whale. Dev wasn’t sure. Either way, she allowed the tips of her fingers to trace the line of book spines all the way to the end.
Devorah decided to turn her attention to the desk at the end of the room. That little box in her subconscious was still nagging her, but she pushed it aside again.
A pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat on the desk. The frame was made from a metal synthesized from the stone under Samaria’s deep sands. The first of their kind had been round, the same color as Devorah’s eyes and carefully chosen by a woman with those same honey brown irises. Devorah had sat on a small, uncomfortable chair in a bright room as that woman slid them on her face.
Devorah knew that pair on the desk well. They were her own glasses.
They were an expensive pair. Devorah had opted for a new, more academic style after she was accepted to her graduate studies program. She had been willing to pay for a cheaper pair made of synthetic frames with her meager allotment, but Devorah’s mother insisted on covering the costs.
Devorah knew it was strange to be reliant on glasses these days. Most parents had their children’s eyes surgically fixed when they began showing signs of weak vision. But Dev’s mom, she had wanted it to be her own choice, when Dev was old enough to make an informed decision on her own body.
The idea of something foreign entering her, changing her… Devorah was never comfortable with it, even if it would have made her life easier. Maybe that made her a bit of a luddite, but that never bothered Devorah much. That could have been one of the things that drew her to history in the first place, that old-fashioned sensibility.
Yet when Sophitty first saw Devorah, she assumed that Devorah wore glasses for the aesthetic. To look more professorly, Sophitty had said. When Devorah thoughtlessly corrected her with a “professorial” Sophitty insisted it only proved her point.
Devorah felt naked without them.
Thankfully, the frames were still intact. The glass, too. Aside from a deep brown, crusty stain ruining the left lens. Probably blood. Hopefully dirt.
Dev reached down to pick them up and her hand phased through it. Just like with the phone. But somehow, Amina had been able to lift that lamp. Not that she was able to get very far with it. It was still more than Dev could do.
Amina was able to do a lot of things Dev couldn’t do. Pick things up, actually be able to wear pants in this awful afterlife, get a girlfriend..
Devorah shook her head. Enough moping! There was more to accomplish.
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Like testing the boundaries of her abilities. When she had first come to, she had been unable to walk through the walls of her holding area. There were limits to her incorporeality, likely programmed into her very cell-like bots that made up the illusion of her.
But there was a chance to be solid. To be person-like, if not entirely human again. There was a hint of humanity in being able to hug her friends again- Bell and Eugenia, along with Albert who had not exactly been a friend though Devorah mourned his death.
With trepidation, Devorah eyed the oak double doors at the end of the study. This was it- the truest possible test of her limitations. If she could pass through the doors, she could investigate her situation further. And reunite with her friends, of course. An alliance with Bell, Eugenia and Albert wouldn’t be the worst case scenario. Bell was stronger than most humans and, as a navigator, had great spatial awareness. Eugenia was a master of puzzles and wordplay, and Albert’s medical knowledge, while dated, was a great help.
Not to brag, Devorah was pretty good at research too.
There was really only one element missing from a perfect team line-up. Someone that was good with people. Not kind or friendly. No. Someone good at spotting lies. Someone persuasive. Someone who knew how to get people to talk.
Someone like Anna.
Devorah closed her eyes. It was better this way.
No matter how much Devorah wished Anna was here, she couldn’t wish death on her. Not after she gave her life to secure Anna that chance to live in the future.
Devorah opened her eyes, meeting the double doors again.
Steeling herself with unneeded breath, Devorah took the first halting step in the direction of the doors. There was no sound of the sole of her foot hitting the wooden floor, or of any kind of warning noise to stop her progression. Bolstered, she took another step. And another. Devorah kept walking forward, speed and confidence increasing each time.
Only once her guard came down, Devorah smacked into an invisible wall.
She hadn’t even reached the double doors.
Rubbing her nose, Devorah considered the invisible wall. She backed up a few steps and went forward again, bumping her forehead this time. Yes, still there.
Huffing, Devorah inched her way to the boundary. When she felt its presence, this time Devorah tentatively reached out with one of her arms. Strangely enough, her arms could pass through the boundary while her head and nose could not.
Once her arm was fully extended, it hit another invisible boundary. With the sensitive pads of her fingers, Devorah couldn’t exactly feel anything stopping her. It was just air.
That meant it was her own programming that was stopping her from moving. But why couldn’t she reach the doors? Was this a way to keep her bound to this little office?
There wasn’t much more she could do about that, at least for the moment. Devorah retreated to the desk with her pair of glasses. With a huff, she sat down on the mahogany chair behind the desk, remembering how Eugenia had sat in the parlor.
Devorah could feel the weight of the heavy burgundy upholstery under her ass. Devorah fell forward and let her forehead smack the desk. With a sound that was half groan and half muffled scream, Devorah lamented the contradictory rules for ghosts.
Yeah, it would be annoying if they couldn’t sit down, and it would be even more annoying if they were constantly falling through the floorboards. But ugh, what Dev wouldn’t give for a rulebook. AI Ghosts 101- here’s what you can touch and also here’s why you keep getting weird headaches triggered by the most random things. Oh, and here’s some free therapy because clearly being murdered is pretty traumatic!
The mailbox in her head rattled as if responding to her train of thought. Right. That was a thing that was there. Devorah slammed her head against the desk again.
She totally should have checked her messages first. But how to do it?
“Mailbox?” Devorah said. No response.
Eyes closed, Devorah focused on manifesting the image of a box. Nothing. Then she tried a messaging window. Still nothing.
Dev cursed herself for being so stubborn. Neural messaging had grown in popularity over the past few years, but once again Devorah had been too paranoid to get anything installed in her brain. Maybe if she had, she would know how to open instant messages with this new body forced on her.
At least she wasn’t alone in this. Dev would be willing to put money down on some of the historic dead being in an even worse position than her. Albert probably hadn’t even realized that he even received a message, assuming one had been sent to every ghost. The notifications were obvious enough, though… Oh!
“Open notifications.”