Michelle had recently lowered herself to eating insects. Frequently if she wasn’t willing to eat something with more than four legs, she didn’t eat at all. The route her dead guide took her on didn’t take them past many shops that had food inside. On a good week they might find two or three places where the little boy would stop and point his emaciated finger and let her know food or water was present. He was never wrong, and that cheered her up. She now lived for those moments. Even if all they pointed out to her was a spoiling fruit, or a small lizard she had to catch and cook herself. Sometimes she’d start to make a fire at night to stay warm, or cook with, and the small boy would shake his head no to her, and she’d have to eat the lizard raw. She’d gotten used to that. It wasn't so bad when you were starving to death.
That evening in October the little boy led her off the main road for a bit, down a drive to the coastline that was straight as an arrow, and lined with budding palm trees reaching towards the blue sky like a row of outstretched fingers. At the end of the drive she discovered a large house perched right against the water that looked like it belonged in the Caribbean on an island resort. The tall stone walls circling the estate were a pinkish coral color, and topped with giant iron spikes. As they approached the massive wrought iron gate of the palatial estate, Michelle wondered for the first time if the boy was leading her to other survivors.
The two halves of the baroque gate swung apart and inward as the boy approached it, as if by magic. A sea breeze picked up at that exact moment, and mixed with the customary scent of sea salt, Michelle noticed the gentle caress of lilies. Her skin prickled with anticipation, feeling that another moment with the greater power was near at hand. Unconsciously she picked up her gait to close the distance between her and the boy.
Inside the compound walls there had been a bloodbath. A grey cobblestone driveway encircled an ornate fountain of a cherub, long since run dry. The tiny bow in the angel’s hands stood out as a macabre joke, an angelic warrior standing idle, watching death surround it. Judging by the rotting and festering bodies tossed about around it, there had been much death to observe. Michelle pulled her red bandana up over her mouth and nose one once. Her barren stomach clenched in revulsion as the boy led her impassively through the gore filled, overgrown yard, and into the massive estate.
Inside was slightly more palatable. Only one body lay in the white tile hall, and it was desiccated to the point where Michelle couldn’t tell the sex anymore. It was facedown and naked for whatever reason, and her mind wandered to dark places trying to ascertain what had happened in this house of death.
Her dead guide walked her though the home, eventually exiting the open back onto a veranda that was as beautiful as the courtyard was horrible. The sun was setting to the side of the home, casting long streaks of golden color onto the frothy white waves cresting into the rocky shore. The light wind coming off the water smelled of the best things the sea had to offer. It reminded her of freshness, a sweet salty air, and the promise of clean skin. Michelle had stopped to take in the grandeur of the ocean, and the beauty of the home. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was.
When the wind shifted, she was reminded instantly of where she was. The wretched odor of the death nearby ensured her of a strong dose of reality. She shook her head and lowered the bandana, looking around for her intrepid undead companion. He was standing at the end of the veranda, near the very corner of the house. He waited until she saw him, and then pointed out a hammock swaying to and fro in the ocean breeze.
She walked to him, smiling at the comfort she hoped the hammock would bring her later. “Is this bed for tonight? Any chance there is food around here too?” Michelle was almost in a good mood.
The little dead black boy cocked his head to the side, his expression shifting to one of subtle amusement. Then his chest began to inflate. Michelle’s heart jumped in her chest as she realized he might speak to her. She knew it was inevitable when that welcome scent played again in her nose, the floral essence of lilies.
“There is food here. Tonight you shall sleep. Tonight you shall dream.”
And dream she did.
*****
Until the day she died Michelle knew she would never forget a single detail about the dream she had that night. In fact, most nights after that October night on the veranda, Michelle fell asleep thinking about the dream. The dream of The White Room.
Michelle Annabelle Lewis fell asleep under the stars to the rhythm of the waves cresting and beating against the rocks of the shore. When her mind pulled gently away from reality and entered the dream, she was still in the hammock, and had the fresh scent of the ocean in her nose.
The soft white light of the room emanated strong enough through her eyelids to let her know she was no longer swinging in the dark, suspended in the hammock above the veranda floor. Michelle had opened her eyes in the dream, revealing a sky above, filled with white puffy clouds that reminded her of a certain summer day spent in church. She heard the chirps of song birds in the distance, and instantly she felt welcomed, and at ease.
“Shelly, sit up, we need to talk to you,” a man’s voice spoke to her. It was the soft tenor of her father’s voice.
Michelle sat up in the hammock, steadying herself in the mesh of snow white rope. She swung her head around in the featureless white space, looking for her father. “Daddy? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m right here peanut.” From behind her.
Before Michelle turned to the direction of the voice her heart was already pounding with glee. She had worried so badly about her mother and father since June. She had spent many an uncomfortable, sleepless night wondering what their fate was. When she turned, she saw her father sitting in a white chair against a white wall. He was dressed as she remembered him, wearing cotton khaki slacks, a button up white shirt, and a sweater vest. He loved his sweater vests.
Michelle got herself off the hammock and ran to him. In The White Room she was barefoot, and her delicate feet danced across the soft white floor to him. He stood and embraced her for what felt like forever, and yet was not long enough.
“You look good.” Her father smiled at her. She absorbed the familiar wrinkles of his face as she gazed on him.
“I look terrible. I haven’t taken good care of myself lately. If I were awake right now, you’d be chastising me for playing in the dirt.” Michelle smiled and wiped away the tears of joy running down her cheek. “How is mother, are you both okay?”
Her father never lost his smile as he shook his head at her. “Oh no Shelly. We’re dead.”
Michelle’s tears of joy abruptly stopped. “Wha-? What? How?”
“We died in a bombing I think. We were at the townhouse we just bought in Richmond. We were doing well. We had plenty of food and water. One minute we were there, then we heard some loud explosions outside, then the next second we were gone. I just hope the explosion was powerful enough to destroy our bodies. I’d hate to think we are still out there menacing the living.” He smiled sadly.
Michelle shook her head the whole time he spoke. “That can’t be. I mean…”
“Oh it can be Shelly. It's okay. It was our time. No sense arguing the point. There are far bigger fish to fry now.” That was one of his favorite ways to distract her. Whenever Michelle became angry, or frustrated, he always told her to not worry or fret. After all, there are always bigger fish to fry.
“You’ve met Oudry already?” It was less a question, and more of a presentation. As he asked her he gestured down and to his side, and Michelle noticed her dead guide had joined them in The White Room.
He sidled up next to her father and smiled a normal, boyish grin. His ravaged arm was made whole in the dream, and his ashen skin had returned to a healthy, dark sheen. Oudry’s smile was infectious, and Michelle couldn’t help but soak it in. He seemed so normal and loving here.
“Hello Michelle. I’m glad to have been chosen to be with you.” Oudry said in clean accented English, in his own voice.
Her lips trembled at the sound of his real voice. It was lilting, and innocent. “Oudry, what a wonderful name. I am sorry if I’ve been bad company to you on our journey thus far. I don’t understand all that is happening, and my patience and faith have been tested.” Michelle’s mind drifted painfully from the reality that her parents had died.
Oudry nodded in agreement with her as Michelle’s father spoke. “That is why we are here now. We’ve been asked to speak with you about some of what has transpired. Much has been revealed to us my daughter.”
Michelle’s heart leapt once more into her throat. Just the thought of learning more about what was happening made her tremble on the inside. In an instant she was rewound two decades to her college days, when everything was new to her. She felt revitalized, even there in the mystical dreamscape of The White Room.
“Come, sit at the table. It's important.” Her father gestured to the part of the room she hadn’t paid any attention to yet. A few feet away there was a round table. Like the rest of the room it was as white as a cloud in the sky, and gave off a perfectly normal luminescence that calmed and soothed. Arranged around the small circular table were three chairs, and her father, little Oudry, and Michelle moved to the seats. Once they were all seated, her father leaned forward onto the table, and crossed his fingers.
“Shelly, you’ve been chosen for a special purpose,” he said in a voice that had a hint of fatherly pride in it.
Michelle swallowed. “What purpose is that dad? I feel like all I’ve done is walk across half of Africa, starving, watching people kill each other, and fighting back the urge to vomit as the dead murder the living. This seems more like ordinary torture to me dad.”
Her father nodded knowingly. He did that a lot when she was growing up. “I know dear. Your fatigue and loneliness must be tremendous. I can tell you’re hurting, and I know this seems like hell on earth to you, but it’s all part of a plan that even I don’t fully understand yet. I do know that this journey is necessary for your purpose.”
Oudry spoke up, “We are traveling to meet the Warden.” He looked back and forth from Michelle to her father and back again. It seemed like he was unsure if he was supposed to say what he’d just let slip.
“Who is the Warden?” Michelle asked her father and the boy.
The two men, one young, one old looked at each other, trying to figure out a way to explain what confused even them. Her father was the first to speak, “We don’t know who the Warden is. All we know of him is that he is the protector of the Trinity. And you are a member of that Trinity. Oudry has been charged with keeping you safe until you can be united with the Warden.”
“What’s the Trinity? The holy trinity? I’m lost.” Michelle paged through her knowledge searching for information about all things related to threes. There were multitudes of entries relating to the number three. Many religions found it important. She shook her head in thought.
“Not exactly. There is power in numbers Shelly. I don’t know why, but there is. It is like physics, or chemistry, or love and faith. It just is, and that’s how things work. Mysterious ways, right? Three happens to be a powerful symbol, and the wheels that have set this in motion have decided that the Trinity shall be the final chance for mankind’s salvation.”
“The wheels that set this in motion? Do you mean God?” The ultimate question.
Her father took a deep breath and pondered the question. After a long time of searching for the right words, he responded, “God is as good a word as we will ever use, yes.”
“So he exists? God really exists?” Michelle couldn’t help but smile. The White Room and everything that had happened in it thus far was literally a dream come true for her. She’d spent her whole life searching for God, and in a dream she’d found proof of it.
“Of all the people left in the world Shelly, you need to be careful calling ‘God’ a ‘he.’ Ascribing a sex to something as all encompassing as the Divine is to fall into the same trap that has led humanity to the catechism we are in. It is your role in this to guide humanity to a better understanding of what faith really should be.” Her father was almost sad as he told her all this.
Michelle was confused. She looked at her father and Oudry for some time, fathoming what he had said to her. She was meant to guide humanity? How would she do that? She hadn’t met a single living person since the Congo. Everyone alive had been killed by each other or the dead before she had the chance to speak with them.
Oudry spoke up, “You should be proud. God chose you to represent what he wants. He wants you to show everyone a better way.”
That helped her. It was much simpler than what her father had said, and seemed eternally better to her somehow. “I don’t know if I’m up for that. That is an awful lot of responsibility.”
“You are not alone in this,” her father told her.
“The Trinity?” She asked.
He nodded. “And more. Many more. The Divine has taken measures to ensure that you are given a fair chance at saving humanity. Many will help you along your journey. Like Oudry here for example. He is your protector until you can meet the Warden.”
Michelle was suddenly very happy for having her undead friend along all this time. Then a dark thought struck her. “Wait. If the Divine started all this, why do I need protecting? Can’t the Divine protect me by will alone? The dead are his instruments right? Why can’t the Divine just protect me without the need for Oudry and this Warden person?”
Her father looked scared. It was the first time she had ever seen her father scared. The White Room’s light waned as he began to talk again, “I don’t fully understand it all yet. But what I have pieced together, is that there is more than one force at play now.”
Michelle’s eyes darted around the darkening room, searching for ideas as to what that could mean. Her brain put two and two together, and she was not pleased with what she said next, “Whoa. Satan? Is it the Devil?”