Hereafter by Tara Hudson Page B

final impulse was a little less familiar. A little out of my character, as I’d come to know it since death. Following this last impulse, I didn’t acknowledge Ruth’s edict in any way except to stand as straight as I possibly could and cast my head back.
    Then, after this meager act of defiance, I followed at least part of Ruth’s instructions and ran, fast, into the blackness of the night.

Chapter
Eleven
    I have no idea how long I wandered after I left Joshua’s house. One hour, four—who knew? All I knew was that the night had darkened into a sinister black. Unlike the one in the flash I’d experienced earlier, the sky above me didn’t glow with stars. Instead, a sickly looking moon provided the only light. It was a ghost itself, so dull and weak it appeared out of place in the sky. As if it didn’t belong.
    Like me, I thought bitterly. I don’t belong here, either.
    Well, maybe I belonged here , on the desolate stretch of road upon which I now walked. But certainly not in the place I’d just visited. The place from which I’d just been unceremoniously banned.
    Picturing Ruth’s sharp eyes and cold voice, I wondered, Was she right? I wasn’t what she “expected” from a ghost. So . . . was I worse ? Was I really some dark “thing” from High Bridge, like Eli? Some evil force in Joshua’s life, saving him just so I could wreck him?
    I certainly didn’t feel evil.
    But I had to ask myself whether my current feelings even mattered. I knew nothing about myself, nothing about my own nature. The flashes were starting to give me some information, but only slowly and in a piecemeal way. So I’d been homeschooled by a mother I obviously argued with, known how to do differential equations, and had enough nerve to pick out dresses such as the one I would probably wear for eternity. These scant details, however, didn’t really tell me anything about myself, whether or not I was a good person.
    For all I knew, I spent my life kicking puppies or shoplifting underwear.
    Or worse, obviously. Far, far worse.
    Maybe something I’d done during life, or even at my death, made me deserve the afterlife Eli insisted was waiting for me. Had I been a cruel person? Was my life so terrible, I’d killed myself?
    I had no idea.
    A sudden wave of frustration washed over me. The flashes were so unrelated, so lacking in meaningful detail, I might never know who I’d been or what I could become. I let out an angry puff of air and began to trudge more forcefully down the road.
    I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I walked, because I nearly stumbled over my own feet. Only after I’d steadied myself did I take in my current surroundings, the sight of which angered me further.
    In my distraction I’d wandered back to the place I hated most: High Bridge.
    I was standing right at its entrance. Its metal girders loomed above me, glinting in the yellow moonlight in a way that reminded me of spiteful winking.
    “Oh, isn’t this perfect !” I shouted.
    My voice sounded childish, echoing back at me from the girders. So, in keeping with my petulant mood, I swung my leg back to kick uselessly at a rock on the shoulder of the road.
    Before I could complete the kick, a sudden blast of cold air hit my back, running a chill from my neck to my heels. Immediately following, a smooth, familiar voice oozed out from behind me.
    “You know, Amelia, you can kick it all you want. But that rock isn’t going anywhere.”
    I closed my eyes, told myself not to shudder—no matter how appropriate it might feel—and then turned on one heel. I fixed a small, derisive smile on my face.
    “Eli.”
    My only word of greeting. Eli’s lips curled at one corner in amusement.
    “To what do I owe the pleasure, Amelia?”
    I frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “Clearly,” he said, leaning forward and arching his eyebrows, “you wanted something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
    “And why would you think that?”
    “You sought me out. So