Unlike the other hundred times I've convinced myself of it, there's a lot of substance to my conclusion that I'm dead. Firstly, despite the state I was in moments ago, I feel like a spring chicken who's just injected a litre of adrenaline directly into my heart. Secondly, there's a lot of white. A crazy, incomprehensible amount of white. More white than ever before, even after everything I've seen.
Thirdly, my parents are here.
Not as flickers in a memory, or as bright lights, or faceless voices. As people. Heads, arms, legs, bodies. People. As I glance down, I realise I'm people too. Heads, arms, legs, a body. Nothing like my previous visits to this realm.
The space between Mum, Dad and me is nothing. A hundred yards at most. They're the most real they've ever looked because they are. They're real. They're dressed in the clothes they died in. Dad wears the suede jacket I've turned into my own over the past twelve years, a white t-shirt, and fitted jeans. Mum wears a similar pair of jeans, but with a pale blue jumper pulled over them.
As my eyes adjust to the brightness around us, I realise I was wrong. It's not white everywhere. It's not white at all. We're on earth, except we can't be because we're not at a beach in West Wales. We're in Ireland, in our back garden.
I stand on the concrete patio, while my parents stand on the grass a few feet away. It's all so normal. I half expect them to ask me what I want for dinner this evening. I try to find words, any word will do, but I can't speak. There's a warmth blanketing me, and despite the sun blaring in the sky, that's not its source.
There's nothing euphoric about this, nothing amazing, nothing extraordinary. Somehow, though, it's perfect. Nothing has ever felt more right. Dad's green eyes melt into my own, as Mum's blue ones do the exact same. Before anything can be said, there's a swooshing sound behind me.
"Felix?"
I spin around to face the patio doors, and it's her. It's Annabel, except she's different. I can't say how, I can't figure it out, but she's not the same. She wears the same outfit I'm used to seeing her dressed in, has the same face, the same hair, same hands, same everything. But she's different.
As recognition floods her face, she bounds towards me like a goddamn newborn lamb, and she's pulled me into a hug before I can even blink, except I don't even register the need to blink because my sister has never felt as real as she does right now. Her skin is warm as her cheek presses against my neck, but it's not because of her energy, or because I imagine it as warm, but because it is.
Her face is soft, and her hair brushes against my bare arms as it tickles my nerve endings. The feeling of her arms around me is so real, so vivid that I suddenly forget what it used to feel like when it wasn't, when she was just concentrated energy shaped into a human form. I hug her back, and I swear I'm never going to let go, but I have no say in the matter. Too soon--much too soon--Annabel releases me.
I hadn't realised, but my parents have stepped forward. The four of us are on the patio with little space separating us. Within seconds, Mum closes the space completely as she pulls me into a hug even tighter than Annabel's. Her hair smells of something sweet, something familiar, but I can't dwell on it for long because another pair of arms are around me.
As Dad joins the hug, I don't know why this is what I notice of all things, but I'm taller than him. Not by much, definitely less than an inch, but I'm taller. Annabel joins this whole messy embrace, and I swear I'm about to cry like some little bitch.
I don't know how long we stay like that, but when we break ourselves free, I realise no one else has bothered trying to fight back their tears. Dad gestures for the four of us to sit on the warm, dry grass, and Mum spends the whole trip over to it on her tip-toes as she tries to tidy my hair.
Annabel tells her not to bother because 'it always looks like that', but Mum keeps trying anyway. No one says anything about Connor, and I'm glad of it. I don't know what I would say, what the right thing to say would be.
As we sit down, Annabel with crossed-legs, Dad with one leg bent and the other laid flat out in front of him, and Mum with hers tucked underneath her, the fresh air cleanses my insides. Mum's hair has a wave to it, and the ends curl under just like mine does, and Dad's front teeth are slightly crooked as he smiles. I don't know why I'm paying so much attention to such small, silly details, but it's all I can focus on.
My parents ask me about everything. Life in Sheffield, foster homes, school, friends, hobbies, uni, past girlfriends--or lack thereof--though Annabel is quick to intrude and gossip about Carmen for longer than necessary. Being the arsehole she is, she makes sure to include the embarrassing details of me asking her out. As I talk, my parents don't feel like strangers. I've not spoken to them in twelve years, and only recently remembered who they even were, but they're so familiar.
I always dreaded death. It seems ridiculous given I've always known it's not the end, but even the prospect of seeing my parents again wasn't enough to stop my stomach getting in knots over it. I always thought it would be underwhelming, or make everything that happened in life feel pointless. But it doesn't. I don't know what lies beyond this garden, this house, but I don't care.
What happens in life doesn't matter enough to spend it anxiously analysing every step you take, but that's not to say life doesn't have meaning. You just have to find it in the right places. Moving to a new city, starting university, acting like an idiot with everyone in Ava's family pub, dysfunctional road trips around the UK, vegetarian dinner dates with Carmen, singing my lungs out to I'm Shipping Up to Boston in an Irish gay bar, my friends--Jamie and all.
Even though it should've been more, the time I had with my parents when we were all alive. Things like that.
"Right then," Dad announces, snapping me out of my daydream.
He jumps to his feet, and holds his hand out for me to grab. I've got no idea what the plan is, but I take it anyway, and pull myself up. The skin on his palm is rougher than I thought it would be, but his hand is warm. The girls join us by standing up themselves, and my parents are suddenly looking at me as if we're all going to vanish into thin air at any moment.
"What?" I question when the conflicted look in their eyes doesn't falter.
"Of course you've got no idea what's going on," Annabel says with rolled eyes.
Mum scolds her, and it fills me with glee. I really could've done with that over the past twelve or so years.
"You've got to go back," Dad explains.
What? I'm dead. I can't just--I'm dead. How else would I be here, fully here like I am now? That's exactly what I ask Dad.
"It's not your time," he replies, not really answering my question, but I don't dare backchat him.
I don't want to go back. I don't feel like I need to either, like I'm going to. There's nothing pulling me back, physical or otherwise. They must be wrong.
"I can stay," I argue, but Dad shakes his head, and Mum's eyes shift away from mine. "Why can't I just stay?"
Dad repeats his not your time line, but it still doesn't explain anything. Who decides when it's someone's time? Who makes a decision like that? I try to argue again, but Mum doesn't let me get a sentence out.
"You don't want to," she says. "It feels like it now, I know, but you want to go back."
"Whether you do or not is entirely up to you. You make that decision, and you've already made it," Dad interjects in his sing-song voice, and a smile--the most genuine smile I've seen in my whole twenty years of living--appears on his face. "You've got so much to go back to."
What, a boring uni degree? No living family beyond a murderous brother? Mundane, everyday life? I've got my friends, sure, and Carmen and I have barely gotten things off the ground, but is that enough?
I guess it would be shit for them if I died, and pretty shit for Connor to be the only living Brennan left. Maybe I could study a different degree, something that actually interests me. There's a lot out there. My friends. It would be weird to not see them again, ever potentially. It's not like I know how this whole afterlife things works.
Maybe I do want to go back. Before I even realise I'm doing it, I nod.
Mum pulls me into another hug, and her familiar smell floods my senses, and Dad's not far behind.
"We love you," they both murmur into my ear, then release me.
I turn to Annabel, and sigh. "Alright, come on then. How does this work? Do you have to knock me out? Frying pan to the face, or some shi--something." I catch myself before swearing in front of my parents. "You're not allowed to roast me for getting soppy here when we get back, okay?"
Annabel just stares back at me without saying anything. What? What is it? Her eyes shift to Dad, who gives her a small nod.
"I can't come with you." Her voice is almost a whisper.
My heart stops completely, then falls to the bottom of my gut, and my body tenses up, my hands freeze, my throat closes up. What? I stammer.
"No, I--You have to. I can't--"
"It's not your time, Felix, but it is mine," Annabel replies, her voice just as meek as before.
No. No, she can't stay. It's not fair. That's not fair. Annabel's big, blue eyes gaze at me as she stands a few inches away, and she tugs at the sleeve of her oversized velvet jumper as she presses her lips together. It doesn't work. They start quivering, and her eyes mist over. No. She'll come. She has to come back.
"I don't--I can't do this without you, I've never done anything without you," I try, but my voice cracks, and I have to take a breath. "I don't know how to."
I glance between my parents like a wild animal searching for safety, but they don't correct Annabel. Instead, they apologise. No. I've changed my mind. I'm not going back there, not by myself, not without Annabel. I don't want to go back. I can't go back without my sister.
"I'm staying here, then," I reason.
"No," Annabel hits back before I even finish the sentence. "You're going back. You don't need me, Felix."
I do. I do, I do, I do.
"Not anymore," she says, and her voice is more measured now, more confident. "You haven't for a while, not really."
Despite her calm voice, a tear falls from Annabel's eyes. She tells me it's not forever, but it is. It's going to feel like an eternity. I've spent every waking moment with her since I can remember, since I was born. Before she died, after she died. I've never not had her with me. She can't just disappear, not now.
The lump in my throat is going to explode, so I swallow, but instead of burying it, the lump grows even bigger until it makes my eyes water. No, I can't lose her. I can't.
"I can't..." I start, but the words get lost.
I scan my sister as if it's the last time I'm ever going to see her. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, every fibre looking the realest anything has ever looked, and there's a plumpness to her lips I've never noticed before. Her face isn't pale anymore, not like it used to be. Her cheeks are blushed the lightest shade of pink, and there's a depth to her blue eyes I don't recognise.
She's dead, but she's the most alive I've ever seen her, and finally, I know this has to happen. This always had to happen.
I lift my eyes to her, and as I try to find the words, I realise I can't. Instead, I pull her into a hug, and I try everything in my will not to break down. Within the space of a few seconds, my attempt fails completely, and Annabel isn't even trying to hide her tears.
"Besides, you can't stay here with us," Annabel says into my neck after a while, then sniffs. "You've got to keep the bloodline going, and Carmen will make some really cute babies. I'm sure your genes won't ruin that too much."
I yank her out of the hug, and pull a face. "Firstly, that's rich coming from someone who literally vanishes into thin air at the prospect of anything beyond a hand hold. Secondly, our genes, pal. You're only slating yourself here. Thirdly, I'm, like, twelve. Don't talk to me about goddamn babies."
Annabel laughs, but it's more of a choking sound through her crying. She wraps her arms around me again, and releases a long sigh.
"Don't worry," she murmurs. "Hopefully the baby will be blessed with more of my traits than yours. Fingers crossed for a girl, eh?"
"No babies!" I snap back.
Annabel sniggers. What an arsehole. For once, I don't vocalise my insult. Instead, I revel in the feeling of my sister's arms around me. Not her energy, but her arms.
I'm so focused on them that I don't realise the whiteness at first. It's not until my parents join the embrace that I'm distracted enough from my sister to notice it. I know what it means. If after all this, after realising Annabel isn't coming with me, there's something inside me still strong enough to crave returning to earth, then I have to trust it. It has to be worth it.
The whiteness takes over faster than I expected, faster than I want it to. I don't let go of my sister, nor my parents for a second, but somehow, they're gone. It's just white. I have to shut my eyes to block it out, and even then, it's too much. It's way too much. There's a ringing in my ears, and it's all I can hear. All I can focus on.
I'm thwarted into darkness. It hurts. Everything hurts, and my head--God, my head. It throbs, as if my brain is trying to expand and break through my skull. This isn't right. I want to go back. I don't want this. There's no air. Why is there no air? I can't breathe, and it's still so dark. It's pitch black. My skin tingles, it burns from the coldness around me.
I can't breathe. I try gasping for air, but there isn't any. Where has all the air gone? I want to go back. How do I go back? My skin is burning.
Someone somewhere must be listening because suddenly, I can breathe again.
The air returns to my lunges in a flurry, and it's so intense that it knocks me for six. I gasp, but as I do, I cough. I can't stop coughing. I try to open my eyes, but I can't move. All my body knows how to do is cough. It feels like my throat is clogged, like I've drank an entire swimming pool, and I can't stop coughing. My head.
I hear my name, but I don't know who speaks it, or if I even recognise the voice. I'm trying to clear my throat, but I can't, and I try to open my eyes again, but I can't. I keep coughing, but the violence of the action is burning my throat, scratching it, stabbing it. Should it hurt this much? My head is throbbing, and someone says my name again.
This time, I manage to open my eyes enough to allow a slit of vision through. It's still dark, it's--I think I'm looking at the sky. I need to get up, I need to move. Why is it so cold? I try to lift myself, to do anything, but my limbs are useless. My whole body is useless. All it can do is cough.
My head is throbbing more than ever, people keep saying my name, the cold is biting at my bare skin, and there are a bunch of beady eyes gawking at me in a really, really disconcerting way. It takes me a moment, and for my eyes to open some more, to recognise the faces belonging to those peepers. Carmen, Ava, Jamie and Tom. They look like a bunch of idiots. They look like a bunch of idiots, and I fucking love them.