The Bessie Series - Books 1-3

1. Heaven

Bessie lies on a grassy hillside peppered with wildflowers, pillowing her head on her arms. Her eyes close, dreamlike. Her thoughts drift like clouds in a breeze, as they always do when she’s alone. She loves being in Heaven, adores it, but she can’t help feeling a sense of anxiety, a kind of dread of not knowing how she had ended up here. And when. Was it last week? A month ago? A year? Longer? And why is Ash here, too? They are only fifteen. Way too young to be in Heaven. So, what happened to them? And why can’t she remember?

Fragments of memories drift across her mind but nothing holds together. A warm breeze lifts her pale red bangs, revealing an inch-long scar over her left eyebrow in the shape of a small bird.

From somewhere behind her, a fluttery voice materializes disrupting her thoughts. “Bess, where’d you go? Bess!”

She turns her head to catch the familiar sound. Hunching up on her elbows, she looks back up the hill from where she has just been. In the distance, a school bell rings. She ignores it, starting to giggle.

“Bess? You over here?” The girly-girl voice is attached, finally, to a stunning beauty of mixed heritage in a blazing hot pink mini skirt. Lean as a stick, her poodle-like hair flowers ten inches around her movie starlet makeup; and her copper complexion glows. She stumbles over the hilltop in one lime green platform, carrying the other. Plopping down beside Bessie, she tosses the broken footwear on the grass. “Stupid shoe, anyway.”

“Ash, focus. How many deaths will there be on this flight from, say, traffic accidents?” Bessie picks up a blade of grass to chew. “Guess how many accidents, not how many dead people.”

Ash leans back, her elegant hands displaying a remarkable color of cerise nail polish, complete with rhinestones. “Just this next flight coming?” she asks. “Okay, I say thirty to forty car wrecks, maybe three trucks. Does a bicycle count as a vehicle? One bus, and … my feet hurt.”

The school bell rings again with neither girl acknowledging it. Ash leans forward to rub the toes of her left foot before stretching her leg back out. Pulling from her giant shoulder bag two cans of Hector’s Nectar: a heavenly honey and nectarine soda that was concocted by Angel Hector eons ago, Ash snaps the tabs and hands one to Bessie. “Then there’s the suicides,” she adds. “Murders, of course.”

“Don’t forget the obvious,” Bessie reminds her, taking a long gulp and turning to her friend, smiling.

They stare into each other’s eyes and chime in unison, “War.”

The girls, still slurping their sodas, gaze out over the lush hillsides spreading out around the airport in the valley below. The word “airport” is somewhat of a misnomer; the building resembles more of an open-air platform. A pine floor is attached to a peaked cedar-shingled roof with four sturdy posts at each corner, but without walls. On the top of the roof, an impressive crystal tower houses a magnificent golden bell. At one end of the platform furthest away from the girls, a crystal door is suspended in midair, glowing with a colorless aura. Outside the door, an airport runway is clearly visible. The front entrance is located at the opposite end of the platform — an arched doorway wreathed in flowers. Above the entrance, a carved plaque hanging on chains modestly announces: “Heaven Interportal”.

Gardens of extraordinary beauty surround the platform like a flowery hug. Winding away from the structure, small flagstone walkways bordered in stout hedges thread through the valley and up into the surrounding hills.

As the girls creep down towards their usual hiding place behind a particular hedge running horizontally about halfway down the hill, clusters of spirit people stream along the walkways to join an excited crowd gathering at the front of the airport. They look very much like their former selves, except for their air of weightlessness and ageless incandescence; and like Bessie and Ash, they cast no shadows.

Angels materialize amongst the crowd, some in their spiffy, powder blue Air Heaven uniforms, and others in regular street clothes. Unlike all other beings in Heaven, angels are distinguished by their silvery auras that sparkle and glow in any light.

Still moving in a crouched position, Bessie hisses at Ash behind her, “News flash. Over there to your left. Angel Mel.”

Huge and bald and dressed in jeans, sandals, and his hallmark Hawaiian shirt over a rotund belly, Angel Mel clasps a half-inch wad of typed paper held precariously together with two brass fasteners on the top and bottom. Talking excitedly to a fellow angel, his voice booms so loudly that it carries up to the girls. “Yeah, so, I’m going to channel it tomorrow to that young actress Goldie Hawn during her yoga session. She’s very spiritual. She’ll love it, I tell ya. Luh-ve it.” He listens for a bit. “What’s that? Oh, I call it A Bouquet of Reincarnations, haha. Get it? Pretty on-the-pulse if I do say so myself, which I just did, haha.”

A Bouquet of Reincarnations“Such a goof,” Bessie says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She searches for their special spot — a little space they carved out inside the hedge — before holding a branch up so Ash can squeeze in first.

The bell in the steeple begins to swing in slow motion, ringing seven distinct times. As the spectators watch, a huge white, jet-like cloud moves swiftly across the sky towards the rear of the airport. The massive crystal door slowly opens wide, activating the Sacred Portal – the gateway between Earth and Heaven.

“Gotta run,” Angel Mel shouts, running towards the platform. “For whom the bell tolls, haha.” He turns his attention to the docking plane.

The jet-cloud hovers in place overhead while a hatch at the front of the aircraft swings open, spilling out a white staircase that attaches to the Sacred Portal.

A pilot angel emerges from the plane first, spectacularly handsome in his white and gold Air Heaven uniform. “Last stop, Heaven!” he announces cheerfully. Under his breath, he murmurs, “And you can thank the good Lord for that.”

He ducks back inside, allowing a frail, elderly woman to step onto the staircase. She shakes the hand of an unseen flight attendant inside the plane before making her way smartly down the steps, clutching her purse to her chest.

As she steps through the entrance onto the platform, a ground crew angel (his name tag identifies him as Angel Stewart) approaches her. “Linda, welcome home. Long time, no see.” He tucks her arm through his, and together they stroll towards the waiting crowds. Before releasing her, he gives her a warm hug, creating a rosy glow that envelops them both. She now looks like the essence of health, with an ageless radiance.

“Thank you, Stewart, dear,” Linda returns, grinning fondly while she holds his hands in both of hers, facing him. “Let’s see, it’s been, what, ninety-six years and five days?” She looks around. “Where’s Howard?”

From behind the hedge, Ash whispers, “Natural causes?”

Bessie nods. “Agreed. Died in her sleep.”

Meanwhile Angel Stewart directs Linda’s attention to a tall, bowlegged man waving a bouquet of yellow roses wildly in the air outside the front arch. “There he is!” the angel booms. “He can’t wait to see you. How long has it been?”

“Thirty-three years and fifteen days since he walked in front of that ice-cream truck, the big, stupid dummy,” she tells the angel before giving him a farewell peck. She walks briskly out the floral arch and into the waiting arms of Howard. He hugs and kisses her like he’ll never let her go. At last, he takes her hand as they begin to stroll along an uphill pathway, mumbling, “I know, I know. Should have been more careful. I know, I know.”

Linda stops for a moment to punch him in the shoulder. “I’ve missed you all these years, and for what? A banana split.”

“Owww!” Howard rubs his arm. “A strawberry sundae, actually.” He grins at her, flirting like a schoolboy. “Hey, Lindy, know what else I’ve missed?”

As more transitioning souls descend the staircase to enter Heaven Interportal, Ash and Bessie focus silently on the parade of newly dead humanity. They appear in all ages and nationalities, and all manners of death. Some look peaceful, and others seem highly agitated.

A group of dark-skinned children, emaciated beyond imagination, huddle near the base of the staircase, shuffling their feet, their arms clutched around their torsos, fearful of what the next moment will bring. Several angels rush towards them with open palms. A slight hope flickers on the children’s faces. Anything is better than where they’ve been.

Outside, a man of impressive height and equally dark skin rushes to the front of the milling crowd, shouting, “Milata, Gibral! Daddy is here! Mama is here! All your families are here!”

One by one, the angels on the platform envelop the little ones in healing hugs. Once released, the children newly restored to glowing health, race through the archway to be scooped up by their joyful family members.

Tears dribble down Bessie’s cheeks as she turns away. “I miss my …”

Ash lays her arm around her friend’s shoulder, mascara dripping in lines of navy blue. “Me, too.”

A commotion draws their attention back to the Arrivals area. A cluster of soldiers dazed and confused, crowd together, staring at another military cluster across the platform. It’s evident by their mode of dress that they’re from opposite sides of the same conflict.

Ash and Bessie turn to share a look. Bessie pipes up, “You guess first.”

Ash doesn’t hesitate. “Viet Nam.”

As they watch, angels greet each soldier and give them hugs. In the rosy glow that’s created, the warriors return to their youthful, pre-death images. The two groups stare at each other, reality sinking in.

A few feet away, an Air Heaven angel with a checklist outside the airport turns to her companion. “War is hell,” she says, shaking her head. “When on Earth are they going to figure that out?”

isBack behind the hedge, Bessie absentmindedly rubs her forehead scar, staring at the spectacle. “Hey, Ash? How come we can’t remember how we died?”

Ash twists a curl around a fingernail. She turns to look at Bessie for a moment, her eyes sad. Then her short attention span is drawn back to the airport. “Look,” she whispers.

A straggling passenger stumbles down the staircase. His bellowing accent is cranky cockney. With his tie-dye shirt hanging half-in, half-out of his jeans, his tattooed arms flail in the air. Eye makeup smears his pitted features. He yells at the top of his lungs, “Where’s me limo driver? I say, is this LAX or what? Show’s in ‘alf an hour!”

A stunning blonde angel rushes over while he bangs and batters his way through the sacred crystal entrance.

“Got no time for groupies now, dearie!” the passenger shouts. “Need me freakin’ driver! Where’s me limo?”

The angelic beauty glows rosily. The late arrival shrinks back in surprise, almost toppling over, and shouting, “b****y ‘ell! What kind of groupie are you?”

The girls giggle inside their leafy shelter, all thoughts of sadness having passed. Barely able to contain themselves, Bessie finally spits out, “Mister Rock Star thinks he’s going to his concert.”

She jumps up, brushing herself off. Fifty feet below them, the staircase is folding back into the plane. A stocky male angel has joined the blonde to help her deal with the still-protesting arrival. The engine of the jet-cloud begins to hum as the plane vanishes into the sky. Slowly the crowd drifts away from the airport, strolling up and along the pathways.

“Show’s over.” The words are barely out of Bessie’s mouth when someone catches her eye. One last passenger, a tall, fair youth about seventeen, all limbs and sticking-out hair, steps out from behind a corner post to stand alone on the platform. His pale eyes are filled with unbearable pain. He watches listlessly while an angel approaches, glowing rosily to encircle him in her gentle embrace. Afterwards his image returns to a healthier, although still skinny, version of himself. They walk quietly arm-in-arm to the exit arch.

As the young man steps off the platform, a man of similar build, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, walks up to him. They hug shyly. No words are spoken. The older one leads his younger counterpart along a path, gesturing upwards. Then, without warning, the young man stops in his tracks and spins around. He stares up the opposite hillside, directly at Bessie. Gasping for breath, the young girl reaches up to touch her scar, her fingers trembling.

Ash glances at the scene below. “What’s he doing here?” she cries. “I thought he … never mind.”

he Soon the girls’ attention is diverted by something far more important. A figure: a petite, middle-aged angel in a tailored suit, marches smartly towards their hiding place. The silver chains on her reading glasses dance back and forth, and her features scowl.

Bessie’s eyes widen. “Uh-oh.”

Ash hisses, “Angel Rachel.”

As the two girls disappear over the hilltop, the manicured hand of Angel Rachel reaches down to pick up a lime green shoe. She holds it away from her as though it were a dead fish, shaking her head. “One of these days, they’ll be the death of me, those two.” She smirks at her own joke.