Sequel: Life After Death ›
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Accidents Can Happen
Chapter 18
When I opened my eyes, I rolled over to look at the small clock, which glowed 5:48. I had been asleep for over twelve hours. I got out of the large, well I more like fell out of bed. I was still half asleep when I opened the curtains to look out. The room overlooked the Charles River and the Boston Commons. It was hard to make out any details because the sun wasn't up yet. I left the window to pick up the large white binder that contained services the hotel provide. I ignored all the spa and pool junk and flipped straight to the room service menu. I looked it over for a few minutes before I called. "Westin Copley Place's room service. How may I help?" A woman's voice said in a professional manner.
"I'd like an order of chocolate chip pancakes, a couple biscuit, an orange and a cup of coffee, please." I was in dire need of real food. Over the pass two days, all I've eaten was processed junk food. Even back with the team the only thing we had to eat was high-protein stuff. That experience alone made me considered becoming a vegetarian. The woman said that it should be up within fifteen minutes. To pass the time, I read the rest of the guest book. Seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds later their was a soft knock at the door. I told the tired looking man to put it on my bill as I took my breakfast inside. I ate while flipping the channels on the television. Five hundred channels and nothing is on. I thought to myself before I settled on the Flintstones.
After I ate, I took a shower and got dressed. After stuffing a hat in my back pocket and throwing my sunglasses on, I left the room and got the car from the valet. I went to the closest library, which was about ten blocks from the hotel. The small parking lot was empty expected for a couple cars. That was probably due the fact that it was nine o'clock in a Wednesday morning. I immediately went to an open computer and sat down. I opened the Internet and went to the Boston Globe website. I clicked on the Obituaries section and scanned through the past month's deaths. I almost fell out of the chair when I saw my name. Lorna Marie Dane, 16 was placed between Ruth Drake, 86 and William Johnson, 43. I quickly clicked on my name and the article appeared on the screen. It was dated the May 31st, which was two days after school ended. The article was short and it didn't give much detail.
Lorna Dane, 16, of Boston died yesterday of an apparent suicide. She is survived by her adoptive parents Richard and Katherine Dane. Lorna attended James Wood High School in Franklin Township. The funeral service will be help next Wednesday at Hansen Chapel, starting at noon.
I felt a tear fall down my cheek as I finished reading the article. But the tear was out of anger again, not sadness. Suicide? Why would I kill myself? Beside the article was my school picture. My first reaction was to drive back to Fort Jackson and kill Stryker with my bare hands. But that feeling quick subsided and confusion replaced it. How did I kill myself? Did they have a body? How were my parents dealing with his? Where was I buried? Now that I was dead, what would I do? I ran out of the library determined to finding the answer to all these questions.
"I'd like an order of chocolate chip pancakes, a couple biscuit, an orange and a cup of coffee, please." I was in dire need of real food. Over the pass two days, all I've eaten was processed junk food. Even back with the team the only thing we had to eat was high-protein stuff. That experience alone made me considered becoming a vegetarian. The woman said that it should be up within fifteen minutes. To pass the time, I read the rest of the guest book. Seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds later their was a soft knock at the door. I told the tired looking man to put it on my bill as I took my breakfast inside. I ate while flipping the channels on the television. Five hundred channels and nothing is on. I thought to myself before I settled on the Flintstones.
After I ate, I took a shower and got dressed. After stuffing a hat in my back pocket and throwing my sunglasses on, I left the room and got the car from the valet. I went to the closest library, which was about ten blocks from the hotel. The small parking lot was empty expected for a couple cars. That was probably due the fact that it was nine o'clock in a Wednesday morning. I immediately went to an open computer and sat down. I opened the Internet and went to the Boston Globe website. I clicked on the Obituaries section and scanned through the past month's deaths. I almost fell out of the chair when I saw my name. Lorna Marie Dane, 16 was placed between Ruth Drake, 86 and William Johnson, 43. I quickly clicked on my name and the article appeared on the screen. It was dated the May 31st, which was two days after school ended. The article was short and it didn't give much detail.
Lorna Dane, 16, of Boston died yesterday of an apparent suicide. She is survived by her adoptive parents Richard and Katherine Dane. Lorna attended James Wood High School in Franklin Township. The funeral service will be help next Wednesday at Hansen Chapel, starting at noon.
I felt a tear fall down my cheek as I finished reading the article. But the tear was out of anger again, not sadness. Suicide? Why would I kill myself? Beside the article was my school picture. My first reaction was to drive back to Fort Jackson and kill Stryker with my bare hands. But that feeling quick subsided and confusion replaced it. How did I kill myself? Did they have a body? How were my parents dealing with his? Where was I buried? Now that I was dead, what would I do? I ran out of the library determined to finding the answer to all these questions.