“Okay,” I said to no one. “This is not at all what I expected purgatory to look like.”

I was standing in a room with crisp, white walls. There was a painting of a sailboat on one, and against the other there was a line of plain beige chairs. It smelled sterile. A single flowerpot with a green plant in it sat on an end table, wilting slightly.

It looked like, well. A waiting room.

“Speak for yourself,” someone snorted. I whirled around. There was an older man sitting in one of the chairs, idly flipping through a magazine— I swear he hadn’t been there a second ago. “I’d rather be here than burning in hellfire, thanks very much.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t say this was bad. I said it wasn’t what I expected.”

He shrugged. “Same difference.”

I sighed, sinking into another of the beige chairs. (Not the one next to him, though. I may have been dead, but that didn’t mean I had lost all concept of social disposition.)

“So,” he asked, without looking up from his magazine, “How you die?”

I almost laughed. “What?”

“We’re in purgatory,” he said flatly. “What else am I supposed to ask you?”

He had a point there.

“Fine,” I said. I blew out a breath. I hadn’t died the most valiant of deaths, but it could’ve been worse. Besides, it didn’t even matter if this guy judged me, right? We were both dead. Nothing really mattered anyway.

“I was murdered,” I told him.

“Oh?” he continued to leaf through his magazine, as casually if I’d mentioned the weather or a casserole recipe. “How?”

“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “We— my wife, my daughter, and I — were on a rock cliff. It was one of those natural landmarks she found online, you know? Out in the middle of nowhere. She thought it would be fun. Anyways, it overlooked this beautiful river— gorgeous, with the sun reflecting off it and everything. And it was all well and fine, until…”

I swallowed thickly. “Until this gang showed up. They pulled out guns, cornering us. My wife and daughter put their hands up. So did I. But apparently not fast enough.” I closed my eyes. “It’s funny, though. The last thing I remember is my murderer, holding the gun with only 4 fingers. And I thought, ‘well, that’s peculiar. He’s got no thumb.’ And then… nothing.”

The man chuckled. “Well, that’s quite the story.”

“I suppose so,” I said.

I thought I would be grieving more after reliving all of that, but then again, I was dead. Could I even feel anything anymore?

“So what about you?” I asked, brushing that thought away. “How’d you get here?”

“If I’m being honest?” the man said. “No idea. I remember a falling sensation in my last moments, and seeing a woman’s face from above, growing smaller and smaller as I fell. She looked… furious. Like I’d done something unforgivable to her.” He shook his head. “But like you said. After that, nothing.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.” The man flipped another page. “Now, I might ask you. Where do you think you’ll end up? The good place, or the bad one?”

“Right,” I huffed. “Like I’d prefer to think about that right now.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “You really don’t know? Or at least have a suspicion?”

I sighed slowly. “Like I said, I’m trying not to think about it. I’m not really the brooding type.”

“You don’t seem like it,” the man remarked, the corners of his lips quirking up.

Just then, a door opened from the other end of the room. I hadn’t even been aware there was a door in here.

It was a young lady who entered, clipboard in hand. Her face brightened when she saw us. “Ah, good, you’re both here! The Almighty is ready for you.”

“Splendid,” the man said. He placed his magazine on the end table, then looked at me. “Might as well go together, shall we?”

“Sure.”

I followed him through the door, behind the young woman. But just before we stepped out into the light, I glanced down, and my eyes widened. I could now see the man’s hand, no longer covered by the magazine.

No thumb.

My mind whirled as I put the pieces together. He killed me, and didn’t remember it. Either that, or he was lying. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

And my wife?

She’d been the one to kill him.