Archive of Our Own

I. Judgment

She’s back in the bowling alley.

This time, she takes the shoes when the bartender offers them.

“Lane twenty-three,” he tells her, setting them on the counter.

It’s strange. She knows she’s dead, and that it’s permanent — she looked in the mirror by the lockers and saw the hole in her head. But she must be in shock, because she can’t coax the proper reaction out of herself.

She felt like this when Ray died. Numb.

Lane twenty-three is already occupied. A bearded man sits hunched over in one of the seats, his hands in the pockets of his broad-shouldered coat. He’s bundled up like there’s a blizzard, with a scarf knotted around his neck. 

He’s strangely familiar, this man. Like she read a description of him in a book once, and now he’s come to life. Or death, as it were.

“It’s about time,” he says as Nikki approaches.

She looks around, as if he could be addressing someone else. They’re the only people in the whole place, as far as she can tell, aside from the bartender. 

“Can’t play alone,” he elaborates, nodding at the empty scoreboard. 

“Oh,” Nikki says. “Right.” 

She sits down and unbuckles her boots. He’s already changed into his bowling shoes. The primary colors are an amusing contrast to the charcoal sophistication of his get-up.

He still hasn’t removed his coat and scarf. 

“What’s your name?” he asks as Nikki ties her shoelaces.

She quickly realizes that he’s not asking as a means of introduction, but because he needs to type her name into the scoreboard. She spells it out for him, just to be safe.

Nikki’s up first. She chooses a red ball from the return and bowls a spare. Not too shabby.

When the frame’s up, a string of tickets, like you might get at an arcade, is dispensed from a slot at one end of the ball return. Weird, but okay. Nikki rips the tickets off, counting ten of them.

Her opponent takes a black ball and approaches the lane. It’s only when Nikki sits down and checks the scoreboard that she finally sees what his name is.

“Grady?”

The man looks over his shoulder just as he’s about to roll the ball. “Yeah?”

He wears the same annoyed expression that Nikki has seen imitated on the face of someone who loved him. Someone who described him with such fondness that she felt like she was intruding on something sacred just by watching him form the words.

“Wes told me so much about you.”

Grady drops the ball with a thud, just missing his foot. “Wes? You know Wes?”

Nikki nods. “Small world, huh?”

All at once, it’s like the reality of his own death punches Grady in the gut, and he slumps heavily into a chair. Nikki’s sure the same thing will happen to her soon enough, but for now she’s thinking of something else.

“But you’re… Well, have you really been waiting here five years? When you said it’s about time, I didn’t think you meant —”

“Five years?” Grady shakes his head. “No, I just got here.”

“Huh.” Again, weird.

“It’s been five years since I…?” His frown deepens. “Wes, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Nikki’s mind flashes to a case full of cash. “He’s a millionaire.”

Grady blinks. “He’s a… So he’s alive?”

“Last time I saw him, a couple hours ago. Although I’m gathering that time is pretty relative around here.”

She can feel Grady’s relief from five feet away. “We got separated. I thought…”

“He got away,” Nikki reassures him. “He’s a survivor.”

Grady is looking at her like maybe she can make Wes appear right in front of them if only he asks her the right questions. Like she holds the key to the universe. And when you’re talking about somebody you love, is there really any difference?

After a moment, his gaze lands on her forehead. “So you got one between the eyes, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She brushes her bangs over the bullet hole, which feels like a scab. “How did you, uh…? Wes never said exactly.”

Grady tugs his scarf down to reveal a long red gash across his pale throat. Nikki only gets a brief glimpse of it before he pulls the fabric up to cover it again.

“Exsanguination,” she says, enunciating each syllable. “Just like my Ray.”

“Who’s Ray?”

Like a reflex, Nikki looks down at her ring. She wiggles it, letting it catch the light. It’s a little too big — she’d meant to have it resized, but she never got the chance. Still, even on the bus and through the forest, it didn’t come off. Now she knows it never will.

She lifts her eyes. “You wanna hear a story?”

So they get back to bowling, and between frames Nikki tells Grady everything there is to know, from the Wildcat Regional all the way to the road where she died. 

“Nice,” he says when she gets to Maurice and the air conditioner. “That’s a new one,” he says about the decapitation. And when she describes what Wes did to those henchmen in the storage unit, his eyes well up with pride.

“He still wearing the fringe?”

Nikki grins. “In black now.”

That makes him even prouder than when she told him about all the people Wes murdered.

They bowl two games. Nikki wins one, Grady the other. He’s a worthy opponent, she thinks. That makes for a good partner.

When they’ve settled back into their seats, she asks, “Have you been to this place before?”

“What, here? How would that even —”

“I was here,” Nikki says. “Me and Wes. On Christmas. There was a man at the bar who gave us a green Beetle. We got a second chance.”

Who will rise for me against the wicked?

This might be the moment it finally hits her. Varga’s trench coat in a heap on the floor of the elevator. Emmit cringing away from her shotgun. The whir of the approaching cruiser as she tried to deliver the message.

“I don’t think I did it right.”

Just then, the bartender’s tinny voice echoes over the intercom, making them both jump.

“Closing time,” he says, less than animated. “Bring your tickets to the counter.”

Nikki and Grady stare at each other. Neither of them seems to have thought about what would happen after this. Where they would go. What awaits them in eternity.

They change their shoes and head up to the counter together. The bartender is waiting for them with a metal scale, like the kind people use to weigh cocaine. Not that Nikki ever partook in anything like that — she likes to keep a clear head.

One at a time, the bartender weighs their bundles of tickets. He angles it so they can’t see the numbers, like it would mean anything if they could. When he’s done, he tosses the tickets into the trash, and then he holds out two gold-plated tokens. They’re both engraved with the letter P. Nikki and Grady each take one.

“Give those to Karen,” the bartender says, as if they’re supposed to know who that is.

“Thanks very much” — Nikki squints at his name tag — “Virgil.”

She and Grady pocket their tokens and walk side by side toward the exit. Neither of them says it out loud, but they both know they’re sticking together now.

I wish you could meet him, Wes had told her. Funny how things work out.

They pause before going through the door, looking up. A message is mounted there in blinking, neon-pink letters. Nikki didn’t notice it the first time, if it was even there.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

“Well, that’s cheery,” says Grady.

II. The River

There’s no green Beetle waiting for them outside. 

In fact, there are no cars at all. No parking lot either. Just a faded two-lane road, stretching endlessly into the distance, with infinite snow on either side.

It’s not even yellow. Or brick. 

“So the afterlife is an empty road in the sticks,” Numbers remarks when they first step out. “I don’t know what I expected.”

He should have known he wasn’t on his way to paradise after that ominous sign over the door. That, and the fact that he’s been murdering people on the regular since before he could legally drink.

But truth be told, he didn’t really expect much of anything to happen once he finished bleeding out in Duluth. No white light or scorching flames. Certainly no bowling alley. Just darkness. Eternal sleep. And God knows he could have done with a good night’s rest, so he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

It’s a little after dawn now, judging by the light. Everything’s so quiet, like there isn’t a single living thing to be found for hundreds of miles. Which of course there isn’t, but some sound effects would be nice.

Numbers looks at Nikki. All he wants to do is ask her about Wes, but he doesn’t even know where to start. He also doesn’t want to be a pain in the ass. They’re in the same boat here, after all. She probably has her own questions, and he can’t pay her back with the answers.

The crazy thing is that he actually likes her. She’s smart and tough and just a little bit weird. Numbers can see why Wes would want to join her cause, and he really wishes she hadn’t died. He’d gladly do this solo if it meant Wes wouldn’t have to be alone.

Nikki shrugs, hands in her pockets. “What now?”

Just then, they hear it — an approaching car. A real clunker, by the sound of it. It grows bigger and louder on the horizon, until eventually it reveals itself to be a rust-colored taxicab.

The car rolls to a clanging stop in front of them. It sounds like there are firecrackers going off under the hood. There’s the squeak of a manual window being lowered, and then a middle-aged woman’s frizzy head pops out of the driver’s side.

“Hiya,” she greets with a smile. “I’m Karen. You got tokens?”

Numbers and Nikki exchange an uncertain look that quickly morphs into ah, fuck it. They approach the car and hand Karen the tokens Virgil gave them at the counter. She drops them into a half-full mason jar on the dashboard, like she’s saving up for vacation.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she says when they don’t move. “Get in.”

So they huddle into the back seat, first Numbers and then Nikki. The car smells musty, and the seats are covered in cracked vinyl, but at least it’s warm. “Come Sail Away” is playing faintly on the radio as Karen makes a sloppy U-turn, and just like that, they’re leaving the bowling alley behind them.

Karen asks them their names, and they introduce themselves. Numbers hopes she isn’t one of those cab drivers who never shuts up. He hates small talk, and who knows how long they’re going to be stuck in here.

Mercifully, Karen throws a nice to meet ya over her shoulder, turns up the radio, and then promptly ignores them.

They’re the only car on the road, and the only other thing in sight besides the snow and the sky is the occasional road sign. Numbers can’t make heads or tails of them.

Limbo Tournament, Exit One

Couples Indoor Skydiving, Exit Two

Group Mud Wrestling, Exit Three

Dinner & Jousting, Exit Four

Karen doesn’t pull off at any of the exits they pass. They just keep moving forward into the gray of the morning. Being in a car again makes Numbers think of Wes, and the Buick, and how his favorite part of every job they ever did was simply getting there and going home.

He’s not sure yet how he feels about his current journey, but he sure as hell knows he won’t be going home.

He and Nikki don’t say much to each other during the trip. Because really, what is there to talk about while you’re being ferried through the afterlife in the back of a jalopy? Not to mention, their options for I Spy are pretty limited.

Numbers stares out the window, trying to ignore Karen’s discordant humming to the radio. According to the road signs, they’re headed south. South from where, he has no idea.

After the fourth exit, Numbers leans forward. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

“Well, that’s not for me to say,” Karen responds. “But if you want my advice, you gotta go down before you can go up.”

He’s about to ask her what the fuck that means when he feels Nikki tap his shoulder.

That sounds D-I-R-T-Y, she signs, barely suppressing a laugh.

Numbers is so surprised, by both the comment and the ASL, that he fails to contain his own undignified snort. 

He puts his hand palm-down under his chin and wiggles his fingers. Dirty, he mouths, and Nikki copies the gesture.

Thanks, she signs, smiling.

Karen raises one eyebrow in the rear-view mirror. “What are you two doing back there?”

“Nothing,” they answer in unison.

III. The Bridge

At some point during the car ride, both Nikki and Grady fall asleep.

They jerk awake when Karen brings the cab to an abrupt stop. Nikki panics for a second, flashing back to the bus crash. She grips the seat in front of her, then sighs with relief to realize the car is upright.

Beside her, Grady rubs his eyes so hard it’s like he’s trying to gouge them out.

“We’re here!” Karen declares.

When Nikki glances out the window to figure out where here is, she thinks maybe she’s still asleep, and this is all a dream. 

“Uh… what’s going on?”

They’re parked in the porte-cochère of the Clarion Hotel. Where she and Ray took third place in the Wildcat Regional. Where she met with Varga the day before her death.

“This is where I leave you,” Karen tells them, the subtext being get the hell out of my car.

“Nikki?”

That’s Grady. He’s got one foot out the door already, but she’s not moving.

“Why are we here?” Nikki asks.

“You’ll get further instructions inside,” Karen replies curtly. “Buh-bye now.”

Reluctantly, Nikki opens the door and steps out. Karen nearly drives over her feet pulling away. Grady gives her a quizzical look from the curb.

They’re the only ones here. The parking lot is empty, and there are no bellhops or guests coming and going through the front entrance. She hears no chatter from the lobby, no traffic in the distance.

“Should we go inside?” Grady asks, like she’s a little kid who needs to be coaxed into her first day at school.

She nods and follows him through the automatic doors into the lobby, which is just as empty as the parking lot. Even the furniture is missing, save for a small table with four chairs at the center of the room.

Nikki suddenly feels completely exposed, like Varga’s sniper is going to take her out at any moment through the giant skylight. Never mind that she’s already dead.

They wander over to the table, for lack of other options. Nikki stops in her tracks a few feet away when she sees the blue felt top, and what’s on it.

“Bridge,” she says under her breath.

She takes it all in — the boxes of bidding cards, the board in the center. The sight would usually bring her joy, but the energy in this place is all out of whack, and she feels like she’s being taunted.

“What’d you just say?” asks Grady.

“The table’s set up to play bridge.”

“That’s exactly right,” says a voice behind them.

They turn to see an enormous man in a suit smiling down at them. Aside from his height and girth, he looks like a typical hotel employee. He extends his hand, which swallows each of theirs whole when they shake.

“Jerry’s the name,” he says amiably. “I’m the concierge, and I’m here to tell you that your opponents will be arriving in twenty minutes.”

Nikki gulps. “Opponents?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jerry says, his smile never wavering. “Hope you’re ready to play some bridge.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, revealing that the back of his seemingly conservative suit jacket is decorated with the gaudy image of a scorpion covered in red sequins.

“Well, that was a twist,” Grady remarks when he’s out of sight.

Nikki has other things on her mind. “We gotta get out of here.”

She grabs Grady’s coat sleeve and pulls him toward the entrance, but when they stand in front of the sliding glass doors, they won’t open. Nikki waves her arms and jumps up and down, to no avail.

“Why are you so frantic?” Grady wonders, sounding mildly amused.

“We’re gonna lose,” she tells him. “I can hold up my end, but it takes two. And no offense — I like you and all, but we’re just not at that level of simpatico yet.”

“So what? It’s just a card game.”

“No, it’s not just a card game. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna determine the fate of our immortal souls.”

Grady raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

“Well, what else could it be?” 

Nikki starts trying to pry the door open, wishing she had something to pick the lock with. She’s not sure where there is to go once they’re out of here, but at least it would buy them some extra time to come up with a plan. She’s been on the run before — she can do it in the afterlife.

She waves Grady off. “Go check the other doors while I try and get this one open.”

Grady checks. They’re all locked. Nikki grabs one of the chairs from beside the bridge table and tries throwing it through the glass, but it just bounces off like it’s made of rubber.

“Damn it,” she huffs, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I’m just gonna have to teach you how to play.”

“Fine,” Grady says with a shrug. “I’m a fast learner. How hard could it be?”

Fifteen minutes later, he’s tearing his hair out across the table from her. Nikki has managed to forget, up until this very moment, that Grady used to be a hitman. He’s giving her the kind of look he probably gave his targets before pulling the trigger.

“Wait, slow down,” he tells her irritably. “What’s the dummy again?”

It takes all of Nikki’s restraint not to reply, You are. 

Bridge is a complicated game, she reminds herself. She certainly didn’t learn all the ins and outs in fifteen minutes. But her soul also wasn’t on the line at the time.

She doesn’t get a chance to teach him anything else, because their opponents arrive. Their names are Al and Cal, as evidenced by the embroidery on their matching polo shirts. Other than that, there’s absolutely nothing noteworthy about them, which only makes Nikki even more nervous.

She wonders who they even are. Fellow dead people? Demons? Manifestations of her deepest fears? Are they wondering the same thing about her and Grady? Is this a test for them, too?

As for the game, it goes about how you would expect. Which is to say, they lose.

Nikki thrives on partnership, and she can’t stand being out of sync. She spends so much time trying to help Grady through all of his moves that her own performance suffers. Halfway through, she starts waiting for it to be over.

She considers signing to Grady to gain the upper hand, but her limited ASL isn’t up to the task, and it would be completely obvious. The last thing she needs is to get them into an even worse circle of hell by blatantly cheating.

When the end finally comes, Al and Cal shake their hands and get up from the table, never to be seen again. Then Jerry pops up out of nowhere, still wearing that same smile.

Nikki feels like she did when the cops walked her out of the precinct and onto that prison bus — utterly hopeless. She very nearly puts her hands out to be cuffed so Jerry can escort her into never-ending misery.

“You two are free to go,” he says instead.

Nikki blinks. “Go where?”

“Wherever you’re going,” Jerry replies, cheerfully cryptic. “But we’re doing some construction out front, so you’ll have to go out through the courtyard. Have a nice day.”

He leaves them there at the table, once again flashing the scorpion on his back as he goes.

“What just happened?” Nikki asks.

Grady looks thoughtful. “You know, I think you might have been onto something with that whole immortal souls thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think it was about winning or losing. It was about the experience.”

“Okay,” she says, processing. “Elaborate.”

“Karen said we have to go down before we can go up,” he reminds her. “I think we’re sampling hell right now.”

“Sampling it?”

“Yeah. Like we have to get a taste of what our punishment would be, to give us the proper motivation to get to a better place.”

Nikki considers this. “So you’re saying that eternal damnation is just one long bridge game with a partner who doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

“For you, yeah.”

“Well, that’s just cruel.”

“Yeah,” Grady says. “I think that’s the point.”

IV. The Lake

“So what’s your punishment, then?” Nikki asks as they head down the steps leading into the courtyard. “Because that one seemed pretty tailor-made for me specifically.”

“It wasn’t exactly the most pleasurable experience for me, either,” Numbers retorts. “Although I guess there could be —”

He stops talking, because they’ve reached the bottom step, but they’re not in the courtyard. In fact, the hotel is no longer there at all, and now there’s ice under their feet.

To be more specific, they’re standing in the middle of a frozen lake.

“Okay,” Numbers says. “This one’s definitely for me.”

Nikki wraps her arms around herself against the cold. “We probably should’ve just checked into a room. But I was worried it was some kinda Hotel California situation.”

Numbers figures they have no choice but to head for land. He glances down at Nikki’s boots — flimsy, silver-studded things with seemingly no tread to speak of. Numbers is certainly no stranger to style over function, but she even has him beat. 

“You think you can make it to shore in those, or am I gonna have to dra— er, carry you?”

Nikki tests the ice under her foot. “No, I think I’m good. Let’s go.”

They only make it two steps before she’s grabbing his arm for support. He lets her hold on as they continue to walk, figuring it’s the least he can do after bombing the bridge game.

It’s just as quiet out here as it was everywhere else they’ve been. That’s not unusual, considering the environment, but it gives Numbers an odd sense of dread. 

He realizes it’s the same feeling he had as he stalked through the blizzard in Duluth. Something in him said to turn around and get out of there, but he didn’t listen to it. And then he ended up here, with Wes’ survival as his only consolation.

“So what’s the significance?” Nikki asks.

“What?”

“The significance,” she repeats. “You said this was for you. What’s the frozen lake about?”

“Oh.” Apparently Wes didn’t tell her everything. “Well, it’s —”

He’s cut off by a loud, piercing howl. They stop short at the sound, which echoes around them, and seems far too close for comfort.

“Was that a…”

Nikki trails off, because now they see it. On the shore ahead of them, stark against the white landscape, stands a wolf with thick black fur. It’s watching them, its head hanging low and menacing.

“Let’s go the other way,” Nikki says quietly, her hand tight on Numbers’ arm.

They back away slowly before turning around to make a break for it.

And then they stop again just as quickly, because waiting for them on the opposite shore is another wolf, this one with yellowing white fur. It growls deep in its throat.

Numbers reminds himself that he can’t die again, but that doesn’t mean he can’t suffer.

Nikki pulls on his sleeve. “This way.”

She drags him toward one of the adjacent shores, but that one’s no good either, because a third wolf stands there. This one is bigger than the other two, with fur as red as Malvo’s blood in the snow. It throws its head back and howls.

There was apparently a message in that howl, and Numbers imagines it translates to something like, Let’s kill these fuckers.

All three wolves snarl and charge toward them at once, and they have no choice but to run in the only direction that’s left, across the ice to the most distant shore. It’s easier said than done, as they both stumble and drag each other down before hauling each other up by their clothes. 

There are no warning signs, no DANGER! in big letters, or else they might have known.

The first crack barely registers over the sound of their combined breathing. The second one is louder, and Numbers can actually see the fissure forming in their path. It’s followed by two more snaps in quick succession, as the rupture grows branches.

Shit.

Numbers can feel the wolves biting at his heels as he falls through the ice. With a clipped scream, Nikki follows him down.

The shock of the cold is immediate, and it paralyzes him. It’s like he has weights tied to his ankles, he’s falling so fast.

There’s nothing down here, not even the proverbial fishes. Not even the wolves that were just chasing them. Numbers half-expects to see the ghostly face of every man he’s ever killed, but he doesn’t. Instead, there’s just a dim emptiness, like a room with the lights turned off.

As he sinks deeper, Numbers has only one thought:

I deserve this.

A taste of his own medicine. An eye for an eye — a favorite phrase of Moses Tripoli, when it wasn’t head in a bag or kill and be killed or just dead, plain and simple.

It didn’t matter how he phrased it. Tripoli gave the orders, and Numbers followed them. Never mind that it was his job. Never mind that he was just a kid with a shitty life. Never mind that he was thinking of running away when they got the call about Bemidji.

He deserves this, and that’s a fact. But Nikki doesn’t. 

Nikki, who got a second chance and tried to do the right thing. Even if she failed. Even if the universe foiled her plans. At least she tried. That’s got to count for something.

So Numbers pumps his arms and legs to get to her. He feels like he’s on fire, inside and out. Who’d have thought the cold would burn so much?

He can just make out her camouflaged legs pedaling above him as she tries to keep herself afloat. He struggles toward her and grabs her arm. She jerks away at first, startled, but when she sees it’s him she grabs the front of his coat and doesn’t let go.

That’s when he sees a beam of pale light cutting through the darkness from above. It leads to a perfectly round hole in the roof of ice that covers them, like the kind made by an auger. 

They cling to each other, kicking their feet and cartwheeling their free arms to make their tedious way over. They can’t breathe, but they also don’t need to breathe, which makes for a distinctly uncomfortable experience.

Numbers is disappointed not to find a fishing line to grab onto as they push toward the opening. With his last store of strength, he stretches his hand up and through the hole.

And then he sees stars.

V. The Mountain

Nikki’s not sure if she’s dragging Grady out or if he’s dragging her, but either way they’ve made it to the surface, and the ice is mercifully rigid beneath them when they collapse onto it.

They fell into the lake in broad daylight, and they came out of it at night. 

The two of them lie there on their backs, soaking wet and shivering. Above, there are more stars than Nikki has ever seen in her entire life. They actually overlap each other in the sky — she didn’t even know they could do that.

It takes them forever to catch their breath, and even then their teeth are chattering.

“Y-you… okay?” Nikki manages.

Grady just groans. She takes that as a yes.

They lie there for so long that the sun begins to rise, and the stars are gradually replaced by golden, glowing clouds. Grady has his eyes closed, but Nikki watches the whole thing.

She used to watch the sunrise with Ray sometimes, when he slept over at her place. They’d sit together at the table by the window. Ray would read his paper, and Nikki would drink her tea, and the future would look as bright as the sun peeking over the skyline.

Things change so fast.

Once the sky goes back to blue, Nikki finally sits up and assesses their surroundings. It certainly looks like the same lake they were on before. But she had a strange feeling while they were under the ice, like the earth did a somersault and they ended up on the other side of it.

On the shore ahead, she sees only snow and trees. They wrap around the lake on either side of them, blocking the view of the horizon in all directions. 

Then she twists her neck to look behind them and discovers something highly irregular.

There’s a building there, not far from the edge of the ice. It’s boxy and compact, with a brick facade and windows that reflect the light. An office building, or maybe apartments. Nikki counts seven stories.

“That wasn’t there before.”

The sound of her voice makes Grady stir beside her. He whines with the effort of sitting up, then turns to follow her gaze.

“Huh,” he says, which sums it up pretty well.

“Change of clothes?” Nikki suggests.

Grady nods. “And a blow dryer.”

So they help each other up and make their slow, careful way across the ice, keeping their eyes peeled for wolves of various colors. When they finally set foot on shore, Nikki breathes a heavy sigh of relief. 

They have to climb a small hill to get to the building’s entrance. Nikki feels a little bit like she did when she first found the bowling alley with Wes. There’s a sense of safety about this place, even if she’s uncertain about what’s to come.

Positive energy, in other words.

There’s no parking lot or road, and no path leading to the door. There’s just a set of three short steps rising up from the snow-covered lawn. At the base of these steps is a doorman, his gloved hands clasped loosely in front of him.

“Good morning,” he says, tipping his tall hat. “I’m Herman. Are you here for the tour?”

“Actually,” Nikki replies, “we were hoping to maybe get out of these wet clothes.”

“And dry our hair,” Grady adds with urgency.

“No need to worry about that,” Herman assures them. “You’ll be taken care of as soon as you get inside. Are you ready?”

Nikki glances at Grady, who nods. What other options do they have, after all? 

“Yes,” she says. “We’re ready.”

Herman takes a metal key ring out of his pocket. It’s big enough to hold dozens of keys, but it only holds two — one silver and one gold. He turns each of them, one at a time, in the same lock, and then he twists the doorknob.

The unassuming wooden door opens out, and Herman holds it for them with a dramatic bow that clashes with their current state of dishevelment. Not that Nikki’s complaining.

It’s too dark to see what awaits them inside the building, so they step forward. Nikki takes a deep breath and focuses on that aforementioned positive energy.

“Good luck,” Herman tells them as they cross the threshold.

VI. Pride

Numbers takes note of two things once they’re through the door.

First, his clothes appear to have magically dried themselves, and his hair is no longer plastered to his head. He actually feels product when he touches it. Nice.

Second, they’re in a tattoo parlor.

The walls are painted a deep purple, and there are posters everywhere showing thousands of designs. Against the back wall is a glass counter, and a single client chair sits in the dead center of the room.

Most notably, the door they just came through has disappeared. When Numbers turns around, there’s nothing but wall there. There also aren’t any windows, even though this building definitely has them.

“Welcome in,” comes a voice from the other side of the room.

There’s a man at the counter. He’s wearing a bowler hat and a striped T-shirt, showing off tattoo sleeves on both arms.

Nikki squints at him. “Herman?”

Numbers takes another look, and holy shit, she’s right. It’s the same guy who just let them into the building, only now he looks less like a doorman and more like, well, a tattoo artist.

“That’s me,” Herman admits. “How can I help you two?”

Numbers steps forward. “Well, first of all, you can tell us where the door is.”

“The only way out is through,” Herman says, like it’s in his programming.

Nikki must sense how much Numbers wants to punch him in the face, because she puts a hand on his arm.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she tells him. “This place has good energy.”

“You’re not at all concerned that we’re trapped in here with no way out?”

She shrugs. “We just gotta go with the flow.”

That’s how they end up slowly circling the room, staring at tattoo designs, waiting for something to happen. Numbers supposes it’s not that different from what they’ve been doing this whole time, so why not keep it up?

Nikki points to a peacock feather design. “One of my Facebook friends had something like that on her ankle.”

“What the hell is a Facebook friend?”

She gives him a funny look, like she thinks he must be kidding. Then she snaps her fingers with the realization.

“Right, you’re from the past,” she says, like he’s a ghost from the Victorian era. “It’s, um… Y’know what, it’s not even worth explaining.”

They continue their rounds, and still nothing happens. Numbers wonders if there’s some clue in these posters that will lead them to a secret escape hatch. Maybe there’s a hole behind one of them like in Shawshank.

“You got any?” Nikki asks. “Tattoos, I mean.”

At first he can’t believe she didn’t notice. Then he remembers that he’s been bundled up to the chin since they first met. The fact that she’s asking also means Wes didn’t tell her about that tattoo. He’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“A few,” he replies vaguely. Then, instead of showing her, he asks, “You?”

She shakes her head. “Never really saw the appeal.”

They go back to browsing. One of the designs is a wrench. Numbers tries not to look at it.

“Screw it,” Nikki says suddenly. “I’m gonna get one. You only live once, right? Or… die once, I guess.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “Go for it.”

Nikki consults with Herman while Numbers continues looking at the designs. He considers that maybe he’s supposed to get one too, in order to escape. Then he decides it can’t be that simple.

He paces the room while Nikki gets inked. She won’t let him get close enough to see what it is until it’s done, but he can tell that it’s on the inside of her left wrist.

She winces every so often as Herman works, the buzz of the needle a welcome white noise. When it’s done, she smiles wide and calls Numbers over to have a look.

There on her wrist is a simple playing card — the ace of hearts.

“For Ray,” Nikki says.

It makes Numbers a little bit sick, thinking about how the only tattoo he ever got for Wes was a passive-aggressive reminder to stay away. A one-word slap in the face across his clavicle.

He didn’t mean it that way when he got it, all those years ago. It was supposed to be for their protection.

Boundaries.

Because if people knew how much they cared about each other, it could be used against them. Because they couldn’t let their feelings get in the way when things got dangerous. Because he shouldn’t be daydreaming about kissing Wes while he was duct-taping a man’s ankles together.

But he’d be lying if he said he never used it as an excuse to avoid uncomfortable conversations. When their work-related arguments veered too close to lovers’ spats, he checked out. Vulnerability was not his strong suit.

It was stupid to think they could compartmentalize what they meant to each other. Wes was his partner in every sense of the word, whether they were on the job or in bed together. Whatever imaginary boundaries he laid down didn’t change that.

Once Nikki’s out of the chair, Numbers steps up to Herman and pulls his scarf off.

“You do removals?”

Getting a tattoo lasered off in one go is not a normal occurrence, Numbers knows. But this is the afterlife, so of course Herman manages to completely erase the entire thing in what feels like twenty minutes.

Just because it’s faster doesn’t mean it hurts any less. In keeping with the theme, Numbers lets Nikki hold his hand through it.

“All gone,” Herman says when he’s finished, handing Numbers a mirror. 

The first thing he sees is the gash across his throat, which makes him flinch. Then he moves the mirror lower and sees that the skin is completely bare where the black letters used to be.

He only wishes Wes could see it.

“Grady,” Nikki says then, and he looks up. She tilts her head toward the back wall.

There, next to the counter, where there was previously just a calligraphy poster, is a door with the word EXIT stenciled on it.

VII. Envy

The door in the tattoo parlor opens onto a narrow staircase lit by a single hanging bulb, with another door waiting for them at the top.

Nikki and Grady start climbing, which is easier said than done.

“Christ, I’m out of shape,” Grady pants.

Nikki grips the handrail as she follows him up. “It’s not just you.”

They make it halfway before they have to take a break and catch their breath. When they finally reach the top and open the door, they’re so exhausted that they fall forward over the threshold.

Imagine their surprise when they land face-first in the snow.

“Great,” Grady says as they struggle to their feet. “Why didn’t we just stay in the warm tattoo parlor?”

As is to be expected, the door is gone when they turn around. And they’re certainly not on the second floor of an office building. Or at least, it doesn’t look like it.

It’s nighttime, but there’s a warm light coming from nearby. They quickly discover the source — a huge house with imposing columns. But not just any house.

“Emmit Stussy,” Nikki says through gritted teeth.

“Did you say Emmit?” asks Grady. “Isn’t that Ray’s brother?”

Nikki nods. “The very one.”

She looks around. The only other structure in the vicinity of the house is a dilapidated shed, where someone appears to have lit a wood-burning stove. Elsewhere, there’s just snow and trees.

“Do you think we’re supposed to go in?” Grady suggests. “You know, to get out?”

Nikki agrees, not for Grady’s reason, but because spite has yet to loosen its grip on her, and she can’t resist the idea of gate-crashing Emmit’s precious mansion.

The front door is unlocked, so they step inside.

The house is decorated like it was at Emmit and Stella’s anniversary party, with green garland and twinkling lights everywhere. That damn bear is still in the entryway, along with the Christmas tree, but everything else in the house seems to have disappeared.

“It’s freezing in here,” Grady complains as they wander the first floor. “Where’s the thermostat?”

He walks off to find it while Nikki snoops around. She wonders if the stamp is up in Emmit’s study. Maybe she’s supposed to take it before they can move on.

Grady finds her back in the entryway as she’s about to go upstairs. He looks annoyed.

“The thermostat doesn’t work,” he says, “and the fireplaces are boarded up. Let’s just go to that shed next door. I think I saw a stove burning.”

“No way,” Nikki argues, shaking her head. “I’m not gonna sit huddled in a shack while this place looms over me.”

Grady is confused. “Did you miss the part where I said there’s no heat in here?”

“It’s the principle.”

“You wanna freeze your ass off in a mansion on principle?”

“This was supposed to be Ray’s mansion,” Nikki blurts out, and the floodgates are open. “His brother stole his birthright. The inheritance their father laid down for him in his will. Emmit tricked him out of it, and then he left Ray in the dirt while he built an empire.”

“Okay,” Grady says, unmoved. “I didn’t hear the word heat in any of those sentences, so I’m gonna go sit in the warm shack. You have fun being Goldilocks. Hey, there’s even a bear!” 

He starts to leave, then turns around and takes off his overcoat.

“Here,” he says, holding it out for her. “For when you run out of principles.”

Nikki rolls her eyes, but she accepts the coat. She was dressed for warmer weather than this when she died.

The first thing she does when Grady’s gone is climb the stairs and check Emmit’s study for the stamp. But it’s not there. There’s nothing on the walls, not even any donkeys. There are no desk drawers to pick open either.

The night passes. Nikki wanders from room to room like she’s haunting the place, shivering in Grady’s too-large coat. She finds a pair of black leather gloves in the pockets, but she’s still cold.

It only takes about an hour for her to realize she’s cutting off her nose.

She thinks about the night she broke into Emmit’s study. The anger she felt over what she discovered there. That a man who already had so much would add insult to injury. Against his own brother.

But then Ray had told her they got past it, even though that wasn’t even the plan. If she hadn’t pulled that stunt with the tampon... 

No. She won’t go down the road of cause and effect. She did that already, right after Ray died, with one hand chained to Wes and the other to her guilt. But she wasn’t the one who killed him. She just wanted him to have everything he deserved. 

And sitting here in the cold won’t make that happen.

With a sigh, Nikki lifts herself up off the hard living room floor. She doesn’t even spare the bear a glance as she walks out of the house and over to the shed.

She knocks on the splintered door, and Grady opens it. He’s sitting in an old lawn chair, wearing a black suit jacket and his ever-present scarf. The warmth of the stove hits Nikki like a tidal wave.

“Thanks for the coat,” she says, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the wooden stool across from him.

Mercifully, Grady refrains from telling her I told you so, although it’s clear enough from his face that he’s thinking it.

They sit there in silence, Grady with his arms crossed, Nikki with her hands stuffed into her pockets. It can’t be more than five minutes before a gust of wind blows the shed door open to reveal another staircase.

VIII. Sloth

Nikki returns Numbers’ coat and gloves before they make their way up the stairs. The climb is marginally easier than the last one, but they’re still out of breath by the time they reach the top.

Through the door, they discover what looks to be a typical suburban living room, with a light blue sofa in the middle of the carpeted floor, and a TV cabinet against the opposite wall. 

Most importantly, it’s warm.

Numbers rubs his hands together and collapses on the sofa while Nikki remains standing, taking in their surroundings. As usual, the door vanished behind them as soon as they stepped inside.

“Let’s see what’s on in the afterlife, shall we?” Numbers suggests, grabbing the remote and turning the television on.

It’s an older set, so it takes a few seconds for the picture to materialize. When it does, Numbers nearly jumps out of his seat to discover Herman staring at him from behind a news desk.

“Hello,” he says in his best anchor voice. “I’m here to share the details of your next task.”

Nikki sits down next to Numbers on the sofa, staring intently at the screen.

“On the coffee table in front of you is a sheet of paper,” Herman continues. “On this paper is a word problem you must solve. You will not be permitted to leave until you have correctly solved it.”

They look down at the table, and sure enough, there’s a single piece of paper there, on top of a spiral notebook. Nikki picks it up.

“You may take as much time as you need,” Herman tells them. “Good luck, and remember — you must solve the problem before you can leave.”

The television set buzzes, and the picture abruptly cuts out. Numbers tries to change the channel, but nothing happens.

“Great,” he sighs. “No TV, and we have to do homework.”

“Best to just get it over with,” Nikki says, peering down at the paper and proceeding to read aloud from it.

Three married couples must cross a river using a boat which can carry no more than two people at a time. No woman may at any time be in the presence of a man who is not her husband, unless her husband is also present.

“Well, this is outdated,” Nikki remarks before continuing.

The boat also cannot cross the river by itself without anyone on board. How do all three couples reach the other side of the river without breaking the rules?

Numbers is still processing all of this when Nikki springs into action. She grabs the notebook off the table, along with the pencil that rests beside it. She opens to the first page and starts jotting things down.

Aa, she writes to represent the first couple. Bb. Cc. Then she scratches it all out.

“Y’know what, this isn’t gonna work,” she says, tossing the notebook on the floor. “I gotta visualize.”

She gets up and heads for the TV cabinet. There’s a shelf full of games at the bottom — Monopoly, Operation, a random jigsaw puzzle. Nikki moves a few boxes around before finding what she needs.

“Aha!” she says triumphantly, holding up a pack of playing cards.

She returns to the sofa and begins sifting through the deck, picking out cards here and there and placing them in a stack. Then she puts the rest of the deck aside and starts sorting through what she’s taken out.

“So we have the king and queen of hearts, the king and queen of clubs, and the king and queen of spades.”

Nikki lays the cards out neatly in corresponding pairs on one side of the coffee table. She’s laser-focused, as if she’s defusing a bomb or helping NASA send a rocket into space, with a dash of kid-on-Christmas-morning mixed in.

Numbers watches in fascination as Nikki starts moving the cards back and forth across the table, then changing her mind when she realizes something won’t work.

“Why don’t you send the king and queen of clubs across?” Numbers chimes in at one point, trying not to be totally useless.

“Because then they’ll be with the queen of hearts,” Nikki explains. “And the women can never outnumber the men on either side, because one of them will be without her husband.”

Numbers roll his eyes. “Maybe the women should just drown the men in the river and make it easier for everyone.”

He sits back, listening to Nikki say king of hearts and queen of spades and various similar phrases under her breath. Numbers used to be good at solving problems, too. Back when he had the energy to give a damn.

He thinks about Bemidji, and how much he wanted to go home and maybe even quit the whole deal altogether. And then there was Wes, insisting they take the time to be sure. Never taking the easy way out. 

In the end, doing what Wes wanted may have gotten him killed, but how could he live with himself if he didn’t? 

Nikki’s still talking to herself when Numbers sees something out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, look,” he says, sitting up. “We have a door.”

It’s on the far wall, where there used to just be a painting. It looks like any old linen closet, but Numbers knows it’s anything but.

Nikki shakes her head. “Herman said we can’t leave until we solve it.”

“But we have a door. We can leave.”

“Just hold your horses, will you?” Nikki says irritably. “I almost got it.”

“Cool,” Numbers says, crossing the room. “I’ll meet you on the next fl— oh, shit!”

He’s just opened the door and stuck one foot through, only to find himself teetering over a bottomless pit. No floor, no staircase, just endless nothingness all the way down.

Numbers grips the doorframe to balance himself. He manages to stumble backwards away from the edge and slam the door closed in front of him.

Nikki turns her head two seconds too late to witness him nearly falling into the abyss.

“What happened?” she asks, still half-distracted by the cards.

Okay. Lesson learned.

“You’re right,” Numbers says, returning to the sofa. “We should solve it first.”

He sits back down and looks on as Nikki continues puzzling over things. She seems stuck on the current set-up, so he actually makes an effort to help her figure it out. It’s kind of nice, using his brain again.

“You can send the queen of hearts and the queen of spades across,” he offers. “And then send the king of clubs back to get his wife.”

“Oh, good call,” says Nikki, moving the cards like he described. “And then the king and queen of clubs go across, and we’re done. We got it in — what was that, eleven moves?”

Numbers eyes the door nervously as Nikki stands up. He hurries over before she can get there and opens it slowly, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees a staircase beyond. He taps one foot experimentally on the bottom step, and Nikki looks at him like he’s crazy.

IX. Greed

This staircase is easier than the previous two, but Nikki still has to grip the handrail as she goes. Grady seems to be having an even worse time of it, as he looks like he’s expecting the stairs to disappear from under him at any moment.

When they push through the door this time, they find themselves in the cavernous lobby of a bank. Nikki’s heels click and echo against the marble floor as she steps forward. It’s the kind of place that makes some people feel small and others important.

“Damn, I forgot my checkbook when I died,” Grady quips as they look around.

The lobby is empty of both tellers and patrons, but it doesn’t take long for someone to step out and greet them.

It’s Herman, of course. He’s wearing a suit and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“Welcome,” he says, as if he’s been expecting them. “Shall we go into my office?”

For lack of anything else to do, they follow him into a small room off the lobby. Herman sits down in a high-backed chair behind the desk, while Nikki and Grady settle into a pair of seats across from him.

“We’re very excited you’ve chosen to bank with us,” Herman tells them, as if they had any choice in the matter. “I understand you’re here to pick up your checks.”

Nikki’s ears perk up. “Our what?”

“Your checks,” Herman repeats. “Upon death, each deceased individual is entitled to a sum of money. The amount varies from person to person, but everyone gets something. I have yours right here.”

Herman reaches into his desk drawer and retrieves two checks printed on bright yellow paper. Nikki takes hers eagerly, then frowns when she looks at the amount.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I think there’s been a mistake. This says one dollar.”

“That’s correct,” says Herman.

She looks at Grady. “How much does yours say?”

“A dollar,” he says, holding it up.

Nikki’s eyes narrow as she thinks about what Herman just said. The amount varies from person to person. And they’re only worth a buck, apparently.

“How much do other people get?” she asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.”

“Of course not,” she says derisively. “Because it’s probably millions, right? Fat cats who broke all the rules get the most, I’m sure. They get everything in death, just like in life.”

How much did Ray get, Nikki wonders. How much would Emmit? What would it take to even the score, if death wasn’t enough? It makes her so mad.

“Nikki,” Grady attempts. “Just let it go.”

That makes her madder.

“No,” she says, sitting up in her chair. “I’m not gonna sit here and let this fella tell us what we deserve, while other people walk away with everything. I wanna appeal this, or whatever you call it. Is there a form I can fill out?”

“Nikki, we’re dead,” Grady reminds her. “We don’t even need money. Herman, do we need money in the afterlife?”

“You do not,” says Herman.

“See?” Grady rips his own check in half. “Everything’s free. It’s a dream come true.”

Nikki won’t be swayed. “It’s the —”

“If you say principle, I swear to God.”

Why does everyone have such a problem with principles? Not enough people are willing to stick to their guns, and it’s all too easy to tell someone they’re overreacting when you’re not in their shoes.

“How would you feel if you were paid less than you deserved for a job?” Nikki asks.

“Are you kidding?” Grady laughs. “Fargo lowballed us at every turn. We went all of the ‘90s without a raise. That’s life. You get paid too little to do a job you hate, and the only comfort you get is that one day you’ll die and you won’t have to do it anymore.”

Nikki crosses her arms and sits there petulantly for a moment. 

She’s always hated that phrase — that’s life. All that c’est la vie crap. Screw that, she’d say. Why settle for less than you deserve?

Then again, this isn’t life. It’s death, like Grady said.

She’s reminded of another trip to the bank. Emmit’s bank. Ray running back to the car with a sack full of cash. Ten grand, and it still wasn’t enough in Nikki’s eyes. Why not a million? Why not everything?

He told her that was her old life talking. The criminal mentality, he said. 

Varga called her a recidivist. And maybe she was, but only because she felt like she had to be, to right the wrongs committed by other people. Against Ray and against her.

And look where it got her.

The more the better, Nikki always thought. But as the last few months of her life proved, sometimes that’s a whole lot more than it’s worth.

With a sigh, she puts the check down on the desk. “Fine. I don’t need it.”

“But do you want it?” Herman asks, like he’s her shrink.

Nikki chews her lip, staring down at the yellow paper. 

“No,” she finally replies, and she’s surprised to discover it’s the truth.

“Very well.”

Herman rips up the check and throws it in the trash, along with Grady’s. Then he presses a button on his desk. There’s a loud buzz behind them as the office door opens to reveal a staircase.

“You two have a nice day,” Herman tells them. “And please, don’t visit us again soon. There’s no point.”

Nikki and Grady exchange a confused glance before standing up from their chairs and heading for the door. Nikki wonders why you’d have a bank in the afterlife at all if no one needs money.

Then, like a lightning bolt, it hits her.

“It’s the Seven Deadly Sins,” she whispers to Grady.

“What is?”

“This whole thing. All these floors. The tests we have to pass before we can go to the next level. They each represent a sin. This one was Greed.”

“Well, then I hope the next one is Gluttony,” says Grady, “because I’m starving.”

X. Gluttony

The next set of stairs isn’t too hard to climb, which is to say that Numbers experiences a normal level of exhaustion as he makes his way up.

The door at the top is different from the others, in that they can actually see through it. It looks like the kind of door that leads into a convenience store — as confirmed when they peer through the glass and find a convenience store waiting on the other side.

“Score,” Numbers says, pushing through to the sound of a jingling bell.

He has had a day. Or possibly several days. Or maybe even five years. He’s not really sure. All he knows is that he wants to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes and eat his weight in pre-packaged garbage.

Through the window, it looks like the afternoon. There’s a row of gas pumps, but no cars next to them. Unsurprisingly, Herman is smiling at them from behind the counter, wearing a baseball cap and a Hawaiian shirt. 

These costumes are getting more and more slapdash.

“Hey, man. Long time no see,” Numbers says on approach. “Can I get a pack of Marlboros, please?”

Nikki stands beside him, tapping her dark fingernails on the counter. “I thought you quit.”

Numbers rolls his eyes. “Christ, what didn’t he tell you? Do you know my fucking blood type, too?”

“I’m serious. You’re not smoking in here.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Numbers scoffs, taking the pack from Herman. “I’m dead. Can’t get any deader. The one silver lining should be the ability to smoke as much as I want.”

“Not while I’m in the room,” Nikki says sternly. “And it doesn’t look likely that we’ll be going our separate ways any time soon, considering we’re trapped in here. So are you gonna put those back?”

She levels him with a stare that falls somewhere between daggers and puppy dog eyes, and Numbers loses all resolve. He finds himself putting the cigarettes down on the counter without so much as a second thought.

“Did Wes teach you that?”

Nikki smiles sweetly. “I’m an old pro.”

“Well, I’m getting snacks, at least,” Numbers insists, making a beeline for the chip section and grabbing a bag of Scrunyuns.

They browse the store separately for a few minutes before meeting up again at the counter. Numbers has an armful of packages, both sweet and salty, which he dumps onto the glass in front of Herman.

And then there’s Nikki, who sets down a single Mounds bar.

“That’s all you’re getting?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were on Supermarket Sweep,” she says. “Don’t you know there are starving children in the world?”

“I don’t think any starving children will feel the effects of me eating Scrunyuns in the afterlife.”

“But you know you’re gonna eat it all at once,” Nikki argues, “and then everything just blends together. How can you enjoy it?”

“Believe me, I’ll enjoy it.”

“You gotta savor it,” she says. “Ray took me to this place in St. Cloud once, for our two-month anniversary. They had the most amazing coconut cream pie. I took an hour to eat one slice, ‘cause I wanted to taste every bite.”

Numbers can’t help but think there’s some sort of metaphor in there somewhere.

From what Nikki’s told him, she and Ray weren’t together for very long before he died. A year at most, maybe not even that. But she talks about it like it was a lifetime, like they were living in dog years. A two-month anniversary was a milestone for them.

On the other hand, Numbers had so much of Wes — three goddamn decades. So much that he took it for granted. He didn’t savor it. And then he blinked and it was gone, like looking down at your empty plate after eating too fast.

Damn it. There’s the metaphor.

Numbers groans. “Fine.”

The Scrunyuns stay, obviously. He carefully considers the rest of the selection — cheese doodles, peanut butter cups, gummy bears, barbecue potato chips, and so on — before finally settling on a package of miniature powdered donuts. Entrée and dessert.

“Just these two,” he tells Herman, who puts them in an orange shopping bag along with Nikki’s candy bar. “Oh, and this is all free, right? Like you said at the bank.”

“Is anything free?” Herman muses, handing him the bag.

At this point, Numbers is more amused than annoyed. “Never change, Herman.”

He steps away from the counter and nearly heads for the door they came through, as if this was just another gas station pit stop, like the hundreds he and Wes made over the years. But of course that door disappeared as soon as they arrived.

“Back way,” Herman says, pointing to the opposite wall.

And sure enough, a door has magically appeared that wasn’t there before. Employees Only, reads a handwritten sign held up with tape. Numbers and Nikki ignore it as they pass through.

XI. Wrath

This staircase is easy, like when you’re a kid and nothing wears you out.

The door that awaits them at the top looks like any other door, but when Nikki opens it, she finds the front seat of a car on the other side. It’s as if the passenger-side door has been removed, and they’re expected to climb across.

So that’s exactly what they do. Nikki slides into the driver’s seat, and Grady follows behind her. Once they’re seated, they discover that the car door is back where it should be, and there’s nothing on the other side but a flat plain under a cloudy sky.

Everything about this is familiar. Nikki quickly learns why.

She turns her head to see a sawed-off shotgun resting on the dashboard. And through the windshield, the back of Emmit Stussy’s company car, with Emmit himself standing on the empty road beside it.

Without a second thought, Nikki grabs the gun and steps out of the red Ford she’s once again found herself in. Emmit cowers as she approaches him, just like the first time.

This time, though, she’s not alone.

“Hey, Nikki?” comes Grady’s voice behind her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What I didn’t get a chance to do before,” she answers without turning around. “No time-wasting now. Gotta cut to the chase.”

Nikki aims the gun at Emmit, who pleads with her like he did the last time. She ignores him, taking a moment to remember the message.

“‘Though thou exalt thyself as the eagle —’”

“Nikki, stop,” says Grady. “This isn’t real. That’s not really Emmit. It’s just a test.”

“Yeah, and I’m about to pass it.”

“No, you’re not,” he insists. “You really think you’re supposed to kill a guy to get to the next level of Purgatory?”

That’s the first time either of them has called this for what it is, even though it should be obvious by now. But Nikki knows what her task was. She grips the gun’s barrel tighter and starts over from the beginning.

“‘Though thou exalt thyself as the eagle, and though thou set thy nest —’”

“Nikki, listen to me,” Grady says, as Emmit puts his hands up in comical supplication. “I made my living in revenge. And you know what came of it? Nothing. It just went on and on, and it was never enough.”

“No,” Nikki insists. “This is what I’m supposed to do.”

“But what if it isn’t? How can you be sure?”

She shakes her head. “I gotta do it before the trooper shows up.”

Then it hits her. The trooper.

Nikki thought she already had this moment in the bowling alley, but she didn’t have the full picture then. It all happened so fast. One minute she had her finger on the trigger, the next she was blinking into the mirror by the lockers.

She knew the trooper shot her — that much was obvious. But she couldn’t remember if she pulled, couldn’t see who it was who went down if she did. She was prepared to die for her mission. The mission she narrowly avoided death to accomplish in the first place.

When Emmit stepped out of the car, she saw what might have been her last chance.

She did it, didn’t she? She pulled the trigger, and Emmit ducked out of the way, and she shot that trooper instead.

The shotgun feels heavy in her hands, and she stumbles backwards slightly.

“Nikki,” Grady’s saying behind her, his voice muffled by the sudden ringing in her ears. “Put the gun down and get back in the truck.”

He’s grabbing her by the shoulders, pulling her back. Her arms fall to her sides, the shotgun dangling from one hand. Grady takes it from her carefully.

“Get outta here,” he tells Emmit, who hurries to open his car door.

Grady guides Nikki back to the truck. She climbs back into the driver’s seat, while he jogs around to the other side. In front of them, Emmit’s car pulls away and disappears into the horizon, as if he was never even there.

“You okay?” Grady asks, putting the shotgun back on the dashboard.

Nikki stares down at the steering wheel. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah?” he says. “Well, welcome to the club.”

They sit there for a few minutes, not saying anything. No cruisers pass this time, as if it was just some divine intervention.

After a few minutes, Grady reaches between them for the bag from the convenience store. He holds out Nikki’s Mounds bar, and she accepts it. She eats it slowly, closing her eyes and focusing on the taste instead of the sea of doubt swirling through her body.

She hears Grady munching on his Scrunyuns next to her. He eats a few quickly, and then his chewing slows down, like he’s trying to do what she said and savor it.

They stay like that for a while, silently eating and waiting for whatever happens next. Nikki wonders if they should start driving. Are they stuck here now, in this simulation of her final moments? Is it all her fault?

Beside her, Grady lets out an exasperated sigh. She looks over to see him brushing powdered sugar off his coat and out of his beard, having started on his donuts.

“I didn’t exactly think this through,” he says, and he actually looks embarrassed.

Nikki’s not used to seeing him like that, and it makes her laugh despite herself. It builds in her chest, and after a moment, she’s bent over the steering wheel, cackling.

Everything is just so goddamn weird.

“I’m not gonna get mad at you for laughing at me,” Grady says, a smirk tugging at his lips, “because you’ve had a hard day, and you were really starting to worry me there.”

Nikki catches her breath. “How the hell did we get here?”

“We died,” Grady says.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “we really did, didn’t we?”

That’s when they see it — a rectangle in the distance. It’s red, so it stands out against the neutral landscape.

“Is that a…” 

Nikki trails off as she starts the engine and drives forward. The object becomes clearer and clearer as they approach, until there can be no doubt.

It’s a door, rising up from the road ahead of them like a monolith.

Nikki turns off the car, and Grady stows their food wrappers in the glove compartment before they get out. They step forward with trepidation.

They check behind the door. There’s nothing there but more road. 

Nikki looks over at Grady, who shrugs. So she reaches for the knob.

XII. Lust

Instead of a staircase, they find themselves in an elevator. The walls and ceiling are mirrored, and there’s only one button on the control panel. It’s labeled PENTHOUSE.

Wow, they really are moving up.

Numbers pushes the button, and after a short ride, the elevator doors open directly onto a bedroom — in the strictest sense of the word. It’s a room, and there’s a bed, but that’s about it. 

Everything in here is washed-out, save for the royal blue bedding. There’s a window on one wall, revealing a night sky outside, even though it was daytime on the road. The space is lit by a single floor lamp beside the queen-sized bed.

“Some penthouse,” Numbers remarks as they enter. 

He removes his coat and throws it on the floor before falling face-first onto the bed.

“I guess you chose your side,” Nikki says.

They take off their shoes and their jackets and sit there on top of the bedspread. Grady yawns, which makes Nikki yawn, which makes him yawn, and so on.

So they’re not psychopaths. Interesting.

“Do you think we should just… go to sleep?” Nikki finally suggests.

Numbers has never been one to argue with that, so he nods and gets under the covers. The mattress isn’t exactly a cloud, but it’s a vast improvement over most of the motel beds he slept in when he was alive.

“Night,” Nikki says, reaching over to turn off the lamp.

In the dark, Numbers is more comfortable taking off his scarf. He wishes his fatal wound had been something small like Nikki’s, or somewhere easier to hide.

This feels like the first quiet moment they’ve had since this whole thing started. Numbers remembers how much he wanted to ask about Wes when they met. He wonders if he’ll ever get another chance.

“Hey, Nikki?”

She doesn’t sound tired at all when she replies, “Yeah?”

He takes a deep breath. God, why is he so nervous?

“In the bowling alley, you said Wes told you a lot about me,” he starts. “What exactly did he say? I mean, besides that I quit smoking and died five years ago.”

He hears Nikki shifting under the covers, and he can just make out the shape of her head propped up on her hand as she faces him.

“He told me you two met when you were kids,” she recalls, “and that you got caught up in some shady dealings when you were young. He said you were funny, and smart, and handsome —”

“He listed handsome last?”

“Like I said, funny.” 

Nikki tells him that Malvo was killed a year after Numbers died, and Wes was angry that he wasn’t the one to do it. She says Wes missed him every single day. He apparently did uncanny imitations of Numbers’ facial expressions, his posture, his lazy way of signing.

“He loved you,” Nikki says. “He told me that, too.”

Numbers swallows, preparing to ask his next question.

“Did he know that I loved him?”

It’s not that Numbers never told Wes, but he didn’t get a chance to say it before it was all over. Him and his stupid boundaries, and their breakfast table bickering, and his desperation to finish the job.

“He knew,” Nikki tells him. “He said you got electrocuted trying to get a confession out of some fella, all because he asked you to. I told him, that’s love. And he said, I know.”

Numbers gulps down the bubble of emotion in his throat. “Thanks.”

He never thought about it before, but dying comes with a grief of its own. Numbers realizes how lucky he is not to be left completely in the dark, like Wes was on the other side. He wonders if there’s anybody he could speak to about haunting.

“I saw Ray, y’know,” Nikki says after a moment’s silence.

Numbers blinks. “Where?”

“In the bowling alley, the last time. I thought he’d be there this time, but he wasn’t.”

“You’ll see him again,” Numbers tells her, and he knows he’s saying it to himself as much as Nikki.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve got a hunch.”

He can practically hear Nikki’s eyebrow go up. “Like an energy?”

“No, like a hunch. It’s scientific.”

“Uh huh,” she says, skeptical. “And are your hunches any good, usually?”

“Wes would tell you no,” Numbers admits, thinking about Lenny Potts and Lester Nygaard and blood trails in the snow. “But I’ve got a hunch about this hunch. It’s a good one.”

*

Nikki dreams of Ray. 

They’re in the motel, the one they ran to after the cops came knocking. Ray came back with the getaway money, and they’re cuddled up on the bed watching some unfunny sitcom on TV.

“We’ll be okay,” Ray says, his hand gentle against her bruises, and Nikki believes him.

That’s the way it could have been. Still not perfect, but together.

Grady dreams of Wes. Nikki can tell, because he’s signing in his sleep when she wakes up. One sign in particular — fist against his chest, circling clockwise.

I’m sorry.

There’s morning light pouring in through the window. She can see blue sky outside.

“Grady,” she says softly, nudging him. “Wake up. We got a door.”

He responds with a groan. It takes a few more tries before he finally opens his eyes and sits up on his elbows to look at the wall across from the bed, where said door now resides. It’s the kind you’d find in an old stairwell, with the noisy metal bar to push.

TO ROOF, it reads.

Grady’s brow furrows even more than usual. “But we didn’t do anything.”

Nikki does the math in her head, going through all the sins she’s managed to recognize so far. This is the seventh floor, so by process of elimination, only Lust is left. It makes sense, what with the bed and nothing else.

Oh. Now she gets it.

She gives Grady what she thinks is a meaningful look. “Right. We didn’t do anything.”

He stares at her blankly, and she can’t help but laugh. The thought apparently never even crossed his mind. That’s okay — it didn’t cross hers either. And it’s really none of her business how many ways he swings.

“Don’t worry,” she says with a friendly pat on his arm. “You’ll figure it out eventually. Should we get going?”

XIII. The Garden

The staircase to the roof is longer than the others, but it’s somehow the easiest to climb. Nikki feels like some invisible set of hands is carrying her to the top, where a plain, unmarked door awaits them.

They pause there in the dim light. Nikki turns to Grady, who stands one step below her.

“What do you think it’ll be?” she asks warily.

Grady shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

Nikki nods, squaring her shoulders. Then she turns the knob, pushes the door open, and finds herself face to face with a jukebox.

This definitely isn’t the roof, although at this point that shouldn’t surprise them. 

The floor below them is checkerboard linoleum. As they make their way deeper inside, it quickly becomes clear that they’ve just stepped through the back door of a diner.

Along one wall is a row of vinyl booths with laminated menus on the tables. The place is empty, aside from a lone waitress behind the counter and, judging from the noise, someone else back in the kitchen.

The positive energy in here is, ironically, through the roof.

There’s a large window at the front of the restaurant, looking out onto a quaint, anonymous street. The name of the place is backwards on the glass: The Garden of Eatin’.

Well, okay then.

They step up to the counter. The waitress is Matilda, according to her name tag. 

“Pie?” she asks as soon as they sit down.

“You got coconut?” Nikki requests, mouth already watering. “And do you think you could put some chocolate flakes on top? That’d be perfect.”

“Apple for me,” says Grady.

“Uh...” Nikki shoots him a look. “Are you trying to get us kicked out?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Cherry.”

“Coffee?” Matilda asks.

“God, yes,” says Grady, and Nikki nods.

Matilda sets down two plain white mugs and fills them up. Grady takes his coffee with sugar, Nikki with cream. They sip at the same time and let out a simultaneous aaah.

The waitress brings them their pie, and they dig in. Nikki’s tastes exactly like her two-month anniversary pie, and she sighs contentedly. She notices Grady taking his time with his own slice, and it makes her smile.

After a few more bites, he gives her a funny look.

She wipes at her chin. “Do I have something?”

“There’s something different about you,” Grady says. “Did you get a haircut or something?”

“No, unfortunately none of those staircases led to a salon.”

Suddenly, it hits him. “It’s your… On your forehead. It’s gone.”

Nikki sweeps her bangs out of the way and touches her head. It feels smooth, with no more scabbed-over bullet hole.

“What about yours?” she asks, prompting Grady to untie his scarf and feel at his neck.

Sure enough, no gash.

“It’s the coffee,” comes a familiar voice from Nikki’s other side.

She turns to discover the gray-haired man from the bowling alley sitting on the stool next to her. He’s dressed exactly like he was then, with the same enigmatic smile.

“It’s you!” Nikki exclaims. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, many places,” he says simply.

“I thought maybe I’d see you at the bowling alley.”

“This journey called for a different guide.” The man inclines his head to look past her. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, this is my friend Grady. Grady, this is…” She trails off, realizing she doesn’t know the man’s name.

“Paul Marrane,” he says. It fits, and yet it doesn’t fit, Nikki thinks.

Grady gives a little wave with his fork. “Nice to meet you.”

“Paul’s the one who gave us the Beetle,” Nikki explains. “Thank you again for that.”

It’s then that she remembers the elephant in the room. She feels a little bit like she’s facing a teacher after getting a bad grade on a test.

“I guess I should apologize,” she says. “That task you gave me, I don’t think I accomplished it. Or I got it the wrong way round, or something.”

“Ah, such is life,” Paul replies calmly. “We are, all of us, flawed.”

“Right,” says Nikki, feeling relieved and perhaps a little emboldened. “Although, to be fair, you could’ve been more specific. About the wicked, I mean.”

Paul raises his eyebrows. “You’re absolutely right,” he admits. “As I said, flawed.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Grady says then, “but this box over here is meowing at me.”

Nikki practically leaps off her stool toward the cardboard box sitting on the counter next to Grady’s elbow. She carefully lifts the lid and reaches inside for the tiny ginger kitten she knew would be there.

“Ray,” she says, her eyes prickling with tears.

“Sorry, what’s happening right now?” Grady asks.

Nikki rubs her cheek against the kitten’s soft head. “This is Ray.”

Grady just stares at her like he still doesn’t understand.

“Ray,” she repeats. “My Ray. I told you about him.”

“Yeah, you told me about him. You failed to mention he had whiskers.”

“Oh. Well, he didn’t always look like this.”

She carries the kitten back to her seat at the counter and holds him close to her chest. He doesn’t look any bigger than the last time she saw him, three months ago.

“Time is different here,” Paul tells her, like he read her mind.

Nikki feels Ray purring in her hands. She wonders how long it took him to get here. If he went to the bowling alley as his old self, or if he entered this body right away, as soon as he died.

“Am I a lost soul?” she asks suddenly.

Paul turns in his seat. “What makes you think so?”

“I already had my chance,” Nikki says, “and I failed.”

“Ah, but you’ve had many chances. Eight, in fact.”

Nikki is confused at first. Then her mind flashes back to all of her close calls, from the beating in the parking lot to the fella with the syringe in the precinct. Maurice’s gun in the bathroom. The attack on the bus. She survived all of it, until the end.

“Well, that’s generous.”

“Are you ready for your ninth chance?” asks Paul.

Nikki is flabbergasted. “I get another one?”

“Yes.” He nods sagely. “Your final chance.”

The kitten mewls, and Nikki lifts him up in front of her. She looks into his slow-blinking eyes. Ray’s eyes. She knows it’s him in there, even if she’s not sure he recognizes her.

“Will I have to leave him again?”

“Not this time,” Paul assures her. “In fact, it’s very important that you’re together.”

Nikki tucks Ray back under her chin and thinks about this. Beside her, Grady is watching them with fascination, his pie plate clean and his coffee mug empty.

“What about Grady?” she asks. “Can he come?”

Paul doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Grady, like he already knows the answer.

“I think I’m gonna stay,” Grady says decisively. “Wait for Wes.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes. You know, there’s a Help Wanted sign in the window. I’ve never had a real job before. Maybe it’ll be fun.”

Nikki nods. So this is it then.

She takes one last, divine bite of pie before standing up and facing Grady, whose eyes actually look watery. She wonders if she’ll remember him, or if this will all have been a dream.

Hoping to hold onto it a little longer, Nikki leans forward and hugs him with one arm, careful not to squish Ray between them. Grady stiffens up at first, but after a moment he wraps both arms around her. 

She pulls back. “Tell Wes hello for me, will you?”

“Absolutely.”

Thank you, she signs, and Grady signs it right back.

He winks at her. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

After a deep breath, Nikki turns back to Paul. “Okay,” she says. “I’m ready.”

“Door’s right over there,” Paul tells her.

He gestures to the front of the diner, and Nikki knows there won’t be a small-town street waiting for her on the other side of that door, just like she knows she won’t be the same Nikki when she walks through it.

She kisses Ray on the head and steps forward. “Time to go, hon.”

Meow, says Ray, and Nikki understands.

*

“Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck ‘em!” Matilda calls from the counter.

In the kitchen, Numbers cracks an egg. It might be the first one, or it might be the millionth. He doesn’t know how many eggs he’s cracked any more than he knows how long he’s been here. 

He only knows that this is his job, and he likes it, and he doesn’t have to kill anybody to do it. Imagine that.

Numbers places the finished order in the window and taps the bell. He’s about to turn back to the stove when he catches a flash of fringe out of the corner of his eye. 

Matilda grabs the plate of scrambled eggs on toast and carries it to a man sitting at the very end of the counter. He picks up his fork and starts eating, wearing a serious expression between his sideburns.

His jacket is black now, just like Nikki described.

Numbers removes his apron and steps out of the kitchen through the saloon doors, like he’s rehearsed this dozens of times. Or maybe none at all.

He stands behind the counter, directly in front of Wes, who takes a moment to look up.

When he finally does, his eyes are wide.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of them saying anything. Then Wes lowers his fork to the plate and lifts his hands.

Nobody likes being watched while they eat, he signs.

And then he smiles, and Grady finds paradise.