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“Justus Jonas,” Death said, drawing out the name with relish. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my good friend Alfred Hitchcock.”
Justus looked at the ill-defined, not-quite-humanoid figure of Death, and in doing so learned that he had eyes and could see. He looked down at his hands and discovered he had a body that could move, and, since he was able to assess these things, that he had a mind that could think. It could think quite well, in fact, and that was the thought that brought Justus back to himself. He remembered who he was.
He knew who Death was without ever having learned the figure’s name, which was curious. It set his mind whirring
“You may be disoriented. I’ll give you a—”
“I died in an ambulance on the way to the hospital after Skinny Norris ran me over with his car. I’d wager it was accidental. Skinny is nasty, but hardly a murderer. Judging by that scale with the feather upon it, the ancient Egyptians were correct in their depictions of the afterlife. You, Anubis, are here to weigh my heart to see if my soul is worthy of paradise—though it seems you’re not using that name anymore,” he said. “Is that oriented enough?”
Justus couldn’t read his body language or facial expressions; something about the divine being resisted comprehension, but from Anubis’s silence, he surmised that his deductions were correct.
Death approached him. “I see Mr. Hitchcock wasn’t exaggerating. This won’t hurt.”
Death’s tone didn’t change as he switched topics. Justus didn’t realize what exactly had been said until a shadowy limb reached into his chest and plucked out his heart.
Yes, Justus was dead. He could feel it now in the core of his being. Instinctively, innately, inescapably, he knew he was dead.
Death placed the pinkish lump of muscle on the scale and the weight tilted the scale down.
“Oh,” Justus said. He had died young and helped many people. He hadn’t expected the scales to be so hard to satisfy.
“Confused?” Death guessed. “I can explain the judgment to you.”
As much as he hated needing to have anything explained to him, this was likely his only chance to know for certain. He nodded.
“You, Justus, are unworthy of paradise because you are an annoying little shit. You irritated more than half of all the people you interacted with. You inspired an uncommon amount of antipathy. So many people hated it when you were around. Even when you did good, you were insufferable about it. Conversations with you were most commonly described as deeply unpleasant. Your heart carried all that annoyance with it to the grave, and that is why it’s heavier than the feather.”
Justus sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay in the underworld.”
“Your judgment is final.”
“I’m not disputing the judgment,” he said, “but I have unfinished business. I can’t abandon a mystery once I agree to solve it. I’ll find my way back.”