The last clear thing she notices — the knife’s handle is beautiful, made of pure onyx, it seems. Then her body thuds to the ground, a dull ringing in her ear as her hazy vision picks up on pools of red settling in the space beside her. Soon, nothing.

The line is longer than she imagined, seemingly wrapped around for miles. She’s not in a hurry, but she knows there are people above counting on her. So she does what any reasonable person in such a situation would do — she cuts. Or rather, she begins to walk past the miles of people standing, noticing that her surroundings never change. Everywhere is white, impeccable — and unnerving.

The walk in endless, and it feels as though hours go by but the line still stretches. “Beth!” A voice shouts through the murmurings of those in line, who were whispering in hushed tones but now go silent, all to stare at…her. So much for a stealthy cut in line. She continues on, but so does the voice. “Beth! Beth! Beth!” It demands acknowledgment, and she turns, though she’s pretty sure that isn’t her name. Now that she’s on the subject, though, she realizes she can’t recall what her name may really be. And why has she walked all this way?

Unconsciously, she sits down, stopping her body in order to allow her mind to start churning. The incessant voice stops, but a shadow appears over her, extending a hand. “Beth,” he repeats and the voice isn’t a voice anymore, but a man. He leads her back into his position in line, which he somehow regains without upsetting those behind him. “Beth, we waited for you, but you never finished the job.” There’s warmth in his tone, but a glint of frustration appears in his eyes. “Beth, what’ve you been doing all this time?”

“Beth…me…job?” The words come slow, slipping out as she tries to piece together what the man has said. “I’m no Beth, at least, I don’t think so. I’m just lost, so perhaps that’s my name,” she replies, nodding her head in a sorry attempt to convince him.

Understanding dawns on him then because his eyes change filling with tears and full of pity. “Oh, Beth,” he sobs, “I should have never given you that mission, I’m sorry.” It takes a few minutes for him to calm down. Lost-Beth doesn’t know why he should feel so sorry for a stranger, but maybe he knows more than she. Suddenly, he reaches out his hand and places two fingers on her temple.

That’s when it all comes flooding back.

The mission: take down the spirits with a thirst for revenge. The ones who hadn’t lived and died honorably, who had never made it into line, and were stuck, limited to walking the Earth. Unfortunately, even as spirits, they found ways to use the living.

Her role: get to the front of the line, and hope that the legendary “paradise” that awaited those who had done good on Earth would also have some legendary weapons she could somehow get up to the living world. She figured there was a way; being “good” hadn’t always meant following the rules up there.

Her last memory: she stands with the man at dusk, out in a field of tall grass, and close to the tree they climbed as kids. “Remember,” he urges, “get to the front of the that line, quickly. I don’t care what you have to do — push, shove, bite. But you know what the line to paradise does to people. They forget, and they wither, and by the time they get to the front, they’re nothing.”

“I know, I know,” she says, annoyedly. “Can we just get this show on the road already? I don’t think I can be any more prepared for dying.”

Tears threaten his eyes, and he pulls her in for a tight last embrace. “I trust you,” he breathes into her ear. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” she says, as his knife points at her throat. Onyx, red, and then, nothing.