A teenage girl finds herself in the Afterlife following a tragic accident involving her and her twin sister. When her Afterlife guide uncovers a terrible mistake, the girl must make an impossible decision.

I’ve heard of “Stairway to Heaven,” but never “Elevator to Heaven.” Yet that’s where I am – at least, I think that’s where I am.

The elevator has ascended what seems like hundreds of floors, but there’s no way to tell. There are no buttons at all. Something feels really, really wrong. Especially without my sister, Amber. As twins, we’ve always been more than just inseparable – intricately connected. It makes no sense that she’s not here with me, wherever here is.

I try to remember how I got here. Amber and I took the boat out last night. We weren’t supposed to go out in the boat without an adult, but we’re almost seventeen. Matt and Jake met us at the pier. We had a six-pack of Shiner. There was a storm. Lots of water in the boat. Screaming. I can’t remember anything else.

I’m holding my head in my hands, as if I can squeeze some answers out of it, when the elevator comes to a smooth stop. The door slides open to reveal a smartly dressed woman with a clipboard tucked in the crook of an elbow and a pen nestled in a ball of blazing orange hair. “Hello, Miss Peterson!” Her exuberant voice startles me. “My name is Brenda, and I will be your guide.”

“Am I in Heaven?”

Brenda motions for me to step off the elevator. “Heavens no, Miss Peterson. You are in The Garden.” She sweeps her free arm wide like a game show hostess showing off a prize.

Before me is a vibrant garden. Giant lotus flowers float on a crystalline brook, brilliant red tulips rise waist-high, lilac orchids hang overhead from pergolas and archways, and the ground is covered in a blanket of daisies, a winding cobblestone walkway tucked among the white and yellow flowers.

“Wow!” I take in the colors and textures, breathe in the heavenly fragrance. “This sure feels like Heaven.”

“No,” Brenda corrects, “this is not Heaven, but it is a wonderful place to stay before your ultimate arrival.”

“So, I died?” I mean, I think I already know the answer, but I need to hear it. And I’d like to know what happened, and where Amber is.

“Yes, Miss Peterson,” she says, smiling cheerfully, as if whatever is happening to me is the best thing in the world.

“Why am I here? In this garden? Why aren’t I in Heaven? And where’s my sister?”

Brenda holds up a hand. “One question at a time, please.” She nudges me to walk with her along the path. “First of all, you can’t just waltz into Heaven. There are procedures, assessments to be done.”

I gasp. “Assessments? Like, I’m being tested to see if I belong in Heaven? Like, I might go to Hell?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, I seriously doubt that.” She runs her finger down her clipboard, flips a page, skimming as though she’s double-checking something. “Nope, you are definitely on the waitlist for Heaven.”

“A waitlist. For Heaven? What am I waiting for, someone to get kicked out?”

“No, you misunderstand,” Brenda says, clicking her tongue. She pulls me into an elegant white gazebo, covered in cascading pink and purple peonies, and we approach a bench made completely of roses. I sit carefully, afraid to crush the flowers, but Brenda plops down and leans back with ease. I allow myself to sink back into the roses, and it’s the softest thing I’ve ever experienced. Soothing, calming.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Brenda asks. “Anyway, the waiting period is meant to give you time to reflect, adjust, and say your goodbyes.”

I sit up. “Do you mean I get to go back to my family and say goodbye?”

“Not exactly, but we’ll get to that later.”

“Where’s my sister? Is she here too?”

“No, Miss Peterson, your sister is not here, but you will get to see her when you get to AL3."

I put my head in my hands, exasperated by all these things that don’t make sense to me. “What does that mean? AL3? Did my sister die too?”

“Calm down, dear. You’ll never progress with so much anxiety.”

“Brenda, please, just answer at least one of my questions!”

“Your sister did not die,” she finally says. “Just you.”

Before I’ve even had time to process this, Brenda jumps up and claps her hands. “Now, it’s time for you to settle in,” she says, and she turns and waves her palm toward the space behind us. I look over my shoulder, and there behind the gazebo is a lovely cottage, nestled among towering elephant-ear plants and lilies. It’s breathtaking. And it wasn’t there before. I turn back to ask—

“Brenda?” I stand and step out of the gazebo. “Brenda?”

She’s nowhere. I try to tamp down my panic as I head toward the cottage. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m blown away when I open the door. The house is full of memories. My memories.

There’s the Christmas tree from when we were seven years old. That was the year we persuaded Mom and Dad to buy a pink Christmas tree. After we decorated it with sparkly tinsel, shiny purple and silver bulbs, and twinkle lights, we thought it was the most magnificent sight.

There’s the baby blanket Amber used to drag around, stains and all, until she was eight.

And there’s the doll we had when we were nine that I begged Mom to buy real baby clothes for. I carried that thing around everywhere, cradling it and caring for it like it was alive. Amber let me have it whenever I wanted. She was more into playing sports outside than playing dolls inside. Sure enough, there, lying next to the doll, are Amber’s soccer ball, basketball, and tennis racket.

There’s the shaggy purple rug from our room, the billowy flowered curtains, our tower of books. Everything. It fills me with a peace like I’ve never felt before. But still, nagging at me from deep down is that feeling I had earlier – that something feels off.

As I move through the cozy space, marveling at these treasures from my childhood, one thing stands out. On a small desk – pink like Amber’s – is a monitor, and the screen saver reads, “Introduction to the Afterlife,” the words drifting and bouncing from edge to edge. I touch the screen, and a video begins to play. Really? A video introduction to the afterlife? I snort.

“I know you must be feeling overwhelmed and confused,” says a large man dressed in a colorful cloak, “but rest assured that you are in the right place, and we will take good care of you. Now, there are three main stages of the afterlife, and several requirements to progress to each subsequent stage…”

I sigh and sit down, as it seems this isn’t going to be a quick intro. I watch as the man, who I assume is an angel, demonstrates the ins and outs of The Garden, which is AL1, The Island, which is AL2, and finally Home, which is AL3, which is when I’m supposed to get to say my final goodbyes before heading into Heaven.

I don’t know how much time has passed, or if time even works the way we know time in the land of the living, but when the video ends, I’m brimming with knowledge. It’s not like when I would study for a test in school and immediately forget everything I studied. No, it’s like I actually know this stuff – have always known it.

And in this weird continuum of time, or not time, I sit among my memories and daydream about growing up, me and Amber, two peas in a pod. And now I’m alone.

Check back soon for Part 2!