So far, the Halfway hotel is not an awful place to be spending my purgatory. Every morning, I find a handsome and theme appropriate suit in my closet. A matching pair of shoes also appears, but aside from my favorite loafers, that have remained by my door undisturbed, no other possessions from my life appear to have followed me over.

I was crushed when I realized. It’s obviously a foolish thing to be crushed over, they are just things, but I’d always chosen my things with care, spent top dollar to ensure quality and put a good deal of thought into what projected the image I desired to convey. It’s sobering to realize how little it all amounted to in the end

The room is nice though, sizable, artfully decorated, the bed is comfortable. The pillows are atrocious, but I’ve never been to a hotel where they are not. Room service will bring up any meal I can imagine. The tv will show any program aired before or during my lifetime. My bathroom threw me for a loop, well, not the bathroom itself but the mirror is what did it. My reflection wasn’t the one I was expecting. I was older when I died, but the face looking back at me is mine from around my thirties. I was rattled, possibly disproportionately rattled, but it finally occurred to me that every other face I’d seen in the hotel had appeared around the same age. I can only assume it’s something the hotel does to everyone. At least I wasn’t dropped in some horrendous fountain of youth where I am forced to endure my teen years again. That would be hell.

Elizabeth repeatedly told me I would want a few days alone in my room to process, But I also tasked myself with considering what might be holding me back. I can’t say I’ve made any progress on either front. Part of my problem is that I don’t know what in a man’s life has enough gravitas to prevent him from passing on. In life, I thought I’d known what would cause regrets, what would give me fulfillment, but it appears I was mistaken. I’m afraid that the helplessness I’m feeling is keeping me from processing and my failure isn’t helping me feel anymore grounded.

It’s been a few days now and I’m not sure how long I’m supposed to sit around doing nothing- I mean ‘processing’ before I can get out of here. Eddie did stop by at one point, asking if I wanted to join him on some excursion. He wasn’t pushy in the slightest and it was nice of him to offer, genuinely thoughtful. I made a mental note to tell Elizabeth about it, maybe get him some points, but I did not think I had processed enough at the time to handle an outing with that particular man.

 I wake up feeling rested, despite the pillows, and take myself through the motions of a morning routine. I shower, select clothes, brush my teeth, and arrange my hair once it’s dried. I opt for a cup of black coffee from the room’s provided coffee maker in lieu of room service. Being dead, I don’t get hungry and only need to eat for the normalcy and pleasure of it. This particular morning, there is not a single meal I can imagine finding pleasure in and the normalcy would not be enough of a balm to get me through my lack of interest. The coffee, however, is a necessity. The warmth considers scalding my tongue but decides against it seeing how eagerly I go back for another sip. I savor the ghost of the burn and the richness of the taste, hold the cup close to my lips between sips so the steam can warm my face and wrap me in the earthy scent. For a moment, I relax into perfect bliss, but the feeling fades before I’m even halfway through my cup. Enjoying my coffee is the last step of my morning routine, once it is finished, I will have… nothing.

A reflection stares back at me from the surface of my coffee. The emptiness of its eyes is foreign on my face but despite this being the first time I’m seeing it; I know that it belongs there, that it belongs to me. Outside of the carefully constructed appearances and agendas, who is Isaiah Bradley? With nothing to do, I fear I’ve become no one.

A knock on my door pulls me out of my musings. I didn’t order room service, so the guest is unlikely to have an unwanted breakfast. It could be Eddie. The rush of hope that accompanies that thought tells me just how finished I am with my own company.

I set my coffee aside and head for the door.

“Mr. Bradley!” Elizabeth greets with a smile, once I get it open, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

She looks as impeccable as she did the first time I saw her, though today she’s gone for something a little more casual. Her flower print dress fits her flawlessly. While the dress still has a very retro feel, it has a more timeless quality than her previous outfit, no more out of place in the 20s than it would be in any other modern era.

“Elizabeth! I was just finishing up.” I offer to wave off her concern, feeling a little less empty than I did a moment ago, “what can I do for you this fine morning?”

“Well,” her lips spread in a pleased smile, “I came to see how you are doing and ask if you might be feeling up to accompanying me today?” She rises up slightly on the toes of her pumps as she asks not at all masking the hint of excitement in her voice.

Even if I wasn’t beyond ready to get out of this room and have something to do, I wouldn’t be able to deny her. One simply does not dismiss a woman with such a bright spark of adventure in her eyes, “Please, lead the way.” My day may have started off looking bleak and empty, but Elizabeth’s arrival gives me hope for something much more fulfilling.