This Is How You Die

Stories of the Inscrutable, Infallible, Inescapable Machine of Death

Grand Central Publishing

OLD AGE, SURROUNDED BY LOVED ONES

The "coming soon" sign was gone, and in its place stood a shining silver booth.Leah stopped, fascinated, looking at the machine.

For a brief moment, she waffled over the decision, but it wasn't in her natureto be indecisive. Leah got things done. Every performance appraisal she had everreceived had said so—though sometimes there was a gentle hint that shedidn't always have to act immediately, that she could allow herself to thinkthings over a little more.

But even that slight criticism had never been partnered with any real examplesof when she'd made the wrong decision.

Leah had instinct.

Had anyone who'd known her been nearby when Leah Cole stepped into the smallbooth, they wouldn't have been surprised. She read the instructions, swiped hercredit card, agreed to the terms and conditions without really reading them, andthen watched as the machine ran through its cleaning cycle and presented herwith a single sharp needle.

She pressed her thumb against it, feeling the slight sting of the needle. Themachine beeped, and she pulled her thumb away. The needle retracted.

A moment later, there was a slight hum and a small piece of paper clicked withfinality into the tray. Leah reached down and picked it up with her other hand,tucking her pricked thumb into her mouth. Just as she pulled the small whitepiece of paper free, there was another hum and a second piece of paper clickedinto the tray.

Leah blinked, then took the second piece of paper as well. She read them both.

After work, Leah dialed the 800 number on the back of the slips of paper andwaited.

"Alexandria Corporation," a gentle-voiced man answered the phone. "This isNicolas. How may I direct your call?"

"I took the test this morning at the new booth in the Byward Market," Leah said."But I think your machine is defective."

Nicolas didn't sound bored exactly, but he certainly didn't sound worried aboutthe state of the machine. "In what way do you think there's a defect?"

"It gave me two contradictory results, on separate papers."

Nicolas paused. When he spoke next, he sounded interested. "Two results?"

"Yes," Leah said. "And it wasn't someone else leaving a copy behind in themachine—they both printed out after I gave my blood sample. I checked yourwebsite—the ID codes printed at the bottom of the paper are identical. Itgenerated two results for me."

"I'm going to transfer you," Nicolas said.

Leah waited.

Nicolas transferred her to a woman named Alia, who then transferred her to a Dr.Lindsay Brine. Leah was growing impatient—not an unusual state—butshe forced herself to take a breath and explained everything to the doctor.

Again.

The response sent a shiver up her spine.

"Are you a twin?" she asked.

Leah swallowed. Her throat felt tight. "Yes."

"Identical, I'd assume?" Dr. Brine pressed.

"We're mirror twins, if you know what that means."

"I do," Dr. Brine replied. "This has happened once or twice before. If you askyour twin to take the test and you get the same results, I'm afraid that's theonly answer we can give you. I'll have my assistant, Audrey, refund youractivation fee."

Leah said nothing. Her mind spun.

"Miss Cole?"

"Yes," Leah said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Dr. Brine seemed anxious to end the call.

Leah obliged.

Then she called Julia.

"Not on your life," Julia said.

Leah sipped her latte, looking at her sister with the same mix of feelings shealways had: love, protectiveness, and total frustration.

Julia had kept her hair long once the twins had been old enough to make theirown decisions. Their mother had always dressed them in matching outfits andgiven them the same short haircut, and while that hadn't bothered Leah, it haddriven Julia crazy. Now that they were adults, Julia's chestnut hair fell justpast her shoulders, unlike Leah's chic Hepburn style. Julia wore soft pastelswhere Leah favored rich jewel tones. Julia wore no jewelry aside from herwedding band. Leah decorated her ears, throat, wrists, and fingers with simplesilver pieces she'd had made personally for herself.

And still the waitress had exclaimed, "You two are twins, right?"

"No," Leah had said. "This is my girlfriend." The waitress had flushed andstammered and taken their order.

Julia had given Leah a rare smile of conspiracy. "You're terrible."

Leah had shrugged and then launched into her reason for calling. "So. Here'swhat happened."

Julia had listened, frowning with distaste when Leah had begun the tale and thenglaring by the end of the description of what had happened.

"And that's the problem," Leah said. "I've got two results, and they're mutuallyexclusive, so the doctor asked if I was an identical twin, which would mean thatone of them is for me, and one is for you."

"I don't want to know what either of them says," Julia snapped, holding up ahand.

Leah sighed. "You don't?"

"Don't sigh at me. And no, I don't." Julia put her coffee down with finality. "Idon't know why anyone would want to know. It's ... morbid. What if it saidsomething like 'childbirth'? Tristan and I are trying for a child—you knowthat. It would change everything."

"Well." Leah had frowned, thinking that Julia was missing the pointentirely—you couldn't avoid death, she felt. Knowing ahead of time atleast meant you could live accordingly. "It helps you plan ahead."

"Some of us like surprises."

Leah crossed her arms. "The doctor said that if you took the test and it gavethe same two answers, then I'd know that this was the reason for the tworesults."

Julia hadn't taken any time to ponder the question. As she shut Leah down, Leahcouldn't help but think that this was one instance where they were indeedidentical.

Left with no way to confirm a flaw in the machine—or to confirm that she'dhave to be happy with two options for her life's ultimate end—Leah hadgone back to work, tucking the two slips of paper into her purse and pullingthem out every now and then to look at them.

Just in case, she decided to stop drinking alcohol, though the rational part ofher mind reminded her that so far, no one had ever managed to avoid what wasprinted on the little pieces of paper the booths handed out. They were alwaysright. But if that particular result was hers, there was no way to know if shecould at least delay things. She decided to try.

Life went on. Her sister and Tristan had her over for dinner for the bigannouncement and then e-mailed her pictures of Julia's ever-expanding belly overthe weeks that followed. Leah immediately bought expensive clothes that Juliainsisted were too much and too stylish for a baby to wear—especially sincethe baby would grow out of them so quickly.

Leah helped her sister decorate the nursery once they'd learned they were havinga little boy and tried not to comment too strongly on the stereotypical bluecolor or the cowboy theme. After they'd finished putting up the borders, the twosisters had moved to the kitchen and sat down at Julia's table.

"Being pregnant suits you," Leah said with a smile.

Julia burst into tears.

Leah jumped up, embracing her sister out of habit, but lost as to the cause.

"What's wrong?" she asked, squeezing Julia's shoulders tightly.

"I took the stupid test!" Julia wailed. "I kept thinking about what we talkedabout, and then I started wondering, what if there was something horrible thatwas going to happen to me before our baby grew up? And then I thought about howour dad died when we were little, and how horrible that was ... and I couldn'thelp it ..." Julia sniffled, wiping her nose. "But I can't do it." She sighed."I just ... I just can't do it."

"I don't understand," Leah said.

Julia pulled out her purse and opened it. She dug inside, pulling out anenvelope that she'd obviously gotten from an ATM.

"I didn't look at them; I just put them in here," Julia said. She took a shakybreath. "It gave me two. All I want to know ..." She swallowed and handed theenvelope to Leah. "All I want to know is that it has nothing to do with beingpregnant. And that it doesn't say I'll die before I get to see my baby grow up."

Leah opened the envelope and pulled out the two slips of paper.

"They're the same as mine," she said, then looked up at her sister. "And don'tworry. Neither of them is about pregnancy, and they don't say anything aboutdying young. In fact—"

"Stop!" Julia raised a hand. "I don't want to know."

Leah bit her lip, considering. Then she nodded and put the slips back into theenvelope.

"If you call the company and tell them what happened, they'll refund your testpayment," she said.

"I never want to think about that again," Julia said.

Graham was born, and Leah found out that she did have a mothering gene afterall—though she truly enjoyed handing Graham back to her sister when shewas ready to go home and have a long hot bath. Tristan was a natural at being adad, and Julia had never seemed happier.

"I'm a mother," Julia kept repeating whenever Graham was sleeping in her arms."I'm a mother." From her sister's lips, Leah thought this sounded like thehighest accomplishment of humankind. Leah felt a surge of fierce love for hersister, and the two were closer than they'd been in years, spending more timetogether than they had since they were teens.

When Julia bobbed her hair short, Leah began growing hers out. Julia must havenoticed, but she didn't say anything.

Leah babysat on Saturday nights, so her sister and Tristan could enjoy anevening out—usually just dinner and a movie. It wasn't a chore, even whenGraham was grumpy and refused to sleep. Leah generally read a book, the babymonitor tucked on the table beside her, and found herself feeling oddly content.

The phone rang harshly on one of those nights, and she scooped it up, annoyed atherself for forgetting to turn off the ringer and hoping that it hadn't wokenGraham.

"Hello?" she asked, ready to tear out the throat of a telemarketer.

"Leah?" Leah barely recognized the voice, it was so ragged and raw.

"Tristan?" Her heart began to pound. "What's wrong? Where are you?"

"We're at the hospital."

A truck had run a red light and slammed into the passenger side of their car.Tristan's head was wrapped with bandages, two cracked ribs were bundled tight,and he was covered in small scrapes and cuts.

Julia had been in surgery for nearly three hours.

Tristan lay in his hospital bed, staring out the window of his room into thenight.

Leah sat beside him, waiting for the doctor to return. Graham was bundled in acarrier and fast asleep despite the background noises of the hospital.

When the doctor came in, his face said it all.

"No," Tristan said, and his eyes grew wet.

Leah rose. "Tell me."

The doctor regarded her a moment, then spoke. "There are some major internalinjuries. She lost a lot of blood. We had to remove her spleen and one of herkidneys. And the other kidney ..." He took a breath. "We had to stop surgery.But her remaining kidney has also been damaged. Once she's well enough forsurgery again, we can go in and we might be able to correct the damage,but—"

Leah's eyes blurred. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried to hold on toconsciousness. This couldn't be happening.

"—would be the preferred option."

Leah frowned, coming back. "What did you say?"

Beside her, Tristan was crying quietly.

"Oh, thank God," he said.

The doctor repeated himself.

Leah made a decision.

At Graham's first birthday, Julia watched him frown at the candle and laughedwhen Tristan tried to get him to blow it out. None of the children really seemedto understand what the party was about, but the parents had fun, and the cleanupwasn't so bad. None of the kids had much cake, and Julia knew she'd probably endup throwing most of it out—assuming her husband didn't eat it all in thenext two days.

The presents had all been opened—an excruciatingly slow process givenGraham's preoccupation with the shiny red paper on the first gift, which hewould have been happy to play with for the entire afternoon. There was only onething left, and Julia was dreading it with her entire being.

But Tristan took Graham for his nap, and she was alone.

Now or never, she thought.

She pulled the sealed envelope from her purse and looked at the handwriting. Hersister's perfect penmanship had always annoyed her as a child. Leah'simpulsiveness seemed at odds with her perfectly crafted letters, and Julia's ownhandwriting was terrible. Tristan said she should have been a doctor.

Open Me at Graham's First Birthday, the envelope said.

For a long moment, she wondered if she should just throw it out, but she knewshe wouldn't. Finally, she slid open the envelope and pulled out the letter. Itwas a single page alongside two small pieces of paper, which were folded inhalf. Julia swallowed when she recognized them.

The letter wasn't long, which both relieved and saddened her.

Julia,

The difference between certainty and a chance is love. I never thought I'd wishwith all my heart to be the one getting the second result, but right now I do. Ihope you will understand why I'm doing this, and I hope that you'll read thissomeday. The doctor said he could operate on your kidney and he might be able tosave it. Or I could give you one of mine. I'm going to give you one of mine. Iknow what that might mean for me, but I know what it might mean for you, too. Ipromise you that I thought this decision through.

Kiss Graham for me.

Love,Leah

Julia swallowed a lump and then fished out the two pieces of paper. She sighed,closing her eyes for a moment, and then opened the first.

Kidney operation, it said.

Julia felt her eyes brim with tears and allowed herself to cry. She opened thesecond.

It said, Old age, surrounded by loved ones.

"Thank you," Julia whispered, and then went to kiss her son.

Story by 'Nathan Burgoine

Illustration by Danica Novgorodoff

ROCK AND ROLL

"okay, kids, it'll be just another five minutes or so. You just sit tight, now."The man flashed a hurried smile to the three young teens before disappearingonce again. His unnaturally dyed hair portrayed an almost pitiful desire to lookmuch younger than he was, to fit in with these kids who were easily thirty yearshis junior. His hair was matched by his shiny leather vest and spasticallyaccessorized pants.

The man's words made Amanda suddenly aware that the three of them had beensitting in complete silence the entire time. She had been gazing at thelaminated badge she had been given, attached to a green fabric neck strap."Backstage Pass," it read in bold letters at the top, with the logo of the tourprinted beneath it. The colors of the logo didn't quite line up, making thegraphic appear as though it had purple shading on the left side and bottom.

The girl next to Amanda seemed to have the same realization and turned quicklyto Amanda. "I'm Julie," she said, sticking out her hand.

"Amanda," she replied, clasping Julie's hand. Amanda blushed a little as sherealized that her hand was sweaty because she was so nervous, especiallycompared to Julie's oddly cold palm. She let go perhaps a little early,embarrassed, and was flustered when Julie held on for another awkward second.Amanda thought she saw the hint of a smirk in Julie's face.

"I'm Austin," said the boy on the other side of Amanda. He was in a wheelchairand wore thick-framed, yellowish-tinted glasses. As Amanda turned to shake hishand, she was thrown off a little by his eyes, one of which seemed to focus on apoint a little behind her. His hand was a little warmer than Amanda's, whichfelt a little weird—but she held on this time, determined not to have thesame problem she had with Julie. She looked back at Julie, expecting her toreach over and shake hands with Austin, but she didn't; Julie just looked at himas if to acknowledge his presence while still holding on to the faint smile frombefore.

"I like your purse," Amanda offered, turning again toward Julie and trying toregain some of the power that the handshake faux pas had taken from her. Shedidn't really feel strongly one way or the other about the purse, but it didseem to be an expensive designer bag, or at least a knock-off. Either way itstruck Amanda as being something Julie must be proud of.