"Which death is this… eighth… tenth? Frankly, I've lost track, Stuart." Dr. Rekah Shah, my reanimator, awoke me for the eleventh time in the past eight years. She was kidding. She was not one to lose count of her killings.

 

Moments earlier I had been in the presence of my wife, Clara. Her essence was a constellation of stars, her soul enmeshed with mine. We always spent what felt like infinite hours reminiscing, professing our love and contemplating lives of children we never had a chance to create. I regret I could never provide what she wanted.

 

“Are you lonely?” I’d asked Clara.

 

“Here I’m never alone. I’m surrounded by souls coming and going. A vast cosmic airport of travelers waiting for a new destination,” she said. Her light surrounded me with a warmth I’d only ever felt in her presence. “Perhaps one day….”

 

“We will be together forever,” I said, finishing the sentence for her. I felt the yank of my tether calling me home. Leaving her in the afterlife was killing me.

 

I attempted to drag myself out of the primordial ooze of my rebirth tank. My arms and legs were shaky as a newborn colt and covered in the regenerative caul, a custom-made medium of amino acids, electrolytes, aloe vera, and Manuka honey.

 

"Whoa there, cowboy, you've barely been alive an hour. Let my team assist you," said Dr. Shah as her team pulled me out, covering me with warmed blankets. They sucked goo out of every nook and cranny, making it easier to hear, to talk, to smell. Smell. That's one thing the afterlife lacked: Earth's burning, acrid stench. Air purifiers can only do so much. But I’d tolerate it all if only Clara was here. She had a way of cooling me off.

 

"When you've recovered, call me. We need to discuss your obsession with death. It's unhealthy."

 

So is grief. I nodded and watched her black-coated back walk away.

 

* * *

 

It took me a few days to catch up on the six months I’d missed. Rebels kept rebelling, the world continued to burn, and it was still not enough to keep me distracted from my Clara-less life. I was sixty years old, retired, my financial resources drained by grief. Friends tried their best to distract me.

 

"Why don't you try off-world? Luna Ridge Condo is open," said Brighton, my best friend and diehard Loonie. He'd never set foot out of New Canada nor ever married. Lost soul, in my opinion.

 

“In the afterlife, I don't need contraptions to breathe," I said to his virtual image.

 

"Cause you’re dead! Dr. Shah’s killing you and preserving your corpse. What kind of life is that?" Brighton took a swig of Scotch. “You need to move on.”

 

When scientists first discovered that souls were just particles of light without a body, they found a way to tether them to a healthy individual. With enough money and stamina, you could visit the afterlife without committing to dying.

 

"I can 'live' with Clara there. There is no living without her, you know that."

 

"Are you even sure it’s what she would want? It's a waste of a good life,” said Brighton before signing off.

 

* * *

 

Reanimatrix’s medical office reminded me of old funeral parlors before they started mandatory cremation. Various birthing tubs were scattered over the main showroom, and eager staff offered you the latest in death tech. I was brought in immediately to Dr. Shah.

 

"Listen, Doctor," I said, "I know I have one more death in me. You said seven was your limit, but we got eleven together!"

 

"I'm not in the habit of killing my patients. Temporarily, yes, but permanently, no. Your last labs," she pointed to the data scrolling on the table between us, "show you aged five years with the last journey. Your soul may be sixty, Stuart, but your body is decaying. Each time you’re under could be your last."

 

Clara was only fifty when her autocar went careening into oncoming traffic. Her body was as irreparable as my grief. I was alone on Earth, a burning rock orbiting a dying sun. Only in the afterlife could we be together. I'd contemplated death many times before coming to Dr. Shah. There were strict penalties for self-harm, which included not seeing your loved ones. Even the afterlife had its rules and regulations, its pencil pushers. Dr. Shah didn't know I'd always been waiting for my last death. Clara, I'm coming home.

 

* * *

 

The twelfth death was the hardest to arrange. Preparing for it took a few more months of building up assets. My body needed more support, but my soul was eager to take flight and detached quicker than before. When I got to Clara, however, her light dimmed.

 

"What's wrong, darling?” I asked, “You look like you've seen a ghost." She took pity on me and gave a chuckle.

 

"Stuart, I'm being recycled," said Clara. Her light beam surrounded me with what felt like a hopeful squeeze.

 

"What are you talking about? Reincarnation? Already?"

 

"I’ll live again." Clara flickered, a thready pulse of a presence, then returned strong. "I’ve been trying to tell you."

 

"But your body’s only ash."

 

"I’ll be an infant… with an old soul." Her light wisped around me in elegant parabolas.

 

"Please… stay." The light in me was failing and I wondered if souls could die. I was losing her all over again.

 

"I love you, Stuart. We'll be together one day."

 

To love her is to let her go. Brighton had told me that, but I’d thought it a disservice to her memory. Now, I know what it means.

 

“I’ll find you a lifetime from now. I love you.”

 

Her soul dissipated and there came a lightness within my chest. She would live a full life, I hoped. I tried to return to my body but realized I was free of my twin tether to both life as well as to grief. Perhaps now, I could finally live.