The applause sign flashed. We were a well-trained audience, so we loudly cheered and clapped as Valerie took Helen’s hand and Ed, Darlene’s. The two contestants chosen to play tonight’s game of Serpientes y Escaleras were led from their seats toward the stage.

I watched Rose. Her face rapidly ran through a range of emotions—confusion, relief, anger—before she slipped into her professional TV persona which radiated simpleminded compassion. She and Michael stepped forward as the contestants were handed off to them. Helen and Darlene might have had large gaps in their memories from their past lives, but they were both engaged and outgoing and had spoken often about how excited they were to become, one day, contestants.

Today was their day. The fools.

However, I knew I was supposed to be in one of those chairs they were sitting in.

And from the glances exchanged by many of the production crew, it became immediately clear that they, too, had expected a different selection. Saligia, yes. Saligia had balked. Changed her mind.

She was afraid. I’d seen that look from some of the others—they feared me. Saligia, though, hid it better than most.

Was it because of Lydia? Do they know?

And, yes, I do feel comfortable referring to Lydia by her first name. Such an ordeal as last night—an intimate encounter few get to share—had left us with no secrets to hide from one another.

I was quite sure I had left no evidence, but because of her absence, they all certainly would have begun to suspect something. I could see it from how they behaved around me. Especially when they brought us in to be seated. Valerie and Ed, usually so solicitous to everyone, were keeping watch over just the front row, where I sat, as though posted to sentry duty.

Then there was Silverio. He was not afraid of me. He had been looking over my way every so often. Nothing the least surreptitious in his manner. He watched as if daring me to do something. Anything.

Not that they truly expected me to become a bother.

They all thought I was too heavily drugged to be a threat.

I don't know what they used. Some fairly pedestrian tranquilizer, but in a substantial amount. They sedated all of us at midday by dosing our lunch. I found it pleasant at first, but as I needed to keep my mind sharp, I found ways to get around it. To fool them.

But maybe I was not fooling them. If Saligia truly possessed the ability to read minds, could anything be hidden from her? Though I found that hard to believe—telepathy.

Whatever the case, she was not in prime form. Her composure had slipped, just a bit. I noticed earlier when she was selecting the contestants. While she was moving her fingers in the air around her head—manipulating thought waves or whatever—her fingers had brushed against her face. She’d never done that before.

I knew the signs. The woman was drunk.

That would have made my original plan so much simpler. But I hadn't been selected.

So, I would adjust my strategy. Before the show ended, I needed to act.

I watched and thought.

Saligia moved to greet the seated contestants while Silverio shuffled through a stack of index cards to find the lighthearted biographies of the chosen contestants. Were those accurate, or just some nonsense he made up?

“What a couple of charming ladies we have with us tonight,” Silverio said as he lightly tugged at his lapels to adjust his sequined green jacket. “I would like our audience in the studio as well as everyone at home to meet Darlene. A mother of three who enjoys baking bunt cakes and playing the harmonium. Her greatest thrill was to meet Joe Namath while shopping for a shower curtain!”

Darlene smiled. She seemed thrilled to learn those facts about herself.

“And Helen, a retired astrophysicist with, what she considers, the largest collection of blown glass manatees west of the Mississippi.”

“Such sweet women,” Saligia said to Silverio as she returned to her podium.

“But we will soon discover, before the end of the show, which is the sweeter,” Silverio said. “Isn’t that right?”

“That’s correct, Sy. We can’t have the both of them going through the coveted Door Number One.”

“Oh no, that’s is not the way we do things here,” Silverio said, grinning into the camera. “We might need to dig deep, but I don’t doubt we’ll find a dark hidden secret or two. And we’ll get to work right after these wonderful words from our sponsors!”

During Saligia and Sy’s banter, one of the rolling cameras had been repositioned to an area in the corner of the studio where they staged the live commercials.

If indeed I had died and the people around me possessed the skills to resurrect the dead, I would have thought they’d be more accomplished in television production than to air these low budget live commercials.

A man obviously lacking the most rudimentary acting skills stared intently into the camera and began to extol the merits of some eatery called the Long Barracks Steakhouse.

“Steaks are indeed their name and their game,” he said with breathless conviction. “But let me suggest a more adventurous choice for your next visit. The Crêpe Cod is a surf and turf unlike anything you’ve tasted before. A deep fried fish filet wrapped in a delicate pancake and laid atop a generous portion of steak tartare.”

I had to wonder if anything more loathsome could possibly await me on the other side of Door Number Two.

I saw that Rose was trying to get the attention of Silverio. But he was focused on peeling a hard boiled egg. Rose looked over at Saligia, but she only shook her head, holding a finger to her lips.

Of course we in the audience were told at the beginning of every show to remain silent during the commercial portions.

Rose knew the rules, but I could tell she was frustrated. Because of me, I was sure. I wondered what she thought they could possibly do? Swap out me for Helen or Darlene and not expect anyone watching at home to tell the difference?

She leaned over and began to whisper in Michael’s ear, but the short woman with the clipboard and headset caught her eye and pantomimed the zipping of lips. Rose sighed and stood there on stage watching that man in the corner talk to the camera about the longest salad bar in city.

That city being San Antonio, which was one of the things I had learned from Lydia last night. True, I had already assumed as much, but she confirmed that I was in an office building in downtown San Antonio, Texas.

Additionally, I was in the future. Six years after I died in the prison hospital.

Everybody in the audience of this TV show had also died.

When I tried to get Lydia to explain who was bringing people back from the dead, and how, she started in on some convoluted gibberish about the Changes. I realized I wouldn’t get a straight answer from her about that matter—apparently some disaster where the laws of nature fell apart.

I moved on to other lines of inquiry. I didn’t want to increase my chance of being discovered, so I kept things as simple as possible.

I had her share with me everything she knew about why I had gone through that horrible transformation in the elevator and how I might best get out of this diabolical place.

She provided some very useful information. I might’ve gotten more from her—like the alleged telepathy—but unfortunately I got carried away, and I eventually realized she was no longer in any condition to continue supplying me with the answers I sought.

What I learned, however, allowed me to fashion my plan of escape. And, even with the unexpected turn of events that kept me from sitting on stage in one of those contestant seats, I could still see a way to make things work.

I just needed the right moment.

Silverio, having finished his egg, patted his lips with a linen napkin and began playing the show’s theme song. That was the cue for Valeria and Ed to excitedly draw our attention to the strobing applause sign.

We were back to the show.

Darlene and Helen took turns as the lighted game board tracked their progress. Every so often, they landed on a special square and Saligia slipped into action with her mumbo jumbo and Rose and Michael stepped forward to playact scenes we were to believe represented interludes from the lives of the two contestants.

Sadly, I didn't get the chance to watch my life played out. I had been looking forward to that. If they had managed to portray my exploits in an accurate manner, it would have made for spectacular television. As it was, with Helen and Darlene, there seemed little chance for high drama. So far, we’d been given nothing more brow-raising than cheating on a college entrance exam from one, and impassive infidelity from the other.

I certainly didn't have to work hard to give the appearance of someone in a drug stupor.

When we paused for the final commercial break, I focused my attention on the dimensions of the stage. Sixteen feet wide, thirteen feet deep. The trick would be to keep calm. Every move had to be purposeful. Deliberate. I would need to move around the center camera to avoid Ed. Then step high to clear the three loose cables in front of the lip of the stage. But once I made it that far, it would be straight on to my destination.

Four and a half seconds would do it. The second half of my plan should take half that time. But the truth was, I couldn't be sure about that part. There would be a struggle. Of that I was certain.

I realized Silverio was not rummaging about for a snack to enjoy during the break. His eyes were riveted upon me. From my peripheral vision, I noticed his expression showed great curiosity.

He knew I wasn't drugged.

What gave me away?

The intensity of my face while I mentally calculated my movements?

It hardly mattered. What could he do? Nothing. At least not during the broadcast.

There was one person in the room who lacked the slavish respect for the rules of live television production. An executive type named Ida who everyone tried to avoid.

Ever since that moment the two contestants had been chosen, and neither were me, Ida wore the expression of an elementary school teacher with an unruly student who just got more and more disruptive.

Silverio turned away from me so he could watch Ida as she snatched the clipboard from the short woman. She strode across the stage and came to a stop in front of him. Without once relaxing her scowl, she scribbled words on a piece of paper and dropped it on Silverio’s piano. She returned the clipboard to the short woman and stared at Silverio from the sidelines with her arms crossed.

A new development?

After Silverio read the note, he smiled at Ida, shrugging his shoulders as if to say it was out of his hands.

Just as I had thought. There was nothing they could or would do. It meant so much to them all to maintain the illusion of their absurd show.

And then we were back to the theme music, the applause sign, and that crude affair of the weighing of souls.

As Saligia instructed her mind-reading assistants to perform a scene from Helen’s college years, Silverio’s attention drifted back to me.

Silverio Moreno, the head clown of this mad show who had worn that absurd red wig two nights running. He looked at me with a lopsided smile. And then he winked.

He must think I was as unlikely to break the rules of the show as he.

He would soon learn otherwise. I knew precisely what I was going to do. It was just a matter of waiting for the perfect moment.

Just maybe I should add a slight embellishment to my scheme, I thought. I knew well enough that improvisation could be costly, but that was how much I desired to wipe that smile permanently off the face of Silverio Moreno.