After Death (36 page)

Fernando felt foolish. What was going on? He was here, voluntarily, but no one was letting him in on anything. He couldn’t hide his irritation any longer.

“Yeah, man — more than you do. Now maybe you can tell me what the hell’s goin’ on?”

Parks made a chopping gesture of irritation with his hand and Fernando lowered his voice immediately, almost involuntarily.

“I’m just sayin’…” He finished weakly.

“Soon enough.” Parks replied, softly but clipped. “Wait here until I call you.”

Fernando and his partner moved slowly through the decrepit picket fence gate. Parks continued up the chipped front steps and discreetly pulled a gun from its shoulder holster and held it at his side so that it would be hidden against his leg. His partner strode quickly and quietly down the side yard until he was out of sight behind the house. Fernando watched, getting gradually more and more freaked out.

What were they doing? This was Frank, not some gang-banger..!

Parks knocked hard on the door and moved to the side of the threshold, gun still ready against his side. He called out.

“Mr. Davis? It’s the Police, please open the door.”

He waited a moment and tried again—this time knocking even harder.

“Mr. Davis — please open the door or we’re coming in.”

Two unmarked cars screeched to the curb in front of the cruiser Fernando leaned against and four men leapt out. They were all in street clothes and all but one had guns out and ready. Parks spoke quietly to the one in the lead.

“You got it?”

The officer nodded.

Parks backed up, then rushed forward and kicked the door in.

Pop! Crack! The door was so old and thin it split and fell backwards into the house and landed on the floor with a bang and cloud of dust.

Fernando couldn’t believe it, it was just like he’d seen on TV!

There was no hesitation—the actions of the group were rehearsed and almost mechanical — Parks moved inside the house and two of the men flanked him, one on each side. The third moved around the back, in the same direction Park’s partner had gone. The last officer, the one without the gun, busily pulled something from the trunk of the car, a shiny aluminum suitcase and a camera case.

As the men disappeared inside and the scene went quiet, the man with the suitcase stepped to Fernando and put a hand on his shoulder as if to say — wait, stay here. There was no need. Fernando had no interest in heading into a danger zone, he was perfectly fine where he was.

Several minutes passed and the only sounds they soon heard were Parks and some of the other men calling out Frank’s name and kicking open doors.

Parks finally reappeared in the doorway, a hand over his nose and mouth. He waved them in, voice muffled.

“We’re clear.” He turned towards Fernando. “You can come in — Just don’t touch anything.”

Slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly, Frank felt something akin to consciousness return.

He still felt formless. But he was now able to move, although with great difficulty and it more resembled “floating”. In front of him a few feet away he could see what appeared to be a wall of bluish fog, completely opaque and slowly eddying, as if with a tidal current.

Where is this?
He thought.
Hell? Limbo? How can I be in either if I’m still… Alive?

He concentrated on moving towards the “wall” and found that he was able to almost reach it — and then a force pushed him back — He was repelled as if it were reverse-magnetized.

He struggled to turn and managed a slow drift. He looked behind him, above him, and then below — There was only darkness everywhere — everywhere except for straight ahead and that strangely undulating blue wall.

As his thoughts became more focused, he found he could move slightly more freely and see more clearly as well. His mind ran back to Jackie and he felt strength and purpose surge through him.

I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Jackie, no matter what
, he thought. And then with a bolt of energy that made him tingle as if electrified,
I promised!

His mind locked onto this notion and its significance.

The Promise was one of the keys! — Wasn’t that what Eli had said? — Didn’t he say that the promise had given him the purpose — the motivation to cross over!

His form felt now like it was shimmering. He seemed to pulse, to energize in a magnificent surge. He tested this energy and easily soared to the blue wall. He began to push through the resisting force but even with his new changes, it was an effort of sheer will. The strain to slide his head through was still staggering — his energy was stolen away even as he penetrated it inch-by-inch. His only hope was to concentrate once more on the mantra of his life, his love, his one true motivation, his most precious Jackie.

His head finally cleared the obstruction and he peered through to what was on the other side of that strange blue wall.

It seemed for all his effort that he had just returned to where he had been a short time before, back in Eli’s cave. It was all the same, there in front of him was the end of the cave with the three mirrors propped up against the walls and the numerous candles in their numerous niches and their reflections and —

— But the chair where Jackie once sat was now empty! And there was something lying in a twisted heap in front of the chair, the shirt and pants familiar but somehow just beyond his ability to reconcile —

It was impossible...! — It was just another of Eli’s many tricks...!

He pushed the rest of the way through the wall and floated to the chair. He hovered above it, looking down.

It couldn’t be…! But it would explain so much… The odd formlessness he felt… The disconnection from anything real and solid…

His own dead eyes stared up at him from a horribly caved in face, a testament to Eli’s rage and power. The pupils were unmistakably glazed and fixed.

He hung motionless in the air, staring. It was fascinating — this shell that had once held his life. The skin had a waxy sheen and the absolute stillness was somehow hypnotic…

Could it still be a trick? Was Eli somehow able to pervert appearances in this other plane of existence…

He glanced across at the mirrors and gasped.

In the air, over his body in the reflection, was a faint smudge — a smoky outline that was barely visible — The realization hit him at once —

This was what he was now, this was his new self!
He looked the same as the wisps he’d seen before!

He knew what this meant but his brain protested in adamant denial…

It can’t be, it’s not possible, IT CANNOT BE!

Eli materialized next to him, drifting and floating in the air as he was. His form was far more distinct and solid than Frank’s and Frank thought he could see the faint red traces of blood coursing through his semi-transparent veins.

Eli turned to him with a wide toothy smile and wasted no time in confirming Frank’s worst fear.

“Surprise, Franklin — you’re
dead
!”

The word rattled in Frank’s head like a rock —

DEAD!

Eli laughed and his tone turned contemptuous.

“Now what can you do, Franklin? Even if you have
purpose
, you need blood to complete the journey, to attain the physicality to stop me. Even as we speak you feel yourself losing coherence… You’re dissipating — beginning to become…
Nothingness
! What are you going to do, kill someone, drink their blood and come out and play? I don’t think so. You don’t have it in you — Get it? — You don’t have it
in
you…”

He laughed and jiggled in the air with self-amusement.

Frank numbly returned his gaze to his own dead body lying contorted on the ground. The horribly smashed head and paling skin left him no escape.

It was true, then…! He was dead! So what could he possibly do now? Here, Eli was King… And he was just another powerless shade…

The moment Fernando stepped inside the hovel, he understood why Parks had covered his face and immediately did the same — as if to prevent the odor from entering and laying waste to his insides. He suppressed the urge to throw up and was reminded of a dead rat he’d found in the basement as a boy, but this was far worse than that, amplified a hundred-fold. The sour and clinging pungent smell was unmistakable — it was the odor of rot and decay and lingering
Death
.

He glanced around the living room at the ragged and torn furniture, the stuffing bulging out from multiple tears and laying across the floor like snow drifts. There were empty food cans covered in ants, haphazardly discarded bottles, and an assortment of wrappers that formed a layer over more than half of the bald and stained carpet. The paint had peeled off the walls to reveal black splotches of mold and mildew. Thick dirt and dust covered everything making the interior appear dull and lifeless. It looked like a crash pad for junkies but it was even hard to imagine junkies putting up with such overwhelming filth.

Fernando’s eyes widened at the surrounding decay and he called out to Parks but through his hand his voice was muffled and difficult to hear.

“Frank and his wife live here?”

Parks was already half way out of the room and disappeared around the corner, apparently without hearing him. Fernando followed and as he turned the corner, the forensics guy he’d met outside stopped him at the kitchen entrance and handed him a paper facemask with a gloved hand. He took it and put it on, hearing a loud buzzing nearby. It was high-pitched and frenetic and sounded like a hornet’s nest —
what was that?
The forensic guy offered him a pair of plastic goggles but Fernando declined and the forensic guy stepped aside and waved him past.

Fernando moved into the kitchen and the buzzing grew louder, almost assaultive in the small space. Parks was already there as was his partner, both in masks and goggles and gloves and carefully moving aside debris that littered the counters and floors. Rotting food and trash was scattered across every surface and the buzzing was from hoards of flies that formed large moving clouds in the air once disturbed from their nesting areas. In the sink were broken and moldy dishes also covered in a rolling mass of thriving insects and there were even more that had nested in the wallpaper that leaned away from the walls and two gaping openings in the walls themselves.

Fernando had no idea what they were looking for but he couldn’t stand this place a second longer. He spun and pushed his way past the forensic guy, trying to again hold back the urge to puke.

After a few minutes in the living room, he felt better and by the time Parks returned, he felt almost himself again.

Parks walked right past him, concentrating on surveying the scene and this time Fernando didn’t bother to try asking questions. He was content to stay behind his mask and observe. The forensic guy returned to the living room and began clicking off pictures and Parks continued towards the rear bedroom. Fernando decided to follow a few paces behind.

Everywhere they went, the condition was the same; total pervasive filth, insects (though not as bad as in the kitchen), and rot. Only the bedroom was different.

It wasn’t the carpet or the walls, those were the same as every other room. It was the
contents
of the room. In the center, there was an old desk and chair that were perfectly clean, so immaculate that they looked to have been wiped down only moments before. On the desktop sat an old computer, a monitor, a keyboard, and a dot matrix printer, also in spotless condition. Next to the computer, set
in a neat stack over an inch high, was a sheaf of papers.
Each sheet was carefully and exactly aligned with the others — the perfect and crisp tidiness eerily out of place with everything else in the house. From three-quarters of the way down the stack, a single yellow post-it stuck out from the side of a page.

Parks picked up the first page with a latex-gloved hand and read the title aloud:

“After Death — By Franklin Davis.”

He laid the page carefully face down to the side and flipped to the next.

Fernando glanced around the room. The windows were cracked and more dark-splotched moldy wallpaper hung down across the heavily scarred floor. The pages that Parks was reading were confirmation that Frank actually lived in this hell-hole but it seemed a surreal notion. Frank was always neatly dressed and clean shaven. He was almost always pleasant and friendly. What would possess him to live and work in a place like this with his wife?

Parks continued to scan the pages, the face-down stack growing quickly taller. His tongue worked inside his cheek again and when he spoke, it was in such a quiet tone, it seemed as if he were talking to himself.

“There’s a lot in here about the convalescent hospital where you work, Fernando — Are these people familiar to you?”

He held a page up in front of Fernando, and waved his bare hand away when he reflexively reached up to hold it. Fernando started to read and had just noticed a reference to Rachel’s name when Park’s partner called out from elsewhere in the house.