The office, Stephen walked into was even brighter than the waiting room. Sunlight
fell into the room through a large window that covered one entire wall, making
the room bloom. The office was big, a lot of unused space. You could divide the
room into twenty smaller offices if you’d want it, but instead there was one
large dark oaken desk right in the center. The chair that was behind it was
fancy - somewhat quaint. It looked expensive, while the chair in front of the
desk (probably meant for Stephen) was cheap and rigid.
“Please, please, take a sit,” the man who’d
let Stephen in insisted, and Stephen slowly moved further into the room.
“Relax! Make yourself comfortable.”
Stephen looked again at the stark, rigid
chair. ‘Sure. A bed would be more appropriate at the moment,’ Stephen ranted in
his head but, still hoping for some help (at last), he obeyed to the man’s
hospitality. “Thanks,” he said. But as he neared the chair he couldn’t help but
look outside, as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. It was immense! “Wow…”
Stephen turned to walk to the wide window and
take in the sight. The window’s view was parallel to the street below him and
it seemed to be hanging slightly overhead it at the fiftieth floor. There were
loads of people downstairs walking on the street. There were no cars, which he
found odd. They all walked past each other in every direction possible, like one
great square.
The buildings around him were tall, and all
the same color - grey, or when the sun hit, pure white. Some were slightly
dark, some more light. The view reminded him of the city of New York, but…
cleaner somehow. Less glass, though. More concrete - maybe even marble again,
but this time there was no way to touch and prove it.
Stephen was confused. ‘Where am I? This is
definitely not L.A. anymore,’ he asked himself, looking at the city around. He
was still somewhere in America it seemed. American flags and banners were all
over the place, hanging from the tall buildings, like Wall Street on a sunny
day, where Stephen had been on business trips with the studio. But he could see
it was not. It was someplace… different; it was brighter, for one. Two, ‘where
do you even find a city without traffic?’ he asked himself as he was still
gazing upon the busy street. It seemed impossible to Stephen.
“How is the view?” suddenly the man asks.
Stephen didn’t look away at all. He was in a
trance. “Curious…” he answered.
“That is an appropriate reaction, my friend. Allow
me to introduce myself, Mr. Doyll. I’m Mr. Grant, Eugene Grant, and I’m here to
guide you.”
Stephen slowly turned around. “Hi,” he said
and looked through the room as though he left his brain in the expensive Volvo
on Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles. He took his moment there.
“Wait; guide me in what, exactly? Are you
talking about this thing in my side here? It’s pretty uncomfortable, so that
would be a blessing really,” Stephen pointed at the bloody metal plate that
went into his body just above his hipbone. “Where am I anyway? This isn’t
L.A.,” he said directly afterward. “Where’s Roxanne?!” He asked as all kinds of
questions entered his mind, both important and not - sheer hopes and random
brain impulses, everything was thrown at him. He felt like he was dreaming. It
was unreal, but he seemed so awake. Like he was actually there. And where
dreams seemed to fast-forward in time, everything was dead steady now. He had
perfect control. He tested it out; ‘see I can look around the room. I can observe. Dreams just occur. I’m in control
here.’
Stephen looked at Mr. Grant in enquiry after
his test was complete. He looked at his glasses and his suit; it was all so
quaint, really. As if Stephen had gone back to the ‘60’s. He looked like a
shrink. Or a professor, teaching rocket science at Oxford University. Stephen couldn’t
decide what would be better. There were so many questions, and Stephen had the
tendency to just fire them away in fury.
“Why don’t we sit down for a minute, Mr.
Doyll? Then we can discuss this all in more detail.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” Stephen rubbed his face
and eyes, struck his hand through his hair and sat down on the little brick
chair. It felt exactly as he thought it would be; undeniably uncomfortable. “So,
can you give me some answers, doc? You’re the doctor here, right?”
“Yes, you could call me that,” he gave away a half
self-satisfied smile. “Listen, Stephen, I’m going to tell you something really
important and you need to believe me. You’re-“
“Cut the crap, doc. I need answers. I got a feeling I’m going insane here,” Stephen interrupted.
He didn’t appreciate the careful approach Mr. Grant handled at the moment. Stephen
was always impatient when it came to this. No workarounds, no word-play, no
postponing. Brutal truth " bring it on.
“Ok, fair enough, Mr. Doyll,” Stephen’s eyes
went wide open. “You’re dead.”
“Dead?”
“Dead, dead.”
“What?! You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, not at all.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.
That’s just ridiculous!”
“How do you explain that wound, then, Mr.
Doyll,” the shrink’s mood had changed. He’d become more serious... His need to
make Stephen feel comfortable was gone. Now he wanted him to know. “You bled
out in the car before they could even get to you.”
Stephen fell back into his chair and sighed
deeply. ‘This is madness!’ he thought. He looked like a zombie as he lay back
in the uncomfortable chair, and it wasn’t just because of his bloody wound at
his side. He looked far away - in outer space, taking a moment, trying to get
by, but things seemed to fade. His eyelashes flicked, his mouth relaxed and his
eyebrows stopped frowning.
“Stephen?” the shrink tried to get to Stephen.
“Stephen?!”
And he was gone…
It was ‘77 when Stephen was in Senior High in Chandler, Arizona. Stephen was
sitting in the back of the class, as always, leaning against the wall behind
him, staring at the ceiling and throwing small wet wads of paper at it. They
would stick perfectly.
“Okay, class, listen up!” the teacher came in,
put his briefcase next to his desk and turned to the class again. “Today we
have something special arranged for you guys,” meanwhile Stephen didn’t pay any
attention and continued his ritual. “Stephen! That’s also for you. Pay
attention or you can go to the principal, again,”
Stephen smiled self-satisfied. He wore a black band t-shirt of The Stones and
baggy jeans. His wrinkled leather coat that came to his knees hung from his
chair and his black hair pointed into every direction possible - just the way
he liked it.
He obeyed the teacher, though. He had already
gone to the principal’s office five times this month and already had his final
warning for the month. First time was for smoking, the second time was also for
smoking, third time was for being late, the fourth for not paying attention and
the fifth for threatening a fellow student that had sat down on his desk in
class. That last one was the reason why he had to be careful the most - the principal
installed a zero-tolerance policy after his last trick.
A guy in a smooth black coat of cotton and
with perfectly-combed-back blonde hair came in.
“This is Mr. King. Today he’s going to tell us
something about our church here in Chandler,” the teacher examined Stephen’s
face upon the word ‘church’. Stephen rolled his eyes as he kept his pose with
his hands behind his head. “So, I’m going to give the floor to Mr. King now and
I hope you guys find some interest in his story.”
Mr. King hung his coat on the teacher’s chair.
“Thank you, Mr. Flyby.” He wore a white blouse with a black chalet and stood
before the class, putting his hands behind his back, tip-toeing for a second as
he surveyed the classroom.
“Good morning, students. I’m Mr. King and I’m
a proud member of the Chandler Christian Church.”
‘It’s way too early for this, really,’ Stephen
thought as he tried to follow Mr. King’s words and kept his pose against the
wall.
“Does anyone of you go to church? On Sundays
with the folks, maybe? Anyone?”
Some hand went up in the air - some swift and
excited, some less.
“How about you?” Mr. King turned his attention
to one of Stephen’s classmates.
“Uh…”
“Come on, don’t be shy now. It’s yours to tell
and you should be proud of it!”
“I got to church on Sundays with my parents.”
“Here in Chandler?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mr. King waited for a little bit.
“Good!” Mr. King clapped his hands out of
enthusiasm and scanned the room for more possibilities.
“What about you?” He walked along the isle and
pointed at a girl near Stephen, who had just put her hand up.
“Sometimes I like to go alone, when there’s no
ceremony. It’s nice and quiet…” She told him tender.
Mr. King’s voice went soft. “Those are the
most beautiful moments, if you ask me,” he told her. The girl nodded shyly and
said, “Yes, Sir,” she said, then he returned to his spot in front of the class.
Then Mr. King turned to Stephen. “How about, you?” His voice was slow and mocking in
some way, Stephen thought as he broke through Mr. King’s charade and gave him a
look that shouted ‘are you kidding me?’ Nothing else implied either. For a
moment, the two had a silent battle, trying to conquer ground by means of eye
contact. And in Stephen’s eyes, there was a hint of curiosity that grew - a
sparkle maybe.
“If you really want to know, no I don’t. Why
should I?”
Mr. King presented some satisfaction, smiling
as if he found his golden ticket. “Why wouldn’t you, my boy?”
Stephen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘What, your boy?!’ He thought.
“Haven’t you ever had the urge to talk? To get
something heavy off your chest? A chance to-“
“Nope, not really to be honest.”
“Stephen!” the teacher yelled suddenly. “Let
the man speak. I know you don’t have many manners, but watch it.”
Stephen threw him another look that was meant
to kill, but unfortunately for Stephen it didn’t work.
“What’s your name, son?”
Stephen looked towards his teacher, whose eyes
were red burning already and he sighed.
“My name is Stephen, nice to meet you,” and
put up a fake smile and held out his hand. The whole class seemed to stop
breathing for a few seconds, then Mr. King followed his gesture and shook his
hand. Nothing happened and soft sighs of relieve could be heard.
“Well, Stephen, there must be something you’ve
experienced you wish to talk about? Wouldn’t you rather ask forgiveness from
the Lord than live with a heavy heart?”
“No, not really. I’m good, actually. Thanks,
though,” he smiled again.
“Stephen, you can’t avoid this. It’s just
human and-“
“Ok, stop!” Stephen threw his hands on the
table with a blast. “Stop it, right now! Am I even allowed to have an opinion?”
Mr. King’s gaze turned dark. “Seriously, you think I’m just going to let you
brainwash me? I have no need for anything close to a just cause. I don’t crave
forgiveness. I just want to live life my own way, get it?” Only after, Stephen looked
at the teacher who was already face-palming and shaking his head. His
classmates looked at him like an alien.
“Stephen, I know it’s hard to understand but
you have to come clean at some point. You’re having a hard time believing me,
but I want to help you, really. What are you going to say when you stand before
the gates of God? And he asks why he should let you enter? What are you going
to say to somebody that all-knowing?”
The question entered Stephen’s brain and
triggered events, emotions even. He thought about how his anger had turned to
fury in the past, resulting in multiple broken ribs and bruises the size of
oranges. He thought of the harassment, the assaults, the experimenting, the
drive for something better, the recklessness… How he had gone through some
harsh s**t until his seventeenth year of living. But also how it had shaped
him. And he tried to find some trace of guilt or self-hatred, but was actually
astonished to find none. And at that moment he knew better than ever, he needed
nothing even close to a God, and said, “I would tell him to f**k off.”
“Stephen? Stephen? Hello?” Stephen opened his eyes slowly and the blur had returned.
“Good, you’re back,” the shrink told him and the blur changed to the contour of
a head hovering above his face, with an obvious bald spot on top.
“Did I pass out?”
“Maybe. Could also have been a Voodoo Death
for all I know, but since you’ve already past, well, we can’t be sure.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s said you could die from too much
emotional stress. Now, in your previous life it would have been more obvious,”
he told as he’d grabbed Stephen under his armpits and pulled him more up with a
groan.
“Man, this is just weird…”
“Just take a moment, relax. Everything’s fine.
There’s no need to worry. There’s plenty of time for that later. You, need to
clear your head a little, one topic at the time,” the shrink said as he had
returned to his spot at the other end of the desk.
As Stephen came by his sense, he started to
reflect on his time away. He thought about the ignorance that had fallen onto
him until merely hours ago - maybe days - how could he even know how long it
took him to get where he was right now - someplace… far away? The slightest
feeling of self-hatred emerged in him now. He didn’t like to get tricked and it
was exactly how he felt. Tricked. To know that there was an utter void after
death, it’s an obvious paradox now, really.
Heedlessly, Stephen had been watching out of
the window. ‘Why are there American flags?’
“Would you like some coffee?” Mr. Grant asked
him as he’d dreamed away.
Stephen woke up, a sudden word struck him.
“Coffee? Really?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing better to get you on
your feet again. You need some life back in your-“ Mr. Grant gasped for a
second as his hands held the desk tight, frozen. “I am, so sorry, Mr. Doyll, that was so unprofessional of me,” the
professor apologized.
Stephen wore a blank face as he peered at Mr. Grant,
then cried out in laughing. “That’s actually a really good one, doc,” Stephen said
and Mr. Grant showed some signs of ease again as his shoulders lowered. He even
threw in a little smile.
“I’m still very sorry, that was not meant to
happen.”
“That’s alright,” Stephen replied, more
cheered up than before. “So, coffee?” He asked with hands spread open across
the desk, then pointed at the professor. “If you’re going to tell me you were
kidding I’m still going to get you for that joke.” Stephen’s love for coffee
was eternal.
“Yes,” Mr. Grant pushed a button on his desk
and spoke, “Dick? Can we have two coffee in here, please?” There was no
response.
“So, Mr. Grant-“
“Oh, please call me Eugene. There’s no need
for solemnness,” Eugene turned to the button again. “Dick?!”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Two coffee, please.”
“Coming up, Sir.”
“Okay, Eugene, changing the topic here,”
Stephen started Grant’s eyes were back on him. “Can I maybe get this piece of
metal removed?” Stephen pointed at his side.
“It’s starting to annoy me,” Stephen
asked, pulling a foul face.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s kind of your death-mark. We tried
removing such items before. Believe it or not, it’s just impossible.”
“Can’t you just saw it out or something?” And
another scene from the Saw series entered Stephen’s brain. It made him shiver
for a heart-beat.
Eugene seemed to be digging in his memory,
throwing some signs of trauma. When he noticed that Stephen was watching him
closely, he slightly jumped up. “No, no. Impossible,” and he recovered to his
formal position.
“Why?”
“Maybe some other time, Stephen. It’s our
first session…”
Stephen was curious of heart, but decided to
let this one slip. It wasn’t that
bad. He just touched it occasionally with his elbow, twisting it and creating
uncomfortable stings inside. But ‘what could happen?’ Stephen thought. He was
already dead.
A side door in the office suddenly opened and
a young fellow walked in. Stephen thought he was about eighteen years old with
short black hair and wearing a full valet uniform - red jacket, white shirt,
black trousers. He seemed submissive, withdrawn, timid… He held a plate with
two cups on it and that’s when the smell hit Stephen. ‘Paradise!’
The valet boy put one coffee in front of Eugene
and the other one in front of Stephen.
“Sugar, Sir?”
“No thanks, I like it black,” Stephen was
desperate to take a sip. He couldn’t wait. So he just took it. ‘Damn right
paradise!’ “That’s really good, sport. Thank you,” Stephen gave him a wink.
The valet boy said nothing, but smiled and
then turned around and for the third time in the probable last twenty-four
hours Stephen’s face shifted to a disturbed one as the valet boy walked. He
just watched him walk towards the door he entered in through. He walked swift,
but it seemed to go too slow for Stephen. And he couldn’t believe he had just
talked to this guy, who had seemed so normal.
The back of the valet boy’s head revealed his
brain. His scalp was open. He wasn’t bleeding, like Stephen wasn’t bleeding. Just
only dried up blood to be seen. The bone was just completely gone and how much Stephen
wanted to be strong in the company, he couldn’t help but looking shocked and
even disgusted.
“See, you’re far from our worst case, Stephen.”
“I see indeed,” Stephen said, his eyes still
focused on the boy, now leaving the room.
“So do you want to talk about how you died?” Eugene
asked Stephen with a soft voice after a long awkward pause at both sides.
Stephen seemed in distress all of a sudden. He
was thinking it over. The night, the accident, Roxanne… He quickly took another
sip of coffee.
“Is this really safe to drink for me? I mean,
isn’t this going to drip out of my wound later on? Think it would be a mess…”
He suddenly said and the professor looked amazed.
“Uh. I don’t know, to be honest,” he laughed a
little, scratching his bald spot.
“Could be. I think you should check it later
on. Just to be sure,” he nodded friendly.
“That would suck real badly - not being able
to drink anything without it dripping from your side minutes later. It’s like
peeing randomly.”
“Yes. It would seem so… Back on the topic, Stephen;
don’t you think you want to tell your story?”
Stephen went quiet again, staring out the window.
He didn’t feel like talking about it. This last image kept flashing in front of
his eyes - Roxanne’s face. And at the time, it felt like too much for Stephen.
“Hey, what’s the deal with the American flag
outside?”
“What about them?” the professor asks Stephen back,
not fully getting it.
“Am I still on earth somewhere? Or is this all
someplace else? And if it is, why are there American flags? Seems a bit off,” Stephen
tried to describe his question in as much detail as he could.
“This is a blank world, Stephen. But it has
placeholders for personalization. The flags as an instance, can be anything to
everyone. It’s different for everyone else, depending on their life. Now let’s
start with a simple question; How did you die?”
“Car crash,” Stephen replied shortly, feeling
forced to tell.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Eugene smiled.
“Do you want to tell me more about it?”
Stephen went silent. ‘No, it just happened! I
just want to think about something else! I don’t want to be stuck here!’ The
red light flashed again. The brights blinded him. The slow-motion kicked in,
the adrenaline seemed to start running, again. And there was her face, again.
Stephen’s mind went numb, then he looked up.
“How’s Roxanne?”
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