John Jackson - The 9th Fortress

"It is completely natural!" she stated, rifling through my head. "And although revealing, the ledger is the only way to the truth. It is the way of things. Rest assured, Daniel, the angel reading your ledger is under oath to keep their findings sacrosanct. So, try and relax. Every person who has ever lived, every pharaoh and president, king and queen have gone through this process. If it still embarrasses you, then think of this: You also have an afterlife ledger, a fresh start for nobler pursuits, and today is page one. "

For all her words, the idea would never sit comfortably with me, or anyone else, I imagine. However, I guess there are some things in life — and death — that are unavoidable.

***

Missy kept her wings flapping at a steady pace in front. By this time, I was adjusted to my rejuvenation, and to the plain white world, which thoroughly disappointed. This certainly was not Heaven, but it wasn't really any place. It lacked life, care, and color, the ingredients that made the planet I left special.

"I'm to be judged here?" I asked, the pace and nerves causing my heart to race. "This dull space?"

"This dull space," Missy informed, again over her shoulder, "is called the Waiting Plain, the other side of space, actually. There is nothing to fear. Hurry now."

"I'm not afraid. It's just the weirdness of it all. The Waiting Plain?"

"Here one first meets his life support, as you have. One also waits for his case to be heard, as you will."

Confounded by the idea of a celestial law and order, I was nonetheless intrigued as I avoided the draft her wings produced.

"This is a waiting room?" I asked. "Where are the magazines?"

"We do a different sort of reading here,” she said, happy to satisfy my curiosity. "Souls take time to be heard. The life ledger contains all the facts, though, and every one must be taken into account. For example, a child may be brainwashed into a belief system by small-minded parents, but with education can grow out of that ignorance. A man may commit a petty crime one year and cancel it out with charitable penance the next. You see, Daniel, qualification for Heaven does not come through solemn prayer or blind devotion, but through moral fiber, the makeup of heart and soul in all living things. Once all that has been taken into consideration, a verdict is returned and justice carried out. Death truly is the great equalizer."

"And how long am I to wait, Missy?"

"You are to be heard immediately! As I said, it is most unusual. Faster now… Tardiness is unacceptable!"

On the move a while, Missy rambled on and on about her favorite subject — me. Her passion made the girl impossible to dislike, but I quickly discovered that hearing only about oneself gets extremely tedious. Her knowledge seemed bottomless; the most intimate and banal details of my life were hers to sift through — good habits and bad, long standing friends and brief acquaintances. She knew what I preferred to eat and what made me wretch; she knew the ideal hours of sleep my body required — seven, apparently — and was weirdly jealous of the women who kept me from them. She was privy to how much I earned and the junk I spent it on, and how many years I worked to become a police officer and the pride I felt wearing the badge. My dreams and nightmares were hers, too; there was absolutely no hiding place from this angel's eye.

Does she know when to shut up? I thought at one point. The phosphorescent glow of this blank world brought about a migraine, and I began to question if we had actually moved at all. The smooth surface seemed to flow backwards whilst my feet continued forwards, as if trapped on one, vast, go-nowhere conveyor belt.

"Just your imagination," she answered back. "Headaches are common, too. It'll pass."

Remembering Missy's remarkable ability to hear my thoughts, I focused them on the question at the forefront of my thinking, and awaited her telepathic reply. I concentrated hard, but Missy floated on without reaction or comment. Frustrated, I shouted the question several times over in my head, but still nothing. Finally, I clutched her elbow and braked with my heels.

"What?" she complained, jolting back. "Why do you stop us?"

"Don't you know?" I said, unapologetic. "Or are you just avoiding the issue?”I have someone I'd like to see Missy, and you know it."

Wearing that expectant expression, sadness descended over her bright face.

"Let's keep moving Daniel. Let's?"

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Tell me."

"Nothing. Now we're almost there, so…" she tugged at my wrist, but I rooted my feet put.

"There is someone I'd like to see," I insisted. "Don't ignore me. You've told me everything about my life, but nothing of hers. Didn't even mention her name, did you? Where is she? I won't take another step until you…"

"No!" the girl interrupted, shunting her palm at the end of my nose. "Do you think I haven't heard you? Do you think I cannot feel your pain? Shame you can't feel mine or you wouldn't have drunk your life away over it!" This was the serious adult speaking now, the ripe wisdom she hid so well behind a youthful face. "How can I put this?" she said, caressing my shoulders. "How can I?"

Her difficult expression gave me cause for concern. What could be so hard to say?

"Your daughter," she stuttered, "is in Heaven. You are not."

A gunshot went off in my head, striking my brain and all it controlled dumb. The mention of my twelve year old tended to do that, but the idea that she was somewhere close by, somehow, tangibly alive, hit me harder than usual this time.

"Kathy," I said, feeling the life drain out of me.

Postponing our rush, Missy gave me a much-needed minute on my backside.

"The living do not realize the grief the dead go through," she said. "Your daughter lost a father, but she had a strong life support, and loving grandparents to see her through the worst."

Astonished, I could only shake my head. "This is fucked! Totally fucked!"

I sensed Missy's disapproval at the language, but I didn't care. Gazing up at a ceiling of white nothings, I tried to imagine Kathy's life in Heaven. Had she grown out of her glasses? Would her eyes even need them? I pondered the possible changes to her personality, how her new home had shaped a mind so young, and what influence my parents could have over her life there. Who were her friends? Where did she live? How did she live? I thought over these and more mind-bending questions as Missy assisted me to my feet.

"My girl is in Heaven," I said, proudly.

"That she is," said Missy, smearing a tear from my cheek. "That she is."

I felt the distant presence of my daughter inspiring so much energy back into me. I could move mountains with this power, sweep the seas and ravage all the armies in the world. I would do whatever it took.

Facing my life support, I asked my last question — the only question: "How do I get into Heaven?"

"That is what we are going to find out…”

Hard on Missy’s heels, I assumed more than an hour had past when I encountered the first thing in the afterlife that truly frightened me. It was desperation.

"Wait! Please stop! I beg you to stop!"

Glancing right, I noticed a lanky man stagger drunkenly toward me, arms trailing as if they could not keep up with his torso. Feeling the loss of Missy's grip, I smirked over this person's moustache, too big for his face. Dressed in a craggy tuxedo with flapping tails, his bushy brows hid the eyes underneath. Seeing no harm in the vagabond, in fact, relieved to find another sharing my limbo, I gestured him closer. Upon reaching me, the man threw his hands around my neck.

"Help me!" he cried. "Oh, please help me!"

Drool dripped from his salivating lips; he was hollow-cheeked and wore scratches down each of them. I took an immediate step back, but he followed, snaring me in his hold.