CHAPTER 1

Into the Void

A silent request, whispered in the darkness, fell upon the blank stares of the dead. Their own screams echoed in her frail mind, and told the tale of a forgotten childhood. Marne Gault, an orphan of a wasted generation, found pleasure in their howling. Her pain ended with the sharp blade of the razor that chilled her flesh with its melody. Her father’s love guided her into the darkness, toward the path of truth. Self love was a luxury she did without.

The blood started as a warm trickle. Newly damaged veins pulsed with the excitement of its release. No screams or fear attempted rescue, and she gave herself willingly to the grey. Dark crimson followed with greater force; heat from its flow strengthened the intensity of the spiritual blessing. The instrument of death sang to her, and she listened to the guttural moans of its hoarse voice.

Her strength resided in the darkness of lies; the untruths and deception that kept her broken. She fought against the sins of a child that manifested themselves as demons to her adult self, and pummeled her without mercy. No hope remained for the wretch that no longer believed in the light.

Marne lost the battle with reason. Her focus clouded with each droplet that fell from the gaping wound opened by grief. Grey clouds filled the room, and muted sound with its dark spirit. A cold, bitter wind lifted her toward the grey; an inviting chorus of demons scolded the light that held her in its morbid clutch. She felt no pain or emotion as she submitted to the blank realm of the void.

As darkness encompassed her, she saw the fleeting images of light that marked special times in her life. The garden with its lilac’s, the shed that held his love, and the days spent under their tree melded into her final exam. More darkness than light kept her company in her travels to the world beyond, and pleasure replaced the pain.

“Daddy, I’m coming to be with you.”

Darkness replied with a subtle bow, and the emptiness she felt was instantly filled by that blackness.

“Are you ready?” A booming voice resounded.

“Ready for what?”

Marne found herself face to face with an angry angel with huge black wings pinioned behind him, with pearl white, glimmering eyes that burned. The being was made from the shadows that comprised the void in which she found herself. His shape transformed with movement, as the grey and black renewed itself around him. Shadows surrounded him with the peace of an eternal flame, and marked the end to her suffering. Panic replaced the calm of the initial meeting with death, and she trembled from the heat of his gaze.

His thoughts, evil and disturbed, found their way into her depressed soul, and foretold her destiny. Marne’s skin crawled at each glimpse. Ravenous imps played at his side in the residual world of the dull he created with his frigid, black essence. The shadows of that world contained the hearts of those that fought against him; the evil of man in his last hour. He took great delight in causing her discomfort.

Marne’s confused mind drifted in the dark murkiness.

“Am I dead? Where am I?”

A wisp of black smoke hurtled from the dark figures mouth. No words, but sound recognizable to the touch, whispered the horrible answer, “You are where you were destined to be. Seek not the light, for it exists only in memories.”

Even in death, an evil force taunted her.

The darkness evaporated with a swirl, and Marne was alone in the grey, colorless world of death. Skinless hands, with long skeletal fingers, groped her with evil intention. Little grey imps floated above her and cheered, as rotten flesh fell from their spoiled bodies. Marne resisted against the torments she created, but failed in her attempt at relief. Her blood no longer spilled, and the breath of life thrashed in the thickness of the mist. She met death, and did not like it.

“Don’t struggle; it takes longer when you struggle. Let it take you,” someone said from the safety of the mist.

“I don’t want to go anymore, please, make it stop.”

“It’s too late, let it take you, you’ll be fine.”

More dark forms made their way toward her. Marne suffocated from the mass that held her tightly. The more she struggled, the tighter the grasp became. Sinister voices berated her with a painful sting; the playful imps giggled. Evil abounded in the pale world of the non-entities, as Marne labored with the realization of her situation. Suicide it seemed was not the answer.

The loud voice rattled the grey again. Lifeless creatures of the world she did not understand, instantly obeyed its call. They scattered at the eerie, discontented sound. Marne lay on the trampled dirt of prior sin, and waited further instruction. She knew the cold wetness of the ground, but no discomfort found her senses. Lack of feeling was a welcomed ally to her new plight.

Trees with no leaves grew from dead earth. Faceless sub-humans walked without motion. Buildings, blighted by time and lack of care, dotted the horizon of the dim, peril filled world. The utter lack of color and feeling pressed upon her with savage efficiency, and the heat of his eyes did little to warm her. Marne joined in her own experience with death, a realization that calmed her.

“I went to hell, I should have guessed.”

“You’re not in hell.”

She looked for the source of that voice, but saw no one.

“Where are you? And, what is this place if not hell?” She asked.

“I’m nowhere and everywhere. We just are in here.”

“Who are you then?”

“I’m Gerald Billabong; I’m a new arrival just like you.”

A thin, dreadful looking man stepped from behind a large broken rock, and made his way toward her. She noticed the lack of expression and the grey mist that surrounded him as he floated toward her. He was there, but not wholly formed, almost transparent. He was someone to be pitied, but she did not. Marne hoped she did not look the same.

He approached, uninterested, but with an air of kindness. Marne sensed his outward appearance resulted from his years of abuse, just as her body rejected itself and fought against her. A spiritual attraction formed without the benefit of love, or understanding.

“If you’re a new arrival, how do you know where we are?”

“I’ve been here before,” Billabong said, without moving his lips.

“But, we’re, we’re dead aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Then how could you have been here before? How did you leave if you were dead? None of this makes sense to me.”

“It wasn’t my time, they brought me back. I wasn’t ready to be judged.”

Marne did not want to be judged either.

“Is that why I’m here, to be judged?”

“Yes, you stay here until you are ready to move on. You either move on to the higher realm of existence, we refer to as the light, or they get you.”

“They? I don’t understand.”

“The dark, treacherous beings that judge the evil. They roam around and snatch the unwilling. You have to be careful though, even if it’s not your time, they can still take you.”

“How will I know the difference?”

“Oh, you’ll know. They are the only things in here that can generate feeling. They burn with their touch, and you can smell them. They hunt the warmth of the freshly dead. You’ll feel the fear when they lie to you with words you’ll never hear.”

“So, this is hell,” Marne reasoned.

“No, I already told you it’s not. It is what you make it.”

Billabong’s explanation did not help, but she knew he was right. She felt her own thoughts, without emotion, but nothing else. The dark realm of death became her home until judged by the unseen forces that ruled the grey, lifeless world of the unfeeling. At least she had a friend; that was more than she expected to find in that colorless world of indifference.

“Where else can I go? Are there good angels here?”

“Yes, of course. They guide you to the light. You’ll see them every now and then, off in the distance. When it’s your time for judgment, and you’re going to the light, they will be close. Close enough to feel.”

“Are you a good angel? Did you come for me?”

“No, sorry, I’m a wasted soul, just like you. I’m waiting again.”

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. It’s different for everyone. There’s no time here, no day or night. It’s just dark like this all the time,” Billabong explained.

“Ok, I guess I understand well enough. Now what?”

“I can’t answer that for you. You have to decide what comes next. Your dreams and reality are the only things that matter here. You will be judged on your past, and this world will accept you in whatever form you see it.”

“That’s not very comforting. Can I stay with you? Will you show me around, just until I get the hang of things?”

Marne noticed a hint of a smile as he said, “Yeah sure, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

They walked hand in hand further into the fog that comprised their new world. Billabong had been there before, he knew the way. Marne felt the relief of death, but nothing else, her experience relegated to blissful ignorance. The two lost souls marched down a dark street toward the gathering mist.

Dilapidated buildings, ruins of past visitors, lined the streets. People in various stages of decomposition strolled next to them without speech. The screams caused no concern, as no emotion stirred. Marne followed Billabong, and watched the pitiful souls as they passed. They watched her with the same blank stare she knew inched across her own face, and their lack of compassion mirrored her own.

Marne saw her reflection in a shop window and paused. Her transparent body, wrecked from her own abuse of it, reflected the darkness she did not feel. Nothing about her looked real, or alive. Patches of skin fell from her bones, and dark circles formed beneath the slits that used to hold her eyes. She really looked dead, but life abounded within her.

“Is that really what I look like? Why do I feel alive when I’m clearly not?”

“In here, you see what your mind perceives. There is no reality, only visions of yourself that assists in your judgment. You feel alive because you’re still warm. The longer you’re here, the less you’ll feel and think. And, the less likely you’ll be judged favorably.”

Marne looked at her wrist. The horrid gash that ended her life had healed.

“How did you die Gerald?”

“Heroin overdose I reckon. No way to tell for sure. Doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“So we’re not here because we did something wrong?” Marne asked, as she continued to look at her wrist.

“Not necessarily, we’re here because our deaths are unresolved, we left something behind unfinished.”

Marne looked ahead of them and noticed the child like beings that played in the street. They kicked an object she did not immediately recognize. They looked like babies, but strange and incomplete. She noticed the lack of love in their little faces, the hopeless wretches they became or once were. They too were worthy of pity, but the cold world lacked sufficient faith for her to care.

“What about them? They look like babies. Why would children be here? What did they do?”

“Don’t know, lots of kids are running around in here. They’re usually the first ones judged…or taken.”

“You mean…”

“Yep, they come for children too. I told you, not everything here is good. You have to be careful.”

As they walked past the odd children that played, she noticed that the object they kicked was an animal skull. Animals resided in the mist as well. All living souls, both good and evil, were judged equally in the world of darkness.

The odd world fascinated her more with each step. It was horrible, but strangely pleasant and inviting. The creatures that walked with her, the desperate souls of the lost, gave her the strength to continue in the gloom generated by the spectral fog.

“What are these shops, what do they contain?” Marne asked.

“Everything you desire. Your fondest memories and worst nightmares. They are heaven and hell combined.”

“You mean we can buy stuff here, like going to the mall?”

“No, it doesn’t work like that,” Gerald said, as he almost laughed.

“Can we go inside?”

“I don’t recommend it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll want to stay.”

“I don’t understand anything about this place. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. I have to see inside Gerald, I have to know. Will you go with me?”

“Very well, all the newbie’s have to try at least once. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Billabong led Marne into a shop at the corner of the road in which they travelled. Upon entering, Marne saw hundreds of rows of shelving. Each contained thousands of bottles of her brand of whiskey. Thirst, unbearable thirst, erupted in her parched throat, and threatened to kill her again. She reached for the closest bottle, but merely grasped air.

The bliss of non-feeling escaped her at once. Horrid memories, and desire for continued agony, returned. Marne felt for the first time. The raw nerves of an infant, rubbed with the sharp edge of a razor, bled with the vision. Repulsion compelled her forward; her need for addiction replenished by the sin of greed. The horror was beyond her ability to reason. She knew hell, and this was worse than any worldly experience she ever had, but she enjoyed the sensation.

“Why can’t I touch them, I need a drink? Get me a bottle, please! Please, Gerald it’s horrible!”

Billabong laughed, “Marne, what do you see?”

Real pain grabbed her as she uttered, “Thousands of bottles of whiskey. I need… I have to drink, its killing me!”

She noticed that Billabong also reached for the bottles. She noticed his contorted face as the craving came upon him in waves. He felt the power of addiction as well.

“Come on, we have to leave, now!”

“No! Not without…”

He pulled her out of the hell she envisioned. The pain ceased, and her greed perished without further thought. The evil spirits lied to her. They forced her to see her weaknesses, and her inability to control them.

“What happened?” Marne asked.

“I told you, you see your own reality, your own sins. You were an alcoholic weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“I see miles and miles of cooked heroin. That’s my hell.”

The gentle rush of apathy returned, and they walked on, ignorant and content.

The grey fog intensified; the little imps gathered again. Marne no longer saw the buildings that surrounded her or the souls and sub-humans that trudged into their own torture. She gripped Billabong’s hand, and they continued on their journey through the unknown and unfeeling. The mischievous urchins tagged along, and sought the warmth that lingered.

The further into the void they went, the darker it became. Grey and black shade dominated the landscape, and sucked the colorless blend into itself. As Marne looked ahead, pearl white eyes opened in the distance. Heat from those eyes melted the fog, and beams of hot ash scattered the imps. The smell encircled them as they entered a small clearing. Fear washed her skin with its clench.

“They’re coming,” Billabong said calmly.

Fear encased her with its own vapor. The dark creature that judged evil was near. Marne wanted to run, but an unseen, unfelt force held her. A soothing wisp of coolness brushed her arm as she stood motionless in its grasp. The screams found her, although she did not listen. A worthless spirit waited its turn for retribution of prior sin.

A figure, darker than black, entered the field. The grey formed and assisted its master. Shaded edges combined to create life as a murderous mob, and huddled together in death’s wake. Their focus remained on the unwilling that strayed from the path of forgiveness. The swirl of perverted righteousness took the man, and heaved him toward the pearl colored eyes that burned. The dust settled into the grey. His judgment was swift.

Marne’s lack of feeling returned. She fought against the darkness; her judgment delayed.

“He must have really fucked up in life, the eyes came for him personally,” Billabong said.

“He met me when I first got here.”

“Who?”

“The eyes, I saw them.”

“And, he didn’t take you?”

“No.”

“That’s a good sign, you’ll probably go back.”

“Where?”

“To your body, to your life.”

“But, I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

With the last word Billabong mouthed, he vanished into the darkness.

“Wait, don’t go.”

It was not his time.

Marne recognized the field in which she stood. Even through the dark grey of her reality, she knew it. The lilacs, the huge oak that guarded her father, and the bird house she treasured as a child, were all there to greet her. But, she did not want to go back. The powerful pull of the grey tempted her still, and death pulsed in the darkness. Its call soothed the pain, and her return to the living would not be welcomed.

The cool breeze returned with the realization of her past. She noticed them as they approached, but did not immediately recognize their significance. The closer they got, the more she felt them inside of her, and warmth returned with each step they took. They were the ones who held her in the darkness and saved her from the evil.

“Marne, we’ve come for you.”

A dim light shone from behind them. A white building, clean and bright, stood in the distance. Memory of happy times filled her as the vision became clearer. Her skin, no longer transparent, itched at the thought of her return. Her angels, an elderly couple, smiled in the increasing light.

Marne looked closely at the couple and saw her parents. The old man looked just like her father, and the woman was an older version of her mother. Marne’s grandparents came for her. She hoped for a swift judgment as well.

“Grandpa John? Grandma Anna? Is that really you?”

The old man extended his left arm and took Marne’s hand. She felt the suffering in his touch. Marne’s grandmother gave her the same wrinkled smile her mother always did and pulled her into a hug. Her sins burned as well.

“Your father wants to see you before you go,” Grandpa John said.

“My dad is here, but…is he all right? Can he come with me?”

“No child, he just wants to see you, his time has not come.”

Marne walked toward the shed, and into the light. She knew the path, and knew the warmth that waited. Bliss and understanding filled the void, and the grey dissipated into love. She wanted to go back, to see her father. She no longer feared the unknown, and the white eyes of death howled at his loss.

The white picket fence of her childhood remained as the last barrier to truth. Her feet prickled at the first realization of the cobblestone walk that led to her destiny. The comforting song of sculpted wood rang out from behind the door, and his aftershave saluted the air as it drifted to her. Marne’s senses returned in unison to reunite with her lost soldier.

The lock fell to the earth as she clutched the door that held her prize. Its mass relented without force, and opened at her request. Inside sat her father, her reason for breath. She did not see his tattered, lifeless features. Only love found its way to her in the vision that once caused her pain.

“Daddy? Are you all right?”

He did not speak, but looked away in shame.

“Daddy, it’s ok, I’m here. I’m here to help you, to take you away from here. I’m your angel; I’ll guide you to the light.”

A violent, desperate cry rebounded in Marne’s head. The grey mist swept under the door and encircled the chair in which he sat. The light flickered, but did not relent. Death would not allow him to leave. It was not his time.

John Gault turned his head toward his daughter. She noticed his anguish, and the salty tears of agony. His disfigured body, limp and lifeless, told of his suffering. He wasted away in the black and grey for many years, his judgment postponed. Marne wanted to comfort him, to release his torment, but the fog persisted.

“Daddy, I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

His sunken face quivered at the gesture. He extended an emaciated hand to her, and she reached out to him. Her jagged wound opened at his touch. The light, more brilliant than the sun, lifted her toward it, and the grey world of un-judged souls disappeared into nothingness.