Death Co. Re-Write V (1)

Home stretch! I'm at about 45,000 words. Here's an excerpt from towards the end. 

1. The Boy

     John awoke to the pitter patter of rain splashing on warm asphalt. Oily steam rose to meet is nostrils. Everything felt more vivid than it had in years. A pain grew in John’s chest, and he inhaled sharply to relieve it. Dots swam before his eyes, and he felt as though he might pass out. He pushed his hands to the ground and felt the fresh wetness of gutter water. The situation came into focus like oncoming traffic. “I am alive,” John yelled, pumping both of his fists in the air like a high school football player after a touchdown.

     This did not last long, as actual oncoming traffic came into focus. The fear that came with mortality crept back with a sudden quickness and John dove to the sidewalk. The Devil had thought it funny to throw him in the middle of a street to start. A car horn blared as an asshole in a Mercedes sped by to rendezvous with a woman that was certainly not his wife. The exhaust fumes made John sputter, but each breath felt precious and alive.

     John looked up at the street signs and found that his eyes were taking time to focus once more. Slowly, the green rectangle cleared and read “Evergreen Terrace”. He’s made this too easy, John thought to himself. Although, I suppose successfully cheating death would really chap the old man’s hide. From a dimly lit window across the street, John could see the inside of his old apartment. The old apartment which Benjamin Hollister had bought out of ill-guided spite. Rather than giving him the satisfaction of last revenge, the four walls had declared him insane, and left him to rot.

     John saw the outline of spiked black hair move past the window like a ghost. No time like the present, he thought. Before crossing the street, John looked both ways, not wanting to be killed before his task was complete. He would likely still end up in Hell, and with nothing to show for it. Shivers wracked his spine at the thought of the time he had already spent there, and how he would soon return.

     The buzzer list of the apartment building was almost identical. The old neighbor that John had known still lived next door, and he rang the intercom. Here’s hoping someone doesn’t keep up with current events. The buzzer zapped loudly for a moment and John released it.

     “Yes? Who’s there? What do you want?”

     “Hi Hebert, it’s John.” Silence eclipsed the line. “I used to walk your dog?”

     “Oh John, yes. But, you’re dead, so it can’t be you.”

     John had feared such a reaction, but fancied himself crafty. “Not dead Herbert, only moved away. I’ve been living on the Eastside, just wanted to pop by for a chat.” The interesting fact was that Herbert had also been scheduled for requisition that day. Most others didn’t know that he kept a stash of Jack Daniels in his easy chair where the night nurse couldn’t find it. ON that very night, he was going to take one too many sips, and fall back into the chair for the last time. When John had read it he had felt happiness at the ease of the old man’s passing.

     “Oh silly me. Come on up,” Herbert muttered, not entirely convinced, but not about to believe that the dead had risen to harass his neighbors. The door to the apartment building clicked as it unlocked and John walked in. The scene was surreal as he made his way past the broken elevators and up the ugly, green carpeted stairs. The sound of his footfalls padding forward triggered another wave of lightheadedness, and he had to grab the railing to stabilize himself.

     The world spun for a good minute and a half, and John clutched the wooden bannister like it was a life ring on a sinking ship. When coming back to life after being dead for so long, it can often be a grueling process. The brain and the body are functioning at all cylinders, but the soul has not yet caught up to them. It’s like having a rancid hangover, still stinking of gin, but yet competently running a marathon. Nothing about it makes any sense, but somehow it’s still managing to happen.

     The wave of dizziness passed and John resumed his trip to the second floor. He passed the door to Herbert’s apartment and heard the dog barking from within. Must be a new dog, he thought. John hadn’t walked the dog in over twenty years, and it was likely long dead. He wondered for the first time what happened to animals after their death, but pushed it aside for fear of distraction.

     The truth is fairly simple. When animals die they all go to the same field somewhere in between worlds. The field is very large, but does not allow much hiding space. As such, the strongest survive, and the weak are eaten over and over for eternity. It’s not pretty, but by the time God had gotten around to it, he was far over budget (speaking of omnipotent power levels, or laziness, take your pick). In any case, the field stands, and that’s where they go.

     John stood outside of his door and felt dread. There was no precedent that he had read about for what was about to happen. Most people who are saving someone from death are loved ones. John was willing to bet that he was the last person Benjamin wanted to see in the world. He took a moment of mental preparation and rapped on the door. At first there was no answer, leaving John in the hallway to ponder the massive life decisions he had made.

     Darkness crept over the peephole. Someone waited on the other side. John felt sweat dripping down his forehead, and actually appreciated it. Feeling the functions of his body was something he thought would never happen again. Each movement and reaction was something special. Christ, I’m beginning to think like an evangelical.

     The door yanked open in a flurry. John tried to say hello, but found that his mouth had been filled by a fist. Iron ran up through his skeleton and into his brain. Pain swept through, strong and sweet. He fell backward onto the carpet, and Benjamin followed, swinging his arms in menacing arcs the whole way. The fall felt like it took ten minutes, but it was only John’s brain reacting to the immense amount of pain it was feeling.

     After the first blow, adrenaline kicked in and John didn’t feel much more than a hot pressure with each blow. Kids, he thought always trying to work out their anger through violence. Although I can’t say that I don’t deserve this. John knew that every blow was justified, and just laid there, allowing it all to happen. He hoped to God that he wouldn’t pass out and waste any precious time. I wonder if he’ll kill me, or get tired first. Benjamin’s blows had already begun to slow their assault, and John could hear his heavy breathing over the dull thumping of meat being tenderized.

     He closed his eyes and felt the sweet embrace of sleep. A beautiful fantasy cropped up, and John thought that he might be able to dream, but the sleep was half-way to a coma. Thoughts of nothing floating on top of nothing filled his brain, and he was vaguely aware of being dragged across the entryway of the door. If he kills me, then it’s his fault, thought John and passed out.