Crossover
The voice whispers softly into my ear, coaxing my hand forward. Though the very fiber of my being pleads for me to cease, I can no longer ignore the voice of sweet salvation.
My body refuses my phantom, once again sending forth a barrage of images from a lifetime of happiness. A baby girl, born into the world; perfect, at least to the eye. The image fades before my memory recalls just what hidden demon waits to surface, and rip the young girl from her mother’s grasp. Before thrusting her into the dark abyss of eternity.
“Just pick it up, there’s no harm in just picking it up.”
Again obeying the voice, I grasp the cold, emotionless metal of the revolver. A feeling of regret washes over me as though I’ve already made my decision, yet another effort from my subconscious.
Another memory comes into focus, and I see the most beautiful bride. She stands at an altar, holding the hands of a man I no longer recognize. The happiness the two share radiates from them in a white light, bathing each member of the congregation in warm happiness. Murmurs of their eternal lives together erupt from whispering ghosts sitting in the pews.
Before this memory can fade and leave its mark, yet another push from the phantom takes over. This time the bride is wearing black, a dark veil covering her eyes. The two stand among many of the same ghosts from their wedding, however this time they stand with an infinite void between them. A casket, much too small to be real, though I know if I could will myself to look inside I would be able to put a face to the pain. The casket slowly descends, and the void fades along with every other image besides the lone man.
I’m overcome with a despair so intense I set the revolver onto the desk and bury my face in my hands. I know that my fate is sealed, but I cannot keep myself from sobbing as a child. A lifetime of pain and suffering has broken my mind
Not even my mind’s self-preservation can save me from myself.
“Take the revolver, Samuel; embrace the darkness.”
With no other options in sight, I once again obey my phantom and grip the weapon. Somehow there has been a metamorphosis in the last few moments, and the gun now feels safe. The once cold metal now feels like the hand of a good samaritan; clinging to me as the river of life tries to drag me further along the monotonous drift that is a lifetime.
This time I refute the instinct of self-preservation and bring the weapon to my temple. I had mentally prepared myself for this moment. Thinking everything up until this point would be easy, I assumed my brain would fight my body. I’m disappointed, however, to find there is no more hesitation left.
In the mirror I expect to see someone else, but am rewarded with only my visage staring back at me—a peaceful, accepting look upon my face. There should be despair, emptiness, or a myriad of other emotions surging through me. Instead there is only a warm feeling; I attribute it to the phantom voice. It is proof, to me, my decision is made: body, mind, and soul.
“One quick pull and peace will find you.”
I cannot bring myself to hesitate or resist any longer. The springs which work the action creak loudly as the trigger steadily pulls the hammer back. My eyes instinctively close, unable to bear witness to the hammer driving home.
There is no explosion, no pain, only a sudden feeling of cold that washes over me as a wave of sensation. I stand in the same position as I ponder whether to open my eyes. Neither the searing heat of Hell nor the warm embrace of Heaven has claimed me, leaving me lost and in fear of an eternity of darkness awaiting me.
A sudden grasp at my shoulder snaps my eyes open and whirls me around. A man stands before me, a fatherly look of acceptance on his face. My eyes drift towards the revolver, wondering for a moment if the weapon failed to fire, until I see a figure lying prone directly under me. Somehow I seem to be floating a few inches above the man; for a brief instant I begin to wonder whether or not I failed in my endeavor.
“Where am I?” The cliché seems humorous, though I cannot muster a smile through my despair. I picture a billion people reaching this side of the mortal veil and muttering the same words.
“Do not fret, Samuel; I am here,” the phantom in my head speaks from behind me.
I whirl around to see my grandfather’s face. His funeral was over forty years ago, yet I remember every line and wrinkle in his face. He is wearing the same suit he wore the day we submitted his body unto the frozen earth.
“Grandfather, you spoke to me?” There is a momentary sense of resentment. I credit my phantom voice for aiding me in finally succeeding in eliminating the pain of the mortal world, yet there is something abhorrent in a grandfather, whose knee you bounced on as a child, helping one commit such an unnatural act.
“I made a promise to you, and all of my children, the day you were born. I promised to be with you, and never allow you to suffer. You were suffering there; it was time to help you move on.” His words fall from his lips like honey, dropping my defensive façade and reducing me to the tears of a child.
No longer able to contain my joy I rush into his arms the same way I had forty years ago. He catches me with a strength that tells me my decision was correct, and I will not feel any more pain. No more regrets, sorrow, or fear; only joy and comfort awaiting.
I try to pull myself free of his grasp, but the man refuses to release me. Though our bodies are tangible, the ethereal nature of them becomes apparent. In a mortal body the man would not be able to hold a child at bay, let alone a grown man as myself. Somehow, however, struggling against him is the equivalent of pulling free from a black hole.
Somehow I wriggle my face free of his chest and gaze upon his face. I’m filled with fear as I see the warm, familiar face of my grandfather replaced with an almost indescribable terror. The lines and wrinkles are replaced with a skull, its eyes bearing down on me with red-hot fire. The creature’s mouth has not the signature frozen smile; instead it has a scowl that freezes my blood despite the burning intensity with which its eyes pierce me.
“What manner of deceiver are you, demon?” An anger brews from inside, pushing aside the fear and despair the thing’s eyes implanted into me. “Release me from your embrace!”
“You know me, Samuel. You called to me with your pleas for release from your mortal coil. I spoke true in my words about my promise to you and all of my children. Do not resist any longer, for surely as a lifetime in the mortal world can be painful, an eternity alone in the realm of the in-between is truly unbearable.”
I know in my heart his words would be true. The spirit world is as much a mystery to me as the interworkings of the universe are to a common house cat. If I refute him, which the choice seems to be, I would be trapped here; if I accept him then I would be propelled to my final destination. The manner of my death marked neither as an optimal solution.
“As the Reaper of man, surely you can tell me whether I’m destined for damnation or paradise. Please give me this before I make my decision.” I feel the intensity of his eyes pull back as an almost sorrowful look replaces it.
“Our journey together, which began the day of your birth, ends when we cross the veil together. I am not permitted to know the final residence of your soul, nor am I given the moral compass to point you towards a conclusion based on your choices in life. The only advice I can impart is that which the majority of man knows in his heart when he reaches this place. Look into your heart and you will know your eternity.”
His words come as a father’s, never the whole truth but always when needed. I close my eyes and nod my head. There is a strong sensation of being lifted from the ground with an amazing force, yet gravity no longer concerns itself with forcing me down. I fear opening my eyes will cause me regret as I see my home, and world, slip from view, so I silently hold onto my “ferryman” as I approach my eternity…at peace