The landscape on the other side was, for an instant, as dazzling in its darkness as the tunnel had been in its brilliance. The world around him was a canvas of grey and black. Boulders and rocks littered a plateau stretching towards huge granite mountains that towered into a hideous sky where black clouds smothered a firmament of deep crimson, churning like cooling lava, thunder roaring in the distance. The air was thick with a gritty dust that swirled all about him, scouring his skin, little twisters sprouting here and there before being blown asunder by freezing gusts.
“Over here!”
The hands pulled and pushed him towards a large grey boulder, slamming his back hard against it. The impact jarred his spine, the back of his head cracking against the rock. Roger felt both alarm and surprise that he could feel pain again, the revelation waking his senses and loosening his tongue.
“What the hell is going on? Where am I?”
“Not quite hell. But close enough for most.” The angry voice again.
A tall figure stepped forward from the sprawling throng that had massed around him. As the form approached, Roger could see it was a man; or at least, what was left of a man. His body was barely clothed, tattered rags hanging from his shoulders and waist, the scraps of filthy, dust-encrusted cloth barely covering his nakedness. The man’s skin was in a similar sorry state; scoured away by the grit laden gusts, revealing strands of muscle beneath. Across his broad chest, even the muscle had been eaten away, rib bones clearly visible in the dim light and, as Roger looked closer, he could see the dust was at work on these too.
Looking around at the assembled masses, he could see the others were similarly afflicted to varying degrees. Some were barely marked, the skin on their faces showing some early signs of erosion, their clothing mostly intact, just a few places looking a little more threadbare than they should. Others were in an even worse state than the angry man who stood before him. One figure in particular, impossible to tell whether male or female, was being supported by two others, this tortured soul’s body little more than a skeleton held together by fraying strips of sinew. Clearly, some of these people had been here longer than others.
What happens to them in the end? Roger wondered.
“Dust.”
Roger raised his gaze to the angry man, puzzled.
“The answer to your question. They, we, eventually crumble into dust. The very dust that eats away at us consists of the remains of the millions who came before us, they themselves eaten by dust and into dust.”
“Where is this place?”
“Somewhere between Heaven and Hell, or at least, between the mortal world and the afterlife. A place for those who cannot accept that they’re dead, or those that still have unfinished business to tend to and can’t let go of the ties to their previous existence - which is why you are here.”
“Why I’m here? But I have accepted my death. I have no unfinished business, as you put it.”
“Ah…but that’s where you are quite mistaken. You have lots of unfinished business – our unfinished business!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You owe us, Roger Davies. We know all about you. You and your special gift.”
Roger was taken aback.
“When you were exploiting your abilities, your thoughts reached out to contact the dead in the afterlife. Trouble is, it’s impossible to reach them there, your thoughts stopped here. And we heard them. It seems to me that you have been exploiting the dead for your own gain and now it’s time to pay us back.”
“Pay you back? But what can I do? I’m dead. I’m one of you.”
“Ah…but unlike ours, your body is still warm. Even as we speak you are being tended to at the scene of your accident, medics preparing to revive you.”
“But I’ve been dead for…too long. It’s not possible.”
“How long do you think you have been here, Roger?”
Roger screwed up his face as he tried to work out how much time had passed.
The man before him waved his thoughts away. “Don’t waste your energy trying to work it out, the question was both rhetorical and redundant. Time has no meaning here, we only register our perception of its passing by the destruction of our flesh. I can assure you that in your world, you’ve been here for mere seconds. You can return to your mortal body, but only if you are back in the tunnel at the moment of resuscitation. And that…” The hands at his body pushed him harder against the rock at his back. “…is down to us. If you agree to help us, then we will allow you to go back. If you refuse…then - welcome to your new home.”
Roger stared at the multitude of souls around him, looking desperately for help in a sea of long-dead eyes. He couldn’t comprehend what was being asked of him. “What will I have to do?”
“You will understand when the time comes. To make your decision easier, we are in a position to give you something in return…”
“Such as what?”
“The one thing your life has been missing…love; affection; intimacy.”
The angry man was growing impatient, aware that a clock was ticking – even in this timeless void.
“So, what’s it to be? Another chance at life? Or this…” he swept his arm around, indicating the masses of misery stretched out as far as the eye could see on the desolate plain.
Roger’s body suddenly jolted, almost throwing off the hands that gripped him for the briefest of instants.
“Looks like they’re trying to shock you back to life as we speak…so, do we have a deal?”
8
“Where the fuck d’you think you’re going?”
Tommy removed his hand from around his friend’s throat.
“Didn’t you
