“I am here!” the voice said from the darkness. It seemed to come from all sides and inside. It echoed in the mind, at once clear, at once garbled with throbbing power. “Rise and Behold!”
The words held and hugged him, stifled and liberated. He could not breathe. The absent hammer of his heart reverberated in his skull. The once perfect darkness swirled about him a moment longer-tried to drag him back into it; but the voice overpowered the whirlpool of welcome black.
“I am here! Arise!” The words pulled him up. An electric charge of energy flashed through his body. He convulsed around a ragged breath of air, and another. His chest rose and fell, yet he did not feel the coolness of the air, he tasted no revivifying moisture in it. He tried again, and was answered with a wet crackle and a hiss of escaping gas. He was lying in an awkward position-perhaps that was it. His eyes began to see again-the images that struck him were blurry.
He struggled upward with slippery hands covered in purple blood. They snatched and scrabbled numbly over the slick skins of garbage bags. A heat pressed against his face threatening to push him back, but he grabbed a large handful of cardboard and electrical wire-pulled himself forward.
Once standing he saw that corroded iron walls hemmed him in at all sides. His shoes were buried in the greasy remains of rotting garbage bags and refuse. With cold fingers he grabbed the side of the Dumpster and hauled himself up and over-again he heard the crackle and hiss. As he swung himself over he struggled, lost his hold. His feet could not find purchase and he fell. He landed with a sickening thud-a heavy clatter of bones and cartilage. Again there was the crackle and hiss.
“I am here!” The voice came from behind him. He turned. A pile of garbage bags twenty feet tall was heaped against the red brick of an ancient building. Its green and black plastic patchwork was on fire. White, orange and yellow flames burned its edges, but it was not consumed.
“I am here!”
He got to his hands and knees, incredulous, and then raised his head.
“Forgive me!” he said, voice crackling like cellophane.
“Your trials are before you!” the burning garbage said. “And you will pass again into night before it is over.”
“Forgive me, I am unworthy.” The man watched rivulets of purple and brown fluid trickle slowly out of his shirt cuffs. “I failed.”
“I shall judge.” The flames leapt up.
“We were to save him and we did not.” The man rested his head on the pavement. Dizziness pulled his forehead toward the ground, plucked at his consciousness.
“You were betrayed. I was betrayed.” The fire burned white hot now. “Vengeance is Mine!”
“Command me!” His mind reeled against the revelation.
“I command thee. You have lost a friend, and so you must redeem her.” The fire licked at the air overhead. He could feel the heat of the flames like a pulse. “And the road before you is winding.”
“Command me!” He fought the dizziness now, getting one shaky foot under him, rising.
“I command thee to find a man named Updike. He is one of the worthy. As with the building of the Tower, so will this labor be hard. He commands an army, and with this army shall you strike at the heart of Evil. Only then shall you find salvation for yourself, salvation for your friend.” The fire burned upward like a pillar flying to Heaven. “Go now to the place of flight and deliver a message that will be known to you then. I have spoken.” With two great roars of power and flame, the pulsing gout of fire blasted skywards, and was gone.
The man stood at the airport remembering his first moments of Afterdeath. He was bereft. After the vision his head had become heavy; his thoughts were jumbled. He looked at his shoes. A rainbow sheen of oil made them magical. The grime collected as the man walked to the airport. Such a long way, it had been a day or more since he set out.
Slowly, fearfully he let his hands explore his chest again. His attention was constantly drawn there by the strange crackle and hiss. His hands were still very numb, yet they registered shapes and textures, still gave some hint of hot and cold. He clenched his eyes in pain and realization when he found a ruin of flesh and cloth. Numerous holes oozing slippery fluid pierced his ribcage. His fingers felt the shards of shattered bone. He breathed in, still unable to look at himself, and was answered with the crackle and hiss. His chest was smashed like a wicker basket. His organs were crushed and pulped like rotten fruit.
He was dead. But he had a mission. And the Lord in Heaven himself had commanded it. He looked up as people passed, their faces registering disgust at his condition. Somehow Reverend Able Stoneworthy found a part of his soul that could smile.