Heaven Nor Hell

by Paul Greenway

‘Nope. Fit as a fiddle, me. I'll go back to the surgery soon and surprise them all.’

  ‘I wouldn't bother. Doctor Olsson has disappeared.’

  ‘Really?’

  Ashleigh paused and changed her tone – tricks she’d learnt from her journalism course. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘No.’ Charlie’s forehead creased into several folds. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Who would want you dead?’

  ‘But I wasn't murdered, dear. I died of heart failure.’

  ‘You could've been poisoned.’ Ashleigh waited for an answer before continuing. ‘Who would've wanted to see you dead?’

  ‘Besides this lot?’ Charlie nodded sideways towards his wife, sister and son. ‘Anyone, I suppose. I was involved in several businesses. And there are always rivals.’

  Ashleigh nodded. ‘I suppose lots of people could've sought revenge. Maybe, poisoned you to get control of your various businesses.’

  Charlie shrugged and sipped. ‘Maybe. But it's all hypothetical now, dear. I'm quitting my businesses and leaving the group.’ Edna, Betty and Cyril raised their heads and dropped their jaws. ‘That’s right, I'm selling my business interests, which means some changes, like moving to a smaller house. Selling the cars.’

  Edna found another handkerchief and started sobbing again. Betty angrily plunged her other hand into her handbag. And Cyril rolled up the Jaguar catalogue and thumped it into his palm.

  Ashleigh allowed the tension to intensify for a few more moments. ‘So, what happened after you died, Charlie? What did you see and feel?’

  ‘Nothing, dear. Nothing at all.’ He waited for another question, but Ashleigh deliberately didn’t fill the silence, so he felt compelled to continue. ‘No lights. No angels or, in my case, demons beckoning me along a tunnel. No fiery inferno. I was dead for five days. Then, I came back to life. And nothing happened in between.’ Charlie glanced towards the door leading to the kitchen. ‘But you may want a second opinion.’ He then nodded in the direction of a man entering the lounge room. ‘Maybe, ask someone else about their experience?’

  Edna stopped crying and wiping her eyes, Betty removed both hands from her handbag and silently opened her mouth, and Cyril dropped his rolled-up Jaguar catalogue.

  The man crossed his arms and scowled at Edna, Betty and Cyril. ‘I see none of you bothered to turn up at my bloody funeral.’

  Chapter Three

  Thursday

  Within minutes of the Uni Bar opening its doors, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were seated at their usual table.

  Jordan shook his head several times. ‘Jeez, Todd, you've got a weird family.’

  ‘I want it noted that the other guy, Dom, is not related to me.’

  Jordan thumped the table. ‘But he was dead, too. Dom walked into the lounge room yesterday from his own bloody funeral.’

  Todd nodded. ‘There is a lot to be said for not getting cremated.’

  ‘Why didn't Charlie go to Dom’s funeral?’ said Ashleigh.

  Todd stopped nodding so he could shrug. ‘Dunna know.’

  Ashleigh continued, although she knew they had no answers between them. ‘Did Charlie know something? Is Dom Futura also a gangster?’

  Jordan decided to out-shrug Todd. ‘Dunna know that either. But this is major shit. We could write so many articles and put so many interviews up on YouTube.’ He rubbed his hands and smirked. ‘And get so many distinctions for our assignment.’

  A student with a trendy, faded Motorhead T-shirt slapped Todd across his back. ‘Your story has gone viral, man.’ He turned to Jordan. ‘And that clip you uploaded onto YouTube last night already has about a million views. You guys are white hot.’

  Leggy Bargirl beamed and winked at Todd before placing the day’s edition of The Advertiser on the table. The headline read “Resurrection, but no Recollection” and the sub-heading, “Man Comes Back to Life, but Denies Afterlife”. She tenderly brushed her hand across Todd’s shoulder. ‘You're now front page of the mainstream press.’

  Todd winked back at the bargirl and lifted the newspaper. ‘Wow.’ Then, he remembered he was thirsty. ‘So, whose–?’

  ‘Yours!’ Leggy Bargirl and Motorhead T-shirt growled as ferociously as Jordan and Ashleigh.

  * * * * *

  Striding up the spiral staircase, the three students tried to ignore the lure of the heated indoor pool and the theatrette before entering Charlie’s lounge room again. On the monstrous TV, with all the latest devices attached, greyhounds were chasing a mechanical rabbit but the sound was muted. Again wearing a low-cut top appreciated by Charlie and Dom, Ashleigh checked her microphone as Jordan stood behind the video camera on a tripod. Edna and Betty were in the soulless and stainless-steel kitchen sobbing inconsolably while packing cutlery and crockery into large boxes marked “Acme Removals”. Cyril was outside the open window trying to repair his bicycle.

  ‘Here’s my death certificate.’ Charlie passed the document to Todd.

  Todd scanned the deed, although he didn’t really know what he was looking for. ‘Heart failure … Dated the 19th … Certified by Doctor Olsson. Hey, there are two “esses”.’

  ‘Do you have your death certificate?’ asked Ashleigh.

  Dom shook his head. ‘I think Cyril ripped it up. Or, maybe, Betty burnt it.’

  Ashleigh ushered Todd and Jordan into an alcove choked with books and DVDs. ‘Can you check?’

  Todd extracted a phone from one of his many trouser side-pockets and pressed a few keys. As he waited, he whispered to Ashleigh and Jordan. ‘That chick at the medical centre could never resist my charms. And I did prove to her that I don't have ...‘ He hastily turned his attention to the phone. ‘Hello, Kathy? It's Todd ... Hi ... Me, too ...’ He winked at Ashleigh and Jordan, who both groaned. ‘No, no, I'm here at the, um, gym doing, um, press-bench-ups ... Oh, kilos of them. Look. Quick question. Has Doctor Olsson come back to work? ... No? ... And about Dom Futura's death certificate ... Yeah ... OK.’ He chuckled. ‘No, you were awesome last night ... No, really ...’ Todd glanced at Ashleigh, who glared back. ‘Look, I'd better go. I'll call you later ... No, I will. Honest. Definitely ...’ Todd hung up and slid the phone into a trouser pocket. ‘… maybe.’

  The three students returned to the lounge room and recommenced their interview with Charlie and Dom.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to, um ...‘ Todd hesitated.

  ‘Kathy!’ hissed Ashleigh.

  ‘Yeah, her, and your death certificate …’ Todd turned to Dom. ‘… was signed by the same doctor. But Doctor Olsson has still not been seen by anyone at the medical centre for days.’

  Ashleigh added a shade of menace to her voice. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

  Dom was also affronted. ‘Should I?’

  ‘You and Charlie are friends, but also rivals in the gangster business.’

  Normally, Dom would’ve argued vehemently with Ashleigh about the “gangster” tag, although it was true, but he decided to sigh instead. ‘Not any more. Like Charlie, I'm also leaving the group and selling my business interests in gambling, racketeering and child-care centres.’

  Charlie nodded solemnly. ‘Dying makes you appreciate that there's more to life than um, well, death. So, we're both giving away our worldly possessions to charity.’

  Everyone turned towards the kitchen as Edna and Betty dropped several plates and dishes.

  ‘Why do you think you two were spared and resurrected?’

  ‘Good question, dear. I think it's because Charlie and I are good people.’

  Everyone in the lounge room again instinctively spun towards the kitchen as more crockery clattered to the tiles.

  Ashleigh continued with renewed purpose. ‘But Mother Teresa didn't come back to life. Nor did any of the Popes.’ Charlie and Dom shrugged. ‘And why should anyone believe what you two say about the afterlife anyway? Or about anything else for that matter?’ The two ex-gangsters lifted and dropped their shoulders again. ‘What did you
see or feel when you were dead?’

  ‘I didn't see or feel anything,’ said Dom.

  Ashleigh pursed her lips. ‘But would your brain be working if you were dead? Would either of you process anything when you were dead and then be able to remember it when you were alive?’

  ‘I remember hearing what people said when they walked past my coffin. I remember someone saying “Die Charlie, you old bastard”. And someone else screaming at me, “Ha, I will get the Jag now”.’ No-one in the lounge room bothered turning towards the open window as Cyril’s bicycle thudded to the ground. ‘And I remember hearing that bloody organ playing that soppy song everyone knows I hate. And I remember smelling flowers all over my face.’ Charlie quivered. ‘Everyone knows I'm allergic to tulips.’

  Ashleigh discreetly indicated for Jordan to zoom into the faces of the two men. ‘No-one else in the world has ever been dead for as long as you two. You were both officially dead for five days. Other people who have died, but only for a few minutes, say they saw tunnels ...’

  ‘Nothing like that, dear.’ Dom shook his head. 

  ‘... lights ...’

  ‘Nope,’ said Charlie firmly.

  ‘... angels ...’ continued Ashleigh.

  ‘Not likely.’ Dom chuckled.

  ‘… or demons.’

  Charlie gulped the remains of his Scotch and faced the camera to speak as earnestly as any gangster could. ‘Both me and my friend Dom were dead for five days. And during that time neither of us saw or felt or heard or experienced anything–‘

  ‘Nothing,’ added Dom.

  ‘–to indicate that there is an afterlife. Nothing. There is no Hell. Though we can't say anything about Heaven.’

  ‘I don't think we were going in that direction anyway.’ Dom winked and glanced at Ashleigh’s cleavage.

  ‘But if there is no Hell, there can't be a Heaven, can there?’ Charlie stared at the camera. ‘Sorry to disappoint people who believe in the afterlife, but you die and that's it. There is nothing more.’

  Ashleigh indicated to Jordan that the interview was over. They both turned to Todd, who nodded contentedly as he slid his pen and notepad into a top pocket.

  Chapter Four

  Friday

  Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were again seated around their usual table inside the Uni Bar, but their situation was far from normal. Encircled by a gaggle of fellow journalism students congratulating them on their new-found fame, Todd suggested that several onlookers should buy him a beer. Spread open across the table were current editions of The Advertiser and the two major national papers that cover both spectrums of the political and communal divide: The Australian and The Age. All three publications were splashed with headlines and photos about their interview with Charlie and Dom from the day before.

  But Jordan was more interested in the extent of their fan base. ‘Man, look at our followers on Twitter now.’ He peered intently at his phone. ‘... 139,893 ... –four ... –five ... –six …’

  A snippet of a weird hip-hop tune indicated that Todd's phone was ringing. He extracted the phone from a trouser side-pocket and checked the caller ID. He frowned and pressed a key to ignore the call, but felt compelled to offer an explanation to those thronged around him. ‘That's 47 calls from people I don't know and don't care about since happy hour started. But how do they know my number?’

  Ashleigh glared at Todd. ‘Because you give your number to anyone with a pulse and breasts.’

  A female student leaned seductively towards Todd. ‘I have those three things, but I don't have your number.’

  As Todd obliged, Ashleigh groaned and swivelled towards Jordan, who was checking several websites on his laptop. ‘Our interview of those two gangster dudes seems to be the major story in every newspaper and website on earth.’ Jordan scrolled through several articles published by major international news websites as Todd's phone continued to ring before being transferred to voice-mail. ‘Look at this headline.’ Jordan read from the screen. ‘”The Vatican Goes into Bat Again”.’

  Ashleigh scoffed. ‘God, those sub-editors must've done the same stupid journalism course as us.’

  Jordan pressed a few more keys. ‘And this one … “The Pope Says There is Hope”.’

  Ashleigh sipped her Coke. ‘I think we've upset The Vatican. And that old guy who runs the place in the white frock.’

  ‘And that cannot be good.’ Jordan leaned back and exhaled deeply.

  * * * * *

  Later that afternoon they were inside the Turquoise Room with the appropriately-coloured walls within the Barr Smith Library. Ashleigh was feverishly typing a new article on her laptop while Jordan created more clips from the interviews on his laptop for the dedicated YouTube channel he had created called “No Hell”.

  Todd just stared at his iPad and scrolled through a list of people who suddenly wanted to be his friends on Facebook. ‘Not a chance.’ He again pressed the “Not Now” icon and scrolled down.

  Jordan stopped editing a clip to check his new Twitter account, @No Hell. ‘We've now got over 350,000 followers.’

  ‘Yeah, you are cute,’ mumbled Todd to the snapshot on his iPad.

  ‘And, according to Google, our story is the most read, watched and discussed thing on the planet.’ Jordan leaned back with cautious delight.

  ‘Ha! You wanna be my Facebook buddy? I don't think so.’ Todd pressed the “Not Now” icon once more, but with a flourish. ‘Next!’

  Ashleigh flexed her fingers and wrists. ‘So, how come we're not making any money?’

  ‘Mmm, you are rather tasty …’

  Jordan continued to ignore Todd. ‘Because we put it all on YouTube, so we have zero control and, therefore, make zero money.’ He grimaced. ‘Welcome to the new world of journalism.’

  Todd lifted the iPad closer to his unshaven face. ‘Now, this does look interesting.’ He extracted a phone, checked the iPad screen, and dialled a number. ‘Is this Julie? ... Todd Ridgway here ... Yeah, no “e”. Look, Julie, you sent me a message ... No, I'm now at the gym ... I see ... Really? ... But we– ... Oh, you do know Doctor Olsson?’ For the first time in several minutes, Ashleigh and Jordan looked up with interest at what Todd was saying or doing. ‘Tell me, how many “esses”? … Sure ... But we would want to interview you on film ... OK ... I know the place ... Yep. Great. See you then.’

  Todd hung up and belched. ‘And so the plot thickens.’

  ‘What plot?’

  ‘It’s just a saying, Jords.’

  * * * * *

  Adelaide’s inner-west, not far from the airport, is dotted with factories, workshops and warehouses – many deserted, and several featuring “For Lease” signs. Inside one warehouse along Richmond Road, close to places selling bird cages, fertiliser and water tanks, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were preparing to record an interview. The subject was wriggling impatiently on an uncomfortable foldup chair found at the last moment in the back of Ashleigh’s battered Astra. Jordan and Todd subdued the lights and double-checked the camera angles.

  The woman sneered. ‘You're new to this, aren't you?’

  Todd shrugged. ‘We must've missed Shadowed Faces 101 at Uni.’

  ‘And the class about fuzzy voices?’

  Todd added more tape to the black curtain across a side window. ‘No-one’ll be able to recognise your face or voice. Trust us.’

  ‘Trust you?’ The woman scoffed. ‘Because you're journalists?’

  ‘Not yet we're not.’

  The woman spun sharply towards Ashleigh. ‘What? But I thought you–’

  ‘OK.’ Ashleigh turned to Jordan, who nodded. She switched on the wireless microphone and peered at the woman. ‘Ready?’ A slight jiggle of the woman’s head indicated that she was, so Ashleigh commenced. ‘Can you tell us your name?’

  ‘Why would I bother with a shadowed face and fuzzy voice?’

  Ashleigh silently acknowledged that her opening question was a tad stupid. ‘Do you know Doctor Olsson?’

>   ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me your occupation?’

  ‘I am a scientist. And a non-believer.’

  ‘You can earn money from not believing in anything?’

  Ashleigh scowled at Todd before turning to the woman. ‘Are you part of some organisation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the name is ..?’

  ‘The group.’

  Ashleigh paused, perplexed, but decided to change the subject immediately because she had stumbled once already. ‘You've seen the interviews we did with the two gangsters who claim there is no afterlife. You've read our reports.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Probably followed us on Twitter ...’

  ‘I'm too old for that shit.’

  ‘… and you requested an interview with us. Why?’

  The woman paused for effect and inhaled. ‘Because I brought those two men back to life.’

  ‘What?’ The microphone trembled in Ashleigh’s hand. ‘I mean, um–’

  ‘My colleague and I have created a new super drug that can bring people back from the dead. We call it Deep Blue.’

  Ashleigh was temporarily floored. ‘But, but w-why would you invent s-such a drug?’

  ‘The group has decided not to reveal our reasons yet.’

  ‘Um, so w-what can you tell us about the drug?’

  ‘The group has decided not to reveal this information for obvious reasons either. But it is blue, hence the name Deep Blue.’

  ‘Why would you want to bring two gangsters back to life?’

  ‘That should become clear. You're a bright young thing.’

  Ashleigh had learnt on her journalism course to ignore patronising comments from interview subjects. ‘How did you give this drug to Charlie Harper and Dom Futura?’

  ‘I injected them.’

  ‘When did you administer the drug to Charlie Harper?’

  ‘Friday of last week and on ...’ The woman hesitated. ‘… um, on …’

  Ashleigh waited a moment as the woman became more agitated. ‘And when did Dom Futura receive the drug?’

  ‘The, the first one was ...’ The woman shielded her head with her hands before moving off-screen.

  Chapter Five

  Saturday

  It was far easier to find a spare table at the Uni Bar on a Saturday. Again surrounded by a horde of fellow journalism students, Jordan and Ashleigh stared at the YouTube clip Jordan had uploaded of the previous day’s interview.