Two Souls, One Door (Into the Void Book 1)

by Christopher Goodrum

  Bilbee looked at him, strangely. “My wife? I…ah…vaguely remember something about a wife. What was her name,” he asked softly to himself. His voice was distant and confused. “And a daughter, too, right?”

  Joe shrugged, dismissing the question as if he was mistaken. “I must have been thinking about someone else,” he replied, cracking a faint smile.

  “What is this place? What is it really? I keep forgetting things. Important things…I think. It comes and goes. You must know something.”

  “I do. I know a lot of things. So do you.”

  Frustrated, Bilbee slammed his hands on the table. The cards nearly fluttered onto the floor. “It would be nice to get a straight answer out of you.”

  “Then ask questions that really matter,” Joe replied, staring coldly back at Bilbee.

  “Are you saying what I want to know doesn’t matter?” Bilbee was shouting now.

  “Yes.”

  “Damn you!” In a fit of rage, Bilbee picked up his cards and threw it at Joe. The laminated cards erupted in a flurry, scattering in all directions as Joe simply sat still, unflinching in the sudden assault. “I can’t stand being here any longer. My mind is fuzzy. Blank sometimes. I don’t know where I am, who you are, how I got here, or where that damn door goes. You know things…or at least, you seem to know things…and all I get are vague, cryptic replies. How do I know we are where you say we are? How do I know we are really dead? This could be some cruel joke. A dream or a hallucination, maybe. If I had to guess, you are either a shrink, or a spy.”

  For the first time, possibly ever, Joe burst into laughter. Not a cruel, maniacal laugh someone like Bilbee would be afraid to hear in a moment like this, but a hysterical fit of laughter as if Bilbee just delivered that funniest punchline to a joke in the history of punchlines.

  “What would a spy want with you?”

  Taken off guard by Joe’s reaction, Bilbee’s anger fizzled away. Perhaps, his remark was absurd to a certain degree, but he was flustered and angry and confused and…lost. He couldn’t get a good sense of where he was, what he was doing there, who Joe really was, or anything. He even wasn’t sure how long he had been there.

  And that was troublesome to him. He had no sense of time.

  “You could have done something to my memories,” Bilbee accused him.

  That only made Joe laugh harder. He didn’t think that was possible. Joe was at a near guffaw as it was, but it grew louder and the duration between breaths were longer and labored. After awhile…a long while, Joe calmed down to mere chuckle before finally stopping.

  “Thank you! Thank you for that. It’s been…ages…since I had a good laugh. No, no! Questions don’t matter here. Knowledge doesn’t matter here. Only what you remember and for how long you can remember it. Only one question really members. One concern should be foremost on your mind, and nothing else. Which one? Which one of us will remain?” He pointed in the general direction of the hidden door. “Stay here, or there through there. Because only one of us can go through that door.”

  Silence fell between them. They both looked toward the door, but this time, it didn’t appear. Not after a few seconds; not after a few minutes.

  “Sometimes knowing is worse than not knowing,” Joe began solemnly. Uncharacteristically quiet, he removed himself from the table, slowly approaching Bilbee. He reached deep into the pocket of his black, pin-stripped slacks. A silver coin emerged from each pocket, newly polished and gleaming in the darkness despite the lack of an apparent light source. He handed one to Bilbee.

  Briefly examining it, the coin was roughly the size of a half dollar coin with ridges along the circumference. There were unrecognizable markings on the surface. Neither the head nor the tail. In fact, it was impossible to tell which was which. Head or tail. Just one more mystery in the vastness.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I told you. Questions do you no good, here.”

  “Maybe if I had some answers, I would stop asking.”

  “For payment,” Joe replied, sourly. “Just in case. The last thing you need is to step through the door, find yourself on the river, and not be able to pay.”

  Bilbee broke an uncomfortable smile. “Now you’re just making things up.” The coin flicked from his fingers back into Joe’s hand. “Keep your damn coin.”

  Joe merely shrugged, then began to walk toward where the door last appeared. “Suit yourself.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I don’t care,” Joe shot back.

  With nothing better to do other than pick up all the cards he threw, Bilbee trailed behind Joe. He had more questions. How could he not? But he felt that now he wasn’t permitted to ask. He needed to find another way to coax answers out of him. He obviously knew more than he was telling. Joe already admitted in a subtle way that he had been there a lot longer than Bilbee suspected.

  The air grew colder, pushing a winter’s breeze in what seemed like a vacuum. The cool, crisp sensation shook him a bit as it washed over him. Goosebumps rose as he trembled.

  “Not much longer, I would suspect,” Joe stated, more to himself than Bilbee. “You start to get a sense of these things after awhile.”

  Before Bilbee could express his doubts, the lining of the door became visible. A streak of silver and blue light rapidly moved along the perimeter, gradually moving faster and faster until it became one solid line, pulsating like a beacon. The light thickened, further separating the book from the background. It crackled with electricity, generating energy that made Bilbee’s hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  “When it opens,” Joe continued. “You want to be prepared.”

  “Prepared? Prepared for what?”

  “The truth. Bilbee…friend…you are a terrible card player.”

  “Are you talking about,” he frowned.

  “I’ve been here for a long time. Some would say far too long. I don’t know about that. But I do know this…I’ve seen a lot of people come through here. Many wandering, lost souls who couldn’t remember much of anything, and those who did, don’t for very long. They all come here. They always do. All for one thing. One blasted thing. Waiting for this door to open. Waiting to leave. I greet, befriend them, keep them occupied, and tell them the same thing I’ve told you. No more, no less. That only one of us gets to walk through that door. It’s never me. I’ve come close. Very close. But I’m still here, Bilbee. Wherever here is.”

  “I have no desire to stay here,” Bilbee said, adamantly.

  “Good! And you shouldn’t. I’ve been telling you that ever since you got here.”

  “I don’t want to get stuck here for who knows how long like you. I have a life to get back to. I may not remember anything, but I know that. Maybe they can do that. Maybe if I ask…”

  “That’s what they all end up saying, Bilbee. Every last one of them. You can’t last in this place like I have. I’ve seen some go mad. Recognizable as intelligible people before the end. But not me. My wits are sharp, but for how much longer, I wonder. Be satisfied with your ignorance. You only know what I’ve told you. And I’ve told you enough.”

  “I don’t know if this door is meant for me. But either way, I’m walking through it.”

  Joe shook his head, smirking at Bilbee’s stance on the situation. “You’re not a good man, Bilbee. You’re not even a decent man.”

  “You know nothing. You know absolutely nothing about me! I’m sorry you’ve been stuck here. But has it occurred to you that maybe you are already mad. Driven insane by this place. That’s not for me, Joe. Reincarnation, spirit guide, a vacation to the Poconos…I don’t care where this goes. I’m leaving!”

  “You cheated on your wife, Bilbee,” Joe sneered.

  “That’s a damn thing to say,” he shouted.

  “You are not a good person. You cheated on your wife, cleared out your bank account, and abandoned your wife and daughter. You drink excessively. Scotch. Whiskey. Whatever you can get your hands on. You’re a drunk. A lousy drunk.
To your credit, not a violent one. But that is as far as I’m willing to give you credit for.”

  “You know nothing. You’re a mad, delusional coward.”

  “Those weren’t cards, Bilbee, you ignorant fool! Those were your memories. Do you have any idea how many you lost to me? How how many you threw away? I know more about you than I care to. I know more about everyone who has come through here than they realize. And that is why they never see the truth coming.”

  Bilbee’s hands balled into a fist, ready to strike Joe. His anger festered into a boil. He wasn’t going to let Joe hold him back. If it was going to be the last thing he did, he was getting through that door.

  The light began to split right down the middle of the door. What Bilbee once thought was one door was actually a set of double doors. From a distance, he never got a good look at it. But now, despite the glaring light he made out some features. It was comprised of bronze, aged and discolored. Green and gray now stained it, making it look like marble or slate. Square divots were carved or chiseled into it, even in size and distance around the outer edges and cutting through the midsection. The door must have been thousands of years old. Greek, perhaps, Bilbee thought.

  There was no way to tell for sure, and ultimately didn’t matter. Unless, he planned on sticking around to examine it some more, he was as good as gone.

  “Do you see the trouble, here, Bilbee? There is no life to get back to. Your life is gone. Don’t you get it? You’re dead! Do you honestly think going through that door will take you back? Do you think they will let you do that? Stand at the pearly gates and plea your case? You’ve been here far too long to go back now.”

  Before Bilbee could fully process Joe’s words, Joe fell to the ground, sprawled across the floor. Joe and Bilbee shared a look of shock as Joe wiped a speck of blood from the corner of his mouth. Bilbee stared at his fist, now raised to eye level. It trembled. Adrenaline coursing through his body. His lungs pulling in a rush of oxygen and exhaling just as quickly as he was breathing it in.

  Slowly, the door began to open.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Am I,” Joe asked. “The last thing you did before you wrapped your car around a light post was rack up your bar tab. That was 30 years ago, friend.”

  “That’s impossible,” Bilbee yelled. His anger was getting the best of him. He was losing control, but something deep down was telling him that Joe wasn’t lying. There was the faint taste of cheap whiskey in the back of his mouth and stale pretzels.

  “You weren’t the only one on the road that night, friend,” Joe continued. “There was a family of four. Forced them into a ditch. Parents died on impact. One daughter broke both legs. The other…just a collar bone.”

  The door opened wider, still merely a large crack but large enough to get an arm through.

  “Why are you telling me this? I don’t want to know this? If those cards were my memories, it’s better off forgotten. So, what is this? Limbo? Some place of judgment.”

  “Nothing so cruel.”

  “Good! Then, you can stay here. I’m leaving this place. I’m going through that door.”

  With a sudden force of air, the door swung open completely. Intense light flooded the immediately area, blinding them to the point of disorientation. Despite this, Bilbee began to head toward it as it was only a few feet away. Sight or no sight, he wasn’t going to give Joe the chance to intervene.

  “That’s just it, Bilbee. That’s the other truth. A truth wrapped up in a lie. A lie I’ve been telling you. It’s true…the only way out of here is through that door. But that is a door no one should want to go through.”

  Blaring heat quickly replaced the subtle chill in the air like stepping out of an air conditioned building into the desert sun. Growls and rumbles echoed out from the invisible barrier of the doorway as the sound of fire snapped and crackled with ferocity.

  Bilbee stepped back in sudden fright as he began to grasp the notion of what might have been on the other side of the door. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat beads formed on his brow as panic set it. He twisted and turned around to run only to find Joe standing directly behind him now with a devilish grin.

  “You’re not a good man, Bilbee. And neither am I. But there is no way in hell I’m going in there. And as long as someone like you keeps showing up. I don’t have to. But one of us must go. Or it will take who it wants.”

  Joe’s right fist lashed out, striking Bilbee across the jaw. Bilbee stumbled backwards, staggering into a shuffle. Surprising to Joe, Bilbee was able to maintain his balance. He was stronger than Joe thought. He knew what he had to do next. He charged Bilbee, colliding with him. His shoulder drove into Bilbee’s stomach, pushing him further back until the door was mere inches away.

  Tendrils of light reached out, wrapping themselves around Bilbee’s waist and arms. The thin, astral strands burned his skin and seared his clothes on contact, releasing a sickening, sizzling hiss. Bilbee screamed. His eyes reflecting the horror that overwhelmed him. Then, in a blink of eye, the tendrils snapped back through the door, pulling Bilbee with it and he disappeared into the silver and blue light.

  The door slammed shut as a pair of glasses clattered onto the floor. The light dimmed and became vanquished by the darkness. Shortly after, the door disappeared and the vastness that Joe had spent more than his share of lifetimes in, fell silent.

  He hated being dead. But it was a fact that he learned to “live” with. When it came right down to it, wherever he really was…and he never did find out for sure…it was a lot better than being snuffed out of existence completely by the fires of hell and the beast it harbored. In a way, this was immortality.

  Joe picked up the glass, polished off the lenses and then tucked it away into his pin stripped jacket pocket. He, then, returned to the table, ran his fingers through

  his hair, straightened his thin brown tie, took a deep breath, and sat quietly, anticipating his next waiting companion.

  About the Author

  Christopher Goodrum is a well-rounded writer of novels, plays, and poetry, and a composer of music. He has studied both journalism in high school and freelance writing in college. Over the years, Christopher has written, performed, and directed his own body of works.

  Although a consummate entertainer, Christopher prefers the art of the written word, with a knack for storytelling in the genres of science fiction and fantasy.

  A Native Californian, he currently resides in Washington with his family.

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