Trace the Dead Eye

by Steven D. Bennett

CHAPTER THREE

  ANNO DOMINI

  The man's name was Rollins.

  He already knew mine.

  My mouth was open to speak but words were slow in coming. Rollins must have sensed it. He handed me a plastic menu from inbetween the salt and pepper shakers.

  "Hungry?"

  "Not really," I said, but my stomach burbled at the laminated pictures.

  Rollins motioned the waitress back. "I'll have the number seven. With fries.”

  She nodded, scribbling, looked at me, waiting.

  I scanned the pages. "Grinder, with everything. For starters."

  She nodded again, scribbled, scampered.

  "Come here often?" I asked.

  "Every now and then," he said. "You?"

  I looked around the diner. It seemed vaguely familiar yet I was sure I had never been there before. The faces were just faces; some calmly compassionate, some blankly confused. "Not that I remember." I turned back to him. Calmly compassionate. "I guess I'm dead."

  "Very."

  "It's odd, I don't feel dead."

  "You will."

  "I don't feel anything."

  "You will."

  "How should I feel?"

  "The way you do, for now."

  "Is everyone like this?"

  "I don't meet everyone."

  "No, I mean," I said, my mind muddled, "the ones you do meet...are they like me?"

  "Everybody's different."

  "How ‘bout the ones that aren't."

  "I haven't met any of them yet."

  I scowled at his clarity. "Were you and I married in a different life?"

  "In the next, I hope."

  "Aren't we supposed to...?" I trailed off, getting no help from his expressionless face.

  "What?"

  "I don't know. Go somewhere."

  "Before breakfast?"

  "No, I mean..."

  "Oh, go somewhere," he repeated. "Turn left at the register, second door..."

  "No, no," I stammered, my mind playing catch-up with my mouth. "What I mean is, this can't be it."

  "This can't be what?"

  "The end of the line, the end of the trail. The last round-up, the last kiss, the big sleep, doggie heaven. There's got to be something more at the end of life than a greasy spoon. This isn’t even All-You-Can-Eat. There’s got to be more.”

  “Such as?"

  "Paradise, heaven, Asgard. Something."

  "Why?"

  "What do you mean, why? Because...because there must be." I argued foolishly. "This place isn’t even that big. It can't be just life and a sandwich."

  "They make pretty good sandwiches,” Rollins said.

  "It can't end at nothing."

  His tone was low. "You used to think so."

  "Well, I've changed my mind," I said, my own voice rising. I cleared my throat, forcing things calm. "Besides, if there weren't, then you wouldn't be here. You're proof there's something more."

  "What do you think is more? Heaven?"

  "Yes." I said quickly and with as much conviction as I could. Maybe conviction counted for something in this dimension.

  "What about hell?"

  "No," I said even more quickly, in case that counted for something as well.

  "How come one and not the other?"

  "Well," I said, forming a fast philosophy. "I always thought hell was what you made of life on earth. That is, as good as life can be, compared to heaven it’s still hell. So that heaven would be the afterlife and hell would be, you know, before the after. Right?"

  "Interesting."

  "Am I close?"

  “To hell?”

  “No.”

  “That life on earth is hell?"

  "Exactly."

  "It can be hell for some," he said. "Your wife, for instance."

  "That,” I said, “isn’t funny.”

  He wasn’t smiling. "Some people's lives come pretty close to hell. Mainly by their own doing."

  "So I am right."

  "No."

  "Then--"

  He shook me off. "For some people, the life they have on earth is the closest they'll come to heaven. For others, it's the closest they'll come to hell. Understand?"

  "No."

  "Haven't you read Emily Dickinson? If hell is earth, then what's heaven?"

  I shrugged. "Trees, birds, clouds, harp music. Rest...beside the still waters. Like that."

  He nodded back.

  "So there is a heaven?"

  "Of course."

  "But no hell,” I said.

  "How can there be one without the other?"

  "You've seen them both?"

  "A lot of heaven," he said. "There’s too much to see in one eternity. But I haven’t seen much of hell. What I saw was enough."

  "What was it like?"

  “Which?”

  “Hell.”

  He sat back. "Funny you'd want to know what that was like and not the other," he said. "Hot. Thirsty. Loud. Painfully loud," he said, wincing. "You don't want to know too much about what hell's like. Or who was there you might know."

  A shudder pushed me back in the booth. I suddenly had no more questions needing answers. I just wanted to sit and not think.

  "Anything else?" he prodded.

  I shook my head.

  "Don't you want to know what comes next?"

  I shook my head.

  "Good," he said, smiling. "Because we've got lots of time to kill. All the time in the world. And we're waiting."

  "For what?"

  For a moment I thought he hadn't heard, the way he looked at me blankly. But he was thinking, maybe formulating an answer. Maybe in this dimension there was so much time everything took longer. Maybe he was teaching me a lesson about patience. Maybe he had gas. Or maybe he was as confused as I was; maybe it was his first day, too.

  "Well, what are we waiting for?"

  He looked over my shoulder "Breakfast."

  Cindy appeared in front of us and put the food on the table and I suddenly lost my desire for answers. I dove into my plate, stuffing my mouth before giving myself a chance to swallow, dissolving bites with coffee as I went. Nothing had ever tasted better, smelled better, was more filling and fulfilling, leaving me energized instead of bloated. Taking the last crumb bite moments later I noticed Rollins' plate was empty as well, though I hadn't seen him raise a fork.

  Cindy came back. "Anything else?"

  "Just the bill, Cindy," he said.

  I wiped my mouth.

  "Good?"

  "Good."

  "Good."

  "Are we still waiting?"

  He nodded.

  “For dessert?” I asked hopefully.

  He shook his head.

  "Then what, exactly?"

  His eyes looked into mine. "Direction."

  I felt chilled.

  "What do you mean, direction?"

  "Direction," he repeated. "You know...up, down."

  The chill spread throughout my body. I rubbed my hands on my pants. My stomach juices began to boil and I quietly cursed the salami. "Is there a chance...that it could beI mean, there isn’t another choice? Just two?"

  Rollins was deathly silent. A shadow moved across his face. It was as if death hovered...

  I pushed my plate away in horror. "My God, was this my last meal?"

  He said nothing, but the silence was ominous. It hit me then that life was finally over. Thoughts raced through my mind; of all the places I'd never go, things I'd never accomplish, people I'd never see. Two faces stood preeminence. Tyler and Tina. I would never again be able to hold Tina in passionate embrace or toss Tyler high in the air while silly laughter bubbled out of his mouth. I'd never be there for another goodnight kiss. I'd never be able to read him a book or play ball in the back yard. I wouldn't be there to see the stages of his life as he grew from childhood to adolescence to manhood. I wouldn't be there for the every day problems of homework or relationships, or to lend him money for a new toy or a new girl or a n
ew car. I wouldn't be there for his wedding, or to hold other children--his children, my grandchildren—and watch them grow. I'd never be able to put any of them on my knee, either generation, and pass along the things I knew.

  Everything I Know About Life I Learned When I Was Dead.

  "It's too late for me, isn't it?"

  He leaned forward. "What are you thinking?”

  He had become a blur through the tears. “If I had another lifetime I couldn't tell you all the things I'm thinking. And what difference would it make? I don't have another lifetime and it's too late for last minute wishes. If, for your whole life, you didn't have a prayer, what good would a last, desperate cry do? All I have are regrets. If I could only go back and see my son one last time or hug Tina and tell her all the things I wanted to say for so long, but couldn't through the arguing. But it's too, too damn late. Rollins." I reached over the table and grabbed his wrist. "Isn't there any hope? Isn't there room in heaven for one last wish? One last prayer? It can't end this way."

  He turned his arms, breaking my grip, holding his hands flatly. "I have nothing to give but what's given me."

  I looked at his calloused hands, the roughness, the depth of the dark crevices...his lifeline began to pulse. I pulled back from the table. "Are you the angel of death? The Grim Reaper?" I wiped my hands on my napkin frantically.

  He laughed. "In a diner? Nothing so dramatic," he answered. "Besides, you’re already dead. But if you could go back, if you had that one chance...what would you do?"

  "Be with my son,” I said. “Hold him forever. Hold my wife. Squeeze them until I could feel their hearts beating in my chest. Tell them I love them and that I would always be there to protect them."

  "Anything else?"

  "No."

  He looked unconvinced. "What else?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Not a thing. Nothing else. What else could there be? That’s the only thing I’ve ever...wanted–“

  Words fell away as his dark eyes drew me inside. I stared open-mouthed, as I entered the black holes and was encased in darkness. A tiny spark began to dance lightly in the distance, then began feeding on the blackness, eating the edges until it burned all around me. It turned into a roaring fire that I encouraged with insane laughter. A primitive rumbling came from the depths of my being and the laughter turned into a growling chant as any sorrow or regret turned to embers by the howling rage. A figure appeared in the smoke, an outline, but as it came closer my soul testified to its identity, and when within reach I grabbed it by the neck. Its thrashing caused no pain as it flailed, for being nothing human it could do no damage and I simply held it at arms length as it fought for breath. With a sudden twist of my hands all resistance ceased and I tossed the thing into the fire.

  My eyes refocused and sanity returned. "Yeah,” I said. “There is something else. I'd like to find the bastard who killed me. I’d like to hunt him down and take away everything he took from me. I want to make him feel the emptiness I feel. I want him to know pain and loss and look into his eyes as his life seeps away. I want every day he lives to be a horrible reminder of what he stole from me. I want him to be so terrified of life that he would beg for the mercy of a torturous death.”

  I slammed both fists on the table. "How could I have been so stupid? I trained myself to be alert, to notice the unnoticeable, to hear every sound, only to have some vermin shoot me in the back. If I could find the son of a bitch I'd break every bone in his body. How could I have been so stupid?"

  "I guess you were preoccupied from the night's activities."

  “What?” His eyes, normal, still penetrated. “Oh, yeah, I suppose," I mumbled to the window. "But that's one thing I would do...find who killed me."

  "Trace," Rollins said, almost inaudibly, "we already know who killed you."

  My head turned as if slapped. "Hey, that's right! You guys know everything. Tell me: who did it? Who killed me? I’ll make him wish he had never—"

  Rollins was shaking his head.

  “No?” I said. “No, what?”

  “You don't need to know who killed you."

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.”

  "Doesn't matter!" I stood abruptly, rattling the table with my thighs. "Maybe not to you, but it sure as hell matters to me. Some son-of-a-bitch bastard kills me and all you can say is that it doesn't matter! My life is over. Is there no justice in heaven?"

  "There's only justice in heaven."

  "Well, then?”

  “You’re not in heaven yet,” he said.

  “My life was taken unjustly. Something's got to be done. Someone's got to pay for it." I wanted to hit something. I hoped he wouldn’t stand with me and he didn’t. He just watched with the same non-expression. I breathed heavily for a while, then less so, and finally sat down. "How can you say my life didn't matter?” I tapped my cup with my spoon, not looking up. “Was I so insignificant?"

  "Of course not. No one is. When you get to where I am you'll understand what I meant. Once you're here, everything about life will seem...insignificant."

  I slouched. "Well, like you said, I'm not thereyet,” I added. “How is my family going to get along without me? I didn't have much life insurance, no money in the bank, and Tina hasn't worked in years. They'll lose the house, the car, everything."

  "They'll be taken care of."

  "By who?"

  "People."

  Faces flashed before my eyes. Relatives. Deadbeats. Friends. What friends? Male friends. Waiting for an opportunity. You have no friends after you're dead. "Who?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Rollins, nobody could take care of them better than I could. I need to see them again. I need to protect them."

  "From what?"

  "From...I don't know...maybe the person who killed me."

  "There's no going back."

  "Then, why can't I be like you? You're some kind of angel, right?"

  "No. People don't become angels."

  "Rollins, I need to be with them." I was pleading. "Isn't there a way?"

  Cindy came back to the table, smiling as she handed Rollins the bill. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said, gathering plates, giving me a wink. "Come again."

  Rollins looked curiously at the paper as if studying the words.

  "What is it?"

  "It seems--," he began, then stopped and slid out of the booth.

  "What?"

  "It seems you're getting that chance."

  "To do what?"

  "Fulfill your heart's desire."

  "Great!" I said. "Wait. What does that mean? What is it?"

  "Just what you said it was."

  "Which time?"

  He tapped my head with a forefinger. “Think. What is your heart’s desire?”

  “Money and a harem?”

  This time he hit my head. “That’s not your heart talking. No, you’re getting the opportunity to take care of your family. Again.”

  I slapped my hands. “Yes, great! Thanks, Rollins.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then, thanks whoever. So how does it start? Do I become an angel, like you?"

  "I'm not an angel."

  "Like their guardian angel?"

  "Something like that.” His mouth moved thoughtfully. “Not really."

  "Great! What do I do?"

  "You'll find out all you need to know when it's time."

  I stood and shook his hand. "Thanks, I won't let you down."

  "Hmm," he said, pulling his hand back.

  "But I want to find the guy who killed me, too." I said, feeling bold. Ask and you shall receive. I remembered that one from childhood.

  He hesitated. "You might find that out along the way, though it might not bring you the peace you're looking for."

  "But it might bring closure."

  "Trace, you're dead. You've had as much closure as a person gets."

  "So what are you talking about?"

  "May
be I misspoke,” he said. "When I said you were getting a chance, what I should have said was that you're getting a choice."

  "A choice to do what?"

  "Trace, you're at a crossroads. You have the choice to either move on, or stay here.”

  "Move on?"

  "Forward. On your journey."

  "Or stay with my family? Tough decision. I'll stay with them."

  "I appreciate your passion and devotion," he said with an expression that said the opposite. "But before you make your decision, know two things. If you decide to stay here, it will be for a time."

  "A time? What's a time? How long?"

  "It’s always different. It depends.”

  "On what?"

  "On situations, on the person making the decision. It could be long, it could be short. But you won't know, ever, until it's over. Understand?"

  I nodded. “No.”

  “And you won’t understand,” he said, “until later. The second thing is: realize that nothing is in your control, but nothing is out of control. Things will happen that you may not like, but all things work to the good."

  "What things?"

  "Life," he said. "Life will happen."

  "Rollins, you're speaking in riddles."

  "Listen. The same things that happened when you were alive will happen when you're not. God works it all to the good, but you may not like the method."

  I pursed my lips.

  Rollins said: "Let me explain it another way. Every man must die, right?"

  "Sure,” I said. “Everybody has to die."

  "Right. Everybody has to die. Everyone knows that. Everyone agrees on it. But no one appreciates the timing. You knew you had to die someday, but you believe you died too soon."

  "Before my time."

  "When was your time?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Longer than it was. Believe me, no one was more surprised than me when I died. I always thought I'd live a long life. See?” I showed him my own lifeline. It seemed shorter than I remembered..

  "You hoped you would," Rollins said. "But you didn't know. All you knew was that one day you would die. And one day you did. Today. It will happen that way again. People will die, and you won't like it."

  "What are you saying? Who's going to die?"

  "Lis-ten," he said again, drawing out the pronunciation with a firm hand on my shoulder. "Things you don't want to happen will, and you'll have to be a part of it. Before you decide on what you want to do right now, take my advice: if you aren't sure which direction to go, go toward God."

  I pushed his hand off. "My decision's made, and the sooner I start the better. The rest is all spiritual gobbledy-gook. I'm staying."

  He shrugged. "All right. Forget I said a word.” He turned and started walking. “You’ll remember later."

  I followed him up to the register and we waited for someone to ring us up.

  "Does this happen a lot?" I asked. "Do they generally make exceptions to people?"

  "Rarely."

  "Why me?"

  "The love you have for your son," he said. "That's part of it. You'd die for him, if you could."

  "In a second."

  "God understands a father's love for his son. He had a son, you know."

  "So I heard,” I said, exploring the mint jar. “What's the other part?"

  "A promise. A promise you made."

  "When?"

  "A long time ago. You made a promise to God."

  "I never did."

  A man with gray hair and a warm smile came from the back wearing a tux, definitely overdressed for the diner. "Gentlemen," he said, "I hope everything was satisfactory."

  "Very decent," Rollins said, handing him the bill.

  The man took it and impaled it on a miniature metal spear on the counter that held other papers in its grip. "Paid in full. Thank you both. And good luck to you, sir." He said the last to me, then disappeared into the back.

  "Let's go," Rollins said.

  "Wait. The promise. I don't remember any promise."

  "A long time ago," he said, "in a church where you grew up. Big, grey, stone. It scared you."

  "I remember," I said. "A huge place. Big wooden doors. Almost like a castle. Cold as one."

  "What else do you remember?"

  "Ominous, oppressive." I shuddered. "And boring. Made me want to never go back."

  "You went to Sunday school."

  The memory brought a smile. "That was different. A lot of kids I knew from my neighborhood went there. It was downstairs in the basement. Half a basement...it led out to the playground."

  "What else?"

  "Colored a lot of pictures. Played outside a lot. There was a slide and swings and a sandbox. Made me want to play rather than be in church."

  "Think back," he said, and touched my head.

  And suddenly I was there, in the midst of a long discarded memory brought to the front of my mind. Five years old, sitting at a desk. I wore black pants and shoes with a white shirt and a red clip-on bow tie, a little man coloring a picture of an empty cave with a big rock nearby and two angels on each side. I was coloring the angels yellow. There was the taste of chocolate in my mouth. It was Easter.

  "See?" Rollins said from far off.

  "It's me."

  "That was the day. Over thirty years ago on a day like all the rest in a small room in the basement of a church you didn't even like...you heard the story and believed."

  "I had forgotten."

  "God didn't. There's power when a child gives his heart to God."

  "It was a long time ago. I didn't know what I believed."

  "Look at him," Rollins said. The boy who was me showed his finished work to the teacher, a pleasant woman who smiled and praised it loudly. "You understood back then. But as you got older you learned too much to remain so ignorant. Funny, isn't it? You had more wisdom at five than you've had since."

  The memory and the picture and the classroom and the little boy began fading. I wished for a moment I could stay with them, back when it was safe and fun and new. Before it disappeared completely the boy turned and maybe waved me goodbye as I opened my eyes and found myself back in the diner.

  I stood there for a moment, eyes refocusing, as Rollins spoke.

  "You just forgot where you came from, is all," he said. "I'm here to show you the way back. But first, there's work to do."

  I felt woozy. "My head hurts."

  He handed me a toothpick and stuck one between his teeth. "Just wait," he said, and we walked out of the diner and into the night.