A Fate Worse Than Death

Jonathan Gould

Booktrope Editions

Seattle WA 2015

Copyright 2015 Jonathan Gould

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Cover Design by Greg Simanson

Edited by Bethany Root

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

Print ISBN 978-1-62015-712-1

EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-734-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015903243

Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgments

Also by Jonathan Gould & More Great Reads from Booktrope

To Graham, John, Terry, Eric, Terry, and Michael – for shifting the goalposts

Chapter 1

IF YOU SHOULD EVER HAVE the bad sense to die, don’t do it after a heavy night of drinking. That bright light is a killer.

I was floating. At least that’s what my senses were telling me. Mind you, I could barely trust my senses at the best of times. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I opened them again, just a little. Still floating. So much for my senses.

I urgently needed to get a better view of my surroundings. I lifted my arm and took my hat off, aiming to use it to shield my eyes from the light. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment I remembered that my arm had just acquired several bullet wounds. I howled in pain and dropped the hat, which drifted off in front of me, quickly disappearing into the light.

Any attempts at tracking the progress of my hat were thwarted by searing daggers piercing my face, forcing me to slam my eyes shut. At this stage in my life, or lack thereof, floating blindly became my occupation of choice. I couldn’t look directly into that blazing glare ahead. I could barely move any part of my bullet-riddled body. All I could do was float like a helpless, curled up, trodden-on bug, onwards towards the light.

I tried to look on the bright side. At least things couldn’t get any worse. What did I have to lose by dying? In the great balance sheet of life, all my numbers had been marked with red ink. The only thing I had ever added up to was a great big minus. No, this wasn’t so bad at all. Good riddance to you, life. Good riddance to you, dirty, stinking world.

At that moment, my eyes flickered open again, just for a second, and I happened to glimpse what it was that I was floating above.

It was blackness. Total, utter blackness.

I should have been used to blackness. In my life just passed, I had spent my time getting well acquainted with it. The blackness of dark houses or dead-end alleys at midnight I knew well enough. But this was a blackness beyond any I could ever have imagined—a blackness that had never seen even a trace of light. I shuddered to think what might be found in the depths of that dark abyss. I also shuddered to think that, given my fine performance in the theatre of life, there was a pretty good chance I was soon going to be right in the middle of it.

That’s when I realised I was wrong. Things could get a whole lot worse.

I cursed myself for taking that last job. What was I thinking? Everyone I knew had warned me against it. Detective Clyde Harris, my only friend amongst the city’s fine police force, had told me it was tantamount to suicide. My accountant, Charlie Singbuck, had suggested that bankruptcy was a preferable option. Even my cat had stood by the front door, snarling and hissing as if to say, you go through that door, you’re not coming back.

But what choice did I have? I hadn’t had any work for months, and the impact this was making on my modest savings was starting to show. My landlord had already politely indicated that if I didn’t supply some rent by next Thursday, he would show me just how quickly the contents of an apartment could be moved onto the street. And my staple diet of stale bread and raw potatoes was starting to wear thin. As much as that phone call from the Girl Scouts had given me the screaming heebie-jeebies, I’d known there was no option but to take a deep breath, fortify myself with a good shot of alcohol, and head out into the night.

Did somebody mention alcohol?

My truest friend. My constant companion as I had waited in the dark for the deal to go down. Surely it wouldn’t abandon me in my hour of need.

With my good arm, I groped in my pocket and pulled out my trusty hip flask. I opened it and held it to my lips, waiting to feel that soothing heat at the back of my throat. Nothing. Not a drop. My flask was as empty as a gambler’s wallet after the last race has run.

I made another mental note that if I should ever die again, I would make sure I had a full hip flask. Then I hurled the now useless flask away. With barely opened eyes, I was just able to see it follow my hat into the light. But this time, I was surprised to hear a yell of pain from the other side.

By now, the light was almost upon me. I willed myself not to move any further. The prospect of what I might face on the other side was more than my death-addled mind could contend with. But with no way to resist, I could do nothing to halt my progress into the light. As it enveloped me in its gleaming fire, I felt my whole body burning. The light bored into my head, scorching every synapse in my brain. I knew I couldn’t take much more of this. I was glowing like a white hot poker. At any moment, my eyes would pop out and my head would explode.

Suddenly, the light was gone. Not only that, but I felt ground beneath my feet. Not particularly solid ground, but ground all the same. I used my good arm to steady myself and then slowly opened my eyes.

I was standing on what I could only describe as . . . cloudy fuzz? For a moment, I was terrified I would sink right through, but it seemed to be holding my weight. It was surprisingly supportive fuzz, so cloudy and white that I felt like I was perched on top of a giant wedding cake. The sky above was pale blue, feathering my cheek with a gentle chill. I might have flunked most of my Sunday school classes, but I instantly knew what this place must be. I had arrived at the Pearly Gates.

Well, to be honest, I hadn’t quite arrived at the Pearly Gates. If I strained my eyes I could just make them out, a hazy glimmer far off in the distance. What I had actually arrived at was the end of the queue that led to the Pearly Gates. It stretched out in front of me, full of people of every description. Men and women. Tall people and short people. Fat people and skinny people. Black people and white people, and people of just about every colour in between. All waiting patiently in the long line that snaked across the cloudy fuzz to those faraway Gates.