After Life

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Oh Jesus,” Sue Martin said. She and her assistant moved forward and seized Jessie firmly at the upper arms and waist. “If you don’t walk out, Mrs. Overstreet, we will carry you out.”

  Jessie started to resist, but their grips tightened.

  “You don’t understand,” she cried.

  “We understand, Mrs. Overstreet. Really we do. We know what you’re going through.” They started her forward.

  “You have no idea.” Jessie couldn’t stop them from leading her away. “Dr. Beezly is going to take my husband’s soul. He’s going to put another soul in him, an evil soul. They’re digging up the grave right now,” she whispered. The two nurses looked at each other and then at Tracy and Bob, who shook their heads sadly.

  “Just a little bit farther, Mrs. Overstreet,” Sue Martin said. “You can wait with your friends downstairs. If there’s any change whatsoever, we’ll call you.”

  “I want another doctor. Will you call another doctor?” she pleaded through her tears.

  “Of course,” Sue Martin said. “I’ll do that right away,” she said, but Jessie heard her condescension.

  “No, you won’t. You don’t believe me. Maybe you’re one of them,” she said weakly. It was all overwhelming her again. Her legs felt so soft, her body wilting like a flower without water or sunlight. A deep sadness filled her. It was as if the darkness in her eyes had spread like a rash over her body, making her other senses just as dull and ineffective. She could barely feel anything or hear anything. The world around her began to drift away, leaving her alone in some dark corner, washed in a shadow and becoming little more than a shadow herself.

  Just before they reached the door, she lost consciousness.

  She had no idea where she was when she awoke. She felt she was adrift in space, floating in some dark limbo. She heard the murmur of strange voices. There was the rattle of wheels, the click of footsteps. Someone’s thin laugh threaded its way through the tapestry of confusion. She lifted her hands and began to explore her immediate surroundings. She felt a starched, stiff bed sheet over her body. Gradually the scents of the hospital began to announce themselves clearly and she remembered.

  She groaned and tried to turn, but found she had been strapped into the bed. One strap was over her thighs and one was over her ankles. She struggled to get her hands over the strap across her thighs to find where it was fastened, but she discovered no way to release herself.

  How had she gotten here? Who put her here? She labored to recall the final moments before she lost consciousness and remembered she had been with Lee.

  Lee!

  “Help!” she cried. “Someone, please…help!”

  She heard a rush of footsteps outside the door of the room and moments later a soft, female voice.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Overstreet. It’s all right,” the nurse said, and took her hand. She felt her place her other hand over her forehead and wipe back some strands of hair.

  “Where am I? What happened to me?”

  “You’re in the hospital. You fainted in the intensive-care unit, but there’s nothing seriously wrong with you. Dr. Beezly checked you over.”

  “Oh no,” Jessie said weakly. “Why am I strapped in?”

  “It’s just a precaution, Mrs. Overstreet. We don’t want you trying to get up and falling. You can hurt yourself seriously doing that. You’re too weak and unstable right now. But after a day or so…”

  “It will be too late by then,” Jessie said. “Please, let me get up.”

  “How about we get something in your stomach…some nice hot tea, some oatmeal—”

  “I’m not hungry. I just have to get up and get back to my husband,” Jessie replied, and struggled to sit up.

  “That’s all right. You just get something into your stomach anyway. That’s the fastest way for you to regain your strength, and you want to regain your strength, don’t you?” the nurse asked as if she were talking to an infant.

  “Yes, yes,” Jessie said. They weren’t listening; no one would listen.

  “Good.” The nurse fluffed up her pillow and set it behind her so she could sit up comfortably.

  “Please unfasten me,” Jessie begged again.

  “For the time being, let’s just leave things this way. If you need to go to the bathroom, I’ll bring you the bedpan.”

  “No, I need to get up.”

  “In due time.”

  “I’m strong enough. Really.”

  “Now, now, Mrs. Overstreet. Do you want Dr. Beezly to be angry with us? Let me get you something to eat and then you will feel better, okay?”

  Jessie nodded and sighed. She lowered her head. It was no use, no use. What was it her father always said? “A branch that doesn’t bend, breaks.”

  “Now there’s a good girl,” the nurse said. “Your friends wanted me to tell you that they would be back as soon as they could and they would keep you informed about your husband’s condition,” she added.

  “They don’t have to,” Jessie said quietly, her voice soaked in defeat. “I know his condition. He’s going to die, if he’s not already dead.”

  “Oh, you must not think that way, Mrs. Overstreet. You must have faith. Are you a Catholic?” she asked.

  “Not a practicing one,” Jessie replied.

  “Well, Father Rush is here visiting patients. Would you like me to send him in to see you?” the nurse asked. “He’s a very nice man. I happen to be a Catholic, too,” the nurse added.

  Jessie didn’t reply. She just fell back against the pillows.

  “I’ll send him by,” the nurse said, and left.

  Jessie felt herself drifting off again. The weight of the battle was too much. She thought about all that had happened, all the warnings they had had: the things she had heard, had sensed, and had felt. Lee should have listened. “He should have listened,” she murmured.

  “Who should have listened, Mrs. Overstreet?” a deep, strong voice asked. At first she thought she had imagined it, but then she felt the warm hand over hers.

  “What?”

  “I’m Father Rush,” the man said. “How are you doing, Mrs. Overstreet?”

  “Father Rush?” Jessie started to sit up again.

  “Now, now, take it easy,” he said softly. “I understand you’re having a bad time of it. Your husband was in a car accident, I know.” He continued to pat her hand softly.

  “Oh Father,” Jessie said. “You don’t know. Satan is here. The devil is here to take him.”

  The priest’s fingers stopped stroking hers, but his hand lingered over her palm. Jessie seized his hand quickly and squeezed.

  “You must believe me, Father. You must.”

  “You’re quite overwrought, Mrs. Overstreet. Just try to relax a bit.”

  “Father…”

  “I’m here. I’m listening to you,” the priest said calmly, but before Jessie could go on, the nurse returned.

  “Oh, you’ve got her sitting up, Father. That’s good,” she said. “I’ve brought her some tea and hot oatmeal.”

  “Very good.”

  “I don’t want to eat. Please, I—”

  “You should get something hot in your stomach, Mrs. Overstreet,” the priest said.

  “All right, all right. I’ll eat if you will stay and listen to me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. She could hear the amusement in his voice. Maybe he wasn’t a priest; maybe he was one of them…

  She pressed her palm into his again and held it there as tightly as she could, concentrating, searching, listening for the voices, reaching deeply. There was nothing dark, nothing sinister.

  The nurse set up the bed table.

  “Do you want me to feed you, Mrs. Overstreet?” she asked.

  “No, no. I can feed myself. I’m not a helpless child,” she snapped. A thread of hope renewed her strength. She took a spoonful of oatmeal and then sipped some tea.

  “That’s a good girl,” the nurse said. “I’ll be right outside, Father, if
you should need me.”

  “We’ve got things under control here, Suzanne,” he said. “Mrs. Overstreet is fine.”

  Jessie listened for the nurse’s departing footsteps. The moment she was gone, she dropped her spoon and turned to the priest.

  “Father, my husband is in great danger if he is not already lost,” she began. “You must believe me. You’re my last hope.”

  “I’m here to help you, my dear,” he said.

  “You believe in the devil, in Satan’s existence, don’t you, Father?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Can he be defeated? Is there anything we can do to overcome his hold on us?” she asked desperately.

  “Lead a good life, keep our fortress strong, love the Lord, and do His bidding. The devil can’t plant his seeds of evil in a garden of goodness.”

  “But we all sin, Father.”

  “Alas, we do, but we must be remorseful and repent, and then the devil is driven out of our hearts. I will pray with you, my dear,” he said. “Together we will ask the Lord for forgiveness.”

  “Father, I will do that, but we must do something to keep the devil away from my husband now, and my husband can’t pray for forgiveness. He’s in a coma.”

  “The Lord understands that, my child. We will pray for him, and I assure you, God will listen.”

  “No, Father,” Jessie insisted, “it’s too late for only prayer. We must do more.”

  “Do more?”

  “Father, I beg you. Don’t think I’m crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy. You’re upset. I understand and—”

  “No, you don’t, Father. Let me tell you all of it,” she said, and began with the first night they had arrived and the voices she had heard wailing in the cemetery.

  “I’m not sure I quite understand what you mean when you say the devil is exchanging souls, Mrs. Overstreet,” Father Rush said after Jessie had brought him up to date. She had been encouraged by the way he sat quietly and listened, never interrupting, never trying to tell her she was mistaken or hallucinating. He sounded thoughtful, concerned, and nowhere near as skeptical as she had feared.

  He was especially attentive when she had described the way Dr. Beezly had metamorphosed during his examination of her, and how Satan had tried to rape her. Her description of the way she envisioned Satan had apparently struck a note with the priest. Furthermore he didn’t challenge or express incredulity when she told him Dr. Beezly was evil.

  “Somehow he is replacing the souls of these people with souls from hell. Maybe…maybe it’s the way the devil rewards those who are most loyal to him in hell. And that’s why these people who have been close to death or died are so different afterward. I certainly sensed it in Marjorie Young and Tracy sensed it in her husband. I’m sure her time is coming, too. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it ever since I realized why Mr. Carter was out there digging up the graves and why I heard the wail of the dead.”

  She reached out and found the priest’s hand. Seizing it, she cried, “I don’t know why, but God has given me this power.”

  “Perhaps for this very thing,” Father Rush said softly.

  “Then you do believe me. You do.”

  “Let me say that I have been disturbed by many things in our community over the past year or so.”

  “And Dr. Beezly?”

  Father Rush was quiet for a long moment. Jessie was afraid he wouldn’t respond.

  “Father?”

  “I have had troubling feelings about him. Yes,” he confessed.

  Jessie breathed with relief. She had finally found an ally.

  “Oh Father. It’s not too late. I know it. What can we do? How can we keep the devil away from my husband and perhaps save those souls he has taken?”

  “I am not an expert in demonology, but I have some knowledge of it. Perhaps holy water,” he mused aloud.

  “Holy water?”

  “Yes. The devil is not supposed to be able to abide it.”

  “Then…if we put it around Lee’s bed, we can keep the devil away from him?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Oh Father. Let’s do it. Please,” she begged. “If Dr. Beezly is unable to approach my husband, that will be proof, won’t it?”

  “To us certainly.”

  “Father, will you help me? Will you do it?”

  “I will try,” he said. He stood up. “I’ll go to the church and get the holy water and return. Until then don’t say anything to anyone. Finish your food and rest.”

  “Will you hurry, Father? Will you?”

  “I’ll be back as quickly as I can, but remember, we don’t want to attract attention and warn the evil souls around us,” he said. He patted her on the hand. “Pray, my child. Pray,” he said, and left.

  She ate a few more spoonfuls of oatmeal and drank some tea. Then she lay back against the pillows. The nurse returned.

  “Oh, that’s good. You’ve eaten some of it. Now you just rest, and before long you will feel much better. Isn’t Father Rush a nice man?” she said, taking the tray.

  “Yes. How old a man is he?”

  “Oh…I’d say he’s in his fifties.”

  “How long has he been in this community?”

  “Almost twenty years, I think,” she said, and then she laughed.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, it’s just the way everyone in the parish puts it, those who have lived here for years and years, that is.”

  “Puts what?”

  “Father Rush’s arrival. They came about the same time, you know.”

  “They?”

  “A doctor of the body and a doctor of the soul. That’s the way the parish puts it.”

  “A doctor of the body and a doctor of the soul?”

  “Dr. Beezly and Father Rush. One day one was here; the next day the other. Now you just lie back and rest. I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Here’s the buzzer,” she said, putting the button in Jessie’s hand.

  But Jessie didn’t feel it; she didn’t feel anything.

  15

  Weak with disappointment and still strapped firmly in the hospital bed, Jessie lay there as still as a corpse. For all the good she was able to do Lee and herself, she might as well be dead, she thought. Why was the devil so powerful? Why could he reach almost anywhere he wanted in order to get his way? Where was God?

  Father Rush had told her that God permitted the devil to exist so that man could make moral choices. In rejecting evil, man became good and was embraced by God. But after what the nurse had told her, Jessie thought the priest was simply justifying the existence of evil.

  And yet she had to wonder why she had been given this power, this ability to see and hear beyond. Was it meant to be some exquisite torment? What were her great sins? Why was she being punished so? She knew that Lee believed he was being punished for his sins when they had had their accident and she had been hurt so seriously. It was part of the reason why she had accepted her fate so stoically: she knew how much he blamed himself and how the weight of that guilt could destroy him.

  Now he was being destroyed by the Prince of Evil himself and there was nothing anyone could do. Maybe it was best she died with him, she thought. Leave this world, a world Satan was claiming. If she were to believe tradition, Satan had tried to claim the world after God had first created it and had created Paradise and Adam and Eve. The devil had been defeated, but not before he had corrupted Adam and Eve and had left enough of himself behind to set the stage for his second attempt. This was the beginning of that new attempt, and Lee, she, and the others were the first to fall victim.

  She was too weak and frustrated to cry, almost too weak to care. Let sleep come. Let it all end, she thought.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but suddenly she felt someone unfastening the belts that strapped her into the bed. In moments her thighs and legs were free. She sat up quickly, about to scream. Father Rush put his hand over her mouth.

  “Shh,” he said. �
�We don’t want anyone to hear or know what we are about to do.”

  Her heart pounded. The evil ones were going to make sure she presented no more danger to them. Surely that was their purpose now.

  Father Rush took his hand from her mouth and pulled back her blanket so she would be able to get out of bed. Then he went to the closet and got her clothes.

  “I’ll watch at the door while you get dressed,” he said, setting the clothing on the bed. “Hurry. The nurses are taking a break.”

  Jessie said nothing; she hadn’t moved.

  “You’ve known Dr. Beezly ever since he arrived here, haven’t you?” she asked quickly.

  “Yes.”

  “My nurse told me you both arrived around the same time,” she said in an accusatory tone.

  “Yes, we did, and for a long time—actually until up to a year or so ago—Dr. Beezly and I were very good friends. We often dined together, and he was a member of my church. He was a warm person, compassionate, and very intelligent. We had many philosophical and theological discussions.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” she demanded. “Dr. Beezly is highly respected in this community. Aren’t you afraid you will get into trouble or look foolish?”

  “Those who do the work of God can never look foolish,” he replied. “I know there are many who don’t believe the devil exists the way we believe he exists; there are even many in the Mother Church who don’t, but I have reason to know it is so,” he added softly.

  “What reason? My story?”

  “No.” He returned to the side of the bed and took her hand into his. “I myself have been tempted by Satan,” he confessed.

  “How?” she asked. The priest was quiet for a long moment.

  “All of us, being mortal, have our weaknesses, even priests.”

  “And even Dr. Beezly?”

  “Oh yes. He was a man who had his own weaknesses and sins, some more serious than others, perhaps. Perhaps there were sins he didn’t want to confess, sins he hadn’t repented.

  “Suddenly he stopped coming to church, and in fact, those whom he had treated for serious injuries or illnesses stopped coming as well. I found him a changed man, yet a man who still had a major influence on others, even me.”