by Bryan Murphy
but it was not excruciating. He opened his eyes and realised that he had normal, earthly vision, although his left eye was sore. He realised that he was in a bed. His left arm was immobilised by a cast, as was his right leg. He could feel bandages around his head, and he saw more around his chest.
The door opened. A female vision drifted into the white room. She wore a pure white uniform. When Lee reached out his to touch her thigh, she brushed it away and gave him a frosty look. An Angel, not a Virgin. His pain faded: metamorphine and finding himself in Heaven made a powerful combination.
When Lee next awoke, he was flabbergasted to see the old policeman who had consigned him to the Inquisitions sitting in a chair beside his bed. Had he died, too? Only if people could smile after death.
“Disappointed, son?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in one of the hospital rooms below the Bishop’s Offices. Known to the populace as the Torture Chambers. We encourage them to use their imaginations.”
Lee began to cry, but soon stopped. He was still alive! That was bad, but a relief in a way.
The policeman plucked a glass of water from Lee’s bedside table and helped him to drink it.
“Easy does it, son. Now, cast your mind back and see if you can find an explanation.”
“The poison didn’t work.”
“So it seems. And why would you say that was?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your church commander knows. He gave it to you.”
Lee was silent for a while. Then it hit him.
“He lied to me! How could he? What I did was for the glory of God!”
“Lee, you’re going to have to get used to a few truths. I’m going to tell you things you’ll find hard to believe, but I can assure you they are true.”
“Why should I believe you?” Everything was a web of deception.
“That’s a good question. You don’t have to believe me. No-one has to like the truth, or believe it, but I would like you to listen to it. I mean, it’s not as though you can go anywhere else just now, is it, son?”
Lee looked around him, as far as he was able. The cop was right. He could not try to give himself to God again right now.
“How is it possible that he lied to me? My own commander!”
“Well, one reason is that gods, and those people who command in their name, don’t really want you and I to kill ourselves. What would be in it for them?”
“Glory!”
“I think they’re beyond that. We certainly are, and we’re just mortals.”
“We? We who?” What was the man talking about?
“We who govern. We just want people to get along. Things are hard enough these days without people killing themselves for the sake of gods.”
“There is only one God!”
The old policeman did not seem to hear him.
“We started to let people pump themselves full of whatever religion caught their fancy; we just insisted they had one. We forgot that religion has always been the perfect excuse to kill your neighbours. We’re now trying to limit the consequences of that mistake. You can help us.”
“Me? How can I help you? You make true believers sound like heretics!”
“We quite like heretics, in a way. They tend to do what they’re told.”
The nurse came back into the room carrying a syringe. It was time to top up Lee’s metamorphine, or whatever it was.
“Sweet dreams,” said the policeman. “I’m sorry if we hurt your eyeball when we put that ridiculous contraption over it. It was only your brain that imagined it going inside. Amazing what people will believe, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ll medicate it while you’re under. With real medicine, not prayer.” He stood up and left.
Lee slept deeply, woke, ate some bland food that another nurse brought, then slept fitfully. His dreams told him nothing. When he was awake, he thought. Eventually, he noticed the old man sitting beside him once more.
“Are you ready to help us?”
“What’s in it for me?”
The old man’s smile made him look younger.
“Now you’re talking. Here’s the deal.”
“Deal?”
“You can’t suddenly reappear on the streets of Tonbridge. That would give the game away. We’ll relocate you to Scotland, give you a new identity, a proper education, a decent job. In return, you join a church and keep an eye on true believers for us.”
“You mean, infiltrate and report?”
“Exactly. Help us to nip intolerance in the bud.”
Lee was sorely tempted. Then a dreadful thought crossed his mind.
“What happened to that form I filled in. The incriminating one?”
The policeman gestured like a stage magician.
“It went up in a puff of smoke. Disappeared. These days, we burn forms, not people. For the sake of decorum, though, it would help if you were to fill in a new one, properly.”
Lee tried to put on a surly expression beneath the bandages.
“What’s the point of applying for a Tonbridge Angels season ticket if I’m going to be in Scotland?”
“It is a mere formality. We shall, however, give you a ticket to the Chalice final in Glasgow, though I’m sorry to tell you Tonbridge Angels will not be gracing The Hallows on that occasion. And we’ll give you a season ticket for whichever club in Scotland you end up supporting.”
“I’ll never give up the Angels!”
“You don’t have to. Just stay away from Tonbridge, or anywhere people might recognise you.”
Lee felt very tired. He closed his eyes. The left one did not hurt so much.
“All right, I’ll think about it.”
The next morning, Lee filled in all the forms they brought to him, in precisely the way they told him to. After lunch, the old policeman came to collect them.
“When am I going to Scotland?”
“As soon as the Bishop deems you fit to travel. In any case, before the Chalice Final.”
He dug in an inside pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he opened to show Lee what was inside.
“As a sign of good faith, here’s your ticket for it. Executive suite. You won’t get one of these for every game at The Hallows, though.”
Lee was overwhelmed with gratitude, but tried not to show it.
The policeman placed the ticket on Lee’s bedside table, then looked at Lee.
“Oh, there’s something else for you.” He took another envelope from the same pocket and placed that, too, on the bedside table.
With an effort, Lee turned his head and read the name embossed on the envelope: Hell Fire. He felt sick.
“Don’t worry, Lee, the name’s just a joke. It’s a set of vouchers you can use in the best brothel we run in Glasgow. Might change your ideas about the sexual superiority of virgins. My treat, son.”
With that, the old policeman left Lee alone with his new life.
*****
About the author:
Bryan Murphy travelled extensively as a teacher of English as a foreign language before settling in Italy, where he worked as a translator for a United Nations agency. He now concentrates on his own words.
Murphy’s stories have gained an international following, and his poetry has appeared in places ranging from the Venice Biennale to the Brighton Evening Argus, as well as a multitude of literary magazines. His first novel, Revolution Number One, is to be released in 2015.
To discover more work by Bryan Murphy, visit: https://www.bryanmurphy.eu
Other e-books by Bryan Murphy
Goodbye, Padania: https://bit.ly/14fPbt6
Linehan’s Trip: https://bit.ly/1cFHk1e
Linehan Saves: https://bit.ly/17K0JqV
Murder By Suicide: https://bit.ly/172F90N
Houlihan’s Wake: https://bit.ly/181pc0r
Madeleine’s Drug: https://bit.ly/19HeUAo
Heresy: https://bit.ly/159ppdQ
Breakaway: https://bit.ly/1bzeL1z
Postcards
from Italy: https://booksonblogtm.blogspot.it/search/label/Bryan%20Murphy
Connect with Bryan Murphy on-line
Website: https://www.bryanmurphy.eu
Sound Cloud: https://soundcloud.com/bryan-murphy-6
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