by Rick Wood
“Oscar,” said a friendly voice beside him.
Oscar turned to find a man stood there. Well-fitted blue suit, trimmed beard, endearing smile.
“Who are you?” Oscar demanded, wondering what trick was next.
“Relax,” this man said. “It’s over. You’ve passed through Hell.”
“No, I haven’t. This is another trick.”
“It’s not a trick, Oscar. It’s an offer.”
The man, so calm and cool, smiled suavely at Oscar.
“Who are you?” Oscar repeated.
“Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I am asking.”
“Who do you think would want to greet you on your way into Heaven? Who do you think would want to come down from the angels and thank you for all that you have given?”
“Are you… Him?”
He nodded.
Oscar shook his head. It couldn’t be.
“But I screwed up,” Oscar said. “I caused this mess. I don’t deserve Heaven.”
“Oscar, if anything, you deserve it the most,” He said, rushing up to Oscar enthusiastically. He took Oscar’s arms, held them, and spoke so passionately that Oscar could not help but be convinced.
“Don’t you see? You chose love. Love! Out of everyone in this world, you saved those you care about most. If that isn’t my influence, then what is?”
“And now what? You’re offering me Heaven? What about everyone else? What about April?”
He smiled a knowing smile — not a mocking one, but a deliberate one.
“April is here,” He said.
“No. April is on earth, she is suffering.”
“Oscar, please. The Devil took her body. April left it long ago. She is happy. Her soul is free.”
“But it can’t be.”
“You looked into those eyes every day for the past few weeks. Tell me, did you see any of April in there?”
Oscar went to object but couldn’t. Honestly, the answer was no. He had seen none of April in there. She hadn’t even resurfaced. Either she had been buried deep down, or The Devil had already been rid of her.
“Can I see her?” Oscar asked.
“See her? You can do more than that. You can be with her.”
“What?”
“She is here, Oscar. Her soul. Waiting for you to join her. She is free of the body stolen from her, and she is happy.”
Oscar did not know what to say. He was amazed. He stuttered, wishing he could articulate his astonishment.
“What about everyone else?” Oscar asked.
“You mean Julian? Derek? Maddie? Even Father O’Neil, who had also freed himself of his body? Yes, their souls are here. They are all waiting for you, and they are so, so proud of you.”
Oscar looked stared at Him. Was this actually real?
Was this another torment, or was this really Heaven?
And if Heaven was so perfect, what would be so bad about people dying? Maybe the world ending would be a good thing if this was where everyone ended up?
“What about everyone at home?” Oscar asked.
“Don’t worry about them. Their lives are in my hands now, not yours.” He indicated the door. “Please, go in and enjoy your blissful eternity.”
Oscar stepped forward, cautious yet eager. He passed the bright lights of the door and walked into a driveway.
It was the driveway of his house, but not like he remembered it.
The surrounding bushes had never been so green. The flowers were blooming, the air clean, the sun bright.
He walked toward the house and saw a familiar face trimming a nearby hedge.
“Hello, Oscar,” came the real Irish accent of O’Neil; not the fake one put on by a demon. Even though Oscar had never truly met the real O’Neil, he was glad to see a familiar face smiling back at him.
“Hi,” he said and walked on, eager to see what was inside the house.
He opened the door and stepped in.
Again, it was his house, but better. It was clean. No cracks in the paint, no bits on the carpet.
He entered the hallway and Derek was there, sat on a chair, his head buried in a book. As Oscar passed, Derek lifted his head, took off his reading glasses and smiled warmly.
“You’re finally here,” he said, and stood, placing a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “I knew you’d make it.”
“Derek… is this real?”
“Oscar, that is why you are such a brilliant man — because you question such things. But you are here now. You are home. Please enjoy it.”
Derek held his arm out, indicating the kitchen.
Oscar kept walking, and came across Julian, sitting at the table, eating some breakfast.
Even Julian seemed pleased to see Oscar, despite Oscar approaching a little cautiously.
“Oscar!” Julian declared. “Don’t be nervous. It’s fine.”
“But — aren’t you mad at me? I failed.”
“You never failed. Only I did. You were the strong one, Oscar. You always were.”
And then it occurred to Oscar, what Om had spoken about: Parinirvana. The bliss that would be presented to him. To defeat The Devil he had to let go of everything he held onto, and that would be his last test.
But what if it wasn’t a test?
What if this was real?
What if this was really Heaven?
“She’s waiting for you,” Julian said, indicating the backdoor.
Oscar opened the backdoor and stepped into the garden, surrounded by colourful plants and beneath a clear, blue sky.
And there she stood. Unscathed and unharmed.
And happy.
Oh, so happy.
It was April.
And she was free.
46
Thea and Henry leapt back and glanced at each other, startled.
It wasn’t every day an ageing Buddhist pushed his way through crowds of the possessed, but here he was. He stood between them and The Devil, who looked down and sneered, squinting, as if trying to recall the face.
He stumbled to the ground, feeling the weight of his age pulling him down. Thea went to help the old man, but he waved her away.
“Please, leave me,” he said. “You just keep your distance. Stay behind me, whatever you do.”
He forced enough strength to his feeble legs to push himself up to his knees. He felt his back, then closed his eyes and breathed through the pain. He seemed to accept the pain and come to terms with it quickly; he was not prepared to let it stop him.
He turned to the king of Hell.
The Devil said nothing, at first. He stared back at this man with vague recognition, twisting April’s head to the side.
Then The Devil smiled a wide, sadistic smile.
“Om Samsara,” he said, a deep, grave voice coming out of the fading skin of April’s once unblemished face.
“Mara,” the man called Om replied with an air of satisfaction.
“What’s going on?” Henry asked Thea.
Thea did not know, but she followed Om’s instructions and moved back, putting some distance between them, but not too far — they didn’t want to enter the crowd of disciplines.
“You left your temple,” The Devil acknowledged.
“You left your Hell,” Om retorted.
The Devil cackled like this was the funniest joke he’d heard in a long time.
“You pathetic, foolish man. You were safe there. You think your spiritual bullshit will protect you out here?”
“I’ve not come for protection.”
“Then what have you come for?”
This was a good question.
His eyes were young last time they had looked at this entity. Now they were so much older, and he was determined to go out on his own terms. He wished to stand defiantly as he showed that, even in death, he would still not give in to its temptations.
He stood tall and said, “To look into your eyes as I resist you once again.”
The Devil
’s smile turned to a frown of disgust, a contortion of rage; disbelief at Om’s daring to oppose him.
“And what have you come armed with?” The Devil asked. “Your lessons? Your faith? Your quest? Tell me, what will an old man like you fight me with?”
“I need not fight you.”
“You accept your fate, then?”
“I accept what has happened, and what will happen.”
“What does that even mean?”
The Devil lifted out April’s fist and Om rose from the ground, lifted inches into the air, where he hovered.
“You won’t win,” Om said.
“Won’t I?”
The Devil opened April’s fist, and Om dangled by his throat.
“You’ll never win so long as there are those of us who resist your temptations.”
“Will never win? Don’t you see, my old friend — I already have.”
He squeezed his outstretched hand. Finger marks pressed against Om’s neck as he suffocated.
Om tried to talk, but couldn’t. He tried to get some words out, tried to say something, but the force on his throat was too much.
“What?” The Devil asked.
Om tried to speak again, but failed.
“Can’t talk?”
The Devil dropped his arm and Om fell to the floor, grabbing his throat.
“What is it? Whatever do you have to say?”
“Oscar will beat you. He will win.”
“Oh, Om. Didn’t you hear? Oscar is dead.”
“What?” Thea cried out.
Om’s head turned, and his eyes met hers.
“Is that true?” she asked. “Is Oscar dead?”
Poor girl. She did not know. Om knew he had to explain.
“Yes, but–” he said, but before he could say any more, his body went up in flames. Within the fire, his arms thrashed and his body wriggled, fighting against a painful death he could do nothing to resist.
It didn’t take long until the wriggling stopped, and the fire ended. Just a burnt corpse was left, covered in blackened clothes.
Thea rushed to the man’s side, looking upon a blackened, unrecognisable body.
She looked up at The Devil, who grinned at her.
“Oscar…” she gasped. “No…”
47
Oscar ran to April and put his arms around her.
She smelt just like he remembered, and her body fit in his arms just like he recalled.
This was April, exactly as she was before her body had been taken over. Wearing her same unique clothes, her same smile, and with the same happiness she always had when he arrived.
He wanted to burst, such was his affection, such was his pleasure at being reunited. God, he loved her. So, so much. With every cell in his body, he yearned for her, and he had never felt happiness like he felt in that moment.
He kissed her, delicately yet passionately, then pulled his head back and looked at her.
“April, is this really you?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she answered, so gleefully, just as happy to see him as he was her.
“And are you okay?”
“I am okay.”
“But with The Devil in your body, with you being possessed, didn’t it hurt? Wasn’t it–”
“Oscar, stop. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
He looked back at her, amazed. She couldn’t be. Not after everything she had been through.
But she was.
She was so okay. She had recovered from the ordeal, of course she had, she was strong, and she was now in a blissful place, a place they could spend the rest of forever.
“We’re together,” Oscar said. “I can’t believe it, we’re together. And we are away from everything. None of it matters anymore, it’s just us, no fights, no demons — just us.”
She nodded. “It always will be.”
He leant his forehead against hers. A gesture that had always meant so much to both of them. It was the reassurance they gave before battle, the hope they passed from one to the other.
“You just have to let go of that life you had before, and then we will be able to stay here forever,” she said.
This struck Oscar as a little peculiar.
“We have to do what?”
“Let go, just like Om told you. Let go of that life we had on Earth. Let go of your body, and promise you will never return to it.”
“But why would I want to let go of that life? That life is where we met, where we fell in love, where we–”
He stepped back. Looked upon her differently.
All the pain he thought he’d escaped came hurtling back.
How stupid he had been.
Om was right, but not in the way she was saying. She was trying to keep him here, not because she wanted him to be with her — but because she wanted him to be trapped. Unable to go back. By removing any attachment to that world, he would leave The Devil unopposed.
“My God,” Oscar said. “You almost had me.”
Om had taught him that he must let go of everything; even Parinirvana.
This place wasn’t just made by Mara, it was Mara.
Mara was temptation. He used everything you were attached to against you, to defeat you; to tempt you away.
That was a perfect imitation of the Heaven Oscar had longed for.
Om was right — Mara was both physical and intrinsic. He was both the entity, and the evil within all of us.
Everything in this place was provoking the emotions that allowed The Devil to win.
He had to let go of all of it — only then would he be able to defeat The Devil. Even if it was temporary. Only then would he have nothing The Devil could use to attack him.
But he allowed himself another moment. Despite the suffering occurring in his world, the pain and torture, he allowed himself another minute, just to pretend that this was April.
“What’s the matter?” she asked — or, at least, this perfect imitation of her asked.
“I have to let go of you.”
“But I love you. Don’t you love me?”
“It is because I love you that I must let go.”
“I — I don’t understand.”
He stepped toward her. Gazed upon the face identical to hers, and wished he could kiss it one more time, even though it was fake.
He reached out for her hand and held it.
“Everything that has happened is because of how attached I am to you — because of how much I love you. To save you, that has to end.”
“Oscar, you are talking nonsense.”
“Goodbye, April.”
He dropped her hand.
Stepped back.
He closed his eyes and emptied his body of everything he loved.
His friends.
His life.
And her.
April.
He refused to love her, refused to give in. Refused to accept a wonderful eternity that would be so ideal, should it have been real.
Once April was gone, he felt the world around him go too.
He fell, falling downwards into an abyss. Just as he was about to make an impact with something, he jolted.
He heard an engine. The spinning of a rotor blade. The sound of a familiar voice telling him to wake up.
When his eyes opened, he was in a helicopter, and Lorenzo was looking at him.
THEN
FIFTEEN YEARS OLD
48
Oscar wasn’t particularly growing up to be what one would refer to as a ladies’ man. In fact, he was growing up to be an awkward recluse. Yet, what some may see as off-putting and socially weird, a girl may occasionally see as awkwardly charming.
This had been the case with Gemma.
Oscar had been too scared to approach Gemma, and she had been too scared to approach him. They weren’t the most confident individuals. In fact, they barely spoke. Occasionally, they would be forced to answer questions in class, which would be a moment they’d dread, and would cause them waves of anxiety that no o
ne else seemed to get.
In this way, they seemed to bond. Any time they were asked a question and forced to answer, whether it be in Maths, English, Science or whatever other lesson they were in, they would always save a smile for each other. As soon as they’d given their answer and breathed a sigh of relief, they’d look over and see the other smiling at them reassuringly. As if that person was the only one who got it — the only one who understood just how scary it was to have to speak aloud in front of class.
It wasn’t until the teacher put them together in science that they spoke properly. This moment of ingenuity, by a teacher completely unaware of what luck they had just created, was enough for them to engage in conversation and find out just how much they had in common.
Thus, it was arranged, that the following Friday, they would go to the cinema.
Oscar spent the entire week both looking forward to Friday, and dreading Friday. He changed his mind multiple times about what he’d wear and about how much wax he’d put in his hair. He tried to think of conversations he could begin, and he even wrote a few topics on the back of his hand so he’d remember them should there be an awkward silence he wished to fill.
He wondered whether she was as scared as he was.
When they met each other outside the cinema, both on time, he felt the dreaded nerves sink into his belly. He felt sick. He willed himself to turn back, to not go through with this, to just go back home and watch television.
But he didn’t. He went through with it. They made introverted small talk and, finding comfort in their mutual anxiety, they went into the cinema and watched the movie.
The movie itself was about a young boy who turned into a zombie. It wasn’t a conventional horror, however, as he fell in love with another girl. This both intrigued and annoyed Oscar. He loved zombie movies and disliked when a film messed with conventions he loved — yet, at the same time, he was pleased that it had both elements of horror and romance, as this would satisfy both of them. Gemma really seemed to like romance.
He became engrossed in the movie and soon forgot that he was on a date. He willed himself to move his hand to hers, to just place it on the armrest and inch forward and reach out, but he did not have the confidence to do so.