Beyond Heaven and Earth

by Steven H. Propp

  The other serial murderers that have written or spoken about what they had done were all virtually at the level of idiots. Ted Bundy was about the only serial killer who had any degree of intelligence, but he certainly never created anything of literary merit in connection with his killings. I have indeed created a new genre of writing, as I always knew I was destined to do: the true crime autobiography.

  And, as I have been predicting all along, my genre is blending the best of fiction with nonfiction, profound psychological insight along with literary importance.

  But I definitely need to obtain a handgun, before I can escalate my activities. If I don’t pay my rent on time this month, I should have more than enough money to buy one, and of course I won’t have any problem obtaining a handgun; it’s not like I’m a criminal, or anything! (Ha! Ha!)

  * * *

  I had never realized just how fucking stupid California laws are.

  A 10—day waiting period just to buy a fucking handgun? And I have to take some god—damned test to get some stupid “safety certificate” before I can even purchase one? That is ridiculous! What if I needed it tonight, to protect my wife and children? We’d all be dead, with 9 days remaining on my “waiting period”.

  So I just waited until early Sunday afternoon (my “parents” Bingo Game time), took a taxi to their house, and stole my “father’s” handgun, which he always kept (loaded, the stupid idiot) in the bedroom closet.

  That way too, if the gun is ever traced, it’ll be traced to him, and not me (I would love the delictable irony of him “serving time” because he was convicted of my crime!). On the other hand, if it’s ever found in my possession, I can claim that he gave it to me. (The guy at the gun shop said this was perfectly legal; I would just need to get some certificate within 30 days, so I could always claim that he just gave it to me the last week.)

  Thanks, “father”; at last you were finally of some use to me.

  * * *

  I can’t put off the landlady anymore. I need $750 cash, immediately.

  But for me, that should be no problem, since I now have both a car and a gun. I bought a junked—up car for $450 with the money I was planning on using for my gun. It’s a wreck, but as long as it runs for my first job or two, that’s all I need. (By then, I’ll have made enough money that I can get a better vehicle.)

  I figured out that if I slicked back my hair with water (which tended to make it look black, rather than it’s natural brown), and wore mirrored sunglasses, that (along with my six—day growth of beard) would be sufficient disguise, if I shave right after the “job”.

  I’ve also found the ideal first place to rob: It’s one of those “New Age” bookshops, that’s run by a couple of little old ladies. I can park around the back of the little shopping center it’s in, in front of a shop that’s been closed for a long time, then run up to the store just before closing time, and clean them out. Piece of cake. There’s one of those “do it yourself” car washes just two blocks down the street; I’ll use that to conceal myself while I tape cardboard over the car’s license plates, which I’ll remove as soon as I’ve left the “scene of the crime”. But that way they can’t “I.D.” my car by it’s plates. Smart, huh?

  I am now going to conceal my journal inside an empty milk carton in my refrigerator. (I read somewhere that the cops never think of looking there.) If I return, I will have enough money to be able to pay my immediate bills. And who knows? Maybe I’ll quit my job for good, and embark on my life of crime full— time.

  And if I fail, then I will never see this wretched place again.

  But even in that case, future generations will someday find—and appreciate— my record of my thoughts, feelings and experiences.

  Because I have created a new literature, single—handedly.

  As both an assassin, and an artist.

  I am the future.

  40

  APOCALYPSE/THE LAST THINGS

  Jobran opened the door with the hand-painted lettering, “New Millennium Books & More.” The bells made a familiar ringing as the door closed quietly. No one else was in sight. Jobran looked around apprehensively; he hadn’t been here since he and Ted attended the séance that discredited (in their minds, at least) the radio medium Candara who was Jana’s friend, and he didn’t know if Jana might be angry with him over it, or feel betrayed.

  He took out of his pocket his list of authors he was looking for, and headed for the “Death and Dying” section, when he heard a familiar voice behind him: “Well, welcome back, stranger.” With a sigh of relief, he realized that the voice was friendly as always.

  “Hello, again; how are you doing, Jana?”

  “Feeling blessed, as always,” she replied. With a teasing and flirtatious smile, she said, “Can I help you find anything?”

  “No thanks, I think I can find everything; I want to browse around for a while, anyway—see what new stuff has come in that I’ve never heard of. That’s the problem with doing most of your shopping on the Internet: it’s just not the same as browsing through a nice, well-stocked bookstore.”

  “Hear, hear!” Jana said, clapping her immaculately-manicured hands together softly. “That’s how I stay in business.”

  Jobran proceeded to look over the shelves, but he was aware that Jana was still looking at him. Feeling uncomfortable, he decided he had to clear the air, and said, “Look, Jana: about that incident with Candara, I…”

  Jana held up her hand, and said, “Don’t worry about it: séances aren’t for everybody. Remember my philosophy? We are helping people—at whatever level they are presently at—to open themselves up to the Divine Presence within. So if mediums aren’t your thing, maybe something else will be.” She came over and leaned against the bookshelf next to the one that Jobran was inspecting, and said, “I’m not sure that you gave Candara a fair chance, though; bringing that skeptic fellow along, and all. I think she felt a little betrayed, poor thing.”

  Jobran shrugged. “Her ‘psychic powers’ didn’t seem to give her much in the way of discernment.” Looking at Jana, he asked, “Let me ask you: did she ask you, or anyone else, about Abraham and I—such as our physical appearance—so that she would have had some ‘advance’ knowledge about who was attending the séance?”

  “Of course; I told her all about you two, including your descriptions,” Jana said, without hesitation. “She always ‘does her research’ before she holds a session; that’s just part of being a good medium, using the natural as well as the supernatural realm.”

  Jobran smiled, and said, “I think that’s also why some of the big-name mediums—like Arthur Ford—have rather tarnished reputations nowadays.”

  Jana looked Jobran directly in the eyes, and said, “Look, Jobran; it’s no secret that most, if not all, professional psychics ‘cheat’ once in a while. Everyone admits that Eusapia Palladino did sometimes, for example. No one can be 100% successful, after all, and when your livelihood depends upon being able to ‘perform’ on command, it’s entirely natural to occasionally give the psychic process a little ‘boost.’ Now, if they could be guaranteed payment and a lifetime income regardless of the results, then you’d probably see them giving up cheating entirely.”

  “I paid Candara in advance,” Jobran said, winking at her.

  “Oh, you!” she said, laughing gayly, and lightly slapping his shoulder, which she then gently squeezed. In an affectionate voice, she said, “It’s good to see you again, you know? I missed hearing about your ‘Quest.’”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” he said, gently touching her elbow. “I’ll become a regular customer again, I promise.”

  “Jana, where are you?” said a small voice from a back room. “Time to close up.”

  Jobran saw an older woman with long silvery hair carrying a metal box, heading toward the cash register.

  “That�
��s Whisper, my business partner,” Jana said. “You’re not going to pay with cash if you get anything, are you?” Jobran shook his head. Jana said, “Let me go and help close up, then I’ll introduce you two—maybe I can hook you two up, you know?” and she winked at him. She disappeared around the corner, and Jobran went back to browsing.

  He heard the low bells of the door opening. He heard Jana’s voice call out softly, “We close in five minutes,” but Jobran heard no reply. Jana peeked around the corner and whispered in a humorous undertone to Jobran, “We always get the strange ones at closing time!” And she disappeared again, and Jobran heard her say, “Can I help you find anything?” Again, Jobran heard no reply.

  Suddenly, he heard a commotion, followed by Jana’s voice exclaiming, “Oh!” Jobran stepped out slightly, so that he could see the large mirror in back of the cash register, and he saw a young man holding Jana’s throat, pointing a gun at her head, who was roughly pushing her toward the cash register. He didn’t seem to notice Jobran’s own reflection in the mirror, so Jobran stood absolutely still.

  Oh Christ, it’s a robbery! he thought, frantically. Where’s a telephone? I’ve got to call the cops!

  Arriving at the cash register, the young man pointed the gun at the elderly woman named Whisper, and said in a menacing tone, “Open up the cash register, old woman, or you and this bitch are dead!”

  “You needn’t shout,” Whisper said, in a perfectly calm voice. “The register is already open,” and she reached toward it.

  “Wait!!” the young man shouted. “You’d better not press any hidden buttons to call the cops, or anything, you understand? If you do, I’ll fucking kill you, understand?”

  Whisper replied softly, “When you get to be my age, and knowing what I know spiritually, death is about the last thing you fear.” Still perfectly calm, she added, “Don’t be so afraid; you’re the one with the gun, after all.” After a moment of silence, she said softly, “Don’t you have a bag, or something you want me to put the money in?”

  Jobran could see the intruder start for a moment; apparently, he hadn’t thought of that. An amateur, obviously. Maybe I can make use of that…

  Jana took advantage of the would-be robber’s indecision to quickly slide out of his grasp, with the practiced ease of someone who has taken numerous self-defense courses. This clearly rattled the intruder, who kept pointing the gun spasmodically back and forth between Jana and Whisper. “Don’t move! Don’t fucking move, you hear?! Either one of you!” he shouted, hoarsely. Jobran feared that, in his rage and confusion, he would shoot one or both of the women, so he suddenly stepped out from behind the bookshelf, so that he could see the intruder directly. He was quite young—early twenties, probably—skinny, with a mop of slicked-back black hair, and a thin stubble on his chin, wearing mirrored sunglasses.

  “Hey!!” Jobran shouted, adrenaline turning his voice into a huge roar. The intruder instinctively turned his gun towards Jobran, who had begun walking slowly towards him.

  “Jobran! Stay away!” Jana shouted, frantically.

  “Don’t come any closer!” the man hissed, trying to decide who to point his gun at.

  “Help! Someone call the police!” Jobran shouted, hoping someone in the next store would hear them.

  “Shut up!” the intruded hissed. Then, he suddenly reached across the counter, and grabbed Whisper roughly around the neck, causing her to give a whimper of shock and pain. “Shut the fuck up, or else the old bitch dies!” He forced Whisper to come around from behind the counter, where he could hold her in front of him as protection. Jana was trying to make her way towards the window, frantically waving her hands to try and attract attention from someone outside.

  “Get away from that fucking window!” the intruder shouted, pointing the gun at Jana’s back. Jana’s arms fell to her sides, and she turned slowly around, to face him.

  “Look, you can take the money and go,” she said. “Just don’t hurt anyone.”

  Jobran was edging closer to the intruder during this distraction, until he was only about ten feet away. The intruder realized that he was still on the wrong side of the counter to be able to take out the tray of money, but when he turned with Whisper, he saw Jobran standing in their way.

  “Hey!” Jobran said, pointing at the corner of the room. “They’ve got a surveillance camera on you; you’ll never get away with this!” The intruder glanced quickly back in the direction Jobran was pointing, and blanched visibly when he saw the camera. He gripped Whisper around the neck even tighter, perhaps realizing that he had just stared straight at the camera, with his undisguised face.

  “Why don’t you just leave right now?” Jana suggested, in a reasonable and soothing tone.

  “Shut up! I’m sick of people trying to tell me what to do!” and he pointed the gun menacingly at Jana, adding in a maniacal tone, “I’m a desperate man! I’ve got nothing to lose, and I’m ready to die! So don’t fuck with me!!” And pointing the gun directly at Jana’s head, he started to slowly pull the trigger.

  Suddenly, as if he were watching this entire scene in a movie, a thought occurred to Jobran, with startling clarity: I can sacrifice my life to save others. This was considered by all religions to be an honorable, even a noble thing to do. And then I will finally find out the answers I have been searching for, for so long.

  Jobran quickly snuck closer, then suddenly reached out and grabbed the intruder’s arm, forcing it down and to the left. His gun went off, causing an ear-shattering explosion of glass and liquid next to them. But Jobran held on frantically with both hands to the gunman’s arm, as the gunman released Whisper, desperately trying to free his arm from Jobran’s desperate grasp.

  The intruder tripped over some wet debris on the floor, and the sudden shift of his entire weight succeeded in wrenching his arm from Jobran’s grasp, as the intruder fell backwards to the floor, landing with a solid thud. Jobran started to throw himself upon the intruder, whose eyes had a wild gleam as he pointed the gun directly at Jobran’s chest.

  BLAMM!!!!

  AUNNNGGHGHNNNN!! The world exploded inside of Jobran, as his entire torso felt crushed, the pain unimaginably greater than anything he had ever experienced in his life. He felt like he was floating, his body hovering over the body lying on the floor, and he saw the gun pointing towards his floating body again. Grab his gun, the thought appeared clearly, as Jobran’s wraithlike hands madly clutched the outstretched arm, easily turning it back in the direction from which it came, as he began to fall to the ground.

  There was another deafening explosion, then another, but they weren’t so loud this time; there was only a hollow, ringing sensation in his ears. In fact, everything was rather quiet, and peaceful. Jobran felt the coolness and wetness of the tiled floor against his face, along with the sharp pinpricks of something like crushed glass against his face and eyes. Something was stinging his eyes and burning his nose, but he could no longer see out of them, so it didn’t really matter. Someone female was crying in the background and calling out his name, but there was no need: I’m fine, he wanted to say, but his mouth didn’t work any more. It seemed like Jobran could feel himself floating and looking down on his body lying on the ground, with a curious dark red pool growing underneath it, as well as another one underneath the young man lying next to him.

  So this is what it feels like to die, he thought; I’ve always wondered what it would be like…

  It’s kind of peacef…

  Like floating…

  Float…

  …

  PART V

  WHAT LIES BEYOND?

  —A—

  THE OTHER SIDE

  Darkness.

  Everywhere. And everything.

  Absolute silence. Not even the sound of breathing.

  Nothingness. This must be what they meant by the word.

  There was nothing e
xcept…awareness.

  Awareness. Yes. Thoughts. Thoughts without perceptions. Thoughts without

  sensation, without emotion; thoughts with nothing except… Memory. Yes, there were memories, too. Memories of myself; memories of a life that used to be. Of a life on a bright planet, filled with sights, and sounds, and… Pain. Hurt.

  But that was all gone now.

  And now there was nothing but darkness.

  But it wasn’t frightening

  It was more like…awakening…

  I don’t remember being born; was it like this? Total darkness, with no sensations?

  That can’t be right; babies even in the womb can move, they have feelings, they can react to stimuli.

  I can’t tell if I’m moving, or not; I can remember what it’s like to turn my head, or to lift my hands in front of my face even in total darkness, but here, there is no sense of movement or direction or orientation. You don’t even know whether you’re actually in darkness, or whether your visual faculty is simply defective.

  No; that’s not right.

  I know I’m in darkness. I’m certain of it.

  Because it’s different from the light.

  It seemed distant; and yet, it was like the only thing there was—the only thing there was, because everything else was just nothingness.

  And gradually, the light began to occupy more and more of everything; not because you were moving toward it, but simply because there was nothing else. You realize finally that everything is the light, because nothing else mattered, nothing else was real.