LITMIR.BIZ

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the headlines that his daughter had woken up to this morning: “London Cabbie goes on violent killing spree”. Perhaps one of the savvier papers would have gone with “Where to mate? Jail”. He needed his phone call.

      ‘Don’t worry. I have read through your notes and think that we have a relatively good chance.’

      A good chance would have been quite positive had it been a meat tray raffle, but given that it was his chance of escaping charges for multiple homicide he didn’t share her optimism.

      ‘How many? How many of those little buggers did I murder?’

      ‘You didn’t murder any of them, Mr Shepherd.’

      Irrespective of the fuzzy eyebrows and subtle moustache, David could have kissed her.

      ‘So what am I doing in here if no-one was murdered?’

      ‘If you’ll just let me explain. Whilst you didn’t murder anyone, I’m afraid there was one fatality.’

      His nausea returned.

      ‘Manslaughter? They’re charging me with manslaughter? Can’t we claim self-defence? My wife and I used to watch all of the American legal shows on the telly; LA Law, Law and Order, that sort of thing. I’m happy to plead insanity. I have a few mates that could probably testify.’

      ‘Mr Shepherd, I really do need you to listen. None of the boys died. And your actions saved the life of that young girl.’

      ‘Then why am I still going to bloody court?’

      Her shoulders slumped a little.

      ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of such bothersome news Mr Shepherd. But the person that died ... was you.’

      He could have died, had he not just learned that he already had. Olivia simply stood there, her hands folded in front of her, not sure of what to say next.

      ‘I’m dead?’

      ‘I’m awfully sorry.’

      He suddenly smiled and a wave of relief came over him.

      ‘This is one of them bloody TV shows ain’t it?’

      ‘TV?’

      ‘Where’s the camera then?’

      He stood up and searched the corners of the ceiling for cameras. He then walked over to the washbasin and pointed to the mirror.

      ‘It’s behind here, ain’t it?’

      ‘This isn’t a television program. I’m afraid you really are dead.’

      He held up his hands in mock resignation.

      ‘Alright, alright, I’m dead. I’ll go along with it. So how’d I die then?’

      ‘Look, I think it best that we focus on your case Mr Shepherd.’

      ‘What’s the matter, you didn’t get any mock-up photos created? What channel is this on anyway? Channel 5? I’ll tell the boys on the cab rank to tune in.’

      Olivia sighed.

      ‘Very well,’ she said as she joined him on the edge of the bed.

      She opened her folder and handed him a photograph. As soon as he saw it he realised that he wasn’t going to be on television after all. This didn’t seem to bother him given that he had now realised that he actually was dead. He wondered how many people had experienced the surreal feeling of looking at a photograph of their dead selves. He was wearing the same clothes he had on now – a pair of jeans, some white trainers, a green t-shirt and a black polar-fleece. But whereas his clothes were now clean, in the photograph they were soaked in blood. His blood. Undoubtedly from the gaping hole that appeared above his right eye in the photograph. He instinctively rubbed his own head as he looked at it – transfixed by the ragged hole in his head and the small flaps of skin it had produced.

      ‘I’m afraid one of the boys had a gun,’ said Olivia.

      A gunshot to the back of the head? That explained what the cracking sound had been. He hadn’t even seen it coming, which seemed somewhat unfair. Had it been something like being attacked by a shark, he’d at least formulated a game plan. “Punch their little black eyes”, was always going to be his strategy. Something that he’d seen on the Discovery Channel. But given London was without a beach and swimming in the Thames probably would have killed him anyway, this had always seemed an unlikely way to go. And then there was the fact that he didn’t swim.

      Okay, so he’d determined the how. He now had more pressing questions for Olivia.

      ‘But why?’

      ‘It was simply your time.’

      He buried his face in his hands. The idea of this being some kind of drunken dream was starting to feel less plausible.

      ‘And this?’ He motioned to his small, grey cell. ‘This, is Heaven?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Oh God - I’m in Hell, aren’t I?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Then where the hell am I?’

      A pause, to let the ridiculousness of the unintended pun evaporate.

      ‘This is Purgatory, Mr Shepherd. The place that souls visit before they pass through to the Above or the Below.’

      Neither sounded particularly enticing. David simply wanted to be in his bed – his real bed, waking up to a cup of tea, a couple of eggs and the Sunday paper.

      ‘So how do I get out of here? How do I go home?’

      ‘You can’t go home. This can’t be reversed.’

      ‘It has to be. We’ll find a way, yeah? Just give me a pill, click your fingers… whatever it is you need to do. I just want to go home, alright?’

      Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder.

      ‘I realise that this is awfully difficult, but we really must prepare for your case.’

      He sprang up off the bed.

      ‘Why do you keep going on about that? What case? You said yourself, that I didn’t murder any of those boys. I was protecting the girl. I didn’t commit any crime. So what bloody case?’

      Olivia gave a patient smile.

      ‘Anger is a common reaction here in Purgatory,’ she said, before lightly tapping the folder in front of her.

      ‘We must ensure that you are suitably prepared for your case with the Court of Saint Peter.’

      Olivia could see that David still didn’t follow.

      ‘The case to see whether your soul will go to Heaven or Hell, Mr Shepherd.’

      He swallowed.

      ‘There’s a bloody court for that?’

      ‘Well of course there is. Don’t you remember what Jesus said to Peter in Matthew 16:19?’

      Seeing that he didn’t, she gently placed her hands together and tilted her head up as if looking at an imaginary teleprompter. She cleared her throat and began reciting.

      ‘And I will give unto thee the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.’

      David now understood even less.

      ‘So let me get this right. Every time somebody dies, there’s a court case where Saint Peter decides if they should go to Heaven, or go to Hell?’

      ‘Well not every person, no.’

      ‘Some people go straight through?’

      ‘Of course. Children, for example, almost always go through to Heaven automatically. Lawyers are another

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