by Robert Blevins

Created on: September 11, 2009

Martin Westfield opened his eyes. He was lying in a hospital bed with the sheets pulled up to his neck. He looked around for a moment and realized he was no longer in pain. Wow, the painkillers they use around here must really work, he thought. I totaled the hell out of that car, I know I did. If they hadn't boxed me in like that, I would have made it out of there.

A shimmering face came into his view. Its features were dark and indistinct. "I am your spirit guide to the next dimension," it said.

The hairs on the back of Martin's neck tingled. "You're not real," he said, "I'm dreaming."

"I'm afraid not."

Wait a minute, Martin thought. Now that was strange. I spoke, but I don't remember moving my lips.

"That's correct. You no longer have a corporeal body, therefore, no voice."

Martin shook his head stubbornly. "You're a hallucination or something. I'm fine. In fact, I feel great. The nurse gave me some pain meds, that's all."

"That is true. Unfortunately, you had a reaction to the medication. You forgot to tell them about your allergies, remember? You were too busy cursing at everybody when you arrived."

Martin's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"You died. We must go now."

Martin tried to get a mental handle on the apparition's face, but it slipped away like wet soap in a shower. "Go? Go where?"

"As I told you before, I am your spirit guide to the next dimension." The apparition pointed to a door that suddenly appeared in the air. "There."

"What's on the other side of that?"

"It varies with the individual."

"I don't understand," said Martin. "Is it heaven or something? Angels, harps, the Pearly Gates, and all of that jazz?"

The apparition laughed, but there was no humor in its voice. "That is a human concept, and not exactly accurate in your case, I'm afraid."

A feeling of disquiet came over Martin. He shook his head. "Not a chance. I'm staying right here until I can figure out what's going on."

In a louder voice, the apparition commanded: "Open it!"

Martin felt compelled to obey. He extended his hand toward the door.

A sudden force shoved him rudely from behind and into a falling abyss of darkness and eternal pain.

The two police officers stared coldly at the corpse in the hospital bed.

"Murderous bastard," said one. "At least the city won't have to pay for a trial."

The other officer removed the handcuffs holding Martin's wrists to the bedrail and flipped the sheet over the dead man's face.

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