beyond the dirt…beyond the Earth. And just like here, where I’m going, you might just have to follow. But I have to go now. It’s time.”
The tape was quiet but we could still hear Bernard breathing. Eventually he spoke, but this time his voice was void of emotion, a detached monotone that could have been anyone. “ Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour. ”
No one moved until the tape reached the end and the player clicked and stopped with a loud, eerie finality. We sat in stunned silence until Rick removed the cassette and tossed it back to me. I caught it and returned it to the envelope it had been mailed in, no longer wanting to touch it.
“Well, that was fun,” Donald said. “Think it’s available on CD?”
Rick stomped about, hands on hips. “Yeah, good, make jokes, asshole.”
I cleared my throat and rose slowly to my feet. “We need to sort this out.”
Rick whirled around, faced me. “You know what he was saying the same as I do.”
I nodded. “We also know Bernard had problems.”
“No one in their right mind hangs themselves,” Donald added quickly. “And besides, you can hear him at the end of the tape, he’s clearly disturbed.”
“Doesn’t make him a liar.” Rick arched an eyebrow. “Does it?”
“Not necessarily, no.”
“He was saying, without actually saying it that…” I shook my head in disbelief, still hopeful none of this was happening. “He was claiming he’d killed people.”
“Thank you, Inspector Poirot, what would we do without you?” Donald rolled his eyes and took another mock draw on his still unlit cigarette. “Look, this is Bernard we’re talking about, Bernard , for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He had some problems, yes, we all agree on that. He had a habit of stretching the truth from time to time, but he didn’t—this is absurd—Bernard wasn’t some—”
“Did you hear that shit at the end of the tape?” Rick asked. “That’s a quote from the Bible.”
Donald shrugged. “I assumed as much. So what?”
“This is bad shit.” He looked to me, eyes imploring support. “Alan, this ain’t Bernard making up some story, and you know it. We all know it. This is a suicide note; remember that. Pretty stupid time for pipe dreams, no?”
Rick had a point. The end was a time for truth, confession and hopefully redemption, not further deceit. But were Bernard insane, would he have even known the difference?
“He said when the seasons change we’d understand,” I finally replied.
“Spring is still a few weeks off,” Donald mumbled.
“This might explain our nightmares,” I said.
Donald looked at me, his face failing to conceal the fear. “The…nightmares.”
Pacing near the window, Rick came to an abrupt halt, mouth open and eyes wide. “What nightmare?”
I exchanged glances with Donald then said, “We’ve had similar dreams where—well—where Bernard—”
“Says goodbye,” Rick said, finishing the sentence before I could. “There’s people—or something like people—with him.”
“Christ.” Donald’s hands were trembling so badly that the cigarette in his fingers snapped in half. “There’s no way this is happening, this can’t be real.”
Rick moved closer. “Not making fucking jokes now, are ya?” He looked at me, what little color he still had in his face draining away as I confirmed his question with a quick nod. “And in the dream, do you know why they’re there, these people?”
I nodded again, feeling dead inside. “To take him—”
“To Hell.”
We turned in unison to Donald. He was shaking violently, still trying to occupy his hands with the frayed cigarette filter. “Why would they want to do that?” he said in a loud whisper. “Why would they want to take Bernard to Hell?”
“Because he wasn’t
The tape was quiet but we could still hear Bernard breathing. Eventually he spoke, but this time his voice was void of emotion, a detached monotone that could have been anyone. “ Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour. ”
No one moved until the tape reached the end and the player clicked and stopped with a loud, eerie finality. We sat in stunned silence until Rick removed the cassette and tossed it back to me. I caught it and returned it to the envelope it had been mailed in, no longer wanting to touch it.
“Well, that was fun,” Donald said. “Think it’s available on CD?”
Rick stomped about, hands on hips. “Yeah, good, make jokes, asshole.”
I cleared my throat and rose slowly to my feet. “We need to sort this out.”
Rick whirled around, faced me. “You know what he was saying the same as I do.”
I nodded. “We also know Bernard had problems.”
“No one in their right mind hangs themselves,” Donald added quickly. “And besides, you can hear him at the end of the tape, he’s clearly disturbed.”
“Doesn’t make him a liar.” Rick arched an eyebrow. “Does it?”
“Not necessarily, no.”
“He was saying, without actually saying it that…” I shook my head in disbelief, still hopeful none of this was happening. “He was claiming he’d killed people.”
“Thank you, Inspector Poirot, what would we do without you?” Donald rolled his eyes and took another mock draw on his still unlit cigarette. “Look, this is Bernard we’re talking about, Bernard , for Christ’s sake. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He had some problems, yes, we all agree on that. He had a habit of stretching the truth from time to time, but he didn’t—this is absurd—Bernard wasn’t some—”
“Did you hear that shit at the end of the tape?” Rick asked. “That’s a quote from the Bible.”
Donald shrugged. “I assumed as much. So what?”
“This is bad shit.” He looked to me, eyes imploring support. “Alan, this ain’t Bernard making up some story, and you know it. We all know it. This is a suicide note; remember that. Pretty stupid time for pipe dreams, no?”
Rick had a point. The end was a time for truth, confession and hopefully redemption, not further deceit. But were Bernard insane, would he have even known the difference?
“He said when the seasons change we’d understand,” I finally replied.
“Spring is still a few weeks off,” Donald mumbled.
“This might explain our nightmares,” I said.
Donald looked at me, his face failing to conceal the fear. “The…nightmares.”
Pacing near the window, Rick came to an abrupt halt, mouth open and eyes wide. “What nightmare?”
I exchanged glances with Donald then said, “We’ve had similar dreams where—well—where Bernard—”
“Says goodbye,” Rick said, finishing the sentence before I could. “There’s people—or something like people—with him.”
“Christ.” Donald’s hands were trembling so badly that the cigarette in his fingers snapped in half. “There’s no way this is happening, this can’t be real.”
Rick moved closer. “Not making fucking jokes now, are ya?” He looked at me, what little color he still had in his face draining away as I confirmed his question with a quick nod. “And in the dream, do you know why they’re there, these people?”
I nodded again, feeling dead inside. “To take him—”
“To Hell.”
We turned in unison to Donald. He was shaking violently, still trying to occupy his hands with the frayed cigarette filter. “Why would they want to do that?” he said in a loud whisper. “Why would they want to take Bernard to Hell?”
“Because he wasn’t
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