CHAPTER THREE
Jake’s eyes opened.
It was dark.
He was slumped in a seat with his head resting on his arms, and he heard low voices of people talking around him and a soft rock tune in the background. Then he heard the clink of glasses and the pouring of liquid and knew where he was.
Jake lifted his head from his arms and looked around the dimly lit area. His guess was right. He was in a bar.
It wasn’t a big bar. Jake figured it was about fifty by fifty feet with overhead lighting. There were maybe fifteen to twenty people sitting at the bar, which was L-shaped and about thirty-five feet long, with large mirrors, racks of glasses with shelves of liquor bottles behind it. There were two moderately dressed bartenders behind the bar serving the customers. They didn’t seem to be hurrying to fill the glasses or moving fast. Jake looked around at the rest of the bar—there were about twenty more tables similar to his, each about three feet in diameter, with a small light enclosed in a thick coloured glass, bolted to the table and two to three chairs around each. There were another fifteen to twenty people seated at the tables, some in groups, some alone like Jake. There was nothing remarkable about the place, in fact, it looked like most of the neighbourhood bars he’d spent a lot of time in after his discharge. He glanced at his hand, where his Special Forces ring was on his ring finger. He adjusted it with his thumb, as he’d done thousands of times. The ruby stone glinted in the low light and the burnished gold glowed a soft yellow as the ring moved. He was also wearing his watch, which he noticed was not working.
As Jake looked around, he saw a cocktail waitress coming toward him holding a serving tray with two shot glasses full of dark liquid on it. She stopped at his table and placed both glasses in front of Jake.
“Two Jack Daniels, straight up, no ice,” she said, then started to turn away.
“Wait,” Jake said. “How much do I owe you?” He patted his pockets looking for his wallet. He found it in his back, right pocket and started to pull it out.
“No, no, honey,” the waitress replied. “It’s already paid for.”
“What? Who? How?” Jake was confused. He didn’t remember paying for the drinks. Hell, he didn’t even remember coming to the bar. The last thing he remembered was….Damn! The last thing he remembered was waking up here. He thought maybe he’d gotten drunk and blacked out, which had happened quite a few times, but he didn’t feel like he’d been drinking at all, nor did he have any signs of a hangover. In fact, he’d felt good.
“Sir, sir!” He shook his head as he looked at the waitress. He’d missed what she said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said,” Jake said.
The waitress, who was blonde, short, curvy, and was wearing black pants and a white silk blouse with a name tag that said, ‘Betty’ on it, smiled, showing a mouthful of even, white teeth. The smile lines crinkled around her blue eyes and made them sparkle in the low light. He couldn’t tell how old she was—probably in her mid to late thirties. The lighting probably took off a few years.
“Looks like you were wool-gathering a little.” She patted his hand. He noticed that she had some rings on but not a wedding ring. “That’s alright. Everyone does it when they first come here.” She leaned down a little and Jake could see her cleavage.
“Your first night, all of your drinks are free, after tonight, you gotta pay the normal fees.” She smiled again and stood back to her full height, which Jake estimated at a little over five feet. Then she moved off before Jake could question her about the unusual comment, or where he was or how he’d gotten there. He started to get up to follow her and get the answers but he stopped when he saw the drinks on the table. He shrugged.
Plenty of time to find out later, he thought. He grabbed one of the shot glasses, then paused for a moment. He felt something ….strange.
It was if he really didn’t want to drink. As if something in his body was trying to stop him from drinking the shot glass. He felt a moment of disorientation and experienced a flash of memory.
He saw a disembodied shape that coalesced into the body of a man. He couldn’t see the face but the person was familiar to Jake in some way. When he saw the blood on the man’s hand and the hand being raised toward him, he remembered his friend Ben, then, as suddenly as the memory had come to him, it was gone and he was left grasping for it.
Jake glanced over to the bar, then to the cocktail waitress, who was serving drinks at another table, then back to his shot glass. He shrugged again then brought the shot glass to his mouth and downed it in one gulp.
As he was swallowing the dark liquid, Jake noticed that the whiskey tasted a little peculiar. Not as if it had been tampered with in any way. He’d drank enough liquor over the years to know if any foreign substance had been placed in his drinks or not.
No, it tasted off, as if it were lacking something. As if the distillers in the plant in Lynchburg, Tennessee had somehow made a mistake and forgot to add an ingredient, or something had gone wrong during the distilling process.
Whatever it was though, did not seem to change the whiskey’s effects on the body. He felt the bite in his throat and the warmth of the alcohol as it hit his stomach. A few moments after that, Jake felt the warmth spread throughout his body, as if his cells were little sponges and they were pulling all the alcohol into themselves.
Jake set the empty glass down and drank the second glass. It still tasted a little bit off, but he ignored it and waited for the start of the buzz that he would make last through the night and into the next day.
Jake looked around until he saw Betty, then, after catching her attention, motioned for two more shots of the dark whiskey. She nodded her head and made her way to the bar, stopping once to drop off her last order of drinks from her tray to two women sitting at a table near the corner of the bar. It only took her a minute or two to get his drinks and some others for some of her other customers.
When she made it to his table and handed him his drinks, he took the opportunity to ask her where he was.
The woman’s eyes widened and she took a step back in surprise.
“Why I-I thought you knew. Oh, honey, I’m sorry, You’re—“ she stopped as a man stepped up beside her and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Betty,” the man said quietly but firmly, “It’s alright. I’ll tell him. Why don’t you go get us a bottle of whatever Mr. Steele here is drinking?”
“Oh, ok, Mr. Moroni.” She glanced at Jake for a moment, gave him a sad smile then turned and walked back over to the bar.
Jake watched her as she walked away, then turned his attention to the man.
He had one of those faces that was all angles that made it hard for Jake to determine his age. Jake guessed it was somewhere between thirty-five and forty. He was wearing a dark suit that was well-tailored and looked expensive. He was between five feet ten and six feet one or two. He stood with a confidence and bearing of an older man who was used to command. Jake upped his estimate of the man’s age a little. Jake also saw a shrewdness and calculation in the man’s eyes that said he was street smart and maybe a little bit dangerous.
The man smiled a small smile and stood there for a moment, waiting for Jake to finish his assessment, then motioned for the chair on the opposite side of the table.
“Do you mind if I join you, Mr. Steele,” he asked politely. Jake motioned to the chair and nodded his head. Moroni pulled the chair away from the table, unbuttoned his jacket and sat down. He placed his left hand on the table and reached his right hand toward Jake. As Jake clasped the hand, he saw that there was no jewellery on it, which struck him as unusual. His grip was firm and his hand was cool and dry.
“As Betty said, I’m Vincent Moroni. I manage this place.” He released Jake’s hand and waved his arm vaguely to indicate the bar. “And,” he continued, “I can answer any questions you may have.” He paused for a moment, but before he could say anything, Betty appeared beside him and placed a bottle of Gentleman’s Jack Daniel’s on the table and left quickly without getting anything. Jake caught an undercurrent between her and Moroni, but he chose to ignore it until he got the answers to his questions.
“So, the obvious question,” Jake said. “Where am I and how did I get here?”
Moroni stared at Jake for a moment then leaned forward and put both of his forearms on the table. The light from below cast strange shadows on his face. For a moment, Jake thought he saw a skull with strange markings on it. He blinked his eyes and the image was gone as suddenly as it appeared. Moroni gave him that small smile again, as if he knew what Jake had seen., then answered the question.
“First,” he said, “let me ask you this, are you familiar with any religions?”
Jake was startled by the question, but recovered quickly.
“Yes,” He answered. “I studied some religions in college, and experienced many different beliefs in my travels with the military. What does that have to do with where I am?”
Moroni paused a moment, picked up one of the drinks from the table and upended it into his mouth. He swallowed the liquor, put the shot glass down on the table and spoke.
“Well, Mr. Steele, it has everything to do with them. You see, you’re in Purgatory.” He leaned back and waited to see Jake’s reaction.
Jake stared at the man’s eyes for a moment, trying to gauge whether he was serious or not. He couldn’t tell right away, but he felt in his bones that what he’d said was true. He decided whether it was true or not, he would let it go and see where the conversation went.
“Purgatory? You mean the place where the Catholics believe exists between Heaven and Hell, and where the dead souls go to await judgment?” He glanced at his watch, forgetting that it was not working, then back at Moroni. “So, you’re saying I’m dead and waiting to be judged, then, I’m going to go to Heaven or Hell? Ok,” he said, then, downed his drinks. Moroni opened the bottle of premium whiskey and and refilled both of the glasses, refastened the top, then listened as Jake continued.
“If this is Purgatory and I’m dead, how did I die and why don’t I remember it? And, why are we in this crappy bar? No offense but the bar is pretty much like every other neighbourhood dump I’ve ever been in over the years. I would think Purgatory would be different, don’t you?” Jake leaned back and smirked at the man. He thumbed his ring absently as he waited for an answer.
Moroni smiled as if he’d heard it all before, and Jake saw a red glint in his eyes. Startled, he blinked and looked closer, but it was gone. Must’ve been the light reflecting in them, he thought.
“Well, Mr. Steele, what was the last thing you remember before you got here? You did wake up here, didn’t you?
“Mm-hmm,” Jake nodded his head while trying to remember. He got some flash of memory he’d had earlier, only a little more vivid in detail and with a little more information.
The last thing he saw was his friend Ben, sitting bleeding while Jake was trying to give him medical help, then he’d seen a movement to his right in his peripheral vision. Before he had the chance to turn his head to see what it was, he’d felt heat and saw a flash behind his eyes, as if someone had hit him in the of the head, then everything had gone dark. He felt a moment of urgency about Ben, then it was gone.
He related this to Moroni.
“Are you wearing the same clothes?” Moroni asked.
Jake looked down at his clothes, which he hadn’t noticed until just then. He was wearing loose fitting blue jeans and a turquoise coloured long sleeve flannel shirt, one of his favourites. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He’d had plenty of blackouts over the years and had woken up in many strange places since his discharge. No, Moroni had to provide Jake with actual proof if he were going to convince Jake he was dead and in Purgatory.
“No, they’re not, but that doesn’t mean anything. What else do you have?” He made a ‘come on’ motion with his hand.
Moroni smiled wickedly and raised both hands, palms facing up, then pointed to the door.
“Why don’t you go look out the door, Mr. Steele,” he said, then downed his drink.
Jake watched the man for a moment, looking into his eyes again, then feeling the first pangs of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Shrugging his shoulders, he put his drink down, stood up, then walked over to the door, which was about fifty feet away.
He paused when he got there. Something inside him started trembling as he looked at the door. He didn’t understand why; the door was the same door he’d seen in dozens of bars a normal wooden door with no ornamentation, no markings at all on it. It had a flat metal piece attached just below chest level, no handle, so that it would be easier for people to leave in an inebriated condition. He didn’t need to look at the outside to know there would be a handle to pull the door open. The difference he noticed was that above the metal piece, where there would normally be a lock, there was a strange symbol carved into the wood.
Jake squinted and moved his head, trying to get a closer look at the symbol, but couldn’t make it out. It seemed like the more he tried to identify it, the more blurry it got.
Jake shrugged again, then stood straight and pushed open the door. As it opened, all of the noises in the4 bar behind him stopped. He moved into the doorway and looked outward. As he came even with the doorframe, a sudden rush of adrenaline filled him, and he felt a chill down his spine. There was nothing out there. It wasn’t the kind of nothing you saw in an empty parking lot. There was just a blackness that had an indescribable depth to it. There was also a malignancy to it, as if there was something waiting there, something intangible that Jake could feel deep in his bones.
Jake let out a shaky breath, just then realizing he’d been holding it since coming to the door. He stared into the nothingness, trying to see something, hear something, sense anything. Unconsciously, he started to move forward, but was stopped by a hand firmly grasping his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that Mr. Steele,” Moroni said, as Jake turned away from the doorway to reply to the man, he felt a cold breath of air brush the back of his neck that sent a shiver through his body. The door closed with a quiet thump, then, all of the voices and ambient noises in the bar came back.
Jake looked around, and suddenly felt a little dizzy and nauseous. His mouth started to fill with saliva, the first sign that he was about to vomit, but he swallowed and pushed the feeling away by force of will. He walked back to the table and sat down. Moroni seated himself and watched Jake, waiting patiently, the little smirk on his face showed his thoughts. As he reached for his drink, Jake saw his hand shaking and he felt as if he’d just been through combat and was now experiencing the adrenaline withdrawal phase which always occurred afterwards. He took his drink and poured it down his throat, waiting for the warmth to hit him and calm him down. He sat there, collecting his thoughts, then spoke.
“O-okay,” he said. “Let’s say I believe you and we’re in Purgatory. That means I’m dead, right?”
Moroni nodded, but didn’t speak, waiting for Jake to put things together in his own time.
“So, so if I’m dead, how did I die, and,” he continued, “why am I here and not Heaven or—“ he hesitated.
“Hell,” Moroni finished the sentence for him.
“Yeah, and why does Purgatory look like this crappy little bar?” He asked, repeating his earlier question. He leaned forward and made a sweeping motion with one hand to emphasize the point, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
Moroni picked the bottle of whiskey and refilled both glasses, then, set the bottle down and took a small sip from his glass. He leaned back in his own chair and smiled a smile that unnerved Jake a little bit.
“Well, Mr. Steele, to answer your first question, you died of a gunshot to the head while you were trying to help your friend. Your second answer is to your third question, that Purgatory is a place that takes on the aspects of your sub-conscious will.” He saw the beginnings of a question forming on Jake’s lips but forestalled it with a raised hand. “Basically,” he continued, “Purgatory is what you will it to be for yourself. You said yourself that you have spent a lot of time in ‘crappy bars’ so that is why it looks like this. Now, your question about why you’re not in Heaven or Hell. Now that is the main reason why I’m here.” He paused to take a sip his whiskey. Jake didn’t say anything. He was interested to hear what the man said next.
“Your balance, Mr. Steele, is why you’re here. I’m not going to into a detailed explanation of how things were calculated or how many good or bad things you did during your life, ok, but suffice it to say that your balance tips you in the direction of Hell.”
Jake felt a cold hallowness in the pit of his stomach. Before he could think of a reply or protest to Moroni’s statement however, the man held up his hand again.
“Before you try to protest and list all of the reasons you shouldn’t be going to Hell, save it. I’ve heard it all before. But,” he continued. “I have good news for you, Mr. Steele. You see, I’ve got the power to offer you the opportunity to change your balance in order to change your direction of travel, so to speak.” He chuckled at his own joke, finished the whiskey in his glass, and refilled it.
Jake leaned forward and breathed a few deep breaths, stunned at the revelations that he’d learned in the past few moments. He tried to make sense of everything that had happened since he’d woken up. His head started to hurt so he lifted his shot glass to his lips and finished the rest of his whiskey, then put the glass down on the table. Moroni started to refill the glass, but Jake shook his head. He could feel a slight buzz going. He didn’t want to get totally gone and do something he’d regret. This was the most important moment of his life. He wanted to be sober for it. As soon as he thought this, his thoughts cleared, and his buzz and headache went away, as if they’d never been there. He shook his head and looked at Moroni for moment before realizing that he had complete control over the environment and the effect it had on him. Moroni nodded, as if to confirm the thought. Jake put that aside for a while, then thought about more practical things.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s your offer? How can I change my balance so that I go to Heave and, how do I know for sure you can do what you say?” He leaned forward on the table to look closely at Moroni’s face, to scrutinize his expressions. Then he remembered something about the day he died.
“Oh, and one more thing. Can you tell me who killed and why?”
Moroni held his hand out toward Jake.
“Take my hand, Mr. Steele, and I’ll answer all your questions,” he said.
Jake reached and grasped Moroni’s hand while staring at his strange eyes. As soon as he closed his hands over Moroni’s, he suddenly felt cold, then everything spun and his surroundings changed. He found himself surrounded by trees and he smelled the woody dampness and felt the wet coldness he’d experienced the day he’d been looking for Ben. The day he’d died.
Jake looked around and realized he was floating about ten feet above the ground. Before he could marvel at this, he noticed that there were two men below him and a few feet to his left. As he focused on them, he took in a sharp breath as he recognized Ben, and then himself, beneath the tree where Jake had last seen him. (This must be a replay of how I died), Jake thought. He watched closely, turning his head slightly from side to side, trying to see the person who’d crept up and taken the killing shot. Jake was so focused the other person, he almost missed it.
As the ‘Jake’ below reached to help Ben, he turned his head and body slightly to reach into Ben’s medical pocket to get the emergency kit then leaned in to hear what Ben was saying. Jake, floating above the action, saw Ben grasp the pistol that had been lying near his left hand, raise it swiftly to Jake’s head, and pull the trigger. Jake’s body fell to the side, then Ben stood up easily, aimed the gun at Jake’s head and fired another round. Ben then shook his head, wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, said something Jake couldn’t hear, and walked away. Everything faded away, and Jake found himself back in the bar, sitting across from Moroni, who was still grasping Jake’s hand. Jake saw the weird shadowy skull again.
Jake jerked his hand away and was breathing hard, trying to grasp the events and the implications of what he’d just seen. It took him a few moments to get his voice back.
“Wh-what—did that really—D-did Ben just kill me?” His body trembled and his voice with the shock with the shock of seeing his friend kill him.
“Yes, he did, Jake,” Moroni replied calmly and with a look on his face as if he’d seen this type of scenario play out many times before.
Jake didn’t say anything for a long while. He was thinking of all of the events that had led to the moment he’d been killed, all of the memories that now came back to him. About how the only way the team could have been ambushed so efficiently and professionally was by one of the team members to betray them, and how he’d thought maybe it had been Ben right before he’d found him ‘injured’ in the wooded lot behind the first rendezvous point.
Jake shook his head to get the image of Ben shooting him out of his mind, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair.
“I guess I’m gonna have to accept that he killed me.” He looked at Moroni for a moment, then, asked a question.
“Do you have any idea why he did it?”
Moroni shook his head. “No, Mr. Steele, I don’t, but from what I’ve seen of your life—and I’ve seen all of it since we shook hands the first time—I’d say that Ben had some serious resentment and anger at you for the accident when you were teens.” He paused as Jake absorbed the information, then spoke again. “But that is just my guess, although, most of my guesses are right.” He grinned that eerie grin again, then, held up his hand as Jake started to argue with him about Ben.
“Whoa, whoa, Mr. Steele,” he interrupted. “Let’s put Ben aside for a moment and talk about you.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “More specifically, let’s talk about your situation.” He looked Jake in the eyes to make sure he was focused. “Ok, you’re currently in Purgatory, and your balance is going to send you to Hell for eternity, but.—“ He paused for a moment, building up the tension a little. “But—I have a deal for you. One that could change your balance, keep you from Hell and send you to Heaven. Would you be interested in that?”
Jake took a moment to reply. His thoughts were still a little bit jumbled.
“I think the answer’s obvious, Mr. Moroni. Of course, I’m interested, but I’d like to hear what you’re offering before I agree to anything.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arm in front of his chest.
“Alright,” Moroni said. “It’s a simple deal for a man with your talents and training, although the execution will be tough—we don’t want to make things too easy, you know. You’re really going to have to work hard to change your balance.” He paused to see if Jake would say anything. When Jake didn’t reply, Moroni continued.
“Ok.” He looked at Jake, and Jake saw the seriousness on the man’s face. “We don’t have much time left, so I’ll make it short. A short while before you died, 72 Demons escaped from Hell and are hiding in the material plane, or Earth, as you call it. The Deal I’m offering you is for you to find these Demons, then either exorcise them or kill them, which will send them back to Hell. Do you think you could do that?” He stared at Jake’s face and Jake could feel the intensity radiating from the man in waves.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Jake began, “first, how did the demons escape, then second—“
Moroni held up a hand, stopping Jake’s questions.
“Mr. Steele, I’m sorry to cut you off, but we don’t have time for any questions except for this; can you do it or not?”
Jake’s mind was reeling with all of the questions he wanted to ask. His inner voice, the one that had kept him from being harmed during his time in the military, and that he had not heard since he’d started drinking heavily, came back to him, warning him not to take the deal. For the first time, though, Jake ignored the warning and nodded his head. He shook away his misgivings.
“Yes,” he said. “I can do it.”
“Good,” Moroni replied, then reached out his hand to clasp Jake’s.
As Jake accepted the handshake, he saw Moroni grin as he did before, he felt a surge-like electricity shoot through his arms. The last thing he noticed before everything faded to black was the red glimmer in Moroni’s eyes and the shadowy skull he’d seen earlier.