Imagine There's No Heaven Read online

‘Naz,’ Guy yelled to the upstairs window of a small council house. ‘Hey, Naz, get out here.’ He picked up a small stone and threw it at the window. It tapped on the glass. ‘Get out here, now,’ Guy roared.

  The bedroom light turned on. Naz stood topless, gazing like a crazed man out the window. He knew what Guy had come for. He threw the window open and leaned out.

  ‘Get your ass down here right now,’ Guy ordered. He flung his foot through a large puddle on the road, pretending it was Naz’s head, and gave a ‘come-here’ gesture with his hands. Naz vanished.

  A few moments later, the front door of the house banged opened. Naz stepped out, still topless but for a heavy chain necklace that fell down past his pecs. He was ripped, but skinny. He would be no match for Guy.

  Guy’s heart thumped so loud he thought it would burst. A pair of large army boots followed Naz out of the house. It was Seth. His giant shaven head sat like an anvil on top of a colossal torso. He was one of those obsessive weight-training types, so large he had to walk by rocking from side to side as though his legs were two pistons. He had a large tattoo of an eagle on his arm, beneath which stood the silhouettes of four soldiers. He wasn’t a soldier himself, he just believed in the Hollywood image of one, the super violent, living only for fighting type. It was little surprise that he was grinning with delight at this scene of conflict.

  Naz smiled as he took a measure of Guy’s expression. Guy was afraid.

  ‘What you come here for, son?’ Naz asked threateningly, feeding off of Guy’s fear. He strolled to just a few metres away from Guy. Seth came to stand in front of him. Guy scoffed.

  ‘Can’t you fight your own battles, Naz?’ Guy mocked.

  Seth’s anvil-head lowered slowly. He ran his thumb over the tip of his lower lip as though moving food away. He had a reputation for being an animal. He loved nothing more than fighting. A mighty crack sounded as he clenched his fists. He held his right fist up to show a large spiked ring on his middle finger. Guy knew the ring’s history all too well, the amount of blood it had spilt.

  Naz laughed. ‘What are you doing, Guy? Man, you’ve changed.’ He hawked a loogie and spat on the road. ‘We used to be blood. Now, you’re looking out for some old man instead of watching your boy’s backs? I aint down wi’ ‘at, blud. Nah, I aint down.’ Naz patted his brother on the back. ‘Fuck him up.’ Naz moved to one side and stood watching lustfully.

  Seth advanced on Guy. Guy held his hands in front of his face to protect himself. Seth threw a right hand. It felt like it nearly broke Guy’s knuckles. Guy rocked backwards to avoid another punch and threw one himself that connected to Seth’s side, but Seth hardly seemed to notice, he just kept on coming. He was far too big for Guy. The blow had hurt Guy’s hand more than it had hurt Seth. Guy’s neck snapped back as he took a punch to his right eye. Seth grabbed him about the scruff of the neck and punched him right in the jaw. The ring tore through Guy’s flesh. He fell down in anguish.

  ‘Hold him,’ Naz ordered. Seth pushed his boot down into Guy’s back, pinning him in place. Naz ran up and flung his foot into Guy’s chest. Guy coughed a mouth full of blood onto the road.

  ‘Man, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,’ Naz barked. He knelt down and grabbed Guy by the head, bending his neck back. Guy gasped for breath. ‘You used to be the one, Guy. Last year, before that bitch Gina came, you would have been the one to out that old man on the ground. You were the dog,’ he spat with anger. To Naz, Guy had betrayed his faith. ‘Now, you’re just a bitch.’ He let Guy’s head go. It bounced off the concrete.

  Guy’s entire body was pounding in agony as he heard Naz and Seth laughing. He prayed to Christ they were done. He couldn’t take any more. When he heard the front door of Naz’s house slam shut he allowed his eyes to close and neither saw nor heard a thing. He was alone again, struggling for breath on the street. It was rock bottom.

  After several minutes, Guy reached down into a chest that was crippled with agony and forced up his last reserve of energy. It was just enough to allow him to pull himself onto his knees and shuffle along to sit on the curb.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been hit. God, he’d been hit and hit and hit again for years. It had never felt like this though. It was like Seth had punched him from reality to some dark, distant and lonely world. It was the loneliest he had ever felt. He looked down at the road. Yet another puddle was at his feet. It showed a warped reflection of his face in muddy brown-green. Something in the puddle caught his eye. There was a broken silver chain lying in the water. He picked it out. It was an old Saint Christopher. He wiped it clean on the sleeve of his hoodie and put it around his neck, next to the dog tags. He leant his head against his chest and closed his eyes.

  He must have passed out, for when he came-to he couldn’t remember what had happened. He remembered being hit and meeting an old man and Naz yelling at him and¯

  Footsteps. He heard footsteps running down the road. They were charging at him, he thought. Yes, they were running right for him. Who is that? he begged through a clouded mind. He tried to remember if he had taken pills. He didn’t think so.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he struggled to whisper. His jaw was killing.

  Off in the distance the shadow of a figure was approaching, only he couldn’t see the actual person; it was just a black stain on the houses and the road, gliding towards him, coming nearer. What was it? It was coming. It was all. What? Oh. That’s right, he thought. It’s all coming down now. His head was clouding over again. And what the hell’s the black bit? What the¯

  He had drifted off once more. It took several minutes for him to come around again. He had to yank at his eyes just to open them a slit.

  ‘Shit,’ he yelled in fear. Right in front of him was a terrifying dark figure. He couldn’t make out any features. He couldn’t even work out if it were male or female, or if it were an animal. He pushed at it. His hand passed right through its midsection.

  He leaped to his feet in a panic and ran as fast as he could. He sprinted so fast his lungs nearly burst. His legs were struggling to keep up with the rest of his body. The wind whistled in his ears. His bloody jaw was aching like crazy. He nearly fell flat on his face when he ran straight through a puddle. The water raised up his leg right to his crotch. He felt like he’d pissed himself. His head sweated in a hot flush. He wiped it away and kept running.

  He had no clue where he was going. He just felt he had to run. Where? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was escape. His heart thumped like a timpani in his chest, drumming out the fear in his mind. His legs felt like jelly. The air whistling past his ears was all he heard, the cantering of two feet on concrete all he saw and the blood in his mouth his only taste.

  He passed down a dark alley, accidentally kicking over a garbage can as he did so. It crashed to the ground. He passed through the alley and back out the other side into the centre of the suburb.

  Guy screamed. A whole host of the homeless and drunkards, all dressed in tattered and torn brown jackets, grey trousers and green gloves, stood around the centre. They were holding books and singing some kind of hymn. Guy glared about maniacally. He was scared out of his wits. One of the homeless men turned to face him. His big black eyes seemed hypnotic. He mouthed some word Guy couldn’t distinguish through a mouth empty of teeth. Terrified of the old man, Guy did the one thing he knew how to do. He ran at him and punched him in the face. The man didn’t even move, he just stood there, frozen like a statue. Slowly he opened his jacket and took out a large antique rifle. He pushed it into Guy’s stomach and pulled the trigger. Guy’s eyes snapped shut. He waited for the sting of the bullet but nothing came.

  Guy opened his eyes once more. The street was empty but for one homeless man sat quietly in the corner of the lane eyeing him in disbelief.

  ‘And I thought I had issues,’ the man mumbled through a giant white beard.

  Guy ignored him. He had to get home, right now; in another moment he might lose it completely and collap
se or... well, he didn’t know what. Oh shit, Guy, what the fuck is wrong with you? he begged. He didn’t know how to answer; he just knew that he desperately needed to get home, go to bed and hope to hell that when he woke he’d have at least some slither of sanity. Praying for his life, he turned and ran.

  Guy nearly broke his hand shoving the door open when he got home. His dad was passed out in the lounge next to a tall bottle of whisky and a woman in knee length black boots. Guy froze momentarily. ‘Twat,’ he muttered beneath his breath. The woman looked like a slut. What the fuck is going on? His head stormed. He didn’t know what his dad was doing, he didn’t know what he himself was doing, all he knew was that he desperately needed to be somewhere he could be alone. He ran upstairs, traipsing mud all over the house, and headed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Two alien red eyes glared back at him when he looked in the mirror. He had blood right down his T-shirt. His lips were bust to pieces, like some volcano had exploded in his mouth. Was this what he had become: a beaten, damaged man? He’d had so much pain for so many years. What happened to the days when he could play; the days when the colours seemed so fresh and real, like fruit, and throughout his body was a warmth telling him he was always safe, and his eyes looked outwards, not inwards, and he’d run around every corner just to see what was there, and he never questioned, just went from A to B to C from 1 to 2 to 3? How had those moments turned into the man in the mirror, chewed up and spat out like trash?

  Guy ran his finger down the reflection in the mirror. He didn’t know why. He guessed he just wanted to know that he existed in the real world, outside of his head. If he could deposit himself into the real world, perhaps life would pick him back up. He couldn’t do it himself. He didn’t know how, and he... he just couldn’t. No, he just couldn’t. Because. Because. Because the whole idea of success, happiness, even life itself, wasn’t just out of reach, it wasn’t anywhere on the map. He didn’t even know what peace, joy, love and all those other crazy, made-up but childishly beautiful emotions were. He fell to the floor and wept.

  The floodgates caved in. Tears poured out. Part of him didn’t even know why. It was just wrong.

  Everything was wrong. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t the world he knew. Where the hell was he? There was no rhyme and reason to it all. Life was just wrong. Then out the blue, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ a voice called feebly at the back of his mind. Shut the fuck up. It got louder. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. As it grew, he felt excited. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Finally it screamed. Shut the fuck up! Then Guy joined it and yelled at himself, ‘Shut the fuck up!’ He laughed like a lunatic. He didn’t even know what was going on in his own head. And that was funny. Yes, that was funny to him; hysterically funny. He ran to the mirror and looked at the man once more. Who the hell was he? What had he done with the little boy called Guy? What had he done to those memories of mummy? ‘Fuck you,’ he yelled at his reflection. ‘Fuck you.’ He punched the mirror in anger. It shattered over his hand. Glass fell to the floor. It carried his reflection as though he were being laid to rest. He knelt down and picked up a shard of glass.

  As the glass tore horizontally across his wrist he felt free. He didn’t even feel pain. He felt numb. He held his wrist up to his face and watched it bleed.

  A guttural rumble erupted from the bathtub. Guy shuffled on his ass to the back of the room and cowered in fear.

  The ceramic tub groaned as though it had indigestion. Guy covered his ears. A crack appeared down the centre of the tub and a stream of water trickled out. Another groan. More water spewed out the tub and the crack grew. The water crawled along the floor to Guy’s foot. It was freezing cold. He held his legs up. Another groan, this time much louder, shook the room. The bath burst.

  The centre of the bath began to crumble then exploded outwards as though it were vomiting water. It flooded over Guy, raising him up. The bathroom floor sank. Before long he was floating in the centre of an ocean in his bathroom, treading water to hold himself up.

  Guy couldn’t see through the salt water in his eyes but from somewhere nearby came the sound of a strangely familiar female voice. ‘What do you think you are doing, Guy?’ He closed his eyes. It’s not you, he whispered to himself. It’s not you. It can’t be. ‘Look at me, Guy,’ the woman’s voice ordered. Guy squirmed like a child. ‘Are you a soldier or aren’t you?’ his mother boomed. ‘Open your eyes.’

  Guy took a moment to compose himself then forced away the fear and yanked his eyes open. He was at sea. He was treading water in the middle of an ocean. It bubbled up into his mouth. He sputtered and spat it out. It took all his strength to keep himself afloat.

  In front of him was a great metal military ship, the sort that would have been used for a landing. It had been cleaved in two down the middle. Guy was now floating where the forecastle should have been. At least some of its debris was floating just a few feet from him. He swam over and leant his weight on it. The quarterdeck of the boat opened out onto a beach. Guy couldn’t see where the beach was; it was covered in mist. He could hear the fire of gunshots and explosions on all sides, but he couldn’t see the guns or the people firing them. All he could see was the ruined ship and the towering woman standing in the middle of it, and she he couldn’t bring himself to look upon.

  ‘Get off the boat or I will kill you myself,’ his mother ordered. Guy scrunched his face up to try and drown out the sound, but it had already infected him and was now repeating over and over inside his head. Get off the boat. Get off the boat. Get off the boat. Guy couldn’t fight it. The voice had power over him. Like a servant to their master’s call, Guy lifted his head against his own will and eyed his mother. She stood towering over him as though she were a giant. Her face was covered in a shadow that turned her green eyes black. Guy pushed himself backwards in the water, away from her. He felt ashamed. His wrist was still pouring blood into the water; the blood she had given him. He couldn’t bear to let her see what he had done to himself. It wasn’t just his wrist, it was everything. He was pathetic compared to her. He didn’t even have a right to be in her presence. He pushed his wrist deep into the water, trying to hide it, but the blood rose to the surface and soon he was surrounded by a rosy ring of water.

  Imogen marched towards him, standing at the very edge of the ship. ‘Get off the boat or I will kill you myself,’ she repeated. Guy still didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak. He barely managed to turn his eyes to her and when he did he screamed. She was holding an old rifle directly at his chest. Her face was dead of all emotion even as her finger squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out. Guy screamed.

  ‘Op¯now, Gu¯’ a male voice was calling from outside. Guy couldn’t hear properly through the water in his ears. He desperately flapped his arms to keep himself afloat. ‘Guy, open the...’ the voice continued. Guy tried to call out through a mouth full of water but his voice came out gargled and nonsensical. With a fierce battle against the tide he just managed to lift his head high enough to hear his father yelling, ‘Guy, open the door, now.’

  ‘Help,’ Guy screamed. He heard feet running outside then a mighty thud as the bathroom door barged open.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ his dad ordered. He stomped into the room angrily. ‘I’ve told you a million....’ Jerry froze. ‘What the hell?’ he whispered, seeing Guy’s bloody wrist. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed the blood all over the floor. Guy’s wrist was still bleeding badly as he lay virtually passed out against the wall. ‘Oh my God,’ Jerry trembled. ‘Guy, what have you done?’ He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it tightly around Guy’s wrist. The towel’s white soon turned red.

  ‘Oh shit,’ a female voice screamed from the doorway. Jerry turned to see the girl he had been with stood in the doorway with her head buried in her hands. ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ she said, taking a phone from her pocket.

  ‘Just leave us,’ Jerry shouted.

  ‘I think he¯’r />
  ‘I think I know what my own family need,’ Jerry barked. He took Guy in his arms, still squeezing the towel tightly. ‘Oh my God, you stupid little asshole,’ he voiced with equal parts anger, shock and love. ‘Why would you do this? Why?’

  Guy coughed then wheezed out the words, ‘I saw her.’

  ‘Don’t you give me that shit, Guy. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.’ Jerry hugged Guy close to him. ‘It wasn’t my fault, Guy. It wasn’t my fault.’ Jerry wept. ‘I tried. I tried, Guy.’ Jerry didn’t know why, but he couldn’t hold his words in. He needed Guy to know the truth. He couldn’t live with the blame any longer. ‘I fought with her, Guy. I begged her to stay. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t stay. She wanted to fight, Guy, to fight for you. I tried, Guy. Oh God, I tried so hard.’ He turned to the girl in the doorway. ‘Get me a glass of water,’ he ordered. ‘Please, please just get some water.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going,’ she assured. She ran down the stairs.

  Jerry took a wash cloth from the cupboard, wet it with tap water and wiped blood stains from Guy’s arms. He took another and wiped Guy’s brow. The girl returned a moment later and handed a glass of water to Jerry. He leant Guy’s head back and poured the water down his throat, supporting Guy’s head and gently holding the glass against his lips to help him drink.

  Guy took a gulp then whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, dad.’

  ‘No, no,’ Jerry insisted, ‘I’m sorry. I should never have let her go. I should have fought her more, but I was weak. And she was so strong, Guy. Your mum was so strong. God I miss her.’ He hugged Guy.

  ‘I’ll find out what happened,’ Guy whispered.

  ‘What?’ Jerry gasped.

  ‘I’ll find out what happened to mum.’

  ‘Guy, your mother died. She died fifteen years ago.’

  Guy shook his head. ‘I have to know. I have to know.’

  The doorbell rang. Jerry turned to look at the girl.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said, nodding and heading back down the stairs.

  Jerry and Guy fell silent, both exhausted, covered in blood and nearly passed out against the bathroom wall. It was the closest they had been in years.