raycolon.com - Writing - The Price of Admission

The Price of Admission With three days to go before New Year's Eve, the false glee of the Yuletide smitten had begun to give way to bold expressions of achievements that were to be made in the coming year. The bravado with which people tended to resolve to do this, or not to do that -- at some point in the future -- caused Samuel Young to cringe. How many times had his corpulent business partner, Henry Blaine, made the same resolution? Would he have to endure another long-winded recounting of his past failures, held up in an unconvincing attempt to justify those failures and to somehow assure him that this year would be different? In his heart, Samuel sympathized with his friend's dilemma. He'd lived fifty years, and in that time had come to understand the frailty that is at the core of all human beings. He knew that addictions came easily, yet took, at the very least, a lifetime to invalidate. So as Samuel had tried to explain often, yet had ceased to recently because his words went unheeded, his problem was not with the resolutions themselves, rather it was the lack of seriousness with which people made them. His pensive mood was interrupted by a knock at the door. He took a short sip of wine, and stubbed out the cigarette that he had absentmindedly left smoldering in the ashtray. Leaving his immaculately kept study, Samuel headed for the front door. "Who is it?" he asked. "It's me, Sheila." Recognizing the voice of his secretary, he opened the door excitedly. He had spent too many evenings alone with only his books to give him comfort. Seeing nothing but the thick snowflakes that reflected brilliantly as they passed over his porch light, a puzzled look came to his still unwrinkled face. He was certain that he had recognized Sheila's voice. Had he become so lonely that he had begun to hear voices, he wondered. Samuel began to turn away and to push the door closed simultaneously, when suddenly the soothing classical music that played in the background was shattered by the sound of the door crashing open. He stumbled into his foyer and ended up sprawled against the far-side wall. From there, Samuel looked up into the face of the intruder, who pounced upon him and delivered a severe blow to the side of his head with the butt of a pistol. Only darkness followed. Having forfeited his grasp of time, Samuel awoke to clouded eyes and a massive headache. As the haze dissipated, he realized that he was seated in his study, in his favorite chair. Turning to the open sliding doors that lead to the foyer he became certain that he was dreaming because there before him, propped against the foyer wall, lay his motionless body. His vision, though improving, had not yet returned entirely, but there was no mistaking what he saw -- it was him! Just then, Samuel heard the voices of two men upstairs -- one imploring the other to hurry, and the other uttering assurances that they had plenty of time to spare. "No one's gonna come here tonight. Remember, she told us that this guy was always here alone." "Yeah, but she's just some slut we picked up tonight. How do we know for sure?" "Relax, and look at this place. We can take enough stuff from here to lay low for a long time when we're through. Let's not blow this deal. Now, come on, let's check downstairs." With that, Samuel began to hear the footsteps on the spiral staircase that ended at the door of his study. He was trying to decide on a place to hide, when he was startled by a strangely familiar voice that came from behind. "Take is easy, Samuel." He let out a shriek, then remembering his situation, covered his mouth with his trembling hands. "This couldn't be happening," he whispered, as he stared into the face of this latest trespasser. "Sit down, sit down, Samuel. We have much to discuss." His disbelief caused him to struggle to form the words. "But, but, you..., you're," he sputtered. "The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn't you say?" Samuel jerked his head toward the door, then leaned back in terror as the thieves entered. Looking past them, he could still see that his body lay where it had fallen. "You look in the desk. I'll check the bookcases for a safe," the taller thief directed. "They can't see us, Samuel, so you can stop holding your breath now. You're starting to turn blue, you know." Samuel released his pent-up breath and gawked at this reflection of his likeness -- standing there, wearing a grin that seemingly mocked his fear. A solitary thought surfeited his mind. "If this madness is all that is left to me, then I would rather I were dead." "Careful," the voice cautioned. "Take a moment to reflect, Samuel. For you may soon be granted your wish." The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times, signaling the passing of an hour since Samuel had regained consciousness. For most of that time, he and Elijah, who his improbable twin had informed him of his preference to be called, sat quietly observing the thieves going through their paces. All the while, Elijah said nothing, leaving Samuel to contemplate the situation in silence. He dared not move a muscle. The fear that was responsible for his initial paralysis had subsided, and given way to curiosity. The questions mounted, yet they remained unasked. The larceny complete, the pair of thieves lifted their satchels filled with the spoils of an hour's labor and began to exit. "What are we going to do about him?" asked the smaller of the two. "Finish him off!" barked his accomplice. "What?" "You heard me. Just put two in his head, and come out. I'll be waiting in the truck." "I'm not going to shoot this guy!" "But he saw me when we came in," the taller man angrily explained. "Then you shoot him." "Fine!" The taller man pulled his gun from his belt, leaned over the body, and placed the nozzle of the gun between the closed eyes. Samuel watched his imminent execution in wide eyed horror, but then everything stopped. The thieves seemed frozen in their places, the music came to a halt, and the pendulum on the grandfather clock hung suspended at an angle. Samuel turned to Elijah, who was still seated in the chair opposite him, looking quite smug. "Did you do that?" "Who else could," he replied, grinning contentedly. "How?" "Never mind that. It's time for us to have our little chat." "I have so many questions...," Samuel began. "Unfortunately, Samuel, we don't have time for your questions. You are here to give answers." "Answers? Answers to what?" Elijah rose from his chair and began to pace in front of Samuel -- slow, even steps that had their own rhythm that seemed to fill the void left by the halted music. "Let me begin by telling you that this is what you might refer to as judgment day, Samuel. But let me forewarn you, that it's not quite what you might have imagined." Samuel grinned slightly at the irony of this opening comment. None of what had transpired thus far even remotely resembled any notions he had about dying -- or what came after, for that matter. Indeed, he hadn't given death much thought at all. "I," continued Elijah, "am your conscience. Therefore, you will not have to recount a long list of credentials extolling the virtues of your time on earth to counterbalance your transgressions. No, Samuel, that would be a waste of time for us both, since I have been with you every moment of your life." "So what is it you want me to answer?" asked Samuel, his puzzlement swelling. "Well, Sammy, can I call you Sammy? Samuel has always seemed so, oh I don't know, pompous to me." Samuel shrugged his shoulders, not caring to quibble over this odd stipulation. "Good! You see Sammy, the situation we find ourselves in goes something like this: My job for the last fifty years has been to council you, and hopefully convince you to make wise, morally sound decisions. I had no official control over what you eventually decided to do, but still, I pursued my duty vigorously, wouldn't you agree?" "I suppose you did," Samuel responded cautiously. "Mostly because I've lead a good life. If you were responsible for that, than I'd have to agree with ..." "Come, come, now Sammy," Elijah cut in derisively. "Remember who you're talking to." "What do you mean? I have lead a good life!" "You see Sammy, this is the type of confusion that we, my colleagues and I, have to deal with continually." "Confusion?" "Yes Sammy, confusion. You see, it's all very simple. Leading a good life does not mean that you simply have to keep your nose clean. That's not such an accomplishment -- anyone can do that with little effort." Elijah's tone was becoming increasingly surly, heightening Samuel's level of anxiety." "Then you're saying that I've lived a bad life?" Samuel shot back. "Well, no, not exactly." "This is getting us nowhere, E-L-I-J-A-H," Samuel gibed. "Get to the point, or let that animal over there pull the trigger and end this nonsense." Samuel was amazed by his own words. Never had he been one to exhibit fearlessness, but for now, he had had enough. "Bravo!" shouted Elijah, clapping his hands vigorously. "That was marvelous. Perhaps you should have pursued acting, instead of medicine." "I'm beginning to understand," murmured Samuel. "This is some sort of purgatory, isn't it? You're sole purpose is to torment me. Well, if this is the best that you can do, then to hell with you. Does this ridiculous conversation constitute what people, devout people, have to look forward to when their time arrives? Is He just a hack comedian, trickster, and magician?" "Tsk, tsk, Sammy. This is not a time for you to become blasphemous. We take a dim view of that sort of thing, you know." "Is this the much ballyhooed salvation? No trumpets blaring, or angels singing?" "Now, who's being ridiculous, Sammy?" Samuel buried his face in his hands and groaned in disgust. Was there no way out of this predicament, he wondered. "Stay with me for a while longer, Sammy. Pay attention. Just let me conclude my explanation." Samuel lifted his head and looked glumly at Elijah, his expression yielding. "Good. All right, where was I, oh yes. The criteria of good and bad are much too imprecise to determine the fate of people. You must have been able to figure that one out without me having to tell you, Sammy." Samuel resented being scolded like a schoolboy, still he did not interrupt. "Heaven, and there is a heaven, you know, is not a place into which just anyone can go, or should go for that matter. You see, if everyone were allowed in, what would be so special about it?" Samuel couldn't figure out whether Elijah was being over simplistic for his sake, or because he was actually the dolt he believed him to be. The latter possibility sent a shiver coursing down his spine. The thought that this messenger of the Almighty could be so much like an adolescent, and this alarmingly irritating was a sobering thought. Could this whole afterlife notion have been a cruel hoax on humanity? Elijah ignored the insult and continued. "The primary criteria for getting into heaven is selflessness. Duplicitous exhibitions of charitable behavior are not nearly enough," Elijah said, pausing to cast a lurid glance upon Samuel. Again, Samuel refrained from interrupting. "One must, as the saying goes, give until it hurts, and not just money. Actually, giving of ones time counts for a great deal more." "So what you're telling me is that I could have lived a life where I did as I pleased, regardless of how my actions impacted people, or worse, been a criminal, and then one day decide to change my ways, that I would go to heaven?" "Probably." "But if I instead keep to myself, but don't hurt anyone, then I'm out of luck?" "Usually." "This is madness!" "Is it? Think, Sammy think. What good is a life that is spent on self-serving pursuits. Who prospers? Juxtapose that scenario with that of a person who truly cares about others, even briefly. Who prospers then? Everyone who comes in contact with that person, that's who. Therefore, you see, it is not madness at all. It is simply the way it should be." "If that's the case, then why are we having this conversation at all? I obviously don't make the grade using your criteria. Where am I headed then? Why are you delaying my fate? Or is this all there is?" "Sit down, Sammy. Be patient, and I'll tell you your options." "Options?" "Yes, Sammy, options." "Then tell me." "First a question. Would you give your life, so that another may live?" "My life? Who would I be dying for?" "The 'who' is not important here, Sammy. The question is would you?" "But you're not giving me enough information, Elijah. It's not a fair question!" "So you want to live, more than you want to see heaven?" "Is that my choice? My life on earth in return for an eternity in heaven?" "Well, no. It's not that simple." "You sound more and more as if you're trying to trick me into something," Samuel shouted. "No tricks, Sammy. I simply can't make you any promises. You must live your life, and make your own choices, as everyone else does. There are no guarantees." "But why this way? Why this choice?" "Many people could live more useful lives with your organs than you have thus far. Your eyes can help a child see, and your heart can give someone else a second chance at living." "But I still may not go to heaven?" "True, but then again you may." "What are my other choices?" "Well, you can be judged right now." "I want to go back!" "Are you sure?" "Yes, yes. I'm certain that this last selfless act -- the giving of my life for others -- will ensure for me a place in heaven." "You may be right Sammy, but there is just one more thing you should consider." "What, Elijah? What else could there be?" "It would be a simple matter for you to return for the split second it would take for the trigger to be pulled. That would not constitute true selflessness, since you would actually be doing nothing. In order for your act to be selfless, you would have to initiate your demise." The shock of this latest revelation surpassed all of those that had come before. Samuel's eyes locked onto Elijah's. "You mean that I would have to kill myself?" "Yes." The police detective was just wrapping up the investigation into the apparent suicide of Doctor Samuel Young. A captain had been called to the scene because of one peculiar piece of evidence that did not make any sense to any of the other investigators. Samuel’s secretary, Sheila Smalls, had verified that the five page letter found in Samuel's study was indeed written in his handwriting. The essence of the majority of the letter was what the captain described as spiritual. It dealt with the themes of good and evil that man has grappled with for eternity. However, the final paragraph was what appeared to be a suicide note. "What does this mean, Captain?" the puzzled sergeant asked as they walked out of the house together. "I don't know. I've seen a lot of strange things in my twenty years on the force, but this is a new one on me." "But sir, this was clearly a routine push-in robbery. What could have caused him to kill himself after surviving that?" "I don't know," replied the captain, rubbing his chin. "The dispatcher took the 911 call from this address, at about 10:30, and we arrived within five minutes." "He obviously was planning his suicide before the break-in. His secretary confirmed being forced to bring the two men she met at O'Grady's Bar at around nine o'clock tonight. We found her tied up in the bushes, but she was in shock, and couldn't give us a description of either man. All she could tell us was that they seemed young -- like college kids." "They let her live, and she's probably too scared to identify them. You can't blame people for being afraid these days. We'll probably never get any information out of her," mused the captain. "What made him write that letter? When did he write it? Before or after the robbery?" "I don't think that we'll ever know. When you've been around as long as I have, you realize that a lot of cases are never solved to your satisfaction. It's just something you have to get used to." "But what do you think he meant by that last line?" continued the sergeant. The two men stopped under a streetlight, and read the last line again. I don't want to die, but I must because, for me, this is the price of admission. ---------- Dante failed miserably in his depiction of Hell in his Inferno, for words could never describe the horror of this place. Samuel's wails of agony intermingled with the rest, and were indistinguishable to Elijah, who sat high above it all, relishing his many conquests. Shaking his fists at the heavens, he proclaimed his own greatness, and chastised his maker for making it so easy for him to succeed in his villainous pursuit. "The rules are in my favor, Lord. I could never lose this fight!"

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