It was absolutely quiet when death consumed him. Death had been welcomed with open arms, had been beckoned forwards to take this unhappy man earlier than was intended.
Death left him with silence and whiteness, but also the gift of understanding. He realised that he had been seeing life through a filter for every breath he took, as if cold-day steam had hovered about him from birth.
He understood what his life had meant; how fleeting and monumental his presence on that floating, chaotic rock had been. He understood that he didn't matter at all. He was more humbled than insulted by that thought. He knew his place in creation.
He knew that he must wait before moving on.
All around him were people, no more than shades to him, waiting just as he was. Sometimes there were incomplete families holding hands, often elderly folk tapping at the invisible ground with walking sticks. Sometimes he noticed a solitary little girl skipping among the other shades as though they were merely bushes on the heath she used to play on. He shut his eyes against tired soldiers cleaning their guns or wiping sweat from their foreheads.
New shades arrived every moment. Some stood about for a while, taking everything in, others stumbled about shouting without making noise, convinced they had been thrown headlong down to hell.
Then there were the lucky ones. The ones who didn't have to wait, because someone else had been waiting in their stead. They would share a look, a smile, a hug or a kiss and would begin to fade into the whiteness. Their faces always shone with blissful acceptance and utter happiness.
John Watson had arrived, had understood, and immediately assumed he would not have to wait at all. He had come here with the intention of seeing Him again, and life be damned if he missed his chance at one last look.
He was left waiting. For an eternity it seemed, he stood where he had appeared, expecting to see Him and for them to fade away together. It didn't happen. He went searching then, calling out without working vocal chords, lips moving faster and faster as panic settled in.
The panic passed, the sadness came along, and then the waiting. The people spotting. John knew so many people now that he had never even seen while on planet Earth; he knew their ways and habits without even exchanging so much as a mouthed word.
One day the sadness jumped back in. A new shade spilled into the no-space, with the slouched posture and sour expression of a woman who had had a few too many.
"Harry?"
John stood with the speed of sunlight and ran to his sister in horror. She was still gazing about herself, face scrunched up at the overwhelming nature of it all. She eventually faced John and nodded. He smiled with teary eyes and nodded back.
And the waiting started all over again.
