A/N: Hey guys! So I read this amazing book called "The Five People You Meet in Heaven." It's really really good. I highly recommend it. This story is based on that book, with some changes.
Disclaimer 1: I am NOT here to tell you what to believe or force-feed you what I believe. This is simply for entertainment, and I hope it will be seen for that.
Disclaimer 2: I don't own "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" by Mitch Albom
Chapter 1: Heaven
If I ever reach heaven I expect to find three wonders there: first, to meet some I had not thought to see there; second, to miss some I had expected to see there; and third, the greatest wonder of all, to find myself there"-Anonymous
Ever wonder what heaven looks like? Is it some ethereal paradise amongst the clouds, where angels sit around all day playing the heart? Does St. Peter really wait for every single departed soul to arrive at his pearly gates to hear their eternal sentence? Or does heaven not exist? Is it simply the presence of God? Or is there nothing after we die? Are we nothing without our earthly bodies?
The whiteness is vast, almost overwhelming. Logan Mitchell blinks rapidly, expecting it to go away. He takes off his glasses and gingerly rubs each lens against his white lab coat before placing them back on his face. But the whiteness remained. After a couple of minutes of examination, Logan discovers that he is standing outside in the snow.
It's September, there shouldn't be any snow here," he thinks to himself, perplexed by the sheer volume of the wintry blanket that now rested upon the earth. He turns around slowly, drinking in the beauty of the snow-covered forest.
How did I get here?
A mighty maelstrom encircles Logan, the wind howling fiercely into his face, its message the morbid tale of Logan's last few minutes on earth.
*~/_\~*
"Dr. Mitchell?"
The grey-haired doctor spins around to look at the young nurse who has addressed him.
"Yes?"
"You have a patient in room 364 who's waiting to be discharged. We need you to clear him."
Dr. Mitchell pinches the bridge of his nose, the fatigue getting to him. He has had a series of surgeries to perform in the last couple of days, and the strain was starting to set into his aging body. Back in his 30s, he'd be able to handle this with little problems, but as he inches closer and closer to the big 6-5, Logan finds that his body is not what it used to be.
He nods to the nurse and adopts a brisk pace as he walks toward room 364. Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, he pulls out his glasses and sets his second set of eyes onto his face. Grabbing the manila envelope that was tacked onto the door of room 364, Dr. Mitchell enters the room with an air of authority and experience. The patient, who is complaining into his cell phone immediately quiets at the sight of Dr. Mitchell. He couldn't have been older than 18, the doctor thinks to himself as he notes the boy's lanky body and acne-filled face.
"Well, Mr. Harris, it looks like all of your blood work came back normal, and the incision on your leg is healing nicely. So, as long as you have someone to drive you home, I think you're ready to g-"
The rest of Dr. Mitchell's statement is buried beneath the sudden loud and distinct sound of gunshots and screams of fear. Dr. Mitchell's heart skips a beat, and his mind immediately trying to rationalize that what he had heard were not gunshots. It has to be something else. But a few seconds later, he hears the sounds again, this time much closer to where he and his patient are.
This time, the adrenaline begins to course through him, and Dr. Mitchell takes action. He signals to his patient, who by this time is as white as his sheets, to lay down flat on his back and close his eyes. The boy does as he is instructed without hesitation, and as soon as his eyes close, Dr. Mitchell drapes the sheet over the boy's body, making sure no part of him is visible to the outside world.
The sound of footsteps quickly draws nearer to room 364, and Dr. Mitchell finds himself tense up, preparing for whatever may happen. The sound finally stops, and a figure appears in the doorframe. Dr. Mitchell looks into the eyes of the gunman, and what he sees startles him. He doesn't see malice or apathy. No trace of glee appears on this middle- aged man's face. Rather, Dr. Mitchell sees anger and sadness in the stranger's sea green eyes. He also notices the gun shake in the man's hand slightly, and for a moment, Dr. Mitchell wonders if he is also afraid.
"You don't have to do this," Dr. Mitchell states calmly, his voice much stronger than he thought it would be.
"J-just shut up!" the man cries, pointing the gun at Dr. Mitchell's chest. The doctor complies and waits for the killer to do something.
The man nods toward the bed where the doctor's patient lays hidden. "What's the story with that one?"
"Car crash. His wounds were too great and he passed this morning," he lies.
The gunman sneers. "So you couldn't save him either?"
Dr. Mitchell pauses, confused by the man's statement. The man then ignores him, slowly approaching the bed. With a firm yank, he removes the sheet over the boy's body. Dr. Mitchell's heart skips a beat, afraid of what would happen if the killer realizes the boy is not dead. After a couple of seconds of looking over the boy, the man scoffs and turns away from the young man's bed. Dr. Mitchell tries to hide the relief he feels, but the gunman notices his change in demeanor. He points the gun at the doctor, trying to intimidate him.
"What?" he exclaims ferociously.
"Why are you doing this?" Dr. Mitchell asks, attempting to divert the man's attention.
"What's it to you?"
"You don't have to do this," he repeats, "If you stop now, and surrender of your own accord, you'll get a lighter sentence. There's so much more to life than destruction or revenge or power."
The killer hesitates, almost as if he has a change of heart. Dr. Mitchell notices the golden band around the man's finger.
"Think of your family…don't you want to be around for them?"
As soon as the words leave Dr. Mitchell's mouth he knows he made a grave error. The intensity of the man's gaze grows exponentially and before the doctor can react, he pulls the trigger.
The pain is excruciating as it spreads across his body like wildfire. Dr. Mitchell falls to the ground, scarlet rivulets leaving his body at an accelerated pace. His vision starts to diminish and the last thing he sees is the killer's back as he walks through the door.
Numbness claims Dr. Mitchell's body, and moments later, everything goes black.
*~/_\~*
Instinctively, Logan's hand goes to his chest, but he feels no pain. Suddenly, Logan realizes that he feels neither the bitter coldness of the winter weather around him, nor the aches and pains he's grown accustomed to in his older years.
Where am I?
Logan jumps at a loud noise, surprised by the fact that something in this silent vast white tundra could make a sound so great.
He begins to walk in the direction he heard the sound come from, not knowing what else to do. He hikes for a good amount of time, surprised that he is able to do so so easily. Finally, a huge lake appears in his line of sight. As he reaches the edge of the lake, he discovers two things: the lake is completely frozen over and there is a figure skating in the distance. Logan steps onto the lake and notes that it seems to be holding his weight without trouble. Carefully, Logan makes his way to the figure, trying his best to move on the ice without the use of skates. He's about halfway between the figure and the shore when he suddenly falls. Logan stays where he landed for a few minutes and takes in the scenery. A few seconds pass, and he finally makes a connection.
This is the lake Carlos, James, Kendall, and I used to go to everyday to practice hockey.
"Close, but not quite." Logan hears someone from behind him respond, even though Logan had not spoken. A hand appears in front of his face. Reaching out, he grasps the hand and is pulled back up to his feet. Logan turns to face the person who helped him up, and he gasps.
He looks the same as he did the day he died. He is still tall and strong, good-looking, and his green eyes are just as piercing as ever. Even his crooked smile remains untouched by the sands of time.
Logan stutters at first, but finally succeeds in voicing his disbelief as he stares at the very familiar face he thought he'd never see again.
"K-k-Kendall?"
"Welcome to heaven, buddy."
A/N:
Disclaimer 3: Yes, I realize I took the whole hospital story from Grey's Anatomy/House/every other medical drama out there. To be honest, it was a convenient way to kill off Logan. I definitely do not pass the idea as my own.
Anyways: ok, that's chapter 1! I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think. I really hope you liked it, the book truly is wonderful. It definitely got me thinking. So, I hope you go read it, if you haven't already. And if you have read it, well I hope I can do the book justice. Let me know how I can improve. Much love!