This story is not intended to make comment or fun of any belief or religion. It does not reflect the beliefs of the writer nor does it profess to accurately describe "the other side". It is a work of fiction.
My thanks as always to Brook for her unending support. And to Angie, Jan and Nelleke who, as always, drive me on.
Chapter 7
Hutch was drifting. Since the terrifying countdown in the factory his mind had been drifting in a pink and white cotton candy world. There was no up or down, left or right, hot or cold. He just was, floating happily along like a little blond cloud. He tried to remember what was happening before he got here and slowly the fog in his mind cleared.
He remembered Aidan Ryan giving him a countdown and he remembered the agonising blows he'd endured as each of the Northern Stars had beaten the crap out of him, but amazingly now he felt no pain at all. And then Ryan had given him to the count of five to get out of the room and run for his life. Hutch could remember the panic when his trembling limbs refused to work. He'd tried so hard to stand and make his legs run away from the group, but the muscles in his tired body were just too pulped and exhausted to be able to answer his demands. It had taken him to the count of three to stand and by "four" he'd managed to make it to the door, but then he heard Ryan call "five" and he'd half turned to see what was going to happen next.
He'd been shot before so he was no stranger to the sensation. There was a young black girl who'd shot him in the chest and he could remember the fiery trail of the bullet as it had hit and penetrated his muscle and skin. It had hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced before and had taken his breath away as he'd struggled to keep his pain under control. He'd seen the raised gun in Ryan's hand and he'd heard the report as the hit man fired at him, seeing the bright white flash from the muzzle. Then the world seemed to take on a slow motion quality as if an invisible finger had pushed the replay button. Hutch could almost see the deadly lump of metal speeding towards him across the small room and he suddenly realised that he'd run out of options and was going to get hit. He tried a last minute effort to move out of the way, but he still felt the impact on his head. It hadn't hurt like the bullet in his chest had. This was different. There was a burning pain, like he was standing too close to a candle flame, then nothing. He remembered staring back at the group of men for what seemed like hours and seeing the looks on all their faces, then he felt the wall at his back and realised he was sitting on the ground.
After that things got a little foggy. He was aware of stuff going on around him and recognised the panicked voice of his partner commanding him to hang on. He really wanted to tell Starsky he was alright, especially as they'd parted that evening on a sour note, but deep down he knew he wasn't. He felt like he was floating away and he knew it should have scared him but oddly it didn't. It felt so right after all that had gone on and the absence of fear was one of the greatest happiness's he'd known in his life.
During this damned undercover operation he'd felt fearful every minute he'd been with the group. His heart had hammered in his chest every time he'd set foot in the old factory and now he realised he didn't have that sensation any more. He felt warm and happy and relaxed as if he belonged here.
Hutch had no idea where he was. He seemed to have his eyes open, but couldn't actually see anything. From the injuries he knew his body had sustained, he thought he should probably have been in a hospital, but he didn't really want to find out whether he was or not. In fact, he didn't think he could find out. He was just in a state of suspended animation and a little part of his mind wondered what was going to happen next.
How long he'd been like that he had no idea. Idly he wondered what Starsky was doing and he hoped his brunette partner wasn't going to be too upset. That got his heart moving a little faster – at least he could feel that. They'd parted on an argument, something they'd never done before and something that should never have happened. He knew Starsky was angry at him for going under, but it was something he felt he had to do; he'd felt a connection to young Niall and had wanted to help him. And now look where that had gotten him.
Something seemed to be happening to him, or at least to the world around him. The pinkish white fog that surrounded him seemed to be flowing and crystallising into a shape. He stared at the shape as it coalesced into something that looked like a human being, but the figure seemed to be almost floating towards him without taking any steps. As it got closer he saw that it was the figure of a man of perhaps 40. He was as tall as Hutch with white blond hair and stunning purple eyes which shone out of an open and honest face. He was dressed all in white; white suit, white shirt and tie, white socks and shoes. Jeez, talk about overstating the fashion trends.
'Hutch?' the figure said.
He almost laughed. The voice and the figure didn't match it calling him by his shortened name, but he answered anyway, finding that his voice was neither weak, nor raspy. He sounded normal. Curious.
'That's me'.
'Ah good. I'm glad I found you. It's easy to get lost in all this fog. I keep telling them it's OK for television special effects, but it plays havoc with my sinuses' as if to emphasise the point, the figure let out an enormous sneeze. It spoke with a clipped British accent like the characters on the old black and white films his partner liked to watch
'Bless you'.
'Why thank you. Damned civilised. Now, let's get the introductions out of the way and then you'll be wanting orientation'.
Hutch looked confused. 'Orientation? What is this? Some sort of school?'
The figure looked at him blankly. 'Oh dear. Oh deary deary me! You have no idea where you are do you?'
The blond shook his head. No he didn't have an idea, but he was getting a very bad feeling about it all.
'Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Amaram. I've been sent to meet you and show you around. I'm your conductor. You know the sort of thing - make riends, find out where the bathrooms are'. The man swept a low bow as Hutch looked on, amused.
'Well, it's great to meet you Amaram, but where the hell are we?'
Amaram put his hand up to his face in horror. 'Oh no, nononono, we can't use language like that here. We must never mention THAT place. Good heavens no' he twitched his hands together in horror.
The blond was nonplussed. 'Language? What language, I just asked where the h….Where we are'.
'Tell me, was your death sudden?' Amaram asked conversationally.
Hutch was about to answer, but the question stopped him dead. 'My death? What do you mean, my death? You mean I'm dead? No, that can't be right. I don't feel dead. Come to think of it, I don't feel at all. This isn't right! I've got to see the boss. Who's in charge? He asked, suddenly flustered.
Amaram put a steadying hand on his forearm. 'Just relax, you'll get over it, you've got eternity to recover you know' he advised, hoping his new charge would calm down a little. But far from calming down, Hutch was getting more anxious by the minute.
'You don't understand. I'm not ready to die yet. This is wrong. There has to be some sort of a mistake. I know I was shot, but it's not meant to be like this. I need to speak to someone in charge, NOW' he started to walk to……He realised there was nowhere to walk to, just the annoyingly cloying pink fog surrounding them. 'Get me someone to talk to now' he ordered seeing the look of fear on the conductors face.
'Do you have to be so difficult?' Amaram asked tetchily. 'Why do all my jobs become difficult? Have I done something to offend someone? I don't know. If it isn't one thing it's another. It was the same with Lord Nelson. He didn't want to go. Kept muttering about kissing someone called Hardy. And as for Abe Lincoln! Lovely man, but wouldn't let go of his hat, no matter what and can you imagine trying to get a stove pipe hat in white? Its virtually impossible'.
He looked at the blond obviously deciding that he wasn't going to get any further forward without help. 'Fine, fine. Have it your way, but don't forget it was me who told you so. Hold on tight' he waved his hand in a circular motion in the air and Hutch felt as though he was being pulled along through the fog by a rope tied around his waist.
The ride was like every fairground attraction Hutch had ever been on all rolled into one. He felt as though he was soaring into the sky then dipping down a long fast hill, then plunging upside down through dark corridors. Finally with a lurch and a screech he stopped, tumbling forward in a semblance of a forward roll as Amaram stepped gracefully off the…..whatever it was they had just travelled on. Picking himself up he brushed down his jeans and stood breathlessly with his conductor at a door which had appeared in yet another bank of the fog. Amaram rapped at the door and it opened inwards silently. They went inside.
Here row upon row of white uniformed clerks sat at white desks equipped with white typewriters and paper. The rows stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction but there was no noise to speak of, no clatter of typewriter keys on paper, just a gentle hum of voices. Amaram walked into the room and went to something that looked suspiciously like a reception desk. He rang a tiny silver bell and waited with a disparaging look on his face.
'It won't do any good' he told the unnerved detective. 'Once you're dead that's it – caput! Ah, here she is now'.
A tall willowy thin woman walked towards the reception desk, a smile on her face. As she reached it and saw who was waiting for her the smile faded. 'Oh, its you' she said in a cold voice.
Amaram tried her with what he thought was one of his best winning smiles. 'I'm sorry to bother you Bethany my dear, but Mr Hutchinson here is a new arrival and he thinks there's been some sort of mistake'.
She gave him a look that said "tell me something new", then looked past the cringing conductor to Hutch.
'Sudden death?' she asked
Hutch ran his tongue over his lower lip. 'Again with the death thing! Look lady. We've done the sudden death routine. Wherever I am, I'm not meant to be here and I need someone to sort out the mess and…I don't know….send me back'.
Bethany smiled and reached for an enormous book from the countertop. 'This is the invoice book for all goods received' she explained, running a perfectly manicured nail down the columns. 'As you can see, we were invoiced for 1,937,601 receipts today and we have received precisely 1,937,60….oh no…602 items... Amaram, what have you done?'
The white haired man cringed back, alarm showing in his purple eyes. 'I'm sorry, I'm new!' he blustered.
Bethany fixed him with a haughty stare. 'New? I'd call 541 years enough practice! I have never seen the books imbalanced since…..well it was almost 2000 years ago. I'll have to take instructions. Wait here'.
Hutch, who had listened to the exchange with some sympathy for the tall conductor put his hand up.
'If there's been a mistake, I'll happily just go back. No harm done' he smiled at the woman, hoping that what women called his "vulnerable top lip" would do the trick. It didn't.
'There has been plenty of harm done' Bethany said unhappily. 'You'll both have to wait here while I make further enquiries' and with that she vanished.
Hutch looked murderously at Amaram, who smiled a shy smile back. 'Oops?' he muttered and giggled hysterically.
