Chapter 11

"Okay. Where am I, this time?"

Pain swirled as Michael woke up. It throbbed and ached as the young man tried to collect his thoughts. His brown eyes scanned his surroundings, top to bottom. It wasn't Hekapoo's retreat, more rustic than non-Euclidean. Not quite. He was back inside the cabin, the fireplace on and daylight bleeding in the widow. Piece of his memories seemed to swirl, and he realized something wasn't right.

The obvious is the fireplace. It was closed up months ago, brick and mortar in the entrance, and by the skittish young man himself. And it was evening when he left for the county fair as Michael stood up. He left the couch to close the blinds, and that's when it all came to him. Like a bolt of lightning striking a rod, memories returned instantaneously.

Michael was breathing heavily, forehead sweating. He remembered the fairgrounds, the lights, and the games. He and his friends were having fun while their worries disappeared. That's when those government agents came, the fighting erupted, and the bullet was fired, lodging right into the young man….

Abruptly, Michael gripped his waist, wincing. "Wait a minute? Isn't there supposed to be a bullet hole on my side?" he questioned himself as he looked at himself unharmed, looking dumbfounded.

His clothes were thoroughly cleaned. No sign of any injury. No blood and bile in sight either. That raised even more questions circulating in his head.

"If you're wondering what happened to your injuries, they're still on your body back at the fairgrounds," answered a grainy and old voice that made Michael jump.

He turned around and saw an old man on the loveseat. He possessed the typical look with denim jeans and a plaided shirt. All he needed was a carry bag of golf clubs, then he'd be ready for the putting green, Michael quipped. His legs were crossed, one over the other. In his hand held a bottle of bourbon, unopened. The old man settled in the golden embrace, his attention to the fireplace. His graying eyes then shifted to Michael, who approached, fists bawling. However, as the young man got closer, his guard slowly dropped as the old man's face bore familiarity that brought him a nostalgic smile.

"G-grandpa. Is that you?" Michael asked, voice cracking.

Jeremiah Therman nodded, mustache curling. "It's me, boy. It really is, though I wish the circumstances for a reunion were much better than in death."

"In death? Wait, you're telling me I'm…" Michael began. His grandpa interrupted.

"Yes and no," the old man remarked, his grandson flabbergasted. "Your body is still alive, barely, but your soul got knocked out. I'm not sure if there's a term for it, but you're somewhere in between life and death. For now, you're currently in an afterlife antechamber, or Limbo as the Catholics call it. the only thing they ever got right. Well, that and Purgatory."

Jeremiah opened the bottle and poured the bourbon out, filling two highball glasses on the table. He handed one-off, and Michael checked to see if anything was strange. Well, more off than usual in his drink. When it looked alright, the pair then raised a glass to each other before drinking deeply. While looking normal, the bourbon tasted almost ambrosial as Michael stopped and arched a brow.

"Yeah, that's the one upside about the afterlife. Everything you once enjoyed in life becomes ten times better, but I doubt you're here to have a William Blake style discussion with me, son or hear some existential soliloquy on the meaning of life like Monty Python," Michael's grandfather mused, sitting his glass down before folding his hands together. "Your friends need you, and you need to get yourself back to Earth before something bad happens to them."

"And that's why you're here? To help?"

"Not quite."

That response wasn't to be expected. Throughout his adolescence, Michael's grandfather always gave him the tools to venture into life. And when he was stuck and couldn't figure a way out, the old man would step in, offering the appropriate guidance. Sadly, this wasn't those times, much to Michael's dismay. The old man huffed and turned to the fireplace, swirling his glass as the young man gave him a stern look, finally sitting down.

"That doesn't mean I won't lend you some pointers," his grandfather clarified, half-shrugged. "When you've been in the afterlife longer than I have, you make some interesting friends. I had to pull a few strings to see you, and I'm taking a big risk being in Limbo just to save my grandson's life. Now, it's time for me to be the Thanatos to your Orpheus and guide you back to your Eurydice."

Michael furrowed his brows, confused. "I have no idea what that even means, grandpa."

"Jesus Christ, Michael. What are they teaching you in that college of yours?" groaned the aggrieved old man, pinching the bridge of his nose before waving his glass in emphasis. "I'm telling you that the only way to return to the land of the living is within you. That in order to get back into your body, you need to will yourself back."

"And how do I do that? If it hasn't occurred to you, I was shot straight in the kidney and my body is lying in a pool of my own blood! There isn't really much I can do about that, except follow the light and see St. Peter," Michael snapped back, jumping up as he almost knocked his glass off the coffee table.

Jeremiah's face glared, pointing an index finger. "And that's what will happen to you if you give in. Know this, boy. There is more to you than meets the eye, and it's not just that can of whoop-ass you gave those gestapo agents at the fairgrounds. For God sake's, you think a normal man would survive an injury like the one you have?"

Michael opened his mouth to rebuttal but gave up, his raised hand falling to his side. He knew his grandfather was right when the proof was evident.

Jeremiah smiled and raised his glass once more. "The best you can do is tell yourself to go home and that's all you need. Like me and like your father, you've always been a stubborn, so I doubt you're going to give up so easily."

"Please don't mention my dad again," Michael hissed, looking deadpanned as his head lowered, one arm resting on his lap. "So, I'm supposed to not think I'm dead and that's going to send me back? That's more complicated than clicking my heels three time and saying, 'there's no place like home,' over and over."

Jeremiah grumbled as he reached for his bottle, pouring himself another drink. "Just give it a try, lad. Your young with so much to look forward to, and spending an eternity sharing a drink with your grandad is no fun at all. Hell, if I recall, you have those three firecrackers waiting for you, so don't let them down."

Michael blushed as he combed his fingers through his matted hair, his mind still trying to process. The young man's mind suddenly derailed when a knock erupted from the front door.

Three hard knocks, to be precise.

Slowly, Michael got up to answer it, and after taking three steps, his grandfather quickly interjected. His grandson's hand was already on the knob but hesitated to turn. The old man didn't look back, his weary eyes never leaving his drink, the very texture growing bitter.

"I wouldn't open that door, son," his grandfather warned him, the joy in his tone disappearing. "You don't want to let whatever's out there inside. Trust me when I say it's best to ignore her and get out while you can. That bitch in the black cloak won't leave until she gets what she wants."

A/N: Hey, everyone. This is Kman134, and I'm here to tell you I'm not dead. I'm very alive and have already started working on the final chapter of Intruders: Volume 1 (not counting the epilogue). As a validation of proof, here's a preview of what I got so far. So, to keep it short, I had to take some time off to work on the new semester for my master's, I also had writer's block trying to figure out how to set everything up, and now I'm trying to will myself to keep going out of mental fatigue. All and all, the results seem to be doing alright for themselves. Anyways, what do you guys think? If you have any suggestions, please do not hesitate to ask. Also, if you know any beta-readers who are still active, please send them my way. I really need some editorial help.