Chapter 58

  Isaac Milton

  …and Isaac is really smart too but in a different way! I know he doesn’t believe in the Museum (or he wouldn’t if I told him!) but I think he is probably the most likely to understand it. Even more than me!

  But the best thing about Isaac is how he’s always thinking outside of himself. He believes so hard in God and Heaven that he’s not really afraid of anything. It’s hard to tell because he’s silly and makes dumb jokes all the time, but he really cares a lot about everybody.

  - excerpt from Kate’s journal

  Isaac thought. And in thinking he became aware of doing so. Gradually, in a place of stillness and silence and darkness, Isaac Milton realized that he still existed. Although he had died.

  Died. Yes, he remembered. Dead. He was dead, he had died. It had hurt a lot. His neck…he put a hand to his neck. He felt the cool touch of his fingers.

  He jerked violently into wakefulness, coughing and gasping for breath. He could breathe. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t make sense of what he saw. He closed them again and took a deep breath. He understood that he was lying on his back on some hard surface. Not main street, and not in Pikeston. Of course not. He had died. Which could mean only one thing:

  He was going to see God.

  After all this time. He never thought it would be so soon. Memories of his life rushed through him. A life that seemed long and full to him, but which could have been so much longer. There could have been so much more. He would never get to see Kate. He would never get to see what amazing things Jim did when he grew up. He would never write novels, or go to space. They would never play his song.

  But none of that mattered. He had died, it was over, and it was just beginning. He was going to see God. It was time to give an account of his existence, and just as Dwayne had warned him, it had come suddenly, like a thief in the night.

  His heart ached, his jaw clenched, and tears formed in his closed eyes. His hands trembled. Hadn’t he waited for this? Sometimes, wished for it? Wasn’t this what he wanted—the beatific vision? Yes. It was all just so sudden. So unexpected.

  He lay in stillness for several minutes, dwelling on his life, on the things he had done or had not done. So much could have been different. So much should have been different. All those times when he had been an idiot, weren’t those the exact times when he had forgotten that this, this very moment, would someday come to pass? When he had forgotten that he would someday come face-to-face with the One to whom he would be held accountable for all of his actions?

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  With tears on his cheeks, Isaac at last opened his eyes. It took him a moment to work out what he was looking at. A domed ceiling, far above, set with dimly illuminated stained-glass windows. The smell of books and age. His hands felt cold stone beneath him. The air was cool and dry.

  Isaac sat up. He looked around. A cathedral. A very large, beautiful, ancient cathedral. He sat at the front, near the altar, looking to the back down a shadowy gallery of vast, ribbed pillars. No chairs or benches, just an empty expanse of grey stone, solid columns marching away into darkness. Dim illumination filtered down from the colored glass above. The atmosphere reeked of somber austerity. But the stained glass gleamed in counterpart, as though holding a wild and reckless glory barely in check.

  Isaac looked down at himself. He wore the same clothes as when he died: jeans, t-shirt, jacket (“Dead Man Walking”—hilarious), sneakers. But no blood marred his t-shirt. And his neck was unharmed. In fact, he felt great.

  He stood up. All dark; all quiet. This was not what he had expected. Well, what did he know about Heaven? Or wherever it was that one went after death. But why a cathedral? And why was it dark?

  He turned to face the front. The altar was ornate, as was the communion table, but the pipe organ captured his attention. Hundreds of pipes towered above him, set high up into the back wall and to his left and right, organized in soaring arcs, silver tubes gleaming in the dimness.

  He spotted the console in an alcove up to his left, wreathed in shadows. Could he…? Was he, maybe, supposed to…?

  “I’m not very good at the organ,” he said to himself. He jumped at the sudden sound. His voice echoed like a whisper throughout the great empty space. He put a hand to his face. Waiting to meet God, and that’s the first thing he says after he dies? Nice one, Isaac.

  But something about all of this felt increasingly wrong. It was too normal. He felt normal, like dying in Pikeston had all been a bad dream. This couldn’t be Heaven, could it? Was it maybe, like, Heaven’s Waiting Room? That didn’t seem right.

  He took one careful step, and then another. He approached the subtle stairway off to the left, the one that spiraled up to the organ console. He tried to walk quietly. He tried to breathe quietly.

  The stone stairs were steep, narrow, and dark. A cold iron handrail followed them up. He made it up the three dozen steps and found himself confronted with a Very Impressive Organ Console. It had All Of The Stops. More than he’d ever seen. The console sat at an angle so that one playing on it could glance aside to view the chancel.

  He eased his weight onto the bench. He slipped off his shoes and ran his feet over the pedals. He really was only a beginner at playing the organ. He pressed a pedal to check the resistance. A single low note boomed throughout the cathedral, strong and pure and intense. Isaac yelped and nearly fell backwards off of the bench. He didn’t think it was on! There had been no indication of it being on!

  The low note reverberated for several seconds in the vast space.

  Okay, what was going on here? Was this some kind of test? “Listen,” he said to the six-manual organ, “I came here to see Him. That’s the deal, right? I die, I see Him. What’s going on? Am I not dead?” The last phrase was nearly shouted, and it echoed throughout the empty cathedral.

  Isaac shrunk down in trepidation. He felt as though disturbing the silence here was somehow very wrong. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  “Isaac!” shouted a voice from below. A young female voice.

  Isaac peeked over the edge of the railing. A person stood down below, looking up at him. A girl in a colorful dress. And a lab coat, covered in paint. She waved at him, smiling. “P-p-play it, Isaac!”

  Isaac instead continued to look at this newcomer. Who…? Oh, wait. Wait. He hesitantly waved back. He swallowed. Then he spoke:

  “…Kate?”

  Rough Draft. You are about 12% of the way through. The next book is linked .