Before Heaven

Chapter 16

XV

Cold wind. Seagulls calling. Waves.

Waves were the first thing I heard when I started to wake up. My entire state of being was, for a few seconds, overwhelmed with hideous pain. I could remember waking up in some room with a foggy, empty mind, running around in an oblivious stupor for a few days in some ever-changing facility called Paradise, and then stumbling into one room I could only describe as mad. I couldn't describe the lurid sensations within that room in proper words. Violation of my eyes. That's the plainest I can say. Then those horrible, suited entities – things I could only remember as darting black splotches – descended on me, and everything went black.

I should have died. I consciously realized it there – I should had been dead. I couldn't remember anything that had happened before waking up that one time, and everything after that up to this moment was hazy and unclear. The only thing I knew for certain was that I should have been dead. But, for some reason, I was looking up at a mild blue sky, a few faint white clouds drifting past my gaze, the ground underneath me covered in coarse sand and a salty breeze blowing through the air. Everything was pleasant, bereft of anything to really perturb me. If I'd really wanted to, I could have gathered up a mound of sand under my head as a pillow and gone right back into a peaceful sleep. I fought with that urge for a few seconds, then sat up, the pain picking up for one second and then numbing. I wasn't wearing a shirt, I realized. Ragged grey shorts, but no shirt. There was a series of ugly scratches on my chest that had long scabbed over and a series of bandages around my left rib and my wrist, each very faintly stained with what I quickly deduced was my own blood. Likely from when those tuxedo-wearing nightmares had attacked me. I looked out, clutching my head in continued confusion.

I was on a beach. The waves were fairly close to me, loud enough so that their relaxing, rhythmic beat against the shore filled up my ears. The beach spread out and curved as far as I could see for both directions, the main land taken up by a dense gathering of verdant trees and plant-life. The sun was up, noisy seagulls rounded the skies, and the waves continued to beat against the shoreline. This was the world at its most undisturbed. Steadily pushing myself to my feet and still searching around my empty mind for any remaining memory of who I'd once been, I gazed out into the inland. There was a wind-beaten structure poking out of the sand and a battered sign splayed with dust and moisture reading "Paradise" not far from it. I could believe this was Paradise. At the very least, it was very scenic. I approached the sign, my legs wobbly at the first few steps, before something out on the edge of the trees further inland caught my eye.

Sitting on large rocks poking out of the sand were two other people. One of them was some stringy Japanese fellow, with lanky limbs, ruffled black hair with bits of twigs and leaves caught in it, and an exasperated expression. He seemed tired, his t-shirt imprinted with the faded picture of some mustachioed man with wavy black hair – probably some Cuban revolutionary – and a lighter sticking out between the grasp of his twiggy fingers. His companion was about as hefty as a golem, his frame plump and squat, skin dark brown and a scalp free of any hair. His eyes, currently focused on one of the many seagulls fluttering over the horizon – visible only as a white dot from our point-of-view – were disproportionately small as compared to the size of his head. He was dressed in a tank top, under which his blubbery pot belly poked out of, and jeans that looked a size too small. He seemed to be perspiring hard and he stank of sweat even from the distance I was at, and it took a few signals from me for him to realize I was conscious. I coughed and walked towards them, all at once elated that I wasn't the only one here and cautious of who they might have been. Instinct and maybe even some past experience I couldn't recall told me, however, that they weren't hostile.

"Hey," I called out to them. "I... Did you bring me here? I just woke up on the beach."

The Asian man exchanged a look of what seemed to be relief with his gargantuan compatriot. The other man seemed to gaze at where I'd been laying, a profound look in his tiny eyes, before he looked back at me and quietly nodded.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered out, his voice surprisingly frail. "D-Do you r-r-r-rem-member?"

I didn't know what exactly he was asking; if I remembered being dragged out by him and his companion, or if I just remembered anything at all. I knew my answer either way.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything," I said, quietly. "Thank you for saving me, though."

The large man quietly nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face, as the Asian man looked me over like I was the subject of study. The large man signaled to himself – "Arno," he said – then the Asian man - "K-Ken," speaking on behalf of Ken, who simply didn't seem to speak at all – then to me. "Jackson," he finalized. I assumed Jackson was my own name. I liked it.

"Jackson," I repeated. "That's my name? And you're Arno and Ken?"

Arno nodded again. I found I was quickly starting to trust them both, simply through a relay of information. Jackson. I was Jackson.

But who was Jackson?

I rubbed my head, chuckling a bit. "I'm sorry to keep digging in like this, but I'm afraid I can't really remember... anything else. What is this place, and why are we here?"

Arno and Ken exchanged another look with each other. I didn't know what it meant; there was just some sort of knowledge they had that they expressed there that I simply couldn't understand. Arno and Ken stood up and Arno gave me a meaningful glance.

"In t-t-time, J-Jackson," Arno said. "F-F-First, we l-le-leave."

I frowned. "Leave? How?"

That was the cue Arno and Ken needed to start walking away, apparently. They didn't respond. Both of them just turned and started walking down away from the trees, down the edge of the beach. I panicked a bit and followed, unsure of what else to do. I sure as hell wasn't staying here on my own. The walk continued for a few minutes. I appreciated each sound I heard from every corner of the world around me and relished the feel of each sensation on my skin. I found myself getting closer to the water to step into the damp sand (my feet, like my upper body, were bare) and, eventually, into the water itself. It was freezing, at first, but I became tolerant quickly. Arno and Ken didn't say anything or even acknowledge me beyond the occasional glance behind them to see if I was still following. I just assumed they knew what I didn't and followed like some obedient dog, expecting answers.

Thankfully, answers came. Something further down the shoreline became apparent after a while of walking, and I eventually made it out to be some colossal storage, walled in but open to the ocean. My interest was piqued, furthermore when we got closer and I saw that the door to the storage – apparently meant to be locked with a card scanner – was wide open. Bound to the pier within the storage, bobbing dormant on the water, were several motor boats. Arno took a deep breath in as we all entered the storage, the pier cold and damp under my feet but considerably more smooth than the sand. Whatever this all was, it was mighty convenient.

Arno mumbled something to Ken and Ken immediately became alert, fumbling through the pockets of his trousers and plucking out what I quickly discerned as a key. Ken looked at the nearest motor boat, then back at Arno. The two took a deep breath in and, suddenly, embraced each other. I suddenly realized something; for me, I was just waking up with no idea where I was or what I was doing, but for them, they'd just reached the end of some incredibly long, harsh struggle I couldn't fathom. I'd awakened at the end of their adventure. Arno looked back at me as Ken hopped into the motor boat he'd laid eyes on and started to up.

"H-Happy y-y-yo-you are aw-w-wake, J-Jackson," Arno said, his expression tender. "Ha-Happy w-we're free."

Free.

So, was I a prisoner? An escaping convict? Some innocent victim? Only time would tell, I suppose, but as the word left Arno's lips, I focused on being free. I don't know what I was being freed from. I don't know what I was free to do. I had no idea what I was coming from, and no idea where I was going. I was just trapped in some limbo between here and there – and who knew what the future held here. Even as we got into the boat – rocking a bit as Arno awkwardly stepped into his seat and the boat tipped a little under his weight – and we started cruising off out of the storage, away from the island, and to the great blue unknown, I focused on being free. The wind rushed against my face, the peaceful sound of the waves was replaced by the growling whir of the motor boat engine, and the island of Paradise was left behind us all. Nobody said anything. Not I, not Arno, not Ken, not anybody. I simply pondered about what could have been coming next.

My name was Jackson. I was alive. I was free.