KNOCKING ON HEAVEN’S DOOR

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                      KNOCKING ON HEAVEN’S DOOR

 

                                                                                   P.R. Thompson

 

 

For most of his adult life, Elliot believed what he saw to be true. Why would he doubt it? His eyes wouldn’t lie to him.

 

However, over the past few years, he has suspected that his eyes often betray him, leading him to wrong conclusions. That which he thought he had witnessed, others did not see.

 

Now, in his middle sixties, he realized that others might have been correct and reality, like a mirage, is elusive. What is true depends on what his mind chooses to see.

 

                                                                                           ***

 

Elliot was assailed by a whirlwind of emotions. He slammed the brakes, opened the car door, and started walking. “I must be near Route 55,” he said. “Did I fall asleep at the wheel?”

 

The last thing Elliot remembered was driving south toward Cape May. Why? “Who goes to Cape May in autumn?” He thought.

 

“Where was I heading to?”

 

Elliot was driving on a back road, around noon, enjoying the harmonious mix of red and yellow leaves lining both sides of the road. He found the reflection of the sunrays on the leaves inspiring. Then everything went dark. Now dusk started settling in.

 

“I’d better get going,” he said. The temperature dropped, and cold rain fell on him. The ground was turning soft and muddy. A sweet, earthy scent of wet grass and leaves filled the air.

As he walked, it did not occur to him to return to his car and wait.

 

“My cell!” he said quickly, reaching for his pockets. A bright light shone inside his jacket. The relief of finding his cellphone was brief. No service, no bars. Elliot felt like he was in one of his dreams. He was in a swimming competition, but the faster he moved his arms, the less he could move.

 

As he walked, he remained calm. “I am quite sure there’s a major road nearby,” he mumbled.

 

The branches near him moved faster. Elliot accelerated his pace. “Damn, it’s getting cold”, he said aloud.

 

“If I could just feel better. This business of getting old sucks,” he thought.

 

Elliot looked up and suddenly stopped. He realized that he heard no sounds. He thought it was strange, despite the trees’ movements and the puddles on the ground. The silence was unsettling.  He looked around, but the night had taken over.

                                                                                          ***

 

Elliot took a deep breath and continued walking. “There must be a road nearby.”

 

A few minutes later, he stumbled in a puddle. “Damn it!” he was about to say when he heard traffic.   Then he walked faster, almost running, as he was sure that he saw a stop sign ahead. He got closer.

 

Aided by faint moonlight, Elliot saw a fading stop sign. A smile appeared on his face. He had to decide which way to go. Naturally, being right-handed, Elliot turned right and redoubled his pace.

 

Like in previous moments of stress, he had a deep impulse to run. Yet his body never followed the impulse. Instead, he would be overpowered by a nagging void that, like an echo, bounced off his heart.

 

The road ahead became narrower as he walked. It turned rapidly, with each of Elliot’s steps, from pavement to dirt. The trees on both sides of the road appeared enormous.

 

Elliot could not stop checking behind his back. He felt that something, or someone, walked behind him. The silence around him, again, worried him. His sense of urgency increased. The moon disappeared again.

 

The rain intensified, making it difficult to see the road ahead. Suddenly, by the corner of his eye, Elliot saw a not-too-distant light. He looked again, wiping the rain off his face.  “Hallelujah,” he said. There was a light, and three or four hundred yards ahead, he saw a house nestled in the woods.

                                                                                          ***

 

As he rapidly approached the house, Elliot noticed that it was a large Tudor-style house, unusual for that part of New Jersey. Once near it, the house remotely resembled his house. Instead, this house was majestic. Its large columns, very high ceilings, oversized windows, and large porch reminded him of the plantation houses that he had seen in the Bayou.  

 

The enormous front door, with intricate Mediterranean-style baroque designs and heavy, large knobs, caught his eye. This door seemed overpowering.

 

“I wonder who lives around here,” he said. “This is the middle of nowhere.”  

 

The light from inside the house helped Elliot see that he now stood beneath an imposing, antique-looking, ornate chandelier. Yet the porch was dark. The freezing rain made him shiver; his fingers hurt. His toes were numb.  

 

 

The door seemed even larger at close range. In its entirety, the house exuded wealth; the type handed down for generations. A place where all desires would easily be fulfilled.

 

Elliot knocked twice, but his knuckles barely endured the strength of the door’s thick and enduring make. He waited anxiously. He needed shelter from the cold, a hot meal, and a cell phone. Above all, he was desperate to know where the hell he was.

 

While standing in front of that door, Elliot was already grateful to the people living there. “They probably did not hear me,” he thought.

 

The interior of the house was well illuminated. Behind the massive windows, it all looked like an oasis of light.

 

Elliot was about to knock again when, out of curiosity, he looked inside the house. Next to an oversized chimney, seated by the fire, he saw the silhouette of a woman and a man.  He blinked to adjust his sight. “Isabella!’ he almost screamed at the sight of his wife.

 

Elliot did not know if to be surprised or terrified. A man sat across from his wife, who appeared to be having an intimate conversation with him. There was something eerily familiar about the man. Even though he did not see the man’s face, he felt as if he had met him before.

 

Elliot was certain that it was not his house. He also had the same certitude that the woman near the fireplace was his wife.  He recognized the unmistakable features of Isabella: her usual carefree demeanor, her peculiar way of twirling her hair.

 

“What is she doing here?” he thought. “Who’s that man near her?”

 

Abruptly, to Elliot’s surprise, Isabella looked toward where he stood and screamed. “An intruder!”

 

“Why did she scream when she saw me?” he thought.

 

Elliot felt like screaming as well, but his lips seemed sealed. The elements kept pressing him. He was desperate to leave the porch and get into that house.

 

 “I need to know what the hell is going on?”

 

He knocked again, twice harder. His hand hurt. “This can’t be happening to me.”

 

                                                                                           ***

 

The man who sat across from Isabella rushed to the door. It was very dark, but the man saw the silhouette moving on the porch.

 

Elliot raised his arm to knock again. His heart was racing. This time, the man inside the house got scared. “Who’s there?” the man said.

 

The man thought of lighting the porch’s chandelier, but his nerves were rattled. He knew that someone, or something, was outside.

Elliot tried to answer the man and ask him to let him in. “Ugh, ugh” was all that came out of his lips. Outside of that house, words did not seem to travel.

 

The man inside the house did not hear any noise coming from the porch.

 

The man, angry, with an authoritarian voice commanded, “Who’s there? I will not ask again.” The man did not hear Elliot’s voice.

 

Elliot was still shocked by the sight of his wife in the house. He tried to answer again. But like in one of his recurrent dreams, he was paralyzed.

 

The man, panicked by the silence on the porch, cocked his shotgun.  He did not wait for Elliot to answer. The man fired his shotgun twice.  

 

Elliot fell heavily on the ground, mortally wounded. “Isabella!” he was finally able to say. No one heard.

 

Elliot did not hear the gunshot. But he knew that he was dying. The warm blood that dripped from his chest rapidly covered him. Entirely covered in red, Elliot became one with the shadows.

The man cocked his weapon again and carefully opened the big door. He could not believe his eyes.  

 

“Isabella!” he yelled, looking around. “There’s no one here!”

 

Isabella, still hysterical over the whole event, exclaimed, “Damn, Elliot, I’m telling you, I saw an intruder!”

 

 

 

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