If God was real.

Note: Sexual violence, mental health, physical violence, abuse, suicide and self harm.

(Also: english is not my native language so have that in mind.)

“Do you feel nervous?” 

“You’re the one that should feel more nervous than me though.” 

She laughed at that. “Maybe,” she said. 

He felt along her middle. Felt the thing inside kicking. He couldn’t help but smile. And he saw her smiling back at him. He was going to be a father. That thought still made his stomach roll. Whether from nerves or excitement, or both, he didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. Among all the things that could happen in a lifetime, the gift of life was among the greatest. 

Leah’s phone, resting on the transparent glass table in front of them, vibrated. “We should buy a new table,” she said absently, picking it up. 

Standing, Jacob stretched and went to the kitchen for some water. “Hello, this is Leah…” he heard from behind. He grabbed two glasses from a shelf and filled them. 

Reentering the living room, his heart missed a beat. Leah’s face was haggard and pale as ice. He put the glasses down on the table and took her hands. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, not quite seeing. 

“It’s…”

He wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s dad… he’s… gone.” she whispered.

Jacob closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m here,” he tried.

“Why…? Why am I not crying?”

He rested his hands on the back of her head and allowed it to fall on his shoulder. Her trembling arms came around his back. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s alright.”

He held her head, feeling her shaking lip as the flow of her ragged breathing made its way down his back. She was sniffling now.

* * *

The gravel underfoot crunched as Jacob shifted on his feet. He rested a supporting hand on Leah’s shoulder as people walked by. Many people, all saying they were sorry for her loss. It must have felt heavy. Every person, irritating a wound that, slowly, had started to heal. 

He was wearing a black suit, as did many others. Black. The color of mourning. Some held flowers in their hands, a splash of color in the otherwise dark sea of death. They were all standing in groups, talking. He heard some tidbits here and there. One group, reminiscing about some story of an old vacation, made his eyes burn for some reason. That might have been the strangest thing. His eyes watering when he thought he was nowhere close. 

He took a shaky breath and leaned down to Leah. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. She patted his hand and looked up with a tight smile. It broke his heart. “I won’t be long,” he added

The big doors loomed over him as he went inside the church. The high ceiling, stretching so far that he grew nauseous looking up too long, made him question everything again. He had never really believed in anything. Never believed in a God, or in an afterlife. When he considered it, the only reason was that he didn’t have any proof. Would he believe it if he had proof? Maybe. A part of him thought it odd how he handled grief. Everything ends eventually, everyone dies. You could cry, sure, but too much and it takes over your life. But that wasn’t what wrestled with him the most. He had seen, and heard of, people drowning in grief, doing anything to make it go away. Some turned to drugs, some to alcohol. And some… became religious in an attempt to numb the pain. Telling themselves that everything was going to be alright, even though it wasn’t. He had noticed it in Leah of late. Talking of signs of her father from beyond the grave. Seeing the signs wherever she went. She would need to face it eventually, whether she wanted to or not.

He stopped. He had only wanted to find the toilet, but getting caught up in his own mind he must have wandered. Looking around he only saw a corridor. Strange. It hadn’t seemed like a corridor would fit in the church. At least not when looking at it from the outside. Maybe he was underground in some basement. The wall was cold to his touch and the air made him think of a cold and rainy night. It was for the best if he went back the way he had come. 

But then he saw a door. Or rather a thin sliver of light leaking out from a door. Someone must have left it ajar by accident. Quickly he moved over to it. Unauthorized not allowed. Huh… He looked from side to side, no one else was there. He pushed it open.

Inside was a study. The walls were lined with bookshelves, with a wooden table in the middle and a lamp that gave off a warm yellow light. As he entered though, he saw openings in the bookshelves and realized the bookshelves were just that. Bookshelves. They didn't rest against any wall. Behind them were another set of bookshelves, and another, and another. They stretched as far as the eye could see before finally being swallowed by the darkness, still without a wall in sight.

Moving to the table, he picked up a folder that someone must have left. It seemed to be a list cataloging the bookshelves. Columns upon columns and rows upon rows. 2020-2025, northern Europe, 156 thus far. In another column: 2015-2020, Canada, 98. He skimmed it, each column containing a span of five years and each row a part of the world, making a table with the squares containing a number. Turning the pages… it went far back in time. 1465-1470 southern Europe, 19.

Putting the folder down he moved on to the books themselves. Picking one at random, it said “2017 eastern U.S.A, nr 28, Stanley L. Chambers”. He read. And as he read, his mouth grew dry. Sweat trickled down his back and blood drained from his face. This was written by a priest. It was an account. An account of a meeting. A meeting… with God. He put it back and took another book. Another meeting. All of them were. Why would the church keep it a secret? He was shaking as he left the room. God was real, the afterlife was real.

When he got back to the doors, people had already started moving inside. “Where did you go?” Leah asked as she walked over toward him.

“Just got lost.” Why did his voice sound slightly empty?

She hugged him. “We’re in the front seat.”

Grabbing his hand she led him down the aisle. They sat down and waited. The ceremony seemed to drag. A priest reading some pieces of the Bible, explaining snippets of the dead’s life. All the while, people cried. Jacob heard sniffling, tissues wiped across faces and whimpering. Leah clutched his hand hard and he squeezed back supportively. But he himself… didn’t feel… anything. Why should he? The afterlife was real.

* * *

Life seemed to move normally for a time after the funeral. Jacob went back to work and everyday was filled with anticipation for their child. But something felt off. He couldn’t put a finger on it, it was just odd. Where he previously had felt sorrow he felt contempt, where he had felt anger he felt resignation. 

One evening, he had been out drinking with a few friends. Jacob didn’t drink much of course, there was no reason to. At the end of that evening, when walking together through the city, they saw something. Just between two stores. In that illuminated sliver of night two people wrestled on the ground. He could make out the shape of a woman struggling beneath a man. One of Jacob’s friends, Sam, rushed forward, throwing himself into the man. The man was flung to the side, hitting the wall. Another, Ed, grabbed the woman and got her to her feet, patting and comforting her. She was panting. 

“He’s got a gun!” she shrieked. 

A bang sounded.

Time seemed to slow. The man broke free from Sam’s clutches and hurried down the alley. Ed left the girl and Dan moved to Sam lying on the ground. Frantically, they tried covering the wound. Pressing against it as hard as they could.

“Stay with us!” Ed shouted.

Jacob moved to get a better look on Sam’s face. His eyes were beginning to lose focus.

“Call an ambulance. Jacob!” Right.

“I… don’t—” Sam coughed blood, “think… I’ll make it.”

Jacob chuckled slightly. Sam had always gone out of breath quickly. His friends frowned as tears streamed down their cheeks. He called an ambulance with a smile. Why would he cry? They’d reunite eventually. The afterlife was real.

* * *

Settling down on the wide green couch, he fingered the knife in his hand. A kitchen knife to be sure, but still a knife sharp enough. Strange. A few weeks back he hadn’t even considered something so radical. But now it seemed one of the only few actions. He had not completely overlooked the consequences. He knew it was considered a sin to take your own life, and to leave behind everyone that cared for you. But he had begun questioning whether or not hell was even real. Why would it be? With the afterlife being real and every human, effectively, immortal. Suffering was an illusion. It didn’t exist. And without that, there couldn’t exist any bad people either. Only people that gave you an express ticket to eternal happiness…

That was it. He would wait.

* * *

A month later it was time. Their kid had finally been born. Even that experience felt hollow to Jacob. It should have been a time for joy and for celebration, and yet. He felt nothing of the sort. Only acceptance for what was to come. This was the only way.

His steps echoed through the stairwell, as he climbed up to their apartment. Leah should already be home and their child, Lucas, might be asleep in his cot. A part of him realized this was a situation where nerves should show. Where the stomach should roll. He felt… nothing. 

Going inside he hung up his jacket and stepped out of his shoes. Leah was most likely resting on the couch in the living room, waiting for the inevitable waking of Lucas. That was all for the better.

He went to the kitchen. He grabbed a knife. In the living room, Leah was sitting on the couch, he had been right.

“Hi,” she said. Her eyes flickered to the knife in his hand and she frowned. “What’s that?”

“A knife,” he said.

“...Yeah…” She stood. Walking around the table she backed away toward the far wall. Her face, growing pale. “You’re scaring me,” she breathed.

That was to be expected of course. 

She tripped on the edge of the mat. Jacob darted forward, throwing himself down on top of her. She started to scream but he put a hand over her mouth. The floor shook as she kicked and her arms flailed. But he was stronger. Her eyes grew very wide.

“It’s alright,” he said comfortingly. “I’ll see you soon.”

Tears ran down the side of her face. He tried his best to make it painless while cutting her throat. Her body shook violently, panic in her wild eyes. Then the kicking stopped and then the flailing. Her eyes focused on something behind him. And then, silence.

He stood and stretched. He noticed Lucas crying from the other room. He must have heard Leah struggling. Jacob went towards that sound. There were no windows and the lamp was turned off so that Lucas could sleep in darkness. He turned on the light and walked to stand over the cot. Lucas had stopped crying, gazing at Jacob with wide eyes that reminded him of Leah. As the sheet colored red, he remarked that a child was easier to kill than an adult. He felt relieved, an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was finally over, this had been the only way. After all, the afterlife was real.

He settled down against the wall and, grinning, slit his own throat.