[ WP ] A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell , only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over

OUT THERE 
 
 Ben walked into the kitchen and saw his dad staring out the window, tears running down his face, not blinking, hands on the edge of the sink, shaking. 
 
 Ben thought about coughing or something, to let his old man know he was there. At the window, his dad gasped and shook his head a little. There was n't much light -- it was half past midnight, just some moonlight coming in through the window his dad was staring out -- but Ben could see a fresh wash of tears down his dad's face. 
 
 Ben decided against making any noise. He decided against the glass of milk he'd come down to get in the first place. He turned and left his dad there in the kitchen, at the window, staring out at the night. 
 
 # 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, his old man seemed okay enough. He looked at Ben as Ben split his attention between a bowl of cereal and his smartphone. He looked away at first, then looked back at Ben and did n't look away at all. 
 
 Ben clinked his spoon into the bowl. `` What?'' 
 
 His dad blinked. It reminded Ben of how he had n't blinked at all, for minutes, the other night. `` Where's your mom gone off to?'' A rough and scratchy voice, a raw sound no matter if he used it quietly or loudly. 
 
 `` Jesus, Dad.'' Ben stood up and took the bowl and spoon to the sink and rinsed them out. He looked out the window as he worked. Just the backyard, a plot of grass with a few shrubs and the utility shed. Looked just like it always did. 
 
 Ben finished with the dishes and shouldered his backpack full of schoolbooks and made for the door. His dad stood up and walked there ahead of him and stopped him by putting out a big heavy arm. `` Your mom never came to bed last night. She never came home.'' 
 
 Ben sighed. `` Yeah, Dad.'' He ducked around the arm and opened the door and then turned back to his father. `` You had one of your freakouts again last night. You were in here, at the window, just standing here and crying.'' 
 
 Tall, broad across the shoulders, but the stricken look on his face made him seem small. `` Did I say anything?'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 `` Did you say anything to me?'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 They stood there at the door for a moment. Then Ben walked out, and walked to school. 
 
 His father shut the door and walked back to the window by the sink. 
 
 # 
 
 Ben woke up needing to piss. He glanced at the phone on his nightstand. What the hell two o'clock, he thought. He swung his legs off and over the edge of his bed and made to stand up. 
 
 Someone else was in the room, at the window. 
 
 Ben almost pissed right then, right there. He felt every hair on his head, every hair on his body, stand right up. 
 
 His dad, at the window, looking out. Out at what, the street, the night? 
 
 Barely any light came in through the blinds. A little from the streetlights outside, a little moonlight. Enough though for Ben to see the tears rolling down his dad's cheeks. 
 
 Ben made to say something, but barely got a hiss of breath out. He looked at his father's hands, now clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. 
 
 Time passed, the discomfort of a full bladder turning into a burning agony. I need to stop drinking so much pop late at night, Ben thought. Then, God damn it, when is he going to leave? Just go back to bed, he thought. You crazy old man, just go back to bed. 
 
 Ben did n't make a sound. 
 
 His father did. `` I've got the high ground, now.'' The low, rough voice rougher from crying. `` They'll have to come up here to get at me, and I've got the whole hill rigged up.'' He reached out with one hand and picked up something that had been leaned up against the wall right by the window. As he hefted it some light from the window got on it and Ben saw it and thought, oh shit one of his rifles. 
 
 His father said, `` I've got this too. I'm ready.'' His hands, even the one holding the rifle, shook. His face gleamed in the light coming in the window, shiny with tears. 
 
 Then nearly two hours passed with no sounds but their breathing, Ben huddled on his bed against a wall as far away from the big black figure at the window. Finally, his dad just walked out of the room, carrying the rifle. Ben staggered out of his bed, his legs rippling with cramps, and got to the bathroom and pissed and cried and told himself the tears were just tears of relief to finally be pissing. 
 
 # 
 
 Ben came downstairs for breakfast and his dad was at the kitchen table and so was the rifle, in pieces but quickly being reassembled, his dad's hands swift and sure and click and clank the weapon coming back together. 
 
 Then, as Ben watched, the weapon came back apart, too. His dad assembled it, broke it down, assembled it, broke it down, assembled it. 
 
 Ben stayed in the doorway to the kitchen and just watched. 
 
 His dad looked up. `` I'm sorry.'' 
 
 Ben looked away and made for his backpack. He had been hungry when he came downstairs, he was n't hungry any more. `` For what?'' 
 
 His dad waved a hand at the kitchen table, the rifle. `` This. Me. How things are.'' 
 
 Then he put the magazine into the rifle. 
 
 Then he laid it back down on the table. 
 
 Ben almost said, what's wrong with you? He almost screamed it. 
 
 His eyes stinging and cloudy, instead, Ben walked out the door and walked to school. 
 
 # 
 
 He woke up sure he'd woken up because he'd heard a noise. 
 
 Ben looked around the room. No one else. Darkness and silence. 
 
 He sat in bed and waited and listened. Just the usual creaks and groans of the house settling. 
 
 He looked at the phone on his nightstand. Almost 3 in the morning. He could n't remember if he'd done his homework the night before. He could n't remember the last time he'd done homework at all, now he really thought of it. 
 
 He could n't remember school the day before. He remembered leaving the house and he remembered walking to school. He did n't remember any of the classes though. Or any conversations with friends. 
 
 He heard the noise again. Clattering up on the roof, above his room, above him. 
 
 It sounded like footsteps up there. It sounded like someone walking around up there. 
 
 Ben got up and got dressed and walked out into the hall and sure enough it was damn cold out there and sure enough the window down at the end was wide open. He went to the window and leaned out through it and felt around and got his hands on the shingles and hauled himself out and up and onto the roof. 
 
 Moonlight splashed down on the roof, on him, and on his father, other side of the roof, laying on the roof, the butt of the rifle tucked into his shoulder, aiming down into their own backyard, aimed at nothing Ben could see other than grass and shadows. 
 
 His dad's voice cut through the cold night air. `` Do n't tell me I should n't have. Every one of them I got, one less we have to deal with later.'' 
 
 Ben thought about taking out his phone and calling 911. He thought about asking his dad to please put the rifle down. He thought about crying. He already was crying. 
 
 His dad was crying, too, Ben could hear it in his voice. `` They all start fighting so young anyway. You know how they are. They look like how my kid is going to look though. It makes me crazy, thinking about that. I always wanted kids. At least one. A son.'' 
 
 Ben thought about asking, who? But went no further. 
 
 Across the roof, his dad talked with his face pressed to the rifle. `` I'm going to have a son someday, sir. Ben. He wo n't look like them. But he will, too. Ah, Jesus, sometimes they keep moving, after.'' And then the rough voice just cut into sobs. 
 
 Ben turned away and wiped at his face and then again, and he turned around back to look across the roof and he opened his mouth but all he did was breathe and cry. 
 
 He turned and crawled back in through the window and went back to bed and jammed his blankets up against his ears till he was sure he could n't hear the sobbing up there on the roof, but he still heard his own. 
 
 # 
 
 In the morning he came down to the kitchen and his old man was sprawled in one of the kitchen chairs, arms hanging loose, legs out and one foot twitching against the tiles. 
 
 The rifle was on the table, the magazine next to it, three cartridges set standing up on the table between them. 
 
 Oh my god, Ben thought, is he, but he could n't finish the thought. 
 
 His dad's voice was barely a groan. `` This is it, Ben. This has to be it. My heart is just smashing away in here. It ca n't keep going like this. We ca n't keep going like this.'' 
 
 Ben said, `` Dad?'' 
 
 `` Heaven or Hell. I do n't even care any more. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Ben. God I'm sorry.'' 
 
 The back door rattled as someone outside began to turn the handle out there. 
 
 Ben thought, I have no idea who would be out there. I ca n't remember the last time someone visited. 
 
 The door swung in, and his mother walked into the kitchen, tall and pretty but there was something wrong with one side of her face -- she made sure to keep that side turned away from Ben. 
 
 Ben thought, I ca n't remember the last time she was here. 
 
 His mom walked over to his dad and gently put a hand to his cheek. His eyes fluttered. He said, `` Beth? I'm crazy, Beth. I was up on the roof all last night, in the cold. I had the gun. They were all around me so I got up on the high ground and I think Ben knows I'm crazy.'' 
 
 Ben's mom just nodded. 
 
 His dad said, `` My heart. I'm having a heart attack, Beth. Baby, I'm so sorry. I was out there all night, they were coming across the yard, I was so scared. My heart was just hammering. Just hammering. I think it's giving out.'' 
 
 Ben's mom looked over at Ben. She said, `` You, too.'' She looked down at Ben's father and cupped his face in her hands. `` You, too.'' 
 
 She stepped away then and went to the door, and held it, and beckoned to Ben and his father. 
 
 She said, `` You two. You do n't have to stay here any more.'' 
 
 Ben said, `` What's out there?'' 
 
 His mother smiled. It was a small smile, but gentle, warm. 
 
 She said, `` No more of this.'' 
 
 Ben blinked and then he headed for the door, for his mom. He stopped by the kitchen table. He shook. He reached out and put his hand in his dad's. His old man coughed and stood, unsteady, but he stood. 
 
 The three of them walked out the door. 
 
 THE END 

