Let Me In Chapter 4: A Glimpse Of Hell
Let Me In Chapter 4: A Glimpse Of Hell
Can you ask the question when necessary? Would you show you're worthy of an answer?
Let Me In
Chapter 4: Confronting The Dragon
Feeling resigned to his fate of reliving adolescence John slumped into his faded old beach chair he kept on his front patio. It didn’t occur to him how odd it was the chair was there, right behind where he had been standing, despite him having thrown it out the previous summer.
There had been no desire to get rid of the chair. It was comfortable, light, and cheap. The trifecta as far as he was concerned. Sure, sometimes it was difficult to fold up or open due to the joints being caked with rust, dirt, sand and anything else that made its way inside and on the hollow metal frame over the years. And, sure, it was faded and ugly and the seams were coming undone. But it still worked.
It worked until it didn’t. He had thrown it out in a fit of anger and embarrassment after falling through it sitting back down during a softball game. Umpires were the bane of his existence. If they weren’t so blind and could make a good call every now and then, maybe ole faithful would still be around. But that was asking too much and when there was an obvious bad call, and one that went against the team he wanted to win, he had to stand up and say something.
He needed to say it loud and in a way that would make it obvious how much he detested umpires that were legally blind. If not for that one ump, perhaps he would not have embarrassed himself by falling through the chair. Perhaps he wouldn’t have stood up and sat down with enough force to rip those seams one more time and for good.
It wasn’t his fault the chair let him down, it was the umpire’s. He still had to throw the chair out, it mattered little whose fault it was. He was still filled with rage an hour later when the game was over and he was able to get to a can large enough to dump it in. He couldn’t do it during the game or he may have missed a chance to yell about another bad call. Why go to a game if you’re going to miss the important parts?
“Lost in thought?” Peter inquired, interrupting John’s inner dialogue and snapping him out of his daze.
“Just read the damned thing,” John snapped back at him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He was getting impatient. Part of him had expected Peter to be in the middle of reading whatever annoying, painful part of his life was in the book that was important enough to come next. It was chronological, presumably, and it obviously didn’t cover ordinary or neutral parts of his life. The first event it covered happened at seven after all. That skipped over the first seven years of his life already.
John slipped back into thought again, absentmindedly using his fingers to check his math though he never looked down at them. He knew what each number felt like when he represented them on his hand, so why look? He chuckled to himself at that thought. There had to be a joke in there somewhere. Something about being proud of being more proficient at finger counting than small children.
“John.”
“Dude, just read the book. Who cares if I’m paying attention or not? What difference does it make?” John was incensed. He wanted nothing to do with any of this, he just wanted to go home.
Peter gently closed the book, taking great care to make sure the ribbon was free of any creases or wrinkles as he did.
“John, I apologize. I was too hasty in getting back to this book and too verbose in my explanation earlier. You have questions, John, and I can see they’re weighing you down. Your attention is of the utmost importance during this, you see, and we cannot move on until you’re prepared to give it.”
That was unexpected and John felt a twinge of guilt for lashing out at the man in front of his door.
“I’m sorry Pete,” he heard himself tell the man, though he couldn’t understand why those words had come out. Was he sorry? Why did he care to apologize? He couldn’t think of a good reason to worry about how Peter felt, considering he was the reason he couldn’t get to his house and to his family.
John thought for a second then responded, “I’m just confused and I am worried. I don’t know why I apologized to you just now. I don’t know why I’m here. You’ve spoken plenty but I haven’t exactly been able to pay attention or take in much of it, if any. I want to go home and I want to see my family.
“I want you to go away and I want to hurt you all at the same time. You’re in my way, you’re keeping me from my life.”
Peter stood their listening, unflinching and demeanor unchanged. This disturbed John more than he let on, but he continued, “But it seems as though I don’t have much choice, do I? And, considering you don’t appear to be in any hurry to interject or continue on with the book, I have to ask these questions first, don’t I?”
John paused after his last question. He wanted to wait and see if Peter would give anything away. He wasn’t unfamiliar with debate and negotiation. Long pauses were a great tool to make the opposing party uncomfortable.
Make them sweat and make them eager to break the silence, then you’ve got them where you want them.
But Peter just stood there like before. Unmoved, unchanged, no sign of a desire to break the silence.
“You’re no slouch, huh?” John said, a grin began to form from the grimace he had been wearing. “Does this,” he began asking, searching for the words he could use to properly ask whatever question was forming in his mind. “No, that’s not it. Since I am at the Pearly Gates, as implied, does this mean everything in the Bible is as described?”
Peter’s expression changed. It was subtle, to be fair, but it changed. That gave John hope he had a chance to talk his way into the house.
“I must admit, John, I didn’t expect that question,” Peter began. “But the answer is simple. It is both yes and no. The Pearly Gates, as they are known today, are but manifestations of the imagination of man. When they were spoken of, it was meant as a representation of opening a pathway to heaven. Or, perhaps better put, a path to get to heaven, to enter heaven.”
John leaned back and puzzled over the explanation, his hands drawn to his beard by habit when in deep thought.
“That would explain why I only see one ‘gate’ and it’s not made of any pearls, I guess,” John said quietly, thinking through what he had just been told. “Why would they have been described that way? What’s the point of these stories and descriptions if they’re just going to cause confusion?”
Peter looked amused, as if recalling a fond memory. “John asking about the intent of John,” he said, clearly happy with the situation. “That has a simple explanation as well. John, and not you, John, but John the Elder lived during a time story and imagery were held as the highest form of knowledge and explanation. That’s continued to be true, that it is the most efficient way to pass along information and it’s almost impervious to the passage of time, in a way.
“What he saw was beyond his ability to explain. The beauty beyond all recognition. It was his rendering of the Pearly Gates, naturally, like this one is yours. You see only one, he saw twelve. You have one entrance to heaven, he did as well, but he was tasked with showing the way to others. He was tasked with showing there is more than one path to the ultimate and the blessed.
“Given his task, that is what he saw. Undertaking a task, once given or arrived upon, provides limitless meaning and purpose to ones life. That meaning and that purpose, more than anything else, is what one will see here. Gates may appear as doors. Doors as windows. Windows as the eyes of a beloved or cherished one. It may even appear as that loved one, hand outstretched beckoning for them to take it. Those are beautiful, watching them walk hand in hand to their heaven.”
“Their heaven? What does that mean, their heaven?”
“Heaven is… complicated. Humankind is complicated as a rule, so heaven must be,” he trailed off as he spoke, eyebrows slowly sloping inward. He sat for a few seconds in thought. Soon his brow returned to its neutral, relaxed state and he continued, “This is not an easy concept to present, you see. I am not often perplexed yet this question has that effect.
“It is not a new question nor is it rare, but the answer is different each time I give it. I do not know if that means it changes based on who I am speaking to, the situation, the time, or the level of understanding I believe one has. I also do not know if I am completely sure the answers are correct, though I am tempted to say they are. My words, though largely my own, aren’t always my own.
“I am a tool, you see-”
“Ha! It is apparent you’re a tool.” guffawed John. This levity was welcome and embraced.
With the previous tension cut, Peter went on, “Ah, yes, quite the tool. See, John? This is one of your better qualities. I do not mean using turns of phrase to insult another, but your proclivity towards laughter and fun. That can be powerful and should be used as a tool, like myself, towards the betterment of yourself and those in your care.
“But heaven, as it is, can be both communal and individual. It is a grouping of souls as much as the isolation of them. It is created by the Father as much as it is created by each one of us ourselves. Though He created it first, it is up to all of us to make it manifest in our lives and our deaths.
“With it being our own creations, with Him laying the blueprint, it is also up to us to decorate and make beautiful His gift. That is why I say heavens, that is why it is up to you, in the end, to realize your heaven and the heaven we all share. We are not as separate as you think, as others ‘know’, as many still believe. As you sin and as you hurt your fellow man, heaven deteriorates and gives way to hell, your hell. It becomes the hell you’re in now.”
With that, Peter opened the book back to the page he had marked with the creaseless, wrinkle-free ribbon. John stood there, eyes wide and unable to move or speak.
It was time to relive John’s first brush with his own demons, willingly or not.
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