My Idea of Heaven

Something like consciousness crept slowly back into Simon Parker’s mind. He lay very still, taking stock. The crash must have thrown him from the bike. His first worry was that he might be lying in the road at the mercy of any following traffic. He knew that he should get up as quickly as he could, to make sure he was safely out of the way, but something stopped him.

He was afraid. He couldn’t remember much about the impact but he must have been travelling fast when it happened. He might have broken an arm or leg, or even worse, his neck. He had heard of people losing limbs in bad crashes. As long as he didn’t move he wouldn’t know.

He forced himself to move his arm, lifting it towards his face. Through his tinted visor he could see his hand. He slowly turned his head from side to side. No pain. He moved his other hand into view, clenching and unclenching his fists as he did so. All good, so far. He was lying on his back so he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down. He was relieved to see both his legs. All present and correct.

He sat up and gingerly removed his helmet. The light was brighter than he was expecting and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glare. He was surprised to discover that he wasn’t on the road, but he wasn’t on the grass verge either. He was sitting on the floor of a white room. At least he assumed it was a room although he couldn’t see any walls. The whiteness seemed to go on forever. Perhaps he was in hospital. But then why was he still wearing his motorcycle leathers and helmet? And why had he been lying on the floor?

As he pulled off his gloves trying to clear his head something in the corner of his vision made him turn. Next to him in the whiteness was an old man sitting on a three legged stool.

Simon gave the old man a puzzled look. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello Simon,” said the old man smiling. He was wearing a white robe and watched Simon with bright, inquisitive eyes. “I have been awaiting your arrival with some interest.”

“My arrival?” said Simon, frowning “Where am I?”

The old man spread his arms. “Where do you think?” he said.

Simon closed his eyes and shook his head. The last thing he needed now was a quiz. He was either dreaming the whole thing or he had indeed been in a crash and was now lying in a coma in hospital. This experience must be his mind’s way of coping with the trauma. When he opened his eyes the old man was still watching him.  

“Not a dream,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” said Simon.

“Your mind created the crash to cushion the impact of your arrival here.”

Simon looked down. He was no longer wearing his motorcycle gear. He was now dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

“Now your mind has settled a little, it no longer needs the support of the story.”

“Stop talking,” said Simon. “I need to think.”

The details of the crash were fading from his memory. He couldn’t remember what he had been doing before his arrival. It was as if he had just woken up with a hangover and no memory of the night before. He sat down next to the old man. He was sure there was only one stool.

“It will take some time,” he said. “You have taken quite a risk in coming here.”

“I can’t remember anything,” said Simon. “There’s just a blank.”

He was starting to panic a little. This had all the hallmarks of an anxiety dream. Any minute now he would find himself standing in front of a room of students with no trousers on. Except it felt so real.

The old man sat patiently and watched him. Simon looked around. Was this supposed to be heaven?  He smiled. A classic anxiety dream for an atheist.

—–

A dozen or so doctors and theatre technicians busied themselves quietly around the room as Simon lay in a hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment. His vital signs, or lack of them, were being closely monitored.

“How’s he doing?” asked Dr Morris as he watched the flat line of Simons heart monitor.

“He’s doing fine,” said Dr Anders. “Relatively speaking.”

“How’s his brain activity?”

“Zero,” said Anders. “As far as any medical criteria are concerned, he has been dead for just over five minutes.”

“You’re still confident you can bring him back?”

“Absolutely,” said Dr Anders. “The previous experiments we have done prove that this level of bodily function can be maintained for at least twenty minutes.”

Wisps of icy fog drifted upwards from the cooling pads that surrounded Simon’s body as the two doctors watched the activity in the room. The body temperature and sedative levels had to be maintained perfectly to prevent his condition changing.

“I still think it’s wrong to risk a man’s life,” said Dr Morris. “To prove something we all believe is true anyway.”

“I know, David. But surely that’s the point,” said Dr Anders, returning to the old argument. “If we succeed we will have evidence at last. Concrete proof of the existence of heaven.”

“But by seeking proof we are doubting God’s word,” said Dr Morris.

Dr Morris had been opposed to the project from the start. The Christian Science Institute had worked for many years to promote a scientific approach to questions of religion, including investigating claims of contact with the dead and out of body experiences. Despite extensive trials and experiments, results were still mostly anecdotal and elusive. Many people reported similar experiences when near death but their descriptions were hampered both by the trauma they were suffering at the time and the briefness of the experience.

Dr Anders had been working with survivors of extreme weather events, particularly extreme cold. There were rare examples of individuals who had survived hours or even days in very low temperatures and despite being found with no life signs at all they had completely recovered once revived. He began to wonder if this might be a path to a closer examination of the near death experience.

If an individual could reach the state of apparent death under controlled circumstances and remain in that state for some time, it might be possible for them to record the near death experience in much greater detail.

Dr Morris had argued that any attempt to prove God’s existence was doomed to failure. That to examine heaven scientifically was an insult to faith. The inclusion of Simon Parker in the project was a particularly difficult thing for Dr Morris to accept. Parker’s public atheism and his many derogatory articles and books on the subject made him an enemy of religion and this only hardened his opposition to the experiment.

—–

The dream-like state of Simon’s mind was beginning to fade and he was starting to think more clearly about his situation. He tried to remember the last thing that had happened before he woke on the floor. He remembered the morning, leaving the house. No going to work though. Going to a hospital.

Of course. The Christian Science Institute.

He remembered the email he had received from Dr Anders months before. He knew and disapproved of Dr Anders and had written several scathing articles about his near death research, so when he had seen the email he had opened it with some interest.

Dear Dr Parker,

I’m sure I am the last person you would expect to hear from. I have read with interest your articles regarding my research and it is with reference to them that I have decided to contact you.

You have stated on a number of occasions your opinion on the role that subject expectations and confirmation bias may play in the matter of near death experiences.

I accept that this is one of the potential limitations of my research and I turn to you as a potential instrument in creating a better experiment.

I would be honoured if you would agree to meet to discuss this subject further.

Yours sincerely,

Dr Ludvig Anders.

Simon felt a little ashamed at the vociferous nature of his articles after reading the overly polite letter from Dr Anders. He had become increasingly annoyed at the Christian Science Institutes efforts to give what he saw as a veneer of scientific respectability to their research. Dr Anders attempts to link near death experiences to proof of the existence of heaven were typical of the kind of pseudoscientific nonsense he worked to expose. But Dr Anders letter intrigued him and so he had  agreed to meet.

Simon was reluctant to go to Dr Anders’ office at the Christian Science Institute so they had agreed to meet at Simon’s house. On arrival the doctor was a picture of politeness and gratitude, which made Simon feel even worse about some of the things he had said in his articles. He made them both tea and they sat in Simon’s lounge.

They exchanged pleasantries for a while until Simon broached the subject that had brought them together.

“I was intrigued by your letter,” he said.

“That was my intention,” said Dr Anders. “I’m sorry if it was a little vague. I did not wish to reveal too much without speaking to you. It is so easy to misinterpret the written word, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” said Simon. He wondered if this was a subtle reference to his articles.

Dr Anders had then outlined the audacious experiment he was planning. It seemed implausible, but the science that underpinned the idea was sound. Simon had been intrigued and he was determined to keep an open mind, but it was when his own involvement in the experiment arose that he became extremely interested.

“Why me?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said the doctor. “No matter how well the experiment is designed it will always be open to criticism from people like you. If I or one of my associates were to be the subject, you could quite reasonably claim that we were either colluding or delusional. We have our differences but I believe you to be an honest man. What you report,  I will believe.”

Simon had spent several weeks examining Dr Ander’s research and discussing procedures with his team of medical experts. The most important thing for Simon was his own safety but Dr Anders had convinced him that the revival procedure was robust.

“We have performed more than two dozen experiments on lower animals and in every case the creatures have been entirely unharmed by the experience.”

In the end his curiosity had won. He was certain that he would experience nothing that would change his views but perhaps he could use the experiment as research for his next book.

—–

The old man let Simon find his way. Sitting quietly and watching him think.

“It’s the experiment,” Simon said at last. “The near death experiment.”

He looked around again. Of course. That’s why it all looked so familiar. His rational mind must be creating this scenario while he was unconscious. When he was a boy he had always imagined heaven to be an endless expanse of whiteness.

The old man smiled and nodded.

“That’s right.” He said, “near death. Or to be more precise in your case, actual death.”

“What do you mean?” asked Simon.

“As you will recall,” said the old man. “In order to fully examine the hypothesis that the near death experience is a glimpse of the afterlife, near death is not enough. It is necessary to take the next step, which is to experience death itself.”

Simon recalled Dr Anders using those exact words. He thought this must be an unconscious manifestation of his concerns about the experiment.

“As long as I can be revived the distinction is irrelevant,” said Simon.

“Yes,” said the old man. “So long as you can be revived.”

Simon frowned. The old man’s tone had become a little unfriendly. “The previous experiments that Dr Anders conducted showed that this state could be maintained for at least twenty minutes,” he said.

The old man’s smile was gone. The whiteness of his gowns were fading.

“Rats and mice are not sentient creatures, Mr Parker. They live, they die. There is nothing more for them. They do not come here. They do not take up my time. They do not question my existence.”

The old man stood. The air around them seemed to shimmer and it began to get perceptively darker. Simon began to get a little worried. He was not convinced by the reality of what he was experiencing but he wondered if his fate here might be linked to his condition in the real world.

—–

Dr Morris watched his colleagues as they watched Simon. He had argued long and hard against Dr Anders plan but the board had voted against him. Dr Anders had persuaded them of the publicity value of the experiment. Even if there were no conclusive results it would gain the institute a great deal of attention.

Dr Morris cared little for publicity or personal gain. He was working for a higher power. Once he realised that the project would proceed with or without his involvement he outwardly settled his differences with Dr Anders and waited for an opportunity to act.

It would be some time before his intervention would be noticed and by then it would be too late.

—–

“I didn’t come here to prove or disprove anything,” said Simon. “I agreed to be involved in the experiment in the spirit of scientific endeavour.”

“To prove or disprove the existence of the afterlife?” said the old man.

“Yes, to examine the evidence. Nothing more,” said Simon. “To see for myself.”

“Liar!” said the old man. “Your only interest was your own gain.”

Their surroundings were getting darker. The whiteness was breaking up into cloud like formations and a wind began to blow them across the sky.

“That’s not true,” said Simon.

“You only agreed to be part of the experiment in order that you could use it to promote your own work. You have no faith. Even now you don’t believe.”

“There is nothing to believe,” said Simon. “This is all a creation of my own mind. This is just what my mind thinks the afterlife would be.”

“You are right in one respect,” said the old man, calming a little.”We each create our own afterlife, Mr Parker. We each have an idea of what to expect. Of what we deserve.”

“So my idea of heaven is arguing with God over whether or not he exists?” asked Simon.

“Heaven, Mr Parker?”

There was a rumble distant thunder.

“Whatever gave you the impression you were in heaven?”

The old man seemed to grow in front of Simon. The clouds were moving faster as the wind increased.

“Did you really think that you could simply visit heaven? You. A faithless man. Heaven is a gift. A reward for a lifetime of piety and faith.”

Simon tried to remain calm. This was just his own insecurities being played out in his mind. Soon he would wake up back in the hospital room.

“Your arrogance is astounding. You thought you could talk to God?”

The old man ‘s robe was turning from white to red.

“No,” said Simon. “There is no God. There is no Devil. You are just electrical impulses in my brain.”

“Your brain is dead. Mr Parker. There are no electrical impulses. There is no activity at all.”

He was right. That was the point of the experiment. To eliminate all brain activity. Only then could the experience be properly verified.

“There must be something else,” said Simon. “Some small residual energy.”

“What use is your scepticism if you cannot accept the evidence of your own senses.”

—–

In the operating theatre of the Christian Science Institute the revival process was not going to plan.

“His body is returning to normal function,” one of the doctors was saying. “But the brain activity is not restarting.”

Dr Anders examined the readouts from the many computer screens in front of him.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said.

The heart restart had worked and the lungs were beginning to function again. This should have been the trigger for the return of brain function, but the monitor was still showing no activity at all. Only Dr Morris was aware of the tiny adjustment that he had made to the mix of chemicals and gases being fed to the inert body on the operating table.

—-

The old man continued to transform as the sky darkened above them.

When Simon was a child he had been asked to draw a picture from the Bible. While his friends had drawn pictures of Joseph and his coat of many colours or the fall of Jericho, his mischievous mind had taken him to Revelations and he had drawn a crude devil, surrounded by molten lava pits and naked half dismembered corpses. As he watched he saw his childhood drawing coming to life in front of him.

“This is what you imagined hell to be,” said the old man, now transformed into a hideous horned beast. “ A fiery eternity.”

“I did,” said Simon. “I was just a child. But even then I didn’t believe it.”

He closed his eyes.

“Indeed,” said the old man. “It’s not quite as simple as that.”

Simon opened his eyes. The vision had gone and the old man had returned to his former white robed self.

“What do you mean?” asked Simon.

“Hell,” said the old man. “It’s not that simple. If you can bring your consciousness here, then why should your suffering be confined to the afterlife?”

—–

The operating room had moved into emergency resuscitation mode. Simon’s brain was still inactive and without it’s signals his heart was starting to fail. His lungs were being artificially inflated but the oxygen in his bloodstream was not having any effect on Simon’s brain activity. In his current state he was effectively brain dead.

“How much longer can we go on stimulating him?” asked Dr Morris. “By any normal standards he is dead.”

“We owe it to him to keep trying,” said Dr Anders.

“Perhaps we are being taught a lesson,” said Dr Morris. “There are questions that we shouldn’t ask.”

—–

Simon tried to keep his mind clear. Logically, there must have been a problem with the experiment. Some element of his consciousness was still active and was creating this vision. It would only take a tiny mistake in the setup or a misalignment of the chemicals fed to him to change the parameters.

The old man and the devil vision were all part of his mind’s attempt to rationalise what it was experiencing. Once he was revived he would have to check through the protocols to find out what had gone wrong. It was going to make a great chapter in his next book. If he woke up at all.

The old man shook his head.

“Time to go,” he said.

“Good,” said Simon.

That must mean that the resuscitation process must have started.

“Not really,” said the old man. “Endeavours like yours need to be discouraged.”

“Very few people will believe what I relate,” said Simon. “Even I don’t believe it.”

“Nevertheless.” Said the old man as he began to fade. “Your vanity cannot go unpunished.”

—–

The ECG screen stumbled into life and a small signal began to register. Dr Anders felt a surge of excitement.

“He’s back!” he said. “Quickly, increase the oxygen flow.”

They stared intently at the screen but the signal remained unusually small.

Simon found himself staring at the ceiling of the operating theatre. Relieved that his ordeal was over he tried to blink but his view of the ceiling remained the same. He attempted to move his head but still nothing happened. With rising panic he tried to speak. He watched in horror as Dr Anders leant over him, shone a light into each of his eyes and shook his head.

Dr Anders turned to Dr Morris.

“It seems the oxygen flow was not enough of a stimulus,” he said. “ His brain is showing activity but it no longer seems connected to his senses.”

“A tragedy,” said Dr Morris. “But is he alive?”

“Yes,“ said Dr Anders. “If it can be called life. It is even possible that he is aware of his surroundings but he is unable to react to them.”

“So whatever he experienced will be locked in his head for the rest of his life.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Dr Anders. “He may have experienced something.”

He shone the light in Simon’s eyes again. Simon screamed inside his head.

“It’s something we will never know.”

THE END

Copyright © Paul Towson 2019

For Kate and Julie, who make it better.

www.paultowson.co.uk