Heaven's Gate

 

 

 

 

 

HEAVEN’S GATE

BY

ALAN HOSKINS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

The story I’m about to reveal is not one of fiction and not one of fact. Created from actual events, gathered together from what I know to be correct. The dialogue, well, I may have reconstructed for dramatic purposes. But I hope to stay true to the content of the conversations and the details assembling this bizarre tale. 

My journey of adventure and mystery begins one September day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

I had reached the point of no return. I could not go on living like this anymore. Existing on a concoction of pills and fake promises, waiting for my life to deteriorate into some kind of horrific nightmare. Death had become more attractive than life. I was a policeman, and a good one, fit, active, with a future, a career and now what? It had all gone.

The decision was easy, ruthless, selfish, maybe? But simple. I was going to end my life and nothing would change my mind.

We were both so nervous that day, Grace and I, waiting for Jack to arrive. The girls, my two daughters, weren’t around. They were at their Grandmothers. They couldn't be around to hear what I had in mind.

“Jack’s here!” I shout. 

Grace was in the kitchen preparing lunch. She walks into the lounge, looking worried.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“As good as I can be,” she replies, then kisses me on the cheek.

Grace, my wife, has been fantastic and the girls too. I’m not sure they initially understood the seriousness of my disease, I don’t think I did, but we all do now. I’ve been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease (MND). The strain I have is called ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, the most common form of MND. Characterised by weakness and wasting in the limbs. Life expectancy, two to five years. 

“Has he got a new car?” she asks, looking out of the lounge window.

I stand, my arms ache as I lift myself from the chair, my feet shoot bullets of pain through the tendons of my legs as they take the weight of my body.

“I think he has," I reply, feeling slightly jealous.

We both watch him get out of his shiny, new silver BMW. He sees us looking at him, smiles, then waves. He looks good. He's tall, handsome, successful and a good friend.

I live or used to live, in a little bit of England called Pennington Terrace in leafy Wimbledon, London. Jack and his family lived in the house next door to us. One too many affairs, by my friend, put an end to that. They got divorced, sold the house and moved away. That was a sad day. We loved having them living next door. Their kids were friends with ours, barbecues in the summer, all ruined, just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. However, we kept in touch, and I’m pleased we did. He's a surgeon, a good one. One of those that fly out to war zones, I don’t know how he does it, I couldn’t. Helping people is his life, and I want him to help me.

Grace makes her way to the door, opening it as he arrives. 

“Hi, Jack,” she says.

“Hi, Grace,” I hear him reply.

“I like the beard.”

“Thank you, where’s John?” 

“I'm in here!" I shout as he enters, “flash bastard, is that a new car?” 

He smiles, walks over to me, ruffles my hair, then kisses my forehead. 

“You’re only jealous!” he replies. 

“Too right, I am.” 

We laugh.

“Is the kettle on?” Jack asks, then turns to look at Grace, a wry smile appears across his face.

“I could live in that bloody kitchen,“ she chuckles. “I’ll put it on now,” she then makes her way into the kitchen.

“Thanks, Grace, so, how have you been? Are you okay?" Jack says, then takes a seat on the couch opposite me.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“John, do you want a drink?” Grace calls from the kitchen.

“Tea, please,” I answer.

“Tea or coffee, Jack?”

“Tea, for me,” he replies.

“Did you go out last night?” I ask.

“What?” 

“You look tired.”

“Thanks, you don’t look so good yourself.”

“Piss off! Well, were you?”

“I was out with Anna, we had a few drinks, and yeah, I’m feeling a bit rough.”

“Anna?” I enquire.

“I’ve mentioned her before, haven’t I?”

“Is she the nurse?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Getting serious then?”

“Not me,” Jack laughs.

Grace returns, carrying two mugs of tea, hands one to Jack and the other to me.

“Have you got it?” she asks, noticing my shaking hand holding the mug.

“Yeah,” I reply, unconvincingly.

Grace then joins us, sitting next to Jack on the couch. Immediately the room descends into an awkward silence. Jack looks at me, noticing my facial expression change. I feel a nervous explosion happen within me. He turns to Grace. 

”What’s going on here?” he asks. ”You’ve got me surrounded.”

“Let’s have lunch first,” Grace suggests.

“Before what?” Jack asks, looking back at me, “come on, what’s going on?” He repeats.

"We were going to leave it ‘till after lunch," I reply.

“Yes! We were,” Grace interrupts. 

“Leave what?” Jack asks again.

“I need to ask your advice about something,” I answer. 

“Go on then,” he replies.

"Can we leave this 'till we've eaten? You said you would," she protests, looking at me.

“Never mind that. Tell me, what’s going on?” Jack asks.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I look at Grace solemnly. 

She reluctantly accepts my request. 

“There’s no easy way to say this but……,” I pause, “it’s my illness, you know I’m not gonna get better.” 

Jack looks at me, puzzled. 

“Well, I’m… we’re…” I pause again and look at Grace, then back at Jack, “thinking of euthanasia.”

Jack doesn’t say a word, looks straight at me, then turns and faces Grace.

“What did he say?” he asks her calmly.

“I said, I’m thinking about killing myself, suicide, at an institution.”

“What! You can’t be serious?” Jack calls out, shocked at the news he’s just heard.

“I’m serious. What do you know about it?”

“What do I know about what?”

“Euthanasia, travelling to Switzerland to die, or wherever.”

“You’ve got to be joking?” Jack looks at Grace, “he’s joking, isn’t he?”

A tear appears then rolls down her cheek. 

“Bloody hell, where did this idea come from?” 

"It's the only way out," I reply.

“The way out? I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.”

“We thought you could look into it for us," I say.

“Look into it for you. No way!” he replies. “I try to save lives, not the opposite. I won’t be any part of it.”

“Look, it’s not an easy decision to make,” I lied, “but I can’t carry on like this, I’m getting worse, every day is getting harder.”

“Let me help you another way then,” he pleads. “I’ll do some research, pull some strings, try and get you seen by a specialist.”

“I’ve seen specialists. They can't do anything.” 

"You don't know that. You can't give up.”

“Don’t give up, don’t give up,” I feel the anger, frustration rise to the surface. 

I can't stop myself these days, and my emotions had become uncontrollable. I'd become an emotional wreck. 

“You don’t know what it’s like, every day waking up, wondering what part of me isn’t going to work today. I feel helpless, useless.”

"New treatments are coming out all the time,” he protests.

“New treatments? To keep me alive longer, live fucking longer… like I'm enjoying this so much that I want to live longer. I won't get better, and nothing can stop this happening.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know. In two years, I’ll be in a wheelchair. My muscles will have wasted away. I'll lose the use of my legs, my arms, everything.  Even my jaw muscles will fail. Leaving me mute, being fed through a tube."

“Okay, stop,” he interrupts.

"No, I won't stop! Listen to me! This disease isn't going away. I'm dying, slowly, horribly. Look at me, you can see that."

“I know it’s going to be hard, but…," he replies.

"Hard. I'll tell you how hard it's going to be, sitting here wasting away in front of my wife and kids, it's brutal this disease. I can't do it! I won't do it!"

I wipe my nose across my sleeve; a tear traces a path down my cheek. Grace gets up, walks over to me, sits on the arm of the chair and hugs me. I feel her warm breath on my temple. I take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Jack," I mumble, "I can't do this anymore. I’m a father, a husband. I’m supposed to be able to look after my family, it’s what I lived for, but now it’s gone. I won't have it; I won't have my family remembering me this way.” 

“I understand that, but I just can’t do it, I can’t help you in that way,” Jack says.

“And I can’t live like this," I reply. "I've had my life; now my time is up, everybody needs to move on. I need to move on. Just look into it for me, that’s all I’m asking. I want the best place, and only you can find this out for me.”

“I can’t do it, I don't believe in it.” He repeats. “New drugs are coming out all the time; a cure could be just around the corner.”

"It's not. If anyone should know that you should. I won’t change my mind. Look at me.”

“What about Lucy and Sadie? You haven’t said anything to them, have you?”  Jack asks.

“No, no, of course not, but they’re finding it hard, seeing their dad like this," Grace says.

“Bloody hell, Grace. Are you really alright with this?” Jack asks.

“Of course, I’m not. I bloody love him, but I won't let John suffer any more than he has too. I won’t let that happen.” 

“We talked about this a few months ago,” I interject, “before I was diagnosed. There was a program on telly; this man was dying. All he could do was lay in his bed all day and move his bloody eyelids. What life is that? We both said then that we wouldn’t want to live like that, and we’d rather be dead.”

“Everybody says that, but it’s not real,” Jack replies.

"No, but this is real now; it's happening to me.”

“Please, Jack,” Grace begs, “he’s serious.”

“We’re serious,” I say, taking hold of Grace’s hand.

Jack shakes his head, “let me do some research first, find out what help is out there.” 

“There is no help, believe me,” I answer.

“Just let me look, check some things out, please.”

“You won’t find anything.”

“Let me just try, please.” He pleads. 

I shake my head, considering his request, "It's no good," I answer.

"I need to check this out. You can't just ask me to look into euthanasia without, firstly, looking at all the options available."

“I know all the options. There aren’t any.”

“I don’t though, let me look into it and if there isn’t then….”

I wait for his answer.

“Then what?” I ask.

"Give me a few days....to check things out. That's all I'm asking."

“Let him check John,” Grace says, “you know we need his help.”

I shake my head, thinking about how to respond. I know I have very few alternatives available to me.

“Go on then, you can try,” I answer, after a few tense moments, “but you’d better be quick. I’m serious about this, Jack. After Christmas, I'm gone. I'll do this with or without your help.”

“Thank you,” he answers, relief obvious in his reaction.

We sat briefly in silence.

“Grace, can I have a beer please?” I ask.

“Do you want one?” she asks Jack.

“I didn’t, but I do now,” he replies.

Grace leaves the room.

“There’s that place in Switzerland, or that other place in Cuba,” I say.

“Fucking Cuba! Shut up!” he whispers, despair apparent in his voice.

“Where ever? Find out for me, Jack, please. I need something. There's nothing anyone can do to help me now.” 

There’s a pause. “Please," I say again.

Jack shakes his head. “I just don’t know.”

“Help me, Jack.”

“I’ve said, I’ll look into it," he answers, annoyed, "I won’t be pressured into killing my best mate, though I could kill you now." Jack looks straight at me with a stern look.

“I’d let you do it,” I reply.

Jack shakes his head again.

Grace returns from the kitchen, holding two bottles of lager, which she hands to us.

”Do you need a glass?” she asks Jack.

“No, thanks,” he replies and takes a large drink from the bottle.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my bottle.

Jack ignores my request.

Grace comes back and sits down next to Jack, holding a glass of white wine.

"I can't believe you've let him talk you into this," Jack says to Grace.

“What choice do I have. It's hard seeing him like this," she says.

“I know, but…," Jack replies.

“You don’t know,” she interrupts. "There's been bad days, awful days. Days you haven't seen, the kids don't know how to act around him. They can see how sad he is.”

I raise my hand to wipe a tear from my eye; it's hard for me to hear Grace say those words and I feel guilty.

“I can’t keep living like this,” I say.

“Just don’t do anything without speaking to me first, okay," Jack says, looking at me, a frown contracting on his brow. He turns towards Grace. “Okay, Grace?” 

“Yes,” she mumbles.

A buzzing noise can be heard coming from the kitchen. “That’s the chicken, it’s ready,” Grace says, then stands abruptly and heads for the kitchen, "you're still staying for lunch, aren’t you, Jack?”

"I don't feel like it now," he replies.

"Come on; it's ready now. I won’t mention it again,” I say.

Jack looks at me, then Grace, “you better bloody not. If you do, I’m leaving.”

“I won’t.”

We pause for a moment; Grace disappears into the kitchen. 

"You do know what you're asking is a heavy burden to put on someone. Taking a life is not something you can demand." Jack looks at me, sternly.

“I’m not asking you to do it, just to get me the information I need. I trust you.”

We sit in silence.

“Jack,” I say eventually.

“Stop, stop. Please don’t mention it or I’m going, I mean it," he answers, fatigue present in his words.

“I wasn’t going to,” I answer.

“Really?” he asks.

“Yes, really.”

“What then?”

“This Anna, are you gonna marry her? Because, you better do it quickly, I could do with a good wedding." 

“Piss off!” he replies.