Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,15

his head.

“But this place is the fucking pits. What do I get in return?”

Samson opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again, looking a little puzzled

“Oh right, the immortality,” Michael recalled.

Samson grinned.

“But how does it work, I mean, will I be a ghost?”

“Your other life, your other self, will still be dead. But you can live a normal life as you did before. Your friends and your colleagues may be a little,” he pondered for a moment, “different,” he said with enough emphasis to make Michael feel uneasy. “But everything else will be the same. You can function like a normal person for as long as you want.”

“But I’ll be dead. My friends, my family...won’t they know? Won’t they go to my funeral?”

“That Michael will remain dead. His friends, his family, his job and his memories are with you, but are redundant now. This Michael,” he said, gesturing to him. “Will be the same to you and to everyone that matters, but to everyone that doesn’t he’ll look like a completely different person.”

Michael thought about this for a moment. He had never experienced such clarity in his life, but there was a lot to take in. A lot of thoughts threatened to cloud that clarity. “And my name? I mean this is only a few miles from where I live.”

“Keep your first name. Your surname we can change in time, when it matters.”

“To what?” Michael said quizzically.

Samson shrugged. He seemed to be growing impatient. He peered over Michael's shoulder, towards the middle of the bridge. He checked his watch and then beamed at Michael again.

“The surname’s not important,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

Michael nodded acceptingly.

“So, do we have a deal?” Samson said, stealing another look over Michael's shoulder.

Michael turned around to see what he was looking at. “I guess so,” he said, seeing a solitary figure hugging the railings and peering into the blackness below.

When he turned back around Samson was gone. He looked around, studied his surroundings. He wasn’t there and there was nowhere he could have run to so quickly.

“Is that it?” Michael asked no one in particular. “What do I do now?”

Seemingly hearing him, the man in the middle of the bridge shouted back. “It’s too late, you can’t stop me now!”

He began climbing onto the railing, steadily lifting his legs until he was positioned on the other side. He leaned cautiously back onto the railing, his legs inches from the edge.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Michael called out, finding himself walking towards the man.

“Too late!” he yelled.

Michael walked closer. The stench of cheap alcohol clawed at his nostrils when he came to within a few feet of him.

“You seriously going to jump?” he asked.

The man turned around, glaring drunkenly; his eyes flooded with tears. “Of course! And don’t you try to stop me!”

Michael held up his hands defensively.

“My life is a joke,” the alcohol drenched despondent droned. “It’s pointless!”

“It can’t be that bad mate,” Michael said as warmly as he could. “Come on, let’s go and have a coffee. It’s on me.”

The man turned to him. Initially shocked and angry. A gradual sense of pleasant surprise swelled on his face. “Why do you care?”

“Because I know what you’re going through. Life can be a bitch, trust me on that. But there’re ways around it. Ways to beat it.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” Michael stepped forward, smiling all the while. “Even in the bad there’s plenty of good, you just have to learn how to see it.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Michael was inches away. He reached out for the railing, slowly, as not to alarm. “Now come on, let’s go and have a drink, get you warmed up and cheered up huh?”

The man smiled. “Okay.” He released himself from the railings and slowly turned, facing back towards the bridge.

“What’s your name by the way?” Michael asked.

“Me? I’m--” his foot slipped on the rain soaked lip. Michael saw the horror explode on his face as he felt himself falling backwards. He reached out for the railing; Michael reached out for the flailing hands, neither connected. The man fell backwards. The final thing Michael saw were his feet kicking aimlessly in the dark, before his body disappeared into the blackness.

He ran to the edge to look down, hoping the suicidal man had managed to somehow grasp onto the ledge. A heavy splash below indicated otherwise.

“Shit,” Michael spat, staring into the gloom. “What a fucking shame.”

“Ian,” a voice from beside him said.

The jumper was standing next to him, a look of serenity on