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Home.

But Jake knows that it has to be
impossible.

But it is all so familiar.

A cloudy English sky.  A road of
semi-detached houses.  A place that smacks of the mundane.  The world of Heled.

It is here that he used to live with…?

It is here that…?

No, the gaps remain.  His memory still has
not returned.

He closes his eyes and listens.

Silence, total and utter silence.  An
unnatural stillness that could never be in Heled.  Where is the traffic in the
nearby main roads, the bustle of suburban life?  Where is the machinery of men
at work, the sound of distant trains, of aircraft overhead?  Even the
background whistling tweets of bird-song is missing.  No.  This is quite
artificial.  An illusion.

There’s a place that is evil,

A place to die.

Sheol, of course.  Here is where the
damned relive their worst nightmares and here Jake knows is where he must face
the horrors of his own life.

His life.  Jake tries to remember.  No. 
Almost everything before his arrival in Tevel is a blank.  He has glimpses of the
world in which he grew but no more than that.  He knows that there is something
dark that happened to him but he does not know what it is.  Would that be his
salvation?

‘Jake.’

A woman’s voice.  Ahead of him.  It is so
familiar but it is not Cherry.  Then who is it?

He opens his eyes.

The woman is blonde with a cool, pouting
face, striking in her appearance, and Jake knows that she has to mean something
to him.  Even with the pregnant swell of her stomach she radiates sex appeal
but it is to that bulge that Jake is drawn with a feeling of pure revulsion.

‘Jake,’ she repeats.

Her voice is taunting, malicious.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who am I, who am I?’ she counters
hysterically, ‘Is your brain so filled with fantasy that you can’t recognise
your own wife when you see her?’

Wife, married?  But that is impossible. 
What about Cherry?  How could he have forgotten that he was married?  No, it is
some terrible joke that Sheol is playing upon his mind.

‘I don’t know you.  I’m not married.’

‘No.  I’m sure you wished that you
weren’t.  Well bad luck.  You are married.  I’m Fiona and this,’ she points to
her bloated stomach, ‘Is your unborn unwanted baby.  So, stick that where it
hurts, you bastard.’

She means it.  This Fiona.  Maybe it is
true.  Maybe he left Earth having deserted a pregnant wife.  If so, he really
was a bastard.

No.  It could not be right.  Even though
he has no true memory of this woman he just knows that he has never fathered a
child.

He has to say something but it is too
late.

Fiona is screaming.  Her body is
convulsing in agony.

‘My God, it’s happening.  Help me.’

Oh no.  She is giving birth.  There is no
way Jake can face that.  He has to leave.  He runs.

‘Jake,’ he hears her scream, ‘You
bastard.  Help me.’

He ignores the deep breathing.  He ignores
the sound of the retching that fades into the distance.  No, not in a million
years is he going to have anything to do with a baby.  Never, never.  The very
thought creates a further image in his mind.  A nightmare, the En Sof.  No, a
domestic setting.  A kitchen.  His kitchen and he is standing before an open
freezer, a twitching foetus in his hand.  The waves of horror pass over him and
he knows that this is his ultimate fear.  But why?

He stops and turns around.

Behind, everything has changed.  There is
no sign of the woman or of the road.  It is a room.  There is a man sitting in
an armchair.  Yes, he knows the man and he knows the room.

The memory surfaces.

Dad.

He sits there scowling and Jake knows that
this scene is familiar.  His father.  The one person that he never wanted to
see again.

Is that his nightmare?  Is that what he
must face?  Is it time to forgive?  Time to mend fences, to become friends.

Honour thy father and thy mother that
thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

But how can he honour a man who has shown
nothing but contempt for him all his life?

‘Dad?’

‘You’ve got a bloody nerve.  How could you
do that to us?’

‘Dad, please.  I want to talk.’

‘Talk, talk.  It’s too late for that, you
ingrate.’

‘No, please.’

‘Stop whining.  You’ve made your bed now
you can lie in it.’

‘But, why?  What have I done?’

‘You ask me that.  Your dear mother and I
brought you up to be a Jew and look how you repay us.  You spit in our faces. 
If your mother were alive,
obersholem
, you think she would defend you? 
Not this time.  Oh, no.  This time you’ve gone too far.

‘Pack your bags, Jacob Tranton.  Go, marry
your
shiksa
whore and leave my home.  You are no son of mine.’

‘But, Dad.’

‘Go.  I curse you.  I curse Fiona.  Go.’

‘But...’

But there is no room for further
conversation and Jake knows that this is the very last time that he sees his
father alive.  There is so much that he wants to say.  This day is only the end
of a long history of animosity.  Its roots go back to his childhood, but why? 
All he can see is hatred.  It seems causeless but something happened. 
Something must have been the spark.

But what?

Once more he looks at his father.  His
eyes are cold, heartless.  There is no compassion whatsoever and Jake turns and
opens the door and walks out into...

Lights flash, couples gyrate to the heavy
beat.  Smoke fills the air, the scent of sweat and alcohol is everywhere and
Jake realises that he is holding an open can of Carlsberg.

This takes him back to his student days. 
That heady time without responsibility before he was married.

Yes, before he was married.  He remembers.

And there in the dim red light he sees
her.  Fiona.  What a stunner?  She’s dancing with some bloke and, as they turn
about, Jake recognises her partner, Mitch.  And it all slots together.

He remembers this night all those years
ago.  The night he first met Fiona and, as he now realises, the night that he
provided the flame that lit the fuse of Mitch’s animosity.

Mitch, younger maybe, but it is the same
guy.  He was in college with him.  Now he remembers.  They moved in different
circles but he recalls seeing his enemy about.  If only he had remembered
earlier.  Maybe things would have been different.

Is this an opportunity to put things
right?

The memory of the night returns in its
entirety.  The dance ends.  He recalls that Mitch goes off to get drinks for
himself and his partner and, whilst he is away, Jake muscles in.  Picks up
Fiona and the future is sealed.

He enters a loveless marriage.  Fiona
leaves him for Mitch who is working for Lapski.

Lapski, of course.

It’s like a mind jolt.  This party.  It
was so insignificant at the time but it was an event that shaped everything
that followed.  Maybe he could do it right.

He approaches Fiona and Mitch as their bodies
grind together to the strains of the perennial Roberta Flack.

It feels strange to be butting in but it
is all he can think of doing.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Bug off, man.’

Even then Mitch had no idea of charm but
then Fiona looks at him and Jake sees adoration in her eyes.

‘Jake,’ she whispers sweetly as she pulls
away from her partner.

‘Hey, fucking hell, what is this?  I told
you to bug off.’

‘Oh, Mitch.  Be a sweetie and bring us
some drinks.  Jake’s an old friend.’

Mitch scowls but complies and Jake realises
with horror that he had been the object of worship from afar.  Mitch did not
stand a chance once Fiona had met the man of her dreams.

‘Jake,’ she seems all nervous, not at all
the Fiona of later times, ‘Thanks for rescuing me.’

And Jake is quite nonplussed.  There is
nothing he can do.  Unless.

‘Excuse me,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to get
something.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ and she clings to
his arm.

Jake knows his fate is sealed.

He pulls away and runs.

‘Jake you bastard.’

And he turns back.  The party is gone. 
There is still Fiona but it is the pregnant Fiona, lying on the concrete
pavement.  Her legs are bent and her pelvis is thrusting as the baby inside
makes ready for birth.  She screams and takes a sharp intake of breath.

‘Stay here, you bastard.’

‘No!’

No, he knows that he cannot.  He does not
want children.  The very thought fills him with horror and, at last he realises
that this is his secret.

Why?  There is no rational reason for the
fear.  Is it a reaction to his father’s animosity throughout his life?  But no,
it is far more deep seated than that.  But, try as he might, Jake cannot
unearth the root of his psychosis.

He has to face it.  Fiona is giving
birth.  It is his child.  He has to help.  Maybe then he can exorcise his
personal demon.

He returns.

‘I’m coming.’

There’s another thrust and another and
Jake kneels down to comfort his wife.  He holds her hand.  He mops her brow. 
She seizes his wrist with such an intensity that he feels pain.

‘See, you bastard.  See what you did to
me.’

And he looks and he sees a blood red thing
emerge from the wide stretched vagina, an unformed foetus that was never ready
for birth.

‘See!’  Fiona hisses.

And the thing splits, it caves in.  Its
vestigial limbs twitch futilely and its little heart beats through the bloody
membrane that covers its chest.

‘This is our son.  You did this.  You
killed it.’

‘No.’

But it’s not dead.  It’s still alive.  Its
heart is pumping furiously.  It breathes through little black holes in its
unfinished face.  But it still collapses.

The heartbeat increases.

Faster, faster.

And it explodes in a mess of flesh and
blood and Jake understands; just as he should have understood when he had the
vision in his kitchen.

‘You aborted it.  Why?’

But he knows.  It is his fault.  It is all
his fault.  He has to know why.  He has to face the truth.  There is a truth. 
He knows it.

There’s a place that is evil,

A place to die.

And it is there he must go.  For each of
us that place is different.  He must find his way to his own dark place that
resides deep within his soul.

………………………………………

Cherry looks into the eyes of the man she
has come to love.  She knows that she wants him so much and she knows that he
has rejected her.  Why today, of all days?

He did not even give her the chance to say
what had happened.  What her mother and she had learned about Dad.  Dad...Oh,
Dad.

It was all so senseless.  A boating
accident they called it.  Fifty people dead, drowned and Dad is among them.

Dad.

And now that she needs him, Shmueli tells
her this.  Their relationship seeming to be the one island in a turbulent sea
and now even that has been taken from her.

Shmueli gently touches his forefinger to
her chin.  He smiles sheepishly.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.’

She wants to plead with him to beg him to
stay with her.  To provide her with the emotional support she needs but she
knows that he will not.  She cannot demean herself further.

‘Oh, Sam.’

There is nothing she can do.  Everything
that could be said has already been said.

His hand drops.

‘Please.  I’ve got to do this.  I had to
make a choice.’

‘And you did not choose me.’

No, she is crying now.  She has to be
strong.  She cannot allow him to see her like this.

‘I’m sorry...’

‘Oh, stop telling me you’re sorry.  If you
were really sorry then this would never have happened.’

Again Sam looks at her.  His eyes are
tender but he is resolute.

He smiles again.

‘I’ve got to go.  I’m sorry.’

He tries to kiss her but Cherry pulls
away.  No, that would be the ultimate humiliation.  She says nothing and
watches as he turns about.

Damn him, and damn that Rabbi Tashlich who
has made him this way.  She loves that boy, she loves him with every ounce of
her being and he has thrown that love into her face, rejected her and her life
suddenly feels very empty.

Today not only has the man who has
inspired her throughout her life been killed but so the man she loves has left
her.

She wants to go home.  She wants to do
something reckless.  Anything.  She does not care what...and she is there.

Home.

She is alone.

The house is empty.

She pours herself a full tumbler of vodka
and drinks it as if it is water.

Her head swims and a thought surfaces. 
She does not want to live without Sam.  He is her life.  Without him there is
no life...

And she knows what she must do.

The bathroom, upstairs.  Dad’s shaving
tackle.  It is still there long after he left home and Cherry knows just what
she wants.

She opens the mirrored cabinet and removes
the leather case.  Inside, as expected, is a paper package and, within, three
unused razor blades.  She hardly thinks what she is doing as she takes one of
the blades and swiftly draws it across the artery at her wrist.  The blade is
sharp, she feels nothing other than a slight tingling but she flips back her
wrist to open the wound.  The blood spurts satisfyingly as if a tap had been
turned and Cherry happily watches the crimson liquid as it pours onto the
floor.

This time she will do it right.

This time.

And then she knows.  This has happened
before.  She had been wrong.  Her mother had not gone out.  Hester had been merely
resting on her bed and she had come in in time to save her daughter’s life.