Jericho
Synopsis:
Jericho Smith, Sawyer's 16-year-old son is killed in a car accident while walking home from school. Sawyer, his father, is unable to cope with his loss, and ten years later discovers he has incurable cancer. He barely cares, happy to go into oblivion, in the same state as his lost son.
He slips away in a hospice, darkness overwhelming him, but then sensations come back to him, and he awakens in a second world,. set in the 1980s, where everyone is transported after death in the first one. Most, however, have little or fleeting memories of their first life. He has all of his, and sets about finding Jericho, hoping that he's 'come through' with his memories intact.
Main Characters:
Sawyer Smith: Father looking for his lost son
Jericho Smith: Sawyer's son, who died at 16
Diane Larkin: Sawyer's mother in the new world
Cressida Olsen: Sawyer's business partner in Jericho
Dow Kim: Hedge fund manager at Holland Assets
Jack Olsen: Cressida's father and investment banker
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Author's note: Jericho
Voltaire wrote a quote that always struck a chord with me. "It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection."
Ultimately, Voltaire was probably talking about an epiphany that changes a person fundamentally, effectively leading to philosophical rebirth, but the other notion of this, a reincarnation, intrigued me.
Of course in Buddhism, the idea of multiple, perhaps infinite, incarnations is a staple of the religion. The Jataka stories characterise many of the Buddha's former lives before his final manifestation as Siddhartha Gautama, the prince in Lumbini, a town in modern-day Nepal. And all the major monotheistic faiths promise a second life of sorts, albeit profoundly different to their Earthly existence and usually in a paradise, continuing eternally, under the custody of their version of the universe's creator.
But the truth is that nobody knows for certain what happens after death. To atheists, it is oblivion or non-existence, a return to the state in which we existed for all of the universe's history prior to our births. And even believers in an afterlife have no clear understanding of what it involves, other than a promise of everlasting bliss (heaven) or torment (hell). Even this, though, is not true of much of history. The Vikings believed in Valhalla, a cold and miserable place, and the Greeks, the Underworld, a shadowy place absent of life's pleasures.
Yet even in Buddhism, subsequent lives are entered with no recollection of prior ones, rather linked by an imperishable essence that carries on. I often imagined what it would mean if a subsequent existence occurred with knowledge of the previous one, with all its mistakes, regrets, unfulfilled desires and dreams. How would someone negotiate a second life in these circumstances, with the slate clean?
And what would they do with the knowledge transported with them? Many people have wondered whether the world's greatest prodigies, who developed their talents so young, didn't transport their talent from a former life. Mozart composed his first symphony at eight, and although clearly influenced by several earlier composers, its originality is stunning. How is this possible for a child who has had so little time to develop such sophistication? On the other side, the premature deaths of some of the world's greatest artists robbed the world of their mature work: Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Chris Cornell. This list is long enough to be dispiriting.
In another world, might they have continued their talent and creativity onwards. That would be a good world, surely.
Alongside this, as a father, the sum of all my fears is something happening to one of my children. Just writing that sends chills through me. I've spoken to people who have had the impossible misfortune to lose a child, and what they would give to just spend one further day with them. I understand this, to the extent I can, profoundly.
This story brings those two themes together. A father, destroyed by the loss of his son, Jericho, awakens in second life, with all the memories of his first. He realises his son may also exist in this new existence. It becomes his singular goal to find his son, and he uses all of his knowledge from the old world in this pursuit. He pleads with the universe that Jericho has kept his memories too, as most people in the new world haven't.
Jericho Book Sample - Chapter One
"Sawyer, it's not good news, I'm afraid." The doctor peered up from under his glasses. The words were reluctant. Sawyer nodded and made a tight smile. "Don't spare me. Just give it to me straight."
The oncologist nodded, a tiny nod. Sawyer suspected he'd seen this stoicism before. What happened to people when it was actually voiced? A jolt? Sagging into the chair? Something. He didn't believe anyone could mask it so well. Not even sociopaths.
"It's advanced. You've got a few months at best, but it may only be weeks." The physician fell silent, and Sawyer let the words land on him. He examined his feelings. He hadn't lurched - at least he didn't think he had. He turned the notion of his death over, as though he was sampling a bowling ball, sensing it for the right weight, checking it for dents.
"Okay," he said finally. He thought his mouth had dried a little, but his voice sounded strong. He looked up at the doctor, who was gazing at him with a frown of empathetic concern. Sawyer wondered how practiced it was. He was an oncologist after all. He must have handed out that same news so many times. How many times? He looked like he was in his mid-sixties, so had probably been practicing for thirty years by the time he'd got his MD.
Two hundred workdays a year. How many patients would he see? Twenty a day probably. That was a hundred and twenty thousand consults. A lot of repeats, but the more the same person repeated, the more likely they were to see the frown and expression that he was seeing just now. If eight percent of his patients had ultimately died, he'd worn this expression nearly ten thousand times. He ran the stats in his head. What would the standard deviation be? He could work the range to 99.6% certainty, he thought, with just a few questions. It was conceivable that the man in front of him had imparted that news twenty thousand times.
"We've got a psychologist," he said now. "I know it's a shock."
Sawyer took a deep breath. "There's no need."
"We could try some aggressive and radical chemotherapy. It might give you some more time."
Sawyer shook his head. "I don't want to do that."
The doctor nodded, but he didn't seem satisfied that Sawyer's answer was genuine, or at least contemplated enough.
"You're a young man Sawyer. More time to get your affairs in order. See everyone."
"There's no one to see," Sawyer replied, matter-of-fact, and perhaps a little sadly. But the doctor wouldn't have noticed that.
"No family?" he asked tentatively. "Parents? Partner? Kids?"
Sawyer made a morose chuckle. "Mum died of pancreatic cancer." He looked up. "I should have got myself checked out. Dad died before her."
"Girlfriend or wife?"
Sawyer nodded. "I had a wife. And I had a son. He died ten years ago last week. He was hit by a car walking home. Drunk driver swerved off the road. He was sixteen." Sawyer shook his head. Even voicing it now was agonizing. "The irony. He loved cars so much. Loved them."
This time, he knew, the horror in the doctor's eyes was fresh. That's not one he would have heard many times.
"I'm so sorry Sawyer," he said, the doctor's voice suddenly a lot drier than his was.
He made a pained one-sided smile. "We tried to battle on, but we couldn't. We split up a couple of years ago. She was having an affair with a guy she worked with."
Now the doctor shook his head a third time, and he could see reproval in the medico's eyes at Lenny's actions. Sawyer defended her.
"She medicated the pain away any way she could. For her it was being distracted by someone who wasn't me. I was the person who helped her bring Jericho into the world, only for him to be killed sixteen years later. I gave her the greatest joy, then that turned into the heaviest pain. She couldn't look at me. I couldn't look at me. I cut myself shaving every day. I just dared not look into my own eyes. Mirrors were my enemy."
The doctor had fallen silent. There were no practiced words for that. Eventually, after he'd swallowed a couple of times.
"How did you medicate?"
Sawyer looked him dead in the eyes. "I didn't."
But it felt unfair. It wasn't the doctor's fault. He looked down and smiled sadly, trying to ameliorate what he'd just said. "I had sixteen years of utter joy with him. The greatest joy. Five years of heady love with Lenny before that. Now ten years of pain. I don't want any treatment. I won't go into the dark with any fear or feeling there's anything left undone. It was all done ten years ago." He checked his watch for the date. "Last Thursday."
He'd already known the date. It was a dumb reflexive thing. 3650 days. Three extra with the leap years, plus six. 3661. But he always knew how many days it had been since Jericho had died. He was a finance guy. He saw patterns and knew numbers, remembered numbers. In five days it would be 3666 days. Half of six, then then number of the beast. That would actually be an appropriate day to die. Half-Satan. He made an internal chuckle. That was about right. A half-Satan had taken his world away. It would only be right to honour him in some dark numeric sort of way.
Jericho
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