After what seemed to be a very long time, he finally came to the conclusion that he was dead. In labeling himself as dead, he meant that he was no longer living. However, he felt it safe to assume that he did still exist.

It was easy to determine that he no longer had a physical body and that he could no longer "see" and “feel” as he once had. Yet, he could still think and remember which basically was all that was left of Jack Mallington.

Somewhere deep in his memories, he could remember himself as a successful, white, thirty-one year old accountant but that person seemed alien to him now.

Memories.

Whatever existence he maintained in the void he presently occupied was based entirely on memories. Brief flashes of his life became the only reality he knew. However, there was one specific memory that stood out from the rest and was constantly replayed to him like an eternal projector.

Man comes home to wife. Man kisses wife. Man introduces wife’s brain to a 9mm bullet. Man then decorates living room with his own brains. The end.

Except that it’s never quite the end. The scene plays over and over making him hope and pray for a different ending. Any ending.

Nonetheless, the discomfort of reliving his last moments among the living did help him realize that he still could and did feel. The bitterness and hate were still there keeping him company in this realm of nothing. Each one took turns poking at him as he relived the haunting scene without end.

He had definitely screwed up. The bitch had made him lose it and he hadn’t handled the situation properly. The voices had just confirmed what he already knew.

He had only begun to hear the voices recently (although it was hard to determine the passage of time) and what he had first heard were no more than low murmurs. Yet, the more he paid attention to them, the clearer and louder they had become.

They told him that he had blown it; that a cheating wife should be dealt with intelligently rather than impulsively. They reminded him that the man who had shared his wife’s company while he slaved at the office working overtime, was presently enjoying life unlike his own tortured soul drifting through emptiness.

At first, he was just glad to have the company, but gradually the truth of what he heard gave the memories new meaning and insight into what needed to be done.

It was explained that he would be given a chance to fix the situation. His hunger and eagerness grew as they detailed the plan of action. He understood that it was the only way to stop the haunting memories and be at some level of peace. This was his last chance.

He had a chance to fix his screw up.

At one point, he was aware of other voices, faint and distant, advising him to abandon his plans and let go of his hate. They were less appealing and he paid little attention to them as he readied himself for his new opportunity. His will was given to his new friends and the pact was made.

Within an instant, he was standing on a street corner looking through the eyes of a middle-aged overweight man. It took several minutes for the disorientation to pass but finally the confusion faded. As his mind focused, he began to gain control of his limbs and he practiced moving them until he was satisfied with their coordination. He then directed the man’s body toward the red brick house that stood before him, slipping his hand into the pocket of the leather jacket he wore. As his fingers closed around the cool handle of the handgun, he felt a smile spread across the plump cheeks of his face.

He did not walk softly up the porch steps nor did he take the time to peak through the front window. The bastard was home. He did not know how he knew, but he did. Kicking the front door in with one filthy work boot, he was greeted by the sound of a chair overturning and the shattering of glass. Stepping into the living room, he pulled out the weapon and raised it at his target in one fluid motion.

The man did not get the chance to speak or even scream before the bullet passed through his upraised hand making its new home in his left eye. The corpse stood for a moment as if in defiance before allowing gravity to pull it to the floor.

He didn’t fire another shot, knowing that the new sense of ease he felt meant that one was enough. He was not able to relish this feeling, however, as he was immediately torn from the body and cast back into the all too familiar void from which he had come.

Yet, things seemed different. The once friendly voices now greeted him with mocking laughter. There were no words of wisdom nor praise for his efforts. Just laughter.

He demanded that they speak to him. Then he begged them to speak. Yet, the laughter continued and when the pain and suffering started, he realized that he had once again screwed up. Agony and fear now replaced the bitterness he once possessed as he felt his soul being consumed by invisible flames. Wishing he could scream, he knew that this time there would be no more chances.