5tevie's book ..... In-spectre Jackson.

Only in a rough state as yet and nowhere near completed. I have the rough outline of the rest of the story in my head which involves finding other folk like himself, Spiritualist meetings with an unusual Medium and lots of other, diverse things going on.
Feel free to pull it apart and point out errors. This is my first try at this sort of thing and, like me, it's a bit rough
Let me know if / when you want more.

In-spectre Jackson

My name is Frank Jackson and I'm a hard working copper. I've always worked hard at my job but it seems that just recently I have been working harder than usual. Was it just co-incidence that this hard work ethos started at about the same time my latest girlfriend moved out of my house? Whatever ....... What it means is that now there are only two women in my life, my mother and my parrot. I know which is which 'cos the parrot talks more sense but if you tell my mother I said that, I'll have to break both of your legs and use your scrotum as a wash leather.
I'm a Detective Inspector based in Manchester dealing mostly with crime relating to credit card fraud but for the past month I have been on what Police jargon calls "Swap Around". For me, that has meant riding shotgun with an experienced driver doing road traffic duties in the surrounding area. A pretty mundane job but it has its moments of excitement. For instance, last week I was number two in a patrol vehicle driving along the M62, tasked with checking load safety on foreign heavy goods vehicles, when we spotted a car on fire on the hard shoulder. We stopped and offered assistance by putting out warning signs etc while waiting for the Fire trucks and Ambulance. The front of the car was well alight leading me to think it was an engine problem but it didn't seem to be causing much danger to the public and the driver and his wife were out of harms way standing well up the embankment and seemed pretty calm about the whole thing. Then, out of the blue, another car smashed into the back of a car that had slowed down to see what was going on and all Hell broke loose. Within 30 seconds there were 8 vehicles involved in the pile up, mostly just minor shunts but one car fared worse. It had been rammed under a wagon by another car and ignited the wagon's fuel tank. There was no dramatic explosion but the woman and child in the car were trapped.
I don't remember exactly what I did then or even if I thought about what I was going to do but instinct and training took over and I must have smashed the rear window of the crashed car and climbed in to get them both out. It was a hairy situation but thankfully, nobody was seriously hurt. That day was now coming back to haunt me. Today is the day I have to accept a bravery award for what happened and I'm not looking forward to it. For one thing, it will take me away from my job for two or three hours and for another, I don't see why doing my job merits an award. The only upside is that I get an extra hour in bed because I have to go straight to the ceremony. No, let me rephrase that, I WOULD get an extra hour in bed if it wasn't for Charlie. Charlie is the parrot.
She's an African Grey that has lived with me ever since I bought my own house. She was originally bought as a young bird by my dad, now deceased, who named her Charlie because she reminded him of Charlie Chaplin when she walked about. Also because, at the time, he thought Charlie was a guy but it turns out she's a girl. The egg she laid was a big clue but it was too late to change the name. The thing is that Charlie doesn't understand the concept of an extra hour's kip. As far as she is concerned, the first hint of daylight peeking through the curtains means "Get up and entertain me".
In fact, I think I can hear her now. She always starts off with a plaintive, “Hello” just to see if she gets an answer, followed by a “Helloooooooooo” that's a few decibels louder. Any minute now she'll get fed up of waiting and come upstairs to see what's keeping me.
Some people think I am crazy for having a parrot loose in the house but she's house trained and doesn't chew stuff much. If they knew her wings weren't clipped either, they would sign me up for the funny farm but I have never understood the reasoning for denying a bird the ability to fly. It's what makes a bird a bird, for God's sake.
It's all gone quiet downstairs so I hopped out of bed and cracked open the door before diving back under the covers again trying hard not to giggle. A few minutes later, I saw the door move slightly and closed my eyes. The difficult bit was coming up. This is the stage where I have to pretend to be asleep and she has to wake me up. We have played this game many times and the scores are about even. I heard a flutter of wings and felt a slight thump on my ankle as she landed. Should I end it now and claim victory or should I give her a chance? Sod it. Today could be a good day so it was only fair that I let her have a share so I kept my eyes closed as I felt her walk up towards my head. Closer and closer she waddled until I could feel her on my shoulder. It would be any second now. PEEK-A-BOOOOOOOOOO. Ye Gods, I had forgotten how loud she could be. It almost wasn't play acting as I nearly jumped out of my skin to the sound of her maniacal laughter. Score one for the parrot.
"C'mon, Charlie. Shower time". She sat on the metal frame at the foot of the bed and chattered at me non stop as I straightened the covers. I honestly have no idea where she gets half her vocabulary from but it's certainly not from me. I sometimes wonder what goes on over at my mum's house during the day where I leave Charlie while I'm at work. Does my dear old mum have a boyfriend? Why else would Charlie be asking "What shall we do today?" or "Let's go for a beer". I'll have to ask her.
It was the normal routine in the bathroom with Charlie trying to eat shaving foam and toothpaste but I eventually got in the shower for a relaxing hot spray. Charlie, as usual perched herself on top of the cubicle in the steam. The next job after getting dressed was breakfast which is always fun with a parrot around, especially if you like lots of mess. I managed to get a half slice of toast to myself and then it was time to go.
I told Charlie we were off to mum's and she did her usual routine of heading for the wastepaper basket to do her thing while I got her food and some treats to take with us. My mum has lots of parrot stuff but it's always best to take spares in case she has run out.
It's only a 5 minute drive to my mum's place so, with Charlie sat on the top of the passenger seat keeping a running commentary going, it wasn't long before we got there. Mum was standing at the door waiting as Charlie flew over to her. I handed over the parrot stuff and gave mum a quick peck on the cheek before getting back in the car to head for the Town Hall where the ceremony was taking place.

[shazzababie]

i like it and I love Charlie already lol ...

Billys mum and dad have a bird called charlie - same thing - thort it was male til it laid an egg lol x

Anyhow - story sounds good to me and it kept me intersted actually i wanna hear more lol ..

(Your wish is my command, madam ....... Up to a point

Still just dawdling along with the traffic, my thoughts were pulled back to the present when I heard what sounded like gunfire. I looked in the mirrors but couldn't see anything unusual but then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted some pedestrians frantically running away from a shop front so I used my mobile phone to ring in the situation and then got out of the car to take a closer look. It was a Post Office in the middle of a row of other shops and there was a white Transit van parked outside with one man in the driver's seat holding what looked like a shotgun.
At that moment, 3 men wearing masks erupted from the Post Office and jumped in the side door of the Transit which peeled off at top speed in my direction. I made a mental note of the licence plate and then I saw her. A young girl was standing in the road, right in the path of the oncoming vehicle, obviously terrified out of her wits and unable to move. I ran forward with the idea of grabbing her and diving to safety on the other side of the road. I got it half right. I shoved her out of the way but then I felt an instant of blinding pain and everything went black.
When I woke up, I didn't feel any pain at all and at first I figured I must have been dosed up to the gills with drugs but then I realized I was sat in a chair and fully dressed. What the Hell was going on here? The room was painted all white and there are two doors, also white. There are no windows but there is a desk next to one of the doors.
Just as I am taking all this in, I hear footsteps and laughter from the other side of the door and two men walk in wearing identical white suits. Not hospital gown type things but proper suits. They must not have expected me to be there because as they both saw me, they stopped laughing and hurried round to the far side of the desk to consult a ledger. One of them looked up at me and said simply, "Name?"
"Jackson, Frank", I replied.
"Well Mr Frank, we don't seem to have received any notification of your arrival here today. Most perplexing"
"Ah, No. Sorry. My name is Frank Jackson but I have got used to saying last name first and first name last 'cos that's how they usually want you to answer in the Police Admin offices when they ask. Can you tell me what's going on?"
There was a lot of page turning and then a finger was pointing at an entry. Meanwhile, I had moved over to the desk to get a better look once I discovered that I didn't seem to be injured in any way but they closed the book before I could read anything written there. All I saw was that the writing was in very ornate copperplate type script and it all looked to be very old.
"Listen, guys, what's going on here? The last thing I remember is being hit by a Transit van and knocked unconscious"
"Would you get Mr Jackson a chair, please, Paul?" asked the one who had done the talking.
"Certainly, Peter. How remiss of me."
"Please sit down, Mr Jackson.". They both waited, smiling at me as I sat down and then the one called Peter came round and sat on the edge of the desk while the other one stood in the background wringing his hands.
"There's no easy way to say this, Mr Jackson. By the way, may I call you Frank?"
"Sure you can." I said. "Everybody does. Just tell me."
"OK, you weren't knocked unconscious. Now brace yourself for a shock, Frank. You were killed outright. You are dead."
This was crazy. How could I be dead when I was sitting hear talking to these guys? I felt fine, not even a headache. Looking down, I saw something that didn't ring true though. I was still wearing the clothes I was wearing that morning (was it that morning?) but there wasn't a mark on my clothes anywhere that I could see. Maybe my suit had been dry cleaned while I was laid up in hospital.
"Nice one, guys. You had me going for a minute there. What's the joke?"
"It's no joke, Frank", said Peter. "At this moment, you are sitting in Heaven's waiting room and the door you see before you is what I believe is the modern day version of the Pearly Gates. I can prove it to you quite simply."
I smiled to myself, still convinced this was some kind of Gotcha laid on by the lads back at the station.
Peter continued, "Heaven is a place where there is no sin. Bearing that in mind, there is a certain part of your anatomy that you will no longer have a use for. If you'd care to turn your back to us and have a look, you'll find it has gone, nor are there any scars or even scar tissue. It has not been surgically removed. In fact, what you are sitting there in isn't even your original body. It is just a house for your spirit based on what your physical appearance was at the time of death."
All I could do was stare at him, open mouthed. This was going way beyond a joke now. I slowly stood up and turned round, sticking my hand down the front of my pants....... Oh Christ. There was nothing there. Nothing. I sat down again quickly.
I was struck dumb. My mind was a blank. All I could think about was that I couldn't be dead, I had an award to collect.

[shazzababie]

getting good lol ...only one critiscism he was already in a chairrwhen the guy asked his partenr to get him a chair to sit on

Shazz .... Read that bit again,
He WAS sat in a chair earlier but he got up and moved to the desk to get a better look at the ledger.

[shazzababie]

[QUOTE=5tevie;61611]Shazz .... Read that bit again,
He WAS sat in a chair earlier but he got up and moved to the desk to get a better look at the ledger.[/QUOTE]

oh lol i am so blonde sumtimes x

No worries, shazz.
I am liable to make silly mistakes like that.
That's why I need other folk to read it and point them out.
Having written them myself, i don't see them at all.

If anybody else is reading this, jump in any time you like with a comment, good or bad.

Ready for more yet?

[shazzababie]

[QUOTE=5tevie;61617]If anybody else is reading this, jump in any time you like with a comment, good or bad.

Ready for more yet?[/QUOTE]

yeh lol i might have to send u my details so u can send me the whole bloody thing lol am hooked now and where has charlie got to i wanna hear more about him x

Shazz .... there's a whole lot more about Charlie. Apart from the dead guy, she is the main character. She is what makes it all work. Charlie is actually based on Geordie who was my African Grey parrot.
BTW ..... In the printed version, the text width is the same as a standard paperback, 57 keystrokes. That makes it a lot easier to read than it is on these pages.


What the Hell was happening to me? Who were these guys? Then I remembered something about the Pearly Gates. I looked over at the one still behind the desk and asked, "Is this guy trying to tell me that he is Saint Peter?"
"Good Lord, No" said Peter, smiling. "He died nearly fifteen hundred years ago. I'm the fifth Peter to be in charge of these doors since then.
"Now I know this is some sort of joke. I said. "St Peter can't just die. He's a Saint"
"Ah, well. That's not strictly true. That may be the story you learn at school but the reality is a different thing altogether. There are actually four layers to the place you think of as Heaven. The person you know as St Peter stayed here doing God's work on the Gates for about five hundred years and then he moved on to the next level. Let me try to help you to understand We live here on the first level in much the same way as when we lived down there on Earth. You, as a mortal, may strive to do good things in order to get to Heaven when you die. We are the same, we do good things here so that we may move on to our version of Heaven which means the next level."
*"And what happens on the fourth level?" I asked.
"Much the same as on the other levels but at the end of your time there, you may be reborn on Earth. That's where all the people you know as genius' come from. Michaelangelo, Capernicus, Newton, Gallileo, Hawkin and the like."
"OK", I said. "Supposing I go along with this, what exactly am I doing here?"
"Ah, You see, you're a bit of a special case. You saved a life as you were dying yourself. That's why we couldn't find your name in the ledger. The girl whose life you saved was meant to be here. It's her name that's in the book. We looked and saw her name but then it changed to your name instead and here we are. The thing is, you now have a choice. You can either stay here on this level or you can go back to Earth and look after somebody of our choice"
"Whoa. Hold on there a minute. Could you say all that again?"
*"Let me make it simple for you, Frank", said Paul. "We have lots of people, still living, who will make a vast difference to the world as they get older. The problem is that they don't know it yet and for obvious reasons, we can't just tell them. They have to do good things for the world of their own choice. All we can do is try to protect them from themselves until the time that they can realise their potential."
"And how long does that take?"
Paul made a noise like a plumber when asked for an estimate on replacing a boiler. "Phwwwwww, That all depends on the individual. One step in the right direction could be enough or it could take years".
"So if I do this, I could be wandering round like a ghost for years?. And what happens if I do my best and the person I'm with still goes off the rails?".
I thought they were pretty sensible questions but Paul and Peter just laughed.
"Let's be clear on this", said Paul. "If you go back, you won't be a ghost. No rattling chains or bedsheets. You will look just like you do now but nobody will be able to see or hear you. None of this movie stuff where you learn to kick beer cans or move coins up and down doors. Nobody said it was an easy job. That's why we pick people like you for it. People who gave their life for another have something in their make-up that even we don't understand. It's almost like you can quickly learn to communicate on a level that nobody else can.
"So where do I go?
Peter smiled and held his hand out towards Paul who grunted and reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, took a £5 note out and gave it to Peter.
What the Hell was that?" I asked.
Peter, still smiling, said, "We always have a bet on people like you. I bet Paul that you would ask where you go before you ask what's in it for you"
"What's in it for me?"
"Simple, really. If you do the job right and the person you are coupled with does the right thing, you get to miss a level. If they fall down, it isn't a black mark against you but you stay on level one just like any other dead person would. The thing is that if you do a good job, you will be offered the same option when you get to level two"
"We actually have some options for you here" said Peter as he looked in a different book.
"Options?, I asked.
"You know the old saying. People to see, places to go. We have several youngsters that may need help. There are always more kids with possible problems than there are people like you to help them..There's a young boy in Bolton that has a bit of a drug issue, another boy in Preston that's in a dangerous relationship and a young girl in Blackburn who may go astray along with other members of a gang. That's all we can tell you."
Well, I may have been suffering from shock and total disorientation but if I was going to take this on, there was one thing I was sure of and that was that there was no way I was going to have anything to do with a guy who lives in Preston. For one thing, he may be a football fan and that would maybe mean me having to go to Preston North End games which, as a Man U supporter, I just couldn't do. The other two also gave me problems. The guy in Bolton was a bit close to my home turf for emotional comfort but the girl in Blackburn would be worse. How could I relate to a teenage girl? What if she did girl stuff while I was there?
No, it was going to be the boy in Bolton if I was going to make a go of it.
So why did I ask the stupidest question that I could have?