Time: Modern Day
Location: Sydney, Australia

Carter Cheval strode purposefully up MacQuarie Street to the Italian restaurant on the corner. It was quite a warm night; he could do with a drink. He was to meet someone who had promised that they could shed some light on the previous day's story.

It wasn't clear whether he was to meet with a man or a woman. The text message was from an unknown source and said they would know him when he arrived.

Most people would recognise him as one of the co-hosts of the popular current affairs TV programme, After Dark. He had hosted the show, as the male anchor, for a year now. His partner in crime was Carrie Fisher, a New Zealander, attractive thirty something, with a big mouth and an ego to match. They were an effective team. If he hadn't already been involved with Layla he may have been tempted to go there, but their partnership was mutually professional.

As he approached the entrance to the sidewalk dining area he noticed something unusual. A biker was perched on his bike, parked on the footpath, to the left of the rosemary covered archway. He was smoking weed. Carter instantly recognised the colours, a skull with ruby red eyes blazoned on his jacket; he was with the Sons of Chaos motorcycle gang. They were thought to be a moderately bad mob rumoured to be involved in gun running and low level drug trafficking.

He had done an exposé on them last August. He hoped upon hope that this wasn't who he was supposed to be meeting. It was unlikely, though, that a biker could have intimate information about a land deal scandal in the city.

His mind drifted back to last night's show which had headlined the day's top story about an accusation of corruption at a high level. It revolved around a whistle blower's call to the Rumour File, a daytime talkback radio segment on a sister radio station of the network. The caller had alleged that the Mayor, Jack Myer, had secretly acquired tracts of land earmarked for redevelopment into a new multi-million dollar Fisherman's Wharf like development. It was to be positioned at Potts Point, a harbourside suburb currently home to misfits, prostitutes and pimps.

Carter savoured the sweet, fresh smell of rosemary as he entered the restaurant. He passed the throng of trattoria diners who were contributing to the general hubbub of the busy restaurant. It was Friday night and the crowd was in a party mood, excitedly chattering away about the events of the coming weekend. Who would win the football and what horse would win at Randwick and even who would get laid.

Carter thought about joining them for a minute but then wheeled around and entered the main restaurant. He asked the balding proprietor for a seat near the window so he could watch people approaching. He liked to analyse people's behaviour. He got a kick out of guessing if they were gay or not; if they were meeting a lover or having an affair, or having a boring business meeting like he was.

Most people, meeting at these particular types of restaurants, were usually there for one or more of these reasons. He could see the biker was texting away madly. Funny how technology had bridged all social boundaries.

His musing gaze was interrupted by an intruder. A middle aged man with a shock of dishevelled brown hair was staring at him through the window. Ken Murray entered the restaurant and came right up to him with his hand extended in a gesture of friendship and greeting.

"Mister Cheval? Hi, I'm Ken Murray. I'm the man you are supposed to talk to. May I?" he said gesturing to a vacant chair opposite Carter. Carter waved him to sit down. Carter took over now.

"I believe you have some information for me about the land deal in Potts Point. Are you the whistleblower?"

"No, on both counts!" Ken replied.

"Then why am I meeting with you?" Ken started to tell Carter his story. Ordinarily Carter might have excused himself, and left at the point that Ken admitted to Carter that he had lured him to the restaurant on false pretences.

"Remember a while ago you did an exposé on paedophiles in the Roman Catholic Church, both Priests and Brothers? I was shocked when I found out that you had discovered there was some concern about our local priest, Father Dan Allen, although nothing could be proven to date, and no-one you had spoken to was willing to come forward.

"Anyway, not long after that, I was playing tennis and I suffered a stroke. This was followed by a heart attack, I was still out on the tennis courts. Apparently I was clinically dead for twelve minutes or more before being resuscitated, firstly by a defibrillator, and later by paramedics.

"Before I say anymore, do you believe in the afterlife?" asked Ken expectantly . . .

Carter considered the question.

"Define afterlife," and then without waiting for an answer his mind raced to great aunt Margot and her ouija board and so he gave a tentative, "Yes."

Ken continued,"Then you will probably think I'm crazy, but I'm not sure if I was dreaming or not, but it sure felt real."

"Go on, tell me what happened. I'm listening, no pre-emptive judgements," Carter promised.

Carter thought to himself, seeing I'm here I might as well listen and he seems genuine enough. Carter told Ken how he prided himself on being a good judge of character, so Ken was pleased when he was allowed to continue.

Both men chose a pasta main course from the menu and Carter, a bottle of Hunter Valley Shiraz.

Ken continued, "For argument's sake let's say I did die. An awful lot happened during those twelve minutes.

"The very first thing I remember, after collapsing, was being out of my body and attached by a light. The next thing I saw was two aliens talking. Anyway they looked like aliens to me. I wasn't scared though, not really, I'd say more like uneasy. They looked human-like but weren't human. A voice sort of came to me then. I can't explain it but it seemed to be asking me if anything was troubling me.

"Strangely, I must have been mulling over your After Dark programme, from the night before, because I sort of blurted out, 'Is Father Dan a paedophile?' Then the conversation went something like this . . .

"'He was before, that's why he joined the priesthood to try to reform himself, came the answer.'

'Did he molest me and I've blocked it out?'

'No he didn't molest you. But he did weaken a few times.'

'Why does the Catholic Church protect these people? I asked.'

'They have much greater secrets to protect than a few thousand paedophile priests, a voice replied.'

'What sort of secrets? I quizzed the voice.'

'Secrets that could destroy their position in society. Fundamental secrets that expose them for what they truly are.'

'Will these secrets come to light?'

'Yes, eventually, and you will be the one to drop the pin that causes the earthquake and eventual tsunami so to speak.'

'Me? But I'm dead aren't I? I asked.'

'Are you? Not yet, you need to start the media search. Follow your light. Do as you know you must.'"

"Then I woke up in hospital. It was two days later. I had been in an induced coma. They told me I died several times and was revived. The first time, though, I should not have survived. I was clinically dead for nearly 13 minutes!"

Carter sat in stunned silence for a long time. Their meal had come, at some point, but they were both so engrossed in the telling of Ken's story that both their dinners had hardly been touched. So Carter took this opportunity to go over some of the details of Ken's story in his head, while they both finished their meals. Both men were hungry and it wasn't long before they were ready to talk again.

"So why has it taken you so long to contact the media with this, and why me?" Carter asked, sort of expecting the answer he got.

Ken said, "I thought people would think I was crazy. I thought you would think I was crazy. That's why the bullshit story I told your office about knowing something about the land deal.

"I didn't know if you would be even interested in what I really had to say. Let alone that I'd be able to convince some underling, at the show, that it was worth he, or she, even mentioning my call seeking a meeting with you. Why you? They told me to follow my light. I took that to mean follow my instincts. My instincts told me you might listen with an open mind."

"Have you told anyone else this story?" Carter asked.

Ken looked sheepish for a time, "Only my wife and one other person."

"Who is that if you don't mind my asking?"

"That's why I've taken so long to come to you. I wanted to check if what they told me was true about Father Dan."

"You told Father Dan?" Carter gasped, "Why?"

Ken explained that he and Father Dan had been friends for a long time. Father Dan had begun frequenting the local pub, the Royal. He had decided to try to reach some of his parishioners who no longer came to Mass by joining them at the pub. They had discovered a common love of horseracing, and had met each other at the races on a Saturday a number of times.

"As you can understand, I was very upset by the accusations your programme was making against Father Dan, and then having them, seemingly, confirmed by my near-death experience. So I decided to confront him with my experience. But I didn't want to tell him the whole story, so I went to confession. I thought if I could tell him in the confessional it would stay between us."

"What did he say? Did he believe you?"

"Not at first. I asked him if he was a paedophile and of course he denied it. But when I thanked him for not molesting me as an altar boy he became very angry. Threatening even, he said I'd better watch what I was saying or a lot of people could get hurt or even worse."

Carter noticed Ken's eye movements as he recalled his conversation with Father Dan. He wasn't making this up, not according to Carter's NLP training.

"'Promise me faithfully that you will drop this and I will tell you as much as I am able, to put your mind at rest.' He had then said. That's when I did as the spirit or God or whatever it was over there in the Hereafter had told me. I did as I knew I must. I lied. I promised him I would drop it if he told me the truth about his being a paedophile or not.

"He then said, 'Ken, this must not leave this room. I am ashamed to say that I did some despicable things before I found my true calling. Some would call it paedophilia. But I left that all behind me when I joined the priesthood. Now go in peace and serve the Lord. I absolve you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And remember your solemn oath, before God, to drop this!'"

"But you haven't dropped it, have you?" Carter smiled.

"No. He lied in the confessional so why can't I?" Ken laughed.

"So where to from here?" Carter couldn't remember ordering coffee but he must have. He had a nearing empty cappuccino cup in front of him. He drained it, licked the milk froth from his blonde moustache and called for the bill.

Ken went for his wallet. Carter stopped him with, "This one's on After Dark. I suspect a lot more will be on us before we're finished." He put the bill on his work credit card, "Let me run this past my team and I'll get back to you. Let's meet here a week from tonight, same time, if that suits and the food's not too bad."

"No, it's good. Great in fact. I'm really happy about everything, really happy," Ken said, patting his ample stomach.

They left the restaurant together with contented laughter. As they passed the bikie, Carter smiled as he saw that he was still furiously texting on his mobile phone.

The black car cruised up MacQuarie Street, slowed as it reached the front of the restaurant. The driver's side rear window, and driver's window, eased down in unison. Tattooed hands held handguns. Carter heard the ratta tat tat, then a phut phut, phut, phut, a woman's scream, he felt a thunk, thunk in his chest like someone prodding him with an umbrella. He looked down and saw the blood filling his white shirt.

The pain seemed bearable, his media training allowing him to become somehow detached and observe the scene. He was now looking at the stars. The moon was crescent and licked by whispery, ghost-like clouds.

He turned his head to the right and was staring into the lifeless eyes of a young woman, the screamer.

He looked left and saw the motorbike upended on top of the grotesque figure of the bikie, covered in blood. Next to the bikie, he saw Ken, half his head missing and still smiling.

He heard a siren wail in the silence. More screams and shouts as people realised the car with the shooters had sped off. It was time to tend the dying.

Music: Scenes From An Italian Restaurant - Billy Joel