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“Dad…” Shawn asked, tapping his father on the shoulder. “Where do people go when they die?”

Henry looked up from his newspaper, clearly taken aback by the question.

“What?”

“Where do people go when they die?” Shawn repeated, perching on the arm of his father’s chair. “Cleveland?”

Cleveland?

“I have a bet with Gus…” Shawn explained. “He says people go to Heaven when they die. I say they go to Cleveland.”

“Why the hell would people go to Cleveland when they die?” Henry demanded, staring at Shawn in complete bewilderment.

“Well, no one goes there when they’re alive!” Shawn snorted.

 Henry rolled his eyes, folding his newspaper and gently placing it on the coffee table.

“Kid, no one goes to Cleveland when they die.” He assured his son confidently.  

“Not even if they’re really bad?” Shawn asked, not sounding completely convinced.

“No, Shawn.”
“Then where do people go when they die?” He pressed, looking up at his father with wide, innocent eyes.

For the briefest moment, Henry hesitated.

“Heaven.” He said finally, clearing his throat with the air of a Theologian.

“Really?” Shawn blinked. “But what about, like, murderers? Do they go to Heaven, too?”

“No.” Henry snorted. “Of course not!”

“Then where do they go?”

“Jail, Shawn.”

“I mean after jail.” Shawn sighed, rolling his eyes. “When they die! Where do murderers go when they die?”

Once again, Henry hesitated before answering.

“Uh…Cleveland?” He stammered finally.

Shawn’s nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Cleveland?”

“Uh…sure.”

“But you said--”

“Look. Shawn.” Henry cut-in, brushing his son off the arm of the chair. “Why don’t you go ask your mom?”

“I did. She said to ask you.”

“Great.” Henry groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“She said it’s payback for the baby talk.” Shawn informed his father, plopping back down on the chair’s arm. “Then she laughed.”

“I bet she did.” Henry muttered bitterly.

“So…” Shawn folded his arms across his chest, clearly not about to leave until he got a satisfactory answer. “Where do murders go when they die?”

“Okay…” Henry sighed, leaning forward. “Remember last year when we went camping?”

“Yeah…” Shawn said slowly, not seeing where his father was going with this.

“Remember when that son of a…when that guy plowed into my truck with his stupid motorcycle on our last day at the campsite?”

“Yeah…” Shawn laughed at the memory. “That was funny!”

“Yeah, well…do you remember what I told him when he asked me not to get the insurance companies involved?”

“Yeah…” Shawn nodded. “You told him to go to…”

Suddenly, his eyes grew wide in horror. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

“You mean--” he gasped as the realization dawned on him.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded firmly. “That’s where murderers go when they die…and, with any luck, where that jackass with the motorcycle is going, too…”



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