2 Minutes to Midnight (7 page)

ever
going to come looking for those souls? They've
already been deemed unfit for release, and rejected by Him."
Lucifer thought about it a minute, and began to laugh heartily as
if he understood the punch line to a cosmic joke. A big belly laugh
rang through the cavern. Cedric could feel intense warming build
around him as Lucifer's mood improved, and heat waves rose from his
body.
"That's a great idea! Any thoughts on how accomplish this?" Lucifer
asked.
"How fond are you of Azriel?" Cedric asked.
"Ugh, that guy. Azriel stresses me out more than any of the other
demons. I'd like to send him on a permanent vacation, if you know
what I mean. But there's nothing I can do."
"What if I could?" Cedric asked.
"You can't kill him--even with that sword of yours. I'm amazed that
you've gotten this far without encountering a high level demon that
could kill you. Baphomet was a mid-level who had aspirations for
greater status." Lucifer said.
"I need him to roll back time for Angeline, and return her since
his influence is the reason she's dead. But, when he completes the
ceremony you strike him down with my sword, and his power vacuum
will allow you to concentrate your eternal power. Essentially, when
you strike Azriel down just
think
about the chaos dimension and your intention will
open the portal." Cedric said.
"How do you know all of this?" Lucifer asked.
"I don't know, I guess like I know we're standing on the earth. I
can't explain it any better than that."
"I'll transport us both to Hell. You ready?" Lucifer asked.
Cedric nodded and a gate adorned with skulls from many varied races
of humanoid and beast alike, formed before them in the cavern.
Smoke spilled from between thick, black, iron bars, and Cedric
could hear the sounds of Hell's inhabitants growling, wailing, and
crying with such sorrow that the experience gave Cedric
pause.
"It ain't pretty, but it's home." Lucifer said.
The gate creaked open and they entered Lucifer's dominion. Hell's
walls were lined with ancient weapons forged from hellfire, used in
battles fought long ago, before the dawn of mankind.
"See that morning star? I used that in the last great battle and
slammed Gabriel a pillar of Heaven. You should have heard him cuss!
Ha ha!" Lucifer boasted.
They entered Satan's office where Azriel was watching soap operas
and eating a basket of charcoaled human fingers.
"Hey, Lucifer! You're back! Good job, Cedric." Azriel said.
Azriel stuffed a few more fingers in his mouth. Cedric shook his
head in disgust as Azriel munched and talked.
"Your boss is back, so how about returning Angeline to the living
plane? Our deal, remember?" Cedric said.
"Oh sure, one sec." Azriel replied.
He reached inside his desk, pulled out an antique clock, and wound
the hands back to a moment just before Angeline's gun misfired. On
the wall they could see a pool of water appear, and saw Angeline
putting the pistol down on her nightstand. Angeline looked around;
appearing confused, and then shrugged her shoulders and placed the
gun in the nightstand beside her bed.
"She's reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, cool." Azriel
said.
"Thanks, Azriel." Cedric said.
While Azriel was transfixed on the Angeline show, Cedric handed his
sword to Lucifer. Satan took the demon slayer blade and drove it to
the hilt into the top of Azriel's head. Lucifer picked the
squealing demon up and tossed him into the wall of his office.
Azriel shattered like glass, leaving a gigantic imprint in the rock
that began to crack like an egg shell. Lucifer walked over and with
Daisy, he poked through the wall, and dragged Cedric's blade up and
down until there was a gaping black hole. They had done it.
Faces, and partial bodies of humans, ant people, reptilians, and a
host of other exotic races floated in and out of view in a sea of
darkness.
"It's like a lava lamp." Cedric said.
"I'm filling that lava lamp with assholes later on today. Rapists,
murderers, and IRS agents." Lucifer smiled.
"Ha ha, good one. OK, well if you're good, I'm going to go catch up
with Angeline. I've been gone too long." Cedric said.
"You going to return to demon slaying again?" Lucifer asked.
"Someday, yeah. I've been doing this job so long I've forgotten why
I'm alive, and I need to find myself--some meaning for it all."
Cedric replied.
"Now that I can free up some space down here my guards can more
closely watch the gates. Maybe that'll give you more of a
break."
"Until we meet again, Dad." Cedric said.
Cedric opened his arms and Lucifer embraced him.
"Shhhhh!" Lucifer said.
Cedric winked and vanished from Hell.

traveling salesman

The doorway to Hell may
resemble an outstretched hand for help, and perhaps it's the
farmer's daughter who should worry the traveling
salesman.

Tim Tucker drove along
Route 49 through Concord, North Carolina. Sweat was running in
rivulets down his neck from the incessant southern summer heat and
humidity. A thermometer at the last service station he passed had
read ninety-nine degrees at two in the afternoon, and the factory
air conditioner in his fifty-five Cadillac was on the fritz. Tim
checked his watch, which read half past six and he was no cooler,
or closer to home. Large patches of sweat spread out from beneath
his arms like an advancing army, and he began to think about a nice
soft bed, and an air conditioned room. In nineteen fifty-nine,
motor lodges were few and far between on the road he traveled, so
Tim kept his fingers crossed, hoping for a place to stay the night.
He was a soap salesman for Infused Bar Soap in Lancaster,
Pennsylvania, a company that blended natural herbs and oils into
their soaps. Since there were so few salesmen in the company, his
territory was the entire East coast. If you never saw the
commercials their jingle was, "Infused Bar Soap, it's the natural
way to get grime away. Use IBS to clean that mess, IBS… IBS… what a
mess. IBS iiiiit’s the housewife’s helper!"
Tim spent most of his time on the road, but since he had neither a
wife nor kids at home, he preferred it to working in a factory or
office. Hours at a factory were long too, but the scenery never
changed, and when he had worked those jobs, the effect on his soul
caused him to feel like he was watching the minutes of his life
tick off one at a time. Typically, this particular route was boring
and uneventful, and he travelled it only in the fall when
temperatures were not so hot, but Tim had a new account in Florida,
and the owners had begged him to go. He regretted his decision on
this hot summer night, where no A/C made the drive home to
Pennsylvania even duller and exceptionally unbearable. A storm was
coming, and as the first drops of rain hit his windshield Tim's
engine began to knock and sputter, causing his speed to decrease.
Tim's foot pushed the pedal to the floor with no effect. His pedal
rap, rap, rapped on the floor, but he continued to slow as his
heart rate increased.
"No, no, no, no, no! Don't leave me stuck out here in the sticks!"
Out of frustration, Tim slammed his hand on the steering wheel, and
pulled over to the side of the road as the engine gave one final
clunk.
"It’s never easy." He mumbled.
Tim put his head on the steering wheel as a bolt of lightning
illuminated a dirt road about ten feet in front of his car. Looming
in the distance half a mile down the dirt road was a farmhouse with
a light on in one of the downstairs windows. Tim was not an engine
mechanic, and he didn't want to spend a hot and stuffy night in his
car, so he decided to high tail it to that house before the sky
would open up and he resemble a drowned rat.
"You can sit here in the car, or find out if those good folks have
a phone. Maybe they know an engine mechanic."
Thunder rumbled louder now, and came closer, as dime sized drops
thumped the roof of his car as if someone were dropping BB's over
it. Tim grabbed his brief case of handmade soaps, got out, and
trotted down the dark road as light inside the farmhouse window
became brighter.
"If they'll let you stay, maybe you can make a sale to the little
woman of the house." He chuffed.
Tim could see the silhouette of this two story house clearer as he
came closer and it reminded him of every horror story he had read
about broken down travelers in the night. When he did close the
distance, and the moment his foot touched the front step of the
porch, the previously feared torrential downpour ensued.
"My lucky day. That could have been ugly." Tim said to
himself.
He was trying to stay positive, but he was beginning to think the
car would have been a more hospitable place to spend his night. The
farmhouse, dry as it may have been inside, was in desperate need of
major exterior repairs. Floorboards creaked beneath his feet
sending a stark chill up Tim's spine as he surveyed rotted wood
siding and chipped white paint. A bead of sweat ran down Tim's nose
as he pushed the doorbell, heard a loud buzz from the other side,
and waited patiently for someone to open the door. A curtain moved
to the side of one of the windows. Tim caught a flash of a female
face as the curtain fell back in place. Then he heard footfalls
approaching the door.
"Who is it?" Came the female voice.
"My name's Tim Tucker and my car broke down up the road. I was
hoping I could use your phone to call a mechanic." Tim
yelled.
Uncomfortable silence for a moment, and then the door creaked open.
A young girl, probably in her late teens stood in the doorway
smiling at him. Her blond locks hung just above a set of pretty
blue eyes that would have allowed her to escape a murder
conviction. Her perfume had the intoxicating aroma of strawberries
in season. The young woman stood smiling as Tim struggled to think
of something clever or funny, but he stood gawking in an awkward
fashion. The young woman wore a checkered long sleeve shirt, the
sleeves rolled exposing her alabaster skin, and the top three
buttons were undone, flaunting a buxom set of breasts. She had tied
the bottom up in a halter that gave her the cliché appearance of
every farmer’s daughter story he had ever heard. Tim could imagine
laying his head on her chest to take a nap, or being involved in
more exciting activities if given the opportunity. He looked away
from her grin, ashamed.
"You know you shouldn't be prowling about at night it’s very
dangerous in these parts after sun down." She said.
"Like I said, my car broke down and I saw a light on over here."
Tim said.
"My name's Elsa. Um... my eyes are up here, sir." Elsa said.
Tim realized that he had been staring at her chest, and with an
uncomfortable chuckle he pulled himself together. Her smile never
wavered, and as he shook her outstretched hand he thought he caught
a glint of something more than just a friendly southern
hello
in her eyes. Tim
cleared his throat.
"My apologies, it's been a long day. Do you mind if I use your
phone?" Tim asked.
"Sure, but the mechanic’s shop is closed and won't be open again
until tomorrow morning. Want to come in out of the rain?" Elsa
asked.
"Thank you that would be great." Tim said.
The inside of her house had an old musty odor, like sour milk left
out too long. However, Tim was glad to be out of the rain, and Elsa
was beautiful. He kept his mouth shut and took shallow breaths
until he became odor blind. The interior of her house was not much
better than outside as he followed her into the living room. Heaped
in a corner were old tattered newspapers and a pile of shoes, and
dirty dishes littered the coffee table.
"Please excuse the mess, we’re renovating. The former owners were
not very tidy." Elsa said.
"You live here with someone else?" Tim asked. His heart sank with
disappointment.
"Oh yes, with my daddy, Dieter. He’s down in the basement working
on a project. Don’t worry about him though, he’s friendly and
besides, he’ll be hours down there while we get to know each other
better." Elsa said.
"Wonderful!"
Tim hoped his enthusiasm had not been too noticeable, but he felt a
sexual attraction to Elsa and if a lurking husband or boyfriend
were around he could toss those thoughts in the trash.
"Ha ha, go sit in the living room while I get us a drink." Elsa
laughed.
Tim sat on a dilapidated green couch. He was sitting there
wondering what a girl as pretty as Elsa was doing in this run down
tenement when he heard a muffled cry from the basement. The sound
startled him as Elsa entered the room.
"Daddy's helping our dog, Jeeter. The poor thing had his leg broken
today when a car hit him on the highway."
"Oh, that’s a shame. Poor thing, I had a dog as a kid. Rascal was
his name, and I loved that little guy." Tim said.
"Yes, well we do try to help those we love." Elsa said.
She took a seat on the couch next to Tim curling her legs up next
to his and handed him a glass of tea.
"I made this fresh, today." She smiled.
Her physical proximity, combined with the aroma of strawberries
made Tim feel like he was in another world. He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted her to want him to do it, but as he swallowed hard he
could not get the courage to make a move. Her milky white, soft
skin drove him crazy and the temptation to throw caution to the
wind overpowered him. To hell with it, he thought. Tim leaned in
for a kiss, and she reciprocated.
"I’m sorry; I don’t know why I just did that." Tim
apologized.
"Don’t apologize for following your base sexual desires, Tim
Tucker. You want to be a naughty boy, don’t you?"
Tim felt blood rush to his head. No woman had ever said anything
like that to him, and he began to feel the familiar throbbing need
as she moved her hand to his crotch. Gently, she massaged
him.
"Drink your tea. You look parched." Elsa said.
She leaned in, kissed him lightly on the ear, and bit his earlobe
with gentle, playful pressure. He was her puppet now, and all
thought that her
daddy
was somewhere in the house, forgotten. He drank her tea, and
felt the sweet liquid cool him as he swallowed. He thought Elsa
must have used a bad tea bag, because although the tea was
delicious, there was an acrid aftertaste, like aspirin had been
mixed with it. Elsa undid a few more of the buttons on her shirt,
one at a time, in a strip tease that was making Tim insane. Beads
of sweat gathered on his forehead and he began to feel a wave of
nausea as she took one of his hands and placed it inside her large
bra.
"This is what you want, naughty boy?" Elsa whispered.
"Yes." Tim said.
He kissed her on the lips, and as she opened her mouth he noticed
that her breath smelled like rotten eggs. Had she brushed her teeth
this year? He didn't care, Tim pushed past as his head began to
swim, and the nausea grew. He could feel the soft flesh of her
right breast against his hand as he kneaded and gently squeezed.
She moaned a little, smiling at him as his vision began to waver
and fade.
"Tim, you’re going to miss the best part. Don’t go to sleep yet."
Elsa said.
Elsa had a little girl frown on her face that, had Tim not been on
his way out of consciousness, would have been a real turn on. Elsa
opened her shirt the rest of the way and lifted her bra to display
a very perky and well-rounded set of double D breasts. She smiled
at him as he flashed a stupid grin and his head hit the back of the
couch. Tim never did get to enjoy the rest of his show, and
everything went to black.
Sometime later Tim woke up in a dark room tied to a bed. His head
was slamming as if an orchestral drum section were playing hard
inside his skull. Terror stole reason as he realized his
predicament and attempted, in vain, to release his hands from the
ties that bound him. Tears of fear, confusion and frustration
rolled down his face. Where had Elsa gone, and why was he tied to a
bed?
"Hello, is someone there? Please untie me. I'll leave, I meant no
harm." Tim cried.
Someone approached from the front of the bed, a dark figure moving
with the speed of a phantom, and cut one of the ties. This figure
said nothing to him, and walked out the bedroom door into a dark
hallway beyond. Tim looked down and could make out the shape of a
knife, the knife used to cut one arm loose. But why was he cut
free? His eyes were adjusted to the black, and in the right corner
of this room he could see a dresser, a rocking chair, and a figure
sitting stone still as the chair rocked forward and back. A humming
and clicking sound rose from the rocking chair corner and scared as
he was; Tim quickly took the knife and cut his other hand
free.
Tim got off the bed and stumbled over to the door where he found a
light switch. He flipped on the light and turned to see that a
horror show sat in the chair. Tim's father introduced had him to
carnival clowns at the early age of five, when the circus came to
town each year. Not only did he not understand them, but he was
frightened of them. Human faces masked by pancake makeup, black
ringed eyes, ubiquitous beeping red noses, and sinister grins
searching his face for an expression. Or, the prostrate, sad,
downward looking clowns, the ones life had bitten a chunk out of
that, to Tim, begged for help, or some form of humanity from the
crowds they presented themselves to. They wore their pain on the
outside, and the experience had been quite affecting. In the corner
of this strange room Tim was face to face with the boogey man once
again. He stood eyes wide, heart palpitating, mind racing at an
elderly man dressed in a clown suit. He was covered in blood and
rocked back and forth staring at Tim with eyes of glass two times
too big for his sockets. They bulged with insanity. Some mad
scientist had stitched his cheeks back in a grotesque grin of
horror. His throat had been sliced from ear to ear and stitched
back together in a crude pattern reminiscent of Frankenstein's
monster. A large red wig sat cockeyed on his head. The
pièce de résistance
was
a red rubber nose covering what may have been a nose beneath.
“Oh my God. This can't be real!” Tim croaked.
In response the man turned his head, opened his mouth, and emitted
a squeak like that of a child's rubber bath toy. Had his vocal
chords been replaced? Tim thought in misery. The horror show clown
leapt up with suddenness, and began feeling around in the air with
his hands outstretched, croaking, gurgling, and squeaking. Tim
still had the knife in his hand, and as the clown horror shambled
toward the sound of his voice he instinctively drove the knife
blade deep into this man’s chest. As the clown dropped dead, the
door to his room slammed open and a tall man dressed in overalls,
and wearing someone's face as a mask stood staring at Tim. Tim
could see two smoldering eyes glaring back at him from behind the
mask.
"That was my favorite artwork! AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!" The man
screamed.
Tim felt his vision begin to waver as blood rushed from his head.
In shock of what he had just witnessed, he almost passed out. His
mental state had reached the point just past terror and now floated
somewhere in a protective vacuum, struggling to keep him sane. As
quick as the man had come he was gone. He took off, running down
the dark hall and screaming obscenities.
Elsa walked in a moment later. She had a twisted grin on her
face.
"Forgive daddy, he was a surgeon during the war and has not been
the same since. Did you like his clown? He worked very hard on that
one while you were in our living room." Elsa showed Tim a driver’s
license, and nodded toward the clown.
"This man was selling rubber boot covers." She frowned,
playfully.
"Can I go home now?" Tim begged.
"I thought you wanted to be a naughty boy, Timmy?" Elsa
purred.
"I just want to go home. I don’t want to play your game anymore."
Tim said.
The shock had sent Tim into a fight or flight state and when he
looked down his hand was still holding the blood covered knife. He
looked back up at Elsa, rage illuminating his eyes.
"Oh bad boy, Timmy! I know what you’re thiiinking." She sang. "Ha,
ha, ha!" Her voice had taken on a slight German accent, which
caused Tim to wonder which side her daddy had been on in the
war.
The lights went out again, and Tim found himself inside an odd
world of darkness. If he had died and gone to Hell, somehow, this
would explain what was happening. With two confirmed mad people in
the house and a dead clown at his feet, Tim had had enough and
walked out of the bedroom prison. Elsa was toying with him now, and
he expected her daddy to pop out and stab him at any moment. Tim
entered the hallway and a light flickered on overhead, while Blue
Danube began playing downstairs. Lining the walls were severed
heads of humans nailed to rough cut plywood boards. Beneath them,
centered with care was the driver’s license of each victim. They
were all men. Tim tried to swallow, but he had the cottonmouth of
fear, and nothing went down.
"We get