A Boy and His Corpse (10 page)

***

              Mort looked to James as he dragged the dead agent down the basement stairs. He was about to hug him after seeing Alan’s dream, but something held him back. James wasn’t the person he made himself out to be. He was a fraud, a charlatan. Mort continued to stare down at his master. Alan’s lips twitch in his sleep.

Lucifer

              As Lucifer continued to stare at the rattling door to his throne room, another vision from Earth entered his mind. His hands steadied and his nerves calmed. He settled back in his throne and waited. A part of him even wanted to smile.

With one final push, the door flew open. The momentum sent all the representatives of Hell falling one on top of the other. They squirmed and writhed, trying to push themselves up. The first one on his feet was Gaylord Heavensby. He represented the tenth circle of Hell, which was a level left out of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
. It was a luxury ring, designed and constructed 1000 years ago for the rich and famous. Even in death they preferred their privacy.  .

              “Why didn’t you answer the bloody door when we knocked?” Gaylord asked. He wore a tweed sweater, tan pants and a pair of brown boat shoes with no socks. His mustache was a whisper of hair above his upper lip, and he was quite pale. “What are you going to do about this, Lucifer? Half the houses in my district are ruined! You promised there wouldn’t be any more massive earthquakes!”

              “Step aside, Gaylord,” said a blubbery, shirtless man wearing raggedy pants with the pockets hanging out. This could only be Robert Jacobson, the representative from the fourth circle. Unlike those in the tenth circle who spent their money wisely back on Earth, the denizens in the fourth circle once had money but blew it all on frivolous things. And though it went unsaid between the two groups, those in the fourth circle loathed those in the tenth and vice versa. “We ain’t got nothing left, Lucifer. How are you going to repay us?”

              But he, too, was pushed aside. A skinny, anemic man with hands that dangled from scraps at the end of his forearms now stood in his place. This was the representative from the center of the seventh circle, Bob Duncan, the suicide king.

              Before Bob could say a word, a large, barrel-chested man with flowing black hair and harsh eyes pushed him aside. This was Bron. He was also from the seventh circle of Hell, which was collectively known as the circle of violence.

He walked past all of them and went right up to Lucifer.

              The devil, not wanting to appear weak in front of this giant, grew in size again so that his horns nearly scraped the ceiling. The throne grew as an extension of him.

              “What is it, Bron?” Lucifer asked in a booming voice.

              “Grow, stay at eye-level, it makes no difference to me,” he said. “If you don’t something about the overpopulation in Hell—”

              “
Then what, Bron
?” Lucifer’s voice thundered, making the other leaders of their respective rings step back; but not Bron. He kicked Lucifer so hard in the big toe that the devil shrunk back to human size. Bron wrapped his bicep around Lucifer’s neck and put him in a headlock.

              “Then I will kill you and take over Hell myself,” he said.

Lucifer clawed at Bron’s beefy forearms, but to no avail.

“The only reason I’m not taking over Hell now is because I detest responsibility. But I will do it for the people of the seventh circle if I have to.”

              “Can’t—” Lucifer spat, “Breathe.”

              Bron released Lucifer and pushed him to the ground.

              “I have a plan,” Lucifer said between coughs, starring back at the group of Hell representatives. “It will clear out Hell forever. I promise.”

              “What kind of plan?” Bron asked, crossing his arms.

              Lucifer stood and presented his plan. By the time he was done, Bron nodded, as did all the other representatives behind him.

              “When can you start?” Bron asked.

              “Within the hour,” Lucifer said.

             
“Good,” Bron said. “I’ll wait.” 

Alan

              “I swear, if anything’s wrong with him, I’ll tell the whole
world
about your stupid Undead Militia,” Alan heard his mother say as he regained consciousness. His head was in a fog. The strong smell of the dusty basement pervaded his nostrils.

              “We’ll worry about that later, Lorraine,” Alan heard his father growl. He imagined his dad clenching his fists at his side.

              “This is all your fault, you know. None of this would have happened if you—”

              “Alright, shut it, Lorraine! There’s nothing I can do right now, okay? I’m worried, too.”

              “No, you’re not.”

“What the hell are you talking about?
Of course I’m worried
!” Herbert shouted. “He’s my son, too, you know.”

“You don’t care about anything but your stupid Militia. You’re so selfish, I can’t stand it.”

              “Are you serious right now? Are you really being serious?”

“No, I’m joking, Herbert! You’re the freaking father of the year. If I had a sash that said those very same words, I’d tie it around your damn neck.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry that I’ve spent my life protecting this country, Lorraine. God, if anybody’s been selfish, it’s you.”

              “
And what’s that supposed to mean
?”

              Though it was relaxing lying on the cold, basement floor after being so hot just a few moments ago, Alan couldn’t take their shouting any longer.

              “Could the two of you shut up already?” Alan said. “Christ Almighty.”

Alan opened his eyes and stared up at Mort who still stood staring down at him. He turned his head and focused on his mother. Her eyes sprang wide open and she lunged down and wrapped her arms around him.

              She showered his forehead with smooches. “Oh, Alan!” kiss kiss. “Thank God,” kiss, “You’re”, kiss, “Okay.” Kiss kiss.

              His father sank down beside him and hugged him next.

              For a moment, the three of them were a family again, but it didn’t last. When his mother realized Herbert was touching her she shifted her arms. His father grunted when he realized the very same fact. They quickly pulled apart.

              Behind him came the sound of a long, slow clap. Alan turned his head and a sharp pain pinched his neck. He saw James.

              “Touching,” James said, pushing himself off the staircase. “Really, truly touching. But, you know, maybe you guys want to actually get things moving now that we have the President on the run. There were about four or five secret service cars in the parking lot down the street. How long do you think it will take for them to pull up in your driveway?”

              “What?” Herbert asked, knitting his brow.

              “He’s not lying. I saw the cars, too. They were in the parking lot down the street,” Lorraine said. “They were secret servicemen?”

              “They definitely looked like it. But that’s the least of our problems right now,” James said.

              “How so?” Herbert asked.

              “Well, they would have kicked down the doors by now if they were going to come get us. So my guess is, the President is probably hightailing it back to Washington right now. But your agents,” James said, raising his head to Lorraine, “should be coming around here any moment now, I suspect.”

              Herbert jumped to his feet. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

I thought I’d let you two scream it out until Alan woke up, since we’re going to need him anyway.”

              “Need me for
what
?” Alan asked. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

              “Are you okay?” he asked, looking him directly in the eyes. “It’s me, James.”

              “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Herbert said, getting up. “Now that we’re done dragging those bodies down here, you want to tell us who you really are,
James Krompholz,
if that’s your real name?”

              “It is,” James said, “but you’re right. I’m not who you think I am. But that’s okay, as Alan isn’t who I thought
he
was, either. Not until he used Mort to punch a hole in Heinzelman’s chest and showed his
true
colors.” His stared directly at Alan.

Alan sniffed the dusty air. Was that blood? He had no idea how he missed the smell before, but his nose directed him to where agents Heinzelman and Convington laid sprawled out on top of each other. Alan looked to Mort, and the memories flooded back to him like snapshots from a camera. He saw Mort’s hand going through Agent’s Heinzelman’s chest followed by the man screaming in agony. Alan nursed his temples. What the hell had he done?

“How do you know about the other two agents?” Lorraine asked James.

“I’ll tell you in due time, but right now, we have bigger fish to fry. Like your two agents in the corner. They’re going to start stinking pretty soon.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Herbert said. “We’ll spray them soon enough.”

“Oh, God,” Lorraine choked.

“What’s the matter
now
?”

“You’re not going to spray them with that lemony crap, are you?”

“And if I am?” Herbert grumbled. “It gets rid of the stink.”

“Yeah, only to replace it with another stink. I don’t want to be anywhere
near
that junk when you spray it.”

“Then get the hell out of here then! Why are you even here anyway?”

“Uh, duh, it’s Friday, you idiot. I pick Alan up on—”

“Don’t you call me an idiot!”

“Stop it!” Alan shouted. “I’m so sick of the two of you arguing!”

Without thinking, Alan lifted his hand and the two dead agents in the corner began to shake. They then pushed themselves up and got to their feet. Their eyes remained closed and their mouths were downturned, but they still stood. Everybody gasped, but Herbert gasped the loudest.

“I’m—I’m not doing that,” Herbert gaped. “Are you, Alan?”

Alan didn’t respond. A fresh sheen of sweat appeared on his brow as he focused his attention on the two dead agents. Alan’s hands shook. He’d never been inside two – make that three – bodies before. He felt like a spider, and trying to control eight legs at once made his head ache. He released his hold on Mort but remained inside the other two. Their bodies were thick and clunky. Each time he blinked, they took a step forward. He watched them travel up the stairs in jerky motions—left foot, blink, right foot, blink, left foot, blink, right foot, blink. They moved like
The March of the Wooden Soldiers
.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they went into the living room. Alan had Agent Covington sit on the floor, Indian style and he made Agent Heinzelman go into the kitchen to open the top cabinet. That’s where the scent-killing lemon spray lived. Just as he opened the cabinet, there was a sudden knock on the front door.

“Open up,” a woman shouted from outside. “We know you’re in there.”

Alan completely lost his concentration and his mind returned to the basement. Upstairs, there was the sound of a body hitting the floor. When Alan came back from his haze, he saw his father, mother, and James staring up at the ceiling.

“Who do you think it is?” Lorraine whispered.

“I already told you, it’s your agents,” James said. “They probably waited until all the black cars left before they made a move.”

Alan looked to his father who returned his look. But instead of fear in his eyes, there was pride. A smile creased his face.

“How did it feel?” his father asked as the knocking continued.

“It felt…odd,” Alan said.

“Uh, hello, we have a major problem here,” Lorraine said.

“No, we don’t,” James said, and he, too, turned to Alan.

              The knocking grew louder.

              “What do you mean?” Lorraine asked. “They’re probably going to knock down the door at this rate.”

              “Let them,” James said. “The ball’s in our corner now. As long as we play this right, we’ll get exactly what we want. Can you pick up the body upstairs again?” he asked Alan.