by Ramy Vance
And I felt fear for what was coming.
In brief, I felt every emotion in stereo, and I honestly didn’t know if I could stand much more of it.
Then, with a final and intense release, the pain stopped as the air filled with the wailing of a newborn.
There I was, bloody and screaming for all my worth.
“You’re … you’re perfect,” Bella said, holding me tight and giving my heart one more thing to rejoice for.
And just when I thought there would be no more, that the zenith of this experience had finally peaked, the doctors handed little me over to my mother and I felt the swelling of her heart, as well as the undefined comfort of a newborn meeting his mother for the first time.
It was magnanimous, a feeling that I would carry with me forever.
Mother and child together. All was right with the world.
Then it wasn’t.
The doctors moved around, reading charts, looking at my mother, checking vitals. Not that she noticed—she had me and that was all she saw. All she could experience.
A nurse came to take me away, but my mother refused. “Just to clean him up,” she said. “I’ll bring him right back.”
But from the stolen glance the nurse gave the doctor, we knew this not to be completely true. They needed to clean me up, yes, but they also needed to get my mom some care.
The doctors wheeled my mother to another room and inserted a needle attached to a bag of blood. “A precaution,” they said. “You lost a lot of blood and we want to make sure you’re strong for your baby.”
“Jean-Luc,” my mother said.
“Excuse me?”
“Jean-Luc. I need to be strong for Jean-Luc.”
“Yes,” the doctor said, her smile filled with both joy and sadness. “For Jean-Luc.”
↔
The nurse was true to her word. I was returned. And when the doctor came back, she had my PopPop in tow. My mother noticed the worry in her father’s eyes, the concern that the doctor had when entering. She knew something was wrong.
She didn’t care. She had me.
And there wasn’t a force on this Earth that would take me from her arms again.
But death isn’t a force of this Earth or any other. It’s an immutable law and the thread that binds us all. And when death comes for us, nothing can stop her.
Death came late that night. I guess the cruel bitch thought her delay a kindness, having given my mother a few hours with her child.
Death came as my mother was singing me a lullaby. The last words that she said before embracing the end of her life were, “My life for his. Fair deal. More than fair.”
And what I felt wasn’t fear or anger or the disappointment of being robbed of a lifetime with her son. What I felt was hope … hope that I would grow up strong. Hope that I would be happy.
Hope that I would live well.
Hope that lasted until the end of her last breath.
Hope that was replaced by a nothing so complete I thought I had gone with her to whatever came next.
↔
“So that’s how she died,” I said. I don’t know what I expected to feel. I guess part of me thought I’d be overwhelmed by the experience, that it would bring me to my knees. But it didn’t. What I felt after my mother died was gratitude that I was able to be with her at that last moment, both in body as a baby, and in spirit as the man I had become.
The twice-fallen sighed, tears of light turning his eyes into strobes of empathy. “Is that the end you were looking for? For if it is …” He lifted his hand, opening a portal to the outside.
“No,” I said, “that isn’t the end. Not for me … and not for you.”
You Don’t Have to Die to Commit Suicide
“I don’t understand,” Penemue said. “There is no more I can tell you.” As he spoke, the frozen scene of EightBall’s childhood living room manifested around us.
“There is,” I said.
Penemue gave me a curious look as he searched through what he knew of me—both from what he read on my soul before the gods left, and from the years of friendship—to see what my angle was. And from the utter confusion painting his face, I could tell he had no idea what I meant to do.
“But I have told you everything about your father and mother as it pertains to you and—”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. “I still don’t know where he was from or who his family was. And to truly understand him, I also need to know about his father—my grandfather. Then there’s also my father’s father’s father. I’ll need to know their history as well. And if you really think about it, you can’t know someone without understanding their families, too.”
Penemue tilted his head before letting out a rip-roaring laugh that bubbled up from his gut. “I see what you are doing. You have found the loophole in my promise to you. A loophole that will keep us speaking forever.”
“Well, as you saw with my mother, her last hope for me was to live well. You’re not going to deny a dying woman her last wish, are you? I think we should head back to Paradise Lot and spent the next fifty or so years going through everything. Sound good?”
I heard a chuckle from behind me as Bella tried to hold back a laugh.
“Clever human,” Penemue said with genuine mirth on his lips.
“All this time, you Others would obfuscate the point, bend the rules, do my head in. Especially you.” I tried to smile when I said that, but it just wouldn’t come. But I wasn’t trying to be funny; I loved the big lug, and that was all I felt. “I learned from the best,” I finally said.
“So did I. And what I learned from you, my friend, is that some rules are meant to be broken. After all, you have reminded me time and time again that the gods are gone. The rules matter less now. And so I fear I shall break this rule—break my promise to you.” Penemue ripped the rift wider now. “Thank you, but it is time for you to go.”
“But we’re not done,” I said, seeing what he meant to do.
“Yes, we are.”
“Your promise,” I said with desperation.
“Human Jean-Luc Matthias, you of all people know that you cannot win them all.” He turned to Bella. “I do take comfort in one thing: he has you again, and I did that. Perhaps the one good thing I’ve done in my life was returning you to him. I am so happy for that one promise I did not break.”
As he spoke, an invisible force started pushing us out through the portal. From where we stood, I could see where he meant to drop us off: back at the Millennium Hotel … back at the … “What the fuck is he doing?” I cried out.
↔
Instead of the serene, peaceful entrance of my hotel, I saw Marc standing in the hull of the Apache helicopter with smoke bellowing out the barrels of the warbird’s chain gun.
Several dead, doglike creatures—hellhounds—littered my front lawn. Dead hellhounds and a—
“A dead woman?” I yelled at him. “You killed someone? At my hotel?”
My cries woke Marc from whatever stupor he’d been in, because he looked up at me and said, “Jean? What are you … No, where are you?”
“Leaving one hell just to enter another,” I said, and it was then I noticed that Bella and I were still standing in Penemue’s inferno. The twice-fallen was no longer pushing us out; he had stopped, and looking over at him, I realized that the angel was distracted by the same scene that I was. He also stared at the chaos in befuddlement.
But confusion wasn’t all that painted his face. There was something more—something more visceral than simple What the fuckedness on his face. There was also remorse, and that’s when I followed his gaze and saw a very frightened EightBall standing on the lawn.
Behind him stood an elven woman who I don’t even think he noticed. She stared at the strange scene unfolding, but unlike EightBall, there was no fear in her eyes. Just bewilderment.
The young boy of nineteen first looked at Penemue, then past the angel to the house scene behind him. EightBall furrowed his brow, first in confusion, then rec
ognition as he realized what—or rather, who—he was staring at.
“Mom?”
Like Bats Out of Hell
As soon as EightBall spoke, that strange elven woman lifted her hand like she was greeting us.
Which, as it turned out, was the least friendly greeting ever.
Penemue, Bella and I were thrown back and through the wall of EightBall’s childhood living room. But instead of hitting the wall like normal people—and a normal angel, I guess—we crashed through it and were back in the void.
As we tumbled helplessly through the blackness, I could see Penemue’s islands of creation around us. In front of us (and what we were tumbling away from) was the apartment building and the oak tree outside it. To our left was the mountain where Mr. Penemue’s classroom-of-the-gods stood. Above us, the library full of book worms.
I guessed that when Penemue created the various layers of Hell to torture himself with, he didn’t bother filling up the in-between parts.
But the good thing about this place was it did obey the basic laws of physics, and since we were all pushed back by the same energy source, we were flying out of control together.
So at least we had that going for us.
Another law of physics that Hell apparently adhered to was—and I quote: “flailing, out-of-control bodies in an empty void will continue to flail until something gets in the way.”
I’m pretty sure that was exactly how Isaac Newton put it. Then again …
“Hey, big guy,” I said. “What about some help here? After all, you’re the one with wings.”
But Penemue didn’t move.
“Penemue,” I said, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“I don’t think he’s conscious,” Bella said. “Whatever that invisible force was, it was centered on Penemue. He’s out cold.”
I twisted my head to catch a glimpse of him and saw that his eyes were closed. Hell of a time for a nap. “Fine,” I said. “I think our best bet is to latch onto him.”
“Cirque du Soleil, the inferno version. I like it.” Bella reached out her hand for Penemue.
So did I, but from the way I was twisting and turning, I wasn’t quite close enough to catch him. So employing the breast stroke, I attempted to swim closer to the angel. Funny thing about voids: they don’t really work like water. As hard as I swam, all I really managed to do was look like a tumbling frog.
Bella, on the other hand, did manage to latch onto him. Crawling over his muscular frame, she made her way to me and reached out a hand. She caught and pulled me in, just like she’d done a thousand times before … metaphorically speaking, that is.
We were both on Penemue now, and for the first time since meeting him, I was thankful for his hugeness. Unlike Rose and Jack, this floating board had plenty of room for both us.
“Now what?” Bella asked.
“Simple.” I reached my hand under his wing. “Here’s an old trick I learned in the Army. There’s a spot that angels have, a nerve that if you hit it … just … right.” I found the spot and Penemue’s left wing unfurled. The release was enough to stop our tumbling and instead of somersaulting across the void, we were now coasting.
Yay, physics.
“OK, that’s marginally better,” Bella said.
“Ouch …” I said, my ego bruised that she wasn’t more impressed.
She giggled. “We’re still floating uncontrollably and, last I checked, Hell was still breaking apart.” She pointed at the island that was EightBall’s apartment. It had broken apart into a thousand fractals now floating aimlessly in the void.
“Damn.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
I manipulated my body so that I was holding onto the angel’s lapels, facing him. Then I slapped him. Hard. Probably harder than I needed to, but the guy was putting me through hell (sorry, I had to).
He didn’t flinch. So I hit him again.
Still nothing.
“Third time’s the charm.” I balled my hand into a fist and popped him across the cheek.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing exactly. My fist hurt.
“OK, he’s out,” I said as we tumbled aimlessly. “So, this place is breaking apart, but as soon as he wakes up, he can snap his fingers and put it back together again.”
“Like Humpty Dumpty,” Bella said.
“You mock, but that story took place not too far from here.”
“I’m sure.” She shuffled over to me. “I’m sure it did.”
“True story,” I said. “So that means we have to ride this out. And since he’s out, out, it might take some time. Let’s make the most of it.”
“On him? Kinky.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “As much as that would put me over the top on the ‘Never have I ever’ drinking game circuit, I think that would be weird. Even for me. But that said, we can at least guide him somewhere useful.”
“Like the library.”
“Yeah, like the library.”
“Great. But it’s all the way over there.” She pointed to the island that was the library.
It was tough to judge exactly how far it was from where we currently were, but if we were walking (and assuming it was the same size as the Library of Congress), then it would take us about half a day to get to it.
But we weren’t walking. We were flying. On an angel with wings.
“Remind me,” I said with a grin, “have you ever windsurfed?”
↔
I taught Bella how to pop out Penemue’s other wing, and using them as sails, we managed to change our trajectory and head toward the library. I figured that since it was our first point of entry into the inferno, it also provided our best chance of finding an exit.
Bella was keen to go back to the library, too, and I assumed it was because she agreed with my logic.
We had just sailed to the library when I heard a groan. Penemue was waking up. “Hey there, big guy,” I said.
“What … what is happening?”
“We’re flying. Well, technically you’re flying and we’re riding you like a surfboard.”
“Flying where—” Penemue started. When he realized that we were about to crash into the library’s wall, he twisted his body, extending his wings out even farther than we’d managed and stopping our momentum dead.
He also hugged both of us so we didn’t fly off him. How thoughtful.
Then, flapping his wings, he took us through one of the open windows, gently placing us down on the library’s floor.
↔
“We must hurry,” he said as Hell shook. “Master Newton is in trouble. The witch who attacked us is of great power and—”
“You mean the elven woman who lifted her hand at us and sent us flying through EightBall’s childhood living room?” I said.
Penemue nodded. “The very same.”
“And you want to get back as soon as possible to save him?” I completely failed to hide my skepticism.
“Indeed.” Penemue guided us to the center of the library.
“So that after you save him, he can bludgeon you to death?”
“Again, indeed.”
“Makes sense.” I slowed down. I knew we needed to get out as quickly as possible, but I wasn’t going to rush out of Hell so I could watch my friend die.
“Hurry, please.”
“Pish posh,” I said.
“Pish posh?” Bella giggled. “Where did that come from?”
“I can be classy.”
Penemue clearly wasn’t enjoying our banter, because he grabbed both of our hands and pulled us along like a mother would her crying children. “It is not just that I wish to save Master Newton. I also wish to save the two of you. In case neither of you have noticed, Hell is coming apart at the seams—”
“See the previous pish posh and add a bah humbug.” And before Bella could say anything, I cocked her a smile and added, “Dickens. I read now.”
“Apparently,” she said with a chuckle.
“And as for you, young man—or rather, ancient angel: don’t worry about EightBall. Marc is there, and he’s pretty badass. The kid will be fine. So, given we’re not actually in a rush, could you please stop Hell from breaking apart? You know, will it or wave a magic wand or just do whatever you angels do when playing with ultimate cosmic powers and stop it.” As if to accentuate my words, Hell shook and a piece of the friggin’ floor cracked open and disappeared. Not in the crumbled-away-to-dust way, either. I’m talking about the got-sucked-into-the-void-and-ceased-to-exist kind of disappearing.
My favorite kind.
Penemue shook his head in that way he did whenever he was about to explain something to me he knew I wouldn’t understand. “The witch who expelled us has great power and as efficient as Marc may be, I doubt even he is capable of besting one such as her. And as for stopping the erosion of this place, I’m afraid I can’t.” Penemue sighed.
“What?” I said, half expecting Bella to harmonize my surprise. But instead, my wife just stood there nodding in comprehension.
Comprehension I sorely lacked.
“When EightBall summoned me,” Penemue said, “I shut down my link here, lest a more nefarious beast use this domain for their own ill gains.”
“English,” I said in anger.
“To paraphrase a common trope found in many science fiction movies, I initiated the self-destruct sequence and am powerless to stop it.”
Exploding Libraries and Runaway Wives
“Oh joy,” I said. “So your first thought is, ‘Hey, I gotta leave this place and I’m probably never going to come back, so … poof.’ ” I imitated an explosion. “And that irreversible self-destruct sequence—it couldn’t have waited until we got out of here?”
“And risk someone truly evil getting hold of this place?” Penemue shook his head. “As for reversing what I did, I’m afraid destroying a domain such as this one requires a lot of energy and, for lack of a better word, faith. Setting this place to destroy itself has just about drained my magical abilities. That is why I suspect the gods did not destroy their heavens and hells when leaving, choosing instead to shut them down. They were conserving their powers for whatever came next.”