Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  “Come on,” I yelled, the words sending a jolt of pain through my head. I was looking around the collapsed room for an escape.

  Hermes looked up at me, managing a smile despite the candle he bit into, and said, in a muffled voice, “Uh, coming …” But it was too late.

  As the words left his mouth, a section of the ceiling crumbled and Grinner slowly lowered himself inside, sealing the hole he made behind him.

  ↔

  “How did you find us?” Hermes asked, still clutching his candles.

  I was less concerned with how he found us and more concerned with escape. I stood to face Grinner, my head still spinning, when the room went heavy—as in the-opposite-of-being-on-the-Moon heavy—and I dropped to my knees.

  Grinner hissed, “How else? The fallen angel betrayed you.”

  Penemue. That’s why he was so insistent on knowing where I was.

  Grinner turned to Hermes and, in an exaggerated show, blew out one of the candles that remained lit. Once he’d done that, his smile widened, pushing his eyes out to the sides of his head and making him look like a crazed deer. He said, “You almost made it. Almost escaped. But how can a OnceMortal defeat one such as I? Still, to be so close must make you bitter.” Then, turning to me, he said, “What is the mortal expression? ‘Close only counts in …’ ” Grinner snapped his fingers, gesturing for Hermes to complete his thought.

  “Horseshoes and hand grenades,” I muttered.

  “That is correct. Horseshoes and hand grenades. You cannot blame me for not remembering. Despite all these years of being mortal, there are so many of your mundane objects I have yet to learn about.” As he said the word mortal he brushed the arms of his black overcoat as one might try to clean dirt off one’s self, and now he was holding the box—he must have taken it from Penemue. Grinner looked over at me. “But that is all about to change.”

  “How?” Hermes asked. “The Ambassador and Bella—they failed.”

  The Avatar of Gravity’s smile widened further. “You are half-right. The Ambassador did fail, but the human known as Bella … she did not,” he said, tossing me Joseph’s box.

  I grunted as I caught it—it felt as heavy as a bowling ball. “What do you want from me?” I asked, my head hurting way too much to think of anything obnoxious to say.

  Grinner chuckled. “A kiss and nothing more.”

  Part III

  Prologue

  There is this girl whom I love very much. I’ve only been back with her for less than a year when the Devil walks through our front door and offers Bella a job. These days, the Devil calls himself the Ambassador, because he has dedicated his life in this new GoneGod World to brokering peace between humans and Others. He’s still too large, too red, too self-assured and too sulfurous-smelling for me—a stinking rose by another name.

  Paradise Lot is doing well, the Ambassador says, but there are still many pockets of the world where the species fight. Even here, there are frequent attacks by Fanatics and by roving gangs of Other-haters. There is still much good to be done.

  The Ambassador’s plan is to travel the world and broker peace deals, acting as a conduit between the species. But he needs a human counterpart. “Bella—I need a human who loves Others and whom Others love back,” he says, taking her hand in his massive red paws. “And yes, before you say anything, He was right. It is about love. Will you help?”

  Before she can answer, I scream out, “You are the Devil!”

  “Only by reputation,” he says, smiling. “I assure you that when the gods left, I abandoned my wicked ways. After all, the Devil can only exist when there is a god to oppose.”

  That night, Bella and I fight over her decision to accept the Ambassador’s offer. It starts the way all of our fights do—electrified silence revved so high that the slightest movement will ignite the room.

  “It is a chance,” she says. The spark.

  “He’s the Devil,” I retort.

  “Was the Devil. Was! People change. Others change. You did!” she yells.

  Now I know she’s wrong. I haven’t changed. I’ve just chosen her over my nature. I am better because she wants me to be better. But make no mistake—no Bella and I’m back in the Army, pointing my rifle at anyOther that looks at me funny. I don’t say that to her. I don’t say that because I don’t want to tarnish myself in her eyes.

  Instead, I say, “First of all, I’m human. Second, I haven’t spent the last several thousand years hell-bent on corrupting the human soul. And third, I’m not the friggin’ Devil! He doesn’t want to help, he wants to control, dominate. Rule. You must see that.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Her arms are akimbo, a stance I’ve seen many times.

  She will spend the rest of the argument like that—a statue that no clever retort, no witty reply, no concrete argument will move. As soon as I see her in that position, I know I’ve lost. But I don’t care. I’m angry. I may not win this fight, but come hell or high water, I’m going to get my licks in before it’s over.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Because I do. I have a feeling.”

  “A feeling? A feeling! Are you honestly telling me that you’ll take it on faith that the Devil has changed?”

  “Yes! I am. And do you know why? Because I have to! If we don’t believe that we can change, that the Devil can change, then we’re doomed. And I’d rather live in a world where I believe the Devil is good and be wrong, than not give him a chance and be right.”

  Bella is resolute. An insurmountable force that cannot be overcome by guns, bombs, philosophy or debate. I know when I’ve lost, and I give in.

  “OK,” I say, defeated. “But I’m going to be by your side. Always.”

  What else can I do?

  ↔

  The Ambassador takes Bella on mission after diplomatic mission. We hardly see each other and I am tired of baking cookies. I protest, and as a reward for my complaints, I get a job—I am now Bella’s official bodyguard. I spend my days either training or on guard duty, bored out of my skull. Still … I am with Bella.

  Helsinki, Tokyo, Geneva, Rio—sometimes I think we spend more time on planes than on the ground.

  I do my best to be a good husband. An understanding husband. But I want my wife back, and the few evenings we have together are spent fighting over the little things that don’t really matter. By the GoneGods, I am so stupid. We should be spending this time making love, holding each other, cooking, cleaning or the thousand other mundane things that couples do just to be near each other.

  She doesn’t talk about her work, partly because it is top secret, partly because she knows I am jealous. Jealous of how important she is, and how useless I am. I am so stupid.

  One day she comes home so excited that she can barely string her thoughts together. “There is a way,” she tells me, “to make everything right again. We found it.” She is buzzing with excitement.

  “Found what?” I ask.

  My words bring her to reality and she focuses on me for the first time since coming home to the underground Army barracks that is our latest base of operations. “It,” she says, drawing me close. I can feel her breath on my cheek as she whispers that word, “It.” Teeth tease my earlobe. Soft lips kiss my cheek. “It,” she repeats in my ear as she undresses me. “It.” She takes me on the cold, concrete floor between the gray, galvanized bunk beds.

  It.

  ↔

  My memories fast-forward.

  Lights are flashing as the alarm relentlessly rings throughout the facility. My first thought is of Bella. Make sure she is safe.

  The wall’s warning lights blink crimson red from the light shield rotating within the heavy-duty, military-grade casing. An engineer announces that the reactor is overheating.

  “Damn Eastern European technology,” complains another engineer. “I told them the reactor was too small to handle the power that dam produces.”

  The first one yells that the coolant system is down and he is unable to get it
back online. The other curses and tells the first to warn the others. To get above and to run. Then he asks me to help twist the giant metal wheel in order to cut off as much hydro power as possible. That, he says, should slow the whole thing down and give us a chance to escape.

  “Escape?” I ask. “Why would we need to do that?”

  “Because,” he says with an expression far too calm for the sirens and chaos he speaks over, “the whole thing is going to blow. Now, twist!”

  That’s all I need to hear. My hands latch on to the comically large metal wheel. I use every ounce of strength I have in me to get the wheel to turn. I need it to turn. I need the valve to close. I need more time. Time to save Bella. I breathe a sigh of relief when it finally moves. Inch by inch it turns, and when we manage to twist it twice around, the engineer says, “That should do it.”

  He heads upstairs, and I yell after him, “Where are you going?”

  “Out of here,” he says, “and so should you.”

  But instead of listening, instead of running up, I run down.

  Down toward Bella.

  ↔

  She is at the bottom level. Why did they need to hold their meeting so deep? I curse as I run down stairwell after endless stairwell.

  Down, down, down—I run until I get to the bunker. I look through the reinforced metal door, through the portal window a bit too small for a cat to pass. I see Bella, the Ambassador and several Others running about, gathering materials.

  The door is locked. I pound on it. “Bella!” I scream. “Bella!”

  In the chaos, she looks up at me, our eyes locking, slowing down the world. That’s what happens every time we look at each other. Everything slows down. Sounds are muted, backgrounds are blurred—all I can see is her. And despite the panic, that is what happens now.

  She gives me her best It’s going to be OK smile.

  But that’s my role. I’m here to save her. I gesture for her to open the door. To let me in. But she doesn’t move. She just stands there, looking at me with that damn smile of hers.

  “Hurry!” I scream.

  She blows me a kiss as two cloaked Others I’ve never seen before grab her and throw her to the ground. She does not resist. One of them pulls out a long, curved blade from dark, heavy robes. What are they? Monks? Priests? Satanist bastards? I don’t care. I cry out, pounding on the door. I pull out my pistol and shoot at the window, but its reinforced glass does not shatter. I push at the door, praying, begging, pleading to every GoneGod to come back and let me in.

  Save my Bella. Please. I’ll do anything. Be anything. I forfeit my life for her. I give you my soul. Just save my Bella.

  For a moment, I actually believe that the GoneGods hear my cry because the Ambassador approaches the two cloaked figures and stands by their side. He is a massive creature, twice the size of a minotaur and three times the weight of a baby elephant. He will be able to crush them under his heel. He is, after all, the once-upon-a-time Devil. But his hulking red body does nothing to help Bella. His horned head does not attack, nor do his cloven feet kick at them. Only his spiked tail swings—a dog excited for the coming meal.

  One of the robed figures strikes, piercing her body, the knife slamming down on her. As one carves, the other cloaked figure calmly puts his hand into her now-open belly and begins pulling out her innards and neatly stacking them by her head. Meanwhile, the first takes out a smaller blade and with a smooth motion gouges out her eyes and places them on top of the pyramid of flesh and blood, organs and guts. The robed figures appear to be chanting as they do so.

  “BASTARDS!” I cry out. But I am hollow. The same as my Bella.

  A third figure draws in near and, judging from his appearance and the white coat he is wearing, I know that he is human. He lifts a giant glass decanter over Bella as another human in a lab coat focuses a light through the glass and onto her lifeless body. The scientists nod at each other and say something I cannot hear to the cloaked figures and the Ambassador.

  The Ambassador nods, then, looking up, notices me for the first time. His face softens and his shoulders hunch. I am so sorry, he mouths. I am so sorry.

  I am slamming my hands on the door, but all I manage to do is cut my knuckles. “I’ll kill you!” I scream through the blood-tinted window. “I swear to the GoneGods, I will kill you!”

  Hands pull my shoulders away, too strong to be human, but when I turn, I see a human soldier. Before I can react, a needle pierces my neck, and my body goes limp. Fading into unconsciousness, I feel the soldier hoist me onto his shoulder. He runs at an inhuman speed up the stairs, where a helicopter is waiting for us. He throws my body in and slaps the helicopter’s metal body with the palm of his hand. The metal bird takes off into the air, and the last thing I see before passing out is the soldier running back inside as the dam begins to collapse.

  There is a booming sound and, just as the engineer promised, the whole thing explodes.

  A Fight for Life and Life

  I was pulled back to the present with Grinner’s hiss: “A simple kiss is all I require …”

  Things just went from weird to outright bizarre. Here I was, trapped with Hermes—as in the messenger demigod who, by the way, was also Mercury, Isimud, Zaqar, Turms and the friggin’ Holy Ghost—because the Avatar of Gravity thought he could reopen all the heavens and hells that were closed when the gods collectively got bored with us and left. In the process, this Avatar—who looked more like a zombie version of the Cheshire cat—flattened a bunch of half-dogs, half-humans, destroyed my hotel and killed its most honored guest—who just so happened to be the one and only Unicorn in existence. And why did he do all that? Apparently because he wanted a kiss … from me!

  When the gods left, I knew things would get weird, but really—come on!

  “I’m flattered,” I said, trying to let him down as gently as possible, “but you’re really not my type.”

  Grinner threw back his head in laughter. “Not between you and me. No … I wish for you to embrace the one known as Bella.”

  OK, I guess I was wrong—things can get weirder.

  “You know Bella is dead,” I said.

  The Avatar took a seat on the half-decimated couch near Hermes. “Mortal poets have oft noted that sleep resembles death,” Grinner said, picking up a miraculously unbroken wineglass and opening a fresh bottle he pulled from his jacket like a friggin’ magician. He sniffed it before pouring himself a glass. With that same stupid smile of his, he looked over at me and said, “They have also observed that death may be undone by a kiss. Your fairy tales and lore speak of such wisdom.”

  “But the human Bella failed. She is no more,” Hermes said.

  “Ahhh. That was the mistake made by the self-named Ambassador. He failed to understand that death done must also be undone. Something that can be rectified by a kiss.” He looked over at me. “To think, so much pain and so many dead, and all because you forgot to kiss your loved one goodnight.”

  A kiss? How could all this be about a kiss?

  Penemue’s words came back to me: it is not about the box—it is the significance of the box that matters. Perhaps the same would be true of certain mortal acts. Your first step, your first word. All milestones along the road that ultimately ends in death. And as for a kiss—that is the first clause in a contract forged between two people in love. Or lust, I could hear Astarte say. Whether it is a mother kissing a child, or a lovers’ embrace—that simple act means so much to us. And our stories are filled with it: Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, the Frog Prince, the Princess Bride—all of their problems were solved by a kiss.

  But there was one problem—there was no Bella.

  “OK,” I said, puckering my lips and making smacking noises, “there, I kissed Bella. Can we go now?”

  Grinner laughed. Again. I swear to the GoneGods, this guy was always in a good mood and I hated him for it. I much preferred those sulky doom-and-gloom villains.

  He plucked the box from my weighted hands, replacing it wit
h his empty wineglass, which I let fall to the floor with a satisfying crash.

  “Tell me, Human Jean, when you meet Bella in your dreams, can you touch?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking—”

  The Avatar of Gravity lifted his hand and the world got very heavy, causing me to hunch over more. The sudden movement sent a shock of pain through my head. “You dream of her every night, do you not?” he said. “And when you do, can you touch?”

  Hermes shot me a look. “What? Bella lives?” He stood up from where he knelt, against the gravity, shock on his face. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “First of all,” I said, sticking up three heavy fingers, “Bella is dead. I saw her heart plucked from her body. And yes, I do dream of her. Every night. But I’m pretty sure I’m crazy. To answer your second question, Hermes: you never asked. And I’d like to make one last point—” I lowered two of the three fingers, leaving the middle one at attention “—it’s none of your damn business.”

  Hermes rolled his eyes and turned back to Grinner. “So it wasn’t a failure?”

  “What? You two know each other?” But before either could answer my question, I said, “Let me guess, you’re both part of the same ‘We Once Were Sort-Of Gods’ club?”

  They ignored me, their gazes fixed on each other. “If the bridge worked, then we can restore the Void,” Hermes said.

  “We?” Grinner said, grinning (obviously). Then, to Hermes he said, “Life and death—to think that only a breath divides them. I am afraid that I need those with more than a few breaths left to aid me.”

  Hermes grew angry at his words, but quickly looked down, the fight in him gone. Only a day ago he was a man in his early twenties. But he had burned through so much time to save me that now he was little more than an old man, defeated and weak, too scared to do anything but pray for a peaceful death.