Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her.”

  “Burn,” EightBall muttered.

  Judith turned her fury on EightBall. “That’s enough out of you, mister.”

  EightBall nervously rubbed the part of his head where his Yin Yang tattoo was buried—something he did whenever he was nervous.

  “And as for you, young lady—explain yourself.”

  The girl’s finger went back to pointing at Penemue. “He started it. He said I wasn’t Sinbad. But I am.”

  “Are you, now?”

  “I am. And I am here on a very, very important mission.”

  “And what mission is that?”

  The girl looked around before whispering, “It’s a secret.”

  “OK,” Judith whispered back with an uncharacteristic softness. “It is. But I tell you what: why don’t you remove yourself from the angel? The young gentleman over there will get you a towel and perhaps a change of clothes, then down to the kitchen for some hot chocolate.” She looked up at EightBall. “You can handle all that, can you not?”

  “Change of clothes?”

  “One of your horrible rock n’roll T-shirts should suffice. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now, Sinbad, would you like some hot chocolate?”

  Sinbad licked her lips. “Yes, please,” she squealed—with way too much enthusiasm for someone who was supposed to be a tough, burly sailor.

  “Good. Now run along. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Sinbad giggled again. She hopped off Penemue and took the bewildered EightBall’s hand, disappearing into the bowels of my hotel for hot chocolate.

  ↔

  With Sinbad gone, Penemue peeled himself off the ground and straighten his tweed vest. Standing his full eight feet, his gorgeous blond hair cascading around his shoulders, he looked every inch of the angel you would expect. He was a big guy, and not just because he was taller than any NBA player that graced the court. He was wide, too. Not fat—more like a bodybuilder who turned to lifting beers instead of weights, which is to say wide arms, solid build, and a reasonably pronounced gut straining the buttons on his vest. He reminded me of a happily married Fabio.

  “Empty Hell, that little girl is strong,” he said, pulling a bottle of Drambuie from some hidden pocket in his wings. “Thank you, Judith.”

  Judith eyed the bottle. “Things haven’t changed one bit around here, have they?”

  “No, ma’am,” Penemue said, echoing EightBall’s vernacular. “Drambuie is still the closest thing you humans have to Ambrosia.”

  Judith pursed her lips. Penemue returned the gesture by tipping his bottle in her direction before taking a long, hard swig. “Hum,” she said. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, since you and your sidekick, Newton—”

  “EightBall,” Penemue corrected.

  “Hm, yes … EightBall.” Judith sighed and removed her hat. “Penemue, my dear fallen angel, would you do me the favor of collecting my bags and taking them up to my room? It has been a long trip and I must freshen up.”

  Penemue saluted her and started for the door to get her bags. At the turnstile, he turned, giving me a look that over the years I’d come to know intimately. I have something to tell you and you’re not going to like it, that look said, usually accompanied by a confession to some shenanigan or other that he got up to—like picking a fight with Other-hating gangs or ruining the flyers the Being Human Salon printed.

  But he must have decided not to further ruin my already ruined day, because he shook his head and went outside.

  I turned for the stairs, desperately seeking to get to my room, when Judith blocked my path and said, “And Jean, if you would be so kind as to give me a few minutes when—”

  “Judith, as much as I’d looove to hear you lecture me about my many, many, maaany failings—I’m just not in the mood right now. So if you don’t mind, let’s defer your disappointment to a later time and date.”

  With that, I started up the stairs, fully expecting Judith to lecture me despite my particularly refined speech about my mood and suggested deferment. But instead, Judith said two words that I hadn’t heard her say in the twenty-plus years I’d had the displeasure of knowing her. And given how rough-and-tumble those years were, I never dreamed I would hear her say those two little words even with a thousand-plus more. Especially to me—her nemesis, her enemy … her son-in-law.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Excuse me?” I said. Part of me thought I had died and gone to Heaven—not that Heaven existed anymore.

  Judith held her hat over her chest and lowered her gaze before repeating herself. “I’m sorry, Jean.”

  I must be hearing her wrong, I thought. Those damn bells muddled my hearing.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated a third time—and I swear to the GoneGods I almost fainted.

  Mother-in-Leer

  Judith and I went over to the couches near the windows. Because the Millennium Hotel was situated on a hill, we got a pretty decent view of Paradise Lot. The city wasn’t a particularly big one, nor was it vertically inclined, with only the occasional building standing over five stories. We did have one skyscraper that stood near the shoreline, but outside of that, the only hill on this island was the hill we sat on now.

  I didn’t dare look over at Judith; I was still trying to figure out the catch, trying to figure out what she could have done to me that warranted an apology.

  Neither of us knowing what to say, we sat in painful, awkward silence.

  I mean really awkward silence. It had me missing those damn bells all over again. Even though I knew that Judith was beside me, I could not hear her breathing; nor did she smell of anything. I guess when you’re a ghost, breath and body odor aren’t high on the list of haves. There was an eerie quiet, with only my own breath breaking the silence. I was considering trying to stop breathing altogether when Judith finally spoke.

  “So … Penemue and EightBall are getting along. I take it the angel hasn’t told the boy what he did?”

  Her words were from left-field, which meant that she was just as uncomfortable with the silence as I was. OK—so at least there was some sort of common ground.

  “No,” I said. “Not yet. But Penemue is determined to do so. He’s just finding the courage.”

  “He shouldn’t. The boy is so well adjusted now. He’s no longer part of that awful gang. He smiles, helps out, he’s grown his hair out to cover those nasty tattoos—most of them, anyway. He’s almost a pleasure to be around.” I looked over at Judith and saw that she was smiling. “Telling him will only cause harm.”

  I nodded in agreement. Still, I was hesitant. Judith was seeing this in black and white, and this new GoneGod world was anything but black and white. “The guilt he feels for what he did to EightBall’s parents … it’s tearing Penemue apart.”

  “Killing them was an accident. When the gods left and he was ejected from Hell, he had no control over where he fell. It was purely coincidence that he fell on EightBall’s family home. The angel is not to blame.”

  “Blame and guilt go hand-in-hand, Judith. Think about it: if you’re driving your car and someone jumps out in front of it, no matter how much it was their fault or how hard you tried to avoid them, you still feel guilty and you blame yourself.” As I said this, I wondered how this conversation had taken such a philosophical turn.

  Judith tisked. “Oh, please. As much as the angel boils my blood, in this instance he does not deserve such blame or guilt.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “And what about the greater good?” Judith cut in, her voice rising—as did the couch. Being a fairly new poltergeist, she didn’t have much control over her ghostly powers … which meant her emotions could turn into a telekinetic rage which usually resulted in furniture (and yours truly) thrown about, a lot of broken glass and—during one of the more terrifying temper tantrums—a desk turned into kindling. “He tells the boy and, what? Lets him enact revenge? Will the an
gel sit passively while the boy maims or kills him? What? What? Tell me—what?”

  I grabbed Judith’s hand. “Deep breaths, Judith. Calm yourself. You have to calm down. You will burn through way too much time if you lose control again.”

  I held her gaze. After a long moment, she nodded and took several deep breaths. The couch settled down and my feet felt the blessed floor again.

  I continued, “For all we know, Penemue will never gather the courage to tell him. Besides, I doubt you wanted to speak to me about Penemue. What’s really going on?”

  She looked up at me, anger bubbling, and for a moment I thought that she was going to direct that rage at me. Another tirade about how I wasn’t good enough for Bella, or maybe how I was to blame for her death. That particular rant was one of my favorites.

  But instead, Judith’s eyes softened. With a deep sigh, she said, “You’re right. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  I inhaled a long breath through my nose. “So you mentioned. But I still don’t know what you are apologizing for.”

  “Your loss.”

  “My what?”

  “Medusa. I know you cared for her deeply, and even if that care was only a fraction of what it was for Bella, I know you must be suffering because of it. I know how deeply you love and … and I’m sorry. It’s hard enough losing one person we love, but two … I cannot imagine what you must be feeling now.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing my hands together for something to do.

  Judith sighed and patted my knee. “It’s OK, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “To have had feelings for her. Bella wouldn’t be angry. She would have wanted you to be happy.”

  I rubbed the old twisty-tie that was wrapped around a silver necklace I wore. It was the ring I proposed to Bella with, all those years ago on a beach not far from here. A twisty-tie from a discarded loaf of bread from the local bakery—the only thing I could afford at the time and the most romantic gesture my seventeen-year-old mind could come up with.

  Touching my necklace only reminded me of how much being in Paradise Lot hurt. I wanted to get away from this place. I wanted to get away from the pain.

  After a long moment of silence, I managed to squeeze out, “I know,” past the massive lump in my throat.

  “Good,” Judith said, standing up. Or rather, floating up.

  Judith started to float away when I called out after her, “It’s Bella. It was always Bella. It will always be Bella.” The words came out of me before I could stop them. “Medusa was my chance to find a bit of happiness again. A chance to maybe even love again. And even though I was hesitant, I wanted to give her a chance. Give us a chance. But after all is said and done, it would have been selfish of me to try, because I would have never given myself completely to her. I couldn’t. In this life and the next—I will forever love Bella. I just want you to know that.”

  “I know. I’ve always known. Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little bit of happiness. Bella would have wanted that for you. As do I.”

  Having Judith be so kind to me was overwhelming and had I not been so numb, I might have burst into tears. Hugged her, even. But in my muted state, the only emotional outpouring was a single tear which I shyly wiped away before Judith could see.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For this talk … and earlier, too,” I said. “How did you do that? Deal with that weird girl so effectively?”

  “You forget, Jean … I have experience dealing with stubborn little girls.” She floated toward the stairwell. “Speaking of stubborn little girls, perhaps I should return to them before they get into any real trouble. Besides, I could use a hot chocolate right about now. If there is any powder left. I fear that my unattended kettle in my kitchenette is in danger of little girl fingers and the boil. Care to join me?”

  Judith apologizing to me was one thing. But Judith drinking something warm and comforting, opting to drink something fun and unhealthy … and inviting me along?

  I suddenly wasn’t sure if the world had, indeed, ended three weeks ago.

  Hellelujah!

  ↔

  We walked up the stairs to what I expected to be a scene of carnage, chaos and calamities (forgive the alliteration, but I find that pessimism is best served with rhythm). Instead, I found something completely unexpected.

  Penemue and EightBall stood in front of the TV as “Gangnam Style” flashed on the screen. Apparently EightBall was teaching them the recent dance fad as they watched the music video. Sinbad and EightBall were dancing in rhythm, their bodies bouncing up and down as they pretended to ride a horse. Penemue, on the other hand, looked like he was being dragged by wrist chains.

  Seeing us enter, Penemue stopped to take a swig of—was that tea? Holy crap, it was. Penemue was drinking tea … not Drambuie. Not whisky. Not alcohol. Tea.

  That settled it: the world had ended.

  When Sinbad saw Judith, she ran up to her and said, “I’m dancing ‘Gangnam Style’!”

  “Are you, now?” Judith said.

  “I am. Want to dance with me?”

  “No,” Judith said in a that’s-final tone. “But what I will do is read you a story. Do you have one in mind?”

  Sinbad cheered, then “Gangnam Style”-d her way to a coffee table with several books on it, before settling on Super Duck. Book in hand, she guided Judith to the sofa you’d probably see in almost every hotel room in the world. There the little girl handed Judith a children’s book that I can only assume was Bella’s when she was a kid.

  “Here,” Sinbad said. “Read me this one.”

  For a moment I thought that Judith would admonish the child for being so forceful, but instead the ghost simply smiled and said, “As you wish.”

  I hadn’t heard those words from Judith since before Bella died. It was her way of complying to her daughter’s wishes and was one of the most endearing interactions between them. “As you wish,” from The Princess Bride—an expression that, to Judith, meant complete and total love.

  Sinbad may have just shown up, but already she was changing everyone’s hearts. As I looked at this strange mix, I didn’t see a hodgepodge of species forced to live together because of terrible circumstances—I saw the beginnings of a family. A weird, twisted family with a ghost for a grandma, a disheveled former angel from Hell as a dad, an ex-gangbanger tattoo-covered teenager with violent tendencies as an older brother and a little whatever-she-was in a pirate’s costume as a younger sister.

  It was … nice. I could feel my numbness start to ebb, if only slightly. This strange scene was the peace that Bella wanted. That Medusa wanted. Hell, that I wanted.

  They all looked up at me and I was greeted with four matching smiles.

  “Judith is going to read me a story now,” Sinbad said.

  “That’s not what we agreed,” Judith admonished.

  “Oh, yeah—she’s going to teach me how to read so I can read the story to her.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yeah! I’m learning my letters.”

  “And I’m learning that gyrating the body in certain ways makes me cool as Hell,” Penemue mused. “Having lived there, I can tell you that Hell is not cool. Hell is the damn opposite of that.”

  “Language,” Judith scolded.

  “Language, indeed.” Penemue turned around and winked at Sinbad. “Did you know that I taught humanity how to read?”

  “You did?” Sinbad asked with unabashed sincerity.

  “I did. It was a long, long time ago. Before you were born, before anyone in this room was born, I gave humanity the first inclination toward language. And then I went to Hell.”

  “Wow,” Sinbad said. “That was really nice of you, Mr. Angel.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Oh, please,” Judith growled. “He may have given humanity the written word, but that does not excuse him from being a giant pain in our—”

  “Language!”
EightBall, Penemue and I sang in chorus.

  “—butt. I was going to say ‘butt,’ ” she chuckled.

  Fairies, Snakes, Angels and—Arrgh!

  The next few hours were so tranquil that I didn’t even ask those burning questions of who this Sinbad was and where she came from. That could wait until the morning.

  Bedtime rolled around and Sinbad went up to Judith’s room, where the ghost promised her pajamas and another story. Penemue returned to his attic room and EightBall said he was turning in early because he wanted to get to the lawn before the afternoon sun got too hot. Hellelujah! I don’t think I ever saw the boy mow a lawn, let alone get up early.

  But who was I to complain?

  I went to my room, still fully planning on staging a battle with my vintage figurines. I found that playing helped a lot in calming my mind and getting me to a place where I could make rational, clear decisions. I had a lot to consider: Cain’s offer, Shouf’s blackmailing me, Paradise Lot and the Millennium Hotel. The bills were stacking up higher than ever and the daily Other drama wasn’t getting any better. Not to mention Judith’s odd behavior, the weird Other that looked like a little girl but claimed to be a fictional pirate and my own desire to get out, tempered by the truly incredible time I just had with the very same people that usually drove me crazy.

  I honestly didn’t know where to begin. So I looked forward to an hour or two of indulgent play.

  Except that when I got into my room, I found half my toys on the floor, the other half knocked over, teetering for dear life.

  A snake coiled around Castle Grayskull—one of my signature pieces—and a three-inch-tall golden fairy was flitting around the snake, batting it on the head with He-Man’s battle axe.

  “Tink! Marty! What the hell are you two doing?” I ran over to the castle and pulled Marty the snake off the toy replica, grabbing the battle axe out of Tink’s hand at the same time. “Seriously, what are you two doing?” I barked.

  Tink flew at Marty, who snapped at her as she whizzed by.