by R. E. Vance
“Built? Feel? Glimpse? So much about that statement is hurting my head.”
This time she chuckled. “Yeah, me too. All I can say is that it’s like I’m both here and up there. Even when I was on Earth, I could feel myself still up in Heaven, floating around in what I had created.”
“All right, I need you to slow down and talk to me like someone who hasn’t spent the last few years dead and alone in a celestial plane generally reserved for the pure of heart.”
Another chuckle. And hearing it made my heart soar.
“OK,” she said, staring at the nothing we were in. “It’s not like we have anything else to do …” Pushing away from me, she floated a few feet off.
I followed, amazed at how easy it was to move around in this place. Yes we were floating, but we could control our movements using the same impulses I’d normally use to command my feet to move.
“Up in Heaven, I could build things using my will. I think it’s the same way that Others use their magic. Will it, and it manifests. Only difference is that I don’t age when I do it.”
I nodded in understanding. A while back Bella had imbued me with the ability to burn time. It was when I learned that she wasn’t dead, dead like everyone else … but her soul had still somehow managed to find Heaven.
At the time, I had been fighting the Avatar of Gravity, an Other of near god-like power. Bella had saved me and with a kiss, she gave me the ability to burn some time. Time which I used to create an army of 1980s toys to take down the Avatar. (Think Ghostbusters, but instead of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, I manifested Voltron, the Thundercats, Transformers and just about every other badass from Saturday morning cartoons to kick his butt into oblivion.)
“OK,” I said, “so you’re building stuff. Like what, skyscrapers? You’re not pulling a Trump and putting your name in gold on everything.” I scowled at the garish thought.
“No, silly. But I am building things. Constructs that … Well, it’s hard to explain and doesn’t really matter right now. Let’s just leave it at this: I’m preparing for what I fear is to come.”
“Which is …” I gestured as though I was pulling teeth.
Another chuckle. By the GoneGods, I’d live and die a thousand times just to hear that sound. “I’ve found things up there. Records— No, more than records. History books that talk about the past.”
“History books tend to be about the past.”
“Smartass. And by history, I don’t mean ours. I mean what came before us. I know this will sound crazy, but I don’t think this is the first time the gods left.”
↔
Remember in the old cartoons when Bugs Bunny or Donald Duck heard something unbelievable and their eyes popped out of their skull while their jaws dropped to the ground? I didn’t have a mirror, but I was pretty sure that was exactly how I looked at that moment.
“What do you mean, ‘Not the first time’?”
“Exactly what I said. I think the gods have left before. But that ‘before’ wasn’t like our now, if that makes sense. I think the first time they left was a far more primal time than ours.”
“Primal? Don’t you mean primordial?” I said, giving myself silent grammar kudos.
She pursed her lips, unimpressed. “I mean primal. The only creations they made were basic life and nothing else.”
“So they made the dinosaurs?” Now it was my turn to chuckle.
Bella didn’t laugh. She just shook her head and shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is in that first round of their godly experiments, they didn’t create humans or minotaurs or dwarves or onis or … You get the idea. They just made the universe—our universe—and then left.”
“Left to go where? Isn’t the universe everything? Where the hell else is there to go?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. My best guess is that they left and came back literally millions of years later.” She shook her head in frustration. “You don’t understand. There is so much to go through and, well, I need to get back up there so—”
“No,” I said. I would have stomped my foot, but there was no ground to stomp my foot on.
“No?” She seemed genuinely confused.
“No,” I repeated. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.”
“Oh.” Her lips curled slightly as my meaning became clear to her. “You might not get the final say on that.”
“Oh yeah? Try me.”
“Look,” she said, drawing in close, “I don’t want to go anywhere without you. Never again. But if I can find a way back up there, I will. With you, great. But I’ll go alone if that’s the only way. I think the gods are planning to come back. Up there, I found this golden pillar … something they called Irim Emad. On it were these carving that—”
But before she could finish, a loud boom preceded a screech. Then we heard Penemue’s voice—if Penemue was pretending to be a pissed off James Earl Jones. “Enough, mortal. Speak not of matters of which you have no understanding!”
I’ve heard that kind of pissed off angel before … Michael and Miral, and a couple others during my Army days. It was the voice angels used when their feathers were being ruffled by us lowly humans speaking of divine matters they felt we had no right to.
I gave Bella’s hand a squeeze as I drew her in close. “Hey there, big guy. Don’t suppose you could show yourself for a chat?”
Nothing.
“Come on. Come on over to this nothing. It’s comfy, and I miss you.”
Still nothing.
“Hey, I know you want us to leave. I tell you what, we’ll do exactly that—leave. But only after we get to see you one more time. You know, to catch up and talk about things like the latest Kanye West … ah, I mean Ye rant, or wax lyrical about what it’s like to be in Hell.”
More nothing.
“OK, but it’s that or we start talking about the gods again. Bella, what were you saying? You found this golden pillar. Irim e-gad?”
“Emad,” Bella corrected.
As soon as she said the word, we heard an audible sigh as a fireplace manifested from thin air.
No fire was lit—nor did it seem as if any fire had ever been lit in it—but a light emanated from the other side.
Getting down on my knees (which was harder than you’d think when floating in nothing) I crawled through, closely followed by Bella. Whatever this was, it was the pathway to the next layer of Hell.
And who knew that the next layer of Hell would be a moderately decorated apartment that looked like a page out of an Ikea catalog?
Empty Hell wasn’t empty. It was the living room of a middle-class, suburban apartment.
Explosive Families and Families Exploding
Bella and I crawled through the light where, closer, we saw it was a—
Oh brother, I thought to myself, chimney. The entrance to the next layer of Hell is through the chimney. Go figure.
Actually, thinking back through my history with Penemue, it made perfect sense that the entrance was a chimney. Penemue was obsessed with Christmas and Santa Claus. For one thing, he once got a hobo blind stinking drunk just because the guy was overweight and had a big white beard. When I’d found him in the alley, Penemue insisted that the guy was St. Nick. He wasn’t.
At least, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t.
Then there was the time he got stuck in an industrial chimney in an abandoned warehouse because—and I quote—he “wanted to bring gifts to the children.” It took me three hours to get him out of the damn thing. When he finally came tumbling out, it was with a giant red sack filled with gifts that he got from only the GoneGods knew where.
I had pointed out that there were no children in an abandoned warehouse. But he had said, “Build it and they will come,” before insisting we wait there. Sure enough, several hours later families started showing up. One family brought a folding table and some egg nog, and were soon followed by a dozen more families with their own contributions to the potluck.
So, he had planned the little gathering ahead of time and was doing a dry run with the chimney for the kids, only to discover he was too big to fit through. Not that anyone cared; all the families there were down on their luck, and that Christmas … well, that was probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had.
“Damn you, Penemue,” I muttered, looking around the apartment.
The place looked normal enough. A three-bedroom, moderately sized apartment with a few toys strewn about; a bit of mess, but not too bad. In this place, I felt love.
A piano sat at the far end with several family portraits on it. I walked over and picked one of them up. A young boy dressed in a suit and red tie smiled as two proud parents stood next to him, a hand on each shoulder.
I knew that picture—I’d seen it before. Hell, I was the one who found it. This was an apartment from Paradise Lot. But it wasn’t just any apartment … this was EightBall’s place.
This was where the boy grew up.
↔
With a click, the front door unlocked and an eight-year-old EightBall—Newton was his real name—walked in with his mom and dad. The three of them looked elegant, like they’d just come from a party. His mother wore a floral dress, and his father a V-neck sweater and a red tie. Newton had on the same V-neck sweater as his father and a pair of red tennis shoes.
The young boy ran into the living room and I braced myself for the expected surprise when he saw two strangers standing there. But the boy didn’t show any surprise or fear or anything, really.
He didn’t even indicate he knew we were there. All he did was run straight to the piano and start playing.
Here was the boyhood version of the kid I knew so well. Short, cropped hair, a bright smile … there was no mistaking him. Except this kid had never joined the HuMans—a gang hell-bent on terrorizing Others. He’d never gotten their characteristic tattoos all over his face—tattoos of all the different religious symbols that were largely debunked with the gods’ departure. He had yet to be hardened by losing his family, his childhood.
This was EightBall before all that crap happened to him.
“That’s good, honey,” his mom said from the other room. “But practice will have to wait. We have guests tonight, so please go wash up.”
“Sure thing, Mom.” EightBall jumped from the piano bench and ran toward the bathroom.
The family moved about, completely oblivious to our presence. And even though they looked and even smelled alive, they lacked a certain presence that Bella and I had. Looking at them was like looking at a moving photograph; you knew it was based on something that existed, just like you knew that that thing wasn’t the photograph itself.
The table was set, the final plate placed just as the doorbell rang. EightBall ran to the door. From where I stood, I couldn’t see who was there. But as soon as I heard the voice say, “Young Master Newton, how are you this fine day?” I knew exactly who was coming to dinner.
As if punctuating my thoughts, EightBall cried out, “Uncle Penemue!” and the eight-foot-tall, muscular, tweed-wearing angel walked into the living room.
↔
EightBall’s parents greeted Penemue with warmth and love, like they were old friends. “Please sit,” EightBall’s dad said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Actually, I brought a little something something to the party.” Penemue pulled a bottle of Drambuie from his wings.
He handed the bottle to EightBall’s mom, who appraised it. “Ahhh, Drambuie … the closest thing Earth has to ambrosia.”
Penemue chuckled. “Indeed.”
“Can I have some?” EightBall asked.
“I’m afraid, young Master Newton,” Penemue said, “this is a delight that must wait until your body grows in height and age, and your mind is imbued with enough experience to handle the wonder that is Drambuie.”
“Huh?” the kid said.
EightBall’s dad laughed, patting his son on his head. “That’s Uncle Penemue speak for ‘You’ll have to wait until you grow up.’ ”
“Indeed, young Master Newton. Indeed.”
↔
What followed was a perfectly pleasant dinner with laughter and joy—what came from four people who loved each other sharing a meal. Not that we really saw much of it.
We spent the dinner trying to find a clue as to what was happening, but everywhere we went was a dead end. The front door wouldn’t open to our touch, nor would any windows. We couldn’t interact with our surroundings, which made us helpless to do anything but watch.
“What is this?” Bella asked. “I get that we’re in one of Penemue’s most painful memories, but what is this?”
“I … I don’t know,” I said. “Bella, this would be a perfect time for ‘I’m the guide’ to start guiding.”
Bella shrugged. “Heaven and Hell are built on layers, like an onion. Some layers overlap others and can interact with them. Other layers are just for observing, with no way to actually influence what’s happening.”
I gave Bella a blank look. “You’re talking to us like Others do—a puzzle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in completely useless information.” I tried to smile, to show my comment for the joke it was intended to be, but we were up against a deadline and I wasn’t feeling very funny right now.
“Think of it this way: Heaven and Hell have these cameras that let you peer into other places. Some cameras are just that—a passive, one-way opportunity to observe. But some cameras come with loud speakers so you can talk to the people inside. And others have even more interactivity than that, like—”
“A robot or a drone?” OK—deadline or not, you can always joke about robots and drones.
Except now it was Bella’s turn to be all serious. “Exactly,” she said, without a hint of mirth. “That’s exactly it. And the more powerful you are, the more layers you have access to. The more robots and drones you can control. And if you’re supremely powerful, then you can actually transport yourself into the situation.”
“I see,” I said … and I did. Heaven and Hell were filled with messengers of different degrees and stature. Everything from vague visions to prophets, all the way to archangels delivering the message. Generally, we heard about them when they made their way to Earth, but it made sense that that was how communication worked here, as well.
I guess neither place was really into privacy, either.
“You said supremely powerful beings could do it all, huh?” I asked.
Bella nodded.
“So, if I were a supremely powerful being seeking to torture myself, what would I do?” I muttered as I walked around the room.
“What are you looking for?”
“Dust,” I said, enjoying my own cryptic response. And that’s when I saw it … Right on the edge of the piano near the photographs was a bit of disturbed dust. I knew it hadn’t been us who’d disturbed it, because we couldn’t interact with our surroundings. And as for everyone here—with the except of EightBall—no one had gone near the piano, and he hadn’t touched the surface.
“Bella,” I said, “how do you interact with a layer that you know is there but can’t see?”
“You can’t. Not unless the person in that layer chooses to interact with you … assuming they can.”
“Oh, they can alright.” I stared into empty space next to the piano and muttered, “Come on, big guy—show yourself. I know you’re there.”
Nothing happened.
“Jean, please. Now is not the time to go insane.”
“I’m not. He’s here—right here. Aren’t you, big guy? Come on, show yourself. Please.”
Again nothing.
“Penemue, I’m begging you. Show yourself.”
Still nothing.
“You owe me, you bastard. You owe me. Bella is here, but she’s in danger. And you owe me.” I pointed at Bella. “She’s going to get trapped in here unless we get her out. And apparently we can’t do that unless we get you out of here first.”
Still nothin
g. So I decided to try another tack: guilt.
“Do you remember what you said to me the day we discovered Bella was trapped in Heaven and the bridge to get in was destroyed? I had no way to get back to her. Do you remember what you said to me? Because I do. I said that I was never going to see her again and you said, ‘Probably not, but then again, it has been my experience that there is rarely only one way to get to a destination. After all, one could walk, run or fly. Bella is still there.’
“And when I gave you a blank look, you said, ‘My point, dear Human Jean, is that she got there using an entirely different method than the First Law did. My point is that if there are two ways to Heaven, then perhaps there is a third. My point is that if there is a will, there is a way. But really, my point is that if I am ever going to find a way back into Heaven before my body is old and brittle, I must have time to concentrate.’ You were reading a book. Something about physics.” I snapped my finger as I tried to remember what it was. “I can’t remember the title. It was …”
A figure manifested, his face covered in tears of light. “An Advanced Understanding of Quantum Physics. A dead end, really. Seems that quantum physics doesn’t really come into play when it comes to Heaven.”
Penemue stood before me, and although he was there, it didn’t feel like him. It was like I was looking at another photograph.
“Penemue,” I said.
The twice—now three-times—fallen angel put up a shushing finger. “Hold on … we’re about to get to the good part.” He pointed at the table where everyone was clearing up.
As soon as the last plate had been taken to the kitchen, EightBall called out, “Can I go outside now?”
“Sure thing, honey. Just stay by the old oak tree where I can see you.”
“OK, Mom,” he said as he ran out the door.
“This is it,” Penemue said. “The moment I took all this happiness away.”