Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  This was her childhood home, the place where PopPop had raised her. But when she died, PopPop couldn’t stand being in that house anymore. And given he was once again raising a little one, he moved us to a smaller house closer to the city. The kind of place where the teenage hell-raiser I became could walk home after a night of fake-ID bar-hopping.

  Good ol’ PopPop, always planning ahead.

  “Over there,” I said, pointing at the old RoadRunner that I’d eventually inherit from my grandfather. “Do you remember that car?”

  Bella came in close. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded dreamy as she recalled the same memories I was. We had both lost our maidenhood on the back seat of that car. Well, Bella lost her maidenhood. I lost my—my … what’s the equivalent of maidenhood for a guy? Knighthood? Misterhood?

  Virginityhood. I lost my virginityhood there.

  But despite all the familiarity of the scene, there was something not quite right about this place. I had seen a bunch of pictures of this street, and my PopPop had driven by that house a million times as a kid, pointing to the front lawn or window or porch and telling me about some memory of Mom.

  Hell, on more than one occasion, we even rang the doorbell and went inside for a tour, where he’d regale me with stories of the mischief my mother got up to. I’m not sure the new owners loved us occasionally barging in, but they never said no. And despite never living there myself, I knew the insides of that place in intimate detail.

  But I knew it as the place my mother grew up in. The memories I had of it were hers, not mine.

  And yet, standing there, I felt as though I knew the place as if those memories were my own. I felt connected to that house in a way I never had the dozens and dozens of times I’d seen it.

  This wasn’t my mother’s house—it was mine.

  Mine. But how could that be? I’d never lived here, and despite my PopPop being a great storyteller, he could never imbue me with the sense that it was mine. Not like this.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked as the uncanny familiarity washed over me.

  Penemue must have known exactly what I was feeling, because he shook his head with a sigh that betrayed a heavy and uncompromising burden. “Do you know what it feels like to read a soul? It is not like reading a book or even watching a movie. To read a soul is to know it. And the only way you can truly know something is to experience it as if it is your own. You are reading this place, feeling it with the same intimacy your mother once felt.”

  The impact of what he’d just said washed over me. I wasn’t looking at this house with some detached amusement—I was feeling this place with all the emotional intensity my mother felt. More so, because she had a lifetime to feel this way, and in that lifetime her emotions for this house must have evolved. Changed. Emotions that ebbed and flowed through her until they became a part of who she was. And because they were such a part of her, she probably didn’t even notice them most of the time, the emotions playing in the background like a beating heart.

  You know it’s there. You know it beats inside you. But you rarely acknowledge it fully.

  But for me—for us—this was new, like suddenly growing a second heart. You couldn’t help but feel it beating inside you at all moments.

  “Is this how you feel everything?” I asked.

  Penemue nodded. “More so, Human Jean-Luc. You are but a guest here. I have little choice when reading another’s soul. I only need something to happen to take my mind to that person and I am … here.” He gestured to the house.

  “So every time you think of EightBall—I mean Newton—you are taken to the moment of his parents’ death.”

  A single tear of light rolled down the twice-fallen’s cheek. “Again, more so, because I don’t just feel that moment. I feel all moments, from his birth to the day my connection with the human soul was severed. And … and I also read his parents’ souls and feel their joy and love and … pain. I read it all, simultaneously and constantly. Again and again and again.”

  Now the tears flowed freely from him. Seeing my friend’s immense pain, I went to him and gave him a hug. Well, I tried to. He was eight feet tall and built like one of those Engineer Goliaths in the Aliens movies, so my arms didn’t cover much of him.

  Luckily, Bella was there to complete the circle.

  So this was it was like to be the angel who could read everything. He also felt it. And given that I was almost floored by reading—feeling—my mother’s emotions toward her childhood home, feeling EightBall and his parents’ life all at once must have been awe-inspiring and overwhelming. How the angel managed to do anything when he was so connected to everything, I will never understand. I would go insane.

  And suddenly I understood why he was driven to drink. The inebriation must dull this connection.

  “You are the strongest being I can imagine,” I said, not so much to comfort him, but because I truly believed it. Believe it.

  “Hell is now,” Penemue said. I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that. I could only assume he was referring to the repetition of his hell. How the same few minutes seemed to repeat themselves over and over again. Then again, he might have meant something else—not that I would ask. Now I was learning who my father was, and in doing so, I’d hopefully find a way to break Penemue from his hell.

  In other words, I needed to find a way to stop now from happening again.

  Now May Be Forever, But Forever Isn’t Now

  Without another word, Penemue walked up to the house and opened the door, only pausing for a brief moment before walking through the threshold.

  Bella and I followed. As soon as we got to the door, a wave of emotion hit me with all the force of a hurricane. So that was why Penemue paused. Walking in wasn’t as simple as taking a step—you needed to steel yourself against the emotional impact of this place.

  My mother loved this house. No, that wasn’t quite right. She did love this place, but she also hated it, sought comfort here, got into fights with PopPop, cried, laughed … lived, in all the meaning of the word.

  And walking in, feeling what she felt for the first time and all at once, was overwhelming.

  And beautiful.

  And terrifying.

  At first I didn’t think I could walk through that door. It was just too much. But Bella—my beautiful, empathetic Bella with a heart the size of the Titanic—took my hand and led me in. She must have felt everything I did, but being who she was, adjusted far more quickly than I could. I guess some people were emotional warriors and, if that’s true, then my Bella was the Queen Sheba of Feelings.

  Inside, we walked into a living room with all the furniture I’d grown up with, just in another layout. I knew the house and knew that my mother would be the last door on the right, down a narrow hallway.

  At first I didn’t think anyone was home. But then we heard some laughter and, following Penemue’s lead, we walked to the back where I smelled … what was that? Pot?

  Looking through the door, I saw my mom wearing a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and nothing else—argh!—in her bed, lying next to a man … No, he was too young to be a man. She was lying next to a boy who looked uncannily like me. They were sweating, breathing hard as they puffed on their wacky tabacky-filled smokes. They giggled in that post-lovemaking way young lovers do.

  I don’t know what hit me first: that my mom was smoking pot (kind of cool), or that she was in bed with a guy who looked like me. A Freudian nightmare combined with the scarring sight of your mom half-naked in bed. Or that the man she was with was my father.

  OK, that’s a lie … I know exactly what hit me first: naked Mom. I guess there’s no age limit on being scarred for life by the sight of that.

  They were cuddling as they smoked and giggled, and I felt something that genuinely made me happy.

  She loved him. She loved my father.

  He wasn’t some one-night stand like my PopPop had always told me. Here was a man whom my mother completely, sincerely, totally loved.

&nb
sp; And they were happy.

  Penemue put a hand on my shoulder. In a voice imbued with respect (hard to manage, given we were the ghostly equivalent of peeping Toms) he said, “They were happy—and to be married. Much like your story with Bella, they were waiting until they were of legal age to elope. Your father had just gotten a job at Mama’s bakery. You know the one?”

  I nodded. Bella and I went to Mama’s all the time for chocolate and macadamia nut cookies.

  “He was saving up for a wedding ring and the first three months’ rent on a one-bedroom apartment that—”

  But before Penemue could finish, we heard screeching tires as a car pulled into the driveway.

  The next thing I felt was fear as my mother yelled, “Shit, Dad’s home early. Get out of here. Go … go!”

  She frantically waved her hands around as she sprayed the room with air freshener. My father, obviously terrified of PopPop, sprang out of bed. In that classic 1980s movie cliché, he scooped up all his clothing and, with one sock on, threw his clothes out the window before he tumbled out into the night.

  I heard the front door open and my PopPop walked through. He was a much younger man then, still in possession of a full head of hair and not yet in possession of a beer belly. “Honey,” he said, “you home?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” she said, closing her door.

  My PopPop walked through the house. “What’s that smell? You better not be smoking again. I told you, young lady, that if I caught you with that—”

  He opened the door to see my mother holding a tampon.

  “Dad!” she cried.

  “Oh God … Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  My mother raced over to the door and slammed it in his face, crying out, “You have to knock. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “I know honey. I just … I … I’m so, so sorry.” GoneGodDamn! My mom was badass. Not only was she having a rocking good time, she totally did something I never thought possible growing up.

  She got PopPop to apologize.

  I started laughing. Thank the GoneGods I was invisible, because I would have woken up the entire neighborhood with my howls.

  “Honey,” PopPop said after a couple minutes, “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll make some popcorn and we can curl up on the couch and watch The Merv Griffin Show. What do you say?”

  My now-dressed mom opened the door and gave PopPop a big hug. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  ↔

  “So that’s my dad. Sneaking around, chasing tail.” I ran my hands through my hair.

  Bella came up behind me and gave me a tight squeeze. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.”

  “Yeah, and I guess parents are all scary when it comes to protecting their young. I owe Judith an apology.”

  Penemue rubbed his hands in that way he did just before we arrived. “They were in love. Deeply and completely. Love of the young and foolish …”

  “Then why wasn’t he around? Why didn’t he know about me?”

  “Do you truly wish to know?”

  I paused. The past is the past, but now that this doorway had been opened—now that I knew he wasn’t some asshole who knocked up my mom and left—I wanted to know.

  I needed to know.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Very well, then.”

  Once more, Penemue opened up his palms and blew.

  ↔

  Now we were on the dark street, following my dad as he hopped around, getting dressed as he walked. Finally clothed, he made his way downtown.

  As we followed him, I felt one thing permeating the air ... happiness. My father was happy. Happy to be in love. Happy for what the future held. Well, what he believed it held.

  Just happy.

  We got downtown, where he walked into a restaurant that in present-day Paradise Lot is the Stalker’s Café. In his time, it was called Angels.

  He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender gave him a curious eye and, knowing he wasn’t going to get one, downgraded his drink to a cola.

  Three young ladies stood at the bar, all of whom chuckled at his failed attempt. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, eyeing the three of them. Let me tell you, they were Holy Guacamole gorgeous. I mean … wow.

  Not that my father noticed. I could still feel his love for my mom, and that made me … what? Love him? I don’t know, but I liked my father a hell of lot more than I thought I would should I ever get a chance to meet him.

  “No, you can’t,” purred the first lady, who lifted her finger.

  As if the bartender had nothing else to do but serve her, he walked over with a beer. She pointed at my father and, throwing caution and the legal drinking age to the wind, handed it to him. “So, young Luke,” she said.

  “Luke?” I said. “So that’s my dad’s name. He was a Jedi before there were Jedi.” I couldn’t help but beam with geeky pride.

  “Jean-Luc,” Bella whispered. “Your name.”

  I nodded with understanding. It wasn’t just that my mom was trying to be clever with the whole “John, Luke, Matthew—only missing the Mark (well, not anymore)” thingy.

  She wanted me to carry a bit of my father with me—always.

  As soon as I finished speaking, the lady who had handed my father a beer looked right at me. From the way her eyes looked through me, I knew she couldn’t see me. But she responded as if she’d heard me. And there was fear in her eyes.

  Her fear was chased away by the other two coming up to her. “Sister,” they said, “you were saying?”

  As if remembering herself, her smile returned. “Young Luke, how good it is to meet you.”

  My father looked at her in confusion. “How do you know my name?”

  “What the fuck?” I said. I didn’t need this conversation to continue to know exactly what was happening. This lady—these ladies … they were Others. It was so damn obvious.

  But how could my father know? This was before the gods left. Before the world knew that every kind of mythical creature ever written about (and then some) was real. To my father, this was just some weird, incredibly sexy lady who knew his name.

  The existence of Others in the mortal realm before the gods left was bad news. Whatever they wanted with him was bad news. I knew it. Bella knew it. Penemue knew it. These ladies knew it.

  Everyone but my father knew it.

  “Stop this. Stop this now!” I screamed.

  Now all three of the ladies were looking at me—well, through me. They had heard me.

  “You stay away from my dad,” I growled. “Do you hear me? Stay away!”

  The lips of the one who had been speaking to my father curled into a snarl. “This is none of your concern.” She drew out a ball of thread from her purse and pulled at the thread. Before I could do or say anything, the world around us melted away.

  And suddenly Penemue, Bella and I were standing in the empty void that we had been in when the darkness washed over us.

  ↔

  “No—no!” I screamed. “Get me back there, now.”

  “I can’t,” Penemue said.

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “I cannot.”

  “You have to. Take me back. Take me back!” I pounded my fists on Penemue’s chest as unexpected tears streamed down my face. “I have to help him. I have to save him.”

  But the angel didn’t move. He just accepted my rage and frustration as I begged him over and over to take me back. Bella came to my side, seeking to calm me down, but the angel raised his hand, gesturing for her to step away. “He needs this,” Penemue said. “Let him feel this fully.”

  I don’t know how many times I hit him, but I know I raged long enough for my arms to grow tired. And as my fury subsided, Bella came to my side and did what she always did when I was in pain: she made it better.

  She pulled me into her embrace, stroking her hand over my hair the way I always imagined my mother would have done if she’d liv
ed. She whispered softly into my ear, and it didn’t even matter what she was saying.

  Just the sound of her voice was enough.

  Finally calm, I asked, “Why can’t you take us back? I thought you ruled this place.”

  “I do,” Penemue said. “But not everything belongs to this domain.”

  “But you can read his soul. You know what happened to him?”

  “I do not.”

  “But surely you know what they said to him.”

  The twice-fallen shook his head. “There are magics at play here that are greater than my gifts.”

  “So, what? Some fucking Others kidnapped my father to do what? Use him—kill him? What?”

  “Again, I do not know.”

  “Then tell me what kind of Others they are.”

  Another head shake. “I am sorry, Human Jean-Luc Matthias, but I have shared all I know.”

  “Then what good are you?” I rasped.

  Penemue hung his head low, looking to the emptiness below us in shame.

  “This is bullshit.” I stepped away from Bella and Penemue. Walking in the void did nothing to temper my anger. Some GoneGodDamn Others had messed with my family before the gods left. Why? Who? These were answers I so desperately needed. I turned back. “What can you tell me?”

  “Only this. After that encounter, your father disappeared, both from your mother’s life and from my ability to read his soul.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Has something like that happened before?”

  Penemue nodded. “At times. But only when the gods wish something from the mortals. There have been many like your father, but the famous ones are few. Jesus, Isaiah, Enoch … a few others throughout history.”

  “So, what? They gods took my father to be a … what? Prophet?”

  “Unlikely,” Penemue said. “Those names I mentioned are the ones who made it into mortal history books. Most who disappear do not. And their purpose is unknown to me.”