“I can, I will, I have,” I said to Cloak before finishing my cookie and wiping off my mouth. “Listen Lady, I love the whole idea of Death as a hot chick. Neil Gaiman struck a chord with readers when he did it in Sandman.”
“Greek and Norse Mythology did it first,” Death interjected, amused.
It was clear she either found my antics amusing or was doing an excellent job faking it. It was another way she was similar to my wife.
“Oh, right, Valkyries... Hel... Persephone... all that.” I remembered my Bulfinch now. “Any-who, the simple fact is I didn't get into this whole supervillain business to work for someone else. I like being my own boss.”
I expected Cloak to say something, anything, but he was silent. In retrospect, he was probably too stunned to say anything. It was probably a good thing. I didn't have the full picture of what Lancelot had done to make his pact with Death but it increasingly looked like he had gone and done something tremendously stupid. Of all the cosmic beings in the universe to screw over, the one responsible for your afterlife was probably not the one to do so.
Death wanted something from me. Which meant, unlike for every other poor schlub out there, I had some bargaining power. I couldn't be too eager in my willingness to agree to whatever she demanded because if she did, I'd probably end up her slave.
“You agreed to do anything she wanted on the moon in exchange for enough power to save Ultragoddess,” Cloak gently reminded me of the biggest mistake of my life.
No, it hadn't been a mistake.
But it had been boneheaded.
I had to try and keep my freedom, though.
“I respect your decision.” Death sat up straight and put her hands on the throne's arm rests. “But I believe you will change your mind if you learn of some extenuating circumstances.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact I can keep you here forever,” Death said, her voice not changing in the slightest. “You’re wearing my cloak after all and you made a pact with me on the moon. Likewise, you're not protected by any necromantic spells. I could just reach over and pluck your soul from your body.”
Death reached over and made a grabbing gesture. I felt her fingertips reach into my chest as if they were tugging on something very essential to my being. I can't put it into words so I'll say it was like a cold chill running up your back taken to the extreme.
“Sorry. Threats don't work on me.”
Death raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yep. I'm a sociopath. As a result, I have no fear of death or torture because I have no emotions.”
“That’s not how psychopathy works. Also, you’re just suffering from a mild narcissism and trauma-based megalomania.”
“She doesn’t know that!” I said to Cloak.
“I’m pretty sure she does.”
Death looked amused. “Yeah, sorry.”
“How about I'm possessed of superhuman willpower? Thus, able to resist anything?”
“I don't believe that either. You're above average but that's not saying much.”
“The cosmic beings are always so easily fooled in the comic books.”
Death puckered her lips, looking like she had difficulty believing what she was seeing. “Indeed, I'm not sure if you're a genius or an imbecile.”
“As my wife says, it depends mostly on the time of day. In any case, I'm serious about the not responding well to threats thing. Yeah you can kill me and torture me but I've seen way too many movies not to know making deals with vastly more powerful entities always ends up biting you in the ass. Name one instance in the history of fiction where it's worked out well for someone.”
“The Devil went down to Georgia.” Death showed a surprising knowledge of pop culture. “Johnny ended up with his soul and a golden fiddle.”
I’d forgotten that one. “Okay, name two.”
“Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey,” Death said, a skeletal servant bringing her a Crown Royal on a dinner tray. It was Mandy's favorite alcoholic beverage. “They came back from the dead after beating Death at Twister.”
“Really, you're going to use that one? Have some standards. The very least you could have done was cite the first movie. Would it applicable? No. However, I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit I’d seen it.”
“I can't help it if your mind is mostly filled with pop culture references,” Death said. “I just picked the most suitable one.”
I raised my hands up to draw an end to our present line of conversation. “I’m sorry but I’m not going to work for you. I'm sure you’re a lovely person and I love the slutty shape-shifting Goth thing you’ve got going on but I became a supervillain to be somebody. Not become someone’s pet monkey. I'm already starting to regret my deal with Cloak and he's a hell of a lot less scary than you.”
“Thank you. I think.”
Death narrowed her eyes before they softened and she smiled. “Listen to my sales pitch and I'll give you an hour with your dead brother.”
I didn’t hesitate for a second. “I’m in.”
Chapter Twelve
Where I Sell My Soul for Love (Again)
“So you agree to hear my offer?” Death fluttered her exquisite eyelashes. “I must confess, I'm a bit surprised at how quick you were to agree. Then again, you were eager to throw away your freedom on the moon.”
“If you knew anything about me,” I muttered, looking up to the seductive deity, “you wouldn't be the least bit surprised at what I’m willing to do for my loved ones.”
“That’s one of the qualities about you I love,” Death said, surprising me. “It’s why we’re speaking rather than me seeking out a new vessel. Now, do I assume we have an agreement?”
“Yes.”
Keith and I were as close as brothers could be. It didn't matter Keith was eleven-years-older than me, he always treated me as if I was his best friend in the world. In a way, I'd taken Keith's death harder than my parents. They’d had me to fall back on, at least.
The prospect of speaking with him again was almost too heady to think about.
Cloak interrupted my thoughts. “Death will attempt to exploit your relationship to the deceased. You must be cautious and not reveal you're too interested in what she has to offer.”
“Is Keith in hell?” I asked, realizing he might be. “If he is, I'll take his place.”
Cloak mentally sighed. “You know, Gary, I'm going to stop trying to influence you into making sane decisions. Obviously, it’s a lost cause.”
“Probably a wise idea.” I tried to sort through my feelings.
Death laughed at me, seemingly amused at my breakdown. “I do admit I’m surprised at your having so obvious a weakness. Perhaps I should hold your brother's soul as collateral against the services I want from you.”
I lowered my voice, glaring daggers. “What did you say?”
Death leaned back in her throne. “Merely that I might keep your brother's soul as a means of controlling you. It seems to be the one thing you respond to more than anything else. I could even make similar arrangements for your other loved ones.”
Remembering this place was formed from my imagination, I conjured a spear in my hands. It was light weight and sharp with a long stone tip on the end. Without a second's hesitation, I hurled it at Death's head. The weapon struck against the back of her stone throne, missing her neck by inches.
Not bad for my first attempt to use one.
“You know that can't hurt me,” Death said, her tone now reserved. At the very least, the spear had gotten her attention.
“Don't mess with my family,” I growled, clenching my fists into balls. “I know you're probably all-powerful or damn near close to it. God knows you're probably above the typical near-omnipotent alien the Society of Superheroes fights on a regular basis. That doesn't mean I can't figure out something to do to you. I'm genre savvy. That means I know every conceivable weakness of an omnipotent super being that television writers could think of over the past forty years. Trust me, you do
not want to mess with this.”
Death narrowed her eyes, her voice becoming very cold. “You dare threaten me in my own domain?”
The lava around us started to bubble as the light in the room became an eerie shade of red.
“Damn straight I do. Also, you need to work on your dialogue. Who the hell says shit like that? This isn't the 1930s and you are not Ming the Merciless. Now answer the damn question: is my brother in hell?”
Death's shoulders tensed and for a moment I was sure she would strike me down. A second passed and another before she burst out laughing.
“Okay, not what I was going for but I'll take what I can get,” I said, not sure what she found to be so funny.
Death giggled for a few moments before recovering her composure. “Your brother is not in hell, quite the opposite. Mercy is a quality of the Creator, even for supervillains who tried to take over Atlantis. Take note, Merciless, I could torture you until you were willing to do anything I wished. I alone decide when a man is given the release of death and I can stave that off for millennium. I am doing this the nice way.”
“Yeah,” I said, no longer remotely impressed with Death. “I saw how you were going to be nice to me. You tried to get me to cheat on my wife. Now we had a deal, give me an hour with my brother and I'll listen to your sales pitch. Just know there's no deal if you try and use my family against me. You might be able to torture me to insanity but I'm pretty sure whatever you need requires me sane.”
“Don't be so sure.” Death once more looking serious. Honestly, I liked her better when she was pissed off. It felt more authentic. I didn't like manipulators and Death was coming off as nothing but.
“Congratulations, Gary, you've managed to tick off the one cosmic being in the universe who was favorably disposed to you. Even for you, that's amazing.”
“No one should love Death.” I crossed my arms. “She's like every one of my ex-girlfriends rolled into one.”
“Including Cindy?”
“Especially Cindy.”
“I'm offended by that,” Death said, gesturing to a wooden door free-standing in the middle of the room. It hadn't been there a second ago. “Your brother is inside.”
“You’d better be telling the truth,” I replied, heading to the door.
“I'm always honest. I'm one of the most straightforward beings in the universe,” Death said, looking away. One of her skeletal man servants walked up with a margarita she took in hand, the glass decorated with a little skull on the side.
“Yeah, I suppose you are,” I said, examining the door.
The door was a pleasant mahogany and was standing in the middle of the hellish landscape surrounding us with no room behind it. It had more than a vague resemblance to the door from the Twilight Zone series.
I felt a bead of sweat pour from the top of my brow. Rubbing it away, I stood there for a second. Strange, I felt more fear now than I did facing down the Extreme.
“It'll be alright, Gary. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you.”
“I'm not so sure about that,” I said, taking a deep breath and reaching the doorknob. It was weird, I had no idea where that sentence had come from. Why wouldn't my brother be happy to see me?
Chapter Thirteen
Meeting My Idol, My Brother, My Friend
Slowly opening the door to where Death had said my brother was located, I closed my eyes and stepped on in. When I opened them, I saw a surprising sight. In direct contrast to the cheesy pseudo-hell Death inhabited, I found myself in a tastefully appointed conference room. There was a large round table in the center of the room and a coffee table to the side.
If this was heaven, it was a tad underwhelming.
“It looks like my dad's office,” I muttered, looking around.
In the back of the room, I saw a pair of extremely large black men wearing gray robes. Both of them sported feathery wings the color of midnight. They were heavily armed, though not with the traditional flaming sword but Uzis. I confess, they didn't fit my image of how angels would look but they certainly made an impression.
Keith was sitting on the other end of the conference table, looking so unobtrusive I almost missed him. He wasn't in his ‘uniform’ tonight—instead he was dressed in a plain pair of blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt.
My brother was taller than me by half-a-foot, sporting sandy blond hair and a bleached blond goatee. His nose was crooked from where it had been broken a number of times. It was eerie seeing how Keith hadn't aged and still resembled the twenty-five-year-old he'd been when he died. I was older than my brother now, perhaps wiser than he'd been, which made the meeting all the more strange.
“Wiser than?” Cloak spoke incredulously.
“Oh hush,” I snapped at him.
Still, looking at him, I couldn't help but smile. Sticking out my palm, I made a V sign with two pairs of fingers. “Live long and prosper, Bro.”
Keith looked at me, smiling. “I still say Star Wars is the better of the two.”
“I like them both. What can I say, I'm a rebel,” I said, walking over to my brother. Keith stood up and the two of us embraced.
I'm not ashamed to say I cried.
“You okay, Gary?” Keith asked, patting me on the back.
I sniffed, wiping away the tears with my sleeve. “It's okay, I had onions for lunch. It's totally not seeing my dead brother again for the first time in a decade.”
Keith smiled in understanding, a peaceful look on his face. He'd never had one before, at least which I could remember. My brother had always acted like he'd had something to prove, right up until the moment he died.
Looking over at the angels, I said, “So you went to the other place? They must have lowered the dress code for you.”
“The Primals of Creation and Law decided to lend me out to Death for the evening. You know, Rabbi Sloan has it completely wrong. The universe works nothing like the Torah says it does.”
“Depends on where you stand. The details may be different but I think the specifics are on the money.”
I was proud of my status as both a Jewish man and a supervillain. There's actually a fairly long line of Jewish supervillains stretching back to Professor Bedlam and the Golem-Maker beforehand. By the way, yes, before anyone sends me a nasty letter there's also an even longer line of Jewish superheroes: Nazi Basher, Captain Victory, Professor Hellsinger, and Miss Liberty to name a few. Yeah, I was surprised by Miss Liberty too. She doesn't look Jewish.
Keith took me by my shoulders, staring directly in my eyes. “Gary, what the hell are you doing?”
“Is this a trick question?” I scrunched up my brow. “Because I thought I was catching up with my dead sibling.”
Keith tugged on my cape before looking at me strangely. “I mean the fact you're dressed up like a Sith Lord and acting like a stand-up comedy version of Sauron.”
“Thank you.” I smiled, though weakly. “I think of myself as a sort of counter-culture Dark Lord.”
“It's not a compliment,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Dear God, Gary, why on Earth would you become a supervillain?”
This wasn't the reaction I was expecting. “I was trying to honor you. You were the best supervillain any kid could aspire to be.”
“Seriously, Gary? That's your justification? You wanted to honor me?” Keith asked, his mouth hanging open. He lifted up his hands as if to strangle me.
“Yeah,” I said, confused by his reaction. “You were my idol growing up.”
“Gary, I became a supervillain because I was poor,” Keith shouted, turning his back to me as he felt his head. “I had a daughter, a debt to several crime lords, and a wife with expensive tastes. I'd heard cops went easier on you if you wore a costume.”
I bit my lip. My mother had told me this before. “That didn't mean you weren't impressive. The papers loved you. I mean, you fought the Silver Lightning—”
“The Silver Lightning was a hero, Gary. He helped people,” Keith said, looking back at me in stunned disbe
lief. “I got caught on my first job and afterward, people broke me out of prison to join them in heists because they thought I'd be a useful distraction. I must have gone to prison at least fifteen times during my time as a crook. God, I can't imagine what sort of hell my daughter went through because of me.”
I rolled my eyes, thinking my brother was being a drama queen. “Your wife wrote a book and she used the royalties to get your daughter acting lessons. Tina’s already marked for a reality television series. The network needs a token super to show how diverse they are.”
“That's not the point.” Keith huffed. “You were out. You had a wife, a job…okay, that didn’t work out, and a life that didn't involve people beating you up or threatening to kill you. I died at the age of twenty-five, two years after I started my 'career' as Stingray. This isn't the life mom and dad wanted for you. This isn't the life I wanted for you.”
“Maybe it's the life I wanted for myself,” I said, angry at my brother for not supporting me. I spent my entire life thinking the world of him and this was how he repaid me for it? It was a betrayal of the highest order.
Keith pulled back his hand to punch me in the face, I didn't move. If my brother wanted to hit me, I wasn't going to stop him. Despite everything, I still loved him and was glad to see him. Keith didn't punch me though. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed. “I know what you did to the guy who shot me, Gary.”
I didn’t react for a minute. “He deserved to die.”
“You were fourteen, Gary.” Keith stared into my eyes, his face stricken. “Of all the things my actions cost our family that was the one I regret the most.”
I still occasionally had nightmares about the night Theodore Whitman, a.k.a Shoot- Em-Up, came to our house. I'd been too stunned, too young, and too naive to react. He’d killed my brother in front of me and my father. Most people supported Shoot-Em-Up's decision to ‘take the fight to crime directly.’ I’d tracked him down, little more than a child, and shot him repeatedly.
Looking up, I met my brother's gaze and saw the guilt and self-loathing there. He blamed me for becoming a killer at an age when most kids were discovering girls. I had to wipe it away, somehow. “It's not your fault, Keith. It my first kill and I don't regret it or any of the ones that came after. You didn't take away my innocence, so absolve yourself of that. I'm an adult now and my path is my own.”
The Games of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 2) Page 11