A Boy and His Corpse

by Richard B. Knight

  He reached over to the side and pulled James to him. He wrapped his arm around him as if they were best friends. At one point, they probably were.

  “And this right here, America, is James Krompholz. He doesn’t have any abilities of his own, but he came on this mission for a special purpose. Isn’t that right, James?”

  The teen looked dumbfounded with his low-lidded eyes and slack jawed expression. When he realized he was meant to speak, he nodded emphatically.

  “Yes, that’s right,” James said.

  In the background, Lorraine saw Herbert slap his hand to his forehead.

  The Devil inside her son continued: “This young man right here is going to kill Armand Raad for us as a symbol of what a child of America can still do for his country. This is the turning point of forever, people. Will you do the honors, James?”

  James turned and stomped over to the dictator and his cowering aid.

  “No, no, noooooo!” Raad screamed before the footage cut off from the screen.

  The faces of two news anchors filled the screen.

  “We obviously can’t show you the rest of that footage,” said one anchor, his lips white and his eyes glassed over.

  The other anchor smiled from ear to ear.

  “The Lord is risen, Hallelujah!” he screamed, flipping the papers on his desk and shouting to the ceiling.

  Lorraine slumped back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.

  What did all this mean for her son’s future now? She had to talk to Taylor Gint, whoever he was. He was her last and only hope.

  Archangel Michael

  Archangel Michael paced back and forth on the cloud with his hands clasped beneath his wings. His sword and shield were placed to the side, ready to be equipped at a moment’s notice. God, who floated before him, just had to give the word.

  But God didn’t, and Michael couldn’t question God. That was a sin.

  So he hummed the song, “American Idiot” by Green Day and stared down at his sandals. God, who looked like aurora borealis, was actually the one who broke the silence. When He/She/It talked, the colors flashed.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I know we can’t strike the boy down, but—” he stopped himself. His halo shimmered around his golden locks, and his wings shuddered.

  God flashed again, this time blue and green.

  “It’s just—” Michael balled up his fists, “Lucifer’s blasphemy, claiming that he’s you. I—I—I’m just having a hard time with this, my Lord.” His flaming sword blazed violently beside his shield.

  Michael felt his brothers, Gabriel, Jegudiel, and Raphael watching on from the distance. Even this far away, he heard them praying for him. He was close to being no better than Lucifer by questioning God’s decisions to let Alan Chandler live, as an angel could not kill a human being, no matter the circumstances. That was Heaven’s law.

  As long as his brother, Lucifer, lived inside Alan, the Devil was safe. Not even a geographical event like an earthquake or flood could be performed unless God willed it. So Michael was left to pacing. Ever since Lucifer snuck underneath his radar and leapt inside Mr. Rovas, he felt like he was going to explode. And now THIS happened? Lucifer actually had the gall to say he was the Lord, Jesus Christ? If people actually believed him, then who knew what this would spell for faith and religion as a whole?

  God shimmered and turned purple and red, and Michael stopped in his tracks.

  “Wait, what?” Michael asked. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t quite understand.”

  God flashed the color again and Michael squinted.

  “But what does she have to do with all this?”

  There was another flash from God and then, the understanding set in. It seemed like a long shot, but he would have to take his Lord’s word.

  “Yes, of course, my Lord. Of course.”

  Michael stared down at the clouds. He would be ready when the time arose.

  James

  A blood red sun hung near the horizon when James walked out the cave. He still saw the translator’s scared eyes in his head.

  “Please,” the boy had said. He got to his hands and knees as Armand Raad’s corpse lay beside him. “I beg of you.”

  James closed his eyes and felt a single tear roll down his cheek. The boy shouldn’t have died. Not like that.

  Perhaps Herbert felt the same way, too. He hadn’t said a word since exiting the cave. The craggily frown on his face made his skin look like beef jerky.

  The Devil stepped out into the desert air with his arms outstretched and smiling. Three of the cameramen backpedaled in front of him with their cameras aimed at him, while the last cameraman knelt by the mouth of the cave and set up fireworks. He lit the fuses.

  The Devil stopped and pointed toward the cameras. “You can believe in me, I am here.”

  An assortment of screamers and firecrackers flashed and twirled behind him.

  Bastard. This is all a game to him.

  “Annnnnd cut,” the Devil said, and the cameramen put their cameras down and started clapping.

  “We’re going to beat Super Bowl 44 with this stuff!” Taylor Gint said. “That whole Jesus bit was genius!”

  “Wait,” Herbert said. He stormed over to Taylor Gint and spun him around.

  Taylor Gint smiled, revealing the missing tooth at the side of his mouth.

  “It’s Mr. Rovas, duh. How he got into your son’s body, I have no idea, but it doesn’t surprise me with some of the other things he’s shown me.”

  James looked to Herbert, and then to the Devil. Herbert had a look in his eyes as if to say, “Careful.”

  “Get that footage online ASAP,” the Devil said. “I’m sure they cut the footage before when James killed Raad.”

  “Wait, what?” James exclaimed. Again, he saw the kid’s scared eyes in his head. He even felt the boy’s last breath in his hands.

  “Surely no network would show you kill a man on live TV.”

  James made a move, but Herbert blocked his path with his arm.

  “It’s not worth it, boy,” Herbert grumbled.

  “The hell, it isn’t. He made me kill that poor kid for nothing!”

  “A casualty of war,” The Devil said simply. “It happens all the time.”

  James felt heat against chest. He didn’t know if that was the fury in his heart or the fire in Herbert’s arm.

  “We did what you asked,” Herbert said. “Now give me back my boy.”

  The Devil closed his eyes and that smile of his seemed to be everywhere now. James even felt it behind his eyes.

  “Herbert, Herbert, Herbert,” he said. “When are you going to learn not to trust me? Why would I give up this body, fat as it is, when the free world now thinks I’m Jesus Christ? I’m just getting started—”

  It all happened in an instant. Herbert’s hand was fast, but the Devil’s was faster. A green blast shot from Alan’s fingers and Herbert went down, smoking. His mouth hung open and his eyes were clamped tight in pain.

  “Check if he’s still breathing for me, will ya?” The Devil said. “I may still have some use for him yet if he doesn’t try something stupid like that again.”

  James stared dumbfounded for a moment, but then, the anger rose again in his heart. “You made us a deal!” James screamed, pointing. “And you have to see them through.”

  The Devil walked over and James got in his murderous stance.

  Just try me, jerk off. I’ll die killing you.

  The Devil must have caught his drift, as he threw his hand out. A wisp of green smoke flew from his fingers and a strong gust of wind punched James in the stomach. James staggered back until he fell on his butt.

  With the obstruction gone, The Devil knelt down and put his ear to Herbert’s chest. He then nodded and smiled. “Okay. Crisis averted. He’s still breathing.”

  James sprung up, feet first, like a ninja. “What about our deal?”

  “You’re still talking to me about deals? You think I can’t r
ead your heart? You’re still on his side.”

  “And what if I am?” James asked. “I can’t even get within an inch of you to kill you.”

  The Devil’s smile soured.

  “You’re right. So it would probably behoove me if I just killed you and Herbert right now then.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Herbert’s first.”

  He stood up and pointed his hand down at Herbert’s face. His hand flashed green and a ball of light formed around it.

  James ran and did a jump kick. His form was perfect. Even Bruce Lee would have been proud. But he might as well have been jump kicking in amber, as time literally slowed down for him in mid-air.

  The Devil tsked and threw his hand out to him. A single blast hit him center mass, and shook his body like an electric current.

  James fell to his back, his skin burning and smoking. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Alan’s gap-toothed smile.

  “We’ll see if your attitude is better when you wake up.”

  Alan

  The second the words, “Jesus Christ,” fell from the Devil’s lips, Alan felt a sharp shove, like two strong hands, pushing him deeper into himself.

  Oh, God, he was falling!

  Lucifeeeeer!

  The farther he fell, the darker it got until he saw nothing at all. He landed in a pool of something slick and greasy. Alan sloshed about it like a pig.

  “Lucifer!” He shouted, and an echo resounded around him. “Lucifer?”

  “He can’t hear you here,” a calm voice said, striding up to him. When Alan turned his head he saw a glowing figure materialize out of nothingness. It was a fairly young, slim man, who could be no older than thirty-five, and he had muttonchops that took up half his cheeks. His sharp eyes were milky brown. He held his hands behind his back and sported a faded set of tan army fatigues.

  Alan rolled over on his stomach to look up at him. When he tried to push himself up, his arms gave out beneath him and he fell back down on his face.

  “Easy there,” the man said, and he walked across the nothingness as if there was a sidewalk beneath him. “If you don’t collect your bearings, this place can be a little disorienting.”

  The man extended a hand and Alan looked into his eyes. They were very familiar, but Alan couldn’t place why exactly. Up close, Alan saw a dimple in his chin, and a set of perfect, white teeth.

  “Thanks,” Alan said accepting the hand. “Where am I?”

  “In your head,” the man said. “I’m Sam Mortimer, pleased to meet you.”

  Alan stood up on wobbly knees. Sam put his hand to the small of Alan’s back to help him keep his balance.

  “Thanks,” Alan said again. “Why is it so dark here?”

  “We’re in the deepest recesses of your brain, so that may have something to do with it.”

  Alan held out his hands as if surfing. Once balanced, he began to walk, but he watched his steps. He imagined walking across a girder above a city street, and the image took shape. He could even feel the breeze go up his shirt.

  “No!” Alan said, covering his eyes.

  Sam put his hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

  When Alan uncovered his eyes again, he was back in the darkness. “What happened?”

  “Your mind wandered and you imagined you were somewhere else. Don’t do that. You might lose sight of where you’re going.”

  “Where am I going?” Alan asked, and his new friend, who he was reluctant to ask what he was doing inside his brain, pointed up.

  “You want to control your body again, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but how? Lucifer pushed me down here.”

  “You let him push you down here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  The darkness evaporated until they were now downstairs in Alan’s basement. His ex-friend, James, had his pet corpse, Mort, in a headlock. But the most pitiful sight of all was Alan himself, who was hunched over holding his head.

  “Just look at yourself,” Sam said. “All those years controlling your friend over there and you look like you’re going to puke.”

  “It really hurt. You have no idea.”

  “Hmm,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Well, whenever you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To watch how it all plays out.”

  “Oh, I already know how it all plays out. It only happened a couple days ago.”

  “But it might make a difference if you see it from a different angle.”

  Alan stared at the scene and began to feel unsteady again. He closed his eyes and felt a slap on the back of his head.

  “Ow!”

  “You’re focusing too much again on falling. Remember, we’re inside your brain right now. You’re in control.”

  Alan didn’t feel very much in control. He wobbled forward and felt a hand on the scruff of his neck as the ground almost gave out beneath him again.

  “Alan!” Sam said. “You need to stop worrying or you’ll never save your dad.”

  “Why, is he in trouble?” Alan asked, and the ground grew hard as concrete.

  “Not only is he in trouble, but he may never be okay again if you don’t get yourself out of your head.”

  “But how, Mort, I”—Alan’s eyes shot wide. In a flash, “Sam’s” eyes went from white to pus yellow.

  “Wait, what was your last name again?” Alan asked.

  Sam offered a wan smile. “Well, the truth is out then, huh?”

  His features changed to that of his best friend, Mort. “I wanted to show you something first before you figured out who I was, but I guess I couldn’t fool you.”

  “Who were you before?” Alan asked. The visual of the basement disappeared and they were in the darkness again.

  “That was me,” Mort said, “The real me. Before I was your friend.”

  “Oh,” Alan said, resting a finger across his lips. “Why are you wearing these clothes?”

  “This is what I wore the day I died.”

  “Were you a soldier like my dad?”

  “Like your dad? Hell, I knew your dad.”

  “What?” Alan marveled. “He never told me that.”

  “Yes, well, I can prove it to you. Look.”

  The darkness moved like ripples in water, and the scene changed to a desert, not unlike the one he had just been in with Lucifer. The scene was utter chaos as scorched bodies were sprawled out everywhere and a Humvee sat flipped over. The scene focused on a burnt man’s face with his eyes closed. The man had thick muttonchops.

  “Is that you?” Alan asked.

  “Yep. And look over there.”

  Alan followed Mort’s finger and it landed on…Alan squinted.

  “Is that?”

  Mort nodded. “The one and only.”

  “How are we seeing this?”

  “These are Lucifer’s memories. Just like he’s inside you and sees your memories, you’re also inside of him and see his memories. Watch.”

  Alan’s father lay in the sand as the wind blew the flames around him. Out of nothingness came a man wearing the same uniform as Mort. He kneeled beside his father and talked to him closely. Alan couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  “Who is that?” Alan asked.

  “Lucifer.”

  Alan bristled. “What’s going on?”

  “Your dad is making a deal with him.”

  But instead of fear or anger or any other emotion befitting seeing one’s father selling his soul to the Devil, he felt wonder and intrigue: “Ah, so that’s how it all went down.”

  “Yep,” Mort said.

  Alan noticed something. “Why does Lucifer looked so scared?” and the Devil, who really had no face whatsoever, but rather, a mishmash of swirling eyes, nose, and mouth, was sweating profusely. He kept looking over his shoulder at the darkening sky. There was a flash and then, the dark clouds grew magnificently bright. Within them was a golden ligh
t. Alan’s face felt hot just looking at it.

  “What’s that?” Alan asked.

  “Divine intervention.”

  A golden cyclone emerged from the clouds, and out came an angel! He clutched a blazing sword, and above his radiant, blond hair sat a halo. He wore white and his eyes flashed.

  “Lucifer!” he screamed, but his scream became the thunder itself. He was the lightning. He hurdled toward him like a comet. But that’s when his father shook hands with the Devil. And when their hands met, the angel, just mere feet away from them, shot skyward again, as Lucifer disappeared into a cloud of smoke. His father stood up, but then, fell down again next to the body of his friend, Sam Mortimer. The scene faded and Alan and Mort stood in darkness again.

  “Why was Lucifer afraid of that angel?” Alan said.

  “For good reason. But more importantly is the fact that Lucifer is afraid of you.”

  “Me?”

  Mort nodded. “Do you ever wonder why Lucifer brought me along to Pakistan even though he didn’t want or have to?”

  “It’s because I—” he stopped himself. For a minute, he was about to say, “It’s because I told him, too,” but Mort nodded vigorously, as if the question had left his lips.

  “Exactly. He thought if he left me behind, you’d rebel and push him out. But all those powers he has now were all possible through you, Alan. Do you remember when you made me cry?”

  Alan squinted. “When did that happen?”

  Mort poked his finger into the nothingness and twirled until Alan saw his living room. Alan’s father had him against the wall, and Alan cried. But to his father’s right, Alan saw Mort crying, too.

  “Whoa. How are you doing that?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything, remember? You did that to me. I live inside you, and that’s the most important lesson I want you to get out of all this. Lucifer is afraid of you because you’re stronger than your dad.”