She had a point, not that I was about to admit it. "Do you mean to tell me Heaven's okay with violent fantasies? Staging a fatal shooting's just fine with the higher power?"
Suddenly, Lillian stopped in her tracks. "Mom was right, you know that?"
I stopped, too, and met her gaze. "Mom who? Right about what?"
"You're a giant pain in the ass," said Lillian. "That's what."
"I'm just trying to make sense of all this." I scratched the back of my head. "What's wrong with that?"
She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head slowly, looking deeply disappointed. "Just because you're here, Dad, doesn't mean you're the star of the movie."
I stared at her. I had a feeling we were getting off on the wrong foot, but I wasn't sure what I needed to do to fix that. "Listen." I looked down and scuffed a foot on the gold cobblestones. "I'm sorry. It's been kind of a crazy day."
When I looked up again, her expression had softened. "Tell me about it." She managed a little smile.
"Who knew going to Heaven could be so stressful?" I shrugged and laughed.
She laughed, too, but it didn't last. "I hate to tell you this." Now it was her turn to look down and scuff her foot. "But the stress isn't over."
"You're kidding." I frowned. "How could it get any more stressful?"
"There's a meeting, Dad. You need to be there."
I thought I wasn't the star of this movie, I wanted to say. "What kind of meeting, exactly?"
"An important one, Dad," said Lillian. "The most important meeting you'll ever have."
*****
So it turns out they have elevators in Heaven. Lillian and I rode a glass one into the highest levels of the dome.
At least, I'm happy to say, there wasn't any Muzak playing in the car.
The view as we climbed into the heights was spectacular. The domed area was even more vast than I'd thought from below, as in acres and acres. Sections of it were open to the outside--wedges that started as points a few stories up and widened out at ground level--which I realized was how the sea air had gotten inside. Until then, I guess I'd figured it was some kind of miracle.
The ocean itself was visible through the layers of stained glass windows. Though I supposed it was probably more like a metaphor for the ocean in this goofy place.
"How much further?" I asked Lillian as we kept rising past the billowy clouds near the apex.
Just then, two angels--one male, one female, both blond--glided over and waved at us. Smiling, they followed the car upward for a moment, saying things we couldn't hear to each other. Then, laughing, they flapped away from us, swooping off into a fluffy bank of cloud.
"All the way, Dad," said Lillian. "Straight to the top."
I frowned and watched the angels flap their wings. Lillian sounded tense, which made me nervous. What was there to be tense about in Heaven?
And what had she meant about the most important meeting I'd ever have?
*****
When the elevator reached the very last stop (there were no numbers inside the car, so I had no way to tell what floor it was), the doors parted. The brightest light yet punched into the compartment, making me more thankful than ever for the sunglasses.
"Well, well," I said as Lillian led me out of the car. "That is one hot metaphor shining up there in the sky."
Lillian didn't answer.
We were outside now, and the blazing sun was unobstructed. The humid heat pressing in from all around was already making me sweat a little.
As the elevator doors closed behind us, we walked along a walled-in pathway. It was paved with glittering gems instead of gold cobblestones.
"Now remember." Lillian spoke softly. "Answer their questions truthfully. They'll know if you're lying."
I cocked my head. "'They' who?"
She didn't answer. "And whatever verdict they give you, accept it gracefully. It won't do any good to argue with them."
"Verdict?" I scowled. "What the Hell are you talking about?"
"Also, don't use words like 'Hell.'"
"Hold on now," I said. "What exactly am I in for here?"
"Don't worry." She gave me a small, tight smile with those black-and-white diagonally striped lips. "I'm sure it will all work out fine."
I had more to say, but she wasn't listening. She whipped around a bend in the path, with me a step behind her.
Suddenly, we were face to face with a tall white gate. Lillian stood in front of it with her hands clasped behind her back and waited.
After a moment, the gate swung silently inward.
"Reminds me of my place back home." I looked around, half-expecting a security camera--a metaphorical one, at least. "Not so many dogs though...not yet, anyway."
She turned with a finger raised to her lips, shushing me. Then, she straightened her white blazer and marched through the gate.
For a moment, I looked back, wondering if I ought to get the Hell out of there. I didn't like where this was heading, not a bit. But then I figured, where was I going to hide? This was Heaven, right? I was on God's turf now.
Not too many places I could hide to get away from the Big Kahuna.
So I took a deep breath and followed Lillian.
Inside the gate, I found myself standing at the edge of a rooftop terrace. It looked like something out of Mount Olympus in a Greek gods movie--all marble pillars and statues and divans. Glittering bowls of fruit and decanters of wine occupied marble tables; lutes and flutes and musical instruments leaned against tables and couches. Pools of crystal blue water bubbled and steamed at each of the four corners of the terrace.
In the middle, twelve men and women sat on benches in a circle around a marble pedestal. They all wore flowing white robes trimmed with elegant gold scrollwork.
All twelve of them looked in our direction at once.
"Now I'm not worried," I whispered to Lillian. "This is just like going to a studio boss's mansion. What's next? We haggle over backend points for my next picture?"
She just flashed me a disapproving look. My own kid wasn't buying my material. So who the hell was I performing for, anyway?
"Stag Lincoln!" said one of the women--middle-aged but still in reasonably good shape, with red hair piled on top of her head. "Come before us." Her voice was stern as a schoolmarm on steroids.
Lillian bobbed her head and slid her eyes toward the group. "Go, Dad."
I hesitated. "But what am I supposed to--"
Lillian's eyes flared. "Just go." She grabbed my elbow and pushed me forward. But she also whispered this along the way: "And good luck."
I stumbled forward a step, then caught myself and straightened my sweater. Whatever was in store for me, it was time to reinstitute the Stag Lincoln coolness. I'd dealt with bigwigs before; it was always best to come at them with a kind of aloof self-assuredness. Like "I don't need you, I could care less what you do, but what the Hell, maybe we can still do business if the mood strikes me." Not quite arrogant, not quite asshole, but not even the faintest whiff of neediness or desperation.
And did I mention you have to ladle on the charm?
"Hello there." I donned my smoothest smile as I strolled confidently up to the twelve robed wonders. "Pleased to meet you."
No one seemed particularly charmed, I noticed. Not that I would let that change my approach.
"Ascend." The stern redhead pointed at the pedestal in the middle of the group. "Prepare for judgment."
I stopped just outside the circle and frowned. "Could I just ask what exactly you mean by--"
"Final judgment." This time, one of the men was doing the talking. He was short and round, with a fringe of dark hair from ear to ear around the back of his head. "On your eternal soul, Mr. Lincoln."
"Ahh." I nodded and glanced back at Lillian. So that's what she'd meant when she'd mentioned a 'verdict.' "All right then."
A bitter chill shot through my body (soul? metaphor?). Everything looked so normal, so earthly--but here we were, talking about my soul
.
And let me tell you, that was a conversation I wasn't in any hurry to have.
"Is there a chance we could do this later?" I rubbed the back of my neck and winced. "I've got a splitting headache, and..."
"Ascend." The redhead pointed more forcefully at the pedestal.
I sighed and looked around. What were the chances I could just run away?
Not very good, apparently. High white walls blocked the view on all sides, so I couldn't see if a decent escape route existed. Then there was the matter of divine retribution, of course. If this was God's posse, chances were good they could do more to me than talk sternly and point.
So I was stuck--but determined not to show it. Shoulders back, I put on my charming smile and walked through the circle of bigwigs like I was on my way to pick up an Oscar.
"Right here?" I gestured at the octagonal pedestal, which was three feet high. A set of two marble steps on either side provided access. "You want me to--"
"Ascend," snapped the redhead.
I cleared my throat and grinned. "Right. Got it." Then, I walked up one of the sets of steps and stood on the pedestal. "Done and done."
Arms at my sides, I turned a slow circle, looking down at the twelve bigwigs. I'd handled their kind before; maybe I could do it again.
Maybe I'd get through this okay. After all, killing the helicopter pilot had been an accident. And what happened with A.E. was so long ago...
"Final judgment has been rendered, Mr. Lincoln!" This time, a scrawny old guy with wispy white hair spoke up. "And the verdict is..."
"About that," I said. "Don't I get my day in court or some--"
"Guilty!" The old guy leaped from his bench and shook a bony finger at me. "You have been condemned to eternal damnation!"
"Okay now, hold on." I put my hands together in the shape of a "T." "Time out for just a second."
"You are going straight to hell!" shouted the old guy.
"Immediately!" added the redhead.
Suddenly, metal bars shot up from the floor all around me. The pedestal started to turn counterclockwise.
"Please!" I said. "Let me just explain!"
"Burn in the fiery furnace for all eternity!" said the guy with the dark fringe of hair.
"Suffer at the hands of Satan and his wicked minions!" said the redhead.
And then, as my heart raced and I clawed at the bars, the pedestal started to descend.
*****
Chapter 3
I was going to Hell.
The pedestal I stood on turned counterclockwise and slowly descended through the floor of the terrace. I clawed at the metal bars that had sprung up around it, trapping me. Intense heat surged from below, as if I were dropping into an oven.
I howled at the white-robed men and women seated around me. "Let me out of here! Please don't do this!"
None of them said a word or batted an eyelash. Apparently, they'd been dead serious about their final judgment on my soul.
I wish I could say I took it like a man. It's not like I didn't expect this outcome after the life I'd led. Honestly, I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since I'd woken up in Heaven.
But that didn't mean I had to like it.
"Please! I'm begging you!" My heart jackhammered in my chest as the pedestal lowered. "Give me another chance! Please give me another chance!"
Finally, someone said something--but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. "You had more than your share of chances in life." It was the middle-aged redhead with the pile of hair up top. "Save your begging for the Lord of Hell."
By the time the floor was at chest level, I was in full-on panic mode. I was shaking like crazy, sweating all over, blubbering like an idiot. "Please no! I'm sorry! Sorry for everything!" So much for the famous Stag Lincoln cool. "Don't do this!"
"Don't blame us," said the tubby guy with the fringe of black hair. "You have brought this fate upon yourself!"
The scrawny old-timer with the wispy white hair joined in. "Even now, do you repent? Truly repent?"
"I repent! I truly repent!" I rattled the bars as my cage continued to sink and the heat from below climbed. "I swear I repent!"
Suddenly, the pedestal stopped moving.
At that point, the floor was up to my chin...and that was with me standing on tiptoe. I was roasting from the heat, soaked with sweat and feeling light-headed.
"So you petition us for a reprieve?" said the old-timer. "You appeal to the mercy of the higher power for one last chance?"
"I do I do I do!" The words gushed out of me. "I'll do anything!"
The men and women leaned to each other and whispered behind their hands. The suspense was killing me, but I kept my mouth shut and just stood there and baked while they conferred.
Then, finally, the old-timer turned to me. "We have a new verdict." He raised the back of his hand toward me. "Screw you." As he said it, he lowered all his fingers except the middle one.
He flipped me the bird. And the pedestal started descending again.
"Nooooo!" I cried, but it was no use. My head dropped below the level of the floor, and I was gone. Something slid into place above me, and the sunlight was cut off, leaving me surrounded by crushing heat and leaping flames.
Leaving me pretty much where I thought I belonged.
Crying like a baby, I sank to my knees. Though my life hadn't flashed before my eyes when I'd died, parts of it did now. I thought of all the shitty things I'd done, all the people I'd stepped on and pissed on and screwed over to get to the top...all the crap I'd pulled that had led me to this. And I felt...what? Remorse? Regret?
Not really. That's the weird part. Even then, getting ready to spend eternity in the fiery pit, I realized I probably wouldn't have changed a thing. Because face it, the nasty shit had made the awesomeness possible.
So bring it on, I'd thought. Whatever you've got for me, bring it. If that's the price I've gotta pay for the ride I had, I'll pay it.
Just then, something slid away above me, and sunlight streamed back into Hell. The pedestal started turning again--clockwise this time--and began to rise.
Stunned, I scrambled back to my feet. I blinked hard as the terrace and council reappeared around me, awash in light.
This time, the twelve men and women were all standing. And applauding.
"You've still got it, Stag!" said the guy with the black fringe.
"No wonder you've won so many Oscars!" said the old-timer.
"You actually seemed afraid at one point," said the redhead. "You should've seen your face!"
If there's one thing I'm great at, it's improv. Rolling with the changes. As crazy as this whole business seemed, I just went with it.
Insert big fat I-meant-to-do-that grin here. "Thanks, guys." I fixed my hair, adjusted my collar, and stuck my hands on my hips as the pedestal went up the rest of the way. "It's nice to be appreciated."
When the pedestal stopped, the bars slid down around me. I didn't wait for permission to step off, just in case it started lowering again.
"Glad you've got a sense of humor, Stag." The guy with the black fringe strolled over and slapped me on the back. "I'm Barry, by the way."
"Great to meet you, Barry." I reached over and shook his hand. The whole time, I kept wondering what he and the gang had cooked up for me next.
"You can call me Max." The old-timer grabbed my hand the second I finished with Barry. "Short for Maximilian. It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Lincoln."
"Call me Stag," I said, flashing that grin for all it was worth.
Next, the redhead hopped forward and gave me a hug. "I'm Sylvia, Stag, and boy have we been waiting for you!" She gazed at me, beaming with delight--the opposite of the schoolmarm on steroids I'd thought she was at first. "Let me tell you, you do not disappoint!" She kissed me on both cheeks, then let go.
"Glad to hear it," I said as I shook hands with the rest of the guys and hugged the rest of the women. "Living up to my billing is always job one." No one seemed put off by
the fact that I was soaked with sweat and had pissed myself a little.
The last guy to make contact was tall and young, with bright blond hair and teeth as big and sparkly as mine. He struck me as a surfer type, but shrewd. He made the strongest impression of anyone on the terrace, though he'd stayed in the background until now. "No hard feelings, then?" His blue eyes, when I met them, had the kind of sharp edges I expected from money men and hustlers.
"Not at all." I'd just been through hell--literally--but I stood up straighter and gave him my firmest handshake. "Happy for the chance to show off my acting chops, man."
"I'm lucky I got to see it." He squeezed my hand harder and smiled wider. "I'd say you passed the audition."
I chuckled, though my actual mood was closer to post-traumatic stress disorder than good-natured humor. "Is that what I was doing? Auditioning?"
"Consider it an initiation kind of thing." He let go of my hand and raised his eyebrows. "Also a friendly reminder kind of thing. Nobody wants to end up you-know-where."
That got my attention. "Wait a sec. I thought once you made it to Heaven, you were there for good."
"Everybody thinks that, don't they?" He looked around at the others, and they all shared a big laugh.
It was then I looked across the terrace at Lillian, my dead daughter and tour guide, who was still standing by the gate. I'd forgotten about her in the excitement, what with going to Hell and all.
She wasn't laughing. Didn't look the slightest bit amused, in fact.
"Anywho..." The sharp-eyed surfer type clamped a hand on my shoulder and shook me hard. "You'd better get rolling, Stagger. Got to get ready for the big gala tonight, eh?"
"Gala?" I said. "What gala?"
Everybody laughed at that, too.
"She'll set you up." The surfer type waved for Lillian to come over. "Don't sweat it." He tousled my hair, which was still soaked, and the gang laughed again. "See you there, bro."
Lillian took my hand and led me away from them. Halfway to the gate, I stopped and turned. "What did you say your name was, again?"
Heaven Bent Page 3