We were all silent for a moment. Silent and still before the dancing, crackling flames.
Then, the masked man squeezed my arm. I turned to look in his direction.
"You want to know who to believe? Who to trust?" Reaching up, he lifted the mask from his head. "How 'bout me?"
For the first time, I got a look at his whole face. And my heart skipped a beat.
Because I recognized him. I'd never met him in my life, but I recognized his face instantly.
I'd never had many heroes, but he was one of them. A true blue star forged in Memphis, a rock 'n' roll god without compare--the one and only King.
I should have known sooner from the sound of his voice, from the half of his face not concealed by the mask. From the swagger, the warmth, the charisma--I should have known.
I considered myself a star, but he was the star of stars. If I'd been looking for God in Heaven, he was the next best thing.
"El...El..." There was maybe one person who could make me stammer while trying to say his name...and he was it. "Mr. P-...Mr. Pres-..." And then I gave up and used my trademark shortcut. "E.P. Is it really you?"
"Why yes it is." He reached out and shook my hand. "And if you know who I am, then I guess you know you can believe me, don't you?"
I couldn't believe I was shaking his hand. I didn't want to let it go. "Yes, sir. I guess I do."
"That's fine." E.P. smiled warmly. "Then everything's gonna be all right, man."
Just as he said it, I heard a snarling bark from the jungle around us.
The three of us shot to our feet just as a giant pit bull--over six feet tall from his paws to the top of his head--leaped out of the brush on the other side of the fire.
Teeth bared, back hunched, he faced us through the flickering orange light. Drool oozed from his curled black lips as he growled at us, every muscle drawn tight, preparing to attack...
*****
Chapter 6
Powerful muscles rippled under the mottled gray and black fur of the giant pit bull. Teeth bared, ears peeled back, it crouched on the other side of the campfire, growling like a motorcycle getting ready to spring into action.
It was going to leap right through the campfire--no doubt about it. The creature's dark eyes were locked on us, its body aimed in our direction. Not that we'd have much chance of escape if we split up and ran; I could just imagine those long legs churning as the beast picked us off in quick succession.
Now I knew how it felt to be an antelope at the watering hole.
Staring at the giant dog, I froze. As good a fighter as I am thanks to my Hollywood martial arts training, I can be slow to react sometimes. Call it movie star lag syndrome: I keep waiting for the director to yell "Action."
At least my rebel friends didn't have that problem. Flashing forward, M.J. snatched a flaming branch from the fire and waved it at the animal. Meanwhile, E.P. jammed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, long and loud.
As M.J. shook the fiery branch, the pit bull flinched and let loose a fierce, snarling bark. The dog's eyes darted from the branch to M.J. to the rest of us and back, taking in everything, assessing the moment. It wouldn't be long until it made a move--a move toward the weaker flank, I was guessing. A move against me.
Not long ago, I wouldn't have been worried. After all, how could you be hurt in Heaven? Wasn't the dog some kind of metaphor, unable to truly harm anyone?
But now, after talking to E.P., I knew the danger I was in. Because wherever we were, he'd told me, we weren't in Heaven. And I believed him.
"Get lost!" M.J. danced two steps forward, jabbing the burning branch at the dog. "Beat it!"
Snarling, the animal crouched back from the flame. Every time its eyes shifted in my direction, M.J. worked the branch again, drawing its attention. But I got the distinct impression that time was running out.
Reaching into the pouch at his waist, E.P. pulled out a handful of glowing dust and threw it at the dog, coating its muzzle. The beast sneezed violently, and E.P. let loose another shrill whistle.
This time, he got results. As the dog launched into a full-blown sneezing fit, a dark form swooped down from above.
Thundercloud.
With a fierce roar, the giant platypus plunged out of the sky and strafed the pit bull with her scimitar claws. The dog whipped its head up, trying to bite her as she flew past, but couldn't stop sneezing long enough to sink its fangs into her.
Thundercloud left deep, bloody gouges in the pit bull's hide and flapped off through the treetops for another run. Half-sneezing, half-snarling, the dog lashed around...and got a snootful of the blazing branch brandished by M.J.
Yowling in pain, the dog stumbled back. It ducked down, rolling its singed snout in the dirt, instinctively seeking relief.
But M.J. wouldn't let up. He jumped forward and smacked the flaming branch into the worst of the gouges on the dog's back. The pit bull yowled louder and thrashed wildly; M.J. barely danced out of the way in time.
Just then, Thundercloud rocketed down for another pass. This time, she dredged her claws deeper than ever through the beast's flesh, shredding the meat of its neck and back. The pit bull spun and snapped between sneezes but didn't come close to landing a fang on her.
That was when E.P. ran forward with another burning branch and drove it between the monstrosity's ribs. The pit bull released a shrieking whine and fell on its side, snapping the branch, then lurched off the ground and staggered away into the dark jungle.
Thundercloud dove down after it, carving her claws in another brutal slash that made the giant dog cry out again.
And then it was over.
Breathing hard though I hadn't been doing any of the heavy lifting, I slumped with relief. "Was that what was chasing us back at Heavenless? Was that what I heard howling when we took off?"
"Either pit bulls or giant German Shepherds," said E.P. "Unless the Controllers have developed a new breed."
"I hate what they do to animals." M.J. raised the burning branch, then hurled it away in disgust. "And I hate what they make us do to fight them off."
E.P. walked over and put an arm around M.J.'s shoulder...but when he spoke, he was talking to me. "They send 'em out to hunt and kill us. That's the closest one's ever gotten to camp, though."
"So they know where we are?" I looked around at the jungle for signs of more giant mutant dogs. "Do we have to move camp?"
"Not yet, man." E.P. shook his head. "That one's done for. If he does make it to a pack, well..." E.P. gave M.J.'s shoulder a squeeze. "...they'll eat 'im alive, the shape he's in. Sorry, man."
"That's all right." M.J. wiped a tear and shrugged. "It just gives me another reason to keep fighting."
"You and me both, brother." E.P. let go and walked over to stand in front of me, cracking his knuckles. "How 'bout you, Stag? Ready to fight the good fight?"
I nodded. "Yeah, sure." Considering it was E.P. doing the asking, there could be no other answer. When it came to lifelong heroes, the King was at the top of my list.
He stepped closer and clamped a hand on my arm. "But are you a hundred percent, man?" He narrowed his eyes and stared deep into mine with piercing intensity. "You've gotta be in all the way to get the job done."
"Wait." I frowned. "What job are we talking about, exactly?"
"A dirty job." E.P.'s grip tightened. "The dirtiest. And tough...maybe the toughest in this whole war."
My frown deepened.
"Which is why you've gotta be a hundred percent," said E.P.
"But what exactly...?"
Suddenly, M.J. had hold of my other arm. He gazed at me with an intensity at least as strong as E.P.'s. "He's talking about murder, Stag. Cold-blooded murder."
*****
They took me to a makeshift shelter--a lean-to with a ragged green tarp for a roof. Then we sat at a rough-hewn wooden table to talk about the murder I was supposed to commit.
And the whole time, I kept wondering if they knew more about me than they were letting on. I
f that was the real reason we were having this conversation.
Not that I was going to bring it up.
"Sorry we didn't tell you sooner," said E.P. "But we wanted you to see how things are. We needed you to understand what we're up against."
"You had to see it for yourself." M.J. nodded. "It was the only way you'd believe."
"That's why I pulled you out of the theater before the bomb went off," said E.P. "It's why I brought you on the rescue mission to Heavenless." He brushed a hand through his thick gray hair. "And why I showed you who I am."
"Your rapper friend N.B. tried to set you straight before the gala," said M.J. "But you wouldn't listen, so we knew you'd have to see proof with your own two eyes."
"We had to bring the house down and pull you out," said E.P.
I scowled at one and then the other. "You mean the bombing was just a cover to get me out of there? All those people were blown up because of me?"
"There were minimal casualties," said E.P. "Our folks made sure there were only a handful."
"But still!" I got up from the table and paced around the lean-to. "If what you told me is true, and this isn't Heaven or any kind of afterlife, those people are gone."
E.P. folded his arms on the table. "I don't like it, either..."
"That's two of us!" M.J. said emphatically.
"...but there's a war on. The stakes are high." E.P. shook his head. "Those people died so we could set everyone free."
I stopped pacing and looked him in the eye. "So you could use me to kill someone, you mean."
E.P. nodded. "It'll turn the tide, man. It'll win the war in one stroke. Imagine how many lives that'll save."
I stared at him a moment longer. I was having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that the King of Rock 'n' Roll was trying to talk me into murdering someone.
Again, I wondered if he knew about my secret past. If Heaven wasn't a mystical place, it seemed less likely--but that would make this conversation a pretty big coincidence. Because what were the chances they'd ask me to do this without knowing what happened all those years ago? What were the chances they didn't know about A.E.?
"So who is it?" I said. "Who am I supposed to kill in cold blood?"
"You've already met," said E.P. "His name is Byzantine."
"Right." I thought of the blond surfer dude from the terrace, the sharp-eyed guy with the blinding smile who'd stepped up after my aborted trip to Hell.
"He runs everything," said E.P. "He's the most powerful man in this so-called Heaven."
I nodded. It didn't surprise me that Byzantine was the target; he'd had "player" written all over him. Clearly, the surfer dude act was just a front.
"Take him off the board, and we have a chance." E.P. tapped the table with his index finger. "We'll move in with everything we've got at once."
I started pacing again. "Didn't you say you've got some people on the inside? Why not use one of them to do the job?"
"They've got other fish to fry," said E.P. "And frankly, we don't think any of them can get as close as you. Byzantine has a thing for you, man."
I frowned. "What kind of 'thing?'"
"We hear you're his favorite star," said E.P. "A real special project."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Lots of private performances," said M.J. "More than usual, that is."
"Meaning you'll have access," said E.P. "And opportunity."
M.J. tipped his head to one side. "Assuming you get through reentry, that is."
I didn't like the sound of that. "What the hell's reentry?"
Slowly, E.P. got to his feet. "Getting back in the circle of trust. When you show up again, Byzantine and the others might worry you've been compromised."
"Which you have been," said M.J.
E.P. shrugged. "They'll probably put you through the wringer."
I couldn't help smirking. Since coming to Heaven, I'd done nothing but get put through the wringer. "In what way, exactly?"
"We don't know," said E.P. "Torture, probably."
"Awesome." It wasn't funny, but I laughed anyway. "So let me see if I've got this straight. You want me to go get tortured...then, if I survive that, kill the boss of Heaven...all based on your say-so..."
"And what you've been shown," said E.P. "Don't forget Heavenless."
"And the mutant pit bull," added M.J.
I stopped pacing and stuck my hands on my hips. "It's still a pretty big leap, guys. I mean, I think the world of you both, I really do. You're a great friend and an incredible human being, M.J. And E.P., you're one of my biggest heroes ever." I shook my head. "But don't you think this is asking a bit much?"
E.P. stepped forward and nodded sternly. "We know that, man. And we wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important. If we didn't honestly believe you're the only one who can do it."
"Maybe he just needs more time to think it over," said M.J.
"I wish we could give it to him." E.P.'s face was grim. "But the Controllers are about to make a move. A big one."
"What move is that?" I asked.
"We don't know," said E.P. "All we know is it's coming. So this might be the only chance we get."
"Great," I said. "Got any more pressure you'd like to pile on top of me?"
E.P. gazed into my eyes for a long moment, then turned away. "I don't know what else I can say to convince you." He walked back to the table and sat down. M.J. started to lift a comforting hand to his shoulder, then thought better of it.
For a little while, no one in the lean-to said a word. The only sounds were the chirps and buzzes of the jungle insects, the cries of the night birds and creatures in the trees.
I had a feeling E.P. and M.J. were waiting for me to speak up...but I was having trouble getting behind their proposal. There was still so much I didn't know about the situation. And I didn't like the idea of being tortured, especially now that I knew it could do some real damage in this non-heavenly Heaven.
I trusted both men, but what they were asking me to do was insane. For all intents and purposes, this was still my first day in Heaven--and I was already supposed to go kill the big man and help overthrow the government? WTF?
Even with more time and motivation, it wasn't something I'd line up to volunteer for. I may be many things, but a cold-blooded killer isn't one of them. The one time somebody died because of me, it wasn't on purpose.
Mostly, anyway.
"All righty." E.P. finally broke the silence by clapping his hands together. "Maybe you need more convincin'."
With that, he got up and marched out of the lean-to.
I watched him go. "Should I be worried?"
M.J. walked up beside me and bumped his epaulet into my upper arm. "Not yet." He was smiling, his voice soft, as he said it. "By the way, I'm sorry you got mixed up in all this, Stag."
"Join the club." E.P. disappeared into a tent; I wondered what he'd gone in after. "I'm sorry you're in the middle of this, too."
M.J. shrugged. "I was sent here for a reason, Stag. I really believe that. Not the reason Byzantine and the Controllers had for faking my death and bringing me here." He looked up, then looked at me and grinned. "A higher purpose."
Was I being played again? "Let me guess." I rolled my eyes. "I'm supposed to think the same way, aren't I?"
M.J. shook his head. "I'm just telling you how it is for me. That's all."
Just then, I heard rustling sounds from the direction of the tent. I turned to see E.P. walking out with someone new--a lean figure in a black hoodie sweatshirt and bluejeans. The hood was up and the head was bowed, so I couldn't see his face.
"Hey, Stag," said E.P. "There's someone I want you to meet."
As he and the hooded man approached, M.J. got excited. He hummed a tune and did his patented quick spin, one hand at his forehead as if he were holding on to a hat. Then he moonwalked out of the way to make room for E.P. and his guest.
I didn't moonwalk, but I did back away. E.P. entered first, drawing the hooded man along by the e
lbow.
"This is who we rescued from Heavenless," said E.P. "Minus the bandages. Took a little while for the doc to bring him around."
With a spontaneous cry of joy, M.J. popped forward and threw his arms around the hooded man. "I'm so glad you're back! It's been so long!"
The hooded man wobbled in his grip, looking a little shaky. He made a sound like a soft chuckle and pulled an arm free to pat M.J.'s head.
E.P. walked around to stand beside me. "I could tell you needed convincing." He gave me a shove in the middle of my back. "Well, if he can't convince you, I don't know who can."
As I stumbled forward, M.J. broke the hug and spun away from us. Slowly, the new arrival reached up and pushed the black hood off his head, revealing his face.
At which point, I swear, my jaw dropped all the way to the floor and kept going.
It was as big a surprise as when E.P. had taken off his mask. Bigger.
Maybe it was because he'd died by violence at the start of a comeback. He'd been snatched away just as he'd started making great music again. His death had felt so brutal, so disheartening, so final.
And now here he was, standing in front of me. Blinking and breathing. Offering his hand for a shake.
Not dead after all.
As I took his hand, I had no words to describe how I felt. Like E.P., he was one of my all-time heroes, but I'd never imagined I'd get to meet him.
Until that moment.
"Hello there." His voice was familiar, his accent straight from his hometown of Liverpool, England. "You must be the film actor I've heard so much about."
I nodded, still half dumbstruck. "Stag Lincoln." I forgot to let go of his hand. "I can't believe it's really you."
"Me neither." He smirked and pulled his hand from my grip. "But I seem to be stuck with me these days."
I just grinned like an idiot and shook my head. There I was, face to face with one of the greatest singer-songwriters ever, a member of the biggest rock band of all time. It felt momentous.
Heaven Bent Page 7