Heaven Bent

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Meanwhile, Byzantine was shouting through the megaphone again. "You in the car! Nap time's over! I said places!"

  Still, M.B. wouldn't budge from behind the wheel of the car. The misty streamers kept spinning around him, eyes flowing in faster and faster circles.

  Then, M.B. finally moved. He reached for the key in the ignition and gave it a turn.

  That was when I knew for sure the car wasn't just for show. Because the engine started at the turn of the key.

  "Hey!" shouted Byzantine. "Enough screwing around! Get your butt moving!"

  Through the whirling tendrils, I could see that M.B. looked like he was in a trance. Reaching beside him, he took hold of the gear shift.

  "We're burning daylight here!" said Byzantine. "We need to get rolling!"

  Suddenly, M.B. yanked the gear shift back and stepped on the accelerator. The car leaped away from the curb, bolting straight ahead, about to mow down anything in its path. First up would be the camera and its operator.

  Then Byzantine, who just sat there in his director's chair, gaping in stunned surprise as the metal monster barreled toward him...

  *****

  Chapter 8

  The cameraman bolted out of the way just in time. The car plowed through his camera, sending it flying, and would have plowed through him, too, if he'd been a second slower.

  I could see Byzantine wouldn't be so lucky. The car was almost upon him as he boosted himself down from his director's chair.

  I was already moving before I'd consciously considered what to do. Before I'd had a chance to think about whether to let him die, which after all was what the rebels had sent me there to do.

  Action hero mode took hold, and I charged straight at Byzantine. Running as fast as I could, I swept him off his feet and propelled him backward, not sure if we'd get clear in time.

  I felt the breeze from the car as it shot past, barely missing us. It came so close, I'm sure we'd have been clipped by a mirror if I hadn't tackled Byzantine to the pavement.

  I heard the car crash into something with a shuddering boom, but I didn't look right away. I was too busy staring at Byzantine's face, which I expected to look stunned.

  Instead, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  "You saved me, bro!" His sharp-edged blue eyes were twinkling. "I knew you had it in you."

  Scrambling to my knees, I turned to see what the car had hit. It had run smack into a trailer--one of the stars' dressing rooms--and crumpled like stepped-on origami. On the driver's side, M.B. was pinned by the deployed air bag, head lolling back. I couldn't tell if he was dead or alive...or whatever state he might be in after a car crash in Heaven.

  As far as I could see, there was no trace of the misty wraiths that had been wrapped around him when he'd stomped on the accelerator.

  "Stag!" Lillian sprinted over and helped me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

  "I have got to stop doing my own stunts." I brushed off my clothes, then leaned down to help up Byzantine.

  If the rebels could see me now. Not only had I just saved the life of the man I was supposed to kill, but I was helping him get back on his feet. Looking around, I hoped E.P. and the gang didn't have agents on the set at that particular moment.

  "Thanks for the assist, dude," said Byzantine.

  "Yeah, yeah." As soon as he was standing upright, I rushed over to the car.

  White-uniformed baldies from the film crew had deflated the air bag when I wasn't looking. Now they were having trouble hauling M.B.'s massive bulk out of the vehicle. There were three of them, and still they were struggling.

  Against my better judgment, I gave them a hand. Together, we managed to free M.B. from the car and lay him on the pavement a few yards away, draped in his red-and-gold kimono.

  As soon as we put him down, I felt for a pulse in his neck. There was nothing--at least at first. Pushing my fingers deeper into the fatty folds of his throat, I found it, fluttering away.

  "Is there a hospital?" I looked up at Byzantine, who stood over us. "Some kind of metaphorical medical center?"

  "Got it covered." Byzantine whistled, and two more baldies hurried over. He gestured, and the five men closed in, pushing me out. They found their grips, counted to three, and hoisted up the body with grunts all around.

  As the baldies marched off with M.B., I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I saw E.T., our co-star, gazing after him with a look of deep distress on her glamorous face.

  "I don't understand." Her voice was shaking. "What happened? Why did the car take off like that?"

  I knew the answer, but I didn't think it would be smart to tell the truth. Better to keep my mouth shut about the wraiths, especially with Byzantine listening. "Must've been some kind of mechanical malfunction."

  "It'll all come out in the wash, dudes." Suddenly, Byzantine was there between us, his arms around both our shoulders. "Meanwhile, we've got a movie to make!"

  We both looked at him like he was insane.

  Byzantine laughed. "Not this movie. Not until M.B. gets back to work. I'm talking about the new project. The one about a star saving the life of a noble director from the attack of a crazed actor, then teaming up with the director to bring order to a city under siege."

  "Sounds great." I didn't say it with much enthusiasm.

  "Glad you dig it, bro." Byzantine smacked me on the back. "You'll be playing the lifesaving star, of course!"

  "Awesome." I looked at E.T., who was looking a little sad and worried. "Can she be in it, too?"

  "Of course," said Byzantine. "She was part of the scene, wasn't she?"

  "Thank you." E.T. said it graciously and bowed her head in my direction. "I'm looking forward to working with you both."

  "Glad to hear it, 'cause we're starting now!" With that, Byzantine broke away from us and ran over to retrieve his megaphone where he'd dropped it on the ground. Then, he started bellowing at the remaining crew. "Somebody get me a handheld camera and make it snappy! I want everything on film from here on out." As the baldies scrambled, he lowered the megaphone and grinned at us. "Now who wants a day named after them?"

  *****

  Glittering confetti showered down as we rode through Heaven on a huge float--one that actually floated, gliding weightlessly through the air.

  It looked like a mobile movie theater cast in solid gold. Gold-skinned Oscar statuettes sat in the golden seats, eating popcorn from golden cartons. Gold curtains framed the gold-trimmed screen, on which film of my rescue of Byzantine played in an endless loop. Along the base of the float, in big gold letters that looked like the famous "HOLLYWOOD" sign, was the word "HEAVENWOOD."

  As for me, I stood beside Lillian on a round dais that looked like a gold-plated reel of film. It hovered high above the Oscars in the seats, turning in slow circles. Byzantine stood on an identical hovering dais that orbited the float from end to end. A cameraman with a handheld camera zipped around on a third dais, filming the festivities from various angles.

  All around us, angels in golden armor soared and spun among flocks of doves and colorful tropical birds, clapping and cheering as they flapped past. On the ground below, vast crowds watched and applauded and chanted my name.

  A dazzling lightshow of rainbow colors danced over the dome. Rock 'n' roll anthems boomed through the vast space, arranged and performed in my honor by the king of queenly glam rockers, the one and only F.M.

  All of it was part of official Stag Lincoln Day, which Byzantine had declared a mere two hours ago.

  "I gotta say..." As yet another grinning angel flew up close, I gave him my patented Hollywood smile-and-wave. "They sure know how to throw together a party fast in this place."

  "Celebration's an important part of life here." For all the excitement surrounding us, Lillian didn't sound too thrilled. "We're big on worship."

  I made sure the camera was nowhere nearby before I said the next thing on my mind. "So all these people are overjoyed that I saved Byzantine's life?" I said it through my smile. "They're all this
happy?"

  Lillian didn't answer.

  Maybe I should've stopped there, but I had a feeling we might be on a similar wavelength. Though Future Me had me thinking she might not be my daughter--in which case she'd been lying from the start--I thought maybe she was still worth reaching out to.

  So what the hell. "Are you happy?" I went and said it.

  "Of course I'm happy you saved him," she said.

  "That's not what I meant." Another angel swooped up to us. I gave him a high five before he barrel-rolled away. "I meant are you happy? In general." I shot Lillian a look.

  I could see my answer in her eyes before she slid her gaze away from me. "Everyone's happy in Heaven."

  "Not everyone," I said, still smiling. "And not you."

  She didn't say a word.

  "Why is that?" I looked at her again. This time, I thought I could see strain in her stony expression. "Why aren't you happy, Lillian?"

  She turned to me. "What do you care?"

  Because you're my daughter. I could have said that and played along with the charade...but I didn't. "Because I do. I care about you as a person." The world seemed to melt away as I focused all my attention on her, as I spoke to her from the heart. "I don't like seeing you unhappy."

  Lillian frowned, and blinked, and then her stone wall fell away. For the first time, instead of phony congeniality or barely concealed displeasure, I caught a glimpse of vulnerability. She gaped at me, raw and searching and uncertain; actor that I am, I knew exactly whom I was looking at in that moment.

  It was the real Lillian. I was finally seeing the real person inside the disguise, the real woman behind the black-and-white diagonal-striped lips.

  And then, before either of us could do anything about it, a familiar voice shattered our connection. "Hey, bro! Guess you'll have to save my life more often!"

  Byzantine zoomed up on his dais and stopped beside us. Immediately, Lillian's mask slid back into place.

  So did mine. "This is awesome, dude! I can't thank you enough!"

  "This is nothing!" Byzantine swept his hands apart. "Wait till you see what else I've got cooked up for you."

  "Bring it on!" I laughed and bumped fists with him. "Now this is the life!"

  "Afterlife, dude!" Byzantine laughed, then pointed at the approaching cameraman. "Here comes the paparazzi!" Nimbly, he hopped from his dais to ours, making it sink a little before it adjusted to the added weight. Then he threw his arm around my shoulders, grinning for the camera. "Time for a front page shot, bro!"

  Suddenly, the cameraman lowered his equipment and made a shooing gesture at Lillian. "Could you step off the disk, please? I just want to get the two of them."

  Lillian's eyes met mine for an instant. Then, she stepped onto Byzantine's abandoned dais, which floated beside us.

  "Now just scoot away, would you?" said the cameraman.

  I wasn't sure how she controlled the other dais, but she moved it away from us. I watched her go, wondering when I'd get the chance to see through her façade again.

  Then, I turned to the camera and smiled.

  Byzantine couldn't resist putting two fingers behind my head like rabbit ears. "Say cherubs!"

  *****

  After the big celebration, Byzantine rushed me to a press conference in the park. Camera flashes went off every few seconds as a sea of reporters shouted rapid-fire questions, barely giving me time to answer.

  Luckily, they were all variations on the same softball theme and didn't require much thought:

  "How did you feel when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?"

  "What went through your mind when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?"

  "Were you scared when you saved Mr. Byzantine's life?"

  "How does it feel to be a hero for saving Mr. Byzantine's life?"

  After years of being interviewed by entertainment reporters spouting similar fluff, I've gotten great at letting my mouth run while my mind wanders. I did the same thing at the gold-plated podium, answering question after question with charming perfection as my thoughts drifted elsewhere.

  Other, more pressing questions concerned me. For example, what were the wraiths that had controlled M.B.? Why had they tried to kill Byzantine? For that matter, why had I saved him? Did it mean I could never bring myself to kill him? Did I really want to, even if the assignment had come from the King of Rock 'n' Roll himself?

  If I didn't kill him, what then? Would I turn my back on the Heaven Liberation Front? Could I see myself working for Byzantine? Or should I listen to Future Me, leave it all behind, and head straight for the silver spire?

  What did I want? It was a question I hadn't considered much since I'd gotten here. I just kept getting bounced around and told what to do.

  What the hell did I want?

  "Okay, no more questions. Party's over." Grinning, Byzantine stepped in front of me and raised his hands. "At least until the big party tonight."

  *****

  As soon as the press conference ended, we were whisked by gold-plated hover-car to Byzantine's private dome. It was as big as the other domes and twice as breathtaking.

  The gardens were lusher, and growing on the walls and ceiling as well as the ground. The architecture was more stunning, with fluid white and gold structures constantly flowing over every surface; they dripped down from above and oozed up from below like the stuff inside a lava lamp.

  An army of angels filled the air at all altitudes, chanting and singing and strumming harps. Mythical creatures flew among them--griffins and dragons and hippogriffs chasing and tussling in the glittering clouds.

  Everything shivered and gave off a golden glow. As soon as we entered, a feeling of intense well-being washed over me, a feeling like being high, but without impairment.

  "Welcome to Chez Byzantine." Byzantine, who was driving the hover-car, grinned at me in the seat beside him. Lillian was silent in the back seat, off the radar. "You like?"

  I nodded appreciatively. "It's spectacular." Even by Heavenly standards, the place was amazing. "And it's all yours?"

  "Yeah, bro. One of the perks." Byzantine chuckled. "But mi casa es su casa, know what I mean?"

  He flew higher and made a loop around the interior, giving us a look at the whole landscape. When we approached the ceiling, he rolled the hover-car over, but none of us fell out; I didn't even feel the slightest pull from the ground that was now overhead. It was as if gravity had simply, smoothly reversed when we reached the heights.

  Byzantine guided the vehicle between the tendrils, shoots, and coils of white-and-gold building mass that rose in our path. But when a fresh spike suddenly punched up in front of us, it looked like we were going to collide with it.

  "Look out!" My foot stomped the floor, trying to step on a nonexistent brake pedal.

  "Relax, dude." Byzantine laughed and stayed on course. "I got this."

  We cruised fast toward the bone-white spike, about to crash. Then, at the last second, a square hole opened in the solid surface, and we plunged into it.

  As soon as we crossed the threshold, we slammed to a stop, and the hole closed behind us. Byzantine let out a whoop and hopped down from the car. "Nothing like a nice, relaxing drive to get you mellowed out." As he walked briskly away through the vast white garage, he waved for us to follow. "Shake a leg, you two! This party isn't for my benefit, you know."

  *****

  By the time we strolled onto the balcony overlooking the massive ballroom, the party was in full swing. Hundreds of people in elegant tuxedoes and gowns were milling below with drinks in hand, a sea of black and rainbow colors.

  Byzantine whistled, and they all looked up at once, cheering and applauding. It was only then that I realized they all had the same face.

  My face. Every last one of them, man and woman alike, looked like me.

  "How do you like that?" Byzantine swung an arm around my shoulder and crushed me against him. "The ultimate theme party! Everyone's a Stag Lincoln!"

  I smiled, playing along...b
ut as I stared at the crowd below, I couldn't help frowning. Either those were the most lifelike masks ever, or...

  "They're not wearing masks!" The longer I stared, the more clearly I could see it. The faces flexed and moved with perfect fidelity, without a trace of stiffness. "How did you do that?"

  "It's Heaven, bro." Byzantine winked and smacked my back. "We can do anything here."

  "Speech!" The crowd of Stags all chanted it at once. "Speech!"

  I was still stunned, but knew I'd better suck it up and give them what they asked for. Taking a deep breath, I stood up straighter and smiled. "What a sight for sore eyes!" I nodded and spread my arms wide. "Now I know I'm in paradise!"

  Everyone clapped and cheered. The waiters and waitresses, who also had my face, paused in their rounds and cheered, too.

  It was kind of unnerving, even to someone who'd seen a ton of crazy stuff since getting to Heaven. But I forced down the discomfort and kept smiling. "I've always said I love my fans more than I love myself. So now what do I do?" I shook my head and shrugged.

  The crowd ate it up. Whoever they were under those faces, they laughed their asses off.

  "But seriously," I told them. "I'm...honored...by this amazing tribute." I added just the right touch of humble choked-up-ness, courtesy of my Oscar-winning acting chops. "It means so much to me...being welcomed like this by all of you." Pausing, I dabbed at my cheek as if to wipe away a tear. "I'm so lucky to be here with you today. Thank you."

  That got the biggest applause yet. Next thing I knew, Stag Lincolns were rushing up the twin marble staircases and onto the balcony, swarming around me.

  Stags in tuxedoes and gowns lifted me up--then tossed me over the balcony. The mob below caught me in their hands, then surfed me around like a rock star who'd just leaped off a stage. They bore me from one end of the vast ballroom to the other, passing me smoothly overhead.