by R. E. Vance
The teeny-tiny woman snarled, “Not a word, Jean-Luc, I am here to be locked away. It is, after all, that time of the month.”
“Tell me about it, girl,” Astarte chimed as she shuffled past us into the room.
“Sex-slave of Satan!” Sandy barked.
“My, my—we are in a mood,” the succubus said without missing a beat, sending the former werewolf out of the room and down into the cellar. “Give me the Black Death over a Victorian prude any day. At least the dying screw like it’s their last day on Earth,” Astarte said, following Sandy with her eyes.
↔
The little bell in my reception chimed continuously as a flight of fairies, a frustration of dwarves, and hodgepodge of goblins walked in, followed by a kitchen of trolls, a charge of ogres, a quarry of gargoyles and a dust of pixies.
There was barely enough space for the nearly three dozen Others. Hell, if it wasn’t for the fairies and pixies hovering midair and the goblins hanging from the ceiling lamps, the event would have had to turn Others away. The seminar began with the more mundane subjects that covered the importance of eating regularly, drinking and sleeping enough and shitting daily. Many of the Others nodded in agreement, asking questions like “How do you know when you’re full?” and “Which bodily fluids are acceptable to excrete in public and which aren’t?”
This was followed by the slightly more complex concepts of money and time, how to read time, count money and the basics of social etiquette like not cutting in line and why being late was bad. Like I said, pretty straightforward stuff.
This went on for a couple hours—you’d be surprised how many details there were to cover, things I pretty much just did without ever stopping to think about it—and all was drawing to a close when one particularly big-eyed pixie asked Miral what happened to Others when they died.
In the years that I had known Miral, I’d never seen her flustered. Not once. Not even close—until that night. “Well, ummm, I suppose … the prevalent theory is that nothing happens,” she floundered. Then, as if needing to clarify herself, she repeated the key word: “Nothing.” Angels suck at tact.
“What do you mean, nothing?” The pixie sparkled, a dark azure and crimson purple dust emanating from her being.
“I mean that when you die it all just kind of goes black,” Miral said. “Like sleeping, except you never wake up.” Miral forced a smile.
“But I only have a thousand years,” mourned the pixie.
“A thousand years—I only have eight hundred and sixty-three,” cried a gargoyle.
“Sleep is death,” lamented a fairy who vowed never to sleep again.
The frustration of dwarves started jumping up and down in place—their version of public protest—while the goblins flung big mounds of green mucus at one another.
“Calm down,” Miral pleaded, “calm down!” but even her angelic countenance wasn’t enough to calm this crowd. Death, whether imminent or a ways away, was terrifying. But suddenly needing to face mortality when thirteen years ago you were once-upon-a-time immortal … That was several dozen shades of dark scary shit.
Things were getting out of control, and I was considering throwing them out, starting with the dwarves, when a soft voice pierced the clamor. “Death is the door through which we must all walk through, one by one,” it said in barely a whisper. As if feeling the words rather than hearing them, everyone immediately calmed down and listened. “Death is final and forever, and it is the only experience that each and every one of us shall share. The sooner we all accept this, the better we shall respect the time we have,” Joseph said, calm and even.
The crowd not only calmed down, but they also bowed. Even Miral and Penemue lowered their head in reverence. One of the dilemmas that faced Other unification was that one type did not necessarily respect another. With long memories and tens of thousands of years of history, each type of Other had at one point or another gone to war. It seemed that no two types did not have some kind of historical beef. And yet, everyone in this room regarded Joseph with equal reverence. I’d never seen anything like this before. Innate ability or not, magic or not, this Other had some serious cred.
I wished Bella was here—she would have been floored.
“Death,” Joseph continued, “is the bridge that ties the AlwaysMortal humans and the OnceImmortal Others. Death is what binds us together, our only shared experience. For that reason, if nothing else, death should not be feared, but embraced.”
↔
The rest of the evening wrapped up with each and every Other insisting on meeting Joseph before leaving. The dwarves smiled, the goblins climbed, the pixies sprinkled him with their dust. The fairies sang to him and the trolls offered him rancid meat which he humbly accepted. Hell, not a single Other left until they got a chance to show their respect. Even Penemue saluted Joseph before leaving, and Judith—well, let’s just say she didn’t scowl at me as she left. She didn’t smile either, but I’ll take whatever little victory I can get. And it was then that I realized what it was that I wanted. What it was that all of us want. And I knew I had figured out what EightBall wanted, too. In excitement I ran over to the fairies and asked them for a favor. They listened intently and replied that they were happy to help for seven vials of glitter and two bottles of Elmer’s Glue. A steep price, but one I was willing to pay. They agreed and left.
I turned to my now empty breakfast room and saw that Astarte, Miral and Joseph still remained. Astarte approached him and, for the first time that I knew of, she didn’t try to seduce the Other, but rather spoke to him in a quiet voice. I don’t know what they said to each other that night and I suspect I never will, but whatever it was, when Astarte left the room I could sense in her a feeling of hope. Seeing Astarte, I remembered the smiling Other outside the hospital, but tonight was such a wonderful evening that my questions could wait until the morning.
Miral was the last to leave. She bowed deeply to Joseph, thanking him over and over. I tried to catch her attention, but like Astarte, the emotional experience of meeting Joseph had obviously taken its toll.
Alone, I turned to the Other and before I could stop my mouth, I said, “What are you?”
“I thought you deemed it rude to ask.”
“I do, but did you see what you did here tonight? Seriously, I have to know … What are you?”
Joseph laughed. “How easily we break our principles, claiming that necessity deems it acceptable.”
“As much as I love your quotable wisdom, I’ve got to know,” I said.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you three guesses. That way you will not be breaking your own vow to never ask.”
“And if I get it?”
“Then you’ll know.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you won’t.”
“Oh, come on!” I protested. “OK, fine, but if I don’t get it, then you’ve got to tell me.”
The Other shrugged and said, “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”
“OK, fine. Let’s see … You’re unique. But we knew that much already. Perhaps you’re a legend?” Joseph’s eyes lit up at that, “There are stories of humans that were chosen to perform great deeds for the gods. Hercules, Achilles, Benkei … and let’s not forget the prophets who got to visit all the various heavens and hells … Human?” I hazarded.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
I considered who he could be. My second guess was that he was a god that had chosen not to leave. I couldn’t ask. I didn’t know how. How do you ask a being responsible for creation itself what they are? The thought hung at the edge of my lips, begging to get out.
“No,” he said. “I’m not that either. But we established that with the angel already.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t have to. Your hesitation said it for you.” He put up his index finger, indicating one last guess.
I racked my brain for some commonality that Others
shared, whether in their myths or legends, but nothing came to mind. My thoughts went on like this for a long time. So long that I was beginning to feel rude for keeping him awake, even though Joseph still had the same patient look on his face. All I really knew about him was that all Others respected him and that he was always cordial to everyone. I finally settled on, “A dragon using a glamor in order to look human, maybe? Or a shape shifter?”
“Which is it? A dragon or a shape shifter?”
“A shape-shifting dragon,” I offered.
“Cheeky,” he said, shaking his head.
“Damn it!” I said. “Fine, but that middle guess didn’t count. You’ve got to give me one more. Please.”
Joseph chuckled. “This is why I so love human beings. Always demanding what is fair and bargaining for it. Fine. One more guess—but I suggest you sleep on it.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Jean-Luc,” he said with a soft smile as he headed upstairs.
On the landing below his, I bid him goodnight. He walked to the base of the next set of stairs. The lights flickered and Joseph looked at them with concern.
“It’s just the rain,” I said. “Messes with the electrics of this old building. I can’t afford to get it all fixed up.”
He sniffed the air. “There’s a storm coming,” he said, continuing up the stairs. “Thing about storms is that one way or another, they always end. You would do well to remember that.”
“You know,” I said, shaking my head, “you’re the second person today to say that to me.”
“Sounds like you know some very wise people. Have a good night, Jean-Luc Matthias who is just missing the Mark,” he said, laughing again at his own joke. “A good night, indeed.”
“Goodnight,” I returned, although the comment hung empty, shallow after a night of so much good. But I was exhausted and too lazy to think of anything more to say. Had I known that Joseph would be dead in less than three hours, I might have tried harder.
Chapter 11
Just When It Was All Going So Well
For the first time in a very, very long time, I went to bed excited—not only to see Bella, but to wake up the next morning. Whatever was happening in Paradise Lot—Fanatic, gangs of HuMan Otherphobes, bills, orgies and pissed off mother-in-laws—I actually felt hope for the morning. Dawn would come, and with it things could get better. Much, much better. I was excited. Happy even, and I didn’t think sleep would come easy.
I was wrong. On all counts.
I closed my eyes, sleep taking me before my head even touched the pillow. The darkness came rolling in, a tidal wave of nothing, and—like every night—I ran. But this time there was less terror and more excitement to see Bella. My wife may be dead and the memory of her may haunt my dreams, but a piece of her was that memory, and that memory—like Bella—wanted the world to heal. I needed to tell her that someone had finally arrived with enough respect, kindness and wisdom to be the glue to hold us all together.
I ran to the edge of everything where Bella always saved me moments before the darkness came. That night she took me, not to the beach where I proposed or the cottage where we first made love, but to our first apartment. And not the happy move-in days. Marriage is hard, and we were mac-and-cheese poor, and this was the apartment we moved in to after PopPop died. It was also the apartment I left her alone in when I joined the Army.
Typically, my brain would guide us to happy places, and on an eve when I was particularly happy, I just assumed I’d go somewhere happy. But then again, misery is a habit and my brain was probably compensating. Stupid brain!
“You look well,” she started, looking around at the apartment before finally settling her gaze on me. “Chipper, even.”
“I feel good,” I said, sitting on our two-person sofa, if the two people were toddlers.
“Does it have to do with that new guest? Joseph?” I wasn’t surprised that she knew his name or sensed that my peace came from his presence. After all, she was my delusion. Therefore it stood to reason that she knew everything I did.
I nodded. “He has a wisdom to him. The Others listen to him. Humans listen. I really feel he can change things for us. For the better.”
She gave me her Poor naive Jean look, and said, “I hope you are right, but please, don’t pin your hopes on him. Remember, we’ve been here before.”
“Sheesh,” I said, “I thought I was the negative one. Where are we? The Bizarro World?”
She chuckled and said, “Trust the Unicorn, but don’t put all your hope in him.”
“Unicorn?” Then it hit me. In order to be loved by all, Joseph needed to be a legend of legend—like TinkerBelle—which meant he needed to be an Other that appeared in all traditions. A unicorn was one of them. “A unicorn! Of course … Why didn’t I think of that?”
She stepped toward me, her hand outstretched, but with every step she took the farther away she got. The room began to stretch out, elongating, pulling her away. Still, she strode toward me, but it was like she was on one of those super long moving walkways you get at airports. Bella was walking against the roll and losing.
I stepped forward to close the gap, but I too was being pulled away from her. “What’s happening?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” Bella said, putting her hand over her lips. “I had hoped for more time.” She blew me a kiss—you know, that cute thing you do with your lover—and I did my part by pretending to catch it. Except instead of it being a mime, my entire body was hit by the shockwave of her kiss, knocking me clear out of my bed.
↔
I woke up on the floor, all my toys shaking as a slow-moving waterfall of dust fell from my ceiling. Tink was out of her castle, flying over to me, a look of worry on her face. “What … what happened?” I said, my mind still waking up.
Tink pointed upstairs and then put her body into a cannonball before exploding out her arms and legs in all directions. She followed this up by whirling around, gesturing for me to leave my room. The look she gave me told me that we were under attack.
Hellelujah!
↔
I made my way to the outer hall. The second floor was completely untouched. For a moment I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was no explosion. But the shockwaves alone told me I was lying to myself. I ran upstairs, where Astarte met me on the landing and pointed to Joseph’s room. I took a moment to prepare myself for what was beyond the threshold and opened the door.
There was something decidedly unbelievable about explosions. Not that I didn’t believe in them. I did. The GoneGods knew that I’d survived more than my fair share of them. But still, through all the explosions that I’d had the misfortune of being near, I just couldn’t get used to them.
First of all, there was the sheer chaos caused by a bomb. The scattering of debris, whole objects broken into smaller pieces along unnatural lines in the most unnatural places. I’d seen a car blown in two, its hood upside down in a trench only a meter off of the strip of road it had been driving along, its trunk hanging in a tree like some sort of deformed metal bird’s nest. And that was a car. A soulless, unfeeling hunk of metal.
I’d also seen what happens to a body, human and Other, when it was caught in a blast. One moment there was a whole being, and the next moment its foot was several meters away, its sole on the ground, stump pointing upwards, while its toes faced away from the blast as if it were trying to run away and had simply forgotten to take the rest of the body with it. A wing in the hands of an angel, her other wing flapping futilely as she tried to get off the ground. The suspended entrails of a yeti hanging from cedar branches like poorly hung Christmas decorations, the yeti looking at it with a look of admiration that seemed to say, “Look at what I made.”
I’d seen all that and worse, and still I wasn’t prepared for what waited behind the door.
↔
The room was empty, its bed, side table, closet and chest of drawers all missing, presumably littering the road out front. From the threshold, I
could see the bathroom sink embedded in the building across the street. The outer wall had been blown out in a nearly perfect square that did not encroach on the floors above or below. The explosion should have torn holes into the inner walls, damaging the hallway and adjacent rooms. As far as I could tell, the only damaged area was in the room. It looked like someone took a giant vacuum cleaner and sucked out everything.
What’s more, the area where the bathroom once was should have been covered in water, its pipes still spouting. But from the mouths of broken pipes water gushed up only an inch before hitting some invisible shield and spreading out like a garden hose pouring water on glass. It defied physics.
I tried to cross the threshold but instead hit an invisible shield at the door. I pushed, but I didn’t have the strength to get through. Then I realized the whole room was being held together by a force field that was in the room, like a balloon inflated in a box. In the middle lay Joseph, his arms over his chest like he was being swaddled by an invisible blanket. “Joseph,” I cried out, banging against the force field. “Joseph!”
The old man turned his head slightly. Upon seeing me, he smiled, before a look of pain ran across his face, his lips curling. He took a deep breath and mouthed one word.
“Push.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I pushed with all my might. The force field didn’t budge. Astarte and four scantily-clad bodies came to my aid and our combined effort caused the wall to move, but it wasn’t until Judith joined that we finally caused it to pop.
Water started spouting everywhere. I yelled at Judith to go to the basement and turn it off. She gave me her typical derisive look and headed downstairs. As soon as that was taken care of, I stepped further into the room. Then, turning to Astarte and her guests—noticing for the first time that they were all humans—I said, “You got to get out of here. Out the back door and, please, call for help.” As five naked bodies ran out the door, I added, “And for the love of the GoneGods, put on some shoes.”