by Adam Ingle
When it was all done, there was a complete and completely stylish courtroom, which would make any primetime legal drama insane with jealousy. The three old and wizened members of Freewill International—Mother Theresa, Buddha, and Larry King—took seats in mesh and chrome rolling chairs at the table at the right hand side of the judge’s dais. Three more figures appeared at the opposite side of the dais. One of them looked like every picture of every Greek philosopher ever, seeing as he wore a long, flowing robe and had white, close-cropped hair. He could’ve been Socrates, Homer, or just a really good period actor. Another figure Marcus instantly recognized was Sigmund Freud, solely because he had an action figure of him on his desk at work that said “So, tell me about your mother,” every time you pressed a button on his back. The final man, sitting at the far left of the table, was retired game show host Bob Barker, wearing a pastel pink suit with baby blue pinstripes and a white collar and cuffs. Sitting in Bob’s lap was a small, fluffy white Bichon Frise—neutered of course.
While the members of Freewill International greeted and shook hands with each other, God motioned Mestoph and Leviticus toward the defendants’ table, the one with black leather chairs, where they nervously took their seats. There were two more empty chairs next to them. Marcus, Stephanie, St. Peter, and Sir Regi were walked to the front row of the gallery. Satan took his place beside God in between the defendant and prosecutor’s tables.
A silence spread over all present, and then there was a muffled pop and large roil of light blue smoke from atop the judge’s dais. As the smoke cleared, they saw a man in sequined judge’s robe of ivory and crimson trimmed in ermine and a royal Victorian court-styled wig of sunshine yellow. The man gave a flourished bow to the gallery, complete with twirling hand gestures, and then greeted each of the Freewill International representatives. He then gave a nod each to Satan and God, who sat down in the two empty chairs next to Mestoph.
Appearing in a triumvirate of weasels going pop were the lawyers for the prosecution, neither of whom Mestoph or Leviticus recognized, and a chubby man in a very conservative suit and a short top hat who stood in front of the judge’s dais leaning on a simple wooden cane. The two lawyers took their seats in the white prosecutor’s chairs. One of the lawyers was a pale, wiry man of average height with a slightly rodent-like face and large ears; the other was a slightly overweight black man with a wide mustache, short cropped black hair, wearing wireframe glasses. Once everyone was seated, the flamboyant judge motioned to the chubby man in the top hat.
“If you please?” asked the judge in an effeminate voice with a slight Polish accent.
“Oh, right right,” said the chubby man in an aristocratic British accent and then turned to address the gallery. “All rise for the commencement of the fifteenth convening of the Freewill Judgment Council, the honorable Wladziu Valentino Liberace presiding. This court is now in session.”
“Thank you, Mr. Churchill. And thank you to all those in attendance. Joining me in judgment today are Mother Theresa, Buddha, Larry King, Aristotle, Sigmund Freud, and Bob Barker.” Each of those named waved or nodded when called. Liberace continued, “To be judged are the Angel Leviticus and the Demon Mestoph. Representing Freewill International as the prosecution are Franz Kakfa and Johnny Cochran. Representing the accused is the Tetragrammaton and joining him is The Dragon, The Tempter, The Ancient Serpent, The Devil, Beelzebub, Lucifer the Fallen. In the name of brevity, we’ll just call you God and Satan. The prosecution may present the charges now,” said Liberace sitting down at his dais, sweeping the excess billows of his sequined rob to the side as he did.
Kafka looked over to Cochran, who nodded and stood. “Mestopholes, son of Mephistopheles the Faustus, and Leviticus, son of…well I don’t really know who you come from. It’s not important. Anyway, the prosecution charges you both with subverting freewill and the unlawful manipulation of Earthly events,” said Cochran in a style reminiscent of an evangelical preacher.
“How do the defendants plea?” asked Liberace.
“Uhh, what?” asked Mestoph.
Satan sighed. “You stole an Omen, used it to affect events on Earth for your own gain, and you screwed everything up. Just plead guilty, and we can all be on our way without a fuss.”
“Guilty,” said Mestoph.
“Your turn,” God said to Leviticus.
“Guilty,” said Leviticus with confidence. He was certain of his guilt and was ready to pay the price for what he’d done.
The Freewill council began whispering to each other. A few stood up and went to talk to those on the opposite side of the dais. Bob Barker calmly wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Freud, who handed it to Aristotle and then up to Liberace; Bob never stopped petting the fluffy white dog. After a few minutes of discussion, the other council members followed Bob’s lead and passed pieces of paper up to the judge.
“The council accepts the plea. The sentence is death for the Demon, voted unanimously with me abstaining” said Liberace, stating the terminal word with a high pitched glee.
Mestoph rounded on Satan. “Whoa, whoa! Wait. You said—”
“Shut up!” yelled Satan, and the sky dimmed perceptibly.
“And for the Angel, in a split decision for which I will now cast the swing vote…Purgatory,” tittered the judge.
“Can’t you just kill me instead?”
The pianist just shook his head, and Leviticus slumped his shoulders in defeat.
“We also bring the charge of the murder of Father Mike against Sir Reginald Pollywog Newcastle III, also known as Prometheus,” said Kafka in German-accented English.
“That son of a bitch was going to kill us!” shouted Sir Regi in his familiar Scottish brogue as he jumped to his feet. Several of the members of the gallery murmured their dissent.
“However,” said Cochran loudly, breaking through the noise, “in light of the fact that Father Mike employed kidnapping, excessive force, and unlawful use of a firearm, we dismiss the charge and sentence Father Mike to death. He’s already dead, so there’s really no paperwork for that one.”
Kafka made a throat clearing noise and nudged Cochran,
“Oh yeah, we also charge St. Peter with something or other. We’re not really sure what, but I’m sure he did something. We leave his punishment up to you,” Cochran said to God.
“Thank you gentlemen, and you Sister. We appreciate your judgments,” said God. “However, we wish to bring forth evidence in the defense of the defendants.”
“But they pled guilty,” said Mother Theresa, looking questioningly at the other council members, most of whom just shrugged. Bob Barker was still calmly petting the dog.
“This is true, but there are extenuating circumstances that the defendants were not aware of.”
Liberace raised an eyebrow. “Well then, let’s hear these extenuating circumstances shall we?”
‘Excellent,” said God as he snapped his fingers. In his hand, a glass vial appeared holding the now familiar Secured-Signed Prophecy that Leviticus had stolen. God opened the vial and pulled out the roll of e-ink paper. He stood up and walked to the dais and presented it to the council to examine, showing them it was the genuine article.
“These things are useless, as I will show you,” said God.
God tapped a digital button on the Prophecy and a keyboard appeared. He deleted all the words of the Prophecy and typed in something that He kept hidden from those watching. He then clicked save and pulled a stylus from His pocket and signed the line at the bottom. He turned the Prophecy so everyone could see, and a bright red button appeared in the center with the words Enact Prophecy? He pressed it.
And then they waited. Nothing happened.
“Alright, what did you type into the Prophecy?” asked Buddha.
God tapped a button and then handed it over to Buddha. He looked at it and then did a double take and laughed. He showed it to Mother Theresa, who shook her head disapprovingly, and t
hen to Larry King. Larry read aloud in his distinctive voice: “Satan will instantly turn into a three-assed baboon.”
Satan stood, beamed a shit-eating grin to God, and then turned to the gallery. “As you can clearly see, I have not turned into a baboon; three-assed or otherwise.”
The gallery chuckled like members of sitcom studio audience.
“These things just don’t work. Not yet, at least. It’s just a proof of concept at the moment,” said God.
“So what does that prove?” asked Mother Theresa.
“I’ll take this one,” said Satan. God returned to his seat, and Satan began to pace in front of the council with his arms clasped behind him.
“If the Prophecy was null, then the Omen that was meant to play off that Prophecy never activated…even if it was authentic and fully armed,” he said, glaring at Mestoph.
“The plane was already destined to crash,” Satan continued as he conjured up another Omen and passed it around. “In fact, it was slated to kill everyone on board. So while these two did indeed meddle, they actually saved lives. Something which I doubt even you can really gripe about, Franz.
“Everything else that happened was just a bizarre series of events that ultimately had no effect on humanity. The volcano was going to erupt with or without Ragnarok. Various geological institutes and surveys had shown an elevation of seismic and geothermal fissuring in recent months around the volcano,” said Satan as he made stacks of dense research studies and reports from various agents of various governments appear in front of each council member as well as the prosecutors.
“Finally, as everyone on the council is well aware, Ragnarok has been overdue for ages. The Norse pantheon was already all but extinct, and Ragnarok was the fulfillment of a last handful of outstanding prophecies in their mythology. And technically Magnus Magnuson started Ragnarok, not Mestoph or Leviticus,” Satan concluded. He walked back to the defendant’s table and sat down.
In the gallery Magnus loudly mumbled something about not knowing he was the Fenrir. Marcus and Stephanie turned to wave at him, but he was too busy pleading ignorance to one of the passengers that had died in the plane crash to notice.
The Freewill council began to group together in discussion again, arguing more heatedly than they had the first time. Again Bob Barker wrote something down on a piece of paper, passed it up, and sat calmly at the end of the table, now feeding his dog little treats that he pulled from a pocket inside his suit coat. The members of the gallery sat quietly, shuffling around and tapping their feet, trying their best not to be impatient. Finally the council broke their huddle and returned to their seats to write down their verdicts and pass them up. Liberace tallied them and the once again looked up at his audience.
“We’ve reached a majority, with me again abstaining. In a vote of five to one,” said Liberace, with a significant glance at Bob Barker, “we dismiss the charges against the accused.”
Mestoph and Leviticus both sighed in relief and patted each other on the back.
“Great. Now if you don’t mind, I’d really like to finish that golf game this century,” said Larry King.
“I object! This is an abomination, a travestation, a rapification of justice,” said Cochran.
“Shut up, Johnny. You know the corruption and stifling bureaucracy that exists in death just as it did in life. Now I’m going to go sit in the woods alone for a few years,” said Kafka.
Kafka closed his briefcase and then popped out of existence. Johnny Cochran huffed loudly, looked around, and huffed again when he realized no one was really paying him any attention.
“Yes, Mr. Cochran. We know you’re mad you didn’t get to make a grand closing argument and only got to rhyme nonsensical words once. Now, if you’re finished?”
Cochran signed and then disappeared.
“Alright, that’s enough work for one day. Mr. Churchill?” said Liberace.
The former Prime Minister was fast asleep on the bench, his arms folded across his chest.
“Mr. Churchill!”
The Brit startled awake and then jumped to his feet, mumbling, and threw up a quick V for Victory. He slowly lowered his hand and walked up toward the dais. He cleared his throat and addressed the council.
“Unless there are any other pressing issues?” asked the statesman. “Very well, then, I call the fifteenth session of the Freewill Judgment Council to a close. Court is adjourned,” he finished, waving his top hat at the council and then popping away.
Liberace teleported after Churchill, and then there were five simultaneous pops as all but one of the Freewillers left. Still sitting at the end of the table was Bob Barker, who now stood with his dog in his hand.
“I do have one last thing. Mr. Mestoph?” said Bob.
“Yes, Mr. Barker?”
“Fuck you!” said Bob. He flipped off the Demon and then disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“What the Hell was that?” asked Leviticus.
“We’ve had a few run-ins. Last time we met, he was protesting an animal testing laboratory that I just happened to be running,” said Mestoph with a shrug.
God and Satan both stood and turned to the gallery.
“I supposed we should take care of them?” asked Satan.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said God, walking toward the rocky railing that divided the gallery from the rest of the courtroom.
“Would those of you who survived the plane crash please stand?” asked God.
In response, a small cluster of the gallery stood from their seats.
“Hmm, not you,” said God, pointing at one man standing apart from the rest of the survivors. He looked around, turned red, and then reluctantly sat down.
“I believe that might be one of yours,” said God to Satan.
God turned back to the standing survivors. “I’m afraid that none of you will remember this once you return to wherever you came, but I would like to thank you all for participating. Even if it was just as a formality,” he said and then waved his hands as if he were parting the Red Sea. The survivors all disappeared.
“Those who did not survive,” he said, looking pointedly at the man who had previously stood with the survivors, “will be returning to your regularly scheduled Afterlives.”
And then they too disappeared.
Left behind in the gallery were Marcus and Stephanie, Sir Regi, St. Peter, and Magnus, as well as a handful of Odin’s Taint who had fallen during the fighting with the rebels. Neither Fenrir nor Father Mike was present, but no one could really say they were missing either of them. God walked over to the group of Neo Vikings, who were standing around feeling rather out of place.
“I know you follow your own beliefs, but I just wanted to thank each of you for the work you did in protecting those of my flock who came across your path. Although there is a place in Valhalla waiting for each of you,” said God, at which point Magnus began looking down at his feet and digging his toe into the rocky ground, “Yes Magnus, even you. That said, I would like to offer you the option of joining me in Heaven.”
The Neo Vikings looked at each other for a moment, then at Magnus, and then back to God. They all shook their heads. Magnus had yet to give an answer, and God looked at him expectantly. The Viking scratched his head for a moment and then looked over at his brothers in arms.
“You all fought bravely and boldly and earned your place in Valhalla, but I don’t feel that I did. I was killed by a god in anger for what I did. Go on to Valhalla. I will not be joining you,” said Magnus.
The other Neo Vikings voiced their disagreement, but quieted when God lifted a hand to hush them. “While you did trigger Ragnarok by freeing Fenrir, and thus pissed Tyr off to the point that he murdered you, there was never any clear explanation as to who was to free Fenrir and how it was to be done. Someone had to do it eventually, so you played a pivotal though unsung role in your own religion. If you don’t deserve entry into your sacred halls, then no one does. Although I’d
be honored to have you in my employ, it’d be dishonest to let you come under such false pretenses,” said God.
“Very well then, I will join my brothers,” said Magnus, smiling for the first time since he had died.
“A wise choice,” said God, and then he motioned toward a large rock just beyond the gallery. “Valkyries!”
Out from behind the rock came five of the winged women in full armor, some still spattered with blood from the battle. Each Valkyrie took the hand of a Viking and then jumped into the air. The final Valkyrie took Magnus’s hand, and before she spread her wings and jumped he turned back and waved goodbye.
“Good luck, you two,” he said to Marcus and Stephanie, and then he was carried into the air and up beyond the clouds.
Once Magnus was out of sight, God turned around surveyed the courtroom.
“No need for theatrics anymore,” He said and waved a hand. The accoutrements of a courtroom began to shudder and return to the earth. The benches disappeared, the dais and tables crumbled to dust and rocks, and the crescent-shaped wall began to lower back into the ground.
“Alright, we’ve all had our fun. I think it’s time for goodbyes,” said Satan impatiently.
God nodded in agreement and then walked over to Marcus and Stephanie, bringing St. Peter and Sir Regi with him. Marcus approached Sir Regi and gave him a look over.
“All this time, an Angel?” asked Marcus.
“Well, all my time with you,” said Sir Regi.
Marcus smiled and then put his hand out. “I’m really going to miss you.”
“Oh, come on you awkward bastard,” said Sir Regi. The two hugged for a moment, and then Sir Regi gave Marcus a hearty slap on the back. “I’m gonna miss you, too,” he said as he turned to Stephanie and gave her a quick hug. “You take care of this guy. God knows he needs someone to.”