by Edward Lee
"Jesus!"
"And I'd get a more accurate measurement," the Demonness added, "if you'd take off those ratty Living World clothes."
"Ratty?" Ruth wanted to hit her. "I got these clothes at Beach Access, where all the Florida celebrities buy their beach clothes!"
"Ruth ..." The priest sighed. "Just do what she says."
Oh, for shit's sake! Ruth unharnessed Alexander and placed his torso on the seat, then-frowning mightilytook off her T-shirt and cutoffs.
The Succubus' grin turned salacious; then she glided her sleek hands over all of Ruth's physical contours.
I can't believe I'm letting myself be felt up by this ... this horned thing!
Maroon eyes paused over Ruth's very full breasts. Then the Succubus hissed and left the stall.
Ruth laughed. "I love it! That purple bitch is pissed off 'cos I got better boobs than her!"
"Remember that pride is a deadly sin," the priest told her from his nook. "Instead you might want to try being grateful for your God-given beauty."
v Ruth didn't want to hear it. She turned around and at once felt uneasy. Her nude body felt as though it were blazing. "I guess ... I'm a little uncomfortable being in a dressing room with a guy watching."
He smiled. "Especially when they guy's a priest, huh?"
"Yeah, a priest torso."
"But I must extend my compliments, Ruth. You look quite good for thirty-nine."
"I'm only-" The objection collapsed. "Fuck. No point lying to you."
"That's right. You fared very well for an adulthood of reckless abandon. All that booze and dope, for over two decades, with no discipline whatsoever."
"Make me feel like a million fuckin' bucks, why don'tya?"
"I'm just making a point. Life blessed you with great genes, and those same great genes will serve us well in Death."
Was the priest staring at her?
"Hey, I appreciate the compliment and all, and I'm glad you like my body, but don't you get yourself worked up because there ain't no zany I'm gonna do anything about it. Not with a talking torso."
"Don't worry, it's nothing like that. I'm a priest, which means I don't have sex."
"You've never been with a woman, ever in your life?"
"I've been with lots of women. Two hundred and sixteen, to be exact."
Ruth laughed. "What a male whore!"
"Don't laugh too hard, Ruth. During your stint on earth, you'd had sex with five hundred and forty-seven men."
"BuIIsh-"
"And another seventy-six women. So your tally's got me beat by a long shot."
"Fucker. And you're faker than me anyway. Priests aren't supposed to have sex."
"I didn't become celibate until I got into the seminary. But before that? I was a sinner extraordinare. When I was in Vietnam, we'd go on leave to Bangkok and I'd hop from one bordello to another. Man, oh, man, was I a piece of garbage. But then I found God, and if you let Him into your heart, He forgives everything."
Ruth chuckled. "If He forgave everything, he wouldn't have dropped your ass in Purgatory instead of Heaven, would he?"
"Good point. There are catches."
"Yeah, that's real fuckin' fair. You're gonna get to Heaven one day, but I'm stuck here. And you can kiss my ass and so can God. It's bullshit, man. My sins are no worse than yours and you fucking know it."
"You're right, but there's a difference, Ruth. Every time you turned a trick or lied, cheated, or stole, or whatever ... each and every time you knew it was wrong. But you were never sorry for it, were you?"
Ruth huffed. "No."
Alexander fell silent.
She jabbed a finger. "But you can bet your hypocritical Catholic ass that I am now. But that doesn't matter, either, does it, holy man?"
"Quit crying, Ruth. Trust me, nobody gets the opportunity you're going to get if we pull this off."
She smirked with cynicism. "And what if we don't? What if we fuck up royally?"
"Then we're both in deep shhhhh ... Deep stuff."
"And if we do pull it off, you go to Heaven?"
"Yeah. That's what they said anyway. And a thousand years late, you go to Purgatory ... if you're a good girl."
Ruth glared. "You didn't tell me about that part. I'm not real good at being good."
Alexander smiled cockily. "A thousand years is plenty of time to redeem yourself and prove a worthy servant of God."
This just sounds like more and more jive, Ruth thought. But what did she have better to do? "So why are you buying me new clothes?
"Because you need a job."
Ruth groaned. "I'm not good with jobs either, man. Conning people, ATMs, dope dealing, sure. But really working? You got the wrong girl."
"Actually, Ruth, you're the perfect girl."
"How the fuck do you figure?"
"Your own pride is the answer. You're not just goodlooking, you're great-looking."
Ruth couldn't help but be flattered.
"The Human Damned weather fast in Hell. You're a cinch to get the job. With your body and this outfit, I can't see them not hiring you. Very few inhabitants can afford an outfit like this, only the very upper-crust of the aristocracy. Trust me."
She rolled her eyes. "What? A strip joint?"
"No, no. Just ... trust me."
Ruth hated it when men said that. Did it matter that he was a priest? Probably some secretary shit. "Well, I'm just telling you. I've never held a regular job for long."
"Don't worry, you'll probably only be working this job for about an hour."
"What the fuck?" she said, dismayed. "You're spending two grand on clothes so I can work for a fucking hour?"
The torso's head leaned forward. "She's coming back! Keep your voice down!"
The tooth curtain clattered, and in walked the Succubus. She held up odd garments on a hanger covered with a plastic bag. "Turn around, miss. I'll dress you."
Ruth snatched the hanger away. "I'll dress myself. Now get lost, will ya?"
The Succubus scowled and looked to Alexander. "That'll be all for now, thanks," he said. She whisked out.
"How do you like that monster-dyke? I just might kick her can before we shove off."
"Not a good idea, Ruth. She's a state employee, and since she's also a Succubus, she'd more than likely suck your innards out through your mouth and consume them. Then she'd drain your blood for the shop's distillery, sell your breasts to a Body Boutique, pawn your ovaries to a Hexegenic Vendor, and trade what's left to the District Pulping Station."
Guess I won't be kicking her can.
"Try the bra on first," the priest suggested.
She held it up and gaped. "You gotta be shitting me!"
If Alexander had had hands, he would've been rubbing his temples by now. "Just ... try it on."
Two hands twice the size of 'a human male's had been linked at the tips of the middle fingers. A glittery strap dangled off each wrist. Furthermore, the hands were covered with hair brown as almond skin, and from each fingertip sprouted a talon like a bear's.
"It's a Hand-Bra, Ruth," Alexander detailed. "Probably a Lycan-Pimp. All werewolves in Hell are either prostitutes or panderers."
Ruth held the bra away from her as though it were a flap of rotten meat. "A bra made of werewolf hands?"
"Yes, Ruth. And, please, keep your voice down. You can get a bit shrill-it's giving me a big headache. Now, just try it on."
"I'm not wearing a bra made of fuckin' werewolf hands!" she yelled, her face turning red.
Alexander closed his eyes, staving off an outburst of his own. After a few seconds, he said very quietly, "Ruth. I've explained over and over. Things are different here. They're opposite. You may be repulsed by the nature of that garment, but all the same, here in Hell it's highfashion. It's the most expensive bra a woman can wear. You'll be admired. You'll be envied. More important, it'll further us on our mission."
"Fuck the mission! I'm not wearing a bra made of fuckin' werewolf hands!"
Alexander's
torso almost flopped over at Ruth's cannonade of objection. "Stop being selfish. We're working for God right now-"
Ruth laughed gutturally. "Oh, well, in that case, God can wear the bra made of fuckin' werewolf hands!"
"And as I've told you, God will reward you for your service if we complete this mission. The fact of the matter is, if you refuse to wear these garments, you won't get hired at this place I'm taking you to. Then you'll have to spend eternity in this evil city."
Blackmail. Oh my God I can't believe this bullshit! She stared at the hideous brassiere for a while longer, contemplating the word eternity, then contemplating the stuff she'd seen in only one day of being in Hell.
Ruth ground her teeth and put the bra on.
"Perfect fit!" Alexander said.
The pads of the paws felt atrociously warm. And when she'd finished tying the straps, the furred fingers slowly constricted and began to gently knead her breasts.
Ruth didn't bother yelling anymore. It could serve no practical purpose. "These hands are still alive, aren't they?"
"Yep. They've been incantated with a Longevity Spell. Fifty-year shelf-life. Why do you think the bra cost so much?"
Ruth shuddered at the awful sensation.
"Now," Alexander said, "it's time to try on the Tongue-Skirt.-
When Ruth finally walked out of Lilith's Womens & Demonswear Annex #5315, she felt more nauseous than the time she'd downed ten Jager Bombs at the Beach Lounge in St. Pete and then followed them up with five tequila oyster shooters.
"You're a good, strong girl, Ruth," the priest said from her back. "Lots of resolve, full of self-sacrifice. I'm proud of you."
Puck, she thought.
The Tongue-Skirt, by the way, was exponentially worse than the Hand-Bra. Stitched together from tongues of a variety of Demonic species, it, too, was still alive, each tongue quivering over Ruth's bare skin the instant she stepped into the skimpy garment. The tongues were mostly brown and black, but there were also a few pink Human tongues included in the living fabric.
"Thanks for not making me wear that evil shit out of there," she said, huffing along the spongy Pestiferous Street South. After the fitting, the priest had allowed her to re-don her Living World clothes. The new garments were put in a fancy bag.
"Don't want any denizens seeing you in the stuff," Alexander said. "They'd pulp us and steal the clothes."
Great. "And if somebody pulped us," she said wanting to get it clear, "we still wouldn't die?"
No, we wouldn't. If our bodies were completely destroyed, our eternal souls would be reassigned into the nearest life-form. Look over there-that red tree."
Ruth saw some brownish-black thing swelling from the size of an avocado to the size of a grapefruit. Did it have little legs underneath?
"If your Spirit Body was completely destroyed," the priest went on, "your head crushed, your brain mashed, and your heart diced, then your soul would slip into that thing on the tree. It's a Caco-Tick. They like tree sap, but at night, they sneak into the Ghettoblocks and hunt for sleeping Humans. They sink tubules like dialysis needles into your brain stem and suck out all your spinal fluid. It's their favorite meal."
Ruth stumbled on, her flip-flops slapping soft pavement. Everywhere she looked-the rot-caked town, the hideous passersby, the bloody sky full of stinking black smoke-just made her sicker and sicker.
"Turn left here."
She saw a street sign that read PITUITOUS BLVD., and turned.
"And now are you ready for some good news?" the talking torso asked from her back.
"How good can it be in this fuckin' puke bucket of a town?"
"We're finished in Rot-Port. We'll never have to come here again."
"Cool!" Ruth's gait gained momentum. It was good news. "Where are we going next?"
"To-well ... another District."
"Yeah? What's it called?"
"And it's pretty close, too."
"Cool, but what's it called?"
"There are other Districts we could go to in order to achieve the same purpose, but they're farther away. Big hassle to get to," the priest continued.
"I gotcha," Ruth said. She was starting to get annoyed. "But-"
"And I can guarantee that there's not a speck of rot in this District-"
Ruth stopped. Her blond hair flew when she jerked her head back. "What's the place fucking called?"
The priest paused on his harness of Demonic belts. Was he reluctant to tell her the next District's name?
"It's called Sewageton."
Sewage? Ruth thought.
"The Waste District."
"You fucker!" Ruth bellowed.
"But we'll only be there a little while," Alexander has tened to say. "There's only one thing we have to do. Then we can leave."
Ruth watched a steam-car full of Imps chug by. They were eating Demonic baby heads off sticks like candy apples. Sharpened spikes jutted from the vehicle's front grill-
For a moment, Ruth entertained the idea of jumping in front of it, and taking the priest with her. But then I'd just turn into a fuckin' tick, she remembered.
Utterly disheartened, she asked, "What do we have to do in Seuaageton that's so important?"
Alexander beamed behind her. "That's the place where I get a new set of arms and legs."
(II)
"What a wonderful girl, so full of initiative," " Mrs. Newlwyn complimented.
Venetia looked over her shoulder and saw the tall, statuesque woman striding out of the kitchen entry. "Good morning, Mrs. Newlwyn. I thought I'd get right to work after I got up." Venetia had taken it upon herself to resume the masking tape duties downstairs. She saw now that she was nearly to the last window.
"But you missed breakfast," " the older woman paused to say.
"I know. I fell asleep later than I'd planned to." A semifib. The real reason she'd skipped breakfast was because last night's bizarre experience had stolen her appetite: the dream and, of course, the word on the wall beneath the plaster.
I was tired, that's all. I saw the word beforehand and just thought the voice in the dream told me what it was. Then, Damn it.
In spite of her conviction that it all was just a dream, she'd called her mother anyway.
And asked her to do a Web search of those two names.
Thomas Alexander, a priest from Virginia, and Ruth Bridges from Florida.
And it'll be nothing ...
Mrs. Newlwyn offered a stem smile. "Don't let yourself get run-down, dear. All this hard work, in this heat? Don't take your youth for granted. It's one of God's greatest worldly gifts."
"I know," Mrs. Newlwyn." Venetia pulled off another strip of tape. "But I won't miss lunch, that's for sure."
"Okay, then." The older woman retained the stern smile and walked quickly back to her business.
"You'd think she was your own mother," Dan said, coming up behind her. He wore jeans, sneakers, and his black cleric shirt and Roman collar.
"Hi. And yeah, there is something maternal about her. I like her. She's like an old-fashioned schoolmarm."
Dan looked down the long wall. "You've finished taping all the windows. I was going to help you for a few minutes."
"Just a few minutes?" she joked.
"I have attic duty, remember?"
Venetia smiled at the recollection. "Yes, thanks to your rapier wit." She looked to her left and saw that no more windows needed taping. Then she noticed Dan. He appeared disconcerted. "How come you're not your usual slyly smiling self?"
He seemed to chew a thought, as if he didn't know whether to elaborate. "Just saw something funny last night."
"Funny?" She stowed the tape, brushed off her hands. "You're not laughing, are you?"
His eyes drifted to a window. "After I butt-faced myself in range of Driscoll's ear, I went to my room. Wasn't that tired so I read some of Paul's Gospel-easily the best writer of the Apostles."
"I'm partial to John but I do agree. Paul's expository skill blew everyone else away." She cont
inued to note his odd expression. "So..."
"So I went downstairs to get some ice water. I was sipping it and checking out the bookshelves in the atrium when I heard a click."
She couldn't resist. "Don't tell me. The ghost."
"No. It was Betta coming in through the back door in the kitchen. She's sort of sneaking in, you know? Trying to be quiet and looking like she's in a hurry. So she slips upstairs and into her room."
"So she'd been outside, I guess."
"Yeah, but didn't we see her sneaking doum the stairs earlier, when we were rapping on the stair-hall?"
"Yes, we did. I figured she was going to the kitchen to get some milk or something before bed. But she went outside instead. Kind of strange at that hour, but so what? She decided to go fora walk in the moonlight, I suppose."
"Yeah, maybe, but it was a long walk."
"What do you mean?"
"When she came back in it was several hours after we saw her go down the stairs. She didn't see me but I thought I noticed leaves and stuff stuck to her blouse, and the blouse was buttoned up one button off, like she'd been rushing. Hair kind of tangled up, too."
They looked at each other.
"Sounds like Betta's got a secret boyfriend she meets outside when everyone's asleep," Venetia ventured.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
"All right, but, again, so what? Why shouldn't she have a boyfriend? It's probably that guy John, the yard guy. He's shy and so is she. Maybe they're attracted to each other."
"I was thinking that too, and her mother's kind of a stolid Bible-thumper, so it makes sense Betta would keep a lover secret from her."
"Right. Simple human sexual attraction-what most of the world is all about."
Dan chuckled. "Except for priests and seminarists ... and girls contemplating the convent."
"So that's why you look bent out of shape? Betta's got a boyfriend?"
"No, no, that's not it at all. It was later ... I woke up about two, could hear someone walking on the stair-hall. The floor creaks sometimes. I thought it was probably Betta or Mrs. Newlwyn coming back from the bathroom or something. So I open my door a crack and look out...."
"Was it her?"
"No. Someone else. It was someone else going down the stairs very slowly. Someone in a dark cloak."