Frozen Stiff

by L. J. Vickery

  He acknowledged the god of disease and pestilence, as well as the Wiccan king of rebirth. He noted that each of his four gate guardians―south, east, and west were in attendance―and was satisfied Beletseri had managed to get Nedu of the north to comply.

  All in all, there were close to a hundred guests taking seats in the throne room. Many gods had brought their Chosen along for the week’s entertainment, and the unmated gods and goddesses flirted outrageously, even though they’d all “had” each other any number of times over the hundreds and even thousands of years in their various posts. They were―mostly―still optimistic that renewed contact might light amulets between them. It was the one thing all of them strove for; the bond of a mate, which made it intriguing indeed that Nergal had placed his Chosen into a cage.

  Nergal wasted no time. As soon as everyone had taken a seat, he strode to a podium in front of his throne. “Gods and goddesses,” he called in his clear, distinguished tone. “Friends…” He let that settle in for a few moments as he perused the assemblage. “I’m sure you are all wondering why we are here today, and why my wife has been confined.” He waved a hand to his right, where Eresh stood behind bars with a calm and aloof expression gracing her illustrious visage.

  “You are all aware of the thirteen elemental gods who resided here until a few hundred years ago.” It was not a question, everyone knew Marduk and his gang.

  “They were given a chance to redeem themselves on the surface of Earth and failed, only to be rendered bodiless amongst humans.” He saw everyone acknowledge this in their own way.

  “What you may not be aware of is that my wife and I agreed some months ago to give them another chance.” He wasn’t about to tell them it was a bet placed between husband and wife, sexual favors as stakes, with him taking the cold-day-in-hell-before-it-would-happen stance.

  Low murmurs sounded in response to his words. Most of the Earth-bound gods were well liked, and this news was welcomed.

  “This gave them the opportunity to find their Chosen, which some of them already have.”

  Voices raised at this point. Babbles of excitement filled the air. Nergal heard the name Marduk on several tongues. He had known what the prevalent sentiment in the room would be. He urged the joyous frenzy even higher.

  “Yes, that is correct. Marduk has found his Chosen. Not only that, but he has also undergone the amulet ceremony, and his mate, Tess, is now pregnant.” Claps and whistles ensued before the king held up his hand to continue.

  “Anshar and Dagon have also found their other halves, and have been legally mated.” A few brows went up at Dagon’s name, but the assemblage knew that if Nergal was pleased, it was all good.

  “And now even more news,” Nergal added. “While we speak, Enten is attempting to win over his future mate.”

  Stunned silence met with this pronouncement, the lack of noise in stark contrast to the previous cacophony. It was quickly followed by a chorus of “Enten? Are you sure?”

  “Hey,” Erra raised an annoyed voice. “Give the guy a break, will you?”

  Immortals settled back down, but not before Nergal overheard segments of bad jokes that included the words “dicksicle” and “nipply”. It wasn’t that the other immortals didn’t like Enten; the king understood he was just not anyone’s idea of warm and fuzzy.

  “I know you’re all thrilled for them, just as I am,” Nergal intervened, chastising them lightly. “But now we’ve encountered a problem.”

  The room got extra quiet. For Nergal to admit to a problem, they knew something momentous was afoot. The last time he had shared like this, they’d all tried to investigate and make sense of the incident that had driven the wedge between him and Ereshkigal. None of the attending wanted to think it could be something that bad again, but they were about to be told it was.

  “An immortal has been aiding humans to kidnap and attempt to kill the women who are these gods’ Chosen.” Gasps sounded throughout the crowd. This was a crime none of them could condone. Mated couples were a sacred thing.

  “The latest incident left Enten with a bullet wound to his throat, and his mate, Glory, shot in the thigh with several ribs broken.” Now he felt outrage pouring off the crowd in solidarity toward the god of winter, and he agreed. How dare anyone try to take away Enten’s chance at happiness. Nergal held up a hand as questions started sputtering his way.

  “Wait,” he attempted to quiet his audience. “I will tell you they are both recovering, thank the gods, but our female victim and several of the other gods witnessing the assault―including Marduk―heard the name of our traitorous immortal. The human in charge called out for help just before he disappeared.” Nergal waited for the poofing out evidence to sink in. “And the name he called was…Ereshkigal.” He inclined his head to his wife in the cage. The buzz became instantaneous.

  “No. It can’t be…”

  “…loved all those gods…”

  “…never would harm another woman.”

  The bits and pieces of denial that filled the air made the king feel vindicated. He certainly didn’t believe his wife was evil, and apparently she had many friends who would also not have her maligned. Nergal looked over and saw tears come to his mate’s eyes.

  He turned to the judge, Mamitu. “You have heard the evidence against my wife, but now hear the rest.” His voice rose above the crowd. “For years…years,” he yelled, “someone has been impersonating me in my own domain.”

  Stunned faces looked up at him again.

  “At the brightest time of my and my wife’s lives,” he looked at Eresh, “someone who has never been found, stole something from us…” He cleared his throat. The queen’s eyes held such sadness he wished there were no bars so he could go to her.

  “That fiend has never been found, and though we believed whoever did this had long since slunk away, I find from our group on Earth that the monster has continued on, attempting again and again to use demons to kill them while they did fair penance here in hell, supposedly under my protection.”

  He continued in a calmer voice. “Unfortunately, they believed it was me, trying to do away with them because they were my queen’s champions, but nothing could be further from the truth.” He wished he could go back to right so many wrongs. “And still they protected my queen. They didn’t tell her I supposedly brought them danger, because they knew she still had feelings for me, asshole that I was.” Nergal didn’t hesitate to take his share of the blame, and the crowd looked stunned at his self-denigration. “My arrogance and pride lost me many good years with the woman I love, and I’m hoping I can make them up to her.” His head came up again and his words strengthened.

  “My voice was used nefariously, and behind my back for all those years, and now recently, both Dagon and Erra believed I was behind orders that heinously told them to kill gods and Chosen indiscriminately. Orders, I might say, that both of them―after some soul searching―refused to obey. Thank the gods.”

  “Now, I’m certain the same person has been impersonating my wife.” He was pleased with the nods of affirmation in the crowd.

  “I brought you all here because my sister-in-law, Ishtar-Dinitu, has been listening to the imposter’s voice in playbacks in several of the gods’ minds, and has studied the intricacies of the deceiver’s voice. She is certain she will be able to pick out the one of you who has betrayed me.” Another gasp went up from the crowd. If possible, Nergal had dialed his vocal chords to a stage colder than even Enten’s.

  “Lavarette?” he called out above the stirring crowd, and she answered with a snapping salute.

  “All exits from the room have been secured, my king,” she assured him. “No one will be able to leave until you have satisfaction.”

  What the head of security didn’t say was that he’d also had her make a full sweep of his private offices, and everyone working within had also been rounded up to join the god’s party.

  “Thank you.” Nergal’s approval was clear and he spoke to the gathering agai
n. “Before you all give a brief statement for Ish-Din to analyze, we need a consensus on Ereshkigal.”

  The judge, Mamitu, smiled up at him, shaking her head at his foolishness. There was no hesitation in her decree. “Let your woman out of the cage,” she ordered, and turned to address the crowd. “Does anyone here believe our queen is guilty?”

  Loud shouts of “Nay” and “Let her free” were music to Nergal’s ears. He waved a hand and the door to the prison sprung open. Before Eresh could even move, he stepped quickly into the small space and swept her up into his arms. His hard lips came down on hers in a soul-searing kiss, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the mood in the room lightened with it. He gently lowered her to her feet where she stood, looking proud and flushed beside him.

  Much to Nergal’s astonishment, gods and goddesses voluntarily lined up in front of Ish-Din. The innocent in the room didn’t want to waste a minute of time clearing their names. It didn’t hurt that―complements of the glowies―after the inquisition there would be gourmet food, strange new games to explore, and unheard of relaxation techniques to take advantage of. Nergal sighed. He knew there would be a long list of deities who would try to talk him into parting with some of the blue, iridescent miracle workers for their own realms.

  Ish-Din started the interviews, securely flanked by Erra, Nergal, and a contingent of glowie guards. Once the goddess became satisfied and gave clearance, the immortal in question would be led into a common atrium area where they would continue their Nergal-subsidized vacation. Although as the hour moved on, the king noticed that a very large contingency―including some of the king and queen’s closest friends―opted to stay and watch everyone get scanned. They clearly wanted to witness the party responsible for so much unhappiness and destruction, and probably wanted to be present when Nergal decided the perpetrator’s fate, as well.

  ****

  Two pairs of eyes met over the heads of the milling crowd. They had planned for this day. Not this scenario exactly, but they both knew what had to be done. The one in charge was glad things would finally come to a head, and hatreds would be out in the open where power could battle power until a winner emerged.

  Implementing the endgame, they might forfeit much for the time being, entertaining a life on the run. But the outcome? That would be oh-so-sweet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Glory knew it was a dream, but she couldn’t wake up. Until it played out, she was held in its depths. It was always the same. Six o-clock in the evening in the house she’d shared with Pete.

  Tonight’s dinner would be his favorite; nachos deluxe loaded with ground seasoned beef, black beans, and corn. She’d already cut up the lettuce, tomatoes, and olives, and decanted the salsa Pete liked best. All she had to do was wait to hear his footfalls in the front hallway, layer on the cheese, and put the pan under the broiler. Everything would be fine tonight.

  She took a deep breath when she heard the front door open and quickly sprinkled the cheese on his meal, popped the tray in the oven, and wiped her hands down the small half apron she wore over her plain, gray cotton shift. Pete would find nothing wrong tonight. No make-up on her face, no nail polish, no jewelry or perfume. Just her in her gray dress and her gray flats, putting his favorite meal on the table.

  “Glory,” he barked her name. “Get out here and clean off my boots. The goddamn worksite was muddy as crap today, and if you don’t get this shit off them now, I’ll be tracking it all over the house, and I won’t be happy.”

  Panic seized her. Pete needed to stay happy.

  She heard his boots hit the floor and him pad down the hall in stocking feet to enter the bathroom. She scurried out and picked up his size twelves by the laces, hurrying out the front door with them and moving swiftly around the back where the hose was attached to the outside spigot. She carefully rinsed off the mud, anxiously making sure no water got inside the boots, and set them to dry on the back stoop. There. Done. Not a problem.

  She let herself in the back door and her heart seized. Smoke filled the kitchen, billowing out of the oven.

  “No.” Glory ran for the stove and yanked open the door. The broiler had done its work and then some, blackening the top of Pete’s meal. She picked up a towel and removed the tray from the oven with shaking hands. Oh God. What had she done?

  She heard the bathroom door open and waited.

  “What the fuck?” Pete stormed into the kitchen, all six-foot-two of him. “Did you burn my meal, you fucking cunt.” He grabbed Glory roughly by the arm and brought his face down to hers. She could almost feel the bruises rising.

  “Who gives you a roof over your head, huh? Who works hard all day so we can have food on the table…that’s not burnt?” he yelled right into her terrified eyes. Pete pulled her out of the kitchen aggressively and toward the back of the house.

  “You’re a useless slut,” he growled. “You have three frigging duties to perform.” He reminded her harshly. “Cook my fucking meals, keep my stuff clean, and warm my bed.”

  He said, “warm my bed” because after the first couple of months of screwing an unresponsive Glory―after carelessly taking her virginity―Pete could no longer get it up. That was when the larger control issues between them had begun.

  “You will fucking learn to give me what I want.” He dragged her out onto the porch, down the back stairs, and into the yard. Dusk fell on the early spring night and the air chilled. “You know what to do.”

  Glory’s trembling fingers undid the knot in her apron, she kicked off her shoes, and slid the loose, gray garment off her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her body, now covered in goosebumps. He always told her she should be glad he let her keep her underwear.

  Pete took a key from his pocket and opened the hasp on the door to the small tool shed. The structure was no more than three feet long, five feet wide, and six feet tall. It sat squarely on dirt and had no windows. Glory couldn’t suppress a sob.

  “Pete…please…” she whispered. “I…I’ll do better. I’ll clean it up. I’ll make a whole new tray…please.” She ended with a hysterical lurch in her voice.

  “This is the only way to teach you.” He grabbed her around the waist and thrust her through the doorway. She slammed into the wall at the back and heard the door crash closed behind her.

  She whirled around. “No. Pete. Please. I’ll be good…I’ll do better.” She pounded on the now locked door, crying but knowing it was useless. Pete wouldn’t come back. He would leave her there until morning when, huddled in a cold ball on the floor, she would hear the lock click open, listen carefully for his footsteps to walk away, then finally unfold her stiff body and let herself out.

  Glory had made the mistake of exiting her prison right away only once. Pete had been standing there to see her dirty tear-stained face, disheveled hair and pale body, and had hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her up the steps. Through the screen door, he’d plowed to throw her onto the musty porch sofa. She’d known what he was after. He’d put one hand over her mouth, ripped her panties off, and muffled her screams as he had undone the zipper to his pants. They hadn’t had sex for six months, and Glory had been terrified.

  She did know, however, just what he needed to perform, so she’d stopped struggling and lay lifeless, looking up at him with dead eyes. Much to her tremendous relief, her blankness had the desired effect. His dick had morphed rapidly from hard to limp, and as much as he had tried to work it into her dryness thereafter, he wasn’t able.

  Pete had roared his displeasure. He’d hit her―which he didn’t often do―slapping her hard across the face. “Fucking bitch,” he’d said, blaming her for her troubles.

  “Shit. I didn’t mean to hit you.” He’d moved off her and ran a hand through his hair. “But you deserved it, you know?” He’d twisted it around to make it seem all right. “Why can’t you be a good wife?” he’d grumbled, almost to himself. “Next time you do what I need.” Quickly he’d zipped up his pants and disappeared into the house.
r />   Glory had lain there sobbing until she’d heard his car leave the driveway.

  After that incident, she hadn’t been able to go see her mother and father―although the latter was no loss at all―for two weeks. The bruising on her face had taken that long to disappear and Pete didn’t want her family to know he’d hit her. Not that her father would mind. That’s the way problems in her household had been dealt with growing up. Not that Pete knew.

  Shoving that memory aside, this time Glory pulled the burlap bag from the corner of the shed and placed it underneath her nearly bare bottom. She’d start with it positioned there, and as the night progressed and it got cold, she’d wrap what there was of it around herself.

  She tried not to think of her hunger. She’d skipped lunch to wash the rug in the living room where Pete had spilled his beer the night before. Her stomach would be growling even more than it was already.

  Smartly, she had water, having recently sneaked Pete’s key from where it lay hidden in his underwear drawer, and secreted two unopened bottles into the enclosure in a corner behind a rake. She had done this knowing how thirsty she usually got during her “punishment.” Pete never gave a hard look into the shed, so hopefully he would have no clue she’d done this. God help her if he found out.

  She bit back her tears and listened to the comforting noises of the night, willing herself to sleep. The bad nights were the ones where she couldn’t let herself go; the ones where every minute seemed like an hour in the dark. She moved the burlap over her shoulders and regulated her breathing. In to the count of eight. Hold. Out to the count of eight. Her lids finally got heavy and she was able to drift fretfully off to sleep.

  Glory awoke cramped and stiff, hearing the morning birds and seeing a few streaks of light under the door. Hopefully she’d hear the click of the lock soon. She thought longingly of the coffee she’d brew and the long bath she’d take once she got out to loosen her joints.