The Cupid War

by Carter, Timothy

  Woodbury, Minnesota

  Copyright Information

  The Cupid War © 2011 by the Timothy Carter.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Flux, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover models used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject.

  First e-book edition © 2011

  E-book ISBN: 9780738729954

  Book design by Steffani Sawyer

  Cover design by Ellen Dawson

  Heart image on cover and part pages © iStockphoto.com/Adrian Niederhäuser

  Flux is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Flux does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

  Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

  Flux

  Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  2143 Wooddale Drive

  Woodbury, MN 55125

  www.fluxnow.com

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  There are always many people in need of thanking for bringing a book to life. Here are the biggies. I’d like to start off by thanking my wife, Violet, for her support, encouragement, and love. Next, I’d like to thank Acquisitions Editor Brian Farrey, for seeing this book’s potential; Robert Brown, for being an excellent agent; Sandy Sullivan, for her fantastic editing; and Indigo Spirit manager Lori MacDougall, for having me in to do so many signings.

  I would also like to thank the Mood Disorders Association of Ontario (MDAO) for their wonderful staff, programs, group meetings, and facilitators (like Catherine, Barb, James & Fey, to name a few). They continue to help many people coping with a mood disorder, myself among them.

  And finally, in no particular order, my thanks to the organizers and volunteers of Polaris, Ad Astra, Anime North, Con-Cept, and other fantastic SF/Fantasy conventions; Tim Hortons, for their life-giving steeped tea; Stephen Moffat, Matt Smith et al, for another terrific series of Doctor Who; and the Source, for the never-ending flow of fun ideas.

  For my sister Claire, who helps me navigate the dark.

  prologue

  Ricky Fallon sat on the bridge railing, preparing to jump. It seemed like the least painful way to die, while ensuring the best chance for success.

  He also wanted to cause the least amount of trouble for the city; his father believed a jumper was involved every time there was a delay on the subway. Fallon didn’t want his dad to think he was inconsiderate. At least, no more than he already did.

  That left bridges, and the only ones high enough were the two that spanned the Don Valley. The bridge of choice for most jumpers had been the Prince Edward Viaduct, but city planners had finally made good on their promise to build a safety fence along both sides. It was an eyesore for people driving by on the parkway below, but as a suicide stopper, it was most effective.

  The Pape Street Bridge, however, had no such fence. Fallon had left his house at midnight, taken a bus to the bridge, and prepared himself for the final solution to his troubled life. For Fallon, there wasn’t one specific reason for wanting to die. At least, he reflected, it wasn’t entirely one specific reason.

  Yes, he was upset over losing Becky. He took out his cell phone and looked at the only decent picture he had of her, the one he’d taken on their third date. That had been a good day. One of my last, Fallon thought, as he set the phone aside on the ledge.

  Yes, he hated getting yelled at by his father because he was too sloppy, he wasn’t doing well enough at school, he didn’t show enough initiative, he wasn’t like his big sister, or he’d turn out just like his mother.

  Yes, he hated his mother. She’d named him Ricky shortly before she’d run out on him and his father and sister. And then she had to go and get killed by a drunk driver before she could apologize and make things right.

  All that had made him hate his life, but Susan had driven him to the point of death.

  Susan Sides was his closest, dearest, bestest friend. At least, she liked to think so. Their French teacher had paired them for a dictée over a year ago, and Susan took that to mean they should be friends forever.

  And Susan needed a friend. Her family hated her, boys thought she was ugly, and none of the girls would hang out with her. That was what she’d told Fallon, every single day, for the last year. And during that year, Fallon’s own life had fallen down the crapper.

  Boy, did it ever, Fallon thought. Even now, as he stood ready to end it all, he couldn’t believe things had gone as badly as they had.

  It had started in small ways. He’d found it hard to get to sleep, and even harder to get out of bed. His appetite went down, and so did his grades. He stopped finding joy in things, and every endeavor seemed a huge effort. Problems with his father began in earnest, and the school bullies came out of the woodwork to hammer him with everything they had. Fallon felt like he had a heavy wet blanket wrapped around his heart, and it grew heavier whenever Susan was near.

  He’d tried to get her to make other friends. No one else wanted to befriend her, and Susan herself didn’t want to try.

  “I don’t need a whole bunch of friends,” she’d told him. “I just need one friend. You!”

  He’d tried to get her some counseling. Susan refused to get any kind of help. Why would she need professional help, she said, when all she really needed was one good friend to listen? It never occurred to him that he might need counseling himself; all his efforts had been for her.

  Fallon had tried reasoning with her. He’d asked her to only unload her problems on him if it was an emergency.

  “But when I have a problem,” she’d replied, “it is an emergency!”

  He’d said he needed more free time.

  “But the time you spend with your friends is your free time!”

  “I need to spend more time with Becky,” he’d tried. “She’s my girlfriend, after all.”

  “But you’re my only friend!” Susan had said. “If I didn’t get to spend time with you, I’d … ”

  She hadn’t needed to finish. Fallon knew what she would say.

  “If I didn’t have you,” she’d told him once, “I’d kill myself.”

  Of course Becky had dumped him. He was spending all his time with another girl. Besides, he’d changed since they’d started seeing each other. Now he was moody and tired all the time, and no fun at all. She had, however, given him one chance.

  “Drop the loser,” she’d said, “or we’re done.”

  Fallon hadn’t wa
nted to break up with Becky, but he didn’t want Susan to kill herself, either. He knew she would; after all, she told him she’d tried before.

  He had to choose between his relationship and her life.

  “Don’t you run out on your friend,” his father told him. “That’s what your mother would do.”

  “I’m not like Mom,” he’d said.

  “Prove it,” his father replied.

  Fallon proved it, Becky broke up with him, and Susan clung to him for another three months. She would cling to him forever if he gave her the chance. Fallon didn’t want to give her that chance. He wanted out. He wanted freedom.

  However, as he sat on the edge looking down at the barely visible Don River below, Fallon changed his mind. It wasn’t because of a ray of light from Heaven, or an angel appearing to tell him there was a better way. Instead, Fallon changed his mind due to a very simple realization. On Monday morning at school, there would be shock. By the afternoon, however, there would be jokes. He called himself Fallon. The word “fall” was right there in the name. Sure, it was pronounced differently, but he knew his classmates would make the connection.

  “A guy named Fallon falls to his death. What’re the odds of that?”

  “Fall-on really lived up to his name, huh?”

  “I guess swallowing a bottle of pills just wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

  In the latter part of his life, he’d been a joke. Did he really want to be a joke in death? Sure, he’d get a page of the yearbook all to himself, but did he really want to be remembered as a punch line?

  And so, with a heavy heart and a loud sigh, he swung his legs back onto the ledge. He had no idea how he would get through the next day or the next week—he didn’t even know how he was going to get home—but he’d manage somehow, he supposed.

  Fallon stood up to hop down from the concrete railing. As he did so, he slipped on the cell phone he’d left there, and fell backward off the bridge.

  pARt 1

  1

  Fallon hovered over his body, dead. His body lay on the grassy floor of the Don Valley, crumpled and still. There was a small puddle of rainwater less than a meter from his right side; in it, Fallon could see a softball-sized sphere of light. Instinctively, he knew the ball of light was his soul.

  Fallon couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. He’d set out with suicide on his mind, true enough, but he’d changed his mind in the end, hadn’t he? Yes, he remembered doing it, but that didn’t make him any less dead.

  So, he wondered, what was he now? What would come next? Was he supposed to feel at peace? Sad? Guilty for all the wrong things he’d done? Happy that it was all over?

  First and foremost, he felt better. The weight he’d been carrying around in his heart was gone. Of course, so was his heart. Nevertheless, he felt better than he had in ages, and it was quite a rush. He could turn his life around, make things right. He’d make his father proud, and maybe even win Becky back.

  Except, he was dead. He’d had his chance.

  It occurred to him that when news of his death reached Susan, she might kill herself to join him. That thought filled him with more terror than anything he’d felt before. He also realized he might end up meeting his mother. He wasn’t ready for that, not yet. If it did happen, however, he’d have a few choice words to say to her.

  Fallon became aware of a presence. He’d read about people who’d had near-death experiences seeing deceased loved ones on the Other Side, and he feared his mother had come after all. Don’t be my mom, he thought.

  He didn’t turn to face the presence; he didn’t have a body any more, so the old rules didn’t apply. Instead, Fallon willed his light-ball form to change its perception. To his relief, he saw it wasn’t his mother—it was a bald man, standing next to some bushes a couple of meters away.

  The man appeared both naked and clothed; he looked naked, but there did appear to be a thin, skin-tight stocking on his pale form. An aura of brightness flowed out gently from his body, so Fallon guessed he was an angel. Fallon expected him to offer words of comfort, then invite him to embark on a wondrous journey into the Light. He was surprised, then, when the angelic being said:

  “Another goddamn jumper. Just great.”

  Okay, Fallon thought. Not the reception I was hoping for.

  “Let’s go, buddy,” said the glowing man. He raised his right hand, and Fallon found himself floating toward him. When he arrived in front of his angelic companion, the world as he knew it vanished. The bushes, the puddle, his body, the bridge, the entire Don Valley simply faded away into nothingness.

  “What the … ?” Fallon said, his voice sounding like a bad recording of its former self. He didn’t say the words so much as project them from his mind. At least I can still talk, he thought.

  “Where am I?” he asked, looking around. He felt like he was in a room, even though he could see no walls. He didn’t think it was Heaven, because it wasn’t bright enough. He also didn’t think it was Hell, because it wasn’t all that dark. He was in a literal gray area.

  “What is this place?” he asked, his first question having garnered no response.

  “Shut it,” the angelic being said.

  “You know,” Fallon said, “for an angel, you’re mighty surly.”

  “I’m not an angel,” the being said. “I’m Bud. And I told you to shut it. I’m trying to assess you.”

  “Assess me?” Fallon said.

  Bud held his hands on either side of Fallon’s soul and concentrated.

  “You were gonna off yourself,” Bud said. “We don’t look kindly on that.”

  “But I didn’t kill myself,” Fallon said. “It was an accident.”

  “I know,” Bud said. “But you were planning it. Life is the gift, and there’s nothing we hate more than souls who throw away that gift.”

  “Um, who’s we?” Fallon asked.

  “Soul Reapers,” Bud said, “like me. We collect souls and send them where they belong.”

  “And where do I belong?”

  “If you’ll stop bugging me,” Bud said, “I’ll figure that out.”

  “Right, sorry,” Fallon said, and he kept quiet while Bud did his thing.

  “Pretty ordinary teenager, weren’t ya?” Bud said, dropping his hands back to his sides. “Think the whole world spins for you, and not a thought about making it better. Typical.”

  “Get bent, baldy,” Fallon said.

  Bud glared at him. “What was that?”

  “Oh, did I hurt your feelings, chromedome?” Fallon asked.

  “You’d better take that back,” Bud said.

  “Why should I?” Fallon said. “I’m dead, this is the afterlife, and I don’t know what’s going on. Instead of filling me in, you’ve been treating me like crap. Well, it stops now.”

  Bud stared at him silently for a few moments, giving Fallon time to consider what he was doing. Basically, he was telling off the one being who currently had control of his fate. Not the smartest thing to do.

  “Okay, kid,” Bud said, his features softening. “I was in your position once. And you’re not the jumper I thought you were. Maybe I should take the time to fill you in. Only fair. Basically, your karma’s really high.”

  “My karma?” Fallon said.

  “Every soul has karma,” Bud told him. “It’s the stuff your soul has to work through, the things you do to become a better person. Some people work off their karma by the time they die, and there’s a place for them that you’d think of as Heaven. Then there’s the rest, the people like you, who didn’t use their lives the way they should. If you didn’t work it off in your life, you have to work it off now.”

  “Nobody told me that was the deal!” Fallon said. “If I’d known that … ”

  “But that’s the point, isn’t it
?” Bud said. “The people who work it off naturally don’t need to be told. It’s about choosing to do better, something you didn’t give a lot of thought to.”

  “Okay,” Fallon said. “So what happens now?”

  “Now,” Bud said, “I’m taking you to the guy who knows how to deal with your type.”

  “Oh yeah?” Fallon said.

  “Yeah,” Bud replied. “His name’s Louis, and he’s gonna wipe that attitude clean out of ya. You, pretty boy, are gonna be a Cupid.”

  2

  A Cupid?” Fallon asked. “You mean … ?”

  “That’s right,” Bud replied. “You’re going to make people fall in love.”

  “Oh,” Fallon said. When it came to afterlife assignments, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

  “My man Louis runs the Cupids,” Bud said. “He’ll teach you a thing or two.”

  “Can’t wait,” Fallon said.

  “And quit with the lip,” Bud said.

  “Sorry, sir,” Fallon said, glaring at Bud’s back. He was not having a good night, and this bozo wasn’t making things any easier. Was this really the afterlife, or was he just having a bad dream? Wasn’t death supposed to be a wondrous journey to a better place? There’d been a lot of books about that.

  Of course, there had been a lot of books that suggested another possibility. Books, and pamphlets, and of course tracts. He remembered getting one such tract from the religious club at school. In it, a faceless God judged a man, found him guilty, and threw him into a pit filled with flames.

  So, all things considered, Fallon’s afterlife could have been a lot worse.

  The grayness around them changed, and Fallon found himself in another room. This one was pink, and there were heart shapes decorating the walls.

  “Cute,” Fallon said. “But way cliché.”

  “Wait here,” Bud said. “I’ll get Louis.”

  Bud walked toward one of the walls and passed through it. Fallon wondered if he could do the same thing, but when he tried, the room moved with him. He projected himself at each of the walls, then tried the floor and ceiling. Every time, the room moved with him. Escape, it seemed, was not a possibility.