Penemue's Inferno

by Ramy Vance

  And, falling to my knees, I broke down with the hurt of a broken heart.

  Michael came to my side. Placing a heavy, comforting hand on my back, he let me mourn before saying, “You are right, Human Jean. You have endured more than most. We cannot ask more of you. I only pray that you will find it in your heart to keep your promise.”

  “The only promise I intend to keep is searching for a way back to her.”

  If Michael understood what I meant, he made no indication of it. “Very well, my friend …”

  Did he just call me his friend? I thought the angel hated me.

  “… I shall ask no more of you. Come to me should you mend enough to help again.” He stood and unfurled his wings. “Before I take my leave, know that Medusa recovers at St. Mercy’s Hospital. She is a shell of who she once was. You should check in on her, if you can.”

  And with that, Michael took to the sky.

  Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye

  After a long moment, I managed to pull myself up. I had one more thing to do … talk Penemue out of suicide. I went into the hotel, where I saw Judith standing by the turnstile door with a bag in hand. She looked at her phone with impatience.

  “Five minutes away, my ass,” she said. Actually she swore. Miss Never-Say-A-Bad-Word swore. She was hurting. I understood.

  Not wanting to get into a fight with her, I made my way to the elevator. Penemue’s room was on the seventh floor, and presumably he was there.

  But on the way over, Judith looked back at me with her typical You failed again eyes and something inside me broke. I could stand her hating me, her leaving. All that was fine. But blaming me for Bella not returning … that was too much.

  “I begged her to come home,” I said. “I even tried to force her. But in the end, she—”

  “Chose them over us,” Judith said in a soft voice. “I heard your little meltdown.”

  I was so taken aback by the softness in her voice that my brain froze. It simply could not compute such kindness from her.

  Now Judith turned to face me. “You might not be able to keep your promise, but if my daughter has sacrificed herself for them … then what I must do is clear. I’m going to Mission to volunteer. I’m going to do what I can to help.”

  The Mission. An old Victorian-era mansion that, before the gods left, was where people of many different faiths held events … Bar Mitzvahs, mass, prayer, Diwali. It was dubbed the Mission because so many used its hallowed halls. After the gods left, it was turned into a community center with programs to help the downtrodden Others.

  “Good for you,” I said, and meant it.

  “You know, Jean,” Judith said, tilting her head back as she tried to use gravity to hold in her tears, “Bella loves you. She has ever since you used to sneak into our house in the middle of night. And in Hell, I saw that love coming through again. She loves you more than anything.”

  “Loves me enough to leave me.”

  “When Bella was a little girl, our house was filled with all sorts of strays and hurt animals.” Judith chuckled. “And not just animals—insects, lizards, frogs. Hell, she once came home with a bee whose wings had been torn off by a praying mantis. She also came home with that mantis … it had lost a leg in the fight. She took care of both equally, and cried for two days when the bee died. The praying mantis lived with us for a year before it, too, passed. Anything and everything broken found its way into our house.

  “Bella isn’t capable of just loving. She has to help. It is her nature, though where she got that, I will never know. But do you know what?” Judith turned to me, and as soon as she lowered her head, a cascade of tears broke free. “With all that love in her heart, she loved you the most.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to experience that love, you know …” I gestured to the empty space next to me.

  “I know this is hard to hear, but leaving you doesn’t diminish her love, Jean. It accentuates it.”

  “How?” I asked, seeing the taxi pull up.

  “Because she knows you are strong enough to endure anything. And she also knew that she could never fully give herself to you with so many broken around.”

  ↔

  Judith left, and the only thought I had was that I, too, was broken. Taking the elevator up to Penemue’s room, I found the angel on his knees with EightBall sitting in front of him, his horrible nail-bat in hand.

  ↔

  What do you say when someone is determined to kill another, and the would-be victim is determined to let them? Stop? Hold on? Let’s put a pin in the whole murder thing and circle back after a good night’s sleep?

  I didn’t pay nearly enough attention in Psych 101 to unpack this, so I opted for a hard stare and let their brains fill in the blanks.

  EightBall sat cold as ice, but Penemue … Penemue spoke. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  Good, so they are filling in the blanks.

  “That this is a waste. That I can serve more with life than without.”

  I’m more eloquent than I thought.

  “That I cared for this boy. That I love him.”

  I am good!

  “But it is because of that love that I will allow him to do this.”

  What? Wait.

  “I love you, EightBall. More than you can imagine. I love you, and if this act will bring you peace, then so be it.”

  “But it won’t bring him peace.”

  “Perhaps.” Penemue sighed. “But that is not certain—”

  “No, no. Murder, death … those never bring peace. Trust me, kid—they don’t. I should know.”

  “Actually,” Penemue said, “I have studied countless human souls. Revenge, murder—they can bring some peace.”

  “No—”

  “Yes, they can. It is a common human platitude that murder is wrong. Revenge is wrong. Turn the other cheek and all that.” Penemue chuckled at this. “But that is only true of some. Most, even. But not all. Not all humans find death wrong. Not all humans are plagued by their revenge. Some find a final peace afterward. Some go on to live quiet, good lives.”

  “No. No, you’re just a quitter. You’re sick of this life and you want out.” I pointed an accusatory finger at Penemue. “And you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself.”

  “Believe me, Human Jean, I do not want to die. I never wanted to die. I have accepted the possibility, but I have never sought it. And, if I believed that this boy would further hurt himself by killing me, I would not allow it, instead orchestrating a scenario in which death would find me by other hands. But I know this human’s soul—”

  “Up until the point the gods left. Up until he was eight years old. You don’t know him. He’s a man now, and you don’t know what will become of him after.” I gestured as though I was swinging a bat, stealing a glance at EightBall. The boy hadn’t moved since I entered, just staring at Penemue like he was trying to unravel a puzzle.

  “I know enough about him and humans to know that should my death bring him peace, it will have to be by his hand. And I have enough uncertainty in his future to also know that this will most likely heal him.”

  “But not 100% certainty?”

  “No, that number eludes me.”

  “Then—”

  Penemue raised a hand from where he knelt before the boy his parents called Newton. “Jean … in the heart of Optimus Prime, where the AllSpark would reside, I left you something.”

  “Optimus? What? Are you referring to my Transformers toy?”

  “The very same. In his chestplate is the heart of all knowledge. Knowledge that will help you find your way back to Bella. Take it to the angel Chamuel—he will know how to use the item.”

  I stopped, my heart thudding at the thought. Shaking my head, I said, “And you? What about you?”

  “Should I survive, I will also aid you … But should today be my last, then Chamuel. He will know what to do.”

  “And what, that’s it? Let’s leave it here and, game over? Or what?”


  “Yes, all that can be said has been said. All that can be done has been done.”

  “How profound.”

  “I was not trying to be profound.”

  “You weren’t trying to be profound? Weren’t trying to be profound! Fuck it and fuck the two of you,” I cried out. “I’m done. I’m done, do you hear me? I just lost Bella for the second time. Medusa is a shell of who she used to be. I’m exhausted and I still have the stench of Hell on me. I’m done. I just can’t bring myself to care anymore.”

  Looking at Penemue, I said, “If you don’t want me to get involved, fine. I won’t. And as for you, kid, I’m done with you, too. I’m going to bed and when I wake up, I’m having a leisurely breakfast before I come back to this room. Either I’m going to find you two all patched up and friends again, or a splatted Penemue on the floor. I sincerely hope it’s the former, but if you decide to go the route of splat, you better be gone, EightBall. Because I swear to the GoneGods, if I ever see you again, you’ll be another stain beneath my boot.”

  And with that I left the room, praying that the two of them would come to their senses and knowing that there was nothing I could do.

  I wondered if Michael would give me a pass on this, too.

  Fighting Yourself Hurts

  I headed to my room, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed. But instead of finding my room empty, Marc was sitting there holding Spock in his hands.

  Spock. My Spock.

  My Spock that I bought with PopPop when I was twelve. We drove for three hours to find a toy store that sold him, stopping for burgers and shakes both ways! It was one of my favorite pieces, not just because I was a Trekkie, but because of all the memories wrapped up with it.

  “I’ve just been through Hell. I lost Bella—again—and my best friend will probably die today.” I cracked my knuckles. “But for reasons I’m sure are completely irrational, seeing Spoke in your hands makes me angrier than the other stuff by a long mile. A long fucking mile!”

  And then I did something I wasn’t particularly proud of … I sucker-punched, well, me.

  OK, I lied. I was proud I managed to get that shot in. After all, Marc was me, so he should have known exactly what I would do in a situation like that. It was his fault he didn’t anticipate it, and his loss he didn’t think of it first.

  Marc went down hard with a thud, but before I could say “Haha,” he was up and on his feet, one fist in my gut.

  I keeled over, using my somewhat prone position to push him into the wall. He hit it with a thud and then the two of us really got into it. A proper street brawl, complete with punching, kicking, hair-pulling and name-calling.

  “You can’t beat me,” Marc said. “I am the better, stronger version of you.”

  That really pissed me off, but he did have a point—I was fighting myself, which meant I needed to do something that I wouldn’t do in a fight. I waited until Marc lifted his leg for a kick, and grabbing the Magic 8-Ball on my shelf, I pounded it into his skull.

  Him, being me, assumed I’d never use one of my precious collector’s items as a weapon. But I did, and that’s what threw him off. I pounded the 8-Ball until the plastic cracked and blue dye splattered all over him. Then I pounded him some more, driving its ragged plastic shell into him.

  I hit him until his eyes glazed over and I knew I had won. More importantly, he knew I had won.

  Breathing heavily, I stood over Marc, having defeated myself. Seeing me beaten was really quite something—humbling and enthralling all at once. It kind of reminded me of Enter the Dragon, when Bruce Lee faces himself in the final scene of the movie. In that story, Bruce Lee has finally learned to make peace with his own demons.

  In my story, I just beat the hell out of the asshole in me. And being super mature about it, I kicked my—I mean, his. Ahhh, it’s all so confusing—ass again.

  Marc groaned at the last little jab. Looking up at me, the bastard smiled, his normally white teeth framed by blood. He looked downright terrible … and I realized that’s exactly what I looked like when I got my ass kicked. Yikes, I really needed to work on my wounded look.

  “Very good,” Marc said, pulling a piece of plastic out of his forehead. “And you have left me with a few wounds that will hopefully scar.”

  “Hopefully?”

  “So people can distinguish us.” Marc chuckled. “You really did beat me. I didn’t think you could. You’re filled with so much … hesitation. Self-questioning. Doubt. I don’t know how you can function the way you are.”

  I took a seat next to his prone body. “You act like doubt is a weakness—”

  “It is.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s what guides me. Helps me know that I’m doing the right thing. It’s what makes me … me.” Offering a hand to my fallen self, I helped Marc to a seat on the couch beside me.

  Marc shuffled onto the couch and spit out blood on my marble floor. I would say it was gross, but that was exactly what I would have done in his shoes. But seeing it made me realize that I had a lot of bad habits.

  I looked at the blood and spittle. I’d have to take a mop to that.

  Then turning to my other self, I sighed. “Here’s something I’m not conflicted about: you’re going to have to leave.”

  Marc nodded. “I know.”

  “And never come back.”

  Another nod. “I know … I know. I’ll go.”

  “Where?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But since I doubt you have a destination in mind, I thought I should mention something I found out. About our past. About our dad.”

  I told him the story with every detail I could recall. Marc listened intently and when I was finished, he nodded and without a hint of doubt said, “I’ll find him.”

  “You’ll try. And whatever comes of it, I don’t want to know.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You speak without doubt. It’s so … unlike you,” Marc said, as if genuinely surprised at my answer.

  “I made peace with not having a father long ago. And I have enough pain in my life to not add to it.” As I spoke those last words, my mind drifted to Bella.

  By the GoneGods, I’ll find a way back to you, I thought, knowing there was another thing I had no doubt about. I would find a way back to her. In this life or the next, I would.

  Looking over at Marc, I put a hand over my throbbing left eye. “Whatever you find out, I don’t want to know.”

  Marc gave me another curious look. “Very well … I won’t return. And when I find him, I’ll make no attempts to tell you what I discovered. This I promise. And given that we share so much, you know what those words mean to me. You know how serious I am.”

  I nodded, then thought about Penemue and all that had happened. “Amend that. You won’t tell me unless some greater need compels you to.”

  “Greater need?”

  “Yeah. Being in Hell taught me something about oaths … you need a loophole. You always need a loophole.”

  “Humph, Hell was good for you, Jean-Luc. And yes, I agree. I won’t return, nor will I share what I discover unless something greater than the two of us compels me to.”

  “Good,” I said with a chuckle. “Right now, I can’t think of what that greater need could be, so I’m confident I’ll never see you again.”

  Marc flashed me another blood-filled smile. “I don’t know, there’s so much to fix and so much that could go wrong. Still, my return would constitute something epic. Terrible. Earth-shattering. Sometime like—”

  “The gods coming back.” I flashed him a blood-soaked smile of my own.

  “Something exactly like that.”

  “Good, then we’re in agreement and there’s nothing more to say.” I gestured to the door. But as Marc stood to leave, I knew that there was one more thing to say. And as much as I hated the son of bitch who was, well, me, I owed it to him (and in some mind-bending, existential
crisis-causing way, to me) to tell him.

  “Marc,” I said, “there is one more thing. And as much as I will hate myself for telling you, I’ll hate myself more for not telling you.”

  “Ahh, there’s the conflicted, always-debating-himself Jean-Luc I know and love.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Whatever. Listen, in Hell I found out some shit about my—um, our—father.”

  “Different than all the shit you just told me about him?”

  “Yes,” I said, “different is one way of putting it.”

  And I told him everything I knew.

  ↔

  There was very little ceremony in what happened next. Marc just picked up his jacket and left. No more words shared between us. No more thoughts. Hell, he didn’t even look back at me.

  He just walked out of the hotel and toward the grounded warbird. Stepping inside, he clicked on its mighty blades and took to the sky. I wondered where he’d go. And knowing myself, I could guess … because if I ever got exiled from the only place I considered home, I’d probably go back to the only place I knew would still have me.

  The Army. My old unit.

  Then again, I might go looking for the Others who abducted our father.

  But as much as Marc was me and I was him, I couldn’t be sure that was where he’d go.

  All I knew was what I needed to do: keep my promise. Stay here and help as best I could. That, and find a way back to Bella. She was out there, alive and well—OK, dead and well.

  We could be together again and I’d move Heaven and Hell to find a way.

  But thinking about Bella also made me think about Medusa. She was back and from everything I could see, she was broken. I needed to help her, too. Even if that help meant leaving her alone so she could heal without her feelings for me getting in the way.

  Shaking my head, my last thought before crawling into bed was of Penemue and EightBall. I truly hoped that they would come to their senses. Part of me wanted to run back to their room and stop whatever horrors might or might not be taking place. But I knew that stupid lug of an angel was determined to let EightBall have his revenge.