The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

  * * *

  After the hanging, chaos erupted. People flocked to the gallows. Robert, who was already half drunk, was easily shoved down and nearly trampled. He managed to stagger to his feet and make it over to the wooden divider, where he stayed for a long while. The throng was packed so tightly around the scaffold that he was unable to get through.

  He couldn’t believe his friend was gone. He heard Lord Javan yell out to stop the hanging.

  Then Pierce dropped from sight. People had been in his way and as a result, Robert didn’t witness Pierce actually meeting his end. That gave him a foolish sliver of hope.

  Then the black horses rode by once again.

  They appeared to belong to Death himself. The mounts pulled the cart as before, and as they passed Robert, he felt his heart seize up.

  Pierce lay inside the black coffin. His eyelids had been closed. His hands were folded over his chest. The noose had been removed and his shirt collar buttoned all the way up. Robert surmised an officer had done that. Pierce hated having his shirt buttoned so high. His face, which was nearly an olive shade, had turned pallid from where the rope had squeezed the color right out of him. People on both sides of the divider threw flowers upon the body.

  A hush came over everyone, and in that moment, it seemed the entire city of London wept.

  With the proof displayed before his very eyes, Robert left for the nearest pub.

  “What will it be?” asked the barkeep when Robert stumbled into the bar.

  “Whiskey and a pint.”

  “Looks like you’ve already started drinkin’, lad. Or haven’t stopped, eh?”

  Robert shot him a hard, mournful stare, indicating he was in no mood for conversation.

  “Christ Almighty.” The barkeep frowned as he turned away to grab a whiskey bottle. “Who died, eh?”

  * * *

  “I must say, this is quite peculiar, indeed,” remarked Benny Charmers to farmer Stan Fritz. “What has kept them both asleep?”

  Benny had been traveling to town when he came across a coachman in the middle of the road. A pair of thieves saw him and darted off the coach, taking with them the money billfold they appeared to have snatched out of the driver’s coat pocket. When Benny reached the driver, he feared the worst, yet after a close examination, he found that the man wasn’t dead, but merely sleeping. What made things all the more curious was that his horse was also sound asleep. On its feet, but dead to the world all the same, and no matter how hard he tried, Benny couldn’t get either of them to awaken.

  “S’pose I’ll fetch the authorities,” Farmer Fritz said. “I suspect something dodgy has happened here.”

  * * *

  Orenda bought her train ticket and boarded the 8:45 A.M. train to Southampton. There was much uncertainty now. She, herself, might be killed very soon. In fact, everyone in the world could be in serious trouble. Only time would tell.

  The train’s whistle blew and, afterward, the iron horse jerked forward as it began pulling out of the station. If nothing happened, Orenda would arrive in Lepe shortly.

  * * *

  There’s a funny thing about death. All your memories in life, even the forgotten ones, return to you. Not in flashes, as some might think, but as simple memories. I remember now why I had to cut my hair short, darling. I can’t wait to tell you that story someday. Live your life well and always know we’ll be together again. Give our children my love.

  Taisia opened her eyes and quickly sat up. “Pierce?” she called out into the darkness.

  No one answered.

  She heard his voice clearly, telling her something she could not remember him saying.

  Taisia touched her cheek where it felt as if she had been kissed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The In-Between

  The In-Between felt older than the world itself. What exactly was this place? How did it come to be?

  It was an endless forest with every kind of tree in it. There were all sorts of rocks from tiny pebbles to giant boulders. There were flat areas and there were hilly slopes. Streams flowed through the woodland like vital arteries, some falling off tall cliffs. The In-Between was unchanging, including the time of day, which remained on the cusp of afternoon and dusk, making everything a shade of purplish-red. There was plenty of movement, from the animals scurrying about, to the insects.

  Why a forest, anyway? Why wasn’t the In-Between an ocean, or island, or, hell, a city, for that matter? Was the In-Between the same for everyone?

  Nothing had a smell to it, not even the flowers. Was there air to breathe? No sense of touch, either. The bark on the trees had no texture, and the wind was only evident by the rustling of the leaves. Queer.

  At least Pierce could see and hear. Perhaps in death, the touching and smelling of things just wasn’t that important. The clothing he had perished in had journeyed with him to the afterlife. Not such bad duds to be dead in, he reckoned.

  The shackles, unfortunately, were still clamped to his wrists, arms, and ankles. He wanted them off, and so willed it so. He did so without putting much thought into it. All the restraints rusted rapidly and fell from him in a copper and red dust cloud that plumed when it hit the ground.

  The sharp, quick pain was the last thing Pierce had felt in life. Ol’ Leo had done his job well. The noose had snapped his neck like a twig.

  Deaf old tosser.

  He rubbed his throat. It seemed to be in good working order, though.

  Pierce decided there was plenty of time to sort out his questions about the In-Between. He had no plans to leave until Taisia joined him, and after that, who knows? There didn’t seem to be any rules in this place, no Grim Reaper shoving him along with a scythe. Perhaps he and Taisia could remain and wait for their children when their time came, and maybe even stay afterward to meet their descendants. Why the hell not?

  Pierce wasn’t alone in the In-Between. People from all walks of life were about, doing different things: lying in hammocks up in the trees, fishing in rivers, or playing games. No one displayed the signs of their death, not even those who had kicked the bucket before old age had caught up to them, such as the children. It saddened Pierce to see the likes of them about. He took comfort in that at least here they were happy and safe.

  He didn’t try chatting with anyone as he explored the vast death realm. For a time, he walked without direction until he spied a glow coming from the side of a mountain in the distance. He decided to find out what it was.

  After a while, he arrived at a waterfall. There, sitting at a small table and playing chess, were two men.

  Well, a spirit and a demon, anyway.

  “Thooranu?” Pierce said.

  Thooranu looked over at him. He smiled and held up a finger for him to wait a second.

  “I move my bishop and take your king,” he said to his ancient and frightening-looking opponent. “And that, my friend, is checkmate.”

  Thooranu leaned into his chair and slapped his hands on his knees. “There, you old goat! After all this time, the game is finally over.”

  The geezer stared at the chessboard in disbelief before spouting off angrily in Russian.

  Thooranu chuckled while he stood and walked away. “I do not want to hear it. I’ve waited three hundred years to make that move. Don’t be a sore loser.”

  “Are you dead, too?” Pierce asked as the demon reached him.

  “No. I’m only visiting so as to finish my game.”

  The Russian shouted and cursed, knocking the board right off the table. Chess pieces went flying everywhere.

  “The man doesn’t appreciate losing, eh?” Pierce remarked.

  “Bah, that’s just Ivan Vasilyevich. He’s always been that way. That dreaded temper of his caused him to whack his only son in the head with his cane, killing the young man on the spot.”

  “Aye. I read about that,” Pierce recalled as the deceased Russian monarch stormed away angrily.

  “I’m sure you did. And I heard what happened to yo
u. It’s a shame. If I hadn’t been preoccupied with other affairs, I might’ve learned about it and gotten you out of it.”

  “You’d have done that for me?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not? You did help free me, remember?”

  “Aye, it’s hard to forget, mate. I just didn’t know a demon would give a toss, regardless.”

  “A full-blooded demon? No. Call it my better, weaker half. The side that gets me into trouble.”

  Pierce snorted. “I’m familiar with that half all too well, chum.”

  Pierce and Thooranu chatted for a long time and Pierce had all his questions about the In-Between answered. He soon moved on alone, heading for the light piercing the mountainside.

  He came to a deep place in the forest where tall, thick trees blotted out the light and allowed only midnight blues, greens, and violet shades through.

  In a small space between the trees, sitting on bright green moss, was someone else he recognized.

  “Landcross!” greeted Robin of Locksley. He stood, as did the woman with him.

  “’Ello, Rob.”

  They embraced each other and when they parted, Pierce got a good look at him. Robin no longer sported his long fangs or had the fierce eyes of a predator. He’d become his old human self again.

  In this place where the dead walked, Robin of Locksley never looked more alive.

  “Pierce Landcross, let me introduce you to my wife, Lady Marian Maud Fitzwalter Locksley.”

  Maid Marian was a strikingly beautiful young thing, with long, dark hair, blue eyes that matched her husband’s, and a face carved out of white marble.

  In a voice as calming and gentle as a spring breeze, she uttered, “Hello, Pierce Landcross. I have heard much about you.”

  Maid Marian knew his name! Even in this place, Pierce stood there, utterly fascinated.

  “A pleasure, milady.” He took her hand and bowed. He kissed it, wishing he could feel her skin upon his lips.

  When he rose, he studied her. “If you don’t mind me asking, when did you die? You look so young.”

  “Why thank you, good sir, for such a welcoming compliment. I passed on as I was closing in on my eighty-first year. My heart simply gave out.”

  “Oh, I thought you came here looking the age you died.”

  “Why would you think that?” asked Robin.

  “I saw Ivan the Terrible not long ago.”

  “Oh, him.” Robin waved it off as Marian wrapped her arms around his arm. “He stays in his old form because he just doesn’t care. Here you can return to any age you were in life.”

  Pierce rubbed his chin, intrigued. “Is that so? Huh. What are your plans now?”

  “We wish to eventually leave and start new lives,” Marian proclaimed.

  “Won’t you both be separated?”

  “Not really,” Robin explained. “It turns out that once you find your life mate, you are bound to be with them again in another life.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Indeed. If you’re unlucky in love during one lifetime, in the next—if you choose to live again—you can still find the person you belong to.”

  “And you can relive falling in love with that person and all the delights that come with it?”

  “Indeed,” Marian explained. “It so happens that Robin and I were lovers in our previous lives, as well.”

  “Interesting,” Pierce remarked.

  “We’ve decided to remain here and keep you company until your own wife arrives,” Robin continued,

  “I’m touched. Don’t want to keep you from your plans, though. Y’know, be the third wheel and all.”

  “You need not fret, Landcross,” Robin consoled him. “Marian and I can always make ourselves scarce in order to tend to our desires, just as we have done nearly every moment since I got here.”

  Marian blushed. “Robin,” she murmured with embarrassment.

  “Oi,” Pierce said. “You’re allowed to do that here?”

  Robin shrugged. “Sure. There are no rules stating otherwise.”

  “What’s the point, though? You can’t feel anything—can you?”

  “Aye, that’s when you use your refined memory,” Robin explained, tapping Pierce once on the forehead. “Remember the single best moments you had while making love and the recollection alone will bring forth pleasure.”

  Pierce, liking the sound of this, reckoned he’d perhaps stay a few centuries, after all.

  “Pierce Landcross,” came a voice he had hoped he would never hear again.

  He turned to see Freya Bates walking toward him from between a pair of trees.

  He crossed his arms and huffed. “If it ain’t the hell cunt. You’re dead as well, I see.”

  “Yes,” she grunted bitterly. “Thanks to an unknown assistant and your grandmother.”

  Freya was plenty angry, which made Pierce very happy.

  “Good,” he stated earnestly. “Then you can’t do any more bloody damage. You can’t hurt me or anyone else ever again.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Landcross,” she said brusquely. “Before I was murdered, I saw you drop from the gallows. You died many moments before I did. Do you remember the rules? Whoever is still alive—or, at the very least, dies last—takes possession.”

  Pierce uncrossed his arms. “Aye. I remember.”

  His un-beating heart bottomed out. He had lost this game.

  “All bets are off the table,” Freya declared.

  She suddenly changed into a scorched body. Her skin became blackened and torn with red meat showing between the cracks and smoke fuming from her. Her clothing became burnt rags and one side of her head was completely crushed as if a cannonball had fallen on it.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” Pierce shrieked, jumping away.

  “Never have I ever seen anything so revolting,” Marian stated, utterly horrified by the sight before her.

  “This is your grandmother’s doing,” Freya seethed. “Do you know what I’m going to do now?”

  He dreaded the answer.

  “I am recanting my promise to protect your family. In fact, I plan to cast a bad luck spell over each of them. There shall be painful deaths, illness, grief, and depression for your family in the generations to come. I’ll have Élie’s body slowly torn apart little by little until she’s in pieces, and then I’ll make her whole again to repeat the process.” She pointed a burnt finger at Pierce. “And as for you, I will keep you as my personal slave for eternity. I’ll lock you away in pure darkness for a millennium whenever I want.”

  Pierce started to shake. He just knew she’d do all that and more once she took possession of the djinn.

  “Shut your mouth, witch!” Robin joined. “You have no power here.”

  “Uh, Rob,” Pierce cautioned.

  “Not yet,” Freya agreed. “At least, not until my djinn arrives.”

  “Djinn?” Robin said, confused.

  Instead of explaining it to Robin, Freya said, “And once I am made into a djinn, I will separate you from your precious Marian forever!”

  “Oi, piss off,” Pierce interjected, stepping in front of Robin and his bride. “It’s me you’re sore at, eh? Leave them out of it.”

  Her single violet eye switched over to him. “Soon, Landcross, you’re going to learn your place.”

  Pierce had no earthly idea what had happened to Freya or how she had been burned, but truly, he feared the consequences of it. In death, she could not touch him, but as a djinn, all bets were off, just as she had claimed.

  “Mother!” came a voice from behind the trees.

  Everyone turned to where a slender being had emerged from the forest. It was very tall, wore no clothing, and had no genitals of any kind. Its skin glowed with a variety of greens and blues, colors that traveled throughout its body like water shifting under glass. The being’s pure white eyes pulsed as slow as an elephant’s heartbeat. It had no hair, and its ears tapered to fine points besides its perfectly shaped head.

  �
�Vela?” Freya said, thankfully transforming back to her natural appearance. “Child, is it you?”

  The tall, sexless figure stopped and stared at her.

  It was a djinn, and its powerful energy radiated off it so strongly that even the dead could feel its heat.

  “Mother,” repeated the djinn without moving its emerald lips.

  “Oh, you made it, child,” Freya said happily. “Mommy is so proud of you.”

  Pierce slumped. The scaffold had taken his life before Freya had met her own end, and that had given her the reins to the most powerful creature that had ever existed.

  “We are going to live such incredible lives, my darling,” Freya promised her daughter. “We shall transform this world and all worlds into our vision and create anything we choose.”

  She reached over to touch the djinn’s face. When she did, a little jagged electrical current sparked toward her fingers. It snapped against her skin, which caused her to flinch. Freya steadied herself, drew her hand back, and placed it against the djinn’s cheek. She ignored the other currents lashing out at her. It leaned into her palm and closed its white, glowing eyes.

  Pierce glanced over at Robin and Marian. He had no idea what to do. Could they even run from a djinn?

  “Make me a djinn, my daughter,” ordered Freya. “Let us begin our journey.”

  “Mother,” the djinn uttered in a distraught tone. “Mother, help me. Please!”

  “Help you?” Freya repeated, baffled. “You’re a djinn. Oh, darling, this must be so new to you. Turn me into a djinn and I shall help you adjust.”

  The djinn opened its eyes. It gently grasped her by the hand, removed it from its face, and held it close to its chest. “I’m not the dominant,” the djinn blurted out, again without moving its mouth. “He is!”

  Pierce was taken aback by her statement. “Kolt?”

  The djinn turned its sights on him. “Hello, Father,” the djinn greeted him in Kolt’s voice and through moving lips.