Hell's Bells

by K. B. Draper

  “I never understood the human’s need to dance. Every race, every generation,” a voice said from the shadows.

  I hip-checked the ass of a ’90s something Buick, which gave me an idea. I kicked my boot on the bumper and dragged it down, dislodging … and, yep, a flippin’ condom. “Reason 12,364,” I muttered before turning and greeting my guest.

  “Reason for what,” Papa Michael said, stepping out onto the broken asphalt.

  “Why I’m a no-go with the jizz hose.”

  “Jizz hose?”

  I normally would have taken great glee in having just inspired an archangel to say jizz hose, but my energizers were low. “Nothing. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I understand you survived and even managed to defeat one of my brother’s horsemen. That’s very impressive.”

  “So what? You’re here to hand out participation ribbons?”

  “I’m here to see if my son has reconsidered.”

  “And you stopped in to annoy me first because?” I asked, already starting to walk away from him.

  “I thought maybe you would know his decision.”

  “I’m not your son’s keeper. I’m his friend.” I stopped and turned. “Actually, I’m more than his friend. I’m his family because his turned out to be shit and abandoned him.”

  With one flap of his wings, he was in front of me. “Most humans would bow at my feet.”

  “Yeah, I’m not most humans, and bowing isn’t really my thing. Sorry to disappoint.” I flicked him in the breastbone and resumed walking.

  It took a bit, but the angel eventually came alongside me. “I’m not disappointed. It’s quite refreshing actually.”

  “Not a fan of the blind worship types?”

  “Not particularly.”

  I side-eyed him. “Funny, since you’re so good at it.”

  He stiffened, but didn’t kabob me with the large sword sheathed at his waist, so win.

  “That is different.”

  I snorted a laugh. “Is it? Please do tell.”

  “I serve The Almighty, the maker of worlds. This is how it must be.”

  “I dig the creator of the Double Stuf Oreo. Doesn’t mean I would forsake my family for them.”

  This time he stopped. “I didn’t forsake my family. My son made choices, and now he has to deal with the consequences.”

  “He fell in love. Had a child. Chose to leave everything he knew, go against everything he was taught to believe in, to find that child and protect him.” The images of finding Michael in Hell hung by meat hooks fueled my already brewing anger. “Because that’s what fathers do.”

  I stepped into his angely grille. “They don’t take the fucking chicken exit and hide behind some bullshit thou shalt not, whatever the fuck, rules.” I stepped back. When he didn’t fill in the convo gap, I turned my back on him and walked away. “Man up and talk to your son. See your grandson. Maybe you will come to figure out, like I have, that they are worth fighting for.” I didn’t hear his retreat, but when I checked fifty yards later, he was gone.

  Though I was bone tired, Papa Michael’s visit had my muscles humming. I needed to run.

  It wasn’t the pretty trek that I’d enjoyed the last few weeks at the reservation. Instead of trees and rivers, I had dumpsters and grease traps since I wanted to keep to the alleys and the backsides of buildings. There was nothing like a woman running through town at four-plus a.m. in normal street clothes to attract the local cops. Been there, poorly explained that.

  I’d just rounded the corner behind an Aldi when the path before me lit up a la yellow brick road. I stopped. Three-sixtied it. Nothing. I took a hesitant step. Then another. I wasn’t flash fried or beamed up to an awaiting spaceship, so I took that as a good sign. Well, that and Norm wasn’t lighting warning bells in my brain cap so I assumed nothing too horrible was going to happen. Probably. I went with it. I mean why not at this point. I looked around for another three hundred yards, stopping when the lighted path ended at an Arby’s. Let me repeat. An. Arby’s. W.T.Triple F. Translation: What the fuckity fucking fuck?

  The back door swung open as if a maître d’ had seen me coming, but of course it wasn’t that because again, Arby’s, but I took the gesture as an opening to the most embarrassing death scene ever. I slipped in, the door closing behind me. I freakin’ swore if I did all this only to have my obituary say “died walking into an Arby’s,” I was going to lose my shit.

  “Come in. Come in,” a voice, a pluck at my heartstrings voice, said from the kitchen area. “I’m just whipping up a couple of roast beefs and a batch of spicy curly fries.”

  I eased around the corner of a cooling unit to see the woman that I associated with the voice leaning over the fry cooker. She looked up and smiled. “Hello, sweetheart.”

  “Grandma?”

  “In the flesh.” She looked down at her semi-translucent body. “Well, maybe not in the flesh, but you get the idea.”

  I stepped closer and paused. “Am I dead? I don’t remember dying. There’s been a couple iffy moments but—”

  “No, you’re not dead. I’m the only one here with that privilege.”

  Flashbacks from my acid trip to purgatory set off warning bells in my skull. “How do I know it’s really you?”

  Grandma turned full frontal, and all my insides went mushy. The mere sight of my very most favorite person ever made me not care if she was real or not—well, as long as she didn’t try to eat my face. “Your favorite food is my fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy.”

  “Psht. That’s on my LinkedIn page.”

  “Okay, you hate beets.”

  “Again, LinkedIn.”

  She fisted a hand to her hip. Total g-ma move and my heart went wonky. “One summer when you were staying the week with us, you thought a doodle bug crawled in your nose and you ran around the yard screaming, “It’s eating my brain! It’s eating my brain!”

  I waved the memory away. “Common childhood event that could apply to anyone.”

  “All you were wearing at the time were your cowboy boots and your sister’s Care Bear underwear because you forgot to pack any britches of your own.”

  I did my own fist to hip action. “Which bear?”

  “Grumpy bear. Your little sister said it was what you were making her.”

  I smiled. “Grandma.”

  “Sweetheart,” she answered, her arms opening wide so I could step into them. She was corporeal enough for me to wrap my arms around her, to feel her lips give my cheek an all-too-familiar kiss. I held her tight, not letting go until she finally tapped out. “Okay, okay. I technically don’t need to breathe anymore, but it’s still a nice option.”

  I stepped back, taking her in. “What are you doing here?” I looked around at the here.

  “I was having one heck of a craving for a roast beef sandwich and spicy curly fries. They try up there, but they aren’t the same. Probably because everything is organic.” She rolled her eyes as she moved back to the sandwich-making station. Some machine dinged overhead. “I miss these and the Wendy’s chocolate Frosty. Again, they try, but it’s all almond and soy nonsense.”

  “So you just came down for a late night,” I eyed the clock on the nearby oven, “early morning snack?”

  “A bonus for making the trip. Let me just get this.” She moved to dump the fry basket, shaking it a few times to get off the extra grease. “Then we’ll sit down and chat.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know, cooking is one thing I don’t miss.” She sighed as she moved back to the buns already out on the counter. “Except for family dinners. I loved our big family dinners.”

  My heart coughed in my chest at the memories. My grandma and mother would put together the most amazing feasts for the holidays. “How is your mother?” she asked, as if she’d taken the same memory lane trip. “I’ve popped in on her and my boy Roy several times. They seem well.”

  “They’re good.”

  “Your sister? The girls? They�
��re getting so big. Three packets of sauce enough?”

  “What?” She waved Arby’s special sauce packets. “Yeah, sure. Fine. They’re all doing good.” I just hoped they stayed that way.

  She plated a tray with a wrapper before putting the two sandwiches, a pile of fries, and a handful of condiments on it. “Okay then. Let’s eat.”

  I followed my grandmother to the front of the restaurant. She handed me the tray as she stopped to grab drinks from the soda dispenser. “No pop up there either.” She rolled her eyes with exaggerated suffering. “I don’t see the harm. What would it do, kill us?” She pulled two cups from the dispenser, filling them with ice. “What can I get you?”

  “A shot of bourbon. Or seven.”

  She chuckled. “That’s another thing they don’t do up there. It’s all wine, wine, and more wine. Never had the taste for the stuff myself.” She set two sodas on the tray. “Let’s sit.”

  I did as I was told, and she slid in the booth across from me. “You look a little tired. You’re not getting enough rest.” I lifted and dropped a shoulder. “You have such a burden to bear, my sweet AJ.”

  I reached for a curly fry. “You know about that?”

  “Yes. Now. I didn’t know about anything then. Well, that’s not true. I knew something had happened during our trip, but I’d thought you were heartbroken over that Native American boy who started following you around. Summer love and all that.”

  I snorted. “Umm, no.”

  Grandma chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I missed the mark by a mile on that one. I didn’t know at the time you preferred lady friends.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, I do like lady friends.”

  “Good for you.” She patted my wrist. “Boys are nothing but trouble. If I had a do-over I might like a lady friend myself.”

  I coughed on my curly fry. “Grandma! Geez!”

  “Oh, I love your grandfather. And apparently, there is no getting rid of him at this point. So I guess I’ll keep him. But give me another go, maybe I’d give Ellen a run for that wife of hers. Porsche.”

  “Portia?”

  “Um, all I know is she could rev a girl’s engine.”

  “I really hope this is a dream and I’m going to forget this whole convo in the morning.”

  Grandma laughed. “Spirit walk actually.”

  “Spirit walk?”

  “Yeah, you know, wander off in the woods, commune with nature, find your way.”

  “My spirit walk consists of me sleepwalking into an Arby’s to eat curly fries? Wait, what am I thinking? Of course it does.”

  “It consists of you searching for encouragement, safety, and answers with someone you trust to give you advice. Plus, you’re not sleepwalking; you’re totally woke.” I cocked a brow. “Isn’t that what all the kids are saying these days? Woke?”

  “Yeah. Sure. But it doesn’t mean awake-awake, it’s more like informed or educated about something.”

  “Oh, so I guess I should say I’m woke that you’re a lesbian demon hunter. And I’m so sorry about that. Well, sorry about the last part. We should’ve gone to Pea Ridge like we’d planned or found somewhere else to go that summer.”

  “Pea Ridge? What does that have to do with this?”

  “That’s where we’d planned on taking you girls. We always liked trying to take you two somewhere fun, but educational. That year we’d planned on taking you to the Battle of Pea Ridge. We’d learned that my great-great-uncle had fought there and thought the family connection would be interesting.”

  I hated to tell her, but cannonballs and dudes running around with faux muskets wouldn’t have ever been interesting to my seventeen-year-old self or any age self. Today, however, I was very interested, at least in the “not going” part of the Battle of Pea Ridge story. “Why didn’t we go?”

  “Well, first we wanted to move things up a couple of weeks because of the whole …” she trailed off.

  “Erika thing?”

  “Right, that. We wanted to get you away from it all, but then the day before we were going to leave there was an incident.”

  “An incident? What kind of incident?”

  “One of the reenactors took his role a little too seriously and injured a half dozen union soldiers before one of the visitors realized it wasn’t part of the show and intervened.”

  “A visitor?” I had a feeling I knew this “visitor” as he was likely the same “visitor” that had pulled me out of the river weeks before.

  “Yes. I can’t remember all the details. Anyway, when that happened, your grandpa and I decided we’d take you to Oklahoma instead.”

  My teeth began to itch. “Oklahoma? Why Oklahoma?”

  She waved a hand. “Ironically, that same day we got a tourist flyer in the mail. You know one of those ‘Visit Oklahoma,’ and we thought it looked educational and a little serendipitous since our other plans got sidetracked.”

  “So we went to Oklahoma instead. Surprise. Surprise.” I would have pushed back from the table, flipped a chair, and begun pacing, but I was in a booth. Booths were not conducive to fit throwing. There was something about the butt slide, adjust, butt slide, adjust, and then out thing that took a little off the top, so I stayed seated. “It was serendipitous all right,” I muttered.

  “Well, I guess we know now it was fate’s little nudge. Fair or not,” Grandma reached out and laid a hand over mine. The familiar touch deflated me. “Sweetheart, you were meant to be there. The world needs you. You are so very special.” She squeezed my hand, coaxing my eyes up to hers. “I’m so sorry all of this was put on you, but I’m also very proud. You could’ve turned your back, but instead you’ve chosen to fight. And because of your choice; because of who you are, we—humanity—have a chance.”

  “But what if I can’t, what if I’m not—”

  “Hush that right now.” She used her other hand to give my arm a little slap. “I won’t hear any negative Nelly talk. Plus, your food is getting cold. You need to eat. You’re too skinny.” She gave my hand one last squeeze and released it to lift the top of my sandwich to apply a generous swirl. “I got one of these every Sunday after church.”

  Her wistful tone brought me back. “And Grandpa always got the ham and cheese. How is he by the way?”

  “He’s good. He’s in his element. But I’ll tell you; they lie.”

  “They who? And lie about what?”

  “They,” she swirled a fry at the sky, which was a bit counterproductive. It being curly it was technically now pointed at the bathrooms. “That until death do you part stuff. There is no part about it. Every day. Every single day. And he still snores. Of all the things they fix once you get up there, snoring ain’t one of them. So I tell you now, pick carefully, because you’ll be stuck with them.”

  I chuckled. “Duly noted.”

  “Actually, I think you’re doing pretty good in that department. I think Ashlyn is very lovely.” She gave me a wink.

  “Ashlyn. You know about her too?” This thought warmed my gut. There had been so many times I’d wished my grandma had had the chance to know Ashlyn and vice versa. “How do you know about …”

  “I check in on you. I used to check in on you more, but I made the mistake of dropping in late one night when you were leaving a bar in Texas.”

  “Which bar?” I asked, silently praying she wasn’t talking about the cowboy bar where me and the Wild West exotic dance troupe ended up on top of a grain elevator. Let’s just say it’s all fun and games until someone loses a G-string in a conveyor belt.

  “The one outside Blessing, Texas.”

  Damn, forgot about that one. “Before or after Danny lost the assless chaps bet?”

  “After. Which was a little bit of a blessing, but you young lady.” She scolded me with another fry.

  “Hey, in my defense, it was the rodeo clown’s idea.”

  “Hmm, hmmm.” She ate the fry.

  I took a bite of my sandwich. “So how is up there? All bright and cheery? Is there real music
or is it harps 24/7?”

  Grandma laughed. “It’s nice, pleasant. A lot like here, but the news is a lot more boring. Perfect weather. No crime,” she smiled. “They are nice.”

  “They? Like everyone is nice? That has to be a tad annoying.”

  “They—God.”

  The drink I’d been swallowing reversed up my windpipe. I sputtered and coughed out, “God?”

  Grandma handed me a napkin. “Say it, don’t spray it.”

  “God? The God? You talk to …”

  “God. Yes.”

  “You said they?”

  “Yes. God doesn’t identify as any one race or gender. They are all things, all beings.”

  “Ohhh man, I bet some peeps become seriously woke when they get up there.”

  “Honestly, the watch parties are one of my favorite things. Some high and mighty steps off the up elevator expecting to receive their golden crown to heaven. They stand out there smiling and preening while their life’s highlight reel plays on the jumbotron. Oh, the looks on their faces when they get slapped down and sent packing.” Grandma pinched her nose as she threw her head back and laughed. And my heart ached at the memory of her doing this very thing so many times over the years. It became my young life’s mission to make this woman laugh as much and as frequently as possible.

  “You make it sound like Sunday night football.”

  Grandma waved me off. “Kind of, only I don’t judge them. To do that you have to go through this whole work study, certification, and exam thing. I haven’t bothered. Maybe when they move to online. I’ve heard rumors that’s in the works.”

  “Online classes for judging people?

  “I’m just kidding. Only the Holy One does the judging. Well, unless they are on vacation; then some subs or the interns tag in and run the show.”