by Gord Rollo
Before Tyrone’s prone body was an elaborately carved throne that wouldn’t have looked out of place inside any number of medieval castles, its lush cushions and backrest made from the finest red velvet and lovingly hand stitched. It was obviously a chair fashioned for someone of high importance; a king or queen perhaps, but Tyrone couldn’t understand what it was doing in a terrible place like this.
He was about to find out.
“On your knees, vermin!” a gruff voice shouted, a hard stick poking Tyrone in the ribs and forcing him to move.
Rolling over, the Marine saw a regal looking man in a sparkling clean ankle-length white robe, his perfectly groomed hair and beard matching his clothing. The man had a pompous holier-than-thou attitude about him but he had a hard, cold look in his eyes and a grimace on his thin face.
“Up, I said… and I meant it!” He gave Tyrone another rough poke in the side for emphasis. “A word to the wise, boy; when you’re told to do something around here, you’d best do it. Especially around the witch.”
“Around who?” Tyrone asked, starting to climb to his feet and getting a whack across his thighs for disobeying.
“I said on your knees, fool, not your feet. I mean really; the audacity of young people these days! Who do you think you are? You should be honored you’re even getting this opportunity. Most of the scum around here don’t get to meet her; I can assure you of that.”
Tyrone settled onto his knees as he’d been instructed, his survival instincts kicking in and making him consider trying to take the staff away from the old man and teach him a few lessons of his own but his head was still spinning and his body wasn’t ready for more confrontation yet. It was also just dawning on him that his .45 was missing, along with his shoulder holster and ka-bar knife. A quick pat of his pockets told him all the rest of his supplies had been pilfered as well. Not exactly surprising in a place like this. Instead of wasting energy getting pointlessly angry, Tyrone asked, “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Where am I? And who the hell is this witch?”
“The Scarlet Witch is the controller of your eternity, soldier. She rules this fortress and has authority over every soul here in Tartarus until their ultimate fate is written in the book of life. She alone can make your stay here comfortable and glorious like mine or a time of endless pain and humiliation so I suggest you mind your manners when she arrives. Understand?”
Tyrone didn’t; not really, but he nodded his head yes anyway.
“Good. There may be hope for you after all… but I doubt it.” The immaculately dressed man giggled long and hard, a touch of madness in his harsh laughter. His jovial mood was cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching down a long corridor, a wide-eyed mix of fear and respect replacing the old man’s cruel smile. In a whisper he said, “Pray my lady is in a forgiving mood, maggot. The Scarlet Witch comes…”
Tyrone focused on the doorway of the corridor that the sounds of the approaching footsteps were coming from halfway expecting to see a hideous old hag dressed in red robes enter the room, her witch persona complete with pointy red hat and large wart on the end of her bulbous nose. The woman who entered the chamber was anything but stereotypical. She was tall and walked gracefully, the lithe body of a trained athlete. Her long silky hair was jet black and she wore a form-fitting white lace evening gown that accentuated her womanly curves. It was impossible to tell her age, of course, but her skin was tanned and wrinkle free and if he’d been forced to guess Tyrone would have said she was in her early 30’s, in the prime of life and health.
It wasn’t until she shifted her gaze to look directly at him and he got a glimpse of her fiery red eyes that Tyrone began to understand where she’d gotten her name. Where most human eyeballs had a blue or brown or green iris surrounded by a larger white area known as the sclera, the women walking toward him had no white to her eyes at all; only a bright scarlet flame burning within an otherwise black void. She had the eyes of a Great White Shark; dark, deadly, primordial but undeniably mesmerizing, the flames capturing Tyrone’s attention effortlessly, drawing him toward her like the proverbial moth.
She was a strikingly beautiful woman and looked far closer to the Marine’s vision of a high fashion runway model than that of any sorceress he’d ever read about in books or seen in the movies. Tyrone’s gaze must have lingered a little too long on her body, his desire perhaps showing on his face because the pompous old man gave him another solid whack on the backside with his wooden staff, breaking the witch’s spell and jarring the Marine painfully back to reality.
“Remember what I said, boy,” he said in a whisper. “Forget your manners again and I’ll--”
“You’ll do nothing I don’t command you to do, Luther.” The witch’s voice was soft and tender but carried the air of authority to it of someone who knew they didn’t need to shout to be heard. Or obeyed. The old man hurried to bow and respond.
“Of course not, my lady. Your needs will always be my first and only priority. I was merely trying to teach the boy a small measure of respect.”
“And you presumed I might need your help for that. Perhaps you’re in need of a refresher course yourself…hmmm?”
Luther paled noticeably, bowing reverently and quickly moving away to the farthest corner of the chamber to give Tyrone and the witch privacy to speak. Her loyal servant easily put back in his place, the beautiful lady walked closer to where Tyrone knelt, her blazing eyes taking in every inch of the Tyrone’s body, studying his tattered shirt, his baggy camouflage pants, his brush cut hair, and his heavy black boots.
“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” she said, a smile on her red lips. “Obviously a military man. Fair enough. Name and rank, soldier?”
Tyrone briefly considered telling her, seeing as it was a harmless question, one he would have felt okay answering no matter who had captured and interrogated him but he wasn’t a prisoner of war here and he didn’t owe this strange woman anything.
“None of your business, lady…or witch; whatever I’m supposed to call you? You answer a question for me and I’ll think about answering yours.”
Luther gasped off in his corner, perhaps shocked at the Marine’s insolence. “I already warned him, my lady. I told him he’d best do as he was told.”
The Scarlet Witch shot the eavesdropping old man a fierce look that made him cringe and retreat to the wall in silence. Returning her attention to Tyrone, the witch forced a smile back onto her face. “Oh, we’re negotiating are we? Lovely. That’s not quite the way it works here but that’s fine. Your tit-for-tat suggestion is duly noted but officially denied. Now here’s my counter-offer. Answer my question immediately or I’ll make you scream for all fucking eternity.”
The Marine was about to try getting to his feet when she pointed her long manicured red fingernail at him and his head suddenly filled with daggers, an excruciating stabbing pain more horrible than anything the young man had ever endured before. He dropped back to the floor screaming, cradling his skull with his hands in a futile attempt to sooth the agony buried deep within. When the phantom knives in his brain began to twist and turn mercilessly, Tyrone began begging for release. The witch let him spasm for another five seconds then withdrew her psychic blades.
“Let’s try this again then, shall we? Name and rank, soldier.”
It wasn’t a question and Tyrone had definitely learned his lesson. The last thing he wanted to do was make this woman angry again. He was tough but not stupid. He still didn’t understand much in this new world he found himself in but he knew enough to know that the rules had changed significantly and there were people here with incredible powers. This Scarlet Witch was only the first of many and he needed to play along with her until he could find Tommy and figure a way out of this mess.
“Lance Corporal Tyrone Banks, ma’am. United States Marine Corp.”
“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Tyrone remained silent, stubborn to the end, but the witch wasn’t finished ta
unting him.
“You see, Luther…he’s not as dumb as he looks after all.”
The old man giggled but the Marine bit his cheek and kept his mouth shut. Talking would only make things worse. She wanted him to speak so she could hurt him some more. Tyrone didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
“Honest too. I like that. Yes, that’s right, boy; I already knew who you were.”
“You knew my name?” Tyrone asked, shocked out of his silence.
“And your rank and everything else about you. I know how old you were when you were potty trained; the exact time and date you diddled your first girlfriend in the backseat of your daddy’s Buick Century; how many times you called your mother a nasty bitch behind her back when you didn’t get your own way back in Cleveland. So yes, Lance Corporal Tyrone Marcus Banks of the United States Marine Corp, I know everything about you…except for one interesting thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The Book of Life. You’re not listed in it. I’ve checked with both the powers that be and neither one of them will admit to punching your ticket to the afterworld yet. They will eventually, but that’s what makes you so much fun to have around.”
“I don’t understand,” Tyrone said.
“The Book of Life is where your final judgment is written for all of eternity and it’s signed by one of the higher powers to let me know which direction your next stop will be. You being from the Christian faith; regardless whether you practice any form of worship or not, will eventually be judged by either Jesus or Lucifer. A Hindu man will have judgment passed by Buddha or Kali. Other religions have their own gods. I personally don’t give a damn who signs the book, as long as I know if someone is eventually going up or down.”
“And I’m not in the book?”
“Not yet, no.”
“But what does that mean?”
The Scarlet Witch broke into a full grin, revealing a set of jagged teeth as black as her eyes. “That’s the best part. It means for the foreseeable future, which could be ten days or ten years; perhaps even a thousand if all goes well, but until someone calls in to claim you…your sorry ass is all MINE!”
Tyrone had no idea how to respond to a revelation like that so he remained quiet.
“What’s the matter, boy?” the witch said, laughing. “Finally lost your tongue? That can be arranged, you know? Luther?”
The old man scurried closer, once he’d been summoned. “Yes, my lady?”
“What shall we do with our new friend? Any suggestions?”
“Your decision, of course, but seeing as he’s already a soldier it might be a good idea to add him to your army. Seems strong enough to handle the change.”
“Yes. An excellent suggestion indeed. I think you’re right. Call the guards and have him taken back to his cell. Then send word to General Krall I have a new recruit coming his way soon.”
Luther scurried off to do his master’s bidding, tossing one last sneer in Tyrone’s direction before leaving the room.
When they were alone, the witch walked closer to Tyrone, not in the least afraid of the young man. “What do you think of that, soldier boy? You like military life? You up for serving a new master?”
Tyrone only glared at her, his angry expression telling the witch everything she needed to know. “Good. I’m sure you’ll adjust to life here at Tartarus in time. And time, my friend, is something we have lots of around here.”
Luther returned a few minutes later, two burly guards following behind him and taking a post on either side of the entranceway to the room. Both men were tall and muscular who knew their place, silently awaiting instruction. The witch noticed them but ignored their presence for the time being.
“Just out of sheer curiosity,” she continued addressing Tyrone. “What was the question you wanted me to answer when we first met? Maybe we’ll play your silly little game after all. Might be fun!”
“I…I wanted to ask you if you knew where my brother was?” Tyrone hated himself for even asking the question but it was out of his mouth before he could think.
“You mean good ol’ Tommy? The brother who swore he’d protect you in ‘Nam and you paid back his love and loyalty by getting fucked up on Heroin and putting a bullet in his head? That the brother you want to know about?”
Tyrone’s eyes found the floor, shame washing over him again and making it impossible to look the snug witch in the eye. All he could think to say was, “Is he here?”
“Luther? Where might our friend’s brother be? Thomas Jefferson Banks is his name. How patriotic of his parents. He’s been with us what…a couple months now?”
“Yes, my lady. I believe you’ve assigned him to a cell in H-Level. Quite recently, actually. He’s awaiting deportation.”
“Deportation?” Tyrone said to the witch, finally climbing to his feet. “What does that mean? Where’s he going?”
“Tommy isn’t as lucky as you, unfortunately. His name’s been permanently written in the Book of Life and apparently the Fallen One has claimed his soul. Poor bugger. Seems that your beloved twin brother’s on his way to Hell!”
Before he could stop himself Tyrone charged at the arrogant bitch. It was a stupid idea but he just couldn’t help himself. He was confused and pissed off and really had no idea what he planned to do even if he was successful getting his hands on her, but there was no need to worry about that. The witch attacked him with her mind again, stopping him in his tracks with her steely probes. Tyrone was driven to the floor screaming, his mind a flesh hive of angry bees piercing his brain with long stingers. The agony built to a blazing crescendo and then thankfully everything went quiet and the Marine felt or saw nothing more.
11
Tyrone?
This can’t… real. That you, bro? If you can hear me, please… something’s wrong. I really… help…
Tyrone’s eyes snapped open and he found himself sprawled on a hard straw-covered floor in a warm dark place that for some reason seemed strangely familiar. He had a splitting headache, and the loud voice in his mind wasn’t helping much. Then he woke up enough to realize what was happening.
“Tommy?” he said. “Tommy…I’m here, man!”
“There’s no vun here by that name,” a man’s voice spoke from behind him, causing Tyrone to quickly roll over to see who was there. Moving fast caused another firecracker of pain to ignite inside his skull, but on the far side of the darkened room sat a young man with a shaved head and scruffy blonde beard. Whoever he was, he had a European accent but the Marine couldn’t place it yet. There was no aggression in the man’s posture – he was just casually leaning against the wall – so Tyrone relaxed and pulled himself into a sitting position as well.
“Sorry…just dreaming out loud, I guess. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’ve been up fer hours, friend. You’ve been calling out to this Tommy of yours for the last thirty minutes or so. He must be somevun special to you, ya?”
Tyrone nodded. “My twin brother. Died a few months ago.”
“Ahh, I’m sorry for your family. Two losses in such a short time is a sad, sad thing. My name is Henrik, by the vay. Henrik Lasson. I died of pancreatic cancer seven or eight months ago in my parent’s home in Stockholm, Sweden.”
“Seven or eight? You mean you don’t know? You can’t remember how long ago you died?”
Henrik smiled. “You’ll find that time is very hard to keep track of. It has a vay of becoming meaningless down here, ya?”
“I suppose. My name’s Tyrone Banks. I’m from Cleveland, Ohio, in the States but I died in the war over in Vietnam.” The Marine gazed around the room they were in; which was bleak and made entirely of black stone – obviously a prison or holding cell of some kind – and gestured with his hands at their surroundings. “It only happened a few days ago so all this is new to me. Takes a lot of getting used to, you know?”
“Absolutely. I remember that feeling vell. You’ll be fine.”
The conversation dried up
for a moment, Tyrone having lots of questions for his cellmate but not really knowing where he should start. There was no awkward tension between them, both men simply content to sit in silence for a moment. Tyrone used the quiet time to think back on the moments just before he’d opened his eyes. What had happened? Had he suddenly woken from a dream about his brother like he’d told Henrik, or had any of it been real? Had Tommy just tried to communicate with him again, the same as he’d done when Tyrone had been exiting the Cu Chi tunnel? Maybe. Maybe not. Until he found his brother, there was no way of knowing for sure.
How was he going to do that, though?
“Henrik, have you been stuck in this cell the whole time, or were you ever let out into the rest of the fortress?”
“I’ve only been in this room for several days. A judgment on my fate had been made but no one has come to tell me what happened yet. The suspense if killing me. Before judgment though, I vas on vork assignment as a carpenter and allowed to move freely around many of the areas.”
“So you know your way around pretty good, huh?”
“Sure, but vat about it?”
“I need to get out of here.”
“Out of our cell?”
“Out of Tartarus. I need to rescue my brother and find a way out of this hellhole.”
“Are you insane? Even if you can get out of this cell and eventually outside the fortress, ver would you guys possibly go that the vitch vouldn’t find you?”
It was a good question; one Tyrone really hadn’t stopped to consider before now. His mind was racing so fast, bound and determined to be reunited with Tommy that he wasn’t thinking straight. He needed a well thought out solid plan; not some rash bull-headed suicide mission. The Marine took a deep breath, rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of both hands.
