by Eirik Gumeny
“Freya’s freshly-shorn pubic mound,” he said, astounded. “I can’t believe you’re here. ... What are you doing here? And I mean here here.” He nodded his chin, indicating the men’s restroom.
“I told you if I ever died I’d come back and haunt your ass in the shower. You, uh, you don’t bathe as often as you probably should, by the way.”
“Yeah ...” The Norseman hung his head for a moment, then asked: “How’s Ali? You guys are together again, right? Are you banging? Can you even do that? What’s it like being a ghost? Can you change clothes?”
“He’s good.” Insofar as a spectral visage can blush, Catrina did. “We’re good. Being dead isn’t so bad, actually. We can go wherever we want and we never get tired. But, yeah, I am stuck in this –” She indicated her gossamer sweatpants, sandals, and too-large thrift store AC/DC t-shirt ensemble. “– for aaAAaall eteeEEeernity.”
The thunder god smiled again, then, abruptly, stopped.
“I should have saved you,” he said solemnly.
“It’s all right, Thor,” she replied. “I’m with Ali, that’s what I wanted. And the afterlife is pretty nice. I mean, you know that.”
“Yeah, but it’s after life, a reward, or punishment, a consolation prize for when you’re done living. And you didn’t get to do that. Live. I should have done something.”
“This isn’t a kind world, Thor. You’re a god. You forget that.”
“I’ve never forgotten I’m a god,” replied the legitimately confused blonde man.
“OK, right, let me rephrase: I’m not a god. You forget that. You and Vicky and Charlie and Billy ... you’re built for a world like this, with angry leprechauns and lasers and whatever the hell else there is out there. Me and Ali, we weren’t. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to us.”
“But Ali had a robotic arm ... and a robotic leg ...”
“Because he kept losing limbs trying to keep up with you guys.”
“Oh, right,” said the thunder god slowly, thinking, “yeah. I guess that sounds right.”
“It does.”
“Hey,” he said, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What was up with the Mjolnir thing?”
“That was awesome, wasn’t it?” Catrina replied giddily. “I mean, right up until I got myself killed, obviously.”
“Yeah, that part ... that part wasn’t so great,” he replied. “But ... how were you using it? Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to even lift Mjolnir, much less electrocute the devil with it.”
“Couldn’t tell you,” she answered, shrugging her ethereal shoulders. “Your family could use it, though, right? Maybe that’s what it was.”
“You are like a sister I spent a lot of time trying to sleep with.”
“So, hey, speaking of quickly changing the subject: what’s with all the murdering, buddy?”
“I haven’t murdered anyone,” replied Thor, looking around and trying to avoid Catrina’s spectral gaze. “We’re talking involuntary manslaughter at worst ...”
“You clearly know that’s not cool,” said his former co-worker, flickering to and fro to match his rambling stare. “Right?”
“I ... I know.” The naked blonde man slumped down onto a changing bench. “But ... I need to make Walt Sidney pay for what he did ... I ... I need to make up for what I didn’t do ...” He shook his head. “I’m trying to draw him out from his not-so-secret lair. It’s a whole thing, but apparently I can’t just go fight him at his house. That’s frowned on for some reason. So I’ve got to keep fucking up his stuff until he comes after me.”
“Killing Walt Sidney won’t bring me back, Thor.”
“But it’ll be fun.”
“For you maybe, sure,” the ghost replied, “but remember the innocent people? They ones you’re hurting?”
“They worked for Sidney,” he rumbled. “They deserved it.”
“No, Thor. Even you know that’s messed up. They were college students collecting a paycheck, they were tourists. You can’t – There were kids in some of those stores.”
“The, uh, ends justify the means?”
“No, Thor.”
“But it’ll make me feel better?”
“Will it? Really?”
“Yes,” replied the god matter-of-factly. “You know it will. Righteous justice and the relentless slaughter of my enemies is, like, my whole thing.”
“It was, Thor, but not anymore. Powers or not, you live here now, on Earth, in the mortal realm. You can’t keep pretending you don’t. And, more importantly, all the innocent humans caught up in your warpath ... they’re not your enemy.”
“Even the ones who worked for the Cowboys?”
“Well, OK, maybe them,” conceded Catrina. “But when it’s all done, even if you take down Sidney, even if you do come out of this the hero, I’ll still be gone and you’ll still be sad. You’re going to have to learn to live with that sadness, Thor. You can’t just keep exploding stuff.”
“That sounds terrible. Are you sure you got that right?”
“What would Batman do, Thor?”
“Not murder people,” he replied sheepishly.
“Exactly.”
“But, wait. You murdered the waitress. Like, a lot.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it might be now.”
“Look, Batman was sad all the time, right? That’s why he kept Batmanning every night. And he never hurt any kids.”
“Except all the Robins.”
“This is proving to be a terrible analogy,” she grumbled. “Look, just be the idea of Batman. Channel your sadness into something good, not just something violent.”
“But I want the sadness to go away. And getting angry and hitting everything helps make it go away.”
“So you’re planning on forgetting about me?”
“I’ll never forget you, Catrina,” he said softly.
“Then you’re going to be sad sometimes.”
“That really sounds wrong.”
“That’s life.”
“That’s bullshit.”
The ghost shrugged her tiny shoulders. “You’re a human being now, Thor, like it ... or ...” Catrina’s attention was caught by a particularly attractive young trucker disrobing and heading toward the shower.
“Honestly,” she said, drifting through the shower curtain after him, “there are some perks to being a boring-ass mortal.”
“Like what? I don’t ...” asked Thor. “Does Ali know about this?”
“I’m cool with it,” said the ghost of Ali Şahin, appearing next to the naked Norseman.
“Holy crap, man. Have you been here the whole time?”
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
You Don’t Know How It Feels
Thor Odinson – in a hoodie and cargos stolen from a locker when no one was looking – threw his leg over the motorcycle, situated himself, then turned the ignition and prepared to kick down on the starter, only for a beat-up pick-up camper to rattle up right in front of him. The truck rocked to a halt, the front door opened, and an unwound Little Debbie Swiss Roll of smoke curled out, followed by a middle-aged Middle Eastern man, dressed in distressed jeans and a distressing tie-dyed kurta.
“Yo,” said the man, squinting behind his large sunglasses.
“Jesus Christ,” replied the thunder god. “How’s it going, man?”
“Good, brother. Good.”
“This isn’t about that thing ... with the –”
“Nah, man,” answered the Nazarene, “that was ...” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s ancient history, brother, don’t worry about it.”
“It wasn’t that ancient, it was only a couple years ago ...”
“But, man, we’re ancient, right? And it was part of our history ...”
“Ohhh ... yeah. That makes sense.” The Norseman killed the engine and climbed off the motorcycle. “So, uh, what are you doing here then?”
“Your friends and my answering
machine hired me to track you down and bring you home, brother. Said you were off on some rampage over the death of an old girlfriend.”
“She was never his girlfriend,” replied the ghost of Ali Şahin, suddenly flickering into view next to Jesus.
“Oh, whoa, man,” replied the Savior of Mankind, stepping back. He pulled down his sunglasses slightly. “I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s because I wasn’t.” The donut entrepreneur flicked back out of reality.
“What in the final frontier of James Tiberius Kirk?” Jesus Christ began looking around, staggering back and forth and bobbing his head like a pigeon.
The ghost of Catrina Dalisay appeared next to him.
“We’re ghosts,” she said.
Ali reappeared next to her. “And we get bored.”
“Oh, all right. Right on.”
“That’s Catrina,” said Thor, “and Ali. Catrina, Ali, this is Jesus.”
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Anyway,” continued the beefy blonde man, “she’s the girl friend in question, and since it turns out she’s a ghost, we were able to talk it all out. I’m a lot less angry now. No more rampaging.”
“You sure, brother?” asked Jesus. “I remember your temper.”
“All good. I promise.”
“Well, then, all right,” said Jesus, sliding his sunglasses back up. “All right, all right.”
“Should you really have been driving?” asked Ali, floating around the Prince of Peace. “As high as I’m pretty sure you are?”
“Yeah, no. Probably not. But they said it was urgent.”
“There’s a bar inside if you want to sober up,” said Thor, pointing a thumb towards the truck stop.
“Yeah ... all right. That sounds good, brother.”
“You can’t drink to sober up,” said the spirit of the donut maker. “That is, in fact, the opposite of sobering up.”
“From being high, I mean,” said Thor.
“You can’t be drunk and stoned at the same time, man,” added Jesus. “That’s just basic math.”
“What?”
“That makes absolutely no sense, you guys,” said Catrina.
Thor shrugged. “You coming with us?”
“Well, yeah,” replied the ghost.
“Not like we’re doing anything else,” replied the other ghost.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
... And a Dollar Short
Ted Turner, former media mogul, and Amen-Ra, former Egyptian God-King, finally arrived at the white picket gates outside the Walt Sidney Company’s corporate headquarters. The enormous war machine rolled to a halt.
“Why are you stopping?” asked Ra, turning in his seat and pointing an angry finger at the windshield. “Why are we not driving this mechanical behemoth right over the gates and straight up Walt Sidney’s ass?”
“Trust me, this is the way to do it,” replied the man for whom TCM was named. “You have no idea the security they have here.”
“Security?” barked the sun god. Outside, the sky blazed white, the asphalt began bubbling. “Why are you concerned with security? Do you not know who I am? Do I need to recount my story to you once more?”
“No, we’re good,” replied Turner. “Three times was enough. Also, can you knock it off with the sun? The AC in here is not the greatest and you are literally baking me alive.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
The sun returned to its normal, bearable, occasionally cancer-giving state. Ted Tuner opened the door, climbed down and down some more, and then pressed the intercom button.
“Yeah, hi,” he said. “I have an appointment to see Mr. Sidney.”
The intercom crackled in response.
“Can you repeat that?” asked Turner, furrowing his brow.
The intercom crackled again.
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Thor Odinson and Jesus Christ sat at the bar, nursing a pair of Moscow Mules each. In the room to their left, Ali Şahin and Catrina Dalisay had, with permission and great fervor, possessed the bodies of a couple playing pool and were now doing ... things.
Thor watched them for a moment, then leaned forward, his golden locks falling over his face. He shook his head gravely and turned to Jesus.
“Why are we the ones that lived?” he asked. “We are terrible fucking people.”
“We who, man?” replied the Savior of Mankind. “I’m not terrible. You know, relatively.”
“We me and Vicky and Charlie,” replied the thunder god. “We’re not good people, but we keep ending up on the winning end. I mean, obviously except for Charlie – he’s died, like, a bunch – but, still, he’s here. He’s alive.” Thor hiccupped. “Alive-ish, anyway.”
“Well, brother, maybe that’s why you guys lived, maybe terrible is what you have to be now,” expounded Jesus. “I mean, I tried doing the right thing, right? And look what happened to me, man.” He held up a massively scarred hand. “And that was before guns and nuclear bombs and Republicans.”
“I killed Satan and peed on his ashes,” said Thor.
“Brother, I don’t know why you’d expect sympathy for that guy from me ...”
“I beat a waitress’s ex-husband half to death for coffee.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t deserve it, right?”
“That doesn’t seem right at all.”
“The right thing doesn’t always look right in the moment.”
“After I pissed on Satan, when I was trying to help my friends, I may or may not have electrocuted some civilians, civilians who would’ve already had to survive some messed up stuff. A bunch of people interviewed me about it. They called me a hero.”
“Well, they’re not calling you that anymore, brother.”
“I just ...” Thor rested his forehead on the sticky bar top. “I don’t understand.”
Jesus shrugged. “Shit is fucked up, man.” Then he downed the rest of his drink. Then the Son of God belched, loudly.
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
Turn This Car Around
“And you’re sure?” rumbled Walt Sidney, staring into the video monitor embedded in the dashboard of his heavily-modified Hummer. “Because we would need to go remarkably out of our way to –”
“I’m sure, sir,” replied Ah Puch, the smiling death god. “Doing so would, in the parlance, fuck him up real good.”
“OK. Thank you, A.”
The monitor blinked out. The frozen head turned, in turn, to the corporate vice presidents sitting on either side of him.
“We’ll be making a quick detour,” said the floating CEO. “Make sure everyone knows.” Then he began punching coordinates into the control panel inside his jar with his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” replied Ukko, the former Finnish god of storms, and Elizabeth Báthory, the erstwhile Hungarian countess, hopping out of the moving vehicle and racing down the lengthy convoy – so lengthy, their radios could not reach the end – barking orders into their headsets to the fleet of vehicles and thousands of Louseketeers and black-clad dragoons and imps and werewolves marching behind them.
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
Daddy Issues
“I can’t believe they got you out here,” said Thor. The thunder god and the Son of God had relocated from the bar to a booth in the corner and were now surrounded by dozens of pint glasses and a precariously balanced pyramid of copper mugs. Six plates of chicken bones sat between them. Both of the men were swaying slightly.
“I had to lower my rates, man. I mean, you know. God-for-hiring jush ... it ain’t what it used to be, brother. I don’t know what changed, but things’ve been pretty chill out there fer a while,” explained Jesus Christ. “You know, other than your rampage.”
“I said I was sorry about that.” Thor chugged down half of his beer. “Besides, there was that whole Las Vegas thing, too. And that wasn’t me.”
“Until it was.”
“OK, yeah. Fair point.”
Jesus began picking through the plates of discarded buffalo wing remains, hoping maybe they had missed one.
“Can’t you jush, y’know ...” The Norseman mimed an explosion with his hand. “POOF.”
“Bread and fish only, brother,” replied the Nazarene, still digging. “And I’m not feeling that right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Who wants fishsticks and beer?”
“Well, I do,” replied the beefy blonde man, “but I meant, really? You can only change shit into bread and fish?”
“Yeah, brother.”
“That seems kinda weak.”
Jesus shrugged. “I’ve always got the wine thing.”
Thor audibly scoffed.
“I know, right?” returned Jesus. “I am so sick of wine.”
“Why does everyone think wine is so great?”
“I don’t know, brother, I don’t know.”
“You still talk to yer dad much?” asked Thor abruptly.
“My dad? Yeah, here and there,” replied Jesus. “He seems t’be keeping himself pretty busy lately.”
“Same here. Says he’s ‘retired’ from bein’ a god now though.”
“Honestly, man, I’m still a little pissed off at ‘im about the whole crucifixion thing. I mean, I get it, I understand why he did it, but that’ll fuck a dude up, you know?”
“Not really. My dad loves me.”
“That’s ...” The Savior of Mankind shook his head. “You got that all kinds o’ wrong, brother.”
“So ... he killed you, even though he loved you? That’s what yer sayin’ yer saying?”
“Yeah, man,” replied Jesus, furrowing his brow. “That’s, like, the whole point. Don’t you know anything ‘bout Christianity?”
“I know throwing your own name into your religion is a little bit shitty.”
“That wasn’t my idea!” The Son of God leaned back into the vinyl bench of the booth. “The guys who wrote the Bible took a whole buncha liberties, brother, editorialized the crap outta, like, everything, man. But you gotta know that. I mean, there’s no way they got all your stories right, right?”
