“No!” the Devil screamed.
“Yes!” both son and father shouted in response. They pushed and pulled until Lucifer sat on the stage, no bigger than a baby. His horns no more than tiny nubs on his embarrassingly bald head. He looked up with utter fear in his tiny, black eyes.
A golden figure shot down from the sky. An angel, with a golden halo, an eagle’s wingspan, and a flaming sword, stood on the stage and grabbed Lucifer by the nape. He gave a slight nod to Herbert and Alan before shooting skyward, the Devil dangling in his tight grip. Both were gone in less than a second.
Herbert embraced his son. “We did it, kid,” he cried.
Alan hugged him back.
When Mort and Lorraine joined in the hug, Herbert just shook his head and hugged his son tighter. Mort’s embrace felt strangely comforting.
James
James rubbed his eyes and stared up at the sky. He had just seen an angel come hurdling down from Heaven only to pull the Devil back up with him. And, yes, Rosewater and about a baker’s dozen secret servicemen lay face down at his feet, but neither was more startling than the sight of Herbert, Alan, and Mort pulling themselves apart from a long, loving embrace. With the way Herbert used to go on and on about his son being worthless, and the way Alan used to call his father scum, James could hardly believe his eyes. He balled up his fists at the mere sight of it. He felt like he was ready to explode.
Why don’t I get a happy ending?
The last memory he had of his own family was the exact same embrace. James still remembered clinging to the back of his crying mother’s shirt as his father held his sister in-between them both.
“Why do—do—do I have to go?” he had asked his mother. The snot from his nose ran into his mouth.
“Because they need you, son,” his father answered for her. “Don’t worry. You’ll be back to us soon enough.”
It wasn’t until years later that he learned his father had enlisted him into the Undead Militia. Mr. Rovas gloated about it whenever he tried to escape.
“Where are you going to go to? Your dad’s the one who put you here in the first place.”
With time, he began to believe him.
Just thinking about it made James spit. His tears made everything blurry.
“James,” Alan said, but James put up his hand.
“Stay away. Please.”
“What’s the matter, boy?” Herbert asked. “We won.”
“You won!” James screamed, pointing at him. “You! And you! But not me. I never win.”
“What do you mean?” Herbert asked.
“Just…stay away from me,” James said. He turned from them.
The sky had cleared up and a ray of sunshine rested on his back. He received a huge jolt when he felt arms wrap around him from behind. They were Alan’s.
“Are you alright, man?” Alan asked. “Is it your family that’s bothering you, buddy?”
James softened, and the tears he had pushed back now streamed down his face.
“It’s just not fair, you know?” James said. “I’ll never know where they are now.”
“We’ll find them,” Herbert said as he walked over to him.
“No need, because I found them!” blared a voice from above. Taylor Gint’s face showed itself on both screens of the Jumbotron.
“What are you doing here?” Herbert asked.
“Your ex-wife came to me and told me what happened to Mr. Rovas. Once she showed me the body, I made sure that the Devil wouldn’t get away with it. In the process, I had one of my colleagues do a little sleuthing, James, and…”
The images on the screen switched over to the stands again, and on both screens was a blond girl who couldn’t have been more than 13 years old. She waved her arms back and forth in the air and shouted something. The camera stayed focused on her, but there was another figure to her left. James rushed to the podium and spoke into the microphone.
“Move the camera to the left, Taylor!”
The cameraman obeyed. Next to her was his mother wearing a skull cap and a puffy jacket, and next to her was his father. He had put on some pounds in the stomach and his hair had grayed significantly, but it was definitely him. James gripped the edge of the podium and tried to steady his shaking knees. He couldn’t hear him from this far away, but the old man clapped his meaty hands before sticking his thumb and index finger in his mouth and whistling. Even from this far, James heard some of its shrillness.
“Mom! Eveyln!” James said into the microphone before running from the podium. He danced between the sprawled out bodies on the stage and raced toward his family.
He sprinted toward the stands past the legion of gravestones. Three figures, just specks in the distance grew bigger and bigger as they neared. His sister and mother came at him with open arms, but he ducked from their hug, and threw a single, cracking punch right into his father’s face. When the big man hit the ground, it was lights out for him. His little sister screamed and James shook out his hand. He turned to his horrified mother and sister and wrapped his arms around them, bringing their heads together.
“I missed you two so much,” he cried.
Gradually, they returned the gesture.
Lucifer
Lucifer refused to look God in His/Her/Its face, so he stared at the clouds instead. He felt like puking. How Alan had managed to escape his grasp, even for a second, would baffle him for all eternity. He knew it would. Perhaps, some things were meant to remain a mystery. He certainly wasn’t going to ask God if He/She/It intervened. He just wanted to get whatever was going to happen to him over with.
“Are you going to say something or what?” Lucifer said, still staring at the clouds beneath his feet.
He felt the hot point of Michael’s blade pressed against his back. Around him, he felt the other archangel’s staring at him and judging him.
“You think I care about your stupid flaming sword?” Lucifer turned his head and asked. He received a kick in the back of the legs that brought him to his knees. He saw the clouds beneath him flash red.
“Sorry, my Lord,” Michael said sounding apologetic. “You know how I get sometimes.”
God must have said something to Michael. At one time, Lucifer could understand God, but he couldn’t any longer as only angels could understand God, and he was the farthest thing from an angel. What he really was exactly, he refused to think about.
The clouds flashed again, this time purple.
“You’re all still the same, old thugs,” Lucifer told the angels around him. “Every last one of you. Well, at least I made something of myself. What did any of you do besides kowtow to God? Huh? Answer me that.”
For a moment, he felt the heat of the blade press against his back again before Michael turned and walked away.
At this, he felt a bit of satisfaction about the life he had led, even if he was a failure.
You may have them on a short leash, but not me, God. Not me!
He looked up at God’s full face and was about to shout those very same words right in His/Her/Its face when he became enraptured all over again upon the sight of it. He couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to.
Just like before he was tossed out of Heaven, he fell totally and completely in love with God’s face again.
Lucifer pushed out his chin and inhaled deeply.
“I’m ready,” Lucifer said.
Ready for what, even he didn’t know, but the light of God shone brightly upon his face. It was so bright, he was blinded by it. It was time.
Rosewater
Rosewater stood at the podium before America and God and drew his lips into a frown.
“I am sorry that I kept secrets from you, my fellow citizens. I have decided to step down from office. Vice President, Daniel Tulino, will take my place, effective immediately. May God bless him, and God bless America.”
The audience clapped and former President Roger Rosewater hurried from the podium and the stage. Strangely, he was at peace.
; Alan
Alan felt the arena shake as he heard the roar of the crowd above him. When he looked up, he saw his dad smiling. Alan smiled back.
James tapped Alan and laughed. “You hear that? It’s for us, man. It’s actually for us!”
They sat in one of the locker rooms of Madison Square Garden. There was no telling how many smelly stars and athletes had inhabited this locker room. But with the 25 corpses down here of all different shapes and sizes, the room smelled surprisingly lemony. And his mother didn’t even make a stink about it, either. She merely pinched her nose.
“We’re bo real prow a you, sa,” she said, which roughly translated to, “We’re both real proud of you, son.”
“That we are,” Herbert said, putting his arm around her. “That we are.”
Mort sat dead eyed but smiling on the bench opposite Alan. He wore purple pants and boots that went up to his knees. Alan didn’t know why, but Mort now had a smile on his face that never seemed to go away.
Above, the crowd grew louder as the foot stomping overhead became thunderous. Even from down here, Alan heard International Wrestling Federation founder, Andrew McCarrick, speaking on the microphone for his new organization, the Undead Wrestling Federation.
“Fanatics,” he screamed, and the crowd replied, “What!?”
“I’ve seen a lot in my day.”
“What?!”
“But I’ve never seen what you’re about to see here tonight.”
“What?!”
“It’s my pleasure, no, my honor to introduce you to the U-W-eeeeeeF!
The crowd took up a chant.
“U-W-F! U-W-F! U-W-F! U-W-F!”
Herbert smiled at Alan. “That sounds like your cue, son.”
Alan stood up, and his pet, Mort, stood up with him.
“It’s go time!” James shouted.
Alan walked out the locker room and through the halls of MSG with the crowd still chanting above him.
“U-W-F! U-W-F! U-W-F! U-W-F!”
It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
Here is the first chapter of my third book, The Interdimensional Subwoofer.
1.
“Jesus, Ernie, where the hell are these pledges at?” Jorge asks me. “Your brother’s supposed to be on top of this.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I tell him, annoyed. “You just worry about the noise level tonight.”
My brother became the pledge leader this semester, which means he’s in charge of mentoring the pledges and making sure they’re here when we need them. But he’s done a lousy job so far, and I have to pick up the slack for him. As the Vice-President of this house, he’s making my ass look bad.
There’s a harsh scraping sound coming from the next room over and Jorge does a 180. It’s Colin, one of our fall pledges. He’s dragging a keg into the room when he should be carrying it. As it stands, he’s chipping away at the already crumbling floor.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jorge shouts. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The pledge stands there agog. “I was, uh, just bringing up this keg like Frater Richard told—”
“I know what you think you were doing, but you were doing it all wrong. Now, hit the deck, maggot!”
The pledge lets go of the keg and leaps to the floor in push-up position.
“Twenty, sir?” the pledge asks. His long, black hair falls in his face as he stares at the scuffed up, tiled floor, which reeks of stale beer and crushed cigarettes.
“Why aren’t your pledge brothers here, maggot?”
“Sir, I don’t know, sir!” the pledge shouts.
“Then give me 40!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
Jorge hates everybody, but he especially hates pledges, who he finds to be “worthless pieces of meat.” This is besides the fact that he was probably the most worthless, good for nothing pledge, who ever stepped foot inside the Theta Rho chapter of Chi Nu Phi. And I should know, since I was his pledge brother. How he got to be President of this house, I’ll never know.
“One!” the pledge shouts as he goes down. “Two!”
“I can’t heeeear yoooou!”
“Three!” he screams, his pale forehead turning beat red.
I don’t have time for this. I have to deal with my brother.
Ever since Tita Zelda died a couple years back, Carlos hasn’t been the same. He used to cook all the time and we even had dreams of starting a Filipino restaurant together. But he’s been drinking a lot now, and getting into fights. And that’s the last thing we need tonight. A drunk Carlos is an angry Carlos. Carlos drink, Carlos smash!
Tonight, by the way, is “Travel the World Night.” It’s our biggest event of the year and we use it to entice young men to become potential pledges. In other words, we want to recruit you, son.
As I leave the room and rush up the stairs, I pass by a variety of paddles. All of them have the names of brothers who once lived and served this house. There are even more paddles in the basement, with some of them dating as far back as 1910. I kid you not.
I turn at the top of the stairs and head toward the red door at the end of the hall, which smells of mildew and stale weed. This is where my brother and I live. Sharing a room with Carlos lets me be closer to him, which helps me keep him away from liquor. The whole house wins.
When I open the door, I find Carlos sitting on the floor Indian style, shirtless. He’s playing video games next to his former pledge brother, Charles Makinde. Charles is a rail thin African who hails all the way from Tanzania. Or at least, that’s where he says he comes from. But he doesn’t even have an accent, so he might just be pulling my leg.
Well, anyway, Charles is a cool guy, but he’s also pretty weird, especially when he’s hammered. Sometimes, he’ll talk about how he believes in other dimensions and stuff like that. He’ll say stuff like, “There are other worlds right next door. You only have to listen for them.” Whatever that means. Again, he’s a strange dude, but I really like him. He crossed last semester with my brother, so they’re really close. They’re also new, so they’re the lowest ranking brothers in the house.
“Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Neither Charles nor Carlos responds. Just then, there’s an explosion on the screen, and Charles hops up and hoots.
“Ha! Gotcha!” he barks before doing a little dance.
“Yooooo, how could I hit you when you kept jumpin’ around like that?” Carlos chucks his controller across the floor.
“Oh, hey, Ernie,” Charles says. “The pledges here yet?”
“No. Just Colin. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to my brother about. Can you step out for a second?”
Charles glances at my brother, but Carlos puts his hand up. “Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Charles.”
“Look, it’s cool, man,” Charles says. “I’m sure it’s important.”
“Sit back down,” Carlos says, and this puts Charles in an awkward position. Carlos is his best friend and they crossed together, but since I have a higher ranking than him, I can make him leave if I want to, which I do.
“Scram,” I say. “You can come back after I’m done with him.”
Charles offers a half-hearted smile at Carlos and leaves. He shuts the door behind him. As soon as he’s gone, I lay into my brother.
“Why is Colin the only pledge here?”
“Get off my back. The others said they’ll be here soon,” Carlos says, clicking out of multiplayer mode.
“What do you mean they’ll be here soon? They should be here now.”
“They’ll get here when they get here. What do you want from me?”
Carlos starts playing his game. Gunfire rattles the room.
I go to grab the controller from him, but he moves his hands away.
“Yo, chill, nigga!”
“Nigga,” says the mestizo Filipino from Jersey City. Mestizo means light-skinned in Tagalog. Most people don’t even think we’re related because I’m s
o much darker than him.
“Don’t tell me to chill. You got Jorge breathing down my neck downstairs because you’re too lazy to do your job.”
“What, are you afraid of him or somethin’?”
“I’m not afraid of anybody. But when you mess up, it makes me look bad.”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “Oh, boo, hoo, hoo, so the Vice-President looks bad for a change. So what?”
I go to grab the controller again, even though the game is still paused, and he moves his arms again.
“Yo, chill,” he says. “What do you want from me anyway, huh? I called them, aiight? They said they’re on their way.”
“You’re supposed to be in charge of them, Carlos. When I was your pledge class leader, was I easy on you?”
“No, but you were also a massive dickhead, and I ain’t gonna be like that.”
I rub my forehead and take a deep breath. In doing so, I manage to take a whiff of the filthy clothes strewn across the room. They smell like BO and un-wiped ass. “You know, man,” I say, shaking my head. “Sometimes, I wish I didn’t speak up for you when it came to getting you into this house.”
“What you tryin’ to say?” He stands up and gives me a vicious stare. “You sayin’ I couldn’t get into this house wit’out you?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Naw, that’s exactly what you’re saying. You think I needed you to get in here.”
Well, the truth is out. I might as well roll with it.
“Yeah, well, you pretty much did, right? You’re supposed to be at least a sophomore before you can pledge this house, and you pledged as a Freshmen. And a Fall Freshman at that. How do you think you managed that, huh? You think they let you pledge just out of the goodness of their hearts?”
Carlos just nods. “Aiight, so maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into this house wit’out you, but you ain’t no different.”
“What do you mean?”
A Boy and His Corpse Page 16
