Nether

by Jason Beymer

  “I improvised.” She pointed her nose at a yellow stain near the mattress.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Me? Let he who is without sin.”

  Burklin looked down at his wet pants. “Oh, that’s perfect.” He ripped them off and tossed them aside. Goddamned symbiotic relationship. He unfurled a roll of paper towels and dried himself.

  Garrick still hadn’t moved. He continued eating his chow mein, forking it into his mouth, biting and dropping the excess into the box. “You can’t ignore me,” he said. “I won’t allow you to ruin our chances. Don’t you realize how close we are? Few trinities shepherd their demon lord into adolescence. Lord Avnas—little Max—is almost eighteen years old. Eighteen! The Nether …”

  Burklin tried to drown out the old man by humming. He’d grown sick of listening to talk of the Nether and its sweepstakes. According to Garrick, the Nether’s dingy, cramped network of tunnels and foul-smelling rooms resided somewhere between Heaven and Hell. There, billions of creatures waited to escape into this world, and only a demon lord such as Max could bring them here.

  Garrick’s eyes lit up as he spoke. They always did when he contemplated the “great reward” awaiting them. “And we can win this, Burklin,” he droned on. “Last I checked, no other trinity’s charge comes close to Max’s age. There’s a twelve-year-old demon lord in Nebraska who enjoys torturing cats and carving up transients, but my counterpart there is a complete tool. A hack. That kid doesn’t stand a chance. Our demon is almost there. And when he manifests the power necessary to bridge this world to the Nether, guess what will happen to us.”

  “The chances of Max living that long are slim,” Burklin said. “Even if he does make it to legal drinking age and becomes—I don’t know … all demony?—he’ll probably get piss-drunk and kill himself with his own powers.”

  “Not this time.” Garrick tapped his forehead with the plastic fork. “Not with this brain. I have plans for little Max. We’ll ride his homicidal ass right over the finish line. And once we do, our trinity will win the sweepstakes and earn a seat at the table. The table.”

  Burklin yawned. “Leave.”

  Garrick pulled a raggedy, dog-eared brochure from his back pocket. On the front, a camel posed in the desert with the words See Beautiful Iraq! “Look,” he said, pointing to it. “Ours. And not just Iraq, the whole damned Persian Gulf. The Nether promised. I’ll even build a racecar track for you in Jerusalem. Hell, I’ll make the whole island of Bahrain a racecar track. Paradise, son.” He tapped the paper. “When those bastards cross over to this world, they’ll want to drive big SUVs. We’ll control the oil. Can’t you see why you need to trust me?”

  “Get out of my apartment.”

  “Not until I’ve given you the details.” Garrick smiled wider. “By the way, I hope you enjoyed your walk home last night. I dumped the corpse in the receptacle behind Hoppy’s myself and soiled a good pair of trousers in the process. Fortunately, I’m willing to overlook your performance at the Burger Clog and offer another opportunity, but—”

  “No,” he said. “No more.”

  “It must be completed tonight. These visions are fickle little bastards.”

  Burklin bit the inside of his cheek. He sensed an unfamiliar timbre in Garrick’s voice, almost—

  Pearl barked. “Jeez, Garrick. You sound nervous.”

  Nervous.

  Garrick let out a quick laugh. “Isn’t this silly? I’m still pretending to give you a choice, like the old days. In reality, you’ll do the job whether you want to or not. Otherwise, I’ll kill that possessed dachshund. You have to admit I’m a generous man, no? And I found your flip-flops in your—oh, excuse me—my side yard this afternoon. Little pervert. Did you watch your ex-wife’s mouth work my cock? She transformed herself into a buxom blonde about an hour ago—one with a cleft palate. I felt experimental.”

  “I don’t want to keep cleaning up dead people.”

  “The Burger Clog job got to you, didn’t it?”

  “You know how I feel about mopping up kids.”

  “Did you discuss that with your psychiatrist?” Garrick asked. “Don’t do that again. Things get messy when you involve others in our affairs.”

  “So how am I supposed to manage my pent-up emotions?”

  “Is that a clinical term? I cured you of those when I removed your soul. You should be numb inside. Keep pushing everything down. There’s plenty of room now.”

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Burklin said.

  Garrick shook his head.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “You won’t like this one. The pickup is at the demon’s house.”

  “His house?”

  “I realize it’s unorthodox, but tonight’s murder requires a break from tradition.”

  Burklin’s duties had taken him to parking lots, malls, outside Max’s high school, but never inside the demon’s house. He’d had good reason to stay away; if a protector came too close to a demon lord, that protector died.

  “This isn’t just a break from tradition, Garrick. This is suicide.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt our chances now. We’re too close.”

  Burklin rubbed his eyes. “So tell me about the vision. Max will kill someone there tonight?”

  “Yes. A female visitor.”

  “You want me to go in, grab the corpse, and drive it to the Dumpster. Right?”

  Garrick’s eyes drifted. “The thing is … I had a blurry vision this time.”

  “So who’s the girl?”

  “That’s blurry, too.”

  “Did your vision give you any useful information?”

  “Of course. Arrive in Max’s backyard no later than midnight. Bring plenty of garbage sacks in case there’s a mess. Dump the body in the Dumpster. Blah, blah, blah. Then come home and get some sleep. Easy.”

  “Those details are crap.”

  “Agreed. But has the demon ever killed anyone in his own house before? No. Perhaps my pre-cog abilities are hampered by the location of the murder.”

  “What about Max? Won’t he cause trouble?”

  “He’ll probably flee his home. That’s what he usually does, kill and run away. You’re the professional. Handle it.”

  “When will this murder take place? Two minutes before twelve? Two minutes after? When?”

  “Blurry,” Garrick said through a mouthful of noodles. “She’ll show up around midnight. He’ll kill her then.”

  Burklin glanced at the clock on his microwave. 11:25 PM. “I can head over there and stop it from happening. I’ll wait for the victim to show up, then tell her to take a hike.”

  Garrick coughed. “You know what happens every time you go off-vision. You will do exactly as I’ve detailed.”

  “But the house is a few blocks away.”

  “So help me, if you fuck this up, I’ll lock your dog in a Dutch oven and boil it with potatoes. Don’t interfere with the vision, even if you see her. Your job is to clean, not prevent. Why are you hesitating, anyway? Are you still feeling repressed guilt over cleaning up dead teenagers?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Your psychiatrist recapped your entire session before he jumped out the window and went splat. You still don’t know who your father is? Really now, Burklin.”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “But you told that shrink you didn’t know—”

  “Fine. I’ll do this thing by-the-vision. Just shut up about that.”

  “I’m still not convinced,” Garrick said. “I’m sending backup.”

  “I work alone.”

  “Yes. You also see shrinks alone and plot to screw up jobs alone. So, no, I don’t trust you. Lorraine will meet you in Max’s backyard.”

  Burklin closed his eyes. “No, Garrick,” he said. “For God’s sake.”

  “She’s good, and you know it.”

  “She’s my ex-wife!”

  “So maybe you’ll spare a though
t before trying to destroy our trinity next time. By the way, I’ve left a new set of wheels in your usual spot. It’s an exotic import. Enjoy.”

  “You’re giving me your Bavarian Roadster?”

  Garrick laughed. It started small, then grew louder. “Even better.” The old man adjusted his fedora, tossed the empty chow mein container into the kitchen, and walked to the door. He swung it open, tipped his hat, and said, “Get cleaned up and drive to Max’s. Once you’ve secured the body in your trunk, Lorraine will follow you to the Dumpster in her car. Call me after you dump the body. I’ll be at my office.”

  “Your office?” Burklin said.

  “Yes. It’s necessary for me to distance myself from Mariner City tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Garrick started to answer then slammed the door shut instead.

  * * * *

  Burklin gripped the handle of Pearl’s crate and left his apartment at 11:40 PM, his workbag slung over his shoulder. “Sit still,” he snapped at the dog. “I don’t want to drop you.”

  “Liar.”

  Burklin opened the door marked Carport Stairwell in stenciled black paint. He descended the concrete steps, his shoulders brushing along the narrow walls on either side. A lone bulb hung from the ceiling. It flickered like an inebriated firefly. When he arrived at the foot of the stairs, he opened the door. There, parked in the spot reserved for Black Beauty, was the ugliest car he’d ever seen.

  Knowing Garrick’s cruelty, his expectations had been low. He’d visualized a wagon pulled by a donkey, or maybe a moped with a sidecar for Pearl. Alas, he hadn’t lowered his expectations far enough. He read the vehicle’s model name engraved on the trunk lid. “Eiffel?” he said. “A French car?”

  The junker might choke and die crossing the street, let alone chugging to Max’s house. The paint job resembled a preschool art project, draped in shades of gray. A faded bumper sticker proclaimed “Born to Vociferously Fornicate!” near the turn signal light. Two fuzzy dice dangled from the rearview mirror.

  “Perdue,” Pearl said.

  Burklin looked down at the crate. “What did you say?”

  “It’s an Eiffel Perdue,” the dog explained. “A failed French venture from the eighties, back when countries raced to come up with an economically priced car and didn’t care about explosions or infant mortality rates.”

  “How do you know so much about—”

  “Internet.”

  Burklin raised the crate and brought Pearl to eye level. “I told you to stay off the Internet.”

  “Hey, don’t lecture me. I get bored when you leave me alone in the apartment.”

  Several times in the past, Burklin had returned home to find black hairs on his laptop keyboard. Clicking History on his web browser revealed interesting websites, most of which focused on canine interbreeding. He’d tried to doggy-proof the laptop with intricate passwords, but since Pearl could read his mind …

  Burklin set down the crate and tried to open the car door. It refused to budge. He wedged his foot against the frame and pulled on the handle. After several attempts, it flew open, and the swinging metal threw him backward. He butt-planted into a puddle of oil.

  “A jar,” a French woman said from the dashboard speaker. “A jar. A jar.”

  Burklin picked up Pearl’s crate and set it on the passenger seat.

  “Check it out,” the dog said. “The keys are already in the ignition.”

  “I hope it starts.” Burklin slipped into the driver’s seat and tossed his workbag into the back. He smelled rotten lemons.

  Burklin turned the key and the engine growled.

  He drove the car out of the parking lot. Inside the traveling crate, Pearl nestled into her towels and licked a half-eaten rubber frog. Passionate canine rage had left the frog with no eyes, a mangled mouth, and a severed hind leg. Dachshunds loved their toys, even dachshunds that could solve crossword puzzles and balance a checkbook.

  “You’re upset, aren’t you?” Pearl said. “I can tell. You’ve got white spittle dots on your lip.”

  “Don’t talk to me. I can’t even look at you right now.”

  “Hey, I have feelings, too. I’m as upset with Garrick as you are.”

  “I doubt that.” The Eiffel Perdue puttered around a corner, straight through a stop sign.

  “Aren’t you supposed to stop at those things?”

  Burklin cranked up the radio’s volume to drown out the dog. A country music song brayed through the speakers, and he sang along despite not knowing the words.

  “That’s mature,” Pearl said. “If you don’t want me to speak, just say so.”

  “If only it was that easy.”

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Pearl asked. “You’re getting squirrely about meeting her at the job. You are so transparent.”

  “It’s not her. It’s—oh, you don’t know.”

  “I know more than you give me credit for. It’s the sex thing, right? You’re insecure about the sex.”

  “It has nothing to do with that.”

  “Let me tell you something about sex.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Detach yourself from sex,” Pearl said. “Sex is sex. It’s an unavoidable evil. Find something to sate your urges. Take me, for example. I satisfy myself by rubbing up against your pillow.”

  “And my slippers,” Burklin added.

  “Especially your slippers. Forget about your ex. There are plenty of rumps at the dog park. When I used to get the hankering for a vaginal pounding, I let myself bleed out and waited for suitors to come hither. Bang, bang, bang. All done.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Of course, you took that method off the table when you had me”—she coughed on the word—”fixed last year. With these dried pipes, I can’t attract anything. The only sexual enjoyment I get now comes from rubbing my hooch against everything you own.”

  “You’re not even supposed to want sex anymore, Pearl. The vet said you’d lose interest.”

  “I get horny. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the whole shared soul thing. I’m just saying, you should have left my plumbing alone.”

  Burklin slowed the car and rounded another corner. “Do we need to revisit this?”

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing you apologize again.”

  “Not happening.”

  “That’s a cruel word. Fixed. Fixed. Now that I have a little intelligence, I understand the word better. I think that veterinarian shoved a cork up my love pipe. The procedure stole all my happiness away.”

  “That procedure was Plan B, Pearl. Plan A was to sew your … hooch … up, but the vet refused, no matter how much money I threw at her.”

  “Barbarian.”

  “You know why I had you fixed.”

  A few months after the soul transference, Pearl had gotten involved with a German shepherd named Bull. Attracted by Pearl’s ovulation, Bull broke through the fence on their enclosed patio and inflicted serious damage—and not just to the patio.

  “I remember,” the dog said. “I only have those memories to sustain me, thank you very much.”

  “Disgusting.”

  She licked her nose. “Like you didn’t get off on it.”

  He hadn’t. He’d been at Starchunks, ordering a caramel whipped decaffeinated orange marmalade latte when the incident occurred. While the barista steamed the milk, something akin to a bad hemorrhoid caused Burklin to leap into the air. His intestines contorted as if in the throes of a reverse bowel movement, and the breath left his body. In seconds, he was flopping on the ground in the middle of the morning caffeine rush.

  “It hurt,” he said.

  “Oh, come on. Bull was a little piece of heaven.”

  Burklin parked the Eiffel across the street from the demon’s house, beneath a broken street lamp. A man pulled his garbage cans down to the curb, but didn’t look twice at the Eiffel Perdue. He probably thought Burklin was a pizza delivery guy. The man returned to his house.

  Bu
rklin patted the crate. “You stay in the car.”

  Pearl touched a paw to the bars. “I’m not Houdini’s dog.”

  “And keep quiet.”

  As he stepped away, he heard Pearl call out, “Give my best to Lorraine!”

  Chapter 4

  The Asian and the Ex

  A wooden gate hung off-center, adjacent to the demon’s house. Burklin pulled it open and the wood scraped the gravel. He crept along the dog run and into the backyard. 11:55 PM. Any minute now, he would come face to face with his ex-wife. He didn’t know what to say to her. Hello? How’s it going? Do you enjoy sleeping with the man who stole my soul?

  Before Max’s tenth birthday, Garrick and Burklin had handled the demon’s protection by themselves. There’d been no need to bring in a third protector. But once Max hit the double-digits, his murderous tastes turned from cats, dogs, and the occasional child to a much wider assortment. Too much for just two people.

  And so Garrick had recruited Lorraine.

  Burklin first met her at the old man’s office seven years ago. Though she’d been quiet and shy at the beginning, she soon became a natural at the job. It didn’t take long for Burklin to fall for her. Their first sexual experience came after the second disposal, in which ten-year-old Max had lured a transient into a dry creek bed and slaughtered him. Somewhere in the midst of bagging up innards, Burklin had met Lorraine’s eyes. He’d taken her right there on the concrete—or rather, she’d taken him, leaving bruises and contusions that lasted long after the orgasm. Old Burklin loved taking pain almost as much as administering it, though he’d never raised a hand to hurt her. His fondest memories included the use of antiseptic ointment. She’d gently applied it to his cuts after each session of lovemaking.

  Burklin made it to the end of the dog run. He peeked around the corner at the sizable backyard. An elevated hot tub sat on a wooden deck, bordered by rose bushes. Branches from two birch trees hung at eye level, their leaves obscuring most of the area. The only light came through the slats of the patio door blinds.

  Was the demon out there now, trimming the hedges, puffing a cigarette, drinking a forty?

  Don’t worry about it, he told himself. Squat behind those bushes and wait for the demon to kill the girl. Maybe he’ll run away from the house like Garrick predicted. Maybe he’ll go to his bedroom, close the door, and smoke some weed. Be patient.