by R. E. Vance
Pan laced his fingers together. “So, let me guess—you want to know where I got the Crystal? And you want to know if there’s any more lying about?”
I said nothing.
“Would you believe me if I told you that when the gods left, I—the great Pan—decided to retire? My plan was to live the rest of my life in relative peace and quiet. I even got a job as a maître d' at a Michelin star restaurant in the human world. Of course, I was disguised, burning time to pretend I was human. At the rate I was burning, I had seventy-three years left—a human’s lifespan. Good enough for me. Then one day, after a particularly long shift where yours truly hosted the AlwaysMortal elite, I came home to my moderately sized apartment in a reasonably priced neighborhood, and what did I find? A Creation Crystal sitting on my coffee table. There was no note. No explanation. Nothing.” Pan leaned forward. “Do you believe me?”
I shook my head.
Pan fell back into his chair in an exasperated huff. “Of course not. I didn’t either. But it’s true. Some Other broke into my apartment and gave me one of the most precious items the universe has ever known. Why? Certainly they knew what they gave me. And what’s more … they knew who I was and what I was capable of.” Pan tried to stand up. His restraints forced him back into the chair. Not that being chained dampened his excitement. “Don’t you see? Whoever left that wanted me to do something big. Really big.”
“Why would they want that?” I asked.
“Why else?” He shot me a devilish, Others-will-be-Others smile. “To bring the gods back.”
↔
“Don’t you get it?” Pan said, genuinely confused that I didn’t understand his plan. “I did all this so that they would come back to fix it … They have to. It’s what they’ve always done.”
“What?” I asked. “Fix this! That’s your plan. Lure them back with a mess? Why? Why? Why!” I couldn’t believe it. The little bastard actually thought he did a good thing.
“Because I pleased them,” he said. “I did all this … the Beast … the greatest time-heist ever known … to entice them. To amuse them. They have to come back. Wait and see.” He cocked his head to the ceiling, as if gazing up at the gods in the sky. “I always knew how to make them laugh.”
“So that’s what this was all about … pulling a stunt to grab their attention?”
Pan giggled. “Yes.”
“If you were really that good at entertaining them, don’t you think they would’ve taken you with them? You know … for a laugh on their long journey to wherever? But they didn’t, did they? Do you want to know why? Because we … you … displeased them. Whether it was because we didn’t worship enough or worshiped too much … or because we worshiped wrong … whatever it was, they weren’t satisfied. So they left us. And they most certainly left you, too. No tricks will bring them back.”
“But they always laughed when—”
I grabbed Pan by the horns, pulled his head close to mine and growled, “They aren’t laughing now. You know why? Because they’re not watching, you stupid selfish fool! You killed so many people. People who’ll never come back. Ever. Others, soldiers, civilians … Medusa …” My voice wavered at her name. “They’re dead because of you.”
“The gods will come back, and when they do, they’ll make this right. You’ll see,” he said, his devilish grin replaced with a look of uncertainty. “They’ll come back. They have to.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe … just maybe … it was the great Pan’s silly little tricks that drove them away?”
Pan winced at the thought. “No—they always laughed.”
“Laughed? Are you sure? Maybe at first, but soon that laughter became disappointment and frustration. After all, you just admitted that they were always cleaning up your mess.”
Pan shook his head.
“And maybe, just maybe, you went too far. Too far … too many messes … maybe that’s why they left. To get away from you.”
“They loved me,” he said, his voice hesitant.
“That’s what you say,” I said, leaning in close. I have hated very few in my life. This creature I hated with a burning fire and an unquenchable anger. I hated Pan with all my soul. “They didn’t take you with them. In fact, they did everything to hide their plans from you because they knew that if the great Pan caught a whiff of what they were doing, he’d muck it up for them. No, they didn’t love you. How could they?”
“No,” he said.
“As for your little trick … a trick that cost so many … maybe you’re right. The gods are watching, and praising themselves for leaving you behind.”
“No, they love me. They love me!”
“No, they don’t. They don’t love any of us.” I let him go, stood and pounded on the door.
“Pathetic,” I said as it opened. Pan softly sobbed behind me. I left without turning to look at him. I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, he was feeling a fraction of the pain he deserved for what he did.
↔
Michael greeted me in the hall.
“He’s gone,” I said. “Another Other driven insane by the departure of the gods.”
Michael nodded. “The gods’ departure has taken its toll on all of us. Sadly, Pan’s nature didn’t arm him well enough for such an event, Deputy Jean-Luc.”
I looked for a hint of irony in Michael’s eyes. There was none. He was dead serious, and I guessed this deputy thing was going to stick around—for as long as I did, anyway. I nodded. “Do you believe him about the Crystal? It fits with what Stewart said before he went all inanimate.”
The archangel shook his head. “I don’t know. Either way, this doesn’t bode well for the world.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Pan is either lying and somehow he found the Crystal … or there is another Other in the background. One who believes in Chaos.”
“For what purpose?”
“What else? To usher back the old world?”
Michael’s lips curled in what I believed was admiration. Or suspicion. It was always unclear with the archangel. “You know about that?” he said.
“I just know what I’ve been told.”
Michael shrugged. “Maybe the goal is to bring Chaos back. Or maybe it’s something else.”
“Like what?”
“Chaos and Nature are not diametrical opposites—they’re two points on a continuum. There’s much that a knowledgeable Other could do to gain power, become a god …”
“Or bring the gods back?”
“Perhaps. Whatever the end game is … this player doesn’t mind causing destruction. Quite the opposite. The question is—what do we do now?”
“That’s easy,” I said, walking away. “You figure out this Other’s plan.”
“And how, Human Jean-Luc, do I do that?”
“Think about it. This creature has immense knowledge. He understands how everything works. How many creatures in existence today have that knowledge?”
“Not many,” Michael conceded.
I paused at the door to the main area of the police station. “Exactly. Not many. You’re one of them—just ask yourself what you’d do.” And with that I left the archangel police chief to ponder how exactly he’d ascend to godhood, should he so desire.
↔↔
I walked into the main office area of the police station, determined to get out of there as fast as I could, when I saw yet another person in the parade of “Let’s ruin Jean-Luc’s day.”
Sally.
The once-upon-a-time baker sat at the desk of a valkyrie detective, probably giving a statement about how I ruined her shop. Or maybe she still held a grudge about the flyers.
“Jean-Luc,” she called when she saw me. It had been a hell of a week, and the last thing I wanted to do was get into another debate with someone else who didn’t like me, so I decided to just walk on without saying anything to her. But then she said the only six words that could have stopped me. “Chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies.”
; “What?” I said, turning to face her.
“Chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies … those were Bella’s favorite, weren’t they?”
I nodded.
Sally wasn’t wearing her business suit or her overly conservative pajamas. She wore a pastel-blue Sunday dress with a yellow cardigan. She looked soft, almost pleasant. “You two were so in love,” she said. “I could see it every time you came up to order those damn chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. You’d be at the till, stealing looks at her while waiting for me to bring you your cookies. It was so endearing that sometimes I took extra-long just to watch you grow impatient. You know, to make that return to her all the sweeter.” Sally’s gaze went distant, as if she were inside the memory instead of recalling it.
“I remember,” I said.
“When I heard about Bella’s death and what you were doing, I decided that I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. I wanted to help my own way.”
I could see that she did, and even though she was Mama from Hot Mama’s Cookies, I couldn’t get past her methods. “By cutting Others up to look more human? There are better ways to help.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps, but like I said, ‘My own way.’ ” She held my gaze, secure in the belief that what she was doing was right. “I dropped my case against you. I will, however, file an insurance claim and use the money to rebuild my salon. This time with more security, too.”
I shrugged. “Do what you have to do.” I turned to walk out of the station.
“You know, they’ll be the death of you.”
I stopped at the door, where police portraits hung on the wall. Valkyries, minotaurs, the Gruff Brothers … all serving in blue. In the middle of them was a photo of Medusa wearing her olive-tanned grin, dimples in her cheeks. I kissed my middle and forefinger and touched them to her lips. “They already have,” I said, and walked out the door.
↔
I got back to the hotel, where I found Astarte, Penemue, EightBall and Atargatis waiting for me in the foyer. I pretended not to see them. It was my I-Don’t-Care Day, and if any of them had a problem with that … well, I just didn’t care.
I was walking past them when a sultry voice that did not have a hint of a Parisian accent said, “Medusa. The Army returned her body. The funeral is at dusk.” Astarte trembled as she spoke.
Hearing Medusa’s name was akin to getting slammed in the head with a baseball bat. Believe me, I know. Before I had time to think, my childish anger took over. “So?” I spouted.
I expected Astarte to say something in response. Her head just dropped, an expression of pain on her face. That was like getting hit with a second swing.
I tried to ignore her hurt and walk to my room. It was all I could do not to lose myself.
As soon as my back was to her, Astarte whispered, “Jean-Luc … Where are you going? We need you.”
“Not now,” I said.
“But we’ll be late.”
I turned around and saw genuine concern. No, not concern … confusion. Astarte was hurting, and that hurt confused her.
Not that I cared. “Late?” I growled. “For what? To say goodbye?”
A tear escaped when Astarte shook her head. “She hated being late.”
“She doesn’t hate anything now,” I said.
“I don’t understand, and no one is telling me anything.” Astarte was crying now. “You all look at me like all I care for is sex. I am what I am, but sex is not all I care for … I cared for Medusa. She was my friend. I’ve known her longer than I’ve known most beings, certainly longer than I’ve known mortality. And now she’s gone and she’s never coming back. Ever. I’ll never see her smile again. I’ll never hear her laugh. I’ll—”
“Oh, stop with the pity party,” I shot back. “Or should I say, pity orgy. You’ll never see her smile, you’ll never hear her laugh? You act like you’re the one who died.”
“I did!” the succubus cried out. “I did,” she whispered. “I’m the one who suffers, not her. She goes to sleep. She doesn’t care what happens to us. She doesn’t know where she is … what happened to her. No thinking, no worrying. No fear. No sadness—”
“No joy. No smiling, no laughing. Dying doesn’t make you the lucky one,” I snapped.
Atargatis walked over to Astarte and put an arm around her shoulder. “That’s quite enough, Jean-Luc,” she scolded. “Now get ready. And don’t dilly-dally. We’ll be waiting for you down here.” Atargatis pulled her younger sister away, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief.
↔
I walked into my room and slammed the door behind me. As soon as it closed, I punched the wall over and over again until there was a hole in the drywall and blood on the off-white paint. “GoneGodDamn it!” I cried out. “Damn it!”
I slumped to the floor and started rubbing my temples. “Just a few more hours,” I said. “A few more, and I would’ve been gone.” I closed my eyes, the pressure of the lids forcing more tears down my cheeks. “I would’ve been gone.”
I sat there for a long time, trying to summon the strength to open my eyes. Opening them would mean standing up. And standing up would mean leaving my room and going to the saddest place I could imagine … Medusa’s funeral.
I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not ever.
Not again.
Those two little words ran through me with such force that my heart skipped a beat.
So that’s what this was all about. Not again. I couldn’t say goodbye to the only person I’d loved since Bella died.
Not again.
My heart squeezed hard in my chest, compressing as if it was trying to push out every drop of blood it held.
Not again.
I stood, an eerie calm coming over me.
Not again.
I grabbed my suitcase and threw in my clothes. I didn’t have that many—they hardly took any space—so I dumped in as many of my toys as would fit, not caring if I scuffed them. Then I flipped the lid closed and zipped it shut.
I was leaving. I was going to duck out the back, get in my car and take off. That was my plan, a plan interrupted by a very distinct and menacing hiss. “What the …?” I said, turning. On the floor sat a very large green viper. “Marty … what are you doing here?” I pushed the snake away.
Marty hissed again and slithered up a lamp so he could be eye-level with me again. Have you ever seen a snake frown? Its face doesn’t change expression—it looks as scaly and as menacing as ever—but you can feel its sadness. Marty’s pain was like heat blowing from a furnace. He was miserable. He was hurting just as bad as I was, probably more. He had lost someone he was part of, and being without Medusa must’ve felt like a part of his being was missing.
I knew the feeling. I’d had a part of me ripped away more than once.
He hissed and looked at me, then at my packed suitcase.
“I’m going away,” I said.
He flicked his tongue.
“I’m not going the funeral. I can’t. I can’t say goodbye. Not today. Not ever.”
Marty coiled around the lamp base and shook his head at the door.
“No,” I said. “I’m not abandoning them.”
Marty hissed again and looked up at the ceiling, just as Pan had at the police station.
“This is different. The gods left without warning … I’m—”
Then I got it. I was just as bad as they were. I was walking away without saying goodbye. And what’s more, I was leaving without paying my respects to Medusa. This was to be her very last party, her final farewell. Marty’s harsh, lipless expression drove it home. She would’ve wanted me there. After all, I owed her one more date.
So I decided to go, to say goodbye to her—and with that, say goodbye to Paradise Lot.
“OK,” I said. Playing Charades with Marty was harder than with TinkerBelle. “I’ll go. I owe her that much. But after the funeral, I’m leaving. Nothing short of a disaster is going to change that.”
Marty’s forked to
ngue licked his dry, lipless mouth.
“What about you?” I asked.
He turned to Castle Grayskull.
“Sure,” I said. “The castle’s yours. But if a three-inch-tall golden fairy wants it back, you’ll have to move out.”
↔↔
The Army had returned Medusa’s statue to the beach.
Later I learned that Michael and The BisMark had engaged in some serious negotiations with the human authorities to make sure they returned her to where she belonged. They argued that her presence would cool Others’ tempers. And judging by the hubbub of activity that surrounded her stone body, they were right.
Medusa was seen as the gorgon who sacrificed her life to save Paradise Lot. Her statue would become a Mecca for Others … a symbol of bravery, sacrifice and the new GoneGod world in which we all now lived. More—she was a comfort to all who saw her, just like she always wanted to be. Careful what you wish for, I thought, looking at her gray immobile face.
Marty and I hung back as Others approached her one by one. Minotaurs grabbed their horns and brayed, centaurs dug their hooves in the sand and bowed, fairies sprinkled glitter, angels sang hymns.
Atargatis came with her seven children—all having traded human faces for their sharklike appearance—and touched Medusa before saying a prayer in a language I didn’t understand. The BisMark placed his hands on her knees. Miral kissed her feet, wiping angelic tears on her ankles. Penemue and EightBall poured out Drambuie by her statue while Michael and the Gruff Brothers saluted her.
