On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  The stranger exited into the bright Los Angeles sun outside the coffee shop with a smile and spring in his step. His day was getting better, he had found out where Dana Plough was and he’d given a gentle nudge to a young man down the pathway to eternal damnation. ‘A very good day indeed’, said Jeremiah to himself.

  *****

  Actor Jonathan Frakes sat in the hotel restaurant eating a small meal of fruit and fried eggs as a pick-me-up before his second day signing autographs at the Seattle Science Fiction Convention and Go Cart Rally. Beside him lay the copy of The Last Days vol. XII he had been given the day before.

  The leather binding was frayed and the pages were yellow and crumbling under the touch of his fingers. As he skimmed through page after page of what was an extremely and exceedingly poorly written novella in old English and Aramaic about a war between forces of Good and Evil involving two teams of thirteen combatants in a bloody battle to either save or destroy the world.

  He didn’t enjoy it as a piece of fiction; most of the scenes were, it seemed to be, thrown together in a random fashion with too many self editing marks crossed over in red ink, as if the author had changed his mind several times about who or what the book was supposed to be about.

  He did find one thing he liked; he was in it. And was a major player on the side of good. Even though at the end of the book he was left in a substantial pool of his own blood, he did enjoy the way in which the author captured his obvious heroic features.

  *****

  Barnaby stared at the large board of names in the lobby of the medical center. Doctors and patients whizzed past him as he tried to decipher the different specialists with the floor they worked on. He didn’t know who he was looking for, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it. He studied the board with an intensity usually reserved for people with major heart conditions coaching their child’s pee-wee football team, while eating a foot-long roast beef grinder.

  He noticed an attractive young woman wearing scrubs walking through the lobby and ran over to her. “Excuse me miss?”

  “Yes,” said Ketty.

  “Could you tell me where babies are made?”

  “I think you’re a little old to not know that.”

  “Ha-ha. Could you point me in the direction of where babies are made?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Barnaby knew that babies were created and born and lived through a serious of unfulfilled life events that they would want to share with him when they eventually died. It seemed all quite natural and insignificant in the small scope, he just wasn’t aware there was a big scope.

  “Um- well-,” Barnaby clamored on, trying to come up with some sort of definition that would explain to the young woman that he wanted to find which floor and which room the mother of the antichrist was without seeming too crazy.

  “Do you want babies who are already born or babies who are about to be?” Ketty had run into numerous first-time fathers before and they all acted like babbling children having just been hit with the idea that there was no Santa Clause and now needed to get to the North Pole to find out if this was actually true.

  “I need babies who will be born in the next five days.”

  “So you want pre-natal. That’s on the thirteenth floor. They call it the fourteenth, but everyone knows it’s the thirteenth. I think they just don’t want all the babies being born under some outdated sense of evilness.”

  “Evil babies are exactly what I’m looking for. Thirteen you say? Thank you.”

  “Wait, wait,” she said lightly taking his arm. She determined it was probably best for him not to wandering the hospital unattended “Let me show you the way; I’m on my way up there any way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m Ketty by the way.”

  “Kitty? Like the meow-meow cat?”

  “No, not like the meow-meow cat.” Her pupils pinpointing into two little black gun barrels. “It’s Ketty; don’t ever call me kitty unless you want your arms broken.”

  The elevator doors closed and Ketty pushed the button for the Fourteenth floor. She looked at Barnaby and decided he was cute and it was too bad he was going up to the pre-natal ward. “So,” she said turning to him, “is your wife due soon?”

  “I don’t have a wife.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you visiting?”

  “I don’t really know.” He said, scratching the back of head.

  “You don’t know? You just randomly stop by hospitals to check to see whose being born?”

  “Today? Yes.”

  “Why is it all the cute ones are crazy?”

  “I’m not crazy.” Even Barnaby had a hard time believing that.

  “No, you’re just a normal average man who hangs around expectant mothers hoping to get a glimpse of who’s giving birth that week.”

  “As I said; Today, yes.” He knew it sounded crazy, but damn if he was going to stray from his deer in the headlights way of communicating.

  “And you’re not crazy?”

  “No. And you did you say you thought I was cute?”

  “Until the whole crazy thing happened.”

  “Listen, I’m looking for one particular woman giving birth to one particular child.” He was starting to remember why he avoided speaking to humans during his job.

  “But you have no idea who the mother or the baby is?”

  “I know who the baby is.”

  “Who?”

  There were some things humans were not supposed to know. For instance; when the world was going to end and if the world wasn’t going to end, what was being done to insure that of happening. Barnaby didn’t want to get into a discussion about what he was doing there because humans didn’t believe anything that was actually true in the universe [Like a pig’s ability to fly. They do it after everyone has gone to bed, under starless skies and really have a great deal of fun with it]. Plus she thought he was cute.

  “Never mind, it’s not important.”

  “Oh come on, try me. I’m not your average orderly; I have a sixth sense about things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like- I know you’re visiting from out of town.”

  “How- how did you know that?”

  “Your shampoo, its standard issue hotel shampoo. I collect it- okay, steal it from hotels.” She hated when people judged, even if they weren’t,”Hey, I don’t make a lot of money; sue me.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Barnaby hustled out onto the floor and searched the halls with his eyes.

  “Really, who are you looking for?”

  “The antichrist.” He yelled over his shoulder, knowing that it wasn’t the topic he wanted to breech. So he did what any normal person would do; he took off down the hall in a flash. He darted in and out of hallways, stopping to peak into rooms that may hold Dana Plough, whom he didn’t know he was looking for.

  “The antichrist?! Really?” Ketty huffed and after a second or two of watching the manic man hustle between rooms scaring women into false labor, she took off down the other hallway to start her second job emptying catheters.

  *****

  Dana Plough paced nervously around a much too cramped exam room wearing a revealing dressing gown. Satan sat in a chair in the corner and smiled as his eyes darted back and forth, watching her bounce around the room like a super ball shot out of a cannon. She tried to keep the large slit in the back from showing her ever-widening ass. As she tugged and pulled on the thin material Satan gave out a knowing little chuckle.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “A little, yes.”

  “They don’t make these things for normal people, let alone one’s who are big as freaking Shamu.”

  “Oh you’re not that big.”

  “Really?”

  “No. You’re really quite big.”

  Dana Plough grabbed the nearest object within her reach and it them at the father. The object
happened to be a bag of cotton balls and even if she hadn’t thrown and hit one of the most powerful beings in the known Universe, it wouldn’t have hurt any way. This made him laugh even harder.

  “Oh will you shut up!”

  “I will if you stop throwing dangerous objects at my head.”

  She gave him a look that would have given the devil himself the willies, and he being the devil himself, knew it was probably best to keep his thoughts, and chuckles to himself.

  “Where is the damn doctor anyway? I’ve been waiting here in this ridiculous thing for almost an hour.”

  “Be patient, he’ll be here soon.”

  “It’s real easy to be patient from where you’re sitting, isn’t it? You’re not the one lugging around a ten pound bowling ball in your stomach, pressing against your bladder. Your little job was pretty easy wasn’t it? Wham bam thank you ma’am and you’re on your merry little way. Well listen to me buddy, I don’t care who you are outside of my presence, but when you’re around me I’m in charge, get it?”

  Satan buried his head in his chest not wanting to make eye contact with the hurricane that was Dana Plough. He had spent years searching for the woman to give birth to his child and Dana Plough was the perfect vessel for the job. He just had never anticipated the impertinent wrath of a woman who was getting stronger willed every day that the child was inside of her. Women, it occurred to him, were a major force in making any man feel ashamed of having a penis.

  “Yes dear.” He gave a quick glance up to see if she was looking at him. She was, so he hung his head again.

  Dr. Arneau opened the door and glided into the room. He had a strut of a man who was quite aware that he was voted one of the nation’s top five gynecologists by the American Medical Association for eleven straight years. He was a vision straight out of a soap opera; tall, tanned and handsome with a cleft chin and deep blue eyes. He was well into his fifties, but could have easily passed for thirty if it wasn’t for the salt and pepper hair he proudly spent hours a day coifing in the various mirrors he would pass by [most of them on purpose].

  “How are we doing Dana?” he said, his head buried in the chart he was carrying.

  “I’m doing well, Dr. Arneau. It’s so good to see you again,” her voice quivered and hands shook at the sight of the Adonis in the white lab coat.

  “Ahem,” Satan cleared his throat trying to get the woman he impregnated to stop fawning over the doofus with a stethoscope.

  “Oh hello,” said the doctor turning his attention to the man in the chair, “Are we finally getting to meet the father of this lovely woman’s baby.”

  “Oh Doctor,” she swooned.

  “Yes, I am the father,” staring at Dana Plough.

  “Ah, I’m guessing by your accent you’re French?”

  “Yes,” said the Devil, “Damien Lefervre.”

  “I have a little French in me on my father’s side of the family, of course, not as much as Ms. Plough has.” Dr. Arneau gave a wink and a smile, Dana Plough let out a girlish giggle, turned flushed and swooned again. Satan groaned.

  “Now Dana- and David was it?”

  “Damien.” Corrected Satan.

  “Ah like the movie.”

  “Yes, like the movie.”

  “Very good. I have the latest ultrasound results and the baby is looking great. Two little arms, two little hooves…”

  “What?” gasped Dana Plough and Satan simultaneously.

  “Professional joke. Sorry. Most people don’t it take it that seriously.”

  “No, it’s just I didn’t think you could see-- you know--” Dana was trying to cover, rather badly.

  “Darling,” said Satan trying to stop her from making the mistake of not only taking the joke too seriously but also telling the doctor that it wasn’t a joke, “She’s been a bit edgy these past few days.”

  “All perfectly normal. Are you doing the exercises we talked about?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “And are we helping her father?”

  “I’ve got many good men on it around the clock.”

  “Good?” This puzzled Dr. Arneau; he’d seen absentee fathers before, but he had never heard of someone so unwilling to help with the pregnancy that he would hire an entire team to do his work for him.

  “Let’s see, according to your estimated due date, the baby is due in 4 days. Well, that’s exciting.” After over 25 years in the baby business Dr. Arneau still enjoyed the work. “Always nice to see a new little face come forth into the world.”

  All of a sudden there was a high-pitched squeal that came echoing from outside in the hallway.

  *****

  “AHHHHHHHHHHH!” screamed Barnaby as he came barreling down the hallway at full speed, colliding into Ketty.

  “Oh it’s you again,” she said brushing herself off and checking to see if she was still in possession of all her teeth. “Find what you were looking for?”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” babbled Barnaby, the color had left his face replaced with a look of absolute horror.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just- I just-I, um-”

  “You just what?”

  White as a ghost, he found the words to muster, “Found out where babies come from.”

  “And you didn’t before.” She laughed.

  “I thought I-- I had only assumed-- Oh, it was so horrible-- There was this lady and she was lying on-- and her legs were spread-- and a head was coming out-- oh god the head-- and it was so-- so horrible!” his voice cried with the pleads of a quick death.

  Ketty slapped him hard across the face; she had seen this work to calm hysterical women in the movies and figured it would do the same for hysterical men in the real world. “Now just settle down.”

  “How can I possibly settle down after what I’ve seen? It was slimy. So, so very slimy”

  “I swear I’ll hit you again if you don’t pull yourself together. It’s a beautiful and natural part of human existence, a wonderful treasure to be cherished, not to scream bloody murder about around the halls of hospital like a frightened little child.”

  “It’s just--” he began.

  She raised her opened palm again to show him she meant business.

  “Alright. I’m calm.”

  “So, I take it you found what you were looking for?”

  “No. I didn’t find what I was looking for, thank you very much. I told you I was looking for one specific woman, not anyone with a birth canal able to pop out a-- a…--whatever the hell that thing was.”

  There were footsteps tapping down the hall and a recognizable voice with them. Barnaby leapt to his feet and grabbed Ketty, hurling their bodies precariously through the air, landing them behind the reception desk.

  “I told you everything was okay,” said Satan purveying the hallway. “All that shrieking was probably some woman going through the joys of labor.”

  “If that’s the joys of labor, I’m definitely getting a cesarean.”

  “Anything you want, as long as we get him out of you.”

  “You’re so romantic.”

  Barnaby peered just above the desk as he watched Dana Plough and Satan get on the elevator. After the doors had closed he stood up and turned to Ketty only to be met with a more vicious slap than the one to calm him before.

  “Ouch! What was that for?” he said rubbing his cheek.

  “You have to be kidding me! You just threw me onto the ground, you jerk.”

  “It was for your own good.”

  “Oh yeah? How was bruising my ass good for me?”

  “Okay, I just got carried away. It was good for me. I couldn’t let that guy see me.”

  “Why not? He isn’t a bookie and you’re so desperate for cash to pay him back that you’re wandering the maternity ward looking to kidnap babies to sell them on the black market?” said Ketty in a tone that suggested she’d run into that problem before. “Because if that’s your game, so help me next time it’s a closed fist!”

&nb
sp; Barnaby backed off from the ball of pent up rage that was brandishing a small but powerful fist just inches from his face. He had never experienced pain before today and now he had felt it twice in a three minute span. He decided he had experienced this particular slice of the human disposition enough for one lifetime.

  He massaged his jaw, which was swelling up, and decided that he needed help. Since he had obviously formed a bond with this woman he opted to give her understanding a shot. Even if it might result in another shellacking.

  “Will you listen to me for a minute?” he pleaded.

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s no easy way to tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Well, you better think of a way of telling me pretty damn fast. Because I’m about ten seconds from calling the cops and having your ass thrown in the deepest, darkest prison cell specially made for creeps and perverts like you.”

  “Okay.” He started to give the truth a shot, “Did you see that guy walking by us?”

  “Before you threw me to ground?’

  “Get over it will you? Did you see him or not?”

  “Fine. Yes I saw him. Very handsome. What has he got to do with you?”

  “What I’m going to tell you is to be taken in the highest of secrecy. I don’t want you to scream over what I’m going to tell you next.”

  “I promise.” Ketty was ready for a big story about how Barnaby was a covert secret agent and the guy they were hiding from was a former soviet arms dealer who was wanted for all sorts of dastardly and misbegotten deeds. She imagined Barnaby had chased the man for years all over the world to finally track him to Los Angeles, where a major arms was about to go down and Barnaby was going to ask for her help in securing the world’s safety.

  “He’s the Devil.”

  Ketty took a moment to digest the information she had been given. Then burst out into uproarious laughter.

  “I’m serious.” He contended.

  “I was wrong. You’re not a pervert; you’re crazy!” Her eyes glazed over with the thought she was this close to going along with some harebrained spy story.

  “He is-- I swear he is.”

  “I’m going back to work. I would say it was a pleasure meeting you,” she gave Barnaby a small shake of her head and rolled her eyes, “but you know how it is.”

  “Wait please. I can prove it.”

  “Oh yeah? This should be interesting?”

  “I work for Death.”