On The 7th Day

by Zack Murphy

  Barnaby couldn’t be bothered with people too busy for a good shower; he was too busy dealing with the plate of burnt bacon that had been placed before him.

  He poked at the blackened meat that sat there sizzling in a pool of fat on his plate and sighed. He poured a half a cup of sugar into his coffee and turned his attention to a newspaper the previous diner had left.

  *****

  A wayward wire poked at Henry through the stool; a matter that would have proven annoying if he wasn’t too busy trying to get a grip on the reality of what he had done. He looked around the diner trying to interpret the character of the patrons. The place was empty except for a man in the corner booth who seemed to be too busy eating burnt bacon and reading the paper to notice Henry.

  He reached into his pants and ran his fingers over the vial of whatever it was he had lifted from the lab. He hadn’t had a chance since his harrowing escape to read what he had stolen. Whatever it was he was sure it would do the trick, even though was still in the dark as to what the trick involved. His hand left the vial gently as he pulled his hand from his pocket. He picked up his cell phone from the counter and scrolled down the menu to find Juliet’s number. He took a deep breath and dialed her number.

  *****

  “Hello,” said the quiescent voice on the other end of the phone. Juliet took a drink of water she kept next to her bed in an attempt to get the cotton that had lined the inside of her mouth to dissolve. As the water made its way down her throat it took a detour and caused a coughing fit deep in her lungs. As she struggled to regain her breath she dropped the phone, causing it to hang up. She looked down at the phone as it lie on the floor; she gave a thought to picking it up but decided to turn over and go back to sleep.

  The phone rang again and with an audible moan she reached over and grabbed it haughtily. “What do you need?” she said, struggling to get her voice to conjoin with her heavily lethargic brain.

  After a few exasperated lines of barely comprehensible chatter from Henry, she looked at the clock and said, “All right, give me thirty minutes and I’ll come and get you.”

  *****

  Actor Jonathan Frakes had slept in his car, which did a number to his well coifed hair. He felt dirty as he ran his fingers through his hair and down his face. He flicked off the tiny specks of grime that had collected on his skin over night. He pulled out a toothbrush from his travel bag and squirted some paste onto the brush. The cool mint taste permeated his mouth and he started to feel alive again. He rolled down the window and spit out a mouthful of foam onto the pavement. As he lifted his head he noticed someone staring at him.

  He wiped his mouth and made strong contact with the eyes of his admirer. He was used to being a public figure and thought of himself as someone who knew how deal with the adoration of a giddy fan. He smiled and gave a quick nod of his head before unconsciously reaching up and flicking a crusty yellow formation from the corner of his left eye.

  The fan went on his way down the street and Actor Jonathan Frakes went back to his cramped makeshift powder room, digging through his bag for a bundle of wet naps. After his crude shower he took out a pair of binoculars and focused them on the top floor of the hotel he had camped out in front of.

  *****

  Loman walked away shaking his head; he could remember a day when an actor in the caliber of Jonathan Frakes would have been still working. Instead, he was living out of his car like a common vagabond. He had admired the actor’s work in the past and instead of an autograph, his shoe was covered in the actor’s morning dental clean-up.

  He pushed his way through the revolving door of the hotel lobby and walked inside. He made a bee-line for the concierge’s desk and rang the small bell on the counter. He tapped his fingers nervously as he waited to be greeted. The door on the back wall opened and a tall man dressed in a tuxedo entered. It was eight in the morning and the sight of seeing someone in a tuxedo, who wasn’t covered in vomit, was a bit startling.

  “May I help you sir?”

  “Um, yes,” Loman stammered as he searched for the right words, “I’m looking for someone?”

  “We all are sir, but this isn’t a dating service.”

  Loman was taken aback by the concierge’s dry delivery. He was the type of man who took things very seriously, but he compensated by having a biting wit to distract those whom he found to be inferior to the people who could afford a penthouse suite. Loman tried to gather his control and continued, “I’m looking for a guest here.”

  “And what would the name be on the room, sir?” The concierge words dripped with sarcasm.

  “Yes, the name is, um, um.”

  “You do know who you’re looking for? Would you like to look through a phone book to help you out in your quest?”

  “No. Her name is Ketty. Ketty Bauer.”

  “Let me just look her up sir. It will just take a minute.” His voice conveyed that of someone who was unwilling to look at Loman as anyone more than the riff raff of society. As he typed away at the computer his face scrunched and contorted in a variety of manifestations.

  He clicked and hummed as he searched the index for Ketty’s name. He stopped and sighed, “I’m afraid there is no one by that name here sir.”

  “I know she’s here!” cried Loman whose heart raced and sunk deep into his gut, “I know someone who saw her come in here.”

  “I’m sorry, but she isn’t registered. Perhaps she’s the guest of someone else.” The last few words dripped of the concierge’s tongue like warm ice cream. He seemed to cherish the pain that was Loman’s ordeal.

  “Please, you have to help me. I know Ketty’s here. I’ve got to find her, she needs me.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of women who ‘need’ someone of your stature and demeanor.” The concierge said dryly. “In fact, we have a few that frequently wait outside this very hotel sometimes.”

  “She is not a hooker! I’m not looking for a hooker! I just want to find my friend!” frustration leapt from his quivering voice.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you. But you’re free to wait in the diner across the street and keep an eye out for her if you wish.”

  Loman dejected and crestfallen turned tail and walked off, leaving a self-satisfied concierge to gloat in private. He made his way to a small diner across the street. He swung open the door to notice a rather derelict fellow sitting at the counter muttering to himself about strains of exotic flues.

  He decided that he would sit outside and wait; besides, it was a lovely day. He found a seat in the sun and sat down to relax, just a little. He never did notice the man in the corner reading the paper.

  *****

  Famine, as was her practice during the road trip, led the way singing at the top of lungs, which could fill up with enough air to power the Albuquerque International Balloon Festival. The Death rode along side War and Conquest trying as hard as they could to amuse her.

  Ducat lagged behind on horseback, struggling to keep pace with the dinosaurs who had adapted quite nicely to traveling through the thick sand.

  Famine was subject to the emotionally vibrant musical styling of George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic at this junction of the trek. She took great delight in her own voice as she belted out Aqua Boogie (A psychoalphadiscobetaaquadoloop) while galloping through the desert.

  War glanced back to check on their companion, who was hunched over in an attempt to get as stream-lined as possible. “How are you doing, friend?” he bellowed into the wind.

  “Not great, if you must know.” Ducat yelled, bits of wind-blown sand making home between his teeth.

  “That’s a trooper!” War didn’t like to listen to answers to his own questions. He had the rule that if something was stated by him it was automatically true and that any response to the contrary wasn’t to be accepted. “We’re making great time.”

  “Shouldn’t I be leading? Since I know where we’re going after all,” huffed Ducat.

  “No need to lead, we can feel w
here you’re taking us. We’re special that way.” War said prideful.

  “Great!” beefed Ducat, as a large collection of sand flew up into his face. He spit out the granules, wishing he had never raised his hand a few hours ago.

  *****

  Onaiwu Iyare wasn’t a trained psychologist, but by his best guesstimate, he had definitely gone crazy. He had only been alone with his thoughts for a few days now. He had quickly come to realize that there wasn’t much in there to rehash over and over again. Starting off the day in a foggy stupor his mind quickly evolved into a hazy coma of muddied consciousness.

  As he sat swaying in the desert breeze on an old wooden rocking chair he began to reflect on his past. He tried to figure out where exactly his predetermined destiny had taken him. As far as he could tell, as he watched what he believed to be a large blue stork eating a opossum covered in mustard while doing the cha-cha, it had taken him on a one way trip to the loony bin.

  *****

  Satan paced the living room as the 13 Insurance Agents followed him with their eyes. They were at full attention as he wore a noticeable groove in Dana Plough’s expensive Turkish carpet. This was not the way they were used to seeing the Lord and Ruler of the Netherworld act; he was twitchy and mumbled a lot more than usual to himself. He seemed to get distracted by the smallest of things. He was becoming, if they dare think it, mortal.

  As he marched the room he would stop every so often to bring his fingers to his mouth and with a wisp give a curdling moan. He had become impatient with the flightiness his mistress had been given to wont over the past twenty-four hours.

  He had chosen Dana Plough for her strength and resolve; now she was spending long hours reflecting on the beach and taking morning drives to watch otters playing on the shore.

  Satan was changing also; he knew it, although he didn’t want to admit it. His minions looked to him for guidance and a sense of duty. He was having trouble thinking of himself of a leader of the damned.

  He was starting to think of himself as a father. This worried him; he was sure he was ready for parenthood, but now it was becoming a reality; a reality that was getting, for lack of a better word, real.

  *****

  The Great Hall of Death was buzzing. The time had come that all agents of death had been waiting for but none of them had ever really expected. The Death had ridden off with the other Horsemen and now they had to prepare for the day of reckoning.

  The busiest day of eternity was overwhelming, but finding a job after the day had ended was positively daunting. For the deaths, ushering in souls to the afterlife was the only work they had ever known or were qualified for. The afterlife wasn’t going to be same after this.

  DANZ & C>500TP sat at the head of the table. She had been given the unenviable task of chairing the meeting that would lead to the destruction of mankind. All eyes were focused on her and the strange human who stood to the right of her shoulder.

  No mortal had ever been allowed to enter the Great Hall before [Except the cleaning crew, but no one ever notices them anyway] and it was a bit unnerving to have to talk in front of him.

  Deaths weren’t that fond of humans in the first place; they found them uneducated, dirty, philandering misanthropes with no cause in the universe other than to be really annoying when trying to get directions. They liked their time in the Great Hall to discuss their mutual dislike for humans; it was therapeutic.

  “All right, let’s get down to business.” No one stopped to listen, they continued to talk amongst themselves in a quiet roar about the man alongside DANZ & C>500TP. She could tell this meeting was going to be difficult. “I think if we all just calm down a bit we can ignore the giant ass over here.” She pointed a crooked thumb in the avenue of Michael Ryan.

  “Hey!” objected Michael.

  “Shut up!” she scolded.

  “Okay.” Michael Ryan dejectedly bowed his head as not to catch the disapproving laughter of the rest of the room.

  DANZ & C>500TP cleared her throat and rustled her papers into an even and symmetrical block. “All right,” she said, scanning the room to make sure all eyes were transfixed squarely on her, “The first order of business--”

  “The first order of business is who in the bloody hell is that?” blurted out the Death of London, Belfast, Glasgow, Manchester, Cardiff, Edinburg and Liverpool [because that’s where the Beatles are from].

  “Yeah,” reaffirmed the Death of everywhere else in the United Kingdom, a true lackey in every sense of the word.

  DANZ & C>500TP sighed, knowing this was going to be a much longer meeting that she wanted. She had things to do, and running a meeting filled with disapproving eyes was the last thing she wanted to do. “He’s with me.”

  “Well, we can see that, eh.” said the Death of Canada, “We want to know who you are, eh, to think you can just bring him in here.” She stopped and paused, as all eyes were upon her she shrugged and finished, “eh?”

  “I’m the chairwoman right now. That gives me all the permission I need.” The fumes that billowed from her ears were permeable.

  “If I could say something,” Michael raised his hand and softly said, knowing very well he was the last person anyone wanted to hear from. But he knew he had to try and stick up for himself, because nobody else here would.

  “No!” echoed the table in a burst of solidified anger.

  “I think we should let the thing speak if he wants to.” The voice came the meekest employee; the Death of Germany. It had not gone unnoticed by the group over the years that the shyest and least authoritative member of the brotherhood was from a country where strength is a valuable commodity. “Right?”

  “Fine, go ahead and tell everyone what’s on your mind.” Blustered DANZ & C>500TP.

  Michael cleared his throat and straightened himself as best he could. He examined the room in an endeavor to make a sliver of emotional contact with the imposing enemies that despised him for how he was born. “I really don’t want to be here.”

  “Thank you. That was a beautiful speech.” DANZ & C>500TP slapped him upside the head, no small feat considering she was seated and he was standing perfectly erect directly behind her.

  “I just wanted--,” he pouted massaging his head.

  “I said thank you. Don’t make me hit you again.” She shuffled her papers in a feeble attempt to regain some control over the room. “Now back to today’s agenda. As you know, the end of days is upon us and seeing that we are, at the time short staffed--”

  “Yeah, where is The Death of The West Coast of the United States including Nevada, Arizona and Hawaii? First he gets stupid name, then on busiest day in history of time he gets a-- a-- how you say it? Vacation?” said the Death of Brazil, who was practicing her English in an attempt to pad her resume a smidge.

  “He’s not on vacation,” said the exacerbated chairwoman. “He’s on assignment.” This justification seemingly wasn’t getting through to the others. “--On orders from the big guy?”

  “And where’s The Death of Japan, Korea and The Philippines? Is he on assignment too?” the sarcasm dripped off the Death of Indonesia’s tongue like Kool-aid from a member of the People’s Temple.

  “Do you want California? Because we can give it to you if you want it.”

  “No! That’s all right. I’m good.” His head lowered to hide on the chance that she was serious.

  *****

  Jeremiah was finally awake and trying to get the room’s coffee maker to work. All he wanted was a nice cup of tea, but boiling water was becoming a tricky wicket. His attention turned from the machine to the door when a click from the lock and a turn of the handle came from the other side of the room.

  Ketty entered, glistening from the sun hitting the droplets of sweat that formed on her cheeks. “Finally awake I see.”

  “I will be as soon as I get a bloody spot of tea from this thing.” He kicked the table that housed the coffee maker, making a thud that can only come from the meeting of flesh and bone to solid
oak.

  “Just push the ‘on’ button.” Ketty sidled up to coffee maker and pressed the button on the side of the machine. She gave him an understanding, yet condescending pat on the back. For the first time in a while she was back in familiar grounds. She was dealing people like they were six year olds.

  Jeremiah dolefully found a spot on the couch and dutifully placed himself. With a furrowed nose he watched the steaming water drip into the glass pot. “Where’s Barnaby?” he said trying to change the unspoken conversation of his stupidity to someone else whom Ketty had less admiration for.

  “Probably across the street eating that pile of grease and crusty eggs he calls breakfast. I swear I have no idea how he can be so harsh to judge us humans and the way we live when he fills his body with that crap.”

  “He’s not used to eating.” Jeremiah said, “It’s more of a science project than anything.”

  “He certainly picked the right place for an experiment.” Ketty left the room to slip into the bathroom.

  She pulled off her the sweat stained tee shirt and pants and removed her unmentionables. She slipped into one of the hotel’s robes, made just for the distinguished customers, of Egyptian cotton and terrycloth. The warm white cloth felt like heaven as it caressed her aching and moist body.

  She reentered the room and positioned herself on the sofa next to Jeremiah. His brain tried everything it could to tell his eyes not to stare at the breasts that peeked out from behind the robe.

  His mouth was agape with the sheer excitement of being so close to breasts, which were much more covered than anything he would see if he traveled a few blocks to a nearby beach.

  Jeremiah had spent his millenniums on earth in a constant self-education to better understand the human race. He had succeeded in his mind to fit in with his mortal counterparts, even making acquaintances along the way. The one thing he never did get a grasp on was the opposite sex and how to behave around them.

  They were a riddle wrapped in an enigma served with a heaping side of conundrum and over the past few thousand years he had failed to become accustomed to their womanly wilds.

  Throughout his long history on the planet he had witnessed a changing climate in morals, from decadence to purity back to decadence and was now witnessing a return to a puritanical way of life. He was built for sex like most men, but women were another sex altogether.