Everyone Dies in the End

by Brian Katcher

“Miss Warren, please send in Mr. Andrews.”

  The two of us stood. “I’m sorry,” said Miss Warren. “I’m afraid your friend will have to wait here.”

  L.J. tried to protest.

  “It’s okay,” I said, making sure that the receptionist could hear. “Aaron will call the cops if we’re not back soon.” With my best job interview smile, I passed through the doors to the inner office.

  If I had been asked to describe Saberhagen right after the cemetery incident, I would have said he was nine feet tall, five hundred pounds, with red eyes, fangs, and a mustache. The man sitting behind the expensive mahogany desk was undoubtedly the same man, but I could see my mental picture of him was a tad exaggerated. He was chubby, shorter than me, had impeccably groomed hair, and wore a mustache. If this was truly a reanimated corpse, then middle management must be full of them.

  Saberhagen was engrossed in a file on his desk and I had to clear my throat before he noticed me. When he looked up, his face broke into a broad grin.

  “Mr. Andrews! I’m so pleased you could come.” He stood and extended his hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, I took it. His grip was firm without being crushing, friendly without hypnotically suggesting I kill myself. I was pleased at this more affable meeting.

  “Have a seat,” said Saberhagen, still grinning. I pulled up a comfy chair across from the desk. “Can I get you anything? Some coffee perhaps? Or something to eat?”

  “No thank you.” I had anticipated a much more belligerent meeting. You don’t expect the man who ordered your assassination to offer you a danish.

  Saberhagen returned to his seat with the groan of a middle-aged man with back problems. Or bruised ribs. “Mr. Andrews, I’m happy that you and I could finally meet. I’m only sorry we couldn’t do this sooner.”

  “You’re not an easy man to find, Mr. Saberhagen.”

  “I treasure my privacy. I only regret not everyone can respect that.” His smile wavered, just a bit. I remembered the mouthless thing from the cemetery. This was no time for false civility.

  “Reverend Gowen didn’t respect your privacy, did he?”

  Saberhagen’s eyebrows raised, and I wondered if he was going to drop this pretense. Instead, he picked up his file and opened it, making sure I could read the label: Andrews, Sherman J.

  “You’ve proven most vexing for my organization, Mr. Andrews.”

  I tried to see over the top of the folder. “So I gathered.” I wondered what the point of this cat and mouse routine was, but I wasn’t going to tip my hand. Not that I was even holding a pair of threes.

  Saberhagen laid down the folder just out of my reach. “I don’t take kindly to interference, Andrews.” The smile was still there, but his voice had a sharp undertone. “I never have.”

  For just one second his eyes changed. It was as if he was wearing a reverse Halloween mask: his face was normal, but through the eye sockets I could see something hideous.

  I leaned forward to meet his gaze. “I’m aware of that. Not now. Not in 1935. Or 1899. Or 1864, or 1833.”

  He listened politely as I rattled off dates. He was silent for a few seconds when I stopped, as if he hadn’t expected the list to end so soon.

  “I see you’ve done your homework. You know, most men can take a hint.”

  I fingered the scar under my eye, but said nothing. Saberhagen chuckled.

  “But I suppose you’re not like most men. I once knew a minister very much like yourself. I’m only sorry he didn’t take my advice.” He smiled the cruel smile of a school bully.

  That sounded like a threat to me. “Why did you ask me here, Mr. Saberhagen?”

  The flabby, olive-skinned man leaned back in his chair. I was reminded again of how un-unholy he looked on the surface. “I’d like to ask you again, man to man, to leave me in peace. No more investigations, no more trespassing, no more stirring up trouble.”

  I paused for a beat. “And if I agree?”

  “Then I leave you alone. We’ve never met. I’ll make no effort to interfere with you or your feeble-minded cohort.”

  “And if I don’t agree?” It was a stupid question. He’d already shown me.

  Saberhagen leaned forward, smiling. “Do we really need to go there?”

  Did we? “I suppose not.” I stood. “So that’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He was already writing something on a legal pad. “Melinda will see you out.”

  I walked to the door, feeling as if I’d forgotten to mention something. That there was some vital task I was supposed to perform, but had slipped my mind. As I touched the doorknob, I paused, and turned around.

  “Mr. Saberhagen?”

  “Hmm?” He did not look up from his work.

  “Just what, exactly, are you?”

  He continued to write for a moment or two, then laid down his pen and regarded me with a pleased smile.

  “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  – Chapter Seventeen –

  Saberhagen stood up from behind his desk and turned around. “How old do you think I am, Mr. Andrews?”

  I decided to go with physical appearances. “Forty?”

  Saberhagen chuckled. “I’m forty-seven.”

  He continued to stand with his back to me, his arms folded. Had he been staring out a huge picture window overlooking a vast cityscape, the effect would have been impressive. Staring at a blank wall, however, looked rather odd.

  “Andrews, there’s not a lot a man my age can look forward to. Bad knees, baldness, hernias—not a pretty picture.”

  “What does this have to do…”

  “But let’s say it didn’t have to be like that. Let’s say that even though no one can become younger, maybe there is a way not to become older.”

  I swallowed whatever smart-ass comment I was about to make. I thought of my father, dozing off in front of the TV at nine, night after night after night. The constant complaining about his prostate and back and knees. The chunks of hair in the shower and the stash of Viagra I wish I hadn’t come across. Was that what I had to look forward to in twenty, twenty-five years?

  Saberhagen finally turned toward me. “Intriguing thought, isn’t it? Never to age, never to have to grow up, to have to watch people half your age having the fun you no longer enjoy? Of course, being forty-seven isn’t exactly young.” He laughed, self-depreciatingly. “What I wouldn’t give to always be your age. Forever.”

  I should just leave. He was talking crazy. “What do you mean, forever?”

  “Let me tell you a story. Let’s say, sometime in the distant past—more distant than you probably realize—someone made me a deal. A most amazing deal.”

  “What sort of a deal?” My mouth had grown dry.

  “I think you can guess.”

  “That—that you wouldn’t age anymore?”

  Saberhagen touched his nose. “Not forever young, but at least never old. Of course, no sort of deal can protect one from the dangers of life.”

  I sat, rooted to my chair. He continued.

  “Let’s say if I were stabbed in some seedy St. Louis bar, or if a Yankee cavalryman put a bullet in the back of my head, for instance—let’s just say that I could return ten or twenty years later. It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a violent end…if people start commenting on how long I’ve been around, I might just take some poison and return when no one would remember me. Forty-seven, from now until the end of time.”

  My host walked toward me with a look so intense I almost mistook him for a computer salesman. “It could be yours, Sherman. Yours for the asking. I’ve made this offer to very few men. I think you’re smart enough not to dismiss it.”

  Okay, so he was immortal. Okay, so he was apparently offering me the chance to join him. But quite frankly, I was having trouble not laughing. This was hokier than anything Rod Serling ever wrote. A demon in a Penny’s suit and cheap shoes was bargaining for my soul.

  I stood. “I’ll show myself out.”

  Saberhagen didn’t seem h
urt at my refusal. Instead, he shook my hand as if I’d declined to buy a timeshare.

  “Well, I understand.” He touched my shoulder. “I wish I could change your mind.” And then the world turned off.

  I was struck with that odd sensation you get when you are almost completely asleep and suddenly jerk awake. I was aware that Saberhagen was gripping my shoulders, but he seemed distant. Images flashed before my eyeballs like a Power Point slideshow.

  Women—not high school girls, or even college chicks, but women—worshiping at my feet. Women with flat stomachs and perfect faces, groveling and humiliating themselves for my approval.

  Crowds of people cheering me, yelling, weeping, desperately needing me. Aaron was there. L.J., John, my own father, everyone I knew.

  A glimmering mansion, filled with all manner of delights. A mansion forever locked to the rest of the world, as I reveled alone in every conceivable pleasure of the flesh.

  The faces of my enemies, all who had ever wronged me, crushed—literally crushed—beneath my steel boots. As I watched, a familiar face was smashed to hamburger under my feet.

  Saberhagen’s face dimly appeared behind the images, like a reflection in a television screen. “It could all be yours. Anything you desire.”

  I was only vaguely aware of my body. Sweat drenched my back and I believe I had a throbbing hard-on. Someone was groaning with my mouth.

  The images began to run together. Charlie lay naked in an open grave, obscenely gesturing at me. The cheering crowd began to violently tear each other apart. The frowning, one-eyed form of Rev. Gowen lunged at me with a letter opener.

  “All yours,” said Saberhagen, his voice distorted. “All for you.”

  Aaron, L.J., John and myself posed for a grainy, black and white photo. Martin from the mental home bound me in a straitjacket and hurled me into a lake. Denton swung by his neck from the ceiling, his face blue. Dan Cooper shoved a switchblade into my testicles, as Steph read out loud from the book of Job.

  “Please,” someone croaked. “Make it stop.”

  “Join me.”

  “I—no…”

  “What have you got to lose?”

  The images were a maelstrom. “There has to be a cost.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  I was standing in a barren industrial yard. In one hand I held a bloody knife. In the other, a hank of dark, silky hair.

  Saberhagen’s face was getting nearer and nearer to my own. His hands were on the back of my head. I suddenly knew what he was going to do.

  He was going to kiss me.

  “Please…”

  “Don’t think about it. You’ll only have to serve the Master a few times a year. A wanderer here, a soldier there. I’ve never been caught.”

  “I can’t…”

  I could feel his hot breath on my mouth. I almost sensed the tickling of his mustache.

  “Relax, Sherman. We’re here to help. Here to give you what you’ve always wanted. All you have to do is ask. Come. Knock on our door. We have been waiting for you…”

  And suddenly, all visions of power and sex and immortality were replaced by the theme song of a show about a zany bachelor and his two gorgeous roommates.

  The universe ground against itself and suddenly I was standing in a law office, about to kiss another man. As I pulled away, I couldn’t prevent myself from giggling.

  Saberhagen seemed utterly taken aback that I was no longer hypnotized.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  The more I tried to hold it in, the louder it became.

  “I’m sorry…when you said…I guess you wouldn’t know that show…” I had collapsed against the doorframe, paralyzed with inappropriate chortles. Tears welled up in my eyes. My sides hurt. I only managed to stop when I realized I was bleeding from the mouth. Apparently, when I was under Saberhagen’s power I had been gnawing on my tongue.

  “STOP IT!” Saberhagen looked so wrathful I was afraid he was going to throw a punch. Sober now, I stood up.

  “Get out of here! Leave right now!” He was so livid he was nearly incoherent. I almost apologized before recalling how he tried to steal my soul.

  “Does the deal still stand?” I hoped this didn’t jeopardize Saberhagen’s promise to leave me alone.

  “Out!”

  I opened the office door, then turned.

  “If you had to choose between Janet and Chrissy…”

  I slammed the door, narrowly avoiding the stapler he heaved at me.

  My security detachment waited in the reception room. L.J. leaned on the receptionist’s desk, a lecherous grin on his face.

  “You know, I don’t just play the guitar. I sing too. Me and some friends are playing over at Apop Records next month, maybe you’d like to come.”

  The secretary’s eyes met mine in mute appeal.

  “C’mon, man,” I tapped L.J. on the shoulder. “We’re out of here.”

  The warm summer afternoon helped bring me back to reality. My escape had been nothing short of miraculous. If it weren’t for a slip of the tongue, would I be preparing my own grave in Irontown?

  Saberhagen had said he’d forget about me if I’d do the same. That’s what I’d been hoping for since the first night behind the pool hall. I’d just warn Denton to stop asking questions, call Charlie and tell her to try and forget what she’d seen, and we’d all live happily ever after.

  There was, of course, one small problem. Though the glimpse I’d had of Saberhagen’s mind was mercifully fading, images remained. Something about a girl and a knife. Something about serving the master. Something about sacrifices.

  Just what did Saberhagen have to do to earn his immortality?

  Hey, not my problem. Not my concern. Against all odds, I’d faced the devil and gotten out with my life. I had no proof. Besides, how many people are killed every day? How many poor bastards died in the Congo since this morning? Or America, for that matter? Who was I to go stirring up shit?

  Aside from a journalist, I mean.

  Not my department. After my experiences, I’d be happy to write fluffy human interest stories for the rest of my career.

  “So what happened in there?” asked L.J., violently tearing off his tie.

  “It’s all good. We’re safe.”

  “Are you sure? Because…”

  I tried to take the worry out of my smile. “Everything’s fine, so long as we don’t talk about it anymore.” I laughed, but it sounded uneasy. “Let’s go home.”

  Did I really think everything was going to be okay? Had I really deceived myself so much that I thought I could make a deal with the devil and there wouldn’t be hell to pay? My fragile sense of security lasted until we walked up to Mark Twain. There were two cop cars illegally parked out front.

  Even then, I tried to tell myself it didn’t concern me. One of my idiot academy-mates had probably been busted for pot. L.J. shot me an uncomfortable glance as we entered the lobby.

  On a normal day, there were usually a half-dozen students hanging around. Today, there were maybe a hundred, all sitting around at tables. Every one of them looked numb. A few looked horrified. Several girls were crying.

  Uniformed police milled around the lobby, or sat talking to students. All the staff advisors were there, most of them talking to distraught-looking scholars. Benny was hugging a girl who sobbed in his arms.

  “Not good,” mumbled L.J.

  We found John, sitting in a corner, staring at his laptop screensaver.

  “John! What’s going on?”

  He looked up. His eyes were rimmed with red. It took him a moment to focus.

  “There’s…been a murder. One of…of the scholars.”

  L.J. collapsed on the floor next to him.

  “What happened?” Why was I feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt?

  “She had her throat slashed. Sometime last night. They found her buried in that coal pile by the power plant.”

  I didn’t want to ask. Couldn’t ask. If I didn’
t open my mouth, I wouldn’t have to face it.

  “Have they released a name?” asked L.J., slumped against the wall.

  “No…but everyone knows. Sherman, I think you knew her.”

  Dear God, please, no…

  “It was Steph.”

  I had never felt such rage in my life. Not when Mom left, not when I was attacked by Dan, not when Saberhagen hurt Charlie. This was personal.

  I managed to keep it together while Benny gave a little speech. Something about classes not being cancelled, but we were welcome to return home if we wanted to. Something about free counseling services. I didn’t listen.

  I kept a shocked, vaguely nauseated expression during my five-minute interview with a police officer, admitting a nodding acquaintance with Steph, but nothing more. As soon as the BS was over, I returned to my room.

  Saberhagen was a dead man, both now and in the immediate future. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe he’d deliberately sought out someone I knew. It didn’t matter. He had no place on this earth. I was going to send him back to his grave.

  I clutched L.J.’s bat. Tonight, I’d wait outside of his office building. He had to show up some time or another. And when he did…only one of us was walking away.

  I recalled my cemetery experience. It was very likely I would not be the victor. Maybe I was being too rash. Maybe I should…

  Unbidden, I remembered Steph, the last time I saw her. Telling me how demons were real, and walked among us.

  That very night, a demon had killed her. I tightened my grip on the bat.

  “For you, Steph,” I mumbled.

  The door opened behind me. “Hey, L.J., do you have a…”

  It was Charlie. She stood in the doorway watching me, with a mixture of concern and disgust.

  “How did you get in here?” I shouted, without thinking.

  “Much better, thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I sat on my chair, the bat across my lap. “How are you doing?”

  “I snuck in through the fire exit.” Her face was still in neutral and I wasn’t sure what to say. I attempted to synch up our conversation.

  “Charlie, I’m sorry about the other night. I really didn’t expect—”