Last God Standing (25 page)

“The House of Angels was rocked last week by the news that LC Cooper, a popular fixture on the late night chat circuit, was rushed to New Amon Center of Medical Arts and Healing after suffering from an apparent nervous breakdown. Cooper’s representatives have been quiet as to the chatshow star’s state. But sources inside the Cooper Empire have called his condition ‘serious’. Production of his number one talkshow,
Night Talk With LC Cooper
, is on hold until healers can scry the true extent of his condition. Speculation went global this morning, however, when noted mental health Counselor and popular afternoon chatshow host, Healer Ba’al appeared at the Amon Center. Healer Ba’al, a frequent guest on
Night
Talk
, would not comment on the purpose of his visit, but close sources in both celebrity camps report that, and I’m quoting here, ‘LC Cooper’s chances for a full recovery just rose like the Sun Chariot of Amon Ra’.”

The Daily International

Lando’s right leg was cramping. The arms of the straitjacket were too tight, and the man who had come to help him was a raving lunatic.

“Now I want you to repeat after me,” Healer Ba’al drawled. “My name is LC Cooper. I live in House of Angels. I’m a father, a husband with a gorgeous wife and three beautiful kids. I love my life and I mean to make the best of it. Right here! Right now!”

Lando shifted, grimacing against the flare of agony this produced in his right thigh. He had been lying in the same position, unable to move while the bombardment of images flooded his senses. He’d refused to speak with his doctors. The images, memories from both lives, were too powerful to ignore. He had stared into the blank gray wall directly in front of his face for the next three days.

It had come to him in the autobarque, as he lay on his stretcher, screaming out ridiculous facts and nonsensical dates.

“My name is Lando Calrissian Darnell Cooper! I’m twenty-nine years old. I drive a 1984 Saab convertible. My mother is an alcoholic and my father is alive! My fiancée’s name is Surabhi Moloke! I have to help her!”

He still couldn’t remember why the woman in that other life, Surabhi, was in danger, though he knew her need was great. Important matters turned upon the spit of his self awareness, but he was unable to start the barbecue. He was remembering more and more with each passing hour, but parts of his “real life” remained hidden. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t penetrate the darkness that occluded the center of his recollections. It was as if he had forgotten how to move one of his hands, even though it remained at the end of his arm. He envisioned this darkness as a dense void, a howling storm of black noise in the center of his mind. Somehow, he sensed, if he could pierce that darkness, peer beneath the clouds of that internal storm, he could find the answers. But the shadowstorm remained.

It had occurred to him that since he was living in the body of a dead man, (or a “nearly dead” man) that other Lando was probably living in his body back in the real world. Since he had woken up in LC Cooper’s life after LC’s near-death experience, it stood to reason that another such experience could set matters in their proper order. All he needed was a moment to himself and a chance to lay his hands on a sharp object, something to cut his bonds, and then his wrists.

He had no intention of actually dying: it was LC’s near-death experience, he believed, that had summoned him from his world. If he could duplicate that experience, maybe he could reverse the process and send himself back.

But the bastards in the sanatorium had taken everything he might have used to initiate the transfer: his belt, his shoelaces. They’d bound him in a straitjacket after he’d tried to knock himself unconscious by banging his head against the walls of the observation room. Now, he lay there, dejected and diapered, while the insane Counselor he remembered from LC’s life rattled on.

“Come on, mate,” Healer Ba’al twanged, his Australian accent blaring through Lando’s memories. “It’s time to strap your trouncers on and kick this catatonia thing in the balls!”

Lando remembered Healer Ba’al, an internationally famous mental health practitioner who had gained notoriety after numerous appearances on a popular afternoon talkshow. Famous for his “Downunderisms” and colorful vocabulary, he was the former Main Counselor of a notoriously violent Melbourne mental asylum. He’d written a bestselling memoir about his struggle with depression,
Ba’al… Busted
, and was the subject of his own afternoon factshow,
The Mind Healer
. LC’s memories revealed that the host of
Night Talk
had thought very little of Ba’al’s prowess, believing him to be more charlatan than savior. He’d irritated LC with his habit of compulsively shouting out nuggets of his personal philosophy in the form of his so-called “Ba’alistics”.

“You’re the Apex Predator in the jungle of your life! The Alpha Dog in Your Own Personal Junkyard! It’s time to piss on your fears, climb up the leg of your private Doubt Demon and hump the shit out of him! Reclaim Your Mental Territory!”

Lando spoke calmly, deliberately. “I’m ready.”

“You’ve got to churn the waters of your emoceans with the blood of your spiritual enemies!”

“I’m ready, Ba’al.”

“Summon the Self-Sharks! Ignite the feeding frenzy that will set you… What did you say?”

Lando rolled over onto his side and faced his doctors. Philip Chapman had spent the last two days of his internment examining him, questioning him, at times haranguing him to lay down his delusions. He’d regarded Chapman as a friend, but Chapman had taken his collapse as a personal affront. The appearance of Ba’al had only aggravated the tension between them. Wen Nouri, the head psychiatrist at New Amon’s psychiatric ward, had been blown back into the rushes by the two more forceful practitioners. He glared resentfully at the proceedings, excluded from making any pronouncements without incurring the wrath of his more “upmarket” colleagues.

“I’m ready to reclaim my emotional territory,” Lando said. “I’m back.”

Healer Ba’al smiled. But Phil Chapman shook his head, the movement so slight that Lando almost missed it.

“Do you know who you are?”

“Of course. My name is LC Cooper. I have three children, Haru, Oheo and Herbert-Hasani.”

Nouri nodded, his face brightening, encouraging. Chapman waved him aside. “Who is the President?”

“Thutmose X. We had him on the show two weeks after he took office.”

“Who was the First Pharoah of the Anowarkawas?”

“Memphis III. He unified the feuding Egyptian armies and helped assimilate the Iroquois Nation after the Yellow Plague decimated–”

“That’s great, LC,” Ba’al interrupted. “You’re halfway home!”

But Chapman wasn’t satisfied. “LC do you still believe that you are an alien to this reality?”

Lando kept his voice level: he had to convince them. “No. That was a lie.”

All three psychiatrists leaned forward. Healer Ba’al’s nostrils flared.

“A lie?”

“Yes. It’s a little embarrassing…”

“Go on, mate. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”

“Well… things have been rough at home, because of the show, my illness… things have deteriorated between me and Danielle.”

“I see.”

“I thought maybe if I could convince myself that I was having a relapse, maybe Danielle would stay.”

Nouri looked bored. Ba’al seemed barely able to conceal his excitement. But Chapman leaned back in his chair, a smile fluttering at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t believe you.”

A tinny jingle emanated from Chapman’s person. He reached into the pocket of his dashiiki and produced his roving data device and checked the message window. A frown ruffled his normally placid features. When he looked back at Lando, an unfamiliar emotion shimmered in his eyes.

“That was Doctor Aziz, LC. He’s just received word that–”

“Let me guess. My tumor is back.”

If Chapman was shocked he didn’t allow it to show on his face. “Yes. Aziz ran scans on you while you were sedated. It appears that they didn’t get it all…”

“Aziz is one of the greatest resectionists on the planet, Phil. I paid him a small fortune to do what he does, and he did. I saw my scans before and after the surgery. He got most of the tumor.”

Chapman nodded. “But there was a small bit of it that Aziz was unable to reach. That bit has…”

“Phil, it’s only been two months since the surgery. Not enough time for a benign tumor to have changed that much. Judging by the expression on your face, the tumor must be large and I’m guessing it’s gone malignant.”

Chapman shifted in his seat. “Well… it seems you’ve got all the answers.”

“It’s not a tumor.”

“Beg pardon?”

“The thing in my head, it’s not a brain tumor. Well in this reality I suppose it is. But back there it’s… something else.”

Chapman smirked; a man back in familiar territory. “And by ‘back there’ I take it you’re referring to your ‘other life’. This other world where you’re young and healthy?”

Lando shrugged. “Back there I have asthma. I’m allergic to just about anything that moves. I think I even have a drinking problem…”

“And your father is alive.”

“I’ve got to get back.”

“Why the rush?”

“Someone needs me.”

“Ah yes, your mystery woman.”

“Surabhi.”

“Let me see if I remember… you two are engaged?”

“Yes.”

“Even though the United Kingdom outlawed marriage between British Citizens and Anowarkalis a hundred years ago.”

“I live in the United States. They were a colony of the British Empire until the Revolutionary War.”

Chapman chuckled. “You’ve certainly painted a compelling picture of this fantasy land. But you realize it’s just that, don’t you, LC? A fantasy?”

“I don’t belong here.”

“Better than us mere mortals, eh?” Chapman said. “Everyone on the planet toiling along in their little lives, blissfully unaware of your superiority.”

Chapman leaned forward. “When I look at you I see a powerful but frightened man suffering from a life-threatening illness.”

“Phil,” Lando said. “I’m not crazy. You have to listen to me.”

“I am listening, LC. I’m going to help you find your way back to your world. This world. The real world.”

Behind him, the door to the padded room swung open. Then Chenzira Nkuku walked into the room.

“Can I help you?” Chapman said.

The old security warden bowed to the tall psychiatrist. Then he turned to Lando and waved.

“Hey, LC! You ready to get out of here?”

Healer Ba’al leaped to his feet. “Who’s this bastard?”

“Hey!” the old security warden grinned. “I’ve seen you on television.”

Ba’al nodded. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Your show stinks.”

Ba’al turned a bright shade of purple, sputtering like an old carbuerator. Then Chenzira pointed at him and said, “You look tired. Why don’t you take a nap?”

Healer Ba’al fell to the floor of the chamber, snoring deeply.

“What?” Nouri said. “What’s happening?”

Chapman lunged across the table and hit a red button on the intercom. An alarm pierced the silence.

Chenzira put one finger to his lips and whispered, “Sleep.”

Chapman and Nouri fell to the floor. Nouri lay sprawled across Chapman’s legs, snoring peacefully into Ba’al’s crotch.

“Chet,” Lando cried. “How did you…?”

Chenzira helped him to his feet. He hummed something, a snatch of song. There was a flash of golden light, a smell like the sudden advent of Spring, then the straitjacket’s buckles and straps flew apart and the restraining device dropped to the floor.

Lando stared, slackjawed, at the straitjacket lying on the floor. “How did you do that?”

“Oh, it’s not me. I’m a nobody,” Chenzira said. He stuck his head out the door of the observation room, quickly checking the hallway. “He’s set his bowsights on you though.”

“What are you talking about? Who is he… How did you…?”

“No time fer hobgobblin’, LC. Someone real important sent me to collect you, but we gotta move: even He can’t keep the world from spinnin’ forever. Follow me!”

Lando followed as Chenzira stepped over the sleeping psychiatrists and out into the hall. They ran through the hospital, passing dozens of people sprawled in chairs, across desks or on the floor where they’d fallen. The halls echoed with snores.

“Chet,” Lando rasped. “What’s happening? Those people… how did you do all this?”

Outside the tall glass walls of the hospital, Lando saw groups of reporters and camera crews milling around the front entrance.

“It’s the One I serve, LC. He holds us in His mighty hand!”

“Chet… what’s going on?”

“Are you going to find my father?”

Herbert-Hasani popped up from behind the back of a tall armchair near the front entrance, his eyes wide with wonder at the sight of dozens of unconscious people lying around them.

“Hasa… what are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d be leaving soon. So I waited.”

“How did you know?”

Herbert-Hasani shrugged. “The man in my dream told me you needed help.”

Chenzira pointed at the boy. “Well, now you’re going to…”

“No!” Lando shouted, gripping the old man’s arm. “Leave him alone!”

Herbert-Hasani hopped down from the armchair.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Chenzira lifted his sleep inducing right hand again.

“Chet, no!”

Herbert-Hasani studied Chenzira warily for a moment, then grinned, his eyes goggling behind his thick lenses.

“If he won’t zap me then there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Chenzira cracked his knuckles. “Oh, I can think of a few things. I don’t shine to mouthy kids. Kids like him always trying to break onto the lot!”

“Let him come, Chet.” They were heading into the unknown at the behest of a stranger who possessed abilities he didn’t understand. But something in the boy’s eyes would not release its hold on Lando’s heart. “I think I owe him that much.”

Herbert-Hasani beamed as if the world had suddenly revealed its greatest mysteries. Around them, sprawled sleepers were beginning to stir. The boy stumbled over a heavyset security warden, who rolled over and farted loudly. Herbert-Hasani giggled.

“Are they all in a coma?”

“They lie within the arms of Isis,” Chenzira said, scowling. “They’ll be fine.”

“Magic,” Herbert-Hasani whispered. “That burns!”

Behind them, the elevator doors opened. Chapman, Ba’al and Nouri stumbled into the lobby. At the same time, a dozen orderlies and a handful of security wardens thundered out of the stairwell.

“Stop them!”

The swarm of orderlies and wardens stampeded toward the front entrance.

“My car’s out front!” Chenzira shouted. “Quickly!”

Chenzira hit the exit door with Lando and the boy following on his heels. The three of them ran toward the ancient Black Scarab racer, idling at the curb. At the sight of them, the waiting reporters surged forward.

“There he is!” “LC!” “How are you?” “LC!”

Chenzira barely got the door open before the hospital entrance doors slid open and disgorged their pursuers. One man, a burly young warden, was holding his gun.

A group of reporters crossed the street at a dead run, cameras clicking, shouting questions as they surrounded Chenzira’s car. Chenzira tried to move the ancient manual drive model forward but the weight of the reporters kept them effectively immobilized. Security wardens were tossing reporters aside. Chapman, Nouri and Ba’al threw themselves at the passenger window.