The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) (32 page)

I shook my head just as Alternate Frank began to laugh, his face so sunburnt I thought the skin was going to split over the sharpness of his cheekbones.

“Torture me all you want, sis,” he said. “I’ll die before I talk to the likes of you.”

I raised an eyebrow in Daniel and Marcel’s direction, as if to say: “See?”

Snarly head seconded my thought.

“Alive for now, boys,” he said. “You’ll be able to have your way with him soon enough.”

Even though he was basically espousing what I was thinking, I was still disturbed by the lack of emotion in Snarly head’s voice. I didn’t like the vibe the men around me were putting out; it stunk of testosterone and anger.

“We’ll just see what happens,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension in the air. “Maybe Alternate Frank will be smart and decide to spill his guts of his own volition.”

There was another cackle from Alternate Frank—but it was drowned out by the sound of a terrified, feminine scream.

One that was coming from not very far away.

I looked at the others.

“Cerberus, can you manage numb nuts over there?” I said, pointing at Alternate Frank.

Snarly head nodded, and one of the dumb heads used its teeth to grab ahold of the taut rope binding Alternate Frank’s wrists and ankles together, then the dumb head hoisted the annoying little shit up into the air, ready to be transported. Alternate Frank did not take well to being manhandled and started screeching about wanting to be put down. The other dumb head decided what Alternate Frank was
really
saying was that he wanted to be licked, and it used its giant tongue to do as requested, licking Alternate Frank into a strained silence.

Then, together, the six of us took off in search of the owner of the scream.

Bernadette screamed again as the East Gatekeeper tried to shove her forward onto the path leading through the foaming red sea.

The Blood Sea.

“No! I won’t go!” she cried, shoving him back.

She was bigger than him and had the terror of a pinioned heifer on the way to the slaughterhouse behind the shove. It sent the man in the caftan flying, his butt hitting the ground with a satisfying
thud
.

“If you think I enjoy forcing you souls down the path to attrition, then you are wrong,” he said, glaring at her as he picked himself back up and dusted off his caftan. “I am just as much of a sinner as you.”

They squared off against each other, neither one willing to give an inch.

Bernadette would never have gone with those horrible twins if she’d known they were taking her to Hell. No one had breathed a word about going to
Hell
. That was never part of the deal.

Even though he was bearing the brunt of her anger, she didn’t blame the East Gatekeeper for her troubles. He had a job to do, and Bernadette understood this. She’d been the office
manager at a dental practice for over twenty-two years, so she was no stranger to spotting a good work ethic when she saw one, and the East Gatekeeper was nothing, if not diligent. She wasn’t trying to step on his toes or get him in trouble—she just didn’t want to go to Hell.

“They never said anything about Hell,” Bernadette breathed, her large bosom shifting up and down as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m not perfect, but I’ve done nothing in my life that would send me here.”

The East Gatekeeper sighed. She was well aware he’d heard this excuse before.

“Sometimes we don’t want to accept certain…things…about ourselves,” he offered. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t at the place we’re supposed to be.”

Bernadette didn’t like where he was going with this and was determined to nip it in the bud before he got any further. In life, she’d been extremely good at getting things done and she would just apply the same principle here: She would “common sense” the East Gatekeeper to death.

“There must be someone you can call? Someone who knows who is supposed to go to Hell and who is supposed to go to Heaven? A list perhaps?” Bernadette asked, setting her fists on her hips and cocking her head. “Someone upstairs, maybe?”

The East Gatekeeper knew a troublemaker when he saw one. They came through every now and then, caused a scene, and then ended up going to Hell anyway. He’d found it was easier to just prove to them they were in the wrong, and if they got violent, he’d call in the Bugbears. He hated to do it—with their prehensile tails and strange teddy bear–like features, the creatures that policed Hell gave him the willies—but sometimes it was necessary.

“Fine. I will consult the list. If I prove to you that you are on it,” the East Gatekeeper said, “then you’ll go without a fight.”

Bernadette had righteousness on her side—and complete confidence in the life she’d lived on Earth.

“Go ahead. Make my day.”

She’d always wanted to say that. She was a big Clint Eastwood fan, and had even gone with a few girlfriends to visit Carmel when he was the mayor of the tiny town, just to see if they could catch a glimpse of Dirty Harry. Of course, they
hadn’t sighted their idol, but they’d stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast overlooking the water and had eaten their way through a number of exquisite meals in the three days they were there.

“Give me one moment,” the East Gatekeeper said.

He snapped his fingers twice, the sound echoing in the vastness of the desert, and a large scroll appeared before him on what amounted to a freestanding, wooden toilet paper holder. He took a pair of reading glasses from his caftan pocket and slid them onto his nose.

“This may take a few minutes…a lot of names here,” he said, yanking on the end of the roll and starting to read.

“Take your time,” Bernadette said, relaxing for the first time since she’d gotten there.

She’d been wrong to let those horrible Victorian twins browbeat her into submission. She’d let fear get in the way of common sense. It wasn’t a bad response—she was a fierce grandmother and Bart’s safety really was the most important thing—but if she went to Hell now, then she might never see her grandson again. She knew, in her grandmother’s heart, Bart was going to go to Heaven, and if she were stuck here, in this overheated desert, there would be no reunion with him.

And this was not something she wanted to risk happening.

While she watched, the East Gatekeeper ran through the whole of the scroll with absolutely no luck and Bernadette could see his confusion. He cleared his throat, holding out his finger to let her know he’d need another minute, then he started back at the beginning. On this pass, he took his time with each name, the worried creases on his forehead elongating the closer he got to the end of the scroll.

“Not finding it?”

He looked up at her, brow furrowed.

“But I know your name,” he said. “How can I know your name if you’re not on the list?”

Bernadette shrugged.

“I have no idea, but does this mean I’m free to go?”

The East Gatekeeper shook his head.

“I need to get confirmation from the higher-ups.”

He began to rub his chin in an obsessive manner, his eyes unfocused.

“Something is very, very wrong here…” he mumbled under his breath, returning to the scroll.

“Can I help you?” Bernadette asked. “I used to be an office manager. I’m very good with paperwork.”

The East Gatekeeper, looking more befuddled than ever, shook his head.

“No, the offer is appreciated, but I don’t think it would be wise.”

“Why not?” Bernadette asked, crossing the space between them in one long stride—she knew a man who was ripe for being bossed when she saw one.

“Well, it’s just not done…” he began, but trailed off.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He stared at her fingers, uncertainly. Finally, he sighed and took them in his own hand, pumping her arm up and down.

“Thank you,” he said, and she could see he was grateful for any and all help she might offer…and she also sensed he was lonely.

Very lonely.

“I think if we’re going to work together,” Bernadette said, “we should be on a first name basis.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, releasing her hand and giving her a shy smile.

“I’m Judas. Judas Iscariot, the Guardian of The East Gate of Hell.”

Bernadette had not expected him to say that, but she supposed she wasn’t totally surprised. Where else would Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Jesus Christ, be, but in Hell?

Well, she’d never been one to judge. Sometimes bad things happened to good people—and Bernadette had always believed in the old adage: There but for the grace of God, go I.

“It’s nice to meet you, Judas,” she said, returning his smile. “Let’s see if we can figure this thing out.”

*   *   *

the screams had
come from somewhere ahead of them, Cerberus had told Daniel. So this was the direction they took: Cerberus in the lead (with Alternate Frank dangling from the mouth of one of his dumb heads), he and Marcel behind the
hellhound, and Callie and Runt bringing up the rear. The girls were slower than the boys and they had to be mindful of their speed, so they wouldn’t lose the stragglers.

Daniel knew for a fact Runt was almost as fast as her father, Cerberus, but was going slow on purpose in order to stay close to Callie. His girlfriend had never been much of an athlete, but she looked exhausted now. He wondered when she’d last slept, and figured from the dark circles under her eyes it’d probably been days.

She caught him checking on her and winked at him.

He wanted to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder, and then get them both the heck out of Hell. He knew it wasn’t her favorite place—she’d avoided it whenever possible, not even coming down to visit him when he’d taken over as Steward of Hell—and he understood her rationale, but it still kind of hurt his feelings. He’d long ago learned not to take Callie’s slights personally because she had no idea some of the things she said and did were hurtful to him. He knew eventually they’d have to talk about it, but for now, he just took what she did with a grain of salt, knowing her intentions were good—and her heart was in the right place.

“The East Gate!” Cerberus called from the next dune.

Daniel picked up his pace, Marcel sticking close to him, and then they were cresting the dune and heading down the long stretch of sand toward the East Gate of Hell.

The East Gate was where the monotheists entered Hell—and this didn’t just include the Judeo-Christian-Islamic religions, but also Hinduism and any other religion that worshipped a single God (who might or might not wear many masks). It was delineated from the outer deserts of Hell by the Scarlet Sea, through which all souls entering via this gate had to pass on their way to the interior of Hell. Judas Iscariot was the Gatekeeper and had been for centuries. He’d never given the Devil—or Daniel—any trouble and did his job well and without question.

Still, the stink of failure and loss enveloped the man, and anyone who spent time with him could see he was lonely and terribly guilt ridden. He did his penance in silence, never complaining, and seemed almost happy about being punished for his sins.

“It’s just another soul,” Daniel said, as he and Marcel caught up to Cerberus, who’d been waiting for them at the bottom of the dune.

Wiping the sweat from his brow—the heat and physical exertion had soaked him—Daniel turned around to make sure Callie and Runt were still behind them. The girls, at their slower pace, had just crested the dune and were making their way down.

Daniel saw Judas Iscariot had caught sight of them and was waving them forward.

“He may need help,” Cerberus said, inclining his head. “He’s called for the scroll.”

Cerberus had been the Guardian of the North Gate of Hell for many years and knew the drill. If Judas Iscariot had called for the Scroll of Names, then there was some contention between the soul and their proposed destination. Usually this was just a dodge, some soul trying to get out of its punishment. But, occasionally, some paper pusher at Death, Inc., made a mistake and a soul was sent to the wrong place.

The most infamous case concerned Heinrich Himmler and Heaven. Needless to say, there’d been a lot of irate people in Heaven who’d immediately notified the powers that be, letting them know a terrible mistake had been made. They’d found Himmler hiding in a cupcake shop in the Elysian Heights section of Heaven, pretending he was a German dog trainer named Heinrich Hitzinger, who had no idea who “this Heinrich Himmler person” they were searching for was.

“What’s going on?” Callie asked, as she caught up with Daniel—and a moment later, Runt padded up behind her.

“He’s got the Scroll of Names out,” Daniel said. “It means he and the soul are in disagreement about where the soul should be going.”

Callie nodded, shading her eyes with her hand.

“I think he’s trying to get your attention,” she said, pointing to Judas Iscariot, who was waving for them to join him, his reading glasses held aloft from his face so he could see them better.

“We should go,” Cerberus said.

No one disagreed.

They moved toward the Scarlet Sea as a group, but this time Callie held Daniel’s hand as they walked.

Judas Iscariot didn’t wait for them to reach him. He took off, holding his caftan up to his knees so he wouldn’t trip over it as he ran. The soul in contention, an older woman with a massive bosom housed inside a flowery top, came with him, too. She had thick gray hair and a doughy, grandmotherly face, but like an old battleship, she was more than formidable.

“How did you know?” Judas Iscariot said, his eyes full of awe.

“The Scroll of Names,” Cerberus said, as if this explained everything.

Judas Iscariot was floored. He looked at Cerberus reverently.

“Of course, the Scroll of Names.”

It was the grandmotherly soul who stepped in and cleared things up. Otherwise the inscrutable Judas Iscariot/Cerberus back-and-forth might have gone on forever.

“I got railroaded into coming to Hell by a pair of twins dressed up as Victorian dollies. They strong-armed me here against my will, but they never said a word about ‘here’ being Hell.”