The Dreamer in Fire and Other Stories Page 7

  “He’s here!” the first man cried. He lunged for the door as a large white limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. The doorman quickly opened the door and a young, handsome, and vibrant man eased out of the car. C beamed happiness and confidence. He was dressed in a flawless white suit with a white shirt, white tie, and white shoes. His hair was dark and thin, of medium length but neatly trimmed. He walked as if he owned the world and, to a certain extent, he did.

  “C!” the first man beamed. “You made it!”

  He thrust his hand out and C took it slowly. “Ah yes,” he said, a smile slowly breaking on his face, “Dathon, isn’t it? Sorry I’m late. Celebrating, you know.”

  “Of course, of course. We’re just glad you made it on time.” Dathon was trying to hurry C along, but C was taking his time walking through the lobby. It had taken him centuries to reach this point. He was going to enjoy it.

  “Now we’ve got you making the keynote address in the Hamilton Room in fifteen minutes, and then you’ve got a break for an hour or so before you’re on the next panel.”

  As they walked, the second man stood quietly, sizing up C. It had been awhile, after all, since he had had a sit-down with C. Not since that unpleasantness in Greece a few decades ago when he’d tried to have C dismembered. He’d long since regretted making his employees immortal. Killing them only reduced them to the state of a normal damned soul.

  C stopped in front of the second man. “Well, well, well. The man himself. Didn’t think I’d see you here, A. Thought for sure you’d be sulking in a corner somewhere.”

  “And allow you to have all the fun? Perish the thought! How are you, C?”

  C smirked. “You should know. One away and then I’m away.”

  “And do you have someone already picked out?”

  “Now, A, that would be telling. As if I’d let you know ahead of time. You’ll see them soon enough.”

  Next to them, Dathon was sweating anxiously.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, I’m afraid I must insist. I have to get C to the Hamilton Room.”

  “Of course,” A smiled happily. “I’ll catch up with you later. Looking forward to your panel on damnation techniques.”

  Dathon hurried C away but, as he went, C turned around and silently mouthed the words “One more” to A.

  A turned away and inspected his manicure but, beneath his feet, the carpet was burning.

  “ . . . and so, ever since the Kitchener accord of 1910, we’ve had to revise what we consider to be a mortal sin.”

  The panel had been going on for more than half an hour when she walked into the room. She sat in a back corner by herself. Even though she was not near them, several demons got up and quietly moved to other sections of the room. She pretended not to notice them. In the controlled atmosphere of the room, they had allowed their human façades to drop; but not her. She sat in her human guise, perfectly poised. She was thin, but not abnormally so. Her hair was a light blond and tied neatly into a French braid. Her face was warm and soft and her eyes were especially soothing. She was a vision of simple beauty, and she sat calmly and quietly as she listened to C speak.

  “Yes,” he said, “we’ve had to become more cunning, more resourceful. There’s so much competition out there today that it’s tough to get someone to commit a truly damnable sin. People commit minor sins every day. They lie, cheat, steal, and manage to convince themselves that they never did it at all. Guilt is one of our most powerful weapons. Only through guilt can we compel them to recognize—”

  He stopped. He couldn’t see her with the lights up but he knew she was there. He could smell her scent. Violets. She had always preferred that perfume. A human failing that refused to die. It was foolish. He should have known she would be here . . . everyone was.

  “Uh, C? You were saying?” Dathon blathered.

  “Oh, oh, yes. Where was I? Oh, guilt. Yes, guilt must not be underestimated. If properly used, it can be insidious.”

  “I don’t think anyone would argue that, C. Any questions?”

  A few minor demons asked (as a few always will) how to be as successful as C in damning souls. “Work hard,” he said. “Know your victim. Everyone has weaknesses.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Everyone. Some just aren’t as blatant about it.”

  She raised her hand.

  Dathon ignored her.

  “Any more questions?”

  She got tired of waiting. “What about the souls? Is there ever any hope of redemption?”

  Dathon tried to bluff over it. “Well, that’s all we have time for. I’d like to thank everyone—”

  “There’s always hope of redemption,” C said, “otherwise there is no point to damnation.”

  He looked up where her voice had come from, but she had already left.

  A stood silently in the hallway, amusing himself with the convention schedule. “Seven Deadly Sins: Should There Be More?” he chuckled to himself. “Modern Damnation Techniques: The Internet and You,” “Why Can’t Johnny Damn?” and “Overcrowding: New Space in Hell?” A was most entertained. If nothing else, Dathon was a capable administrator, which was probably why most of the souls he had damned had come from the business sector. “A well-placed keystroke or erasure can be as damning as the most tempting female flesh,” Dathon had once said, and A was forced to agree with him.

  A pretended not to notice C and the entourage of younger demons coming down the hall.

  “Yes, but that bit you did with the Englishman was so inspired! How did you come up with it?”

  “I just assured him that, being king, he could do anything he wanted. Abdication seemed a small thing to him after that, but it was enough to do the job.”

  A picked his teeth with his manicured pinky and gave the schedule his undivided attention.

  “A.”

  He glanced up.

  “Ah, C. Made any progress? My Minister of Damnation has not sent me a new Damnation Contract with your name on it yet.”

  “A moment, if you please.”

  A looked up. He appeared genuinely confused at the request, but A could appear to be genuine about anything including the most ungenuine things.

  “Of course.” He waved his hand and they were in the ether with mist swirling about them.

  “What is she doing here?”

  “She? And who might she be?”

  “You know who. Charazadon.”

  “Oh. Well, I expect that she is doing the same thing they all are. She’s here to pay homage to you and pick up some damnation tips. She certainly needs them.”

  “Tell her to go away.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Of course you can. You’re the devil. You can do whatever you want.”

  A grinned. “I suppose I can. But I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I suppose because I would prefer that you do it. Actually, I prefer to make you as uncomfortable as possible.”

  C glared at him.

  “So you will not command her to leave?”

  “I will not command her to do anything, except to damn a soul. She hasn’t done one in quite a long time, as you know.”

  C looked at him a long time. “I will win, you know. I will have my freedom.”

  “Of course you will, old sod, I’m counting on it.”

  With a wave, C was back at the hotel and A was gone.

  “Cheeky bastard,” C said, and turned back to his entourage.

  C avoided her the rest of the day, which was not very hard. Charazadon did not try to contact him, nor did anyone try to contact her. They walked around in their demon garb, wings flapping, mouths salivating, tongues undulating, penises flapping about, letting themselves all hang out. Except her. She walked about the convention always in her human face. The others walked around her. A few threw excrement at her, but the stains always faded away on her tan sun dress. She wandered through the dealers’ room, looking at the self-help books (A Better Way to Hell; I’m Okay, You�
�re Damned, etc.), passing by the tables with the new torture devices, avoiding the tables with videotapes of successful damnations and the underground tapes of exorcisms. The art show wasn’t much better as demons attempted to show what passed for art, but all they had were pictures of souls being damned. Charazadon walked around for a while until she thought it was safe enough to go upstairs.

  After dinner, C went to see about his final soul. He had planned it for some time now and it was meant to be a big one. It was true that it had gotten harder and harder to truly damn anyone. Everyone was always committing little sins, so it was difficult to get them to recognize truly major sins. But this one was almost in the bag. He’d been working on this soul for a while, and he had arranged it so that everything would come together tonight. It was too easy to corrupt the souls of the rich and famous; they practically begged to be damned. Harder to get, and more rewarding, were the souls of everyday people—those who had spent their entire lives being devoted to their religion, their families, or their work. They were harder to tempt but, once you got them, they were delicious.

  Susan’s husband, Ronnie, had been lured out of town because of work; but only for a certain amount of time. If C timed this right, he would get three souls for the price of one. It had taken some patience (that was the problem with the young demons: they wanted damnations immediately, they weren’t willing to work for it) and a lot of work to tempt Ronnie’s younger brother Jerry with visions of Susan’s nubile young body. C had had to drop the visions into otherwise harmless dreams, but, once Jerry had taken hold of it, C had been able to drop the visions in at any time during the day. In addition, he had planted similar pictures of Jerry into Susan’s mind. While this was going on, C had increased Ronnie’s desire for fattening foods, alcohol, and violence. Planning—it was all planning. As they had said so many times, “the devil is in the details.” C smiled at that. Now, tonight, C had arranged for Ronnie to leave on an emergency business trip and for Jerry to stop by suddenly while Susan was alone. At that point, C had to step back. That was the rule. He could plant, he could tempt, he could persuade, but at the point where the final decision was to be made, he had to withdraw. The choice had to be theirs. So many had lost the souls at that point, but that was because they hadn’t done the work well enough. C was certain that, once again, he would win.

  When Jerry stopped by, he had interrupted Susan during a particularly heated masturbation session (filled with visions of Jerry, of course, provided by C) and she was primed and ready. C sat back and watched as the passions overwhelmed them and the clothes came off. Within minutes, they were in bed and two mortal sins were being committed. (Deep in Hell, the Minister of Damnation signed Jerry and Susan’s names to a Contract of Damnation with C as the signing agent and sent it off to A.) But C wasn’t done. On his way to the emergency business meeting, Ronnie received a call on his cell letting him know that the emergency was over and the meeting was canceled. As he turned his car around, Ronnie tried to call home but, for some reason, his cell chose that moment to lose power.

  Pulling his car into the driveway, he saw his brother’s car and wondered what it might be doing there. Opening his front door, he was confronted with certain sounds that could not be denied. Sounds of mutual pleasure, of orgasmic bliss, that he had not heard himself for some time. He slowly walked to his den and opened his closet. He took out his pistol and checked it. It was fully loaded. He walked quietly up the stairs to his bedroom, opened the door, and fired.

  When A received the three Contracts of Damnation, he was alone in his penthouse hotel suite. He looked them over, but they were complete, as he knew they would be. He was not happy. Silently, he ordered the Overlords of Hell to increase the sufferings of the damned threefold. If nothing else, he would enjoy some music this night.

  “I know you’re here,” C said to his hotel room. There was a most undemonly odor of violets in the room.

  “I could never hide from you,” Charazadon said. She moved away from the darkened corner where she had been waiting.

  “You could. If you really wanted to. I recall that you hid from me for a few centuries once.”

  “Only because you didn’t want to look.” She paused. “How have you been?”

  C laughed. It was a good laugh, full of mirth and joy. It was especially unpleasant coming from a Lord of Hell.

  “How have I been? Oh, I’ve been doing very well. You know, of course.”

  “Yes, you’re the talk of the legions.”

  “As I should be. No one else has ever accomplished this.”

  Charazadon lowered her head. “Do you think he will honor his part?”

  A little too quickly, C answered, “Of course. He is honor bound by our contract. He has to.”

  “Still, it is not like him not to try some tricks.”

  “Why are you here, Charazadon?”

  “I’ve been waiting here for you.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Why are you here now?”

  “Is it so hard to believe that I’ve come to wish you well in your triumph?”

  “Yes.”

  Something played across her face. It was difficult to tell if it was a smile or a grimace.

  “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”

  “Yes?”

  Charazadon paused. With an effort, C could tell that she was crying. It was a terrible thing to see a demon cry. He wanted to hold her but didn’t. He stood waiting for her to speak again.

  “I want you to kill me.”

  Downstairs, in the lobby, A was questioning Dathon. “Is all ready for the special event tomorrow?”

  “Of course, my lord. All has been prepared. But, if I may, I have a small question . . .”

  A stood and glared at Dathon, who began sweating. Dathon was one of those demons who could sweat while standing in the heart of a glacier.

  “Um,” Dathon began, “you aren’t actually going to go through with this, are you?”

  A smiled. Such naive faith and fear. It was positively delicious!

  “Yes, of course I am! I am a man of my word.”

  “But you’re not exactly a man, are you?”

  “I suppose you might have a point there, Dathon, I suppose you might.” With that, A turned and walked away, singing a particularly odious song popular among the Roman legions under Tiberius.

  Dathon scurried away to the banquet hall, his steps echoing in the large room as he passed beneath the huge panoramic windows. There were times he really hated his job.

  “Charazadon, don’t be insane. You know I can’t do that.”

  “Only a demon can kill another demon. Either that or A, and he’d never do it.”

  “No? I’d heard he’d threatened that.”

  “Threatened is not doing. He knows that keeping me the way I am is more painful than killing me.”

  “No doubt. Killing you would only make you one of the normal damned. You’d have none of the privileges of the demon class, but none of the problems either. I imagine that’s why you’re asking.”

  “You know it is. I haven’t damned anyone in decades and I don’t want to.”

  “No wonder your record is so poor lately and no one wishes to associate with you. But why? Don’t tell me that whole Gein thing is bothering you again.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s what it all started. First there was Ed. Then Charles, then Ted, then David. It just kept going on and on and on and on.”

  “Yes! That was the beauty of it! We did great work with Ed. Not only did we damn him, but entire scores of other people who had never met him. It was magnificent!”

  “No, no, it wasn’t. It was just wrong. We shouldn’t have done that. Look at the innocent people who died horribly in great pain because of it.”

  “So? That’s what they are born for. To die in great pain!”

  Charazadon looked at him. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You didn’t realize what?”

  “That you had learned so little. H
ow long have you dwelt among them? You are one of the oldest of us and yet you don’t understand them. Have you ever tried to talk to them?”

  “Talk to them? Why should I do that?”

  “You once told me that you had to learn everything about your subject for a successful damnation. Have you ever listened to them? Listened to their poetry? Their music? Read their literature? Have you never gone and talked to one of them? Felt their hopes and dreams? Their joys and sorrows? Tasted what it was to be human again?”

  C didn’t reply.

  “Once,” he said after some time, “I could remember what it was like. But it’s been so long that I can’t remember any more. After tomorrow, I won’t have to remember. A will give me my soul back and I’ll be human again.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. Once you’re human, you can’t kill me. And you’re the only one who would. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go on damning them knowing what they’ll face, and I’ll never get enough souls to win my freedom. I need you to do this for me.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. That’s breaking the rules. You’d be free, or as free as a damned soul in Hell can be, but I’d pay the price. You know that. If I kill you, I accept your contract. I’d be responsible for gathering your souls.”

  “I know. I just hoped that—”

  “No. I’ve come too far.”

  Charazadon hung her head lower and looked out of the hotel window. “Sometimes I just like to watch the lights. The way they dance around in the sky and on the ground. The humans attach so much importance to lights. Have you ever noticed that? Everything good is light and everything bad is dark.”