The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) (34 page)

Max looked at the confident young man. “Hi Jon. I'd shake, but you know how it is.”

Jonathan nodded his head. He said affably, “I do indeed. Happily, that is what I'm here to help you with.”

“Teach me to shake hands?” said Max with a smile.

“Yup, and be able to raise your arm over your head, get dressed and feed yourself.”

This stream of thought stirred the bottom dwelling ideas that had been laying unquietly in the sedimentary muck of Max's mind. He said, “That stuff isn't going to be a problem, is it?”

“Well, I hope not, but there was major trauma to your shoulder. We will work hard to get you back as much range of motion as possible, but only time will tell how much that's going to be. No guarantees, but with a lot of hard work, I think you will be able to function reasonably well.”

Max blurted out, “Will I be able to play my guitar?”

Jonathan said, “I honestly don’t know. If we can restore most of your lateral motion, I think it is a possibility. Are you a righty or a lefty?”

“Righty.”

“Well...” Jonathan did a little dance with his arms. He was trying out various poses and paying attention to the motions needed to hold an imaginary guitar. He looked at Max. “That’s probably not great news. Looking at your x-rays, it looks like adduction and lateral rotation is going to be the toughest for you. You might not be able to reach the neck and keep the guitar in your lap.”

Max thought he had a vague idea what the PT was saying. “Oh, shit.”

“Don't worry about it for now, chief. What will be will be. We'll do everything in our power to get you back into shape.”

When Jonathan departed, he left Max morosely contemplating a life in which he couldn't play his guitar. The thought horrified him. It didn't make much sense, since he had decided he would never play again, but somehow, the fact that maybe he couldn't play again was different. Suddenly, he found himself seriously contemplating a life without music and it scared him to his core.

Max reached his good hand over to the button that gave him small doses of morphine and started pressing. He didn't stop till he fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

Max was woken by a light shining through his closed eyes. When he opened his eyelids, there was a brightness like the sun in middle of the room. Whatever caused the burning light did not emit any heat, nor make any sound. He raised his hand to protect his eyes and tried to squint through his fingers.

Suddenly, the light diminished and coalesced into the shape of a woman. No, it was the shape of a goddess with wings. Max dropped his arm and tried to blink the green afterimage away from this new sight.

A softly lilting feminine voice said, “Maxwell Niemand, you glow with the beauty of God. His fires burn fiercely within you. Sing me a song, Maxwell Niemand. Sing for the glory of God. Sing his praises for the gifts he has bestowed upon you!”

All this time, Max's view of the being grew clearer. Beside his bed, there was a woman of surpassing beauty. She had long golden hair and was dressed in a simple translucent white shift, which did little to hide the glorious curves of her body. There was a glittering, shimmering in the air behind her—like the outlines of golden wings. Max froze.

“Son of Adam, can you not find it in your soul to sing for me?”

Max shook his head in panic. He croaked out, “No. I can't. I can't sing anymore.”

“Maxwell Niemand, don't hide the gifts He has given you. Sing for me. Let me hear his faith in you. Recall for me the joy of creation and his glory.”

Max swallowed hard and tried to combat the sudden dryness of his mouth. He said, “No, I can't sing any more. I don't have that right after what I’ve done.”

The angel laughed. It was a bright, merry sound, which brought to mind sunlight dancing off of the waves of a pond on a warm summer’s day. She said, “Son of Eve, you are so silly, do not brood so upon the past. Sing for the future, sing for me. Brighten this mortal coil today.” She approached closer and leaned over him where he lay. The full white orbs of her breasts lightly brushed against his chest. She tenderly smoothed back his matted and greasy hair, and her breath smelled of honey suckle. Upon her touch, Max was flooded with desire for her.

On top of his desire to know her, Max desperately wanted to sing for this angelic visitor, but he felt inadequate, and the weight of his sins laid heavily upon him. He said, “Who are you?”

Her warm golden eyes looked into his and twinkled as she said happily, “I was created without a name, but mankind has provided me with the name Euterpe.”

Max swallowed again, “Are you an angel?”

She laughed. “I was once Dynamai, what you might know as a Virtue. Now, I am a traveler through time along with you and all of God's glorious creation.”

Max was so full of emotions, that he felt he might explode. “Did, did God send you?”

She laughed again, she said, “That is not knowable, for he does not speak to me here. I am here now because The Ruler Of This World sent me to remind you of the light of the Omega and to bring His healing to your shattered body.”

Upon saying that, she pressed herself on Max and kissed him on the lips. Max was overwhelmed. There was no possibility for him to adequately describe the sensations he experienced, the feel of her warm lips, the fire her breasts kindled in his groin, the light that filled him, and the pain that coursed through his entire body.

Max's back arched in agony as the kiss continued. Her touch evoked the pain of the sun on a burn, the sting of alcohol on a wound, the shock of setting a broken bone. The touch of perfection upon profane flesh.

Max's muscles all screamed with the tension, and suddenly she was gone. Max passed out.

The next evening, Max was back in his motel room, and, for the first time in two years, Max picked up his guitar to play. His fingers were a bit out of tune and uncooperative, but there was no pain in his shoulder. His guitar felt like an old friend, and there was no way he could let it go again. God had granted him a gift beyond measure and Max basked in feelings of forgiveness and redemption.

He was playing chords and progressions, trying to discover the tune that had popped into his head the previous night. It felt good to be creating again. No, good was not the term he wanted, perhaps it would be better to say it made him feel complete. He had forgotten this feeling and regaining it, even for a moment, was a gift beyond compare.

Slowly, he coaxed the tune out of himself. It was always this way when he wrote music. It always felt like somewhere within him was the complete song. His job was to try and draw it forth and duplicate it. Sometimes, he was successful, but more often, he was not. Tonight, it was flowing, and he started humming along with the notes as he discovered them.

There was a double tap at the door. Max would have preferred to send whoever it was away, but it might be Mike or Alice so he didn't. Without looking up, Max said, “Come in.” He continued his playing and singing.

“Ah Max, it is good to hear you singing again. You do have the voice of an angel and sometimes I miss them.” The voice was a deep, cultured baritone that Max would never forget.

He looked up in equal parts irritation and fear to watch Lucian closing the door, crossing the room and tossing himself on the bed with the grace of a cat. Anger rose up to replace all else. It routed the feelings of peace and contentment that had just been filling Max. He said, “Get out. You aren't welcome here.”

Lucian lay on the bed with his hands clasped beneath his head. He looked up at the ceiling. “Max, Max, my Max! Such hostility is bad for you! Don't you know that hatred raises your blood pressure and causes inflammation and other stress responses?”

Max gritted his teeth but didn't move. “Get. Out.”

Lucian laughed. “In good time, in good time. I was just stopping by to see how your arm was.”

“It's healed, no thanks to you!”

“No thanks to me? Didn't Euterpe tell you who sent her to you?”

“Yes, she said it was God.”

Lucian rolled his head to look at Max sitting beside the bed. He raised an eyebrow. “Really, did she actually say 'God sent me'?”

Max thrust out his jaw stubbornly. “Yes, that is exactly what she said.”

Lucian laughed again. “No, that is what you wished she had said. I happen to know that she said that she was sent by “The Ruler of This World.”

“Yes, that's God!”

“No, no, no dear, sweet, Max. It is not. He gave me this world long ago. Look it up in the Bible.”

Max had the feeling that is exactly what he would find. He gritted his teeth and spat out, “Get out of here!”

“In good time, Max. In good time. But first, I have a problem. A problem that you caused, and I need you to fix it.”

Max barked out a sharp ugly laugh. “Ha! I'm glad to hear it. Tell me what it is so I can do it again.”

“If nothing else, your enthusiasm is bracing, young Max. No, you see, I seem to be in danger of being forsworn because of you.” Max just sat and glared at the insouciant being lying on his bed. “You see, I promised Eunice Marie Abercrombie of the Baton Rouge Abercrombies that she would be married to the president of the United States some day, and she had paid me quite handsomely for that promise.”

“Even after Big Al managed to shoot himself in a hunting accident, Eunice was able to get him up and running again. She's quite talented in that regard. With a little cologne, he was nearly good as new.” Lucian gave Max a wicked grin. “After all, it wouldn't be the first time we had zombie in the office of the president, now would it?”

He shook his head sadly. “But now... Well, Max, let’s just say it is very difficult to run for political office if you are always losing your head—doesn't play well with the kiddies you know—so I'm afraid Big Al is in for a divorce with extreme prejudice.”

The news that Eunice had the deal with the Devil, and not Al, was less surprising than it would have been a week ago. Max sneered. “Oh, break my heart, won't you.”

Lucian continued on unruffled. “So you see, it would be a tragedy if I couldn't deliver Eunice her dream, and since you are already running for Mayor of our fair town, there seems to be only one solution.”

“You are the one who entered me as a candidate for mayor, you fucking asshole.”

“Be that as it may, since you are going to be mayor, and you are terribly charismatic, and well known throughout the country, nay, throughout the world, you are the ideal candidate for president of these You-nited States of America.”

Max barked a short laugh. “Yeah right, that's rich. Nobody is going to elect a thief like me to be the president, let alone mayor.”

Compassion filled Lucian's eyes as he crooned, “But Max, you are the only one who holds you in contempt anymore. Your public relations firm has been working tirelessly to let everyone know how you are just the poor victim of an unscrupulous manager: one who led you down a dark road without you ever realizing it. Everyone would cheer for a triumphant comeback for the 'Man Who Understands.' It would be no contest. Max, I promised you everlasting fame and glory! Don't you see? That's why I had to fix your arm. How could you stage your comeback if you couldn't play? Max, I made you a promise, and I have to deliver it! I never lie.”

Max stared at Lucian. He found that he completely believed that the angel had been sent by Lucian. Suddenly, inexplicably, his anger was gone. “You lied to me about ghosts. You said they did not exist. There are two living... er... unliving... or whatever, in my house.”

Lucian didn't skip a beat. “I never said that. Anyway, I've got a problem, and you are my solution. I need you to marry Eunice and then become the President of the United States of America.”

Max laughed openly and honestly at the absurd image.

Lucian sat up liquidly onto the side of the bed and faced Max. He said, “You don't think I can make it happen? There is a reason you have all that wealth, you know.”

Max laughed more.

Sincerity oozed from Lucian as he said, “Think of all the good you could do as the president of the most powerful country in the world, Max!”

Max laughed even harder. Mildly, Lucian said, “Would you care to make a wager?”

Max shook his head. “Not on your life, Lucian! Not on your life!”

Lucian smiled, “It's not my life I'm talking about Max. I guarantee you Eunice is going to be married to the President of the United States. My hands are tied on this. So, would you prefer that some weak-willed sot she could control was in power, or yourself? Do you want a husband-murdering, Mississippi Voodoo Queen in de-facto control over your nation’s nuclear arsenal? Think of the children, Max! Think of little Lily. Do you want her growing up in such a country? Think of her life, Max. Think of her sisters and their mother! It would be a tragedy if a nation of Lilys were to grow up under such a black yoke—if they were to grow up at all. Eunice is pretty pissed at you right now, Max. What if she were to take out her anger on those you love?”

Max went completely still, and his face froze as icy cold fear filled his veins. He said, “You wouldn't.”

“Me? No, of course not. You know how much I love those little baby monkeys! Such potential for entertainment and for creative destruction. I would never lay a hand against one of those precious wee ones. But, I don't control your monkey actions. Not even God can do that. He gave up in despair and handed it to me after all.”

Max thought desperately for a minute. “Why don't you just reattach Big Al's neck? Have your angel do it. She fixed me pretty easily.”

“There is a crucial difference there dear, naive boy. You see, you are alive. Big Al is deader than the Mississippi delta after an algal bloom. No amount of healing will help him. And before you ask, we've already tried super glue, staples, and iron spikes. The results aren't pretty. No, I need someone alive. Despite my reputation, once you are dead, you are beyond my abilities to help. Only God can truly fix death.”

Max thought hard for a moment. He said, “So what is going to happen if you don't deliver your promise to Eunice?”