A Boy and His Corpse (21 page)

              Alan rolled over on his stomach to look up at him. When he tried to push himself up, his arms gave out beneath him and he fell back down on his face.

              “Easy there,” the man said, and he walked across the nothingness as if there was a sidewalk beneath him. “If you don’t collect your bearings, this place can be a little disorienting.”

              The man extended a hand and Alan looked into his eyes. They were very familiar, but Alan couldn’t place why exactly. Up close, Alan saw a dimple in his chin, and a set of perfect, white teeth.

              “Thanks,” Alan said accepting the hand. “Where am I?”

              “In your head,” the man said. “I’m Sam Mortimer, pleased to meet you.”

              Alan stood up on wobbly knees. Sam put his hand to the small of Alan’s back to help him keep his balance.

              “Thanks,” Alan said again. “Why is it so dark here?”

              “We’re in the deepest recesses of your brain, so that may have something to do with it.”

              Alan held out his hands as if surfing. Once balanced, he began to walk, but he watched his steps. He imagined walking across a girder above a city street, and the image took shape. He could even feel the breeze go up his shirt.

“No!” Alan said, covering his eyes.

              Sam put his hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

              When Alan uncovered his eyes again, he was back in the darkness. “What happened?”

              “Your mind wandered and you imagined you were somewhere else. Don’t do that. You might lose sight of where you’re going.”

              “Where am I going?” Alan asked, and his new friend, who he was reluctant to ask what he was doing inside his brain, pointed up.

              “You want to control your body again, don’t you?”

              “Of course, but how? Lucifer pushed me down here.”

              “You
let
him push you down here.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I’ll show you.”

              The darkness evaporated until they were now downstairs in Alan’s basement. His ex-friend, James, had his pet corpse, Mort, in a headlock. But the most pitiful sight of all was Alan himself, who was hunched over holding his head.

              “Just look at yourself,” Sam said. “All those years controlling your friend over there and you look like you’re going to puke.”

              “It really hurt. You have no idea.”

              “Hmm,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Well, whenever you’re ready.”

              “Ready for what?”

              “To watch how it all plays out.”

              “Oh, I already know how it all plays out. It only happened a couple days ago.”

              “But it might make a difference if you see it from a different angle.”

              Alan stared at the scene and began to feel unsteady again. He closed his eyes and felt a slap on the back of his head.

              “Ow!”

              “You’re focusing too much again on falling. Remember, we’re inside
your
brain right now. You’re in control.”

              Alan didn’t feel very much in control. He wobbled forward and felt a hand on the scruff of his neck as the ground almost gave out beneath him again.

              “Alan!” Sam said. “You need to stop worrying or you’ll never save your dad.”

              “Why, is he in trouble?” Alan asked, and the ground grew hard as concrete.

              “Not only is he in trouble, but he may never be okay again if you don’t get yourself out of your head.”

              “But how, Mort, I”—Alan’s eyes shot wide. In a flash, “Sam’s” eyes went from white to pus yellow.

              “Wait, what was your last name again?” Alan asked.

              Sam offered a wan smile. “Well, the truth is out then, huh?”

His features changed to that of his best friend, Mort. “I wanted to show you something first before you figured out who I was, but I guess I couldn’t fool you.”

              “Who were you before?” Alan asked. The visual of the basement disappeared and they were in the darkness again.

“That was me,” Mort said, “The real me. Before I was your friend.”

“Oh,” Alan said, resting a finger across his lips. “Why are you wearing these clothes?”

              “This is what I wore the day I died.”

              “Were you a soldier like my dad?”

              “
Like
your dad? Hell, I
knew
your dad.”

              “
What
?” Alan marveled. “He never told me that.”

              “Yes, well, I can prove it to you. Look.”

              The darkness moved like ripples in water, and the scene changed to a desert, not unlike the one he had just been in with Lucifer. The scene was utter chaos as scorched bodies were sprawled out everywhere and a Humvee sat flipped over. The scene focused on a burnt man’s face with his eyes closed. The man had thick muttonchops.

              “Is that you?” Alan asked.

              “Yep. And look over there.”

              Alan followed Mort’s finger and it landed on…Alan squinted.

              “Is that?”

              Mort nodded. “The one and only.”

              “How are we seeing this?”

              “These are Lucifer’s memories. Just like he’s inside you and sees your memories, you’re also inside of him and see his memories. Watch.”

              Alan’s father lay in the sand as the wind blew the flames around him. Out of nothingness came a man wearing the same uniform as Mort. He kneeled beside his father and talked to him closely. Alan couldn’t hear what he was saying.

              “Who is that?” Alan asked.

              “Lucifer.”

              Alan bristled. “What’s going on?”

              “Your dad is making a deal with him.”

              But instead of fear or anger or any other emotion befitting seeing one’s father selling his soul to the Devil, he felt wonder and intrigue: “Ah, so that’s how it all went down.”

              “Yep,” Mort said.

              Alan noticed something. “Why does Lucifer looked so scared?” and the Devil, who really had no face whatsoever, but rather, a mishmash of swirling eyes, nose, and mouth, was sweating profusely. He kept looking over his shoulder at the darkening sky. There was a flash and then, the dark clouds grew magnificently bright. Within them was a golden light. Alan’s face felt hot just looking at it.

              “What’s that?” Alan asked.

              “Divine intervention.”

              A golden cyclone emerged from the clouds, and out came an angel! He clutched a blazing sword, and above his radiant, blond hair sat a halo. He wore white and his eyes flashed.

              “Lucifer!” he screamed, but his scream became the thunder itself. He was the lightning. He hurdled toward him like a comet. But that’s when his father shook hands with the Devil. And when their hands met, the angel, just mere feet away from them, shot skyward again, as Lucifer disappeared into a cloud of smoke. His father stood up, but then, fell down again next to the body of his friend, Sam Mortimer. The scene faded and Alan and Mort stood in darkness again.

              “Why was Lucifer afraid of that angel?” Alan said.

              “For good reason. But more importantly is the fact that Lucifer is afraid of you.”

              “Me?”

              Mort nodded. “Do you ever wonder why Lucifer brought me along to Pakistan even though he didn’t want or have to?”

              “It’s because I—” he stopped himself. For a minute, he was about to say, “It’s because I told him, too,” but Mort nodded vigorously, as if the question had left his lips.

              “Exactly. He thought if he left me behind, you’d rebel and push him out. But all those powers he has now were all possible through you, Alan. Do you remember when you made me cry?”

              Alan squinted. “When did
that
happen?”

              Mort poked his finger into the nothingness and twirled until Alan saw his living room. Alan’s father had him against the wall, and Alan cried. But to his father’s right, Alan saw Mort crying, too.

              “Whoa. How are you doing that?”

              “I wasn’t doing anything, remember? You did that to me. I live inside
you
, and that’s the most important lesson I want you to get out of all this. Lucifer is afraid of you because you’re stronger than your dad.”

              “But I can barely even control
you
.”

              “What you take for weakness is your greatest strength, Alan. Just look at how shocked your father is.”

              And his father’s face was indeed shocked. It was almost comical how scared he looked.

              Alan brightened up, but then soured again. “But what good does that do for me here?”

              “More good than you could imagine. Instead of extinguishing the souls of corpses, you give them life, and that’s what has Lucifer so spooked. That’s why he sent you down here. But you can still stop him.”

              “How?”

              “Through me!”

              Alan blinked rapidly. “I still don’t get it. How is that possible?”

              “It’s possible if you believe. You’re in control, Alan. You always have been in control. The question is, do you have the willpower and determination to do it? You can get out of here, but you’ll have to struggle, because life is struggle. The only question is, are you willing to make the climb?”

              Alan was taken aback. “Well, if I do, will you go with me?”

              “Of course,” he said. “I’ve never left your side and I don’t plan on doing it anytime soon.”

              Alan nodded. “When do we start?”

“Now,” Mort said.

“How do we get out of here?”

Mort pointed up again. “Use your imagination to find a way to get back out.”

Alan willed an elevator in front of him, but Mort wiped his hand in the darkness and the elevator disappeared.

              “What are you doing?” Alan asked.

              “It has to be more metaphorical struggle than that. An elevator is too easy, so it’s stairs for you.”

              “Oh, come on,” Alan whined and Mort slapped him in the back of the head again.

              “’Oh, come on’ nothing. If you want to save your father, and ultimately, the world, then you’re going to climb. You’re lucky I don’t turn this into a mountain, but the symbolism is clear enough with stairs. Climb them and claim your destiny, Alan. It will be tiring, sure, and there will be a points where you want to give up, but you can’t give up, and, more importantly, you
won’t
give up. Because you can do anything you set your mind to, Alan. You just have to want it badly enough. So are you ready?”

              Alan was about to complain again, but he knew Mort was right. It was just like his dad always said, “Life is struggle, life is pain.” Alan put his hand out and walls appeared on both sides of the stairs. There was a pinprick of light at the top.

              As Alan took his first step up, he looked back and Mort nodded to him.

              Alan and Mort took their first step together.

President Rosewater

              At 2 AM on a Sunday morning the Oval Office was packed with people. Every cabinet member and their various aides and advisors were crammed in the small room, even though they all didn’t have to be. Why Secretary of Agriculture, Scott LeFevre, was here, Rosewater couldn’t figure out for the life of him. Vice President, Dan Tulino, sat front and center with his legs crossed drinking coffee. His green eyes peered at the President over his cup every time he took a sip. He didn’t have the fine chiseled jaw line or Roman nose that President possessed, but he certainly had the sharp, tough features that women swooned over. It didn’t hurt that he was also a Rhodes Scholar and a former Wyoming Senator who had championed female rights all the way back in his district attorney days.

              An hour before he had burst through the doors of the Oval Office.

              “Do you want to tell me what the
hell
is going on?” he asked. When Rosewater struggled with an answer, VP Tulino gave him one: “Meeting here at 2 AM.” He turned to one of his advisors and told him, “Let everybody know.
Everybody
.”