Kill the Dead

Kasabian takes a set of earbuds, plugs them in, and the movie sound cuts out. He takes another beer from the minifridge and pops off the top.

“Before you zone out, have you heard anything about Mason?”

Ever since he became Lucifer’s conduit to Hell, Kasabian has learned to overhear and “accidentally” stumble on a lot of information he’s not supposed to have. He’s Lucifer’s personal ghost, so he doesn’t really exist Downtown. Even Hellions can tell the truth when they think no one is listening.

He says, “Not much. He’s in deep with some of the boss’s old generals. Lucifer’s original bunch. Abaddon. Baphomet. Mammon. They’re trying to recruit the younger officers for a full-on revolution. But I haven’t heard anything from Mason himself. He’s pretty well insulated. He’s the man with the plan, so they’re keeping him out of harm’s way.”

“Is that the truth?”

Kasabian sets down his beer and looks at me.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about Mason. I want him as dead as spats.”

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep. You want to look good for the cotillion.”

“I’ll save you a slow dance.”

“Just keep your hands off my ass.”

“What ass?”

THERE’S THIS GUILTY dream I have. Been having it on and off for six months, since right after I dropped Alice’s ashes in the ocean.

We’re in the apartment smoking and talking. The Third Man is playing on TV, but the sound is off. A desperate Harry Lime runs through the sewers under Vienna. What I hate about the dream is that I can’t tell if I’m remembering something that happened or inventing something. A confession or apology to the ghost that lives in my head.

“I blew up at a junkie on the street today. He just bumped into me. He smelled like piss and I wanted to strangle him and I almost did.”

“Your father beat the shit out of you. Everyone who’s been abused has those thoughts.”

Alice is pretty forgiving when I get like this. She’s a better human than me in almost every way possible. I don’t know if I could be with someone whose main topics of conversations were movies and who I wanted to kill today.

“You need to get away from Mason and those others. They’re no good for you,” she says.

“You’re right. But I’ve already blown off the Sub Rosa world. If I walk from the Circle, what am I? Should I pretend I don’t have power? That was my whole childhood. Hiding so people wouldn’t know I was what my granddad called an ‘odd case.’”

“You’re not an odd case.”

“What am I?”

“You’re my odd case.”

“I’ll tell you a secret. Mason’s an odd case, too, but he doesn’t care. I admire the hell out of him for that.”

Alice rolls her eyes like she’s a silent-movie star.

“Put a dress on, drama queen. Admiring anything about him is kind of fucked up.”

“It’s most definitely fucked up. But it’s true. He’s relentless. He’s a force of nature. And he’s always going to be just a little better than me. You should see the old books he’s collected. Half of them are in Latin and Greek. He knows magic I’ve never even heard of.”

“I thought you didn’t need those things, all the books and objects he uses. You can pull magic out of the air.”

“Maybe. Maybe that’s not enough.”

“From what I’ve seen and heard he’s jealous of what you can do, which means you’re doing fine.”

“He says he can invoke an angel.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“To gain secret knowledge. Learn how the universe runs behind the scenes. And to prove he can. He says he’s talked to demons, too.”

“Now, that’s just bullshit.”

“Probably.”

“Is that where all this is coming from? Demon and angel envy?”

“I can’t help it. The sheer balls to say it is something. And if he can do it, I don’t know. He’ll be my hero and I’ll have to put up a poster of him, like Bruce Lee over my bed back home.”

“I hope you like this couch ’cause you’re talking yourself into sleeping here tonight.”

“Mason says he’s making a deal with some kind of demons to get even more power.”

“I don’t believe in angels and devils.”

“Why not?”

“I was raised Catholic.”

She stubs out her cigarette and lights another. She was in a Robert Smith mood before I pissed her off, so she’s smoking cloves. The apartment smells like a junior high girls’ bathroom.

“He’s Beverly Hills hoodoo. Going to be big in the Sub Rosa. He plans ahead. I skate by.”

“So? If Mason’s your big guy crush, be more like him and make some plans.”

I smoke for a minute and watch Joseph Cotton following Harry Lime’s girlfriend on the road from his grave.

“You’re right. I can’t just wing it for the rest of my life. Time to turn over a new leaf. I’ll start planning ahead tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“Or the day after that.”

“Maybe next week.”

“You’re better than Mason and you can read people really well. If he starts waving his dick around and wants a Dodge City gris-gris shoot-out, you’ll see it coming a mile away and kick his ass.”

“Maybe I ought to get some of my own demons.”

“Next week. Or the week after.”

“Yeah. There’s always time, right?”