Dead Jack and the Old Gods, page 2
I had enough. “What the fook is this? Is this what therapy is about? What happened to turn that frown upside down? My frown isn’t going anywhere. There’s something he’s not telling you, besides the fact that he’s a big liar.”
“What is that, Jack? I’m listening.” The Owl Lady leaned forward, somehow her glasses were even farther down her nose.
“What he’s not telling you is that my soul, my long-lost soul, is inside him. Inside that marshmallow. That’s what animates him and keeps him alive. My soul. He owes everything to me. He could at least show a little appreciation. I haven’t asked for my soul back, have I? I could, you know. It’s mine. I have a right to it. And if I did have it, I might not be a zombie anymore.”
Oswald didn’t say a word. The cat had gotten his damn tongue. He looked at the wall.
Noctua leaned back into her cushiony chair. “Wow. That’s a lot to unpack. I don’t think we can get into all that in one session. Please, Jack, don’t take offense. We’re only trying to help. I think I can see what’s going on here, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to share my thoughts.”
The Owl Lady stroked her neck feathers, waiting for permission to regale us with her wisdom.
“Knock yourself out,” I said. “This is your office.”
“I can tell you both care for each other. I know that’s uncomfortable for you, Jack, and I think that’s the problem. Zombies aren’t known for their emotions, but you’re not like other zombies, are you?” I shook my head. “No, you aren’t. You mask your feelings with sarcasm and wisecracks. But I think you care very deeply for Oswald or you wouldn’t be here, and you two have a unique problem. You’re not friends. You’re something much more. Soul mates, if I may borrow an oft-overused phrase. Literal soul mates. Jack, I know that may make you feel uncomfortable, but you’re out of sync. We need to get you two on the same page, to find harmony. Most people spend their entire lives searching for their souls, figuratively, but you found yours, and he’s sitting right next to you. I can understand why it’s difficult for you two.”
“What if I don’t want that?” I asked.
“You don’t want harmony?”
“What if I don’t Oswald?”
“Then you need to make a choice. Do you want your soul back, which, I believe, would be the end of Oswald, or do you want to find a solution where you two can exist together in peace, and perhaps become something greater than the sum of your individual parts?”
“There’s a third choice. We go our separate ways.”
“I think that’s the worst choice of them all. You’re two parts of a whole. If you separate, in my opinion, you’d both be unhappy, especially you, Jack. You’d be throwing away the most important part of yourself. Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t you see? This isn’t a problem between you and him. This is a problem between your zombie nature, the Jack part, and your human nature, the Oswald part. Yin and Yang. You’re only fighting against yourself. I want you to try an exercise. Jack, I want you to take Oswald’s hands.”
I shook my head. “I’d rather not. I wasn’t told there would be exercises.”
“Exercises are important to work through your feelings. Have you ever touched Oswald in an affectionate way?”
“Hey, we’re not like that.”
“I don’t mean sexually. Like a hug or a pat on the back.”
“I try not to touch him.”
“Well, in this exercise we’re going to try just that. Indulge me and then you two can go home.”
I let out a breath and looked at Oswald’s face. He smiled, stupidly. I didn’t like it, but I reached out. Oswald took my hands in his.
“Don’t pull away,” Dr. Noctua said. “Relax and close your eyes. Think about the things you like about the other person.”
I closed my eyes, felt Oswald grip my hands, and that’s when I screamed.
When I opened my eyes, Oswald and the therapist looked pissed.
“He shocked me,” I said. “It was like touching a live wire. He did it on purpose.”
The therapist didn’t look convinced. She pursed her thin owl lips, checked her watch, and said, “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s try again next week. Oswald, I would like you to start writing in a journal. Explore your feelings and thoughts, whatever you’d like. I think it would be a good outlet for you to find your identity. You don’t have to share it with anyone if you don’t want. And, Jack, think about what I said. Two parts of a whole. Harmony.”
When we were clear of the building, I smacked Oswald in his dumb head.
4
Oswald’s Journal
What the fook am I?
Soul Snatcher. Jupiter Stone Eater. Monster. Homunculus.
Dr. Noctua wants me to write in this journal to find myself. I’ve never given it much thought before. Why worry about who you are, when you can just be who you are?
If someone had asked me, which no one ever has, I would have said I was Jack’s partner, his friend, and a fellow detective. If I was honest, I’d say we were more than friends. When I discovered that I was animated by his soul, I didn’t question it. It made perfect sense to me. Somehow, deep down, I knew that to be the truth. I’ve never told Jack about the many lonely years that I wandered the Five Cities, searching for something I couldn’t name or identify. (Maybe one day I will tell that story, but not today, maybe never.) Then, I found it, purely by chance. What I had always been seeking. The only purpose I had in my brief life. A zombie sleeping in a field. Like a magnet, I was drawn to the inert body. At the time, I didn’t know he was a zombie. It didn’t matter to me either way. Something overcame me, an urge, a desire—I’m not sure—but I acted without thought. It just seemed right. I crawled inside the undead man’s skull. By then, I had learned I could transform into a puddle of ooze and slide into practically any space. (Jack doesn’t like to hear this, but there was plenty of room inside his head.) The instant I oozed into his ear, I knew I had found my home. I settled inside the dark confines of Jack’s skull, feeling safe and peaceful for the first time in my life, and spent the next six months there. I may have stayed there forever and been perfectly content, if Jack hadn’t evicted me.
Since then, I’ve only wanted to please Jack, though it never seems that I do. Now that he knows that inside of me is not only his soul but a Jupiter Stone, he’s always angry. Before that, I never took Jack’s anger and annoyance seriously. That was just his personality. He’s pretty complicated for a zombie. But now his irritation is very real. I think he hates me.
So, who am I? Maybe I’m the thing that ruined a zombie’s life.
5
A (Phone) Call to Action
“Let me tell you about the dream I had,” Oswald said as he came into the office. He carried a brown paper bag from Dullahan’s Liquor Store on 55th.
“Is it the one where you’re a marshmallow in a mug of cocoa and start to melt, but you realize you actually like it? I bet your therapist will have something to say about that.”
“This was a really bad dream, Jack.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing that stuff in your diary?”
“So?”
“So, write it in your diary.”
“Something bad is going to happen. I know it was just a dream, but there’s more to it.”
“Of course something bad’s going to happen—if you’re around.”
“Jack, just listen.” Oswald put the bag down on my desk and headed for his little diary, which he had left on the couch.
“Don’t you dare read from your diary. Diaries are supposed to be private. The innermost, secret thoughts of a delicate psycho.” I reached into the bag and pulled out the bottle of the sweet formaldehyde and whiskey.
I pulled a glass from my bottom desk drawer, gave it a good wipe with my tie, and sat it next to the Devil Boy.
Oswald sat on the couch with the diary in his lap. “Jack, I really want to tell you about this dream.”
“It’s not too early for a shot, right?” I poured a shot.
“This dream is important.”
“Leave it for the therapist to interpret. I’m not going with you the next time, by the way, so you’ll have all the time in the world to explore your dreams and feelings.”
“There’s no point in going without you. It’s couples therapy.”
“We’re not a couple!”
“You know what I mean.”
The intercom buzzed. “Hold on, Oswald. Business calls.”
I held down the receiver button and Lilith’s voice squawked through the box. “You got a call from Ms. Moonbeam. She says it’s urgent.”
“This day just keeps getting better.” I threw back the Devil Boy, waited as the brown fire burned my throat and settled warmly in my guts. “Put her through.”
“I hope everything is alright,” Oswald said.
I picked up the phone. “How’s my favorite head-basher?”
“We have a situation at the vortex.” Zara sounded serious.
I threw a glass ashtray at Oswald. “Hey!” the pipsqueak said, as it harmlessly bounced off the couch and landed safely on the rug. He should be thankful that’s all I threw at him for opening that no-good hole in the ground.
“What’s going on there?” Zara asked, annoyed.
“Oswald wants to know if everything’s alright, if the portal to another dimension that he conjured up with his amazing powers of hoodoo is causing anyone an inconvenience.”
“Let’s not get into that, Jack. We have an issue.”
“Great.”
“It’s ugly, Jack.”
“How ugly?”
“You have to get to Witch’s End immediately, and bring Oswald.”
“Does he have to be breathing?”
6
Crazy Train
Zara seemed frightened and the pixie-witch doesn’t frighten easily. I knew something bad would come out of that swirling vortex. If I said it once, I said it a million times: You don’t go around opening goddamn doors to other worlds. Pandemonium is scary enough, but who the fook knows what else is out there? It’s like playing Russian Roulette. Sooner or later, you’re going to blow your brains out. Up until now, nothing big had come through, though there had been reports of little crab-like critters appearing around the portal. Zara apparently liked bashing them with her hammer and watching the green slime ooze out of them.
We needed to get to Witch End fast. A boat would be too slow and I wasn’t flying. That meant we had to take the subway. We’d get to Witch End in a few hours, or we’d get our heads chopped off. Either scenario was fine with me.
“Grab the subway map,” I said.
“We’re not really taking the subway, are we, Jack?”
“It’s the fastest way there.”
“But no one in their right mind takes the subway.”
“We’re not in our right minds, are we? We’re in therapy. Besides, you got us in this mess, so you don’t have a say. You might want to wear shoes, unless you like having your feet soaked in urine.”
Oswald got the map, and we headed to the underground.
The 53rd Street Station was only a block away from our 5th Avenue digs. We passed the afternoon crowd on our way. Vampires in Brooks Brothers suits taking their three-blood-toddy lunches. Elf secretaries reading romance novels by the fountain outside the Time & Afterlife Building. A pack of werewolf schoolkids pushing and shoving each other as they waited in line at a hot dog cart.
I descended the station stairs.
“Are you sure?” Oswald asked from the top of the stairwell. “The last time we took the subway, a sea hag flashed me.”
“I’m not arguing.”
I plunged into the bowels of ShadowShade. A homeless ogre sat against the filthy tiled wall at the bottom of the stairs. A sign beside him read: “Will kill for food or fun.”
Farther up, someone had scrawled on the wall, in jagged red paint: “The Devil (Boy) Made Me Do it.” Elsewhere was the warning: “Hell Is Other Dwarves.”
The smell of burnt popcorn mingled with the stench of sweat and witch’s stew. Water dripped from somewhere.
Oswald walked alongside me now, as I lit up a Lucky Dragon.
An old vampire floated out of the shadows. “Can I bum a stick from you?” He had a missing fang and a slight lisp.
I fished out a hellfire stick and tossed it to him. He snatched it up without saying thanks and floated back into the shadows.
The platform was dark and cold. Most of the overhead light bulbs were missing or shattered. A powerful wind blew in from the tunnel. Vampire rats scurried between the tracks, some with blood trailing them. I leaned over the platform edge and looked into the tunnel. Eyes flashed in the dark, along the walls. Molemen. Most of the less social molemen lived down here. They were mostly harmless and kept to themselves, but they were territorial. You encroached on them and they’d attack, usually in large groups. They were also known for their strange sexual proclivities, which you’d expect from people who lived underground. I nearly vomited when I first learned about their favorite sex acts, the infamous ShadowShade Stuffer and the Angry Double-Headed Dragon.
The only other person on the platform was a short black-haired woman in a trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. Probably a witch on her way back to Witch End.
The wind from the tunnel gusted and grew in strength, signaling an approaching train. One by one, the eyes disappeared from the darkness and the vampire rats slipped into their hiding holes. The station rattled, and discarded newspapers flew around us. A bright light filled the tunnel.
I stepped back from the platform as a black train covered in graffiti roared into the station, going much faster than it probably should have. The train horn blared, filling the station with an awful wail like a dying animal. Once the train broke from the tunnel, I saw the gremlin conductor at the helm. He wore the grin of a lunatic, and he hopped madly up and down like he was having a blast on the way to oblivion. Other gremlins ran amok inside the pilot house. The train flew by us, still not slowing down, the blast of air nearly knocking us down.
“Maybe it doesn’t stop here,” Oswald said, struggling to balance himself.
Just then, there was a terrible screeching of metal on metal, and the train ground to a sudden halt. The passengers flew forward. Some of them tumbled onto the floor. The doors banged open, and a few people got out, stumbling drunkenly onto the platform. Me and Oswald jumped into the car before us, fearing the train might bolt away before we could board.
The black-haired woman got on with us. A large toad man in a tweed suit and newsboy cap was the lone passenger in the car. When he saw the raven-haired woman, he let out a loud, smelly burp. We sat as far away from the toad as possible.
“This is kind of exciting,” Oswald said, a stupid grin on his face.
I sat back, lowered my fedora over my eyes, and said, “Wake me when we reach Human Town.”
The train lurched forward and then sped out of the station. The car rattled from side to side as the train bolted down the track. I could hear the gremlin conductors laughing like maniacs over the PA system. I dozed off, thinking these gremlins must know what they were doing if they drove these trains every day. They’re professional conductors, after all.
The train wobbled crazily as we entered a tunnel, and I awoke in complete darkness. The raven-haired woman screamed. But it was quickly shut off and again the only sound was the rattle of the speeding train.
“Miss, are you alright!” I shouted over the din. I stood, but I couldn’t see a damn thing. I grabbed one of the poles in the middle of the car. The woman didn’t answer. I reached for my lighter, but before I could find it, the lights flickered back on.
The woman was gone. The toad man stood at the end of the car. He quickly turned away when he saw me. I thought I saw a woman’s high-heeled foot in his cavernous mouth.
“Hey, Froggy, get over here!” I shouted.
The giant amphibian ran toward the door at the end of the car, and I ran after him. He banged open the door, the racket of the tunnel flooding the car, and disappeared. The door was about to slam closed when I grabbed the handle and pulled it back open. I went through and nearly flew onto the tracks as the car swayed like a ship in a tempest. I somehow managed to leap to the other car and open the next door. Oswald was right behind me. I entered the car and watched the toad man fly into the next car. None of the passengers seemed to notice the pursuit. Most of their faces were buried behind newspapers or books.
I caught a break when I entered the next car. It was a dead end. We had reached the first car. Through the window in the far-end door, I could see the track and the crazy conductors taking us on this wild ride.
The toad man turned to face us. “Whaddaya want with me? I didn’t do nuttin.”
“You swallowed that woman.”
“What woman?” The toad man burped and a red heel flew out of his mouth.
I lunged at the toad. He threw a lazy right cross that I easily dodged. The momentum of the punch pulled the green galoot forward, and I managed to slip behind him. I gave him a great big bear hug, squeezing the lout for all I was worth. I felt the woman’s head in the pit of his prodigious gut.
“I can help, you know,” Oswald said.
“Stay out of this. I said no hoodoo.”
Oswald must have distracted me, because somehow the toad man broke my grip and swung around. His giant lasso of a tongue whipped out and wrapped around the neck. The next thing I knew I was lifted off my feet.
“I can help you out,” Oswald said, just before everything went black and I slid into the toad man’s innards.
I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things, but Oswald’s voice was clear as day. “You sure you don’t need any help?”
