“Jesus Christ,” I said to Mr. Ree, “my head’s killing me! How long have I been out?”
“Two days,” he replied.
“Two fuckin days?!”
“Yeah, you were spazing out because you were suffering from narcotic withdrawals so Rockwell injected you with something and you’ve been knocked out ever since.”
“But but…it feels like just a moment ago we were outside looking for gold!”
“Rockwell caught us,” Mr. Ree explained, “so he took us by gunpoint and has kept us locked in his basement ever since.”
I sat up straight on the dusty floor and looked around. Something was off. Nothing in the basement looked like it belonged in the 19th Century. In fact, it looked like a laboratory from well beyond mine and Mr. Ree’s time.
“What the hell is going on here?” I asked, “where’s Oppenheimer?”
“Rockwell took him,” Mr. Ree shrugged, “probably to torture him.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah man, Rockwell’s a strange dude. You should get a look at him when he comes back down. Try not to laugh though.”
“I doubt that I will find anything funny about this situation.”
“Nah, this is a little different.”
Seconds later we heard the door unlocking from the top of the stairs. The two of us fell silent as we waited for what came next. The door crept open then all we could hear was the sound of footsteps thumping down the stairs. Finally, in true dramatic form, Rockwell made his way into the basement and stood before us.
“Ohhh, I see what you mean,” I said to Mr. Ree.
Rockwell stood less than five feet tall with a buckle on his top hat and sporting a long red beard. “Ye boys coming after me gold are ye?” said Rockwell in his thick Irish draw.
“Where’s J. Robert Oppenheimer?” I asked while trying to hold back laughter.
“Ahh the foolish scientist man, eh? I’m just keepin’ him detained for questionin’. Strange how a 20th century scientist became a sheriff in 19th century Montana wouldn’t you say?”
“Look dude, I’m not here to argue with you,” I said, “seeing that you know that we’re from the future, all we need is some of your gold to get back to our time and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Aye, five tons of gold that is, which just so happens to be all the gold here.”
“Well shit, that’s pretty unfortunate,” I replied, “welp Mr. Ree, I guess we’re gonna die in the old west after all. So Rockwell, do you want to let us go or do you want to kill us now? I don’t give a shit which.”
“Wait wait wait,” a perplexed Rockwell stuttered, “you won’t let me question you?”
“Nope,” I said, “Keep the gold. I’m ready to die.”
“Alright alright,” Rockwell replied, “I’ll let you have the gold. BUT, I want access to this time portal device developed by Oppenheimer.”
Sheriff J. Robert Oppenheimer led the way through the dark of night carrying a shovel and lantern. Mr. Ree and I kept tripping over rocks and branches as we followed behind him onto Mr. Rockwell’s land.
“Shut your goddamn trap,” Oppenheimer ordered, “Mr. Rockwell will shoot us dead if he finds us digging up his property.”
“Bob,” I said, “if several tons of gold is on his land, how will we carry all that weight back to your barn?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” the sheriff replied, “in the meantime, we just have to determine if it’s here at all.”
“How will we do that?”
Oppenheimer turned around and smiled. “You think I don’t have a plan?” he rhetorically asked. Bob opened his duster and inside he carried a small metal detector. “I’ve been itching to try this thing out,” he continued, “it ain’t easy inventing something like this in the old west. But I’m nearly certain it’ll work.”
We finally arrived at a dried up creek bed some hundred yards behind the Rockwell home. “If the gold is anywhere,” Oppenheimer said in a lowered voice, “it’s right around here.”
Bob took out his makeshift metal detector and began listening for certain radio signatures. Mr. Ree and I stood back while he walked up and down the creek. After 10 minutes of watching him do this, we sat down on a large sandstone rock.
“So we’re gonna die in the old west aren’t we?” Mr. Ree asked.
“Almost certainly,” I replied as I pulled out a flask.
“Well I gotta say, it’s certainly been a lot of fun riding around out here palling around with you. I have no regrets.”
“Yeah, I suppose we’ve had some good times,” I said as I took a few swings of whiskey, “it’s just a shame that I’ll never see my son.”
Mr. Ree patted me on the back. “You never know,” he said, “sometimes impossible things happen.”
I ignored that comment as I passed the flask to him. “Tell me, since you no longer work for the Admiral because he fell into a lava pit, what would you have done if we made it back to LA?” I asked.
Mr. Ree pondered for a bit after lowering the flask from his lips. “Prostitution probably,” he responded, “why do you ask?”
“We make one hell of I team,” I said, “if we do make it back, you should come work with me at my detective agency.”
“Say,” Mr. Ree nodded enthusiastically, “that’s not a bad idea!”
Right then, Bob came rushing down the creek bed. “Grab your shovels!” he ordered, “I think we hit the jackpot!”
Several meters down the creek, the metal detector was wildly sounding off. Oppenheimer put down his lantern and began eagerly digging. Meanwhile, Mr. Ree and I were cackling away. “We might make actually make it out of this shithole town!” I exclaimed.
Seconds later, from out of the darkness I heard the clicking of a Smith and Wesson. “Drop dem shovels fellas,” the Irish accent ordered.
“Proceed no further,” Oppenheimer ordered the gang. Dickleburg and his men remained mounted on their horses in front of the sheriff’s station. The pale moonlight lit the town square; Patrons at the whore house stood by to see what the fuss was about.
“But we outnumber you five to one,” Dickleburg chuckled to the sheriff.
Only me and Oppenheimer stood ready to confront the gaggle. At that moment, the opium started kicking in. Normally that would drag me down. But Thankfully I took a bump of cocaine to keep me alert. Oppenheimer kept his eyes, along with his pair of six shooters, on Dickleburg. I had my shotgun lowered and cocked on the other nine men.
“If you’ve come here for Billy Friedkin,” Oppenheimer said to Dickleburg, “you may succeed at getting him, but we won’t be the only ones standing on hell’s doorstep tonight. So you need to ask yourself: is it worth it?”
Dickleburg gave another hearty laugh. “I think you misunderstand my intentions here. Of course I’m here for Billy. He is, after all, a very valuable employee to my company. I’m sure you’d do the same for your loyal deputy standing here,” he replied, referring to me with a wink and a smile. “I value all of my loyal employees, which got me thinking: I have not been a very good employer to you Sheriff Oppenheimer. We have a saying in Helena: money fixes everything.”
Dickleburg dismounted his horse, grabbed two comically large sacks- complete with dollar signs stenciled on- and threw them at the sheriff’s feet. “I do hope you accept my sincerest apologies,” Dickleburg continued, “I hope we have a much stronger working relationship moving forward.”
Oppenheimer stood motionless for a few moments as he stared at the sacks of cash. Finally he looked up at the townspeople still congregated around the whore house. “Give me a moment,” he uttered.
I followed him back into the sheriff’s office where he pulled out a large whiskey bottle from his desk drawer. “You aren’t serious about accepting his offer, are you?” I asked as he uncorked the bottle.
After several long seconds of nonstop gulping, Oppenheimer lowered the bottle. “Yes I am,” he finally replied.
“Come on!” I exclaimed, “What the hell is so important about Elkhorn?! Surely to god there’s a lot more places to find gold in Montana?!”
“Other places? Yes,” Oppenheimer replied, “but the best place? That’s right under our feet.”
My intuition, likely aided by narcotics, started kicking in. “So that’s why you’re in Elkhorn,” I said, “tell me: how much gold does it take to kickstart your time portal device?”
“Shit,” an obviously drunk Oppenheimer wondered aloud, “at least a few tons.”
“A few fucking tons?! You are telling me there’s that much gold in this godforsaken town?!”
“Ohhh yeah. But what does it matter now? My family’s here and it’s not like I could make it back to my own time anyway. So fuck it! I’ll take the money.”
I grabbed the sheriff by the lapels. “Goddamnit Oppenheimer,” I shouted, “you can’t give in that easily! You serve the PEOPLE of Elkhorn, NOT the corporations! The gold belongs to THEM…AND the natives they stole the land from.” I then let him go and straighten myself out. “Besides,” I continued, “you agreed to help ME to get back to my timeline.”
Oppenheimer just laughed. “That’s impossible and you know it.”
I shook my head. “Damn it man, if you pick up those bags of cash, I will shoot you myself,” I declared, “are we clear?”
Oppenheimer began rubbing his face. Then he picked up the whiskey bottle once again. “Dickleburg probably has some trick up his sleeve anyway,” he said. He looked out the window at the armed men standing by and took a swig. “I used to be a great physicist,” he lamented, “so what are we gonna do about Billy Friedkin? Do we turn him over?”
“That seems to be the only sensible option,” I replied.
The sheriff picked up the keys, unlocked Billy’s cell, and grabbed him by the arm. “I told you they’d be coming for me,” the prisoner said.
“We know Billy. We expected them to, you fuckin idiot.”
We escorted him outside and released him to Dickleburg. “Aren’t you gonna take the money?” the businessman asked.
“Just take Mr. Friedkin and get out of town,” Oppenheimer replied.
Dickleburg lit up another cigar and nodded. “That’s a shame boy, I thought we’d be partners,” he said. He turned around and signaled for his gang to open fire.
Oppenheimer and I dropped to the ground as bullets ripped up the sheriff’s office. All the townspeople fled into the whore house. We exchanged fire for what seemed like eternity but was likely only a few seconds. Then the sound of a Winchester rifle pierced through the gunfire as Dickleburg’s men began dropping one by one from their horses.
“No wonder Mr. Dickleburg’s pissed,” I said to Oppenheimer after we galloped into town, “you didn’t give his man a fair trial!”
“That’s the thing about this timeline,” he replied, “they have no concept of judge and jury. Yet we still come to the same conclusions without them. It’s the damndest thing.”
Sheriff J. Robert Oppenheimer was about to hang one of Dickleburg’s company men on the streets of Elkhorn when word got to him that Dickleburg was riding into town with some hired guns. Oppenheimer and myself, along with Mr. Ree, we’re standing around in the sheriff’s office with the prisoner, Billy Friedkin, behind bars.
“You boys don’t know what’s comin,” Billy said, taunting us.
“I say we hang the son of a bitch right now and send a message,” Mr. Ree opined.
“We can’t do that,” Oppenheimer said, “Mr. Dickleburg will burn this town down.”
“Then why did you arrest Billy Friedkin to begin with?” I asked.
“Because,” Oppenheimer paused, “Mr. Friedkin shot and killed several of Mr. Rockwell’s cattle. The law plainly states that’s an offense punishable by death.”
“Then wouldn’t the government have your back?”
“No,” he replied, “Mr. Dickleburg owns the Montana government. But I had to arrest and hang Billy or else the townspeople would have hung me. You see, I’m between a rock and a hard place.”
Billy began guffawing in his cell. “Shut up,” I ordered, “I could kill you now and get away with it.”
“Relax gentlemen,” Oppenheimer said, “we need to think. Other than the time in that dormant volcano in Hawaii, have you ever been in a gun fight?”
I chuckled in response. “Bob, seriously?” I asked, “I saved Mexico City from a nuclear attack and massacred the entire West Coast mafia up in Big Bear. The FBI was pissed. So I think I know my way around a fire fight.”
“Good,” he said, “because Dickleburg and his merry men will be here in a matter of minutes. We need to set up a defensive parameter. It’s only going to be the three of us.”
I looked over to Mr. Ree. “I think I’m gonna need that opium pipe now,” I said.
Mr. Ree shook his head and dug out the pipe from his satchel. “I don’t think I’ve ever killed a man sober,” I said to him as I took it from his hand.
“Hopefully it will improve your aim,” he added.
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, “I’ve got this shotgun. Are you any good with that Winchester rifle?”
Mr. Ree held up the weapon and smiled. “I’m no Lee Harvey Oswald,” he replied, “but I think I can handle myself.”
I have finished 0 stories this year and at this rate I will finish 0 more. As you are all aware, I’m in the middle of a career change which might require me to return to clown college to finish my clown degree sooner than I expected. So enjoy this story from last year.
What I’ll say about this one is that I made some decisions. I wasn’t happy with it initially but upon revisiting it I think it holds up decently well.
Meet William Shits
William Shitz woke up the same time every morning: 4:30AM.
He’d look in the mirror, trim his mustache, and evacuate his bowels. He’d always use two squares of toilet paper. No more, no less.
His bowel movement was a little more painful than usual this particular morning. But he thought nothing of it. After wiping his ass, William departed to his study to read the morning newspaper.
“Can you believe this Archibald?” William asked the butler in his thick transatlantic accent.
“Belief what sir?” asked Archibald.
“The Dow 500 crashed 8 million points yesterday. We must be in a recession!”
“Nonsense, sir,” Archibald said, “you’re a billionaire. None of that will affect you.”
“Mmm, right you are,” William said as he sipped his Earl Grey. “Do tell me, have I missed any phone calls this morning?”
“It’s 5am, sir. It won’t be start of business for another couple of hours.”
“Right. Well I better get moving then, I don’t want to fall behind on the day’s schedule.”
William Shitz removed his smoking jacket, put on his business attire and ascot then climbed into the back of his Rolls-Royce Phantom III. As Archibald was driving the vehicle, he handed the gold-plated phone back to William. “Your daughter is on the line, sir,” he said.
“Darla Shitz,” William said into the phone, “how have you been my dear?”
“Dad, I’m ready to come home,” Darla replied.
“Now now, Darla, you know I wish to be called ‘father’.”
“Father, I’ve been in France for six years! I know that it was rough on you when mother passed, but I want to be back with my family!”
“Now’s not a good time, darling. I must be going, I have a busy day ahead of me. Goodbye.” William abruptly hung up the phone and handed it back to Archibald.
“How is Darla doing, Mr. Shitz?” Archibald asked. “I would love to see her again.”
“Oh fine, fine,” William replied, “but I’m afraid she wishes to stay in France a little longer.”
The Rolls pulled up to Shitz Factory, a large DoD contractor that develops and manufactures weapons used to drop on villages in the Middle East. It was personally owned by Mr. William Shitz himself.
“I haven’t had a day off in two years,” said Allan Funt, Vice-President of operations and William’s right-hand man. “I’m overworked, I’ve developed a drinking problem, and my wife is fucking the mailman. All I’m asking is a couple of days off.”
“I’m sorry Allen,” Mr. Shitz replied, “but I expect all of my employees to give the same dedication that I gave into building this company for a laughable fraction of what I make. That goes for you as well.”
Allan began to tear up. For a fleeting moment, William felt a degree of sympathy for him. “Now now, Allen,” William said, “you’re my most valuable employee. Keep up the good work and maybe I’ll give you a day off next year.”
Allan nodded, wiped away a tear, and diligently went back to work. As William was returning to his office, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach.
“Are you alright, sir?” Archibald asked.
“I don’t understand, Archibald,” William said, “I already had a bowel movement this morning.”
His stomach continued to cramp. He rushed into his private office and on into the bathroom then dropped his pants. He noticed that he already soiled his silk underwear.
William continued to spray shit out of his rectum and into his diamond-made toilet. After a violent two minutes, he grabbed his usual two squares of toilet paper and wiped his crack. When he looked back at the paper, he was appalled.
It was covered in blood.
***
“You got ass cancer, Bill,” the big, burly doctor said to Mr. Shitz. “It’s inoperable and you likely have a year to live.”
“My God,” William responded, “how is that possible?”
“Well, since your factory manufactures uranium weapons, a piece of radioactive material probably snuck up your asshole…I won’t ask how that happened…where it metastasized into terminal cancer. So I recommend you get your affairs in order. Now kindly get the fuck out of my office because I’ve got more patients coming in.”
Mr. Shitz returned to the front desk and paid the $450,000 doctor’s bill. “Would you like to schedule your next appointment?” the receptionist asked.
William thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said.
He wandered back out to the Rolls-Royce where Archibald was waiting on him with the door open. “I trust your appointment went well, sir,” the butler inquired.
“I’m afraid not Archibald,” William replied. “I have cancer of the asshole.”
The news hit Archibald like a ton of bricks. “Is that so, sir?” the butler asked as he tried to maintain his composure. “Can it be removed?”
“I’m afraid not. It appears that I have only a year to live!”
Mr. Shitz’s longtime butler was shattered inside. He had a million things to say but there was not enough time to say it; Archibald wasn’t ready to tear down the façade of professionalism that held his world together.
“Will…,” the butler began to ask as his voice cracked. “Will you be informing Darla of this news?”
“In time, Archibald,” William replied. “Right now, there’s too much to be done. I must get back to work.”
Mr. Shitz and the butler returned to Shitz Estate. William immediately departed to his study while Archibald remained outside on the brick-paved driveway. The butler sat down behind the wheel of the Rolls-Royce and began to cry.
That’s when he noticed me. I was trimming the hedges along the driveway.
“Who are you?” Archibald asked me as he wiped away tears.
“I’m the new gardener, sir,” I responded. “I started yesterday. Is everything alright?”
“Yes yes,” the butler said, “I have terrible allergies this time of year.”
“I see,” I said, “I’m Jim Grey. You must be Archibald Duke, Mr. Schitz’s longtime butler.”
“Yes I am,” he replied.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I told him. “Mr. Shitz thinks very highly of you. In fact, I’d say that he regards you as his closest friend. You’re probably the only person, besides me of course, that truly understands him.”
A bewildered look fell over Archibald’s face. “How would you know anything about Mr. Shitz?” he asked.
I smiled. “I’ll just say that he and I have been inseparable for a very, very long time.”
***
“I don’t know sir,” Allen Funt said while bawling his eyes out. “I’m already stressed out enough. I don’t know if I can handle running this company while you tend to personal matters.”
“Damn it, Allen,” William retorted, “you’re a workhorse! The best one I’ve got! You should consider it an honor that I’ve selected you to run this factory!”
Allen buried his head in his hands. “I haven’t seen my kids in two years, sir,” he said. “Please, Mr. Shitz! Please loosen my load!”
William got up from behind his desk and plopped down next to Allen. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Shitz said as he patted him on the knee, “if you do a good job, I’ll give you a 1.5% raise on top of your $24,000 yearly salary. So please, Allen, find the strength to carry on.”
Allen nodded, blew his nose, and wiped away the tears. “Yes sir,” he said. Then got up and returned to work.
William sat back down behind his desk. I entered his office carrying a bouquet of lilies. “Good morning, Mr. Shitz,” I said, “I just cut these and figured you’d enjoy some.”
“Lilies?” William inquired. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m your new gardener, Jim Grey,” I said, “If you recall, your wife wanted these planted at your estate before she passed. These were her favorite flowers. She wanted you to think of her every time you looked at them.”
William was dumbfounded. “How-how do you know this?”
I found a vase and placed the flowers inside of it. “Mr. Shitz, I know that you’re dying,” I said as I sat the vase on his desk. “Yet you feel that there’s too much to be done. And you’re right. You’ve always been a hard worker. But this might be the hardest thing you’ve had to face.”
“But…how do you know so much about me?”
I sat down in front of his desk. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Mr. Shitz?”
“I’ve- I’ve honestly never considered it.”
“Well I’ll just say that I’ve watched you your entire life,” I said, then smiled. “I guess you could call me your protector.”
“I see,” William replied as a growing look of concern fell over his face. “Then I suppose heaven’s been displeased with my performance.”
“Not entirely,” I said. “But there is an opportunity here to right the wrongs. It’s not too late, Mr. Shitz.”
“If you are who you say you are, Mr. Grey,” William said, “then what do you know about living as a mortal; to face the temptations of flesh and blood?”
“This is not just a chance at redemption for yourself, William,” I replied. “If we work together, we will both be back in heaven’s good graces.”
***
Who am I, this mortal shell Jim Grey?
Didst I fly too close to the flame? Did I sear off my wings and tumble to this providence of flesh and sin?
“Hear me now o Heaven!” I cried out, “must I die with the blood of my veins?”
But reprieve was delivered from upon high; “be a good servant, but not for thy sake.”
Yet a servant is nothing more than a slave; and I’m a slave by the Grace of heaven.
***
I was no more free than Mr. Shitz was free from impending death. “What happens when I die?” he asked.
“I am no more an expert on death than you are on life.”
“Is that the meaning of your visit Jim Grey? To give me one more shot at life?”
“Perhaps.”
But how could I deliver something that I don’t possess?
Now enough about me….
***
The helicopter landed on the estate lawn. Archibald extended his hand to help Ms. Shitz deboard the craft. “How delightful it is to see you again!” he told her as they strolled across the grass and into the foreroom.
“Tell me, Archie,” Darla said, “how bad is it?”
“Your father is fine right now,” he replied, “but in time, his health will deteriorate. He will lose all control of his faculties. Piss and shit will flow out of him continuously before his bowels fall out of his asshole at the moment of death. I can’t think of a worse way to go. He would be better off ending it now rather than remain cognizant as his dignity melts away.”
“How horrible!” Darla bawled as she buried her head into Archibald’s chest.
“Yes,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her, “but you mustn’t say anything about it when you see him. He’s still processing his ass cancer diagnosis.”
“I understand,” she said while wiping away tears. “He’s always been a stubborn man. This will take time.”
“Of course,” Archibald replied as he offered her a brandy. “How was your stay in France?”
“Absolute dogshit!” Darla exclaimed. “They’re a bunch of chain-smoking, wino bastards! And the world thinks the US is racist?! Try spending 15 minutes at a Parisian bus stop! Jesus fucking Christ!”
I wandered in through the kitchen door bearing a gift. “A rose for you,” I offered Ms. Darla Shitz, “I’m Jim Grey. Welcome home.”
Nothing across all heavens, from the seas of Aquila to the moons of Indus, prepared me for the sight I saw; a woman, whose beauty rivaled that of Artemis.
“This is our new gardener, Ms. Shitz,” Archibald said. “He’s an acquaintance of your father.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grey,” Ms. Shitz spoke as she placed her hand into mine, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Now, please excuse me. I must be meeting with my father.”
“Of course,” I said. I watched her gracefully gather herself as though there wasn’t a storm raging inside of her.
There too was a quiet storm gathering within me. What was it about Darla Shitz that promoted such passion?
Why was heaven hellbent on its temptations?
***
“Damn it Dad! When you spend six years in a French whorehouse as I have, you can smell shit from a mile away! And YOU, sir, are full of SHIT!” Darla yelled to her father.
“Darla, please,” Mr. Shitz responded, “I’m wearing adult diapers now. I assure you, there’s not an ounce of shit in me.”
“Well you can’t spend your remaining days toiling away in your study!”
William stood up from behind his desk and shoveled ice into a glass. He poured himself a tall drink of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. “Are you sure that’s a good idea in your condition?” Darla asked.
“Goddamnit Darla, can you stop pestering this dying man?!” he snapped.
This was the first time Darla heard her father drop his high-class pretensions. “So there’s a man underneath that mustache and ascot after all,” she said.
“Fuck you,” William replied as he pounded the whiskey. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. I raised you and I built a billion dollar company. Now leave me be.”
Darla laughed and stood up. “I’m home now,” she said, “you’re gonna have to face me eventually. Or else I will haunt you till your dying day.”
She stormed out of the study. Moments later, I walked in to find Mr. Shitz blind drunk. “Damn it, Jim, I can’t handle this right now,” he said to me.
“Yes sir, I understand,” I said. “Mind if I have a drink?”
He nodded.
I took a sip of the stout liquid and wondered how humans could stomach the stuff. “Sir,” I wondered aloud, “can you tell me about your wife?”
William swiveled his chair, back facing me. “What can I tell you about her that you don’t already know?” he asked.
“Well,” I continued, “I know that you loved her. Doesn’t that extend to your offspring as well? Especially since she’s a continuation of you and your wife?”
William swiveled back around. “Are you some kind of fucking moron?” he asked.
“In your ways, yes,” I said as I downed the whiskey.
William laughed. “Darla and me have an understanding,” he said, “care for another drink?”
“Please.”
The conversation trailed off after that. William eventually passed out on his leather-bound sofa in the study. But being new to this intoxicating experience, I ventured out to the garden, carrying the bottle with me.
The pond was the most beautiful spot. As dusk started to settle, katydids and frogs began their nightly symphonies. Across the way, I saw Darla lighting a cigarette.
I turned my head when she looked my way. I focused on the bottle as I pretended not to notice her. Then moments passed and she was out of sight.
The sun finally sunk below the horizon and the moonlight peered through the clouds. I thought I was alone.
“Mind if I have a swig?” a voice from behind me asked.
***
“Don’t tell anyone that we fucked,” Darla said as she climbed naked out of bed. “I can’t think of anything more embarrassing than sleeping with the gardener.”
“I understand,” I replied.
“By the way,” she asked as she strapped on her brassiere, “how do you know my father has ass cancer?”
I began to stutter. “I, uh…it’s a long story.”
“Oh shit,” Darla said, “you’re not one of his long lost children are you?”
“Umm…no?”
“Oh thank god,” she exhaled, “I wouldn’t want THAT to happen again!”
“ANYWAYS…,” I replied, “Will you be returning to France anytime soon?”
“God no, I’d rather be the one that has ass cancer.”
“Then why’d you go there in the first place?”
Darla paused dressing for a moment. “I…I was dating Stromae.”
“But he’s Belgian.”
“Look, you’re not INTERPOL! I don’t have to tell you shit!” Darla exploded. She finished dressing and stormed out of the guest house.
I climbed out of bed when Archibald wondered in with breakfast on a tray. I was putting on my underwear.
“Exquisite dong, sir,” he said
“Thank you Archibald.”
“I trust you laid the pipe well last night.”
I tilted my head. “But Archibald, how did you know?”
“Now now,” he said, “Mr. Shitz pays me very well to know goings on within his estate. A flea can’t fart…as the expression goes…without me hearing it. So please, Mr. Grey, please handle Ms. Shitz delicately.”
“But Archie,” I replied, “it was just a one time thing. It…it won’t happen again.”
Archibald was skeptical. “Mr. Grey, what goes on between two adults is none of my business. But, I figured you to be of higher character.”
I nodded as I looked down to the floor.
“Now,” he continued, “when you finish breakfast, Mr. Shitz has requested that you join him on a hunting excursion. A rare breed of arctic fox has been brought to the estate, and Mr. Shitz would like to hunt it into extinction before cancer takes its toll. His associate, Mr. Allen Funt will be joining the party. Please be punctual.”
***
“The arctic fox spends its days burrowing underground and avoiding contact with its own kind,” Mr. Shitz explained while staring down the sights of his shotgun. “It’s a solitary animal, much like myself. When it dies, it dies alone.”
Mr. Shitz pulled the trigger, unleashing the sound of hell. A helpless fox, only a few yards ahead, exploded into a million pieces, leaving only fur and guts strewn about.
After witnessing the appalling sight, Allen Funt started heaving at the foot of a tree. With a slight smile on his face, Mr. Shitz reloaded the shotgun. “Mr. Funt,” he said, “I do believe it’s your turn.”
“No thank you, sir,” Mr. Funt replied as tears streamed down his face, “I just don’t have it in me!”
“Goddamnit Allen!” Shitz yelled, “I will be dead in less than a year and you will be the CEO of a billion dollar company! Now if you want PTO, a livable wage, and health insurance, you will senselessly kill the last surviving member of this species into extinction!”
“I can’t!”
Shitz cocked the shotgun and directed towards Funt. “You will!” he declared.
“Oh god I’m gonna die!!!”
“Gentlemen,” I interrupted, “what’s the meaning of this? Mr. Shitz, please lower your weapon.”
Allen Funt pissed his pants as he had a stare down with Mr. Shitz. He also shit pants. After a few moments, William came to his senses and lowered the shotgun.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” Mr. Shitz said. “Mr. Funt, it was my hope that killing these animals would give you the courage to turn this shotgun on me. It was my dream to be executed by the man who would supplant me as CEO.”
William then looked out onto the field to admire the last surviving arctic fox. It was juxtaposed proudly against the endless horizon. “It’s just you and me!” William yelled to the animal, “we’re the last of our kind!”
He dropped the shotgun by his side then looked over to me. “Mr. Grey,” William said, “you are my protector; my guide across the river Styx. But I’m not ready to punch that ticket.”
Mr. Shitz started stripping off his clothes, down to his underwear. Finally his bare cock was flapping in the wind. It was cold that day.
“Jim Grey,” William continued, “if you want me dead, you’ll have to catch me first.”
Allen Funt and I then watched Mr. Shitz’s flabby asscheeks jiggle as he hopped like a jackrabbit into the tree line.
***
“Mr. Shitz is no stranger to wandering bare ass naked in the woods,” Archibald informed us, “this is no cause for alarm.”
“He wanted Allen to kill him with a shotgun, Archie!” I said, “I think concern is warranted here.”
Archibald put his hands up to his face and rubbed his bald head. “What difference does it make?” he asked. “He’ll be dead soon anyway.”
Darla put down the booze and spoke up. “Archie’s right,” she said, “we should let him die the way he wants: balls dangling in the wind.”
“But that’s not the way he wants to go!” I replied. “He wants me to hunt him; he wants us to hunt him.”
“But why, Jim?! Why?!” Allen Funt cried out.
I went to the bar and poured a stiff drink. “Because…,” I said, “because his whole life he’s felt misunderstood. He’s been alone in this world. He wants us to to prove our love to him, by hunting him in the wilderness so we might see his true self.”
Allen Funt continued to bawl his eyes out. “I just want to go home and see my family!” he cried.
“Calm yourself, Allen,” I said, “you’re just as much a part of this as we are.”
Darla, already three sheets to the wind, tried to slur out her words. “And how do you know so much about father, Mr. Grey?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I replied. “None of you would.”
Archibald picked up the shotgun and began loading shells. “Probably not, Mr. Grey,” he said, “but I know what I must do. I’ve been William Shitz’s butler for 47 years. If anyone must put him down, it should be me.”
“That’s your responsibility?” I asked.
Archibald took a long pause. “Yes,” he said. “It’s common knowledge that butlers must take an oath to do what must be done, even if that means mercifully killing his master with a shotgun. It is my sworn duty.”
I walked up to the aged butler and put my hands on his shoulders. “When the time comes,” I asked, “can you do what must be done?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” he said as he looked me square in the eye, “and if I can’t pull the trigger, then it becomes your responsibility…and I too must be executed for my dereliction of duty.”
***
“He’s close,” Archibald said as he dug his fingers into the soil.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“There’s a steaming pile of bloody shit right there,” he replied. I looked to the right and lo and behold, right there a reeking pile of human poop.
“It seems like you’ve done this many times before,” I said to him.
“Far too often.”
The four of us-Archibald, Darla, Allen Funt, and myself- trekked through the woods in search of a mentally deteriorating William Shitz. The sun was starting to set. A gentle gust was blowing in from the north; a storm was brewing. While we found hopeful signs that Mr. Shitz was still alive, we only covered a small portion of the 148,971 acres that he owned.
We decided to hunker down for the night. I put together a small fire in the middle of camp. As usual, Allen Funt couldn’t stop crying. “What are we gonna do when we find him?” he bawled.
“We’re gonna kill him,” Archibald replied as he gnawed on a piece of beef jerky.
“But why 😭😭😭😭?” Funt asked.
Archibald threw down his jerky and pulled out a small machete. He grabbed Allen and held him up to a tree with the blade up to his neck. “Because Mr. Shitz wishes it!” Archibald screamed.
“Gentlemen!” I interrupted. “We must maintain our composure! Let’s not make any decisions on Mr. Shitz until we find him!”
Archibald nodded and lowered the machete from Allen’s neck. “I know what I must do,” he said as he slid the blade back into its holster. Then he looked me in the eye. “Just don’t forget what YOU must do.”
Archie climbed back into his tent for the night. So did Allen Funt, as he soiled his pants for the second time that day. Darla and I sat by the fire.
“Why did your father love your mother?” I asked her.
“You really are some kind of fucking moron,” she said as she lowered the flask from her lips. “Why don’t you understand the simplest of human concepts? Are you some kind of alien?”
“In a way,” I replied as I took a swig from the same flask.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Probably not! But try me! Nobody, not even Archie, understands your sudden appearance in my father’s life.”
I took another big hit from the flask. “It is my duty,” I explained, “to guide your father into the next life. Or at least it was. You see, I was his guardian…but I fell out of heaven’s grace.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she replied. “So if you’re his disgraced guardian angel, then why are you bothering to fulfill your heavenly duties?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Redemption I suppose.”
“For what?”
“I…I guess I thought I could be human,” I stuttered. “But I never grasped human love. I was damned…damned to walk the earth; being neither human nor angel. I thought I could do one last thing…revealing to your father love and compassion in his final days; the kind he has never felt before. But then something strange happened.”
“What happened?” Darla asked longingly.
“I met you.”
Darla chuckled and shook her head. “You’re just another drunk weirdo that’s wandered into my life,” she said. Then she stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves from her jeans as the rain started sprinkling down. “But,” she continued, “you ain’t a bad fuck. So you’re welcome to join me in my tent. Just TRY to last longer than two minutes this time, mmk?”
***
“I found him!” Allen Funt screamed through the torrential rain. It was our second day of hunting for the surprisingly evasive Mr. Shitz. The terrain in the sprawling forest proved to be formidable.
Archibald, shotgun in hand, ran towards Allen’s screams. Darla and myself weren’t far behind. “Where is he?” Archibald asked as he approached.
“Right there,” Allen said.
The butler looked down and was puzzled. “That’s just a hole in the ground,” Archibald replied.
Allen cocked his head. “But I thought that’s what this was,” Funt said, pointing to his ass.
Darla had enough. “This excursion is pointless!” she yelled. “Just let my father die naked and shitting himself in the woods, just as he wanted!”
Allen Funt seconded the notion.
Archibald tuned out the noise as he gazed into the woods ahead. “There,” he pointed.
Less than a 100 yards away was the majestic arctic fox. The creature contrasted like an apparition against the wet and drab forest. “Follow that fox,” Archibald ordered.
The butler proceeded forward while Darla and I followed in his footsteps. Allen Funt fell into the very hole he pointed out moments before.
“Help!” he screamed.
No one came to his aid.
We watched closely as the fox trotted forward a few feet. As the animal neared a meadow, a totally nude Mr. Shitz fell out of a tree and onto Darla’s shoulders. “Father!” she cried, but Mr. Shitz was delivering a rear naked chokehold, quite literally, as he was hanging on to her rear, he was naked, and had her a chokehold.
“Release her!” Archibald ordered.
Darla lost consciousness and fell to the ground. With an open shot, Archibald raised the shotgun and fired. But the spry Mr. Shitz dodged the shrapnel and disappeared into the shadows.
“Goddamn, he’s like the Vietcong,” Archibald said as he reloaded the shotgun.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“He’s too dangerous like this,” Archibald replied. “If you see him, kill him.”
Right then, Mr. Shitz swung around a tree and knocked Archibald out cold. The shotgun flew forward to my feet.
I kneeled down to pick up the weapon. But Mr. Shitz was close enough that I could see the rainwater dripping off his ballsack. I slowly picked up the shotgun and returned to my feet.
It was nearing dusk and the rain was falling harder. But the red in Mr. Shitz’s eyes pierced the dark through the booms of thunder and brilliant flashes of light.
***
“Pull the trigger, Jim Grey,” William said as rain poured down his face. “That’s why you’re here, after all.”
I stood frozen in an awe-inspired fear. The nude figure that stood before me transfigured into a dark angel. He was still man, but appeared to possess the powers of hell.
I was unable to pull the trigger.
But before I could react, William grabbed the barrel and slammed the butt of the shotgun to my face. Still conscious, I fell backwards into the muddied forest floor. I could taste something from the corner of my mouth; it was blood, assisted by the rain, streaming down from the wound on my forehead.
I had never bled before.
William now held the shotgun but threw it aside as he stood over me. His cock was inches from my face. Finally, the rush of panic kicked in and I sprinted aimlessly through the woods.
But the newly minted demonic angel was never far behind.
Then I reached an obstacle: a gully nearly 100 feet deep but a little over 10 feet wide. I had no time to think. I leapt across the crevice but my feet missed the landing on the other side.
My life was hanging perilously over the side of a cliff, fingers barely maintaining a grip on a wet, slippery rock jutting over the edge.
William looked down upon me struggling like a helpless creature. For the first time in his 70 years, he felt something he previously thought impossible: sympathy…compassion. Mr. Shitz then entirely hurdled the 10 foot gap and kneeled down before me.
“It’s quite a thing to live in fear, isn’t it?” he asked. “But that’s what it means to feel alive.”
Right as my fingers slipped, William grabbed my wrist and single-handedly pulled me to safety. As he dropped me on land, I impulsively wiggled backwards up to a tree, not knowing what to expect.
The arctic fox wandered up and sat obediently next to Mr. Shitz. The old, dying man gazed upon the animal and sat down before me.
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe,” William told me, “I’ve had shits like fire from a baconator in Hoboken. I watched Harry Reems and Arthur C. Clarke cheer as they masturbate. Now all of those moments will be lost, in time, like the career of David Blaine.”
A look of sorrow fell over William Shitz’s rain-covered face. “Time to die,” he uttered. And with those words, the clouds departed, and the fox trotted off into the sunset.
I laid there for what seemed like hours, pondering Mr. Shitz’s last moments. And in his waning hours, he bestowed upon me the gift of humanity; his last, and perhaps only, act of benevolence.
Then I heard a voice from across the gully. “I guess he’s through, eh?” it asked. It was Archibald, holding the shotgun.
“Finished,” I said.
Archibald tossed the shotgun to my side and started to walk away.
Then he paused.
“It’s too bad I won’t live,” he pondered aloud, “but then again, who does?”
***
After I shot Archibald for his supposed “dereliction of duty”, he managed to survive.
“Maybe we’ll just call it even,” the old butler said as he held his hand over the gushing shotgun wound. He placed his arm around my shoulder and I carried him back to the estate.
Darla regained consciousness after being choked out by her dying, naked father. “Is he finally dead?” she asked.
I nodded.
“About fucking time,” she replied, “let’s leave that crazy old bastard’s body out in the woods.”
Everyone agreed.
We all returned to the estate and shared a bottle of brandy. Archibald was looking a little pale due to the massive blood loss. Darla was happy to be home. “What the fuck was up with that arctic fox?” she asked.
I swirled around my glass while I pondered. “I guess it symbolized Mr. Shitz’s soul,” I said. “At his moment of death, the fox took up his spirit. Now Mr. Shitz is truly free; free from man-made constraints, free to live the life he always wanted. And more importantly, he took up my spiritual burdens by becoming the Angel of Death, and bestowing up me full humanity; the greatest gift he ever gave anyone. Or some shit like that. I dunno.”
“Okay good. Glad I wasn’t the only one that saw it,” Darla replied. “Because I was REALLY tripping balls out there.”
We all had a good laugh, including Archibald who continued bleeding all over the couch. Then it occurred to me:
“Christopher Nolan is a hack,” Mr. Ree said, “Oppenheimer looks nothing like Cillian Murphy.”
“Goddamnit Mr. Ree, I fucking hate the old west,” I replied as I spit out some chewing tobacco, “it’s nothing like the movies. Everyone is drunk all the time and reeks of cow shit!”
“How’s that any different from 21st Century LA?”
“I know we’ve been here awhile,” I said as I drank directly from the whiskey bottle, “but I just can’t get used to it. I miss Miriam. I miss Izzy. I miss my unborn son. Hell, I even miss Angelika!”
“Who?”
I took a few cocaine drops to help with a toothache. “Nevermind,” I replied, “I forgot what we were talking about. I could use some grub though. Where the hell is Maybelline?”
Maybelline, Oppenheimer’s wife, brought out a fully roasted turkey with all the fixins. Mr. Ree and I were joining her and her son Malachi for supper around the fireplace. “Sure looks delicious, Mrs. Oppenheimer,” I said, “will Mr. Oppenheimer be joining us this evening?”
“He’s in town tonight. There’s a public hanging,” she explained, “he probably won’t be back until the wee hours of the night.”
“This turkey is delightful, Mrs. Oppenheimer,” Mr. Ree said, “too bad Bob couldn’t join us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ree. I didn’t catch your first name, by the way.”
Ree looked up from his plate, mouth stuffed with turkey, and cocked his head. “What do you mean?” he asked.
I changed the subject. “I suppose you’re used to not having Bob around. Being a sheriff’s wife must be lonely,” I said.
“Yes,” Mrs. Oppenheimer lamented, “but I have my dear son Malachi to keep me company.” She smiled and looked over to her son. “Malachi Oppenheimer, how the lord has blessed us,” she continued. Then Maybelline looked at me with a wink and a suspicious, crooked smile. “I also have you two gentlemen to watch after me,” she said, “care for some pie?”
I thought for a moment.
“Well, I appreciate you offering,” I replied, “but because of poor diet and access to copious amounts of narcotics associated with the Old West, I haven’t experienced an erection since I’ve arrived and…”
“I think she means apple pie,” Mr. Ree interrupted.
“Oh yes, of course. I’d love some pie,” I said.
Maybelline got up from the table and departed for the kitchen. I quietly nudged Mr. Ree. “Hey, do you still have that opium pipe?” I asked him.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You are stoned as fuck!”
“I know! I think I have a problem!”
“If we ever make it back to the future,” Mr. Ree whispered, “you’re getting some help!”
Maybelline returned to the table all smiles carrying a piping hot trey of apple pie. Malachi was licking his chops with anticipation. “I want the biggest piece, Mom!” he declared. Mr. Ree and I chuckled.
“It sure is nice having a full house for a change,” Maybelline said, “it keeps my mind from worrying about Mr. Oppenheimer.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Elkhorn used to be a quiet town,” she explained, “but with Mr. Dickleburg from Helena coming down and bullying us townsfolk, Bob has become more worried. He’s just one man, you see. Mr. Dickleburg has a whole army.”
“I assure you ma’am, Mr. Ree and I will do everything we can to help Bob protect this town.”
“It’s not only that,” Maybelline paused, “but he’s also taken to the bottle a lot lately.” She began to weep as she grabbed ahold of my hand. “Oh, he’s just not the same man anymore!” she cried.
“There there,” I said.
Suddenly, J Robert Oppenheimer busted through the door and tossed Mr. Ree and me two Winchesters. “Grab a horse,” he ordered, “we gotta ride into town.”
“But Bob,” I said, “I told you: I’m a terrible shot without my .357!”
“Just point and shoot,” Oppenheimer replied, “I don’t have time to explain. Hurry! Elkhorn is about to have company!”
“I can’t even beat off alone anymore,” thought Bill Lorenz. He tossed and turned in bed, flipping over and noticing a fellow inmate, Sappy, staring gleefully at him. “That’s enough,” Bill finally said.
He threw off the covers, climbed out of bed, and started banging on his cell door. “Guard!” he yelled.
“Bill, what do you want at this hour?” the guard asked as he was rubbing his eyes. “We’re all trying to sleep around here.”
“Sorry to disturb you PRINCESS,” Bill replied, “but I demand to speak with Dr. Effington.”
“You know she doesn’t come in until 8:30.”
“Call her in!”
“I’d be happy to call in Dr. Effington, Mr. Lorenz. What’s the emergency?”
“I’m unhappy about having a cell mate.”
“But that’s hardly an emergency.”
“It is when you haven’t slept in two days! How can I get re-educated when I can’t get a good night’s rest?!”
“Bill, as you know, you were given a cell mate to help you with your anti-social behavior. If you are having trouble sleeping, we can provide you with medication. Otherwise you will have to wait for Dr. Effington to approve removing your cell mate.”
“I’m not taking those damn sleeping pills! When you see Dr. Effington, tell her that I demand to see her right away!”
“Will do, Mr. Lorenz.”
Bill turned around and noticed Sappy still staring at him. “Keep smiling Sappy,” Bill said, “one day I’ll kick those teeth in.”
***
“Sappy’s a goddamn rapist!” Bill said to Dr. Effington, “why did you send him to my cell?”
Dr. Effington sat in her chair while she sipped on tea. There was no desk to separate the two. No guards. It was just the two of them sitting alone in a small, intimate room.
“His name’s not ‘Sappy’,” she replied, “It’s Jeffrey Rohmer. He has a history of not recognizing personal boundaries and we paired him with you because you are recognized as having a more aggressive personality. From you, he might learn consequences from crossing boundaries. From him, you might learn how to deal with difficult people. You both suffer from antisocial behavior. We had hoped that this would be a learning experience.”
“Sappy is a criminal! I’m not!” Bill stated, “I’m a political prisoner!”
“You engaged in activity that resulted in the deaths of several people. That is criminal behavior in every jurisdiction.”
“I had the right to preserve my ideals!”
“Be that as it may, after you were found guilty, you declined the other forms of treatment for reintegration into society. So you were sent here where you will learn how to live in society. This is how the system works.”
“I oppose the system. It’s brainwashing!”
“The aim of the Revolution was to create a more fairer society. That included changes to the justice and incarceration systems. If you play by the rules, you will be fully reintegrated with a clean slate.”
“Fuck you. The Revolution was bullshit. A difference of opinion is not criminal!”
“I’m not here to argue history and politics, Mr. Lorenz. My aim is to rehabilitate you, no matter how long it takes. Because of the Revolution and the new governing regime, I have all the resources to do it.”
“I take that as a threat.”
Dr. Effington finished her tea and lowered the cup to her lap. “Mr. Lorenz, if sharing a cell with Mr. Rohmer is too difficult, we can have him removed,” she said. “Now that that matter is settled, I would like to continue with your therapy.”
“Not today,” Bill replied, “you’ll have to find someone else to brainwash.”
Effington shook her head. “Very well,” she said, “please let the guards know if you need any reading materials. This need not be a painful experience for you, Bill.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Bill replied, “but you can stick that offer up your ass.”
***
“Forget it, Bill,” Susan said, “I’ve consulted with attorney after attorney and they’ve all said the same thing. Just play ball, take the treatment, and you’ll be released. The Reformed Department of Corrections will provide you with a job and assistance once when you’re released. And when you’re deemed fully rehabilitated, your criminal record will be expunged. It’s not like it once was.”
This was the first visit Susan paid to Bill in some months. The guards stood back while the two shared a table in the prison cafeteria. “That’s not the point,” Bill replied, “I’m being treated as a common criminal, which I’m not. What are they saying about me on the outside?”
Susan said nothing.
“That bad, huh?” Bill chuckled, “What happened to the world, Susan? Are we not allowed to be human anymore? This is everything we fought against!”
“We lost, Bill,” Susan said, “Sure it has taken time getting used to that. But I survived the rehabilitation process and things aren’t so bad on the outside. Some people know who I am and the things I’ve done, but everyone trusts the process. It’s like it doesn’t matter. I’m fully reintegrated.”
“You sold out, in other words.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill.”
After a moment of awkward silence, Bill reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. “Did we ever fuck?” he asked.
Susan gave out a throaty laugh. “We got drunk and fooled around once or twice,” she said.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?”
“It would have never worked.”
“I know,” Bill lamented, “you were always too smart for me.”
“You were always preoccupied.”
“Now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life here. My loss.”
Susan stared into his eyes for a few moments while she clasped his hand. Finally, she stood up and straightened herself out. “I handed the package you requested off to the guards,” she said, “Goodbye, Bill.”
Bill exhaled. “So long, Susan.”
He watched her walk out through the gates and out of his life. Then the guards escorted him back to the cell.
Minutes later, Junior, the senior day shift guard, walked up to Bill’s door. “Good news Bill,” Junior said as he handed him Susan’s package, “I don’t know what you want with all this leather, but it cleared security. Because you’re not on suicide watch, it was approved by Dr. Effington. Of course, it can’t leave this cell. You will be checked each time.”
“Understood, Junior. Thank you.”
***
“Fuck your Philly cheesesteak!” Bill yelled to Junior. The guard was delivering Bill’s dinner directly to his cell. But the prisoner took the plate and dumped the contents down the toilet.
“Goddamnit Bill,” Junior said, “what’s your problem?”
“As a political prisoner, I’m going on a hunger strike!” Bill replied.
“But you requested the Philly cheesesteak for fuck’s sake! What more can we do to make you happy?!”
“Nothing! My sole aim is to agitate.”
Junior shook his head. “Look,” he said, “if you go on a hunger strike, we’ll just sedate you and feed you through a tube. Furthermore, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not your enemy. Dr. Effington is not your enemy. No one here is your enemy. We’re all here to help.”
“Help with what?” Bill asked, “to transition me into a society I abhor?”
“Fine!” Junior replied, “stay here for the rest of your life! But please do me a favor: don’t make things difficult for me. We’ve gotten along in the past and I consider you my friend. Don’t turn me into an agent of your persecution complex.”
“But you are persecuting me,” Bill said, “you sold out to this new order. You are my enemy.”
“Whatever,” Junior said as he stormed away, “I can’t deal with you when you’re like this.”
But a little after midnight, Bill was tossing and turning in his bunk when Junior entered his cell. “Get dressed,” he ordered, “Dr. Effington wants to begin a new treatment.”
“She wants to start now?” Bill asked.
“Yes. It’s tailored specifically for you. Relax, no drugs are involved.”
Bill jumped out of bed and put on his standard prison jumpsuit. Junior and two other guards escorted him to Dr. Effington’s office where he was greeted by a nurse at the reception desk. “I’m just going to check your vitals, Mr. Lorenz,” the nurse said. After taking his blood pressure and temperature, she sat him down for questioning.
“Have you been depressed in the last week?” the nurse asked.
“Well I am incarcerated,” Bill replied, “that doesn’t exactly make me happy.”
“Do you experience any sexual problems? Are you able to achieve an erection?”
The question took him off guard. “Uhh, well, ummm…I am 47 years old. Maybe I don’t have the stamina I once did but…”
“Will you require the use of a stimulant to achieve an erection?”
He began to blush. “I’m, I’m not sure what this has to do with…”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you have any heart conditions that you would like to discuss that you haven’t previously disclosed?”
“No?”
The nurse then unzipped his jumpsuit and attached a device that stuck to his bare chest. “We will be monitoring your heart rate,” the nurse explained, “but be warned: this device will also shock you if you get too close to Dr. Effington. Understand?”
Bill nodded. He was too petrified and confused to say anything.
“Alright, Dr. Effington will meet you in her office,” the nurse explained, “please step inside.”
Bill stepped into Dr. Effington’s office, as he had done dozens of times before, and the nurse shut the door behind him. He sat down in the same comfy chair that had always been there.
Nearly 10 minutes later, Dr. Effington stepped into the room. She was dressed a little differently, wearing only a long light blue coat that went well past her knees. “Doctor,” Bill said, “what is going on here?”
The Doctor pulled out her chair from behind her desk and placed it less than five feet from Bill. “This will all make sense in time, Mr. Lorenz,” she said, “now please relax and answer a few questions. First, do you find me attractive?”
Bill wiggled in his seat. “Uhh, yeah. Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Second: do you trust me?”
“I uhh, I don’t know if I have any other choice, Dr. Effington.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Lorenz. Now please, don’t be alarmed. I’m about to remove my coat, and underneath I am completely nude. Do not be ashamed to look at me or my body but please answer every question I ask. If you feel the need to undress yourself or masturbate, you are encouraged to do so. But you may not touch me under any circumstance. Am I understood?”
Bill sat deathly silent but Dr. Effington took that as an implicit ‘yes’.
“Alright, let’s begin,” she said. The Doctor removed her glasses, let down her hair, then unbuttoned her coat…
***
“Do you care to say anything?” Dr. Effington asked.
Bill scratched his head as he gazed at his psychologist’s nude body. She sat cross-legged directly in front of him as he looked upon her torso. He still didn’t believe what he was seeing.
“This is a little weird for me, doc,” he finally uttered.
“I understand that,” Effington replied, “but let’s discuss your relationships.”
“My relationships?”
“Yes. Your romantic ones perhaps?”
Bill chuckled. “That’s irrelevant,” he said, “now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to return to my cell.”
Dr. Effington shifted in her seat. She quickly uncrossed her legs, briefly exposing her herself before placing one leg over the other. “Please make this work, Mr. Lorenz,” she said, “now, what can you tell me about Susan? Were you ever romantically involved with her?”
Bill began to sweat a little. “Ummm, I don’t think I’m prepared to talk about that just yet,” he stuttered.
“Fair enough. Did you have any other partners?”
“Ehh, not many.”
“Why is that?”
Dr. Effington was holding a pen at the corner of her mouth, drawing attention to her lips. Bill looked down to her bare feet, noticing her painted toe nails. This slightly aroused him as that provided a bit of color to what he though was her otherwise dry personality.
“Well, umm, I guess that’s a good question. I suppose I was either too busy or didn’t think I was desirable enough,” he said.
“Did you always have a low sex drive?”
“Uhh, well…,” Bill then unzipped his jumpsuit and touched himself. “…I don’t think so.”
Dr. Effington began speaking in a slower, softer voice. “Why don’t you find yourself sexually desirable?” she asked.
“I…I guess I’ve always felt unwanted.”
“By whom?”
Bill started losing concentration as he continued to pleasure himself. “I don’t know. My family?” he said.
“Do you wish to explore that? Did you feel neglected by your mother, perhaps?”
As he began to near climax, Bill ignored the question entirely. “Doctor, can you please uncross your legs?” he requested.
“Not right now,” she said, “we still have to make it through this session.”
“Just let me touch you. Any part of you. Let me touch your knee.”
As he reached out, Bill’s heart monitor released several volts of energy, shocking him to the floor. He convulsed on the ground for a few seconds, then he vomited. A few nurses rushed in and helped him back to his seat.
“Mr. Lorenz, you were instructed to not touch me,” Dr. Effington said. Then she stood up and slipped on her long coat. “I hope you heed to that warning next time. But you’ve done well on your first session. When I see you again in a few days, I hope we can pick up where we left off. Good day.”
The nurses picked up Bill by the arms and carried him out of the office. After a quick physical examination, the nurses released him and Junior escorted him back to his cell.
***
“Does this come with a shot of bourbon?” Bill asked. Junior was handing him a cup of coffee through the cell door. Bill’s hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“For that, I’d have to get approval from Dr. Effington,” Junior replied.
“Forget it then,” Bill said as he lifted the cup to his lips.
“Jesus, Bill, what did they do to you in there?”
Bill was still too horrified to provide any detail. Dr. Effington had absolutely cut him to the bone. “What kind of prison is this, Junior?” he asked, “Just let me do my time, Goddamnit!”
“You should know by now that this isn’t a prison per se,” Junior explained, “it’s more of a rehabilitation facility. In this brave new world, the reformed department of corrections believes that everyone, including you regardless of your past deeds, have something to contribute.”
“What the HELL is so rehabilitating about….,” Bill caught himself before he let out too much information. “Dr. Effington’s methods are unethical,” he continued, “I don’t how she thinks that will rehabilitate me.”
“Bill, just tell me what’s going on,” Junior said.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is she torturing you?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Is she violating your person in any way?”
“Look, just drop it. I have another session with her tomorrow, maybe it will go better. At least I know what to expect. But you revolutionaries are some sick fucks. I’ll never understand any of you.”
“A lot of people would say the same things about you,” an irritated Junior replied, “at least Dr. Effington hasn’t killed anyone.”
Bill sat stone cold silent on his bunk.
“Look,” Junior continued, “it’s a new world. It’ll take time for you to adjust.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Bill yelled.
“This may sound stupid, but I believe in you. You’ll put it together some day.”
“Just fuck off, please,” Bill said as he began to rub his temples. He was still feeling side effects of the electric shock from the day before. Junior nodded and walked away.
Bill pulled out the box of leather goods from under his bunk. He looked over a particular shapen object that he created using crude materials found around the facility. Then he continued toiling away at it, just to pass the time.
***
Bill kept wiping the sweat from his brow as he waited for Dr. Effington. The nurses once again attached the heart shock device to his chest. After 10 agonizing minutes, the psychiatrist walked into the office.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Lorenz,” she said. The doctor rolled her chair just feet away from Bill.
She was wearing the same boring brown skirt that went past her knees. Bill had seen her don that same outfit hundreds of times. Though slightly relieved…because he thought this might be a normal session…he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
“That’s quite alright, doctor,” he replied, “I’m sorry for taking out my penis and trying to touch you last time.”
“Given the circumstances, that’s quite understandable,” Dr. Effington explained, “but due to safety concerns, I cannot permit you to touch me. At least not yet.”
Bill wondered what she meant by ‘not yet’.
The doctor pulled out a folder and began looking through her notes. “Now last time we spoke, we were discussing your family life,” she continued, “I would like to explore that further.”
Bill sat up in his seat. “Wait a minute,” he replied, “I’d like an explanation for our last meeting.”
She closed the folder of paperwork in her lap and removed her glasses. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lorenz. But I can’t disclose that at the moment,” Dr. Effington said.
“Why not? It’s my treatment. Don’t you think I’m owed an explanation?”
“All of this will become clear in time. Now please, let’s return to the subject at hand.”
“Doctor, you stood completely nude in front of me. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have questions.”
“Your psychological makeup is quite unusual, Mr. Lorenz. And unusual problems require unusual solutions.”
“Then I cannot participate in this treatment if I’m not given an adequate explanation.”
Dr. Effington sat up and readjusted herself. She ever so slightly slid up her skirt and uncrossed her legs. For a long half second, Bill could see she was not wearing underwear.
He sat stone faced as she continued her questioning.
“Mr. Lorenz,” Dr. Effington said, “I need you to trust me in this matter. Now please…tell me about your relationship with your mother.”
Bill began to feel sweat beading down his back. “Uh…,” he stuttered, “there’s not much to tell. She OD’d when I was 15. My father was also a junkie and he ran out on me. I was raised by my grandfather.”
“Did this ever make you feel alone? Guilty?”
Bill chuckled as he began rubbing his face. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he said.
“What did you do to address these issues?” The doctor asked. She again placed her pen up to her lips.
“Uhhhmmm…I’m sorry, Dr. Effington, but I know you’re not wearing underwear.”
“I know you know.”
“Could I see more?”
Dr. Effington moved her fingers down her blouse. “Possibly,” she replied, “but I need you to answer my questions. Were you angry after your mother’s death? How did you cope?”
“Of course I was angry,” Bill said, “I was angry at the world.”
“Is this how you became involved in politics?”
Bill paused for a moment. “I…I don’t know,” he replied.
“Did you ever have any romantic relationships?”
“I don’t think I was ever good with women.”
“Well, what can you tell me about Susan?”
***
“I can’t believe they granted you a conjugal room,” Susan said.
Bill was busy setting the candle light and pouring wine. “And they gave me alcohol too,” he replied, “maybe things aren’t so bad.”
Susan pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him square in the eye. “I’m not having sex with you, Bill,” she said, “besides, I’m already seeing someone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because it’s John.”
Bill looked down at the ground and shook his head. “Goddamn it,” he uttered.
“There was no good way to tell you,” Susan said.
Bill walked over to the window then glanced at the small Christmas tree in the corner. “Well Merry Christmas to me,” he replied.
“But I did bring you a gift,” Susan said as she dug through her bag. She pulled out a picture of him and his grandfather at Mount Hood some 15 years earlier. “I know that this was the last picture of your grandpa before he passed,” she continued.
Bill took the photograph and turned his back on Susan. He was silent as he recalled the memory of that day. After several awkward seconds, Bill spoke up. “I haven’t seen this picture since the day it was taken.”
Susan said nothing.
Then Bill turned around. “Why John?” he asked. “Don’t you two have a history? Isn’t the government watching you two like a hawk?”
“Maybe,” she replied, “but I don’t care. I think we always had feelings for each other.”
“But you guys aren’t up to the same old shit again? You just got out of prison for Christ sake!”
“I don’t think I should discuss this with you right now.”
“You are! Fuck. I hope they don’t have this room bugged!”
Susan threw up her arms. “Let’s drop it,” she yelled, “I was hoping this would be a happy visit. But obviously you’re not mature enough for this conversation.”
Bill began drinking directly from the wine bottle. “I guess not,” he replied.
The two uttered nothing for a few minutes. Finally, Susan stood up. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” she said, “you seeing me probably isn’t good for your rehabilitation.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“I wish you luck in the future,” she continued, “when you’re released, if you know what’s good for you, please don’t reach out to me. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
Susan knocked, then a prison guard unlocked the door and let her out. Before she exited, she turned around. “Merry Christmas, Bill,” she said, then departed.
Bill held the bottle of wine in one hand, and the photograph in the other. Then the prison guard stepped in the room. “You still have access to this room for a few more hours,” the guard said, “do you wish to stay here?”
“No,” Bill replied, “please take me back to the cell.”
***
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Effington,” Bill said as he sat prim and proper in the psychotherapist’s office. The good doctor smiled and nodded in astonishment.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Lorenz,” she replied, “I assume your meeting with Susan went well.”
“It did not, but that’s okay. I’m ready to move forward.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, doctor. In fact, I’d like to learn more about you.”
Satisfied with the progress she was seeing, Dr. Effington gave a slight smile. It was the most warmth and personality Bill had seen from her. “What would you like to know?” she asked.
Bill shrugged. “Anything really. Why did you become a doctor?”
“Well, I realized the inefficiency of modern psychology to combat pathological behavior,” she explained, “in men, there’s sometimes a sexual component. If the new government is truly interested in eliminating crime, this problem should be addressed.”
“Your methods here have been kinda extreme, wouldn’t you say?”
“Only in light of the previous paradigm of sexual repression. But we’re now living in a new paradigm.”
Bill nodded. “I see,” he said, “so I’m sexually repressed?”
“Not repressed, Mr. Lorenz. You’re sexually misdirected.”
Bill thought for a moment. “So I’m assuming you’re still not wearing underwear?” he asked.
“You have assumed correctly.”
“May I see?”
Dr. Effington slowly uncrossed her legs and spread eagle in her chair. Bill gazed at her genitalia. “Am I still permitted to uhh…pleasure myself if need be?” he asked.
“Of course,” the doctor replied.
Bill unzipped his prison jumpsuit and started touching himself. “Can you touch yourself too?” he asked.
“Can we continue to discuss your history?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk more about you.”
Dr. Effington started rubbing her right hand down her thigh. “How so?” she replied.
“Do you do this for all of your patients?”
“Just you.”
Bill began stroking himself harder. “So ehh, what gets you off?” he asked.
“A lot of things,” she replied as she rubbed herself.
“Can you take out your uhh…,” Bill began to stutter.
“Breast?” Dr. Effington asked as she unbuttoned her blouse. After she exposed her bare chest, she placed one hand on a nipple and the other between her legs. Bill was completely zoned in. “When was the last time you were intimate with someone, Mr. Lorenz?” she asked.
“Please don’t call me that,” he said.
“Would you rather be called ‘Bill’?”
“I’d rather be called nothing.”
Dr. Effington’s moans of pleasure increased as Bill neared climax. “You can come closer to me,” she offered.
“I can’t,” he said, “the heart monitor will go off.”
“I had it switched off.”
Bill slowed down as he moved his chair closer to hers. He reached out to touch her leg. As he stroked her leg and himself simultaneously, he began to feel a sense of performance anxiety.
“Is everything alright?” Dr. Effington asked.
“I’m…I’m sorry doctor, I don’t know what my problem is!”
She buttoned up her blouse and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s quite alright,” she explained, “I’m proud of you. You’ve made a lot of progress.”
***
“Well Christ almighty,” Junior said to Bill, “is that a smile I see on your face?”
“You’re damn right!” Bill replied, “it’s a new day for ol’ William Lorenz!”
“Thought I’d never see the day.”
After the two exchanged pleasantries, Bill walked into the cafeteria and grabbed a tray. As he moved his way down the line, he came up to the dessert potions. “Care for some lemon meringue?” the cook asked.
“Ya know, I used to hate lemon meringue,” Bill replied, “but fuck it! Why not?!”
The cook shrugged and plopped the cake onto his plate. Bill then sat down on the other end of the table from Sappy. “Sappy, you disgusting piece of shit! How ya doing this morning?!” Bill greeted.
Sappy didn’t reply.
As Bill shoved his face with sloppy joes and French fries…drenched in nacho cheese of course…a gang of four inmates snuck up behind Sappy. Bill recognized the men. They were all fellow counter-revolutionaries on the outside. The leader tapped Sappy on the shoulder.
“I’m getting tired of seeing you diddle yourself in the shower,” the man said, “if I see it one more time, I’m gonna cut that pecker off!”
Sappy and the gang began exchanging words. Bill licked the nacho cheese from his fingers and approached the group. “What seems to be the problem here?” he asked.
“This has nothing to do with you Bill,” the leader replied, “go back to stuffing that dumbass mouth of yours.”
“Woah woah woah, cool it buster! I’m just trying to keep the peace!”
“How about YOU cool it, turncoat!” the leader retorted. This caught the attention of Junior, who remained on the sidelines with his finger on the taser.
“Turncoat?” Bill asked, “Tom, what are you on about now? Come on man, we lost! Let’s move on with our lives!”
As the two shouted at each other, Sappy quietly pulled out a shiv and leapt toward the leader. Bill grabbed Sappy and wrestled him to the ground. Junior and the guards never noticed the small dull blade being drawn as their sight was obscured by the gang members. Bill forced the weapon out of Sappy’s hand and snuck it into his own jumpsuit. “Sorry Sappy,” Bill said, “but it looks like you owe me one.”
“Everyone back to your cell!” Junior ordered. The guards grabbed the Sappy and the gang then escorted them out of the cafeteria. “What’s gotten into you Bill?” Junior asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Normally you’d be the one to instigate these fights but now you’re stopping them!”
Bill nodded. “Then I suppose you should be thanking Dr. Effington,” he said.
***
Dr. Effington noticed Bill on the couch, buck ass naked, as she walked into her office. “I’m ready to do this, doctor,” he said.
“I see,” she stuttered as she stared at his erect appendage, “well, uh, what are you wanting to discuss today?”
“Well,” Bill replied, “I want to take the final steps towards rehabilitation, in whatever way you see fit of course.”
“Are you ready for that?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Dr. Effington smiled slightly, nodded, then stripped down completely naked in full view of Bill. She sat down in her usual chair cross legged. “Talk to me,” she ordered.
“What turns you on?”
She looked at him from across the room over the rim of her glasses. “Honesty,” she replied, “intelligence…kindness.”
“Do you think I’m a kind man?”
She started to feel up her left breast. “I seem to think so,” she said, “do you think you are?”
Bill began stroking himself. “No. I don’t think I am at all.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You said you liked honesty, doctor,” Bill replied, “so I’m just being honest.”
Still cross legged, Dr. Effington began feeling herself between her legs. “Do you think that this will get you out of here?” she asked.
“I absolutely do.”
The two sat there, mouths agape, as they pleasured themselves. Finally, Dr. Effington spoke up. “You’ll have to wear a condom,” she said.
“Understood.”
After she tossed him a contraceptive, Bill quickly unwrapped it and stretched it over his part. “Do you need anymore assistance?” he asked.
“I absolutely do,” she replied as she uncrossed her legs. Bill then went down to his knees and placed his mouth onto her genitalia. But he found her exaggerated moans amusing. Bill knew he was no good at oral sex as he only performed it a handful of times.
“Fuck me, please,” Dr. Effington ordered. He had never heard her use such language. Nevertheless he bent her over the chair and took her from behind.
Although she squealed with pleasure the entire time, Bill suspected she was faking. Finally, as Dr. Effington rode him cowgirl in the chair, she appeared to climax. The two held each other for a minute before they ever uttered a word. “Are you good?” she asked as she ran her fingers over his lips.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you, doctor,” he replied.
“Then I declare you rehabilitated,” she said.
Bill rested limp inside her for another few minutes before she got up and dressed. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me, Mr. Lorenz,” the doctor said as she put on her bra, “please get dressed and I’ll begin the paperwork for the discharge board.”
Bill took a deep breath, nodded, and began dressing. Dr. Effington got on the phone with the board while he quietly went to a corner of her office to remove the condom.
He then dumped the empty cumless rubber into the trash can.
***
Dr. Effington noticed Bill on the couch, buck ass naked, as she walked into her office. “I’m ready to do this, doctor,” he said.
“I see,” she stuttered as she stared at his erect appendage, “well, uh, what are you wanting to discuss today?”
“Well,” Bill replied, “I want to take the final steps towards rehabilitation, in whatever way you see fit of course.”
“Are you ready for that?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Dr. Effington smiled slightly, nodded, then stripped down completely naked in full view of Bill. She sat down in her usual chair cross legged. “Talk to me,” she ordered.
“What turns you on?”
She looked at him from across the room over the rim of her glasses. “Honesty,” she replied, “intelligence…kindness.”
“Do you think I’m a kind man?”
She started to feel up her left breast. “I seem to think so,” she said, “do you think you are?”
Bill began stroking himself. “No. I don’t think I am at all.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You said you liked honesty, doctor,” Bill replied, “so I’m just being honest.”
Still cross legged, Dr. Effington began feeling herself between her legs. “Do you think that this will get you out of here?” she asked.
“I absolutely do.”
The two sat there, mouths agape, as they pleasured themselves. Finally, Dr. Effington spoke up. “You’ll have to wear a condom,” she said.
“Understood.”
After she tossed him a contraceptive, Bill quickly unwrapped it and stretched it over his part. “Do you need anymore assistance?” he asked.
“I absolutely do,” she replied as she uncrossed her legs. Bill then went down to his knees and placed his mouth onto her genitalia. But he found her exaggerated moans amusing. Bill knew he was no good at oral sex as he only performed it a handful of times.
“Fuck me, please,” Dr. Effington ordered. He had never heard her use such language. Nevertheless he bent her over the chair and took her from behind.
Although she squealed with pleasure the entire time, Bill suspected she was faking. Finally, as Dr. Effington rode him cowgirl in the chair, she appeared to climax. The two held each other for a minute before they ever uttered a word. “Are you good?” she asked as she ran her fingers over his lips.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you, doctor,” he replied.
“Then I declare you rehabilitated,” she said.
Bill rested limp inside her for another few minutes before she got up and dressed. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy this makes me, Mr. Lorenz,” the doctor said as she put on her bra, “please get dressed and I’ll begin the paperwork for the discharge board.”
Bill took a deep breath, nodded, and began dressing. Dr. Effington got on the phone with the board while he quietly went to a corner of her office to remove the condom.
He then dumped the empty cumless rubber into the trash can.
***
“Congratulations Bill,” Junior said. Bill was sitting on his bunk while overlooking some discharge paperwork. The meeting with the board was to take place the following morning.
“Don’t congratulate me just yet,” Bill replied, “only Dr. Effington has submitted her approval. The board may still turn me down.”
“Poppycock!” Junior retorted, “You have turned into a model inmate. Society will be lucky to have you back.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course! You have taken full advantage of your sentence. You have changed more than any other inmate I can think of.”
“I should have! 10 years is a long time!”
“And I must confess,” Junior added as he lowered his voice, “like you, I was skeptical of the revolution. But seeing how you improved so much, it really makes me feel like I’m doing the right thing here.”
Bill put down the paperwork and walked up to Junior at the cell door. “You are doing the right thing, Junior,” he said, “you’ve been a good friend to me. Thank you for all you’ve done.”
Junior gave a slight smile. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other on the outside,” he replied.
“Perhaps we will.”
***
“William Longsdale Lorenz has been serving in the Northwest Colorado Correctional Facility for 10 years,” the board chairman stated, “he was convicted for the murder of 19 people during a terrorist attack on a federal building in Billings, Montana…two of whom were children…during his time with the Whisper Militia. After his conviction, Mr. Lorenz stated that his actions were purely political as he believed that, quote ‘the reformed federal government, post revolution, was illegitimate’, end quote. After Mr. Lorenz’s apprehension, the remaining members of the Whisper Militia were arrested and sentenced. Thanks to the pioneering work of Dr. Gabriella Effington, Mr. Lorenz asserts that he has been fully rehabilitated. Today’s objective is to evaluate Mr. Lorenz’s suitability for discharge. Are there any questions?”
One council member spoke up. “Yes. Mr. Lorenz, how do you currently feel about your actions with the militia?”
Bill sat up straight in his seat. He gave a brief moment of reflection before answering. “Well,” he began, “the judge told me at my sentencing that he hoped the thoughts of my victims stay with me till the day I died. And I think about them every day. My activities with that group of terrorist…and they were terrorist…was misguided. My parents were gone at an early age and all I had was my grandfather. The only things I knew of the world was what he showed me. He lived in a small world with small ideas. He saw the future and only saw the end. But he was wrong. That’s not an excuse, I take full responsibility for my actions. But I thank the powers that be for living in a future that gives me a second chance. Most people in history were never given that opportunity. So to answer your question, I feel nothing but shame in regards to my time with the militia. I had misplaced anger that I projected onto the world. Thanks to the efforts of this facility, and Dr. Effington in particular, I’ve realized that about myself and I will do everything in my power to remedy my past and contribute to this brave new society.”
***
“I would say I’m gonna miss our exchanges,” Dr. Effington said.
“I bet you would,” Bill replied.
“But with your discharge, I take comfort in knowing I did my job well,” she continued.
Bill finished cleaning out his cell. He picked up his box of goods and walked towards Dr. Effington. “I suppose you did, doctor,” he replied, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Contribute to society…and don’t come back here again,” she said.
“I see,” Bill nodded, “please walk with me.”
Dr. Effington walked along side Bill as he carried his large box of personal belongings down the corridor. For the first time in years, he out of the jumpsuit and in his outdated civilian clothes. “I think I might miss this place,” Bill said as they strolled past the cafeteria.
“That’s not the intention,” Effington replied.
“I know, but I met some good friends here.”
Bill stopped by Sappy’s cell. “Sappy,” he said, “I think I might owe you one.” But Sappy continued to sit there silently with his usual shit-eating grin.
Finally the two approached the front gate. Bill signed his remaining discharge papers and Dr. Effington signaled to have the gates opened. In the cool Colorado air, the Doctor and the former inmate stood outside the prison walls. Bill sat the box on the ground and lit up a cigarette.
“Will anyone be here to pick you up?” Dr. Effington asked.
“Soon,” Bill said, “but like I said, doctor, I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t realize until this Christmas how alone I was in this world. Everyone I know is either dead, in prison, or want nothing to do with me.”
“I promise you will find loved ones on the outside,” she replied.
Bill shook his head. “No,” he said, “there’s nothing for me out here.” He then flicked his cigarette away. “You see doctor,” he continued, “I know what you…what all of you…were trying to do to me in there. I appreciate it, I really do. But that’s not reality. This world, this new society, I just don’t get it. I have no friends. Just enemies.”
Bill then pulled out his leather-handled knife, complete with the shank stolen off of Sappy which was now fully sharpened. “I’m sorry doctor, but there’s only one form of intimacy that gets me off,” he said.
He then thrusted the knife into Dr. Effington’s side. Blood gushed out of her and she collapsed to the ground.
During Bill Lorenz’s autopsy, after being shot down by the guards, it was determined that he ejaculated moments before death.
Sometimes artists create things that drive them insane. For me, this is one of those things.
This might be my last short story for awhile. I’m about to begin one of the many other side projects that may or may not see the light of day. But the important thing is there’s about to be shit posts galore here.
So here’s the conclusion to Merry Christmas, Mr. Lorenz.
“I would say I’m gonna miss our exchanges,” Dr. Effington said.
“I bet you would,” Bill replied.
“But with your discharge, I take comfort in knowing I did my job well,” she continued.
Bill finished cleaning out his cell. He picked up his box of goods and walked towards Dr. Effington. “I suppose you did, doctor,” he replied, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Contribute to society…and don’t come back here again,” she said.
“I see,” Bill nodded, “please walk with me.”
Dr. Effington walked along side Bill as he carried his large box of personal belongings down the corridor. For the first time in years, he out of the jumpsuit and in his outdated civilian clothes. “I think I might miss this place,” Bill said as they strolled past the cafeteria.
“That’s not the intention,” Effington replied.
“I know, but I met some good friends here.”
Bill stopped by Sappy’s cell. “Sappy,” he said, “I think I might owe you one.” But Sappy continued to sit there silently with his usual shit-eating grin.
Finally the two approached the front gate. Bill signed his remaining discharge papers and Dr. Effington signaled to have the gates opened. In the cool Colorado air, the Doctor and the former inmate stood outside the prison walls. Bill sat the box on the ground and lit up a cigarette.
“Will anyone be here to pick you up?” Dr. Effington asked.
“Soon,” Bill said, “but like I said, doctor, I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t realize until this Christmas how alone I was in this world. Everyone I know is either dead, in prison, or want nothing to do with me.”
“I promise you will find loved ones on the outside,” she replied.
Bill shook his head. “No,” he said, “there’s nothing for me out here.” He then flicked his cigarette away. “You see doctor,” he continued, “I know what you…what all of you…were trying to do to me in there. I appreciate it, I really do. But that’s not reality. This world, this new society, I just don’t get it. I have no friends. Just enemies.”
Bill then pulled out his leather-handled knife, complete with the shank stolen off of Sappy which was now fully sharpened. “I’m sorry doctor, but there’s only one form of intimacy that gets me off,” he said.
He then thrusted the knife into Dr. Effington’s side. Blood gushed out of her and she collapsed to the ground.
During Bill Lorenz’s autopsy, after being shot down by the guards, it was determined that he ejaculated moments before death.
“Congratulations Bill,” Junior said. Bill was sitting on his bunk while overlooking some discharge paperwork. The meeting with the board was to take place the following morning.
“Don’t congratulate me just yet,” Bill replied, “only Dr. Effington has submitted her approval. The board may still turn me down.”
“Poppycock!” Junior retorted, “You have turned into a model inmate. Society will be lucky to have you back.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course! You have taken full advantage of your sentence. You have changed more than any other inmate I can think of.”
“I should have! 10 years is a long time!”
“And I must confess,” Junior added as he lowered his voice, “like you, I was skeptical of the revolution. But seeing how you improved so much, it really makes me feel like I’m doing the right thing here.”
Bill put down the paperwork and walked up to Junior at the cell door. “You are doing the right thing, Junior,” he said, “you’ve been a good friend to me. Thank you for all you’ve done.”
Junior gave a slight smile. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other on the outside,” he replied.
“Perhaps we will.”
***
“William Longsdale Lorenz has been serving in the Northwest Colorado Correctional Facility for 10 years,” the board chairman stated, “he was convicted for the murder of 19 people during a terrorist attack on a federal building in Billings, Montana…two of whom were children…during his time with the Whisper Militia. After his conviction, Mr. Lorenz stated that his actions were purely political as he believed that, quote ‘the reformed federal government, post revolution, was illegitimate’, end quote. After Mr. Lorenz’s apprehension, the remaining members of the Whisper Militia were arrested and sentenced. Thanks to the pioneering work of Dr. Gabriella Effington, Mr. Lorenz asserts that he has been fully rehabilitated. Today’s objective is to evaluate Mr. Lorenz’s suitability for discharge. Are there any questions?”
One council member spoke up. “Yes. Mr. Lorenz, how do you currently feel about your actions with the militia?”
Bill sat up straight in his seat. He gave a brief moment of reflection before answering. “Well,” he began, “the judge told me at my sentencing that he hoped the thoughts of my victims stay with me till the day I died. And I think about them every day. My activities with that group of terrorist…and they were terrorist…was misguided. My parents were gone at an early age and all I had was my grandfather. The only things I knew of the world was what he showed me. He lived in a small world with small ideas. He saw the future and only saw the end. But he was wrong. That’s not an excuse, I take full responsibility for my actions. But I thank the powers that be for living in a future that gives me a second chance. Most people in history were never given that opportunity. So to answer your question, I feel nothing but shame in regards to my time with the militia. I had misplaced anger that I projected onto the world. Thanks to the efforts of this facility, and Dr. Effington in particular, I’ve realized that about myself and I will do everything in my power to remedy my past and contribute to this brave new society.”
Sorry for playing the hits, but I’m still undergoing writer’s block. I’m trying to jog my creativity by starting shit on Instagram, but that takes time.
Honesty, I forgot about this story. I posted it a year ago and while it isn’t my best work there’s still a few good ass jokes.
So enjoy
Pennies for the Dead
So I was doing a seance during the middle of the night-in a cemetery-when a security guard approached me.
“The hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Conjuring the dead. What does it look like?”
“Well hurry up. Gates close in an hour.”
So I cranked up the spirit box and pulled out the Ouija board. I asked the spirit box, “is a Joe Morris present?”
The box scanned through the channels before saying “Beelzebub”. Oh shit, I thought. I probably just cursed myself.
“No no no,” I replied. “JOE Morris.”
The box continued to scan but I was receiving no answers. The Ouija board was no help either. It kept spelling out “anal sex” and “go fuck yourself”. This was getting me nowhere.
I packed everything up and took out my flashlight. Next to Joe Morris’ tombstone was the name “Jezebel Morris”.
Dorthy Morris neglected to tell me that name.
Joe was Dorthy’s father. He was allegedly poisoning in 1952. The autopsy, however, was inconclusive. Dorthy’s been wanting this case solved her entire life. Now, in her twilight years, she lived a reclusive life on her family’s estate while her brain slowly demented away.
In my opinion, Joe died by natural causes. You know how men lived in those days. But I hadn’t had a case in months.
Was it wrong of me to take this elderly lady’s money? Yes.
I immediately left the cemetery and stopped at the Voodoo shop. I had to do something to spurn any demonic curses, ya know? Afterwards I drove to Dorthy’s estate.
I pounded on the door. She was hard of hearing.
“Is that you Lyle?” she asked
“No ma’am. It’s Ty Carson, private detective,” I replied.
I opened the door and found Dorthy with a blanket covering her lap in front of the fireplace. She was playing checkers.
“Who are you playing checkers with?” I asked.
“I’m not playing checkers.”
I quickly moved on to the business at hand. “I did what you asked,” I said. “I went to the cemetery to talk to Joe. I found out that the dead aren’t too keen on talking.”
“But I talked to Joe this morning,” she replied.
I ignored that comment.
“Who’s Jezebel?” I asked.
Dorthy gave me a puzzled look. “Jez has been dead for years,” she said.
“I know. Who was she?”
“No. I can’t betray Joe like that.”
“But she might be key to understanding Joe’s death.”
“No. That matter is closed.”
I shrugged. I figured that I could just go through public records in the morning. As I began to leave, I turned around.
“Oh, by the way,” I said, “the spirit box and Ouija board came to about $150. That will be charged to your account.”
“$5,000 you said?” Dorthy asked as she pulled out her checkbook.
“Yes.”
***
I couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.
I had a hunch that it was the repo man coming to take the Geo Metro. I pulled out my .38 and shouted into the dark. “I have your filthy money!” I yelled. “Show yourself!”
Out of the shadows, I heard a thick Boston accent: “Are you Mista Cahson?” it asked.
“What’s it to ya PAL?!”
The figure stepped forth slowly from the shadows. He was tossing a baseball into the air.
“I’m Mista Pete Morris,” the figure said. “I’m son of Dorthy Morris, your client. I understand that you’ve been taking my mutha’s money.”
“She’s been giving it to me in larger amounts than I’ve been asking. That’s hardly stealing,” I replied.
“Hey ohhh, buddy! I ain’t said nuthin about stealing.”
“Then you better make your point. I have a .38 aiming between your eyeballs.”
Pete straightened up his jacket and began stammering nervously. “All I’m asking is that you let me in on the cut,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I work better alone. Besides, fuck the Red Sox.”
“I’m tellin ya,” Pete said, “there’s somethin goin on with Dorthy.”
“Yeah, it’s called dementia.”
“No. There’s something else goin on up there at that estate. Something that can’t be explained, not of this world. Some things just can’t be stopped by bullets, ya know?”
Pete then tossed the baseball again and I shot it out of the air.
“I haven’t found one yet,” I said.
“Look, I have all the answers you’re looking for,” Pete continued. “The death of Joe Morris is deeper than you think.”
I put the gun back into my holster. “Buddy,” I said, “if you’re trying to grift your rich elderly mother out of her money, you’re gonna have to find another angle.”
As I turned around to finish my walk home, Pete spoke up again. “I know about Jezebel,” he said.
“So do I pal,” I said as I continued walking, “she was Dorthy’s sister who died of pneumonia a year before Joe’s death. She was 20 years old.”
“That’s not the whole story,” Pete replied, “in fact, she wasn’t Dorthy’s sister.”
I stopped, turned around, and pulled out a cigarette. “Alright bucko,” I said, “now you’ve got my attention.”
***
“Sorry babe,” I said to Sheila. “I got the whiskey dick.”
“It’s alright, I’m used to it,” she replied. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink before sex.”
“I wouldn’t know. Never tried it.”
Sheila climbed out of bed and got dressed. As she put her shirt on, she noticed the crap on the floor. “What’s this stuff?” she asked.
“Don’t touch it,” I said, “that’s a spirit box and a Ouija board. You might awaken a demon from hell. Trust me, that’s one can of worms you can’t close.”
“What are you doing with that?”
“It’s some case that I’m scamming *ahem* I mean helping some old lady solve.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Oh yeah, totally.” I looked over to the clock and noticed it was 7:30pm. “Speaking of, gotta get to work.” I got out of bed and threw my pants on. “You can stay here for the night,” I told Sheila, “but remember: DO NOT touch that damn Ouija board.”
I was running late. I had to meet Pete at the Morris estate where he was going to shed some light on Jezebel’s identity.
I arrived 45 minutes later. It was nearly pitch black. I grabbed my flask and flashlight and got to work. “This better be worth my time,” I told Pete.
“I told you that you’re not gonna need that .38,” he said.
“You let me be the judge of that.”
We began venturing into the woods. There was allegedly a cellar back behind the mansion that contained the remains of Jezebel. “I’ve been told all my life that this is an old Indian burial ground,” Pete said.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before I pissed on that hedge?” I asked.
“There it is,” he said. I shinned my flashlight in that direction. The cellar was only a few yards ahead.
“How far down is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I never been down there.”
I lit up a cigarette. “You go first,” I said.
Pete gathered up his courage and proceeded towards the cellar. He took a deep breath before going down the stairs. The cellar was deep. Too deep for my liking.
I put one hand on the .38.
Finally we reached the bottom. We were standing in a wide, musty corridor with multiple chambers. “What the hell was this place used for?” I asked Pete.
“Supposedly this was a torture chamber for runaway soldiers during the Civil War. Many slaves lost their lives down here.”
“Pete, I’m beginning to think that your family deserves to be cursed.”
“What’s this?” Pete asked. I shined the flashlight over to an old fire pit littered with ash and bones.
Then the cellar door slammed close.
I pulled out the 38. “Stay calm,” I said.
“I told you there’s something strange going on here!”
“Shut up Pete.”
“I can’t die down here! The Celtics are in the playoffs!”
“Pete, so help me god, if you don’t shut up I’ll shoot you myself!”
Suddenly my flashlight went out. Then something grabbed Pete. “Damn you Brad Stevens!!!!!!!” he screamed before disappearing into the dark.
I started firing indiscriminately into the shadows.
“Pete!” I screamed out.
There was only silence.
The flashlight kicked back on and I shined it all around the corridor. Pete was nowhere to be found. “Fuck this,” I said as I sprinted back up the stairs and to the car.
I floored the Geo Metro back to the apartment. I rushed in through the door and began frantically looking for the Ouija board. “Damn it Sheila!” I yelled. “What did you do with the Ouija board?”
Sheila stumbled out of the kitchen with a glass of wine. “The planchette began moving around,” she said as she slurred her words. “It started spelling out ‘You’re next’, ‘Hail Satan’, and ‘I heart ass’ I didn’t know what that meant so I threw it into the fireplace.”
“Sheila,” I said, “I might’ve opened a portal to hell.”
***
I quietly hoped that Pete lived a lonely, miserable life. He never mentioned anything about a spouse. His mother was barely cognizant of his existence. Honestly, he seemed to be a stupid sack of shit and nobody would have missed him.
But I didn’t want anyone reporting his disappearance. What would I have told the police? That he was sucked into some black hole in the middle of the woods?
I had to find Pete. And finding Pete probably led to solving the mystery of Joe Morris’ death.
Actually, I could have walked away from this entire thing and no one would have been the wiser. But I knew the spirits were listening in. I had to get to the bottom of this thing before they got to me.
I picked up the spirit box. “Listen here, damn you,” I said, “I know you can hear me. I want some answers! Where’s Pete? Who’s Jezebel?!”
The spirit box began scanning through the channels before spitting out “suck.my.penis.”
That’s it, I thought. I reloaded the .38 and went back to the Morris Estate.
It was 12:30am. I pounded on Dorthy’s door. “Is it the milk man?” I heard her ask. “Come in!”
I opened the door and there was Dorthy playing Trivial Pursuit alone. “Damn it Dorthy!” I said, “I need answers! Who’s Jezebel?!”
“Jezebel? She’s been dead for 20 years.”
“Records say she died in 1951. Stop jackin me around!” I pulled out the .38. I meant business.
The candles around the aged mansion began to flicker. Random objects started to move: books flipped open, mirrors were rattling, the record player was blasting Lionel Richie’s ‘Dancing on the Ceiling’. Dorthy meanwhile went into a trance. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she backed up into the shadows.
I turned on the spirit box. “Alright Jezebel! I know you’re on to me,” I said. “Talk to me! Let’s settle this thing!”
Suddenly the doors flew open. A woman floated into the room. Her eyes were as dark as night.
I lifted the .38.
But it was Sheila.
“Sheila, you’re drunk,” I said. “Go home!”
“I am not Sheila,” the demonic voice said. “I am Jezebel!”
“Try me, asswipe!” she replied. Then I pumped a few bullets into her chest.
Nothin
“Alright, so I guess you’re Jezebel,” I said. “Where’s Pete?”
“His soul resides in HELL for all eternity!!!!”
“Good, he’s a Boston sports fan,” I said, “he needs to know how that feels.”
“You will join him soon enough!”
“Sorry sister, I already live in Ohio.”
I pulled the trigger again but I already emptied the revolver. I threw the gun at her and started running down the hallway while screaming for my life.
I hid in the closet under the staircase. Of course, it didn’t take long for her to find me. Using her demonic powers, Jezebel began to eat my soul. I started praying. “God, I regret everything,” I said.
Then God responded. Thunderbolts began raining down on Jezebel from some unseen force and she retreated into the shadows. I was still alive.
I crawled out from the closet. In front of me stood a wizard-like figure dressed in white robes and holding a staff.
“Thank you Jesus,” I said.
“I’m not Jesus,” the figure replied. “I’m Joe Morris.”
I stood up. “Joe Morris? Shouldn’t you be 120 years old?”
“119 to be precise.”
Then Pete ran down the hallway. “Ty! I’m still alive!” he said.
“I thought you went to hell,” I replied.
“I did. It ain’t such a bad place. I got to meet Dave Cowens.”
“He’s still alive dumbass.”
“Are you sure? By the way, did you piss your pants?”
“I did. It’s a side effect of my elavil prescription. Where did Jezebel go?”
“She went back to hell to lick her wounds,” Joe Morris said. “We must go to the cellar, return to hell, and make sure she never returns.”
“Fuck that,” I said. “This ain’t my problem. I’ll just collect the money from Dorthy and be on my merry way.”
Right then, a possessed Dorthy flew down from the ceiling and attacked me. While I fought her off, Joe Morris released more thunderbolts from his staff. Finally, she flew off of me and began writhing on the ground before whatever cursed spirit that possessed her left her body. Dorthy was dead.
“Mother!” Pete screamed.
“She hasn’t been your mother for a long time,” Joe said.
I took a moment to gather myself.
“Alright,” I said, “I need to change my pants before we go to the cellar.”
***
“So you’ve been in hell for 70 years Joe?” I asked.
“Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“Did you die first? Or did you go down there for shits and giggles?”
“Unbeknownst to me, my family has been guarding this portal to hell for 200 years. Jezebel was a maid at our estate and I went outside my marriage to be with her. But Jezebel was secretly the devil and she cast me into the portal.”
“So is your body buried in that cemetery or what? If so, how the hell are you standing here with a flesh and blood body?”
“Don’t worry about it. The point is there’s been a rebellion in hell. Spirits are escaping to this earth and if we don’t stop Jezebel, there will be hell on earth!”
“Relax Joe, you’re just describing Toledo,” I said.
“You already made that joke.”
“How can three flesh and blood men stop an army of evil spirits?” Pete asked.
“While in Hell, I learned the ancient dark arts of Mesopotamia,” Joe replied. “I’ve been made a priest in these ancient religions. All I have to do is bless your weapon of choosing, and voila.”
“Can you bless the bullets of my .38?” I asked.
“Sure can.”
“Hell yeah!”
“What about my pocket knife?” Pete asked.
“That’s a pretty lame weapon, Pete.”
“Grab as many weapons as you can carry,” Joe replied.
“What about this machete?” Pete asked.
“What about this IWI Tavor TS12 shotgun?” I asked.
“Yes, yes. I will bless them all. We must hurry though.”
“Thanks Joe!” I said. “By the way, I’ve always wondered: what’s it like having sex with Satan?”
***
“Just be warned,” Joe said to me, “Hell ain’t what you think it is.”
“How so?”
“You just have to see.”
Joe, Pete, and I gathered our divinely blessed weapons and proceeded to the cellar in the woods. Joe went into the portal first, then Pete. I hesitantly went in last.
I felt my body break down into its molecular and atomic parts while time and space melted down. Then reality reconstructed itself and the three of us were in a large theater.
On stage was a nude couple: one an elderly woman and the other an average-looking dude with an abnormally large dong. A horse was also on stage. It was a community theater production of Equus.
“Ah shit. Now I know what you mean,” I said.
We rushed out of the theater, side by side, weapons on ready. We were men on a mission, a mission to find…and kill…Jezebel. And more importantly, we had to stop the dead from invading the earthly realm.
Outside the theater, we hailed a cab. The driver stopped and we all piled into the back. “Does anyone want to sit up here with me?” the driver asked. “Son of a bitch,” I said then got in the front seat.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked. “Downtown” Joe replied.
The cab driver then blasted Jon and Vangelis from the radio and was humming along. I turned to the backseat.
“Hell seems more boring and mildly irritating,” I said, “much like Minneapolis.”
“Yeah, but imagine spending spending eternity here,” Joe replied.
He had a point.
The cap pulled up to a downtown bank. We all piled out of the car. “Are you sure that the Empress of Hell and all of Damnation is here?” I asked.
“Of course, with their ungodly interest rates, there’s nowhere else she could be!” Joe said.
So the three of us…a wizard, an idiot, and a guy with a shotgun…walked into the bank lobby. We went up to a loan officer.
“We’re here to see Jezebel,” I tell the man.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks.
I cocked the shotgun and blasted a hole in his chest. “She’ll be with you shortly,” the loan officer replied.
Security guards rushed into the lobby and began firing indiscriminately. Pete became an absolute beast and started slicing away with his machete. Joe unleashed fire bolts from his staff. I unloaded shell after shell from my shotgun.
As we looked over the absolute slaughter of security guards, with blood and guts strewn about the lobby, Joe nodded his head. “I think our plan is working out pretty good,” he said.
“I’m out of shells,” I said and dropped the shotgun. Then I pulled out the .38 and kissed it. “But I still got six shots.”
We all went into the elevator and Joe hit the button for the 666th floor. “Holy shit!” I said. “How many floors are in this building?”
32 minutes later, we arrived. Jezebel was in a conference call with all of her minions. She was planning the final stages of her Hellish invasion of earth.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“Your slow ass elevator,” Pete said.
“You think your earthly powers can stop me?”
I lifted the .38. “Nothing can stop these bullets sister.”
***
I instantly wasted 5 bullets.
Sadly, I had to borrow a weapon from Pete. And let me tell you: it ain’t easy killing demons with a pocket knife.
In the midst of the mayhem, I lost track of Jezebel. “She escaped to the roof!” Pete yelled while decapitating a goblin.
I sprinted up the stairs to the very top of this 666-storied building. I was out of breath when I reached the roof. Jezebel was waiting.
“Your pathetic little weapon will do nothing to me,” she said.
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” I replied.
Above the roof, Jezebel was opening a portal to Earth where all the spirits of this evil domain could trespass. I was running out of time. So I rushed Jezebel with the knife.
As I leapt towards her heart, she blocked my movement, knocking loose the pocket knife.
I was on the ground. Powerless. Jezebel laughed. “What a weakling,” she said as she put her pitchfork up to my neck.
“If you kill me,” I asked Jezebel, “where am I gonna go? I’m already in hell!”
“If you think it’s bad here, wait till I send you to Bridgeport!”
I closed my eyes in preparation for eternity. Then thunderbolts rained down on Jezebel. While Joe unleashed his unholy powers from the staff, Pete went absolute apeshit on Jezebel with his machete. This severely damaged her powers, thus closing the portal.
With her powers nearly drained, Jezebel stood at the edge of the roof. “Halt!” I yelled before Joe could make the final kill shot. “Jezebel still possesses Sheila’s body.”
I looked deep into Jezebel’s eyes. I could still see Sheila. “Sheila,” I pleaded, “I know that we never had sex because of my undiagnosed ED. I know that I’d often disappear into the bathroom and leave you with the bill. I know that I’d also clog the toilet and blame it on the cat,” I said, “but I also know that I love you and you should probably attend AA.”
Right then, Jezebel began to spastically writhe on the ground. The evil spirit departed Sheila’s body, and there alone stood a defeated Jezebel.
With one bullet left, I pulled out the .38. “Back to where you belong Satan: Massachusetts.”
I pulled the trigger.
The flash from the barrel echoed throughout Hell. In a puff of smoke went Jezebel.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Is she gone for good?” I asked Joe.
He looked out to the horizon. “We defeated her for the time being,” Joe said. “But the devil is never really gone. Where Jezebel resides now is in a hell of her own making, a place so unfathomable that God himself wouldn’t dare set foot. So Norway probably.”
I walked over to an unconscious Sheila. I kneeled down to awaken her. “What happened?” she asked.
“Just a temporary demonic possession. Nothing to worry about,” I said.
Sheila stood up and looked down to the sprawling city below. “Where are we?”
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