41. The Big Game (D1)

__ Ardy had heard the stories.
__ A tunnel of bright light. A voice. Love. Family. The desire to stay though you must go back.
__ This, she thought, is what happens when you are welcomed in and cannot go back.
__ She was dead with no chance to turn around. This was the end.
__ And the beginning.
__ Since Ardy arrived - if 'arrived' is actually an operative word for 'dying,' the kind voice in the light soothed her, eased her fears, loved her, and forgave her.
__ Ardy was aware of her own being, but not of legs or arms or even eyes or ears. She just... was. Afloat in glory, Ardelene Rachel Jacobi was now reborn with the name given to every soul in heaven. She was simply The Returning Child.
__ There were no features that she could make out, but she seemed to be aware of houses upon houses upon mansions upon estates, all glowing white and gold, silver and pearl. She saw no flowers, but she was aware of the freshest bouquet she had ever smelled, an energizing spirit-swelling airy experience. She didn't blink because she didn't have eyes anymore, and her focus seemed to be everywhere at once. In a flash, she absorbed everything. The Truth.
__ And all around her were others. They felt like family and friends but had no distinctive individuality that she could pinpoint as "Uncle Ned," "Kind Old Lady Henderson," or even "Mom" or "Dad." But it was like they were all here, all welcoming her to The One Love.
__ The feeling was an indescribable rush of warm love and forgiveness. She felt large arms enfold her and soft lips kiss her forehead, though there were no arms or lips or foreheads to be found among the light. There was no pain. There was no memory of pain.
__ There had been a sharp sting after Legad sent her home, but it wasn't the feeling of her soul ripping from the earthly body it had been used to for over three decades. The sting was deep and internal.
__ And with the sting came a soul-deep probing question deeper than any accusatory inquisition. The voice whispered, "What have you done with my son. What has my son done for you."
__ Spoken as a statement rather than a question, The Returning Child felt herself suspended over the Great Pit, precariously dangling by a thread of her soul as the answer was pulled from her heart. There was no need to pull out a No. 2 pencil. There were no lines to fill out. There wasn't even time to study or consider the depth and meaning in the words. The Returning Child just pictured what she understood from years of Bible study and church attendance. It was just something she felt: that the being behind the gentle voice gave up his one and only son so that she could be here now. Her eternity had been bought and paid for. She could not express the thanks for His sacrifice. And she cried for the last time in her existence, eternal or otherwise.
__ The question. The answer. Took less than a millionth of a second to register.
__ And the whole time: the sting.
__ "It's your sin burning away," the voice had said. "You are unburdened. You are forgiven."
__ And after the sting it was true. The Returning Child was incapable of even understanding what a sinful thought was. Modesty, anger, greed, lust, any and all desire... were gone. All that was left was love and worship. The 'air' was filled with the most beautiful melodic song and The Returning Child instantly felt herself drawn into the currents of the melody. If she could cry, she would be wracked with tears of absolute joy. The only 'want' was the 'want' to remain in the Glory, to become one with love.
__ This was nothing like the experience in the kitchen before Doug touched her and brought her back to life. This was truly it, no turning back.
__ Heaven.
__ Until something like distant thunder, The Returning Child could feel, rumbled through her spirit.
__ "You cannot stay," He said.
__ The Returning Child couldn't understand. A few seconds into eternity, after passing that proverbial tunnel and bridge to Eden, and she had forgotten all that she once was because so much of what she was came with the sin that had evaporated away. All that was left of her was devotion and love, a forgiven child. A Returning Child. A child being given unconditional and perfect love.
__ And all she could do was obey.
__ It was the least she could do. And the most.
__ Somewhere a small part of her stung again. It was the pinch of loss. She could not bare to leave this place, to leave His Glory.
__ But in time, she did.
__ For he promised she would return again. Very soon.


__ R. Lee Munson found himself standing at the side door to St. Peter's church, his palm resting on the door, his fingers splayed like an awkward star. He was once again alone.
__ After all this time, after burning and branding and having love taken from him in hell, Munson was back on earth where the archangel Michael had led him.
__ The silent spirit of the angel had been inside his body and spoke gently inside his ear. "Do not fear, Robert Lee. You are a soldier with me this day. We will enter into His kingdom and you shall be forgiven.
__ "You have but to ask."
__ Then Michael was gone.
__ Munson cried softly, sniffed, watched his frosty breath float up to the security light above the side door. "I can't. I can't do this alone. I am no soldier."
__ But no answer came. Michael had already filled Munson's mind with what must be done. It was God's final test for him to see if his heart would comply. And then the archangel left.
__ His final words, "You are loved. In that, like me, you will find the strength you need to sacrifice as He had for you."


__ When Munson finally opened the side door to the church, armed only with a single word given to him by God's soldier, his strength immediately purged and he dropped to his knees and wept.
__ The inside of the church had been demolished. Splinters of pew wood were scattered amongst broken candle sticks, statuettes of the Virgin Mary, offering and communion plates, and shards of broken stain glass.
__ Around the debris, carefully arranged to offer the best lighting, were fields of candles. The candles became tighter clusters as they were placed closer to the altar. And the altar itself was tipped over and was used to prop up a giant crucifix. Nailed to the cross was not Jesus but Ardy Jacobi. Her left arm and leg had been badly crushed, her left foot twisted grotesquely sideways so the high C flute from the demolished pipe organ could be used to nail her feet to the makeshift sedile. Still hanging from her side was what appeared to be a curtain rod. Blood was congealing down the shaft and puddled darkly on the floor below her. She was pale, her face a frozen mask of pain now released from suffering. The bloodied hair that hung down one side of her face moved slightly from the breeze by the open door. A couple candles blew out. The breeze eased the smell from the feces smeared on the walls, over the broken pews and floor, and on Ardy's face and clothes.
__ Near the entrance to the church, hanging from the balcony, was a teenage boy. Munson recognized the clothes, and what was left of the face. It was the Pizza King delivery boy, his head misshapen and spiked with what looked like antlers that had been shoved into his ears and the back of his head. A curtain cord was snug around his purple neck and tied to the railing above the entrance. He too was dead, but Munson shuddered to think of exactly when that spirit would have departed.
__ He gasped when he saw the nine shadows standing at attention behind the railing. The Alterlings had no facial features, but Munson felt watched, studied.
__ "I expected Michael."
__ Munson reared back, felt his heart hitch in his throat, at the sound of the soft voice.
__ The man was suddenly in front of him, the one who had been so familiar at the beginning of the day, at earlier moments in his life. The stranger. The pervert. The abuser. Clye Morrow.
__ "You are not Michael."
__ Munson stood, brushed at his pants, and glanced around for some explanation for how the dead man was now animated in front of him. Morrow wasn't resurrected as he was, as Ardy had once been. Clye Morrow moved stiffly, his gray eyes locked always forward, never shifting. His mottled gray skin giving off the stench of chilled earth. He couldn't even be called a zombie. There were no words for what this thing was, but two: Munson's nightmare.
__ "I had thought to bring you back, Clye, to beg you forgiveness for me killin' you," Munson mumbled.
__ The Clye-thing didn't blink. It merely stared at him without showing emotion. Maybe it cocked its head slightly as if to say, "I'm listening." But it didn't.
__ "Regardless what you done to me, I was going to ask you to forgive me."
__ "Were you?" The mouth cracked.
__ Munson nodded slowly, suspicious now that he wasn't talking to Clye Morrow at all, animated corpse or not, this was just the shell. Something else - someone else - was in there.
__ "Don't," it said. "Because I won't give you what you seek. Your time in the Pit is not yet done." Munson could swear it smiled. "Hell is eternal, Robbie."
__ The name made Munson's skin crawl and chill numbly. It was the name he was called - was called just before -
__ "Quiet worm," it smiled, "Don't squirm."
__ "No!" The years of memories, the pain, the touching, flooded back and Munson surged forward with fury and a wellspring of anger. "No!"
__ Clye Morrow's corpse stepped aside, with some agility for a stiffened dead man, and allowed Munson to stumble past him. Two alterlings were quickly on him, one on each arm, grabbing him and spinning him to face the rotting abuser. They held him like the lackeys of a bully, arms pinned and ready for the blows to come.
__ The Morrow-corpse stepped up to Munson, rested a cold palm over his heart, and rolled out a crackling dry and rot-smelling tongue from between blackened gums and crooked teeth. It leaned forward and touched the tongue to Munson's ear as the captive redeemed tried to twist and turn away.
__ It whispered, "I am the light bearer, Robert Lee." Then it stepped back and bowed.
__ "Like the song," Munson felt himself sneering. Where the tongue had touched his skin it felt scaly, crawly. He said, "Won't I guess your name?"
__ The corpse smiled. "Call me deceiver, composer of lies, the first traitor. Whatever. Your... cultural reference ...only proves to me that the time is ripe, that the window of the second coming will be our open door to return."
__ So, the devil returns with the Son, seizing the opportunity to take what isn't rightfully his.
__ Munson cleared his throat, tried to stand taller, struggling between the alterlings unearthly grip. "Michael sent me to stop you."
__ Without pause or reflection, the light bearer said, "Why would he send a condemned murderer?"
__ The church around them groaned against the unseasonable chill outside. A candle flickered. Ardy's body remained limp and suspended. The alterlings remained at silent dark vigil for their master.
__ "I remember the taste of your soul, your tears," the devil chuckled. "It was sweet, like candy. How did it feel, by the way, to be so far from His love? How did it feel to be abandoned, lost? How did it feel to know others were raised above you, held in His arms? How did it feel to know you lived a lost and mistaken life, to be constantly reminded that you had taken the wrong path? How did it feel to know his Son was the door you neglected to open....
__ "And thus cost you your eternal soul?"
__ Munson's chin quivered. The devil was right. It hurt. It hurt bad. "It felt like hell," he muttered.
__ "Welcome back," the devil in Clye Morrow's corpse said, and stepped up and embraced R. Lee Munson with a cold crusty hug.
__ "No. Please."
__ The light bearer concluded the embrace by taking Munson's face in his hands and kissing him on the squirming and resisting mouth. "Sssh," he smiled. "Quiet worm. Don't squirm."
__ Feeling the snap coming, Munson's eyes grew wide and welled with tears. As Michael suggested, he said only one thing. "Forgive you."
__ And with that the devil snapped Munson's neck with a twist and let his lifeless body collapse to the floor in a heap.