Kill the Dead

My mother once told me a story she said got left out of the Bible. It’s when Jesus was a young boy. He snuck off from the fields where His family was working and Mary finds Him on a riverbank making birds out of mud. The little sculptures are lined up next to Him, drying in the sun. Mary yells at Him and tells Him to come back to work. Jesus gets up but before He goes He waves His hands over the mud birds and they come to life and fly away. A great way to let your folks know you’re not going into the family business. The origami animals start to move. The elephant takes a step. The crane tries its wings. I lean in close and blow on them. That does it. They march and flutter around the glass like a special-ed Disney cartoon. I pick them up, set them on the floor, and point at Kasabian. They start the long Noah’s Ark march across the room. I take another sip of my drink and see Lucifer’s stone on the table next to the money he gave me last night. Is it a seeing stone? Chewing gum? Am I supposed to start carrying around a slingshot because he knows I’m going to run into a giant who never went to Sunday school and doesn’t know how the story ends? I stare at it and the stone lifts from my hand and hovers about six inches over it. I tap it with a finger and start it spinning. Maybe Lucifer is supposed to take the stone back from me like David Carradine in Kung Fu. Or maybe he was fucking with me and it’s just a stupid rock. “Shit. What is this?” asks Kasabian. The animals have made it across the floor, up the table legs, and are clambering onto Kasabian’s skateboard. “Get ’em off me!” “Don’t move, man.” I crook a finger and imagine a peashooter. When I flick the finger, the bunny flies off Kasabian’s deck like it stepped on an origami land mine. The fish and the dog get the same kill shots. When I try to sniper the elephant, it seems to see it coming and the shot knocks Kasabian’s beer over onto his keyboard. He kicks the bottle off the table as the elephant legs it for the window. The crane might be lumpy and not very aerodynamic, but it’s no dummy. It flutters out the window after the elephant. “What’s wrong with you, goddamn it?” yells Kasabian. Luckily, the beer bottle was mostly empty. I point to it. “Come on, I’m open. Hit me!” He doesn’t need that much encouragement. Kasabian half turns and kicks the bottle at me with six of his legs. It goes somersaulting at my head. When it’s a foot away, I bark some Hellion and the bottle explodes into a million pieces. Okay, it wasn’t exactly shield magic, but I didn’t get hit. “Don’t even dream of asking me to clean that glass up.” “I’ll get the maid to do it. Come on. Boot something else. I need to practice.” I don’t have to tell him twice. He kicks an empty DVD case, a wire-mesh penholder, and a pile of printer cartridges at me. This time I hold back and throw a big mental marshmal-low around me. The DVD case bounces and ricochets off the ceiling. The penholder bounces and flips into the bathroom. I block two of the printer cartridges. “My wings are like a shield of steel!” I’m so pleased with myself that I miss the third cartridge and it hits me over the eye. “Touchdown!” yells Kasabian. “Damn. That hurt.” I take another sip from my tumbler. The pains in my stomach and side aren’t getting any better, but they’re getting farther away. Like I’m looking down at them from the third floor. My cell phone rings. It rings again. Kasabian is back working on the computer. After the third ring, the phone stops. A second later, the phone at Kasabian’s desk rings. He picks it up and gives me a look. “Yeah, he’s here. Sure it rang. He’s just being a little bitch today.” I have a pretty good idea who’s on the other end of the call. Kasabian mostly listens and grunts every now and then. He has Black Sunday playing on the monitor with the sound down. Some very bad