He had left her where she lay, half-naked, bloody, and violated. Ducking out the back door, he'd raced to the truck he wasn't old enough to drive, and his feet had barely touched the pedals as he'd started the thing.
They had come after him, and to this day, he had no idea how he'd managed to get that old truck to go that fast down that dusty dirt road.
Bertie spoke up quietly. “You must accept this as both reality and your destiny. For her sake if for no one else's.”
Jim opened his eyes and looked at Nigel. “Is there a Heaven?”
“We are on the edge of it right now.” Nigel nodded over his shoulder at the castle wall, which ran off into the distance. “On the far side of our gracious manse, the souls of the good tally in fields of flowers and trees, their hours spent in sunshine and warmth, their cares and worries no more, their pain forgotten.”
Jim stared at the footbridge over the moat and the double doors that were each the size of an RV. “Is she there?”
“Yes. And if you do not prevail, she will be ever gone as if she never was.”
“I want to see her.” He took a step forward. “I have to see her first.”
“You may not enter. The quick are not welcome therein, only the dead.”
“Fuck that and fuck you.” Jim walked and then ran for the bridge, his boots thundering across the grass, then echoing on the wooden planks over the quicksilver river. When he got to the doors, he grabbed onto the great iron pulls, yanking so hard his back muscles screamed.
Fisting up one of his hands, he pounded at the oak, then pulled again. “Let me through! Let me through, you son of a bitch!”
He needed to know for himself that she wasn't hurt anymore and that she didn't suffer and that she was okay. Needed that reassurance so badly, he felt like he was shattering as he fought to get past the barrier, his battering fists driven by the memory of his beloved mother on the linoleum in the kitchen, the stab wounds in her chest and her neck bleeding out onto the floor, her legs spread, her mouth gaping open, her eyes terrified and imploring him to save himself, save himself, save himself…
The demon in him came out.
Everything went white as rage took over. He knew he was hitting something hard, that his body was going wild, that when someone put a hand on his shoulder he took them down to the ground and pummeled them.
But he heard nothing and saw nothing.
The past always unwrapped him, which was why he made a point of never, ever thinking about it.
When Jim regained consciousness for the second time, he was in the same position he'd been in for the first coming-around: flat on his back, grass beneath his palms, eyes closed. Except this time there was something wet on his face.
Popping his lids, he found Colin's face right above his own, and as the guy's blood dripped onto Jim's cheeks, the “rain” was explained.
“Ah, you're awake, well-done.” Colin pulled back a fist and cracked Jim right in the puss.
As pain exploded, Bertie let out a cry, Tarquin whimpered, and Byron rushed over.
“Right, now we're even.” Colin hopped off and shook out his hand. “You know, taking human form has its benefits, indeed. That felt rather nice.”
Nigel shook his head. “This is not going well.”
Jim had to agree as he sat up and accepted the handkerchief Byron held out. While he stemmed the bleeding from his nose, he couldn't believe he'd exploded like that at those castle doors, but then he was always shocked afterward.
Nigel eased down on his haunches. “You want to know why you were chosen, and I believe you have a right to know.”
Jim spat out the blood in his mouth. “Now there's an idea.”
Nigel reached over and took the bloody handkerchief. The instant the cloth made contact with his hands, the stain disappeared, the white fibers as pristine as they had been before they'd been used to stop a red geyser.
He gave it back for further use. “You are the two halves together, Jim. The good and the bad in equal measure, capable of great reserves of kindness and profound depths of depravity. Thusly, both sides found you acceptable. We and…the other…both believe that when you are presented with the seven opportunities, you will influence the course of events according to our values. We for the good, they for the evil—with the outcome determining the fate of humanity.”
Jim stopped mopping up his face and focused on the Englishman. He could dispute nothing of what had been said about his character, and yet his brain remained scrambled. Or maybe he had a concussion, thanks to Colin, the knuckle-cracking motherfucker.
“So do you accept your destiny?” Nigel said. “Or does all end here?”
Jim cleared his throat. Begging wasn't something he was used to. “Please…just let me see my mother. I…I need to know she's okay.”
“I'm so sorry, but as I said, only the dead may pass to the other side.” Nigel's hand came to rest on Jim's shoulder. “What say you, man?”
Byron came in close. “You can do it. You're a carpenter. You build things and you rebuild things. Lives are constructions just the same.”
Jim looked at the castle and felt his heartbeat in his busted nose.
If he took everything at face value, if everything were true, if he were some kind of savior, then…if he walked away, the only peace his mother knew was gone. And as attractive as he might find the emptiness and timelessness of nonexistence, that was a cold exchange for where she was now.
“How does it work?” he asked. “What do I do?”
Nigel smiled. “Seven deadly sins. Seven souls swayed by these sins. Seven people at a crossroads with a choice that must be made. You enter their lives and affect their path. If they choose righteousness over sin, we prevail.”
“And if they don't…”
“The other side wins.”
“What is the other side?”
“The opposite of what we are.”
Jim glanced over at the table with its white linens and sparkling silver. “So…we're talking about a bunch of ass-scratchers sitting on Barcaloungers watching
Colin laughed. “Not hardly, mate. Although that is an image, indeed.”
Nigel glared at his buddy and then looked back at Jim. “The other side is evil. I shall let your mind summon the appropriate reference, but if you should want a place to start, you have but to think of what was done to your mother and know that those who hurt her enjoyed it.”
Jim's gut clenched so hard, he leaned to the side and dry-heaved. When a hand smoothed over his back, he had a feeling it was Bertie. And he was right.
Eventually, Jim's gag reflex cut the crap and he got his breath back. “What if I can't do this?”
Colin spoke up. “I shall not lie—it is not going to be easy. The other side is capable of everything. But you shall not be without resources.”
Jim frowned. “Wait, the other side thinks I'm going to be a bad influence? During the crossroads of these people?”
Nigel nodded. “They have the same faith in you that we have. But we had the advantage of reaching out to you.”
“How'd you manage that?”
“Coin toss.”
Jim blinked. Right, because…that's how they did it at the Super Bowl.
Focusing on the gates, he tried to see his mom not as how he'd left her on that kitchen floor, but as these princes said she was. Happy. Relieved of burden. Whole. “Who are the seven people?”
“For the identification of this first one, we shall give you a bit of help and make it obvious,” Nigel said, getting to his feet. “Good luck.”
