Damn Him to Hell

hadn’t blown up the plant. “But didn’t Bergdorff say we’d ruined his last batch?” Shit. We’d probably doomed the world, if so.

“What good does curing cancer do if it sends the patient to another dimension?” Andre asked grumpily, leaning back. “It’s like living another life beyond the veil, really freaky. I’ve learned to jerk myself out of it in sheer frustration, but the others . . . Maybe they prefer dreamland to reality. Or maybe they don’t know it’s not reality.”

I rubbed my brow as if that would help me absorb this new revelation. “You mean, you’re not just sleeping? You’re hallucinating or something?”

“Or something,” he agreed. “What time is it? I need a drink.”

“You don’t drink,” I reminded him. “For good reason, apparently. Explain ‘or something.’ ”

He didn’t want to. I’d learned to recognize Andre’s evasive tactics. But this was too important for me to stay uninvolved. I set Milo back down and pointed him at Andre. “Get in his face, will you?”

I could swear, my cat almost laughed. And then he roared as I’d heard him do when offended, launched from the floor at Andre’s head, and tilted the whole damned chair backward with his heavy weight.

The resulting crash brought Tim and Julius running. Andre was lying flat on his back, buried under a hefty blur of ginger fur, cursing blue blazes while Milo kneaded his chest. It’s possible my kitty took a bite or two, because Andre yelped and shoved the cat away.

“We’re learning a new game,” I told Julius, wearing my most sincere expression. “Go back to your sandwiches. Andre doesn’t like losing.”

Julius is a brilliant man. Verifying that his son was furious but unharmed, he led Tim out of the range of danger.

“What the devil was that for?” Andre demanded, returning to his feet and straightening the chair. “You’ve trained an attack cat?”

“Milo is a natural, and I sicced him on you because this is no time for you to equivocate. I’ve counted on you to watch my back, while you were hanging out in Shangri-la. I need to understand why.”

“I don’t know what you’re warping into, but you’re developing a Wonder Woman complex with your frog voodoo,” he grumbled, taking a high-backed wing chair with four legs instead of a pedestal base. “What you really want is to save the world and magically bring back Bill and the others. You have to get a grip. It’s just not happening. Don’t you think I would help if I could?”

“Not totally sure,” I admitted. “You might miss Bill at the bar, but you don’t care a whit about the others. So make this about your mother.” This line of questioning had no rhyme or reason. Andre would have saved his mother if there were any way of doing it. But I just couldn’t get past the possibility that if Andre and Sarah could come back, there had to be some way of saving the others. “Where do you go when you’re not here?”

“I told you, it’s a dreamworld. It’s not real. My mother is there sometimes. I thought I saw Bill this last time, and Sarah before she woke. But take my word for it, I’m really in my bed. Witnesses tell me I haven’t stirred, just like the others. My subconscious is simply mixing stuff up and making it seem real, like in dreams, except I remember some of it when I wake up.”

“I remember some dreams when I wake up. This must be different if you’re not telling me about it. What do you do in these dreams?” I felt as if I’d burst through my skin if I didn’t get answers. I’d taken out Bergdorff for him. Andre owed me explanations.

He glared. “Time in dreams isn’t linear like in the real world. I see and do things over there that sometimes happen later, here.”

I dropped back against his plush sofa and processed this with disbelief. “When you told us we wouldn’t find the will at Gloria’s, it was because you’d dreamed it was somewhere else?”

“I dreamed we wouldn’t find it,” he corrected. “But I didn’t dream where to find it. And things don’t happen in logical order. Years ago, I dreamed of being attacked by soldiers, so I built the arsenal closet. It was pretty pointless until last week.”

“Paranoid dreams.” I wanted them to be more. I wanted them to be a clue that would help save our zombies. I swallowed my disappointment. “I don’t suppose you’ve dreamed anything about us saving the comatose?”

“No, not a thing,” he said wearily. “Can we let this go?”

I didn’t want to. I wanted a blow-by-blow description of this world he repeatedly returned to when stressed. I wanted to go there myself, but I was apparently one of the morally questionable who went berserk when gassed. And I wasn’t about to shoot up. No pleasant dreamworlds for me.

“You can’t dream a winning lottery ticket?” I grumbled.

“Not deliberately, but if I did, it might be one from last year. Time has no meaning in the dreamworld.” Andre watched me warily for a reaction.

If there really was a hell, why not another dimension? I just needed to expand my mind far enough to encompass the enormity. Could I believe Bergdorff’s infernal contraption drew on another dimension besides hell? Probably not. Only hell would turn Gloria into a demon. But hell apparently had several layers. Circles. Whatever. Maybe the zombies were in some outer level—like Max had been?

Out the window, I saw Paddy hurrying in our direction. I’d have liked to take another whack at Andre but I figured we’d end up rolling around on the floor in frustration. Not a wise idea.

I opened the front door before Paddy had a chance to knock. Julius and Tim arrived bearing trays of sandwiches and soft drinks. My tree-hugging mother had taught me to dislike chemically enhanced lunch meats, but since I didn’t have to prepare the food, I accepted it without complaint as we settled into Andre’s front room. Andre was still frowning blackly, so I ignored him.

“Are we all under suspicion yet?” I asked Paddy, bringing the discussion straight to the point.

“No, they still think Ferguson did it, but they’re searching for the guards who were supposed to be on duty, too. Their families fear the worst.” Paddy tapped his fingers against the pedestal recliner he’d taken and glared at me from under his bushy eyebrows. “I gathered up all the frogs I could find and said they were part of an experiment.”

“They like to eat pink glitter,” I bluffed with a grin. I was relieved that he’d captured them, though.

“You have no idea how valuable those particles are,” he griped.

Pink glitter was valuable in what way? He didn’t give me time to interrogate him.

“But that’s not the problem.” Paddy produced a packet of papers from inside his old blue work shirt and handed them to me.

I wanted gloves before accepting them, but I hated to insult the potential new owner of Acme. I took the papers by a corner and scanned them quickly. Not original documents but copies. The legal language of the first paragraph was explanatory enough. Forgetting my distaste, I started flipping through the pages. “Where are the originals?” I demanded.

“Police have them. They’ve called Dane.”

Julius swept the papers out of my hand, skimmed them, and gave them to Andre as he finished each one.

Tim simply helped himself to another sandwich and swigged his Dr Pepper, oblivious to the momentous revelation in our hands.

“She completely bypassed you,” I said in sympathy, rereading Gloria’s will as Andre returned the pages to me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, not entirely,” Paddy admitted. “It’s tainted wealth. I just want continued access to the plant. I’ll need to hire you to fight the will if they deny me that.”

A phone rang. I recognized the national anthem. Remembering I’d given Paddy my cell, I held out my hand. Should I ever make any money—and it obviously wouldn’t be from Paddy if this will was accepted—I was buying a new phone, one untainted by Zone humor.

Paddy seemed momentarily confused, patted his pockets, then rescued my El Cheapo pay-as-you-go from his pants.

I couldn’t greet Max with my usual sauciness, not with everyone listening. “Good afternoon, Senator,” I said in greeting, alerting him that I wasn’t alone.

“Snodgrass’s office just called,” he said without preamble. “What the hell will I do with Hell’s Mansion? The