The Dead

“Just the legs,” Legion told him.

Max Sr. began splashing the fuel onto MacAleer.

“I have something in mind for him,” Legion said. “A little bit of sculpture… But in the meantime we can all have a good laugh at him.”

Finishing, Max Sr. retreated. Legion produced a pack of matches, made as if to strike one. Max looked away.

Immediately two fetid hands took hold of his head, forced his face back toward MacAleer. He closed his eyes. Two more hands pried his lids open.

“Yeah, Max, I want you to watch this,” Legion said. “You burned up my chief assistant back there in that garage. Really pissed me off. I want you to get a good idea of what fire does to flesh. Before we light you up.”

“Max,” MacAleer moaned. “You left me, Max…”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Legion asked Max. “The last name he called down there was yours. Not His-” Legion pointed heavenward. “Pretty strange for a Christian. I know the Nine Billion Names all too well, and Max isn’t one of them.” He crouched again, staring at MacAleer. “Lose your faith, Bob, old pal?”

“No,” MacAleer answered, not looking at him.

“You know what I think?” Legion asked. “I think you never had any to begin with.”

“No,” MacAleer said.

“Well, then,” Legion said, rising once more, “why don’t we just put it to the test?” He struck the match. “Here it comes, Bob.”

Laughing, he tossed it onto MacAleer’s legs. They ignited with a whoosh.

MacAleer howled, tried to roll the flames out. Legion’s followers rushed forward, grabbed him by the shoulders, held him down.

“Noisy bastard, isn’t he?” Legion asked Max.

“Jesus!” MacAleer shrieked.

Legion clapped. “What about Him, Bob?” he cried. “What do you think of Him now?”

MacAleer thrashed and wailed. Max could see large patches of his skin bubbling beneath the flames. The blisters began to burst. Sizzling fluid squirted out of the fire, spattered steaming on the asphalt.

Max wanted to roll his eyes back, but try as he might to keep himself from seeing, MacAleer’s agony remained on the fringe of sight. And there was no way at all to block out that pungent odor, that roast-pork smell…

“Jesus Christ!” MacAleer howled.

“Don’t see Him anywhere around here,” Legion laughed. “Just what you’d expect, though.”

“Jesus!” MacAleer screamed.

“Do you think He’s going to help you?” Legion asked. “You stupid shit! He wrote you off. Right the fuck out of the Book of Life.”

“Oh, my God…”

“He’s shitting all over you, Bob. He hates your nasty little worm-eaten soul. You don’t believe, you never believed, and He hates you! Why do you think you’re burning now?”

“Lord, Lord, LORD…”

“You think He’ll listen if you say it louder each time? He sees through you, you little cocksucking maggot. You’re a vessel fit for wrath. He smelled the rot in you even before He made you. Before He set the stars in their courses, He wanted you shrieking in Hell. Before He opened His mouth and vomited the Word, He was shitting on your face.”

“No!”

“But you’ve known it all along, haven’t you? So why don’t you get a little of your own back? Tell Him what you think of Him. Grab yourself a little satisfaction. Because I’m telling you, shithead, it’s the last you’ll ever get. For all eternity, the last. You’re not even going to get in on the killing. We’re seeing to that now. So you’d better piss on His name, Bob. Right on His fucking scum-covered sacred heart. Curse Him and die. Curse Him and die. Curse Him and die…”

“Jesus,” MacAleer croaked.

“Do it, Bob. Curse Him and die!”

Something in MacAleer seemed to snap; his head and burning heels arched up off the pavement.

“CURSE HIM AND DIE!”

MacAleer screamed like a chainsaw on steel: “Christ, you pig!”

“What, Bob?” Legion asked. “Say what?”

“You fucking hog!”

“Who, Bob, who?”

“Jesus!” MacAleer answered.

“That’s it,” Legion gloated. “What did I tell you? Feel better already, don’t you?”

Lips twitching, MacAleer’s face sagged to the asphalt. His charred legs settled with a cindery crunching sound. Max guessed he was still alive, but not for long.

“How’d you like that, Max?” Legion asked, signaling. The corpses holding Max’s head let go of him.

“Fuck you,” Max said.

“Tough guy, huh?” Legion asked. “Are you asking me to believe you’re not afraid? Well, we both know better than that, don’t we?” He clicked his teeth together. “I’ve eaten guys tougher than you. By the tens of thousands. Every single one of them was afraid. And you know what? They still are.”

He motioned Max Sr. over. “Douse him, Dad. Splash his whole body down.”

Max’s Father reached to reopen the gas can. His fingers locked on the cap, twisted once-

And froze.

Max was astonished. He’d never seen the slightest hint that the dead could restrain their malevolence, even for a moment. Was his father’s volition still alive, if just barely?

Legion turned his head toward him. The demon did nothing more, said nothing, yet Max had never seen a gesture more pregnant with menace, the ultimate torments of Hades, held as yet in reserve, threatened in a single look.

Still Max Sr. hesitated. How he managed even for a moment to withstand the force of Legion’s glance, Max didn’t know. It was excruciating watching him. In spite of his own plight, Max was actually relieved when his father’s fingers began to move once more on the cap.

Max suddenly found another song running through his mind: “Under My Thumb.” He noticed that Legion was staring at him now, gloating.

“You going to go out like MacAleer, Max?” the demon asked. “Will you curse the Old Boy and die, too?”

Gas splattered over Max. He started to pray under his breath, even though a voice in his head insisted it was useless, that he was going to die, that God had deserted him, that he’d deserted God, that it didn’t matter which… Max knew with horrible certainty that the voice must be right, but kept praying anyway, mechanically, stubbornly, insanely…

Forget it, Max, the voice went on. You don’t trust God. If you trusted Him, you would’ve gone back for MacAleer. Your faith’s just as much of a sham as MacAleer’s or Father Chuck’s. All you ever had was arrogance and self-righteousness, and now you’re going to burn, so why don’t you admit it to yourself?

Gout after gout of gasoline soaked into him, icy against his skin, filling his nostrils with its smell. Flinching with each splash, he kept praying.

At last the drenching was complete. Legion came near.

“We’re going to cremate you, Max,” he said. “We’re going to burn you worse than you burnt my flunky. But the real punishment won’t start until the burning’s over. You’re going to be amazed at just how vicious it is. All this you see around you, this rotting world, this place of fear and torture, this is nothing. Just an image. But you’re going to take a little trip to the real world now. The world of spirit. My world, where you can experience me face-to-face. If only your flesh wouldn’t grow back…But that takes a damn long time when it’s been burnt…and then we can just light you up again, can’t we?”