Kick, Page 21

  “Actually, hold on, I think it’s time I start answering some of these questions myself.”

  I shut up and motioned, By all means.

  “Looked at in the best possible light, I’d say this isn’t about you at all. Nothing outside the physical universe can operate within it without being bound to the flesh. Be it demon or angel or, possibly, even God Himself—which explains why Jesus was born into the world and didn’t just appear.”

  “Like an emissary for good,” I said. I could see that.

  “Or evil,” he said, giving me a significant look. “I’ve always felt that when God gave out free will, he didn’t give it to man alone—he gave it to the physical universe as a whole. Natural selection is a perfect example of this. God didn’t make the animals, he made the process. That process is randomness.” He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. “I’ve always believed the very existence of randomness at the quantum level confirms this. But faith is something else, isn’t it? Faith defies that randomness and insists upon the opposite—that all of creation must ultimately bow to the power of God.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  I followed, but it felt like treading water with my ankles tied together. Clearly this was something he’d been thinking about for a lot longer than just today.

  The minister allowed a brief smile to escape.

  “See? I told you I could talk theology all day. I’m saying it’s not about you—it’s about me.”

  “But what does that mean, specifically?”

  “It means that I decide whether things from Beyond stay in this universe. That you remain here by my will—as a man of morals and of faith.”

  Which meant we’d reached an impasse.

  Wonderful.

  Folding my arms, I said, “That’s the best possible light? I’m afraid to ask for the alternative.”

  “The worst possible light would be that you’re a demon, the Pope’s the holiest man alive, and I’m a heretic for leaving the church and have no power over you.”

  “Is that what you…?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit,” he said. “But I can’t let you stay in Nathan’s body like this. You simply have no right.”

  “You’re going to find this incredibly convenient,” I said, “but I think I do have a right—at least, this time.”

  I explained the strange sense I had on entering the portal from the Great Wherever, how it felt almost like I’d be a guest in Nate’s body. At the time, I blew it off because it didn’t contribute anything practical to my immediate concerns.

  When I finished, the minister said, “You’re right, it sounds convenient. Incredibly so.”

  I thought for a second. I doubted he’d accept my love of fast cars, junk food and cash as a good enough reason to let me stay.

  “Look, there’s a reason this happened to Nate,” I said. “This is God’s will, not mine. Right? Else, I wouldn’t have been able to reach out to him. Does randomness exist outside the physical universe? In God’s domain? If it doesn’t, then I shouldn’t have been able to reach Nate, not without God’s permission.”

  The minister’s head quirked sideways. He gave an approving nod my way.

  “Not bad. You might be right, but it can’t be confirmed, can it? That would undermine the whole point of faith. Still, proof aside, perhaps it isn’t randomness at work here but another thing altogether. Let’s look at it using the stories we have. Supposedly, Lucifer defied God and was cast into Hell for his rebellion. But how could that happen where there is no randomness?”

  It took me a second to realize it wasn’t a rhetorical question, but apparently I waited too long because he started back up again.

  “The answer is, simply, a paradox. It could be that outside the physical universe it’s possible for a paradox to exist. We assume that God is omnipotent, but maybe that very omnipotence means he’s capable of diminishing himself on a case-by-case basis.”

  “Like what?” I said.

  “Well, if you believe in Jesus, you believe that he is part of God made flesh, and therefore subject to the trials of the flesh. But hold on, back up for a second—did you say you ‘reached out?’ From where, exactly? Heaven?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not any Heaven you’d recognize,” I said. “But a place of some sort. I call it the Great Wherever.”

  “The Great Wherever? Fascinating. Continue.”

  “One moment I’m alone and the next there’s a doorway of sorts and I just reach out. Usually, the people I enter are pretty bad. The one before Nate was awful.”

  Neither of us said anything for about a minute. I could see the minister struggling with what he’d heard but I was afraid to say anything else. He was right on the edge.

  Finally, he said, “Your story just keeps getting longer, doesn’t it? Still, if I’m being honest, I don’t think you’re lying to me—or at least, you don’t think you’re lying. And I suppose it’s time for me to be honest, too. I got a glimpse of some of this when I touched your shoulder, but I didn’t know what any of it meant. I saw what you did to…what was his name, Jerry? Killed him with a needle. And another man, missing a thumb. You shot him, stuffed him in a freezer. He tried to murder someone.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d seen all that. I worried he also knew about Mr. York and Jake and the long string of Jakes I’d disposed of over the years. I wondered if he knew about Sandra.

  “He was also a rapist,” I said. “Did you see that, too? He raped the daughter of the man I saved.”

  The minister nodded and said, quietly, “Yes, I saw something of that. Visions. After I touched you, I didn’t know what to think. So I hid. Still, I doubt myself. You could be playing me for a fool, and if you are then I deserve whatever punishment I get.”

  I shook my head, losing patience.

  “But you had those visions,” I said.

  “I think a demon would be able to send visions to cover a lie. It should be obvious by now that I’m no exorcist.”

  “We’re back to that? I could claim my innocence until the guests have all gone home, but it’s like you said—it isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

  The minister barked a laugh and said, “You got that right.”

  I had an idea. An exciting one, actually.

  “Listen, do you want my story? All of it?”

  “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t. What priest wouldn’t?”

  “Then give me your name and email address. I’ll type it up and send it to you.”

  “I am not telling you my name,” he said, with a tone of finality. “Not from my own lips—you may have seen the Exorcist, but I used to play Dungeons and Dragons.”

  “You’re kidding—you were a priest.”

  “Everyone played Dungeons and Dragons back then.”

  “Well how about email?” I said. “Any rules against that?”

  The minister got a pen from his coat pocket and wrote his email address on a business card he fished from his wallet, then handed it to me. A quick glance showed it was for a home improvement company.

  “I give this one to any store that I think might sell it to people. I can’t stand spam.”

  I memorized the address on the back, then folded it away.

  “Ok,” I said. “Here’s how we’ll work it.”

  I explained that when I got into my next body I’d send him a note letting him know what I was up to and when I thought I could get my story to him. It all depended on how much time I’d have on future “possessions.” Though technically accurate, I hated the word. I only picked it because calling them “rides” might give him the idea I did this for my own amusement—in other words, it might give him the right impression.

  I didn’t know how long it would take, but I figured I could mentally write my story in the Great Wherever, since time usually passed longer there. Afterword, I’d spill it from memory into an email.

  I couldn’t wait. The whole thing struck me as amazing. I had fina
lly met someone I could be completely honest with.

  “We’re not done yet,” the minister said, stabbing me with that baleful look of his. “What are your intentions with Erika? She thinks she’s marrying Nathan, not you. This is her wedding night, but I don’t want you putting your hands on her.”

  “I’m way ahead of you on that one,” I said. Obviously, whatever transferred when we touched hadn’t included the incident in the mall parking lot. “She’s pregnant and I’m only here temporarily. I plan to act paranoid about having, uh…you know, until after the baby’s born.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that.

  “She’s a pretty girl—you think you can control yourself?”

  For the first time with him I tried to lie, but failed.

  “I’m going to try.”

  The minister paused, considering.

  “Fair enough. But what’s she going to do after you’re gone? What happens when it’s Nathan in that body and not you? Will he be you one minute and then suddenly himself again, displaced and confused?”

  “I’ve never been able to figure that one out,” I said. “But maybe you can help?”

  I gave him my best guess as to when I’d receive my final kick. During that window, he’d call Nate’s cell phone every day. If it was me, I’d give him a status report on how close I was to getting kicked out. But if the real Nate answered, the minister would drive over and explain as much as he could to him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “All right.”

  The minister called my number to fix it into his call history. I saw his name pop up on the display—Anthony Hendricks. It was one of the names already in the phone. Not letting on that I knew his name, I ended the call and pocketed the phone. He must have known it’d be easy to get his name from Erika, or possibly Tim, but I didn’t need him thinking I was trying to trick it out of him. That would only reinforce his demon suspicions.

  While the minister and I were talking, guests had been gathering in the kitchen, looking out at us and talking among themselves. Eventually, Tim tapped politely on the glass and stepped out. He looked from me to the minister and back, then threw me a look I’m sure had something to do with Disneyland and Teacup rides.

  “Um, I hate to intrude,” Tim said, “but Erika’s wondering what’s taking so long. Is everything ok?”

  The minister said, “Nathan and I were just having a chat. I always like to give a little sagely advice to the groom before he takes his vows.”

  Apparently, the truth whammy was strictly a one-way compulsion.

  Before I could stop him, the minister reached over, took my hand and shook it—and nothing happened!

  Still holding onto my hand, he said, “Please let Erika know we’ll only be a few more minutes, would you?”

  Tim said, “Sure, sorry, absolutely,” and stepped back inside.

  I fake smiled for the crowd and pulled my hand away.

  “What did you do that for? I thought we were fine.”

  “It’s a lot more complicated than us being fine, Dan. I had to know that you were here by my will and not yours.”

  “What about faith?” I said. “Doesn’t proof ruin it?”

  “Good question—care to find out?” he said, reaching for me.

  “No no, I was just asking,” I said, backing up a step.

  “If anything happens to Nate or Erika, there’s going to be Hell to pay—for both of us. You remember that and then we’ll be fine.”

  The minister’s face had taken on a fatherly expression for the onlookers in the kitchen, but to me his eyes blazed like twin supernovas, leaving me physically weak in a way no hangover could compete with.

  I looked away.

  “I’ll do my best to keep anything from happening to them,” I said, and hoped it would be that easy.

  “Then let’s get this sham over with, shall we?”

  Together, we walked in.

  Chapter 30

  Erika looked lovely in her wedding dress. And poofy. Wisely, I substituted any such commentary with an appropriately stunned look. In reality, I barely registered her presence at all. For the first time ever I’d told someone the complete truth about myself, and strangest of all: he believed me.

  Throughout the ceremony, I found myself reviewing my strange conversation with the minister, exploring it, relishing the novelty between repeated utterances of, “I do.” Almost absently, I noted the minister wasn’t using his holy powers on me anymore, since I was able to get through my lies to love, honor and cherish Erika.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he said. After a brief hesitation, and a stern look my way, he added, “You may kiss the bride.”

  I tried for a chaste kiss to keep His Holiness off my back, but Erika had other plans. Her tongue wiggled in like a bionic anaconda—impossibly vicious and fast and always popping up where you least expected it. Everyone clapped and cheered. Meanwhile, the ex-Catholic priest displayed the amazing ability to smile beatifically while simultaneously glaring at me, leaving me with a sense of vertigo so strong I became dizzy.

  Erika reached out to steady me.

  “Wow, are you ok?” she said. “Your eyes got all weird for a second.”

  “Huh? Oh…no, I’m ok. Just a muscle spasm from standing straight for so long.” I made a show of stretching my back from side to side. “I’m fine, really.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You better not have a headache—I have needs.”

  I wanted to tell her, About those needs, but it wasn’t the right time, what with a roomful of people watching every little thing we did. Everyone wanted to offer congratulations, so I shut up and gave myself over to handshakes, back slaps and the same question repeated over and over again: “How’s it feel to be married?”

  There are really only two answers to that, tailored to your audience. “It feels great!” to women, or “Just shoot me…” to fellow husbands.

  At one point, Tim surprised me by taking up an amplified classical guitar and playing some of the most beautiful Spanish guitar I ever heard. Almost effortlessly, he breezed through lovely, romantic stretches of complicated picking that seemed almost conversational, punctuated frequently by sudden rushes of strumming, sometimes soft, occasionally thunderous and savage. Judging from the applause, almost everyone loved it.

  Erika and Betsy had walked out somewhere in the middle.

  The rest of the evening proceeded uneventfully. Secretly, I’d hoped for a throw-the-garter fight worthy of something from America’s Funniest Home Videos, but Erika’s interaction with anyone other than her friend seemed forced. Sure, she turned around and tossed her garter, someone caught it, clapping all around, yes yes, but afterward it seemed like the room breathed a collective, Glad that’s done. Then everyone went back to whatever they were doing before the interruption. I couldn’t figure it out. I wondered what they knew about her that I didn’t.

  The party officially ended at ten but people started leaving a bit earlier. Rob and Tom left after the cake was cut, but I’d given up figuring them out. The minister left shortly after the ceremony, though not before taking me by the elbow for a quick, final word. I tensed up when he touched me—but again, nothing happened.

  In a low voice meant only for me, the minister said, “I’m counting on you to keep your word. Are we clear?”

  “If I’m lyin’ I’m fryin’,” I said.

  “This isn’t a joke,” he said, clipping his words tightly, as if ready to cast out the unclean spirit at any moment. “When I call you, you will answer. And when you’ve moved on to your next possession, you made a promise to contact me and that is what you will do. Now, here, shake on it.”

  He stuck his hand out, as if daring me to take it.

  I shook his hand.

  “You had my word before and you still have it.”

  “…word of a demon,” I heard him mutter, before turning to leave.

  I didn’t think he believed I was anything other than what I claimed, but he als
o didn’t trust himself and worried it’d be a mistake to let me stay. If he had asked me, I would’ve assured him he probably made a mistake, but there you go.

  Mark and Clara stayed right till the end—mainly because Mark hadn’t stopped eating since he arrived. There hadn’t been a time all evening when he didn’t have a piece of cake in his hand.

  Nate’s wedding cake was huge—a genuine four-decker. I kept the half-eaten middle and gave the untouched bottom half to Mark to take with him since he liked it so much. Tim made sure to secure the top piece—a pretty little pastry with pink and blue cupids in flight. He wrapped it up in wax paper and popped it into a little box the delivery people had left for it, then placed it carefully in the freezer. He said Erika and I were supposed to eat it on our next anniversary. I never would have thought to do that. Tim had convinced me that being gay came with a lot of neat perks.

  Tim said goodbye, and as soon as the door shut behind him, Erika began tearing off my tux.

  “Hey what are you doing?” I said, alarmed. “This is a rental!”

  She responded with a snorting rendition of a mad cackle and dragged me to the ground, whereupon she deftly pulled a reversal, forcing me into a jujitsu guard as my only defense.

  “Erika, come on, wait—the baby. We shouldn’t—”

  “Huh?” she said, panting.

  “I thought we’d wait until after the baby—”

  “What are you talking about,” she breathed, kissing my now bare chest and—oh yeah, she had strong hands. Like a sex-crazed blacksmith.

  Struggling to my feet, I yelled, “Erika, stop! Wait, think. You’re pregnant.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  It had finally dawned on her I was serious. More importantly, it occurred to me that her poofy wedding dress, her livid expression and sudden burst of profanity were sexy as hell.

  Patiently, I said, “I’m just concerned that all the, you know, activity—I’m afraid it could harm the baby. We have what, six more months until the baby’s born? And a lifetime after that, so why are we rushing?”

  Erika leveled me a look of weird, wanton outrage that would have been frightening if I wasn’t bigger than her.