Dead & Godless Read online

  “I, that is, yes,” stammered Corwin, eyeing the man suspiciously. He was positive that no one had been there a moment ago.

  The gray-eyed stranger twirled a pen in one hand, his relaxed demeanor testifying that, unlike his guest, he apparently found nothing about the present situation to be out of the ordinary. A wave of dirty blonde hair contrasted with his dark eyebrows and the stubble that shaded his chin. He was maybe in his mid-thirties. He wore a charcoal suit, perfectly tailored, with a matching tie and a white collared shirt.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair that sat opposite the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Not taking his eyes off the man, Corwin lowered himself awkwardly into the chair. The stranger drew a tin cigarette case from his breast pocket and flipped it open.

  “Care for a smoke?”

  “I don’t smoke,” replied Corwin.

  “No, of course you don’t, or at least you never have, but if you ever wanted to try, well, now’s the time! I mean, you’re already dead. What’s the harm?”

  “I’ll pass,” Corwin insisted.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Putting the cigarette to his lips, he snapped his fingers and a tiny flame sparked to life, hovering above one fingertip. A spiced aroma filled the air as he puffed contentedly and sank a little deeper into his seat.

  Corwin was still at a loss.

  “And you would be . . .”

  “Attorney Ransom J. Garrett, at your service.”

  With another snap, a beveled glass nameplate instantly appeared on the desk, denoting its owner in bold text, with the words “Attorney at Law” centered just underneath. He reached over and Corwin absently shook his hand.

  “I’ll be representing you,” continued Ransom.

  “Representing me?” echoed Corwin with a quizzical look.

  “In the trial, naturally. I believe your kind call it a Final Judgment.”

  For a long second Corwin’s jaw hung open. Then something clicked in his mind. Realization dawned and he burst into a chuckle.

  This time it was Ransom who looked confused.

  “This is finally starting to make sense!” declared Corwin. “Everything that I’m experiencing right now, it’s all a dream, a very vivid dream!” He plucked a bronze paperweight off the desk, tossed it and caught it with a swipe of his hand. “It truly is astonishing to think that the human mind is capable of such a convincing illusion!”

  “That train must have hit you pretty hard,” remarked Ransom.

  “Indeed,” Corwin assured him. “Why, I’m probably as good as dead, but it’s been shown that just before a man dies, there’s one last surge of brain activity.”

  “And that’s what you think this is?”

  “What else could it be?” He fixed Ransom with a knowing stare. “You said ‘your kind’ earlier, which is to say that you’re not a human, but an–”

  “An angel,” Ransom offered.

  “Yes, an angel! Don’t you see it?”

  Ransom was scratching his head.

  “I might not be a Christian, but I was born into a Christian culture. Heck, I even went to Catholic school for a few years. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, angels . . . It’s only natural that such images would linger in the back of my mind.

  “Had I been born somewhere else, maybe things would be different,” Corwin went on. “Instead of an angel, you might have been one of my ancestors, or Buddha, or my animal spirit guide.”

  Propping one elbow on his desk, Ransom buried his face in his palm and massaged his aching temples.

  “I think we could both use a drink,” he decided, promptly rising and heading for the liquor cabinet.

  Fetching a stout crystal flask, he produced two rocks glasses and set them on the bar, then bent down to open a wood panel door that blended with the rest of the cabinetry. Inside was a small freezer, from which he drew a pail of ice and tongs.

  “What can I get you? Bourbon? Scotch? Gin?” With each word, Ransom flicked the side of the flask, the shade of the liquid within changing from amber to gold to clear.

  “No thanks,” Corwin replied. “If this is to be my last dream, I believe I’d like to stay sober for it.”

  “I sure wouldn’t,” muttered Ransom, ice cubes tinking as he tipped back his glass.

  He replaced the stopper and brought the flask with him as he returned to his tufted chair behind the desk.

  “Don’t you think this is a rather long dream for someone whose skull is no longer in one piece?”

  “It would seem that way,” Corwin admitted. “I can only guess that some part of my brain is still functioning. In any case, it’s not as though I can really trust my perception of time here. Most dreams last only a few minutes, yet they often feel much longer. Who knows how much time has passed on the outside?”

  “Well it’s good to know that you’ve got this all figured out.” Ransom poured himself another double shot. “Still, it’s a shame that you have to spend your last dream stuck with me.”

  “It’s not exactly surprising,” said Corwin. “I suppose you’ve always been there, a distant fear or hope in the supernatural, suppressed by my more rational thoughts. As they say: ‘For the believer there will always be doubt, and for the skeptic, always–’”

  “Possibility,” chimed Ransom.

  “See! Even the way that you finish my sentences!”

  The attorney scribbled a reminder on his notepad.

  “Don’t finish sentences,” he mumbled.

  The office’s front door swung open and in strode a young woman wearing designer glasses, her chestnut hair in a bun. A red skirt and suit jacket hugged the curves of her figure. Despite the sudden entrance, Corwin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to pay any heed.

  “You, this place, it’s all a creation of my subconscious mind,” he mused, speaking as much to himself as to Ransom.

  “The Corwin file, sir,” said the woman.

  She bent over the desk to deposit a stack of neatly organized documents.

  “Thanks Elsie,” Ransom replied.

  He regarded the file, flipping briefly through its hundred or so pages while ignoring his client’s rambling. It took only a glimpse for the angel to memorize the contents therein.

  Corwin’s gaze followed the secretary as she strutted away.

  “She’s definitely a part of my subconscious.”

  With a coy smile and eyes that said “good luck,” Elsie vanished behind the door.

  “Now then,” Ransom tapped the paper stack back into shape, “how might I impress upon you the reality of your present predicament?”

  Rising, he began to pace leisurely around the perimeter of his desk.

  “As I understand it, a human being will snap out of a dream in the event of certain sensations,” Ransom snapped his fingers, “such as the sensation of falling.”

  Corwin squinted, broad daylight assaulting his eyes. When his vision adjusted, he saw that his chair was no longer in the attorney’s office, but teetering precariously atop the edge of a canyon. The Grand Canyon. Orange and brown strata striped the cliff sides. His feet dangled over thin air, five hundred feet of jagged rocks descending steeply to where the Colorado River snaked below.

  “Um, Mr. Ransom? I have this thing about heights,” started Corwin, clutching his seat with a white-knuckled grip, but Ransom’s shoe was already planted on the rear of his chair.

  The attorney’s lips curled into a wicked grin.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Maybe this is one of those flying dreams!”

  Before his client could say another word, he kicked out, sending both the chair and its occupant sailing into the gorge. Corwin’s stomach lurched. He flailed his arms, the fall twisting and turning him about so that the riverbed and the open sky traded places in a mad whirl. A desperate scream echoed off the canyon walls. Yet even as the wind roared in his ears, Ransom’s words rang out clearly.

  “Of course, falling isn’t the only way to wake up. I’ve he
ard that the threat of sudden, intense pain or death can have a similar effect.”

  Wait, I can’t die. I’m already dead!

  But the rational voice in the back of Corwin’s mind didn’t matter. What mattered was the rocky bank of the Colorado speeding rapidly towards him. He clenched his teeth and shut tight his eyes.

  The bone-crunching thud made even Ransom wince a little.

  Twitching like some half-dead insect, Corwin noticed three things. First, that he was still alive. Second, that a throbbing pain pulsed through every inch of his body. And third, that the ground beneath him was not sand and stones, but a plush carpet. With a miserable groan he pried one eye open.

  Surrounding him once again was the familiar décor of Ransom’s office. The angel reclined behind his desk, savoring a long drag on a cigarette. Forcing his sore limbs into motion, Corwin laboriously climbed back into his chair, which by all appearances had weathered the fall without so much as a scratch. He patted the dirt from his rumpled coat and stared flatly at his attorney.

  “I think I’ll take that drink now.”

  3

  Shades of Change

  A soothing fire seared in Corwin’s throat as he sipped the bourbon, the heat sinking like a coal to the pit of his stomach and then radiating out to his finger tips.

  “Maple. A zesty note of citrus. And a hint of vanilla on the finish.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me, is this Angel’s Envy?”

  “A man who knows his bourbon!” commended Ransom. “The Force is strong with this one.”

  The angel swished the red-gold liquor in his glass.

  “Do you still believe yourself to be dreaming?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Corwin. “If right now I’m undergoing surgery in the emergency room, that fall might have been a wave of pain coursing through my unconscious mind, this bourbon a dose of anesthesia.”

  Ransom stroked the bristles on his chin thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps a higher cliff . . .”

  “No!” Corwin hastily interjected. “No more cliffs!” He raised his hands in supplication. “Look, I get it. You want me to accept that this is my afterlife. I don’t know that I can believe that just yet, but seeing as I’m stuck here, let’s say I’m willing to assume that there’s a chance—a remote, absurd possibility that what you say is true.”

  “In other words, you’re willing to play along.” Taking a brief measure of his client, Ransom nodded with a hard-eyed grin. “I can work with that.

  “Discerning dreams from reality can be a messy business,” he continued. “I don’t suppose you can prove that your previous life wasn’t a dream?”

  Corwin didn’t have to think long.

  “No, I don’t suppose I can.”

  “All knowledge begins not with facts, but with an assumption: the assumption that your senses aren’t lying to you; that reality is, for the most part, as it appears.”

  “That’s funny to hear, coming from an angel. Doesn’t religion rest upon the notion that reality is more than it appears?”

  “That there is more to reality than you can know by your senses, yes,” answered Ransom, “but not that your senses are wrong. Like a gravitational pull evidencing a hidden black hole, the seen gives clue to the unseen.”

  “Well I won’t deny that religion is rather like a black hole,” Corwin said dryly.

  He cracked his neck and pumped one arm, rotating his shoulder. The pain from the fall still lingered in his joints.

  “If I’m already dead, how come it hurts so much? Shouldn’t I be haunting your office as a disembodied spirit about now?”

  “That’s no way to spend your afterlife,” replied Ransom. “To be human is to be body and soul. Granted, your current vessel is only temporary.”

  “It’s a pretty good replica,” noted Corwin as he glanced at his reflection in one of the glass cabinet doors. “You even got the missing button on my coat.”

  “Death is a jarring experience. Having a familiar body tends to make things go smoother. Just don’t start thinking that you’re invincible. That body is more resilient than your old one, but it can still bruise and bleed. Feelings of pain or pleasure are no less real here than in the mortal world.”

  “So I’ve noticed. Is there another afterlife waiting if by chance I manage to get myself killed in this one?”

  “Death can be a mercy, a release from pain. You will find no such release in this place. There are fates worse than death here.”

  “Sounds heavenly,” moaned Corwin. “So what now? As far as my ‘final judgment’ is concerned, why not get it over with? If the lord almighty is as just and merciful as they say, I don’t see what I’ve got to be worried about.”

  “You’re clearly not lacking for confidence.” Ransom’s gaze sharpened. “Are you so sure that your case is airtight?”

  “I should hope so, unless your god is a tyrant! Last I checked, I did just die saving somebody’s life.”

  “An admirable final act,” agreed Ransom, “one which secured you my invaluable services, but I’m afraid your situation is a bit more complex than that.”

  “Why? Because I’m an atheist?”

  “You weren’t just any atheist, Corwin. You were zealous and outspoken, a veritable Saint Paul of atheism. Wherever you went, you employed that intellect of yours to the purpose of convincing men to abandon their faith.”

  “And what of it?” challenged Corwin. “Sure, I encouraged people to embrace reason rather than superstition, to look to science rather than an invisible old man in the sky for answers, and what was the result? Have my words ever driven anyone to strap on a bomb? Did I ever once cause harm to those who happened to disagree? No. Unlike so many of your peace-loving believers, I’ve never resorted to violence to advance my ideals.”

  “It’s true enough that you haven’t spilled any blood,” Ransom conceded, “but the prosecution isn’t going to build its case upon charges of battery.

  “Suppose for a moment that such a thing as the soul exists. Unlike mortal vessels, souls endure forever, but they can be lost, cut off from all love and happiness if they choose to reject its source. Should it be shown that your actions were instrumental in the loss of even one person’s eternal soul, do you not think that that would weigh heavily against you?”

  Corwin had never seen a soul, never heard one. He considered it altogether illogical to believe in something for which there was no material evidence, but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t understand the concept. Of all religion’s crazy doctrines, the idea that some part of him might transcend the physical and live on was perhaps the most alluring.

  “This trial is not nearly as open-and-shut as you would like it to be,” said Ransom. “The prosecution adamantly believes that your soul is rightly the property of Hell, and they’ll stop at nothing to see you burn. You’re going to need my help.”

  “Your help strikes me as more dangerous than the trial,” Corwin replied as he rubbed the back of his neck, the memory of getting kicked off a cliff still fresh in his mind. “And as for my part in this? What would I be expected to do?”

  “Only to cooperate.” Ransom cracked his wolfish smile. “The first rule of order here is to know thyself. We’re going to see just how godless you really are.”

  That Corwin had little choice in the matter hadn’t eluded him, but more than that, he had always relished a good battle of ideas. Perhaps this bizarre dying dream was what he had truly wished for all along.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to make it too easy for you.”

  “I expect you to fight me every step of the way. But do not attempt to lie.” The attorney’s tone darkened. “We angels are not easily lied to, nor are we forgiving of those who try.”

  Corwin, however, had no intention of deceit. Fully convinced that truth and reason were on his side, he doubted very much that any of the angel’s tests would prove insurmountable.

  “Lies are a coward’s defense. I won’t have need of them.”

 
“Excellent.” With a clap, Ransom folded his hands. “Then let’s get started.”

  He made as if to get up, but then stopped halfway.

  “One more thing!”

  Rifling through his pockets, Ransom’s fingers finally came upon what he was looking for, withdrawing a cross affixed to a slender chain. The golden necklace glinted in the light, its sharp contours simple and elegant. He slid it reverently across the desk.

  “You had best put this on.”

  Corwin eyed the cross skeptically.

  “I’ve heard of dressing for court, but isn’t this a bit much? Will your omniscient god be fooled into thinking that I’m a good Christian if I just look the part?”

  “Trust me,” said Ransom. “It may come in handy.”

  “You know I don’t believe in your good luck charms.”

  “Believe what you will. You can think of it as a fashion statement for all I care. But for now, I strongly suggest you shut up and do as your defense attorney asks.”

  With no small amount of disdain, Corwin gave in and looped the gold chain around his neck, the cross dangling below his collar.

  “Remember this,” Ransom said gravely, “if ever you are separated from me and find yourself in a desperate situation, hold onto that cross.”

  The warning stirred dark thoughts in Corwin’s head. Just what kind of “desperate situation” might his attorney fear? Before he could dwell upon it too deeply, Ransom sprang to his feet.

  “Well then, no point in wasting any more time.”

  He struck off for the office’s front door, motioning for his client to follow.

  “Where are we going?” asked Corwin.

  “To a place you once knew.”

  Ransom clasped the doorknob, the bolt sliding with a click as he gave it a twist. It was the same door through which his secretary had come and gone, and Corwin half expected to glimpse the marble halls of a heavenly law firm on the other side, but instead a wall of white light flooded his vision, engulfing both of them in a flash.

  A springy carpet of grass cushioned the soles of his boots. The bright light resolved into an afternoon sky, cobalt blue and dotted with cotton clouds. In the center of the park, a brass gentleman struck a scholarly pose amidst the maple trees. He was flanked by Georgian buildings that harkened to an age when architects strove to capture invisible truths in stone. The leaves had begun to turn, painting the fields with splashes of crimson and gold.