Saberhagen stood up from behind his desk and turned around. “How old do you think I am, Mr. Andrews?”
I decided to go with physical appearances. “Forty?”
Saberhagen chuckled. “I’m forty-seven.”
He continued to stand with his back to me, his arms folded. Had he been staring out a huge picture window overlooking a vast cityscape, the effect would have been impressive. Staring at a blank wall, however, looked rather odd.
“Andrews, there’s not a lot a man my age can look forward to. Bad knees, baldness, hernias—not a pretty picture.”
“What does this have to do…”
“But let’s say it didn’t have to be like that. Let’s say that even though no one can become younger, maybe there is a way not to become older.”
I swallowed whatever smart-ass comment I was about to make. I thought of my father, dozing off in front of the TV at nine, night after night after night. The constant complaining about his prostate and back and knees. The chunks of hair in the shower and the stash of Viagra I wish I hadn’t come across. Was that what I had to look forward to in twenty, twenty-five years?
Saberhagen finally turned toward me. “Intriguing thought, isn’t it? Never to age, never to have to grow up, to have to watch people half your age having the fun you no longer enjoy? Of course, being forty-seven isn’t exactly young.” He laughed, self-depreciatingly. “What I wouldn’t give to always be your age. Forever.”
I should just leave. He was talking crazy. “What do you mean, forever?”
“Let me tell you a story. Let’s say, sometime in the distant past—more distant than you probably realize—someone made me a deal. A most amazing deal.”
“What sort of a deal?” My mouth had grown dry.
“I think you can guess.”
“That—that you wouldn’t age anymore?”
Saberhagen touched his nose. “Not forever young, but at least never old. Of course, no sort of deal can protect one from the dangers of life.”
I sat, rooted to my chair. He continued.
“Let’s say if I were stabbed in some seedy St. Louis bar, or if a Yankee cavalryman put a bullet in the back of my head, for instance—let’s just say that I could return ten or twenty years later. It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a violent end…if people start commenting on how long I’ve been around, I might just take some poison and return when no one would remember me. Forty-seven, from now until the end of time.”
My host walked toward me with a look so intense I almost mistook him for a computer salesman. “It could be yours, Sherman. Yours for the asking. I’ve made this offer to very few men. I think you’re smart enough not to dismiss it.”
Okay, so he was immortal. Okay, so he was apparently offering me the chance to join him. But quite frankly, I was having trouble not laughing. This was hokier than anything Rod Serling ever wrote. A demon in a Penny’s suit and cheap shoes was bargaining for my soul.
I stood. “I’ll show myself out.”
Saberhagen didn’t seem hurt at my refusal. Instead, he shook my hand as if I’d declined to buy a timeshare.
“Well, I understand.” He touched my shoulder. “I wish I could change your mind.” And then the world turned off.
I was struck with that odd sensation you get when you are almost completely asleep and suddenly jerk awake. I was aware that Saberhagen was gripping my shoulders, but he seemed distant. Images flashed before my eyeballs like a Power Point slideshow.
Women—not high school girls, or even college chicks, but women—worshiping at my feet. Women with flat stomachs and perfect faces, groveling and humiliating themselves for my approval.
Crowds of people cheering me, yelling, weeping, desperately needing me. Aaron was there. L.J., John, my own father, everyone I knew.
A glimmering mansion, filled with all manner of delights. A mansion forever locked to the rest of the world, as I reveled alone in every conceivable pleasure of the flesh.
The faces of my enemies, all who had ever wronged me, crushed—literally crushed—beneath my steel boots. As I watched, a familiar face was smashed to hamburger under my feet.
Saberhagen’s face dimly appeared behind the images, like a reflection in a television screen. “It could all be yours. Anything you desire.”
I was only vaguely aware of my body. Sweat drenched my back and I believe I had a throbbing hard-on. Someone was groaning with my mouth.
The images began to run together. Charlie lay naked in an open grave, obscenely gesturing at me. The cheering crowd began to violently tear each other apart. The frowning, one-eyed form of Rev. Gowen lunged at me with a letter opener.
“All yours,” said Saberhagen, his voice distorted. “All for you.”
Aaron, L.J., John and myself posed for a grainy, black and white photo. Martin from the mental home bound me in a straitjacket and hurled me into a lake. Denton swung by his neck from the ceiling, his face blue. Dan Cooper shoved a switchblade into my testicles, as Steph read out loud from the book of Job.
“Please,” someone croaked. “Make it stop.”
“Join me.”
“I—no…”
“What have you got to lose?”
The images were a maelstrom. “There has to be a cost.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
I was standing in a barren industrial yard. In one hand I held a bloody knife. In the other, a hank of dark, silky hair.
Saberhagen’s face was getting nearer and nearer to my own. His hands were on the back of my head. I suddenly knew what he was going to do.
He was going to kiss me.
“Please…”
“Don’t think about it. You’ll only have to serve the Master a few times a year. A wanderer here, a soldier there. I’ve never been caught.”
“I can’t…”
I could feel his hot breath on my mouth. I almost sensed the tickling of his mustache.
“Relax, Sherman. We’re here to help. Here to give you what you’ve always wanted. All you have to do is ask. Come. Knock on our door. We have been waiting for you…”
And suddenly, all visions of power and sex and immortality were replaced by the theme song of a show about a zany bachelor and his two gorgeous roommates.
The universe ground against itself and suddenly I was standing in a law office, about to kiss another man. As I pulled away, I couldn’t prevent myself from giggling.
Saberhagen seemed utterly taken aback that I was no longer hypnotized.
“Are you laughing at me?”
The more I tried to hold it in, the louder it became.
“I’m sorry…when you said…I guess you wouldn’t know that show…” I had collapsed against the doorframe, paralyzed with inappropriate chortles. Tears welled up in my eyes. My sides hurt. I only managed to stop when I realized I was bleeding from the mouth. Apparently, when I was under Saberhagen’s power I had been gnawing on my tongue.
“STOP IT!” Saberhagen looked so wrathful I was afraid he was going to throw a punch. Sober now, I stood up.
“Get out of here! Leave right now!” He was so livid he was nearly incoherent. I almost apologized before recalling how he tried to steal my soul.
“Does the deal still stand?” I hoped this didn’t jeopardize Saberhagen’s promise to leave me alone.
“Out!”
I opened the office door, then turned.
“If you had to choose between Janet and Chrissy…”
I slammed the door, narrowly avoiding the stapler he heaved at me.
My security detachment waited in the reception room. L.J. leaned on the receptionist’s desk, a lecherous grin on his face.
“You know, I don’t just play the guitar. I sing too. Me and some friends are playing over at Apop Records next month, maybe you’d like to come.”
The secretary’s eyes met mine in mute appeal.
“C’mon, man,” I tapped L.J. on the shoulder. “We’re out of here.”
The warm summer afternoon helped bring me back to reality. My escape had been nothing short of miraculous. If it weren’t for a slip of the tongue, would I be preparing my own grave in Irontown?
Saberhagen had said he’d forget about me if I’d do the same. That’s what I’d been hoping for since the first night behind the pool hall. I’d just warn Denton to stop asking questions, call Charlie and tell her to try and forget what she’d seen, and we’d all live happily ever after.
There was, of course, one small problem. Though the glimpse I’d had of Saberhagen’s mind was mercifully fading, images remained. Something about a girl and a knife. Something about serving the master. Something about sacrifices.
Just what did Saberhagen have to do to earn his immortality?
Hey, not my problem. Not my concern. Against all odds, I’d faced the devil and gotten out with my life. I had no proof. Besides, how many people are killed every day? How many poor bastards died in the Congo since this morning? Or America, for that matter? Who was I to go stirring up shit?
Aside from a journalist, I mean.
Not my department. After my experiences, I’d be happy to write fluffy human interest stories for the rest of my career.
“So what happened in there?” asked L.J., violently tearing off his tie.
“It’s all good. We’re safe.”
“Are you sure? Because…”
I tried to take the worry out of my smile. “Everything’s fine, so long as we don’t talk about it anymore.” I laughed, but it sounded uneasy. “Let’s go home.”
Did I really think everything was going to be okay? Had I really deceived myself so much that I thought I could make a deal with the devil and there wouldn’t be hell to pay? My fragile sense of security lasted until we walked up to Mark Twain. There were two cop cars illegally parked out front.
Even then, I tried to tell myself it didn’t concern me. One of my idiot academy-mates had probably been busted for pot. L.J. shot me an uncomfortable glance as we entered the lobby.
On a normal day, there were usually a half-dozen students hanging around. Today, there were maybe a hundred, all sitting around at tables. Every one of them looked numb. A few looked horrified. Several girls were crying.
Uniformed police milled around the lobby, or sat talking to students. All the staff advisors were there, most of them talking to distraught-looking scholars. Benny was hugging a girl who sobbed in his arms.
“Not good,” mumbled L.J.
We found John, sitting in a corner, staring at his laptop screensaver.
“John! What’s going on?”
He looked up. His eyes were rimmed with red. It took him a moment to focus.
“There’s…been a murder. One of…of the scholars.”
L.J. collapsed on the floor next to him.
“What happened?” Why was I feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt?
“She had her throat slashed. Sometime last night. They found her buried in that coal pile by the power plant.”
I didn’t want to ask. Couldn’t ask. If I didn’t open my mouth, I wouldn’t have to face it.
“Have they released a name?” asked L.J., slumped against the wall.
“No…but everyone knows. Sherman, I think you knew her.”
Dear God, please, no…
“It was Steph.”
I had never felt such rage in my life. Not when Mom left, not when I was attacked by Dan, not when Saberhagen hurt Charlie. This was personal.
I managed to keep it together while Benny gave a little speech. Something about classes not being cancelled, but we were welcome to return home if we wanted to. Something about free counseling services. I didn’t listen.
I kept a shocked, vaguely nauseated expression during my five-minute interview with a police officer, admitting a nodding acquaintance with Steph, but nothing more. As soon as the BS was over, I returned to my room.
Saberhagen was a dead man, both now and in the immediate future. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe he’d deliberately sought out someone I knew. It didn’t matter. He had no place on this earth. I was going to send him back to his grave.
I clutched L.J.’s bat. Tonight, I’d wait outside of his office building. He had to show up some time or another. And when he did…only one of us was walking away.
I recalled my cemetery experience. It was very likely I would not be the victor. Maybe I was being too rash. Maybe I should…
Unbidden, I remembered Steph, the last time I saw her. Telling me how demons were real, and walked among us.
That very night, a demon had killed her. I tightened my grip on the bat.
“For you, Steph,” I mumbled.
The door opened behind me. “Hey, L.J., do you have a…”
It was Charlie. She stood in the doorway watching me, with a mixture of concern and disgust.
“How did you get in here?” I shouted, without thinking.
“Much better, thanks for asking.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I sat on my chair, the bat across my lap. “How are you doing?”
“I snuck in through the fire exit.” Her face was still in neutral and I wasn’t sure what to say. I attempted to synch up our conversation.
“Charlie, I’m sorry about the other night. I really didn’t expect—”
She held up a pink palm. “Save it. I couldn’t care less. I swore I’d never come back here, but I have to.”
“Charlie…”
“I haven’t slept in two days. I skipped work. I can’t eat. My parents think I’m having a breakdown. Sherman, what the hell was that thing? I have to know.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. It’s safer this way.” I sure as hell wish I could go back not knowing.
“Something crawled out of a grave and attacked me. Start talking.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I was a couple of hours away from a fatal showdown and I didn’t feel like explaining myself.
Charlie crossed the room and sat down next to me on L.J.’s bed. She patted my knee and smiled a normal smile, not her usual toothy snarl. I was reminded of how close we’d almost become.
“Sherman, honey.” She snuggled nearer. “I will hurt you.”
“Um…”
Charlie caressed my ear. Then without warning, she twisted.
“What was that thing? Tell me, goddamnit!”
“Ow, ow, ow! Okay, stop it!”
Instantly, she was all smiles and sweetness again. “Take your time.”
I stood and began to pace. And suddenly it all began to flood out. The picture of the four men. Getting whupped at the pool hall. Meeting Denton. Dan Cooper and his pal. The car wreck. The attack on Denton. The strange spate of deaths in the 1930s. How Saberhagen kept returning to Missouri. The only thing I left out was my recent meeting with Saberhagen at his office; that wasn’t the sort of thing I could share with anyone at the moment. I must have spoken for half an hour.
Charlie whistled when I finished. “That’s the last time I seduce a journalist.”
“I know sorry won’t mean much…”
“Then don’t say it. What I want to know is what are we going to do about this?”
“We? You’re going to go back home and forget you ever heard of me.”
“Where was your chivalry the other night? You dragged me into this, now I’m going to help get us out.”
“This doesn’t concern you.” I stood, in what I thought was an unmistakable gesture of dismissal.
For the briefest moment, I was sure she was going to drop me. I had the height advantage, but she had the weight, and in her excited state it would’ve been no contest. Instead, shockingly, she removed her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
Then I realized. My eyes weren’t drawn to her pale flesh, but to the bandages that swaddled her shoulders. Her fingers quickly ripped away the gauze on her left side.
“Look, damn you! Look!”
I couldn’t. I closed my eyes. The horrible red gashes that must have reached the muscles. The inflamed claw marks that ran from her upper back to the front of her round shoulders. I had never felt such shame. She was right, it was my fault.
“It’s going to scar,” she said.
“Please get dressed.” I didn’t open my eyes. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes. I should have gone to the emergency room that night. I went yesterday. The doctor said it was too late for stitches. He gave me a tetanus shot and the number for a domestic violence hotline. Oh, open your eyes.”
Charlie was dressed again. “Sherman, I’m sure you never expected this to happen. But like it or not, you got me involved. Now, what are we going to do about this?”
I picked up the bat and thumped it against the bed frame. “It ends today. Him or me.” The phrase sure sounded macho in my head. Out loud, it kind of sounded stupid.
“You’re an idiot. And much as I don’t really like you right now, I’m not prepared to see you dead.”
Now it was my turn to be indignant. “You know that girl who was killed yesterday?”
Her eyes flashed. “The one they found at the power plant?”
“That was Saberhagen. And she was a friend of mine.” Charlie winced. “Look. Only three people know how bad this is. One of them’s locked up in a psycho ward, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything happen to you. Maybe I’m being dumb, but I have to do something.”
Charlie was looking at me with less contempt. “We could contact Reverend Gowen.”
It annoyed me that she’d paid so little attention to what I’d been telling her. “Gowen faced down Saberhagen back in the 1930s. That’s no help.”
Charlie smirked, not quite showing her teeth. “I meant to tell you the other night, but we were interrupted. I ran a check on Gowen through his denomination. They keep track of all their ministers: their congregations, their degrees, their deaths. It’s like an alumni association.”
“You found out how he died?” I was impressed.
“Not exactly. Sherman, we’ve been looking at this all wrong. You never found out how Gowen died, because he’s not dead.”