THIRTY-TWO
Jennifer had managed to get him up off the floor
“Unnnnnnffffffff!”
and staggered into the living room, Lars hanging heavily on to her shoulder. Arrghh, sunken living room, the step had nearly had her buckling under the weight. She’d carefully shoved him off her, onto the couch, and they both breathed out relieved sighs when his butt hit the cushions. “Jesus Christ, Jennifer Palmer,” he kept saying. “I can’t fucking believe it. Jennifer Palmer.”
She’d brought him a cold can of Coke, which he cracked open and drank half of in three monster swallows. His hands were shaking.
She knelt before him and she saw his small eyes widen; then he hurriedly took another drink of his pop.
“Lars, I’m back—”
“From where? You look exactly the same. Jennifer Palmer. I can’t believe it. Where’d you come from?”
“Hell.”
“Jesus Christ, Jennifer Palmer. I can’t believe it. Jennifer Palmer.”
“Yes, yes, it’s me.” She rushed ahead, not sure she could handle another five minutes of the “Jesus Christ/Jennifer Palmer” chant. “I’ve been sent back to atone for my sins. I set the fire, not you. I killed Tammy, not you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Oh.” Doy. Of course he knew.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and she saw a glimpse of the boy she’d loved in an age when people thought puffy wide shoulder pads made women look feminine. “Well, I knew I didn’t do it,” he said dryly, “so that narrowed the field a little, y’know? And then you killed yourself. So. Wasn’t hard to figure out what happened.”
“Right. Okay. So, yes, I set the fire. Not on purpose.”
“No, I didn’t think you did it on purpose.”
“Oh, I didn’t!” She rushed ahead, leaning forward in her urgency to tell her tale and be done with it. “It was an accident. I wasn’t paying attention because I was so excited. And the reason I was excited was because I, um—” She couldn’t believe it. It was harder telling him why she’d done it than it had been telling him she had done it. “I had a crush on you and Tammy knew so when her folks went out of town she suggested we invite you over and I was hoping you and I would, um, spend the night together.”
She’d died a virgin but hadn’t stayed one. Out of curiosity and boredom four months in, she’d let the arson investigator fuck her. It had been an anticlimax, pun definitely intended. He’d died at forty-two and had been in Hell for fifteen years. An old man, and not very good at sex. Quick, though, she had to give him that. It hadn’t hurt, either, so she had to give him that, too. Frankly, she figured losing her virginity in Hell had been better than, say, losing it in the backseat of her mom’s car, which—until Tammy had her great idea—was how Jennifer assumed she’d give it up.
“Oh. You liked me?” Lars swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that.”
“Right. Well. Why would you?” Her face felt funny. Was she sick? Getting a fever? Oh. No, much worse than any fever. Stop blushing like a teenager, you idiot. “That’s why I was there. And that’s why you were there, though you didn’t know it at the time. And I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to leave a note exonerating you.”
“Well, y’couldn’t. What if you hadn’t taken enough pills? What if someone found you and they pumped your stomach? Then they’d know you failed at killing yourself and you’d killed Tammy.”
Hearing his precise summary of the extent of her cowardice made her throat tighten. “Yes, that’s—that’s exactly right.”
“Was Tammy there? In Hell?”
Fresh horror surged up her throat; for a long, dizzying moment she was afraid she would vomit. Finally she managed to blurt, “No! Oh God no, of course not! No, Hell’s not for—people like Tammy. No. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t.”
Jennifer had made sure of it. She’d asked around and, when told the most efficient way of getting the correct answer, didn’t hesitate. It was the occasion of her first and last meeting with the original Satan.
The devil, she’d been surprised to discover, had taken the form of a beautiful older woman with thick dark hair shot with gray. She was slender, with long legs her beautifully cut black suit showed off to great advantage. Not a pitchfork or pair of horns or forked tail in sight. Her voice was low and pleasant, and if she wasn’t matronly, exactly, she was sexy and approachable, and Jennifer had found her courage and asked about her dead best friend.
The devil had given her a long, considering look and had waited just long enough for Jennifer to get nervous about the delay before replying. “No, she’s not here. Heaven, I suppose, or reincarnated, or nowhere—whatever she was taught.” And then, when Jennifer had let out a relieved breath, Satan had sweetly added, “Of course, seeing how relieved you are, I’m sorry she’s not here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wouldn’t it be something to watch her burn over and over and over? See it and smell it? Smell her? It’s true what they say—people smell like the most succulent pork roast you’ve ever had.” She leaned in and took a big whiff. “You’re delicious. Your little dead friend could call for you—just as she would have in life. And you could do nothing. Just as you did in life.”
And she had laughed, a cheery sound that was as jarring as it was frightening.
Jennifer shook off the memory, the worst, the very worst day she’d endured down there. “You’ve got no reason to believe a word I say about anything, but I promise you, Tammy is not in Hell.”
“Okay. That’s good. She was a nice kid. She didn’t deser— Well, that’s good.”
“Yes.” Jennifer waited, but it seemed he’d said his piece. What now? Do I ask him to forgive me? Officially? Or do I talk more? Or let him talk? “I have to say, Lars, you’re— I can’t believe how calm you are.”
“Uh-huh.” He belched, the sound so sharp and loud it was like a gunshot. He made a fist, thumped his chest, belched again. Looked at his fist. Started rubbing his arm.
“Lars?”
“I think. I need.” He paused. “An ambulance.”
Then his eyes rolled up, and he slowly, grandly toppled over on his side like a blond mountain that smelled like flannel and Coke.
Jennifer ran for the kitchen. I hope he has an old-fashioned phone, she thought, shoes skidding on the tile as she looked around wildly for a telephone. And I hope the number for an ambulance is still 911.