TWENTY-FOUR
The boat itself is a curiosity. Except for a heavy pole fastened to the rear, and the oars, the craft appears to have been carved from a single thick tree. The wood’s a deep gray, the texture surprisingly soft. Except for the somber color, it reminds me of balsa wood.
The ferryman uses his pole to get us going then switches over to his oars. The river’s current is sedate. Facing away from the shore, it slowly pulls us to the right. The black water is like a stream of ink. Even with all the boats coming and going, it hardly ripples. For some reason, I can tell it’s deep, and that it would be impossible to swim across.
My mind begins to clear the moment we leave the shore.
I ask the others if they feel the same and they say yes.
“But don’t count on it to last,” the wise one says. “This is a place of transition. What I think, even what I see, is not necessarily going to be the same as you.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“It’s just the way it is.”
“How do you know so much about this place?”
“I told you, I’ve seen it before in visions.”
“You’re lucky. I feel like I’m lost in a weird Bardo realm.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” she says.
The blonde speaks up. “But we passed the riddles. We’re on our way.”
“I wish I knew where we were going,” I say, as I stare out over the bow of the boat. The black is like a thick cloud, sprinkled with burning lanterns. It makes me wonder if the river even has another shore. Still, a part of me is relieved. It’s good to be away from that haunted beach.
I can only hope Lieutenant Gregory Holden of the Fifth Army finally figures out his riddle. I have an affinity for men who fought in World War II. I was in Europe at the time and helped kick the Nazis’ butts. Plus Gregory seemed like a nice guy, and he died fighting for his country. You’d figure the ferryman would give him a break and ask him something easy. Like who General George Patton was.
Eventually, after an hour or so, we catch sight of a massive mound dotted with thousands of red lights. As we come closer, I see that each light is a torch, burning darkly and hanging at the end of an endless number of tunnels that burrow deep into the hill, or whatever the hell it is. Most of the tunnels are located at water level, but a few are up high, definitely out of reach, at least from the river.
I can’t see any stairs or paths on the side of the mound. More than anything, it looks like a gigantic stone that somehow thrust its way up from the bowels of the earth. Assuming, of course, that the earth is still a factor in this crazy twilight zone.
The ferryman steers us to a tunnel that’s only two feet above the water and beckons the wise woman to climb out. I try to follow—I want to stick with her—but the ferryman stops me. It’s only then I realize he’s going to drop each of us at our own tunnel and break up our happy family.
Naturally, I protest, but at that instant the ferryman lifts his head and his hood falls back and I see that his eyes are . . . well, the guy doesn’t have any eyes, just black holes in his head. I decide to sit back down.
The ferryman spends a long time locating the next tunnel, where he deposits the blonde. I’m not surprised that he leaves me until last. I’m having that kind of day. By now I’m anxious to get away from the guy. Besides creaking when he moves and having no eyes, he starts to make a weird clicking sound with his teeth. It’s probably his version of singing along with the car radio. I’m relieved when he finally finds my tunnel. It’s five feet above the water line but I don’t care, I jump into it, and don’t bother to wave good-bye to the ferryman.
The tunnel, although narrow, is an improvement from the original cave I found myself in, the one where I said good-bye to Teri. It appears to have been constructed. The curved walls and flat floor are made of tightly fitted stones, each engraved with runes and symbols that I don’t recognize.
Like at the start of the first cave, I see a burning torch and grab it, not sure what kind of light I’m going to find along the path. The flames give off a bloody hue; they’re more red than orange.
I talk to myself as I hike through the tunnel, just a bunch of nonsense, but the sound of my voice hardly carries beyond the reach of my arms. The stone appears to have a dampening effect and it freaks me out enough that I soon shut up. The place is so silent all I can hear is my heartbeat.
Except I no longer seem to have a heart.
I stop to check my wrist but can’t find a pulse.
“Great,” I whisper.
There’s nothing to do, I have to keep going. Once again, like on the shore of the river, I feel a palpable heaviness that might be signaling an approaching storm if only there were sky. I walk for what feels like hours before I come to the end of the tunnel.
But it’s an end that brings no relief because the tunnel terminates in a precipice, a cliff, nothing. Yet a hundred yards away, across the abyss, I see that my tunnel does in fact continue. Unfortunately, there’s no bridge, not even a piece of rope, to help me to the other side. It makes me wonder if I pissed off the ferryman by demanding a second chance. Or maybe the bony dude was able to read my mind and he heard exactly what I thought of his clicking teeth routine. Whatever, the ferryman has chosen a rotten tunnel to dump me at.
Above and below is black.
I have absolutely no idea what to do next.
I mean, if I was alive, and feeling my usual vampire self, I’d take a running start and leap across the chasm and probably make it to the other side. But since I don’t have a beating heart, I figure I’m nowhere near strong enough for such heroics.
“That goddamn ferryman,” I mutter.
Propping my torch up against the opposite wall, I sit on the floor and stretch out my legs and pray for help. Even though all the books I read on near-death experiences were turning out to be wrong, I was hoping they were right when it came to the power of prayer. For they said that no matter how lousy a place you ended up in when you died, you could always pray your way out of it.
I recite every prayer I know and nothing happens.
“At least send someone to ask me a riddle!” I yell.
Maybe the prayers work, after all.
A few minutes later something happens.
A figure appears at the end of the tunnel, across the way. She isn’t carrying a torch but I can see her clearly, maybe because she glows with a greenish light. Her eyes are also green, her hair long and black, and her skin is so white it looks as if she only bathes outside when the moon is full. Her beauty is undeniable. She has sharp features and not a single wrinkle. To top it off, her long white gown has been cut from a fairy tale. She smiles and waves to me and I wave back.
Privately, I hope she’s not into riddles.
“Hello!” she calls. “Do you want to come across?”
I stand. “Do you have a rope?”
She laughs at my question, like I’m being silly, and then steps over the edge. Inside, I cringe, expecting a catastrophic fall, but she doesn’t go anywhere. Rather, her bare feet appear to step onto an invisible bridge that responds ever so faintly to the pressure of her pale skin. Wherever she puts her toes, for an instant, a bunch of green sparks flash. It takes her only a few seconds to cross the chasm.
“Do you want to come across?” she repeats shyly, and I expect a blush but her skin remains as white as snow. I feel the coolness of her breath, and her eyes are no ordinary green. They could have been cut from the coral of a tropical lagoon. Staring into them, I feel my thoughts begin to swim. . . .
“Yes,” I reply, shaking my head to clear it. I gesture to the invisible bridge, if that’s what it is. “I just have to walk across like you?”
She comes near, lightly brushing my right arm with her green nails. “For you, that won’t work, you’ll fall. I’ll have to lead you across.”
“Okay.”
She comes closer, until I feel the soft pressure of her breasts on my chest. Tilting her head to the side, she closes her eyes and says in a husky whisper, “Give me a kiss.”
I pull back. “I’m sorry?”
Her eyes spring open. “Don’t you find me attractive?”
“I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are.”
She grins mischievously. “You’re a woman and I’m a woman. What does it matter? There are no rules here.”
“Why don’t we talk about it on the other side?”
She giggles and shakes her head. “First a kiss, then we’ll talk.”
“Just one kiss? Then you’ll help me across?”
“Yes.” She puts her palm over my heart and bats her dark lashes. “Then you’ll be safe with me.”
The way she says “safe” makes me cringe.
Her touch feels . . . moldy.
The woman senses my reluctance. With a sweeping motion, she gestures to the gorge. “I’m the only one who can rescue you. Otherwise, you’ll be trapped here forever.”
“But why the kiss?”
She laughs like I’m being foolish. “There is no why. Not here, not now.”
I hesitate. She’s an attractive woman, and although I’m primarily heterosexual, I have no inhibitions about swinging the other way. Humans make too big a deal about sex, how it should be performed, whereas to me sex is the one area of life that should be free of rules.
But there’s something about her that disturbs me. For example, her mocking demeanor makes me feel nothing she says or does is genuine. I’m just a pawn for her to play with for a while and then discard. Also, she’s got that Emerald City green-glow thing going. It reminds me too much of Dorothy and the Wicked Witch of the West.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a witch.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
My remark doesn’t offend her. Licking her lips, she stares at me as if I were the best thing to come along since Hansel and Gretel. Her grin swells.
“Belief doesn’t matter, either,” she says, trying to lick my face. I take a step back and feel the wall of the tunnel on my shoulder blades. The edge of the precipice is three feet to my left, she’s two feet in front, her white dress scraping the floor of the tunnel, her green eyes as cold as ice carved from a Neptunian glacier.
It might be my imagination but in the blink of an eye her face changes. I had thought her features flawless but now I see scarring on her right cheek, stretching from her mouth to her eye, and I realize at some point in her past she was severely burned. Ordinarily the sight would evoke pity in me, yet the way she keeps staring at me, the smacking sound her lips keep making, leads me to believe her lust for me is actually closer to hunger.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” I say.
She keeps her grin but it looks stiff and artificial.
“Why not?”
“Like you said, there is no why. Not here, not now.”
She doesn’t get angry, at least she doesn’t show it. From the folds of her white gown, though, she draws a silver needle and holds it up for me to see. The metal glitters in the light of the torch I left propped up against the wall and I see the tip is stained with blood. She brings it near my right eye.
“Do you know what this is?” she asks.
“No.”
“Your destiny.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s your last and future sin.”
“How can it be my last sin if I haven’t committed it yet?”
“Because your course is set and you’re caught in a circle. With this needle you’ll damn your soul for eternity.”
Finally, she seems to be telling the truth. But I refuse to admit that, even to myself. “You’re lying.”
“No,” she gloats, lowering the needle and letting its tip play across my neck, scratching the skin above my jugular. “You know what you put in this needle, and who you chose to give it to.”
I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.
“If it hasn’t happened yet, I can change it,” I say.
The witch, and I’m now certain that’s what she is, presses her face so close to mine I feel her breath. With every inhalation and exhalation, I see the wounds on her face deepening. Her breath is like acid, her own saliva burns her from the inside out. Her tongue stretches out and she licks the tip of my nose and I feel its sting.
“Your only hope is to kiss me and let me lead you across the bridge,” she says, and the words appear in my mind before she speaks them. “Then when you reach the Scale, you’ll be under my protection.”
“What Scale are you talking about?” I ask.
“The Scale of right and wrong. Of good and bad.”
“Are you talking about my karma?”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Your karma! You’ve lived so long you have mountains of karma. No, I’m talking about now, and what follows it.”
“You mean, tomorrow?”
The witch ignores my question. “There’s poison in these needles.” Her needle comes to rest above my jugular and I fear she’s going to push it in. Even without a heart, I’m afraid.
“I didn’t put it there,” I say.
“Not yet. But you will.”
“I’m not going to do anything anymore! I’m dead!”
“Try telling that to the Scale.”
“That’s what will judge me?” The way she says the word, I just know it’s a really big deal, like God or something.
“The Scale is both judge and jury. It pronounces your . . . doom.” Her choice of words amuses her and she laughs loudly,
Except for a soft sick chuckle, she falls silent.
“If I kiss you and go with you, I can avoid this doom?”
“That’s right,” she says.
She lies now. She is the worst of liars because she mixes in so much truth. “How do I know I can trust you?” I ask.
Her green eyes sparkle with an eerie light. “Oh, Sita, that was the second question. Don’t you remember? You failed that one.”
“The second question?” I don’t need her to respond. Suddenly I know she’s referring to the ferryman’s second riddle. It comes back to me.
“What’s the greatest quality a human can possess? The one quality that can be the most dangerous?”
Since this witch knows my name, I suspect she knows the answer to the riddle. The wise woman had warned me that the ferryman would only ask what I needed to know . . . later.
“What does it mean?” I whisper.
“A kiss,” she says as she licks the left side of my face. “And we’ll cross the bridge together and I’ll whisper the answer in your ear.”
I hear the falsehood in her words. Worse, I smell it in her saliva.
“No!” I shout, and suddenly push her back. “You’re a liar!”
Fury grips her face and tears her wounds wide open so that I can see her sharp teeth waiting inside. The change in her is breathtaking.
“You dare to defy me? You who are already damned.”
“Maybe I am.” I pause as the answer to the riddle comes to me. “But I’d be a fool to put my faith in you.”
Faith was the answer to the riddle. Faith was the greatest human quality. It could move mountains. It allowed me to trust Krishna. It gave me the courage to trust my friends, and to seek out John and listen to his words.
But faith could also be dangerous. Faith in the wrong person. And blind faith in a sect or creed could often lead to dogma and bondage.
Faith is indeed a coin with two sides.
To know what side is right, I have to trust my heart.
She stares at me, her needle held ready. She can read my mind, she knows she has lost me. But she still wants a piece of me. I have to laugh.
“What’s the matter, witch? Black cat bite your tongue?”
She stabs at me, she’s fast. I barely escape her thrust. Yet that’s the crux of my dilemma—I have nowhere to go. But maybe life has taught me a thing or two. As she strikes again, I dodge to the left, close to the edge. A dumb move, on the surface, but I’ve finally decided that it’s time for a leap of faith.
“You’re mine!” she screams, approaching for what she’s sure will be the decisive blow.
“You’re so full of shit,” I say.
My heart, and my head, tell me a dead person can’t die.
I jump over the side of the cliff.
I don’t want to give the witch the satisfaction.
I fall a long way, in utter darkness.
Before I strike something hard and black out.
When I come to, I’m lying on my back on large gray marble tiles, staring up at the night sky between the edges of two very close-together cliffs. The stars are faint and far off and they confuse me because I wasn’t able to see any stars when I stood at the end of the tunnel. I don’t see how, in this underworld, I am able to catch even a glimpse of the heavens.
As I lie there, I hear the clink of metal hitting stone. Looking over, I’m pleased to see it’s the witch’s silver needle. For some reason the blood is gone from the tip. I wonder if it wiped off on my clothes when she tried to stab me that last time and missed. Rolling over, I sit up and grab the needle and slip it in my pocket. I might need it later.
I’m surrounded by torches. They burn in twin lines away from where I sit, held in place by gigantic metal sculptures that writhe in the flickering shadows like snakes in passion. Standing, I can make out a distant structure that bears a vague resemblance to the Greek Parthenon. It could be miles away but it’s not as if I have any other place to go. Feeling good about my escape from the witch, I set off at a brisk pace.
It takes me an hour to reach the white building.
On the steps of the structure, there’s a bustle of activity. I’m glad to discover this crowd is not brain-dead like the one back at the river. At the same time it’s not a major social scene. As I get in line, I notice how orderly the group is. The line leads straight up the steps toward the dimly lit interior but no one pushes to get to the front.
Maybe they have their reasons. I can’t see what’s going on inside but every now and then I hear two loud sounds reverberate from the heart of the Parthenon’s cousin. A beautiful melody of chimes blowing in a breeze and a despairing wailing noise.
The second sound worries me.
The wait is long. There’s no table with magazines to read and the people around me, although polite, all seem to be caught up in their own thoughts. I get the impression most have heard about the Scale. To be frank, it’s hard to imagine a more heavy place. It’s not an evil spot, but it is a crossroads of immense significance. For we’re about to be judged, our souls are, and the Scale will determine where we spend the rest of eternity.
I pick up that much from listening to the others.
Everyone seems to know it’s the Scale that makes the sounds.
The sweet chimes mean you’re going to heaven.
The screeching wail means you’re going to hell.
I look for the women I crossed over the river with but don’t see them. I wish at least one was nearby. I’m anxious; I long for companionship. Just meeting them, I could tell they were kindhearted. For sure, they didn’t have the blood of thousands on their hands.
I wish Yaksha had never turned me into a vampire.
I would have been in and out of this place centuries ago.
No sweat. I had been a good mother and wife.
I feel as if I stand there for hours. It’s difficult to gauge the passage of time. Overhead, the stars remain fixed in place. Either the earth has stopped rotating or else we’re no longer on it. I try without success to find a familiar constellation. I keep thinking about my friends and how much I love them.
I pray Matt learns to accept Teri as a vampire.
I hope he’s able to find his mother.
Umara. I would have loved to have met her.
Finally, the slow-moving line leads me inside. Two groups of characters—one in white-hooded robes, the other red—direct the traffic. Someone refers to them as Caretakers. The Caretakers in white are the good guys. The ones in red . . . I hear you don’t want to get too close to them. Both move about silently, their faces largely covered, without making a fuss.
For the first time I realize there are many rooms inside the structure. A white-hooded Caretaker places me in a small area behind a dozen people. Inside the room is a black marble table, on which sits a gold Scale as large as a desk. Numerous candles light the room but the Scale has no need of them; it possesses its own luster. Its design is simple and elegant. Two circular plates hang by three sets of chains each, which are attached to a sleek pole that sits atop a square bar. It’s the bar, welded tight in a heavy cube, that supports the whole thing.
Behind the Scale, on the right, is a doorway filled with a golden light. I can’t see any particular object in the light but it’s enough to be near it, to stare at it and feel its soothing warmth. On the left is another doorway, only the light coming from it is a terrifying red. It makes my eyes ache to look at it.
Inside the room, the line isn’t exactly straight, it’s spread out. When it comes to the final step, it appears people are given a choice of when to take it, within reason. There’s no pushing or jockeying to get ahead. But I watch, fascinated, as a young African girl approaches the Scale. She’s pretty but far too thin. It’s possible she starved to death. She announces herself when she reaches the Scale.
“My name is Batu Sangal. I am fourteen years old.”
Batu must have arrived before me and studied the proper protocol; she knows what to do. I watch as, closing her eyes, she stretches out her hands so one hangs above each of the Scale’s plates. I marvel how steady she keeps her arms, but it’s possible they’re under the control of an invisible force. Her hands seem to hover for ages. Finally, as if by magic, jewels begin to form beneath her fingers.
On the right side of the Scale, a small pile of diamonds begins to appear. On the left plate, a smaller collection of black pearls materializes. For a moment the Scale teeters, as if deciding which side is heavier. But since the amount of diamonds is so much greater, I’m not surprised when the gold plate settles down on the right side.
At that instant the sound of chimes fills the room.
The enchanting melody causes everyone to sigh with relief.
Clearly the diamonds represent our virtues.
While the black pearls are symbolic of our sins.
A white-hooded Caretaker takes Batu’s hand and leads her toward the door on the right, where she disappears into the golden light. I feel happy for her and wish I was following in her footsteps. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the two doors represent.
Next up is a well-dressed woman from Los Angeles. I recognize the accent.
“My name is Sharon McCloud. I am seventy years old.”
Sharon stretches out her arms, palms up, and closes her eyes and waits. Me, I think I would keep my eyes open in case the pile of black pearls on the left starts piling up. I’m not sure how the Caretakers deal with runners and I hope I never find out. Still, I would want to see what is materializing beneath my hands. I suppose Sharon is certain she is going to paradise.
Sharon ends up with six bright diamonds on the right plate. But so many black pearls form on the left side that it quickly causes the Scale to tilt in that direction. It strikes the table beneath the plate with an audible bang, which causes her eyes to fly open.
“No,” she whispers. “There must be some mistake.”
The screeching wail seems to come out of the walls.
Everyone groans; the sound makes our heads ache.
“No!” Sharon screams. “I’m a Christian! I renounce Satan and all his works! You’re making a mistake! I didn’t do anything wrong! You can’t put me in there!”
The red-robed Caretakers are experienced. Three of them descend with amazing speed and grab Sharon by her arms and legs and lift her off the floor. They carry her toward the left door and the wicked bloody light.
“Please!” Sharon begs. “Don’t put me in the fire! I don’t want to go in the fire!”
The Caretakers go as far as the threshold of the left door, but don’t cross inside. Dark arms with burned flesh reach out and grab Sharon. The sight of the arms causes me to do a double take.
I swear I’ve seen them before.
The Caretakers let go and Sharon’s screams slowly fade away.
“Jesus,” I whisper. She’s gone but the sound of her cries haunts me. The diamonds and pearls disappear before another person steps forward.
The guy in front of me goes next. He looks like an Eskimo. He still has on a heavy seal coat and, incredibly, has a raw fish in his pocket. He must have drowned while ice fishing.
His case is maddening. He holds out his hands and closes his eyes and an equal number of bright diamonds and black pearls materialize. At least to the eye. But the gold plates, after fluctuating up and down on both sides for what seems like forever, finally settle on the right side.
The chimes fill the room.
The collective sigh of relief is loud.
The Eskimo is led off to the golden light.
Suddenly the young blond woman comes up beside me.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“I’ve been better.”
She nods toward the Scale. “You’re going to be all right.”
“I don’t know. My history, it’s complicated.”
“But your heart is good. I can tell.”
“Do you know how far they go back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does this Scale weigh everything you’ve done in life? Or are more recent events more important? You see what I’m asking.”
“Sure. Maybe a person got off to a bad start but then they found their path in life and became a better human being.”
“Exactly. It seems to me that where you end up should carry more weight.” I say this because my behavior improved as I went along in life, even for a vampire. Indeed, toward the end, I saved a lot of lives.
Of course, in the beginning, I took a lot of lives.
The blonde shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure how it works.”
“You look awfully optimistic. Have you gone yet?”
“I was waiting for you and that other woman.”
“That’s nice of you. Have you seen her?”
“No. But I’m not surprised. She told me when we were crossing the river with the ferryman that her case is different.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She said her path depended on what you decided.”
“She didn’t tell me that.”
“I might have misunderstood her.”
“Besides, there’s nothing left to decide. What’s done is done.”
The blonde is distracted, excited to move on. “Hey, are you ready to give it a go?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Are you?”
“I can go first if you want.”
“Great. I’ll root for you.”
There’s a man already in front of us. He looks like a European businessman. I can tell he’s nervous. His face is intelligent but maybe that’s his problem. He might have made too many shrewd decisions in his life, ones that cost others but not himself. He introduces himself before the Scale.
“My name is Roberto Vion. I am forty-nine years old.”
I lean over and whisper to the blonde. “Why do you have to state your age?”
“I heard if you’re older, the Scale expects more of you.”
“Oh shit.”
Roberto stretches out his arms and closes his eyes. Immediately the diamonds begin to pile up at a fast rate. Then, halfway through the process, probably halfway through his life, the pearls start to pour out at high speed. It’s like he hit a bad stretch.
Near the end, the diamonds start to increase.
When it’s over, the Scale wobbles back and forth.
But it settles on the left side. Under the weight of the pearls.
The room is dead silent. Except for the Caretakers. The red-hooded and white-hooded ones whisper back and forth to each other.
The tension is unbearable. My partner and I exchange looks.
The wail finally starts. It’s so loud.
Roberto takes it like a man. He’s quiet as he’s led away.
“Damn it. There’s no mercy here,” I swear.
“There is,” a voice says at our backs. We turn to find the wise woman has found us. Her company is reassuring but my nerves are still taut.
“Glad you could make it,” I say with feeling.
She smiles as she pats me on the back. “Whose turn is it?”
“I’m going next,” the blonde says.
Neither of us tries to stop her. The small crowd parts as she makes her way up front. She nods to both colored Caretakers, and to the Scale itself.
“My name is Teresa Raine. I am nineteen years old.”
Closing her eyes, she stretches out her hands.
“It’s Teri!” I gasp. “Why didn’t I recognize her?”
“You knew her,” the other woman says.
“But what’s she doing here? She’s not dead.”
“How do you know when she died?”
“I just made her into a vampire!”
“There is no before or after here. There is only now.”
I shake my head. “This place is not natural.”
Teri holds her palms above the gold plates. Things start slow for her, I’m not sure why. A few small diamonds appear, followed by a couple of black pearls. But then the pile of diamonds begins to grow. The size and brightness of the stones increase. No more pearls appear.
Her plate comes to rest on the right side.
The chimes sing louder than ever.
The woman and I cheer. Teri calls to us as a white-hooded Caretaker takes her away. She doesn’t struggle with the guy, but tries her best to tell him that she wants to wait for us. He shakes his head. As she’s being led to the right door, she shouts to me, “I love you!”
Teri disappears into the golden light.
I discover I’m weeping.
I’m so happy for her, and so scared for myself.
The woman squeezes my hand. “It’s time,” she says.
“What happens if I fail?”
“Your path has always been difficult. Don’t falter here at the end.”
Her advice sounds like something Krishna would say.
I step up to the front and nod to the Scale and the Caretakers.
“I am Sita. I am five thousand one hundred and fifty-two years old.”
A stir fans the room. Voices murmur all around.
A tall red-hooded Caretaker orders everyone to hush.
Something about his voice sounds familiar.
I hate him. He’s not indifferent like the others. He’s evil.
Keeping my eyes open, I stretch out my arms. As I place my hands above the plates, palms upward, I feel as if something reaches out and locks them in place. The invisible grip is strong enough to hold a normal human in place. Of course, I’m not human, yet I suspect that even I could not break free. Plus I see no point in fighting the process. I mean, where am I going to run?
Diamonds begin to collect on the right side, small ones. This goes on for a while and I feel encouraged but then black pearls start to pour onto the left plate. I realize this must be a result of when Yaksha changed me into a vampire. Back in the days when we killed whoever crossed our path.
Then something miraculous happens.
A single giant diamond appears above the right plate. It drops onto it from a height of several inches and heavily weighs it down. In an instant I know the precious jewel is from the day I met Krishna and took my vow not to make any more vampires. The diamond is so large it must weigh several pounds. I suddenly feel good about my chances.
Then fate or destiny intervenes.
Pearls and diamonds begin to pour out of the thin air at an incredible speed. Since the Scale has so many years to cover, I can understand the need for haste. But this is ridiculous.
There are so many pearls and diamonds on each side, they begin to fall off the plates onto the table, and I have to ask myself how I managed to commit so many good and bad deeds. Frankly, most of my life I just kept my head down and tried to keep people from noticing that I never aged. Yet the Scale acts like I never stopped killing or saving people.
Near the end, the flow begins to slow.
Especially on the diamond side. The pearls take over.
The left side looks like it’s going to win.
Then a handful of extra large diamonds appear.
The Scale wobbles back and forth, up and down. More than half the pearls and diamonds, half my life, lie spread over the black table. There’s no room on the plates to measure all that I have done or failed to do. It’s not fair but I realize this isn’t a place where you get to argue your case.
At some point, I’m not exactly sure when, the invisible grip releases my hands and my arms fall to my sides and I finally close my eyes. But I feel my fingers touch the Scale plates as they drown in the piles of black pearls and diamonds. My heartbeat has finally returned, I feel that too, I feel it breaking. Especially as the red and white Caretakers begin to whisper to each other. Yet eventually even they stop.
The room falls dead silent.
Please, Krishna.
A screeching wail suddenly fills the room.
I open my eyes and see the left plate is lower.
The black pearls have won.
The tall red-hooded Caretaker grabs my left arm.
I try to shake him off and fail. He is very strong.
“I know what bloody door I have to take,” I snap.
He speaks in a voice I know. A voice I heard in a crummy motel in London just before I skinned an innocent woman and ate her alive. The voice is soft-spoken but firm; it carries the weight of authority and I have no reason to doubt what he says.
Yet he doesn’t raise his hood, and I cannot see his face.
“You have been judged and there is no escape from that judgment. You are damned. A word from me and you will be taken through the red door, where there is only fire and pain. There you will burn. But not like you burned on earth. In the world of the living you were a vampire. There you would heal quickly. But in the world of fire, there is no relief. There is only agony.”
I cower. I want to tell him to forget his silly speech and get on with it but I feel as long as he’s talking, I’m not suffering. In that moment, even an instant without pain feels like a blessing. So I listen, I listen closely, for he appears to be implying that he has the power to change my fate, or at least postpone it for a time.
I bow my head respectfully. “I am listening,” I say.
He comes near so that only I can hear, and his words seem to cast shadows over my thoughts. This speech of his is not new. I suddenly realize it is very old, and I know before he says it that he is going to offer me a deal.
“I have the power to give you a respite from your judgment,” he says.
“How long a respite?”
“Does it matter? Say no to me now and you will burn.”
I swallow thickly. “What do you want?”
“Kill the Light Bearer.”
“Who is the Light Bearer?”
“You will know her when you meet her.” He pauses. “She is wise.”
“How am I to kill her? I’m dead.”
“You will be sent back. I will send you.”
“Why don’t you kill her yourself?”
“Enough!” he shouts. “I have already spent more time with you than you’re worth. Do as I command or your torment will begin. Decide now.”
I can’t just murder this Light Bearer. That’s not who I am. Also, she sounds like someone the world needs. Like another John.
But I can’t allow this monster to put me in the fire.
After suffering such agony, I’d never be myself again.
From the shadow of his hood, his eyes bear down on me. Once more, my spirit cowers. My fear is too great. I choose without really choosing.
He has hold of my left arm so I offer him my right hand.
“Deal,” I say.