I was four when I realized there was something different. Now I don’t think it’s strange that Chris hangs around, but how many people do you know whose best friend is an emissary from hell?

I don’t know why I noticed him but he tells me the story in what you could best describe as fondly.

It was a bright and sunny morning….

 

“Mommy, Mommy Who’s that man?”

“Hmm? Nobody sweetheart.” She said not even glancing up from her newspaper.

“But he’s sitting right by you, Mommy,” I whispered loudly at her.

Mother glanced up and scanned the park. Naturally all she saw was other children and their tired mothers and nannies. “Now, Clairey, go play and let mother read.” Her nose again buried in the business section.

As I walked away, it seemed like just another of what I would come to recognize in freshman psych as mother’s passive aggressive moments. But when you’re four you can see unicorns in brilliant color and there was surely a man. Dressed like a bible salesman. His eyes followed my movements and met my inquisitive gaze levelly. His eyes seemed odd then, before the detached gaze became familiar and just another part of Chris.

As my youthful zeal faltered (word for when fire goes down to low blaze. Wained?) I retired to the sand box. Odd that it seems so clear, but I distinctly remember digging and finding cat lumps as I heard, “Children are so disgusting.”

Turning around, I saw the suit.

 

His shoes clicked on the sterile tiles. Funny how often the office is remade. Used to be nothing but brimstone, torches, and frozen bloody souls in these halls. Thanks to human ingenuity at filing all their emotions into cluttered little boxes, the new, more efficient hell was much fuller and quieter to boot.

He’d received the memo earlier stating that Mr. Star wanted to speak with him. After updating his files and throwing a few lower demons at the ceiling to see if they would stick in the plaster, he made his way into the elevator and pushed 9.

 

 

“You do realize you look like a stolen car?”

“Shut up. Can’t talk to you now. Kevin gets here in ten minutes and last time you were here, Jess heard me. I had to tell her I was practicing for the play. She must think I’m nuts.”

“Well talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity. Maybe less eyeliner?”

“But I’m not. I’m talking to you, bastard demon spawn.”

“Thank you. No more gel. If your mother could hear you, you wouldn’t be so-”

“Just stop right there. Leave her out of this.”

“Your rules. Joan was never this difficult. Step away from the lip gloss. And thanks for your lie, helps my cause.”

“You’re welcome, name dropper.”

“You still look like a stolen car. I don’t like that boy. You shouldn’t be doing all this for him.”

“Number one: I like Kevin and I want him to like me. Two: since your job description includes tormenting and leading souls merrily down to hell, we shall be spared your uplifting advice this evening.”

“First, use the flat iron. Second: I know Kevin’s AiDe from the Damascus project. She’s one of Anger Management’s top players. Used to specialize in mobs. Many’s the saint was stoned and burned because of Her.”

“Chris?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the hell up.”

 

 

If one gets pulled into Mr. Star’s office (The force pulling an employee was gravity times ten to the power of His wrath.) it is seldom a happy experience. Most routine business was dispatched through carriers or was zapped into one’s psychic agenda. The first rule of the employees is “You’re not being paid (or allowed to continue your existence) to ask questions.”

The last time He had been in Star’s office was when the Suicide Department was new. The Department Head was formally dressed down (beheaded) in front of his staff after the d’Arc affair. The Religious Fury (horrendous shit done in the name of “He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless”) squad had to be called in since the bloody woman hadn’t the decency to fall on her sword in jail. Suffice it to say, the voodoos shrunk it and the head hung in the office. Sometimes young demons would kiss under it at the Dia de Los Muertos party.

“Do you know why I called you down here?”

“I’m sorry, sir, no.”

“Fine. That means the ants are doing their jobs. Noone here gets paid to ask questions.”

“Yes sir.”

“Knock it off, son. It’s come to my attention that your work in juvenile affairs has been excellent. Increased medication consumption. More strife in families and friendships. Highest runaway rate since the Great War. Very impressive indeed.”

“Thank you, er…”

“It’s been a while since you worked the Suicide beat. How would you like to get out of the kiddie shit and take another whack at it?”

“That would be great, but what about my juvy cases?”

“Most are off your docket, but before I make it official I’d like a test run.”

 

“Kev is so sweet! And everyone at church is taking bets. We’re ‘Kev n’ Claire’. How cute is that?”

“Do you remember when I said children were disgusting? I had no idea.”

“Pssh. You’re just jealous, Mr. Can’t-smell-the-ocean. You wanna know the best part? Last night we got to talking about our families. His is huge! Five kids. Parents been together forever. He got so mad when he told me about his sister’s fiancé and how he doesn’t think the guy is good enough for her. His face was red! And know what?” Chris shook his head in hopeless disgust. “I felt safe with him. After a while I told about Mom, how she was, how she died in the hospital. I’ve never opened up with anyone that before. He just held me.”

 

 

“So tell me the stats on the Nielsen child.” Star tossed the file aside.

“Not much stats wise. Not much of a child either. She would have gone off my docket next month when she turned 21. Claire Leslie Nielsen. Born in North America to Leslie Nielsen. Father “unknown”.

Mother’s a piece of work. You’d have liked her. Not too noteworthy as anything other than an erratic distant mother until Nielsen was 17. Leslie was committed to a mental institution after slashing her wrists. Diagnosed with manic depression. After several months and using up all of her savings paying for the docs, dear mother broke into the storage closet and drank a cocktail of some cleaning supplies and antidepressants. They pumped her stomach but Leslie died the morning of Claire Nielsen’s 18 th birthday. Left Nielsen a birthday card telling her the money was gone and that she was sorry to leave her, but that the bunnies were chasing her again. Nice average childhood.”

“So what are our odds?”

“About 80:20 loss. Nielsen is enrolled and happy in a secondary education program. Majors in psychology, minors in theater. Works in an afterschool program, volunteers at a Children’s hospital. Pretty, not popular, but well liked by many. Happy in professional & personal life. Has a new flame, Kevin. Spends most free time with him. Compensates for lack of blood kin by attending a close knit protestant church.” Star scowled. “Her church leaders check up on her regularly and her roommate, Jessica.”

“Ah.”

“It would take a large trigger to set this one off course. There are several others I think would be an easier target.”

“Thank you for your unsolicitied opinion. If you remember the first code of suicides is find the chink in the armor. Prey on a temper, a lie, guilt in the relationship, mourning from abandonment. Pick one. I give it a 70:30 win, if proper steps are taken. I’m sure you recollect the unfortunate affair with D’Arc. Our team cannot take another loss. This is a war, son, and I want this soul in my inventory before she’s reached adulthood and can make a mess for me. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” He left without telling Star about the whole cognizant of AiDe debacle. He had pushed Star’s patience and those who push Star’s patience have their eternity to remember it. It’s amazing the torments a damned soul can survive. Only mortals are blessed with the ability to die. Lucky sods.

 

 

On another bright and beautiful morning, Claire sent her paper to the printer and walked into the bathroom. She reapplied her lipgloss and played with her bangs. Kev was almost an hour late and he hadn’t called or answered her message. Claire had started revising her psych paper to kill time and had finished her second draft. She had even put in one of the charts professors seem to love.

If he still wasn’t there at 8:15 she would call his house. The last time she’d called him at home, Kev had been grouchy, but Claire was starting to worry. He’d said to be ready at 7, and he was always early.

She wished Jess were here, or even Chris; but Jess was home for a week during spring break and Chris, well he’d not been around for a few days. No doubt off bugging someone else, she smiled.

She’d been so excited for this camping trip. She was going to meet Kevin’s sister and her fiancé. They were going to fish and hike and all those fun things Claire had wanted to do as a kid.

She was checking road and weather conditions online when someone banged on her front door. She clicked off the monitor and opened the door to find Kevin’s tense jaw standing on the front porch with the rest of him. “I told you to meet me at my house at seven.”

“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I thought you were picking me up.”

“No Claire. I told you distinctly to meet me.” Kevin’s dark eyes flashed warning. It wasn’t the first time Claire had seen his temper, but it was the first time she had been the focus of it.

“I’m sorry babe. Really. Let me turn off the computer and-“

“Get in the fucking truck.”

Claire grabbed her bag and scooted towards the truck. She knew it wouldn’t be long till he cooled off but something felt deeply wrong.

“I’m not getting in until you cool off.” Kevin swept around the truck like a thunderhead. As he walked, Claire stood her ground and waited, looking in his eyes for the warmth she had basked in until this morning.

Kevin slapped her hard across the face. “You will not keep me waiting and you WILL NOT talk back to me, Understand!” While Kevin remained quiet and his face passive, his tone removed the question mark. He grabbed the top of her arm, swung open the passenger door and shoved her into the truck.

 

 

“and how long has your daughter had her imaginary friend?”

“Since she was four. So a little less than five years. The thing is, I’m not so sure she thinks Chris is imaginary. She has full adult conversations with him.”

“Well, most nine year olds still maintain healthy imaginary lives.”

“Yes, but I don’t see that she knows the difference.”

“Well, Mrs. Nielsen,”

“Ms.”

“Ms. Nielsen, after speaking with Claire my opinion is that she is compensating for the lack of father figure. The fact that she does seem to blend this Chris with the rest of her reality may be symptomatic of a deeper neurosis.”

“What are my options?”

“Regular counseling, medication, or waiting to see if she grows out of it.”

“Doctor, I’m sure you can appreciate that I want my daughter to have as normal a childhood as possible. She is quiet but she is a very bright child. I don’t see how staring at inkblots will help her quit this absurd fantasy life. And I am not sedating a nine year old.”

It came in flashes like nightmares. Kevin screaming at her. Fear. Jumping from the truck at the gas station. Running into the trees. His eyes, dear god. Screaming for Chris. Where was he? The first impact against her skull. Stars. The gravel dug in to her skin. Scratching, crying, kicking. He put her belt, her stupid tacky “hello kitty” belt around her neck. Dared her to scream again. Oh, god, where was he?

 

 

Chris held his temples. If he could feel, the screaming in his head would surely have split it in two and blinded him. As it was all he could do was see the nightmare replay behind Claire’s bruised eyes. So small in the awful bed covered in wires and scrapes. Would she wake up? The doctors looked at the awful gash in the back of her head and the films of blood pooling inside her skull and sighed.

There was an awful decision to be made. There were too many outcomes and he needed to talk to someone outside of his head. He knew he could lose his ass for this, but what the hell? They could nail it up with the shrunken head. He hadn’t felt this dark since The War. So he took a walk.

 

 

“You know for someone who’s never been to the ocean, this turned out quite well.”

“Hi.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Oh, I can smell it. Is it meant to be that salty? I always thought it would be more fishy.”

“Where were you? I, I needed you. I thought. . .” The shore darkened and shifted, forming cold white walls. Sterile and familiar. “Oh, Chris, no. No. No! Not here. I don’t want to be here. She’s gone. She left me here. I can’t be here.”

For the first time, he walked over and put his arms around her. She was cold. The fact that he felt so damned human reminded Chris where he was. “Shhhh.” He wiped her eyes and nose on his sleeve and he felt the fire melt a bit more. “Claire look at me. When have I ever been able to touch you? To smell?” He kissed her gently. “To taste? This, all of this is in your mind.”

She shivered and stepped back. “what?”

“You’re creating your own hell here. I suppose that was heaven before. I don’t know how long I can stay. I’m breaking a few major rules just standing here.”

“In my head. Why are we in my head?”

“You know, I think you’re in a coma.”

“A coma? How?”

“You know how.”

The lights flickered. Pain flashed over Claire’s face. “Oh, Chris. Why?” She crumpled to the floor as it turned to gravelly dirt. The sky was darkening and tears streamed down her face. “Please, please, let me die. I don’t want this. I can’t see these things again.”

 

He took her face in her hands and looked her in the eyes. “Your rules, sweety. You decide in here. I can’t do it for you. But remember that there is a world outside of here. And while life is ‘brutish and short’ you deserve to live it. He took your peace from you. If I had hands I would dispatch him personally. But we know that won’t bring back what he stole.”

As he looked around the setting warmed. Red rocks were carved away by cool water over the eons of thought. “Life is a precious commodity. The most powerful in hell would give anything for one chance to have a body: to see in color, to smell fresh bread or a skunk. Life is so precious. Our duty is to run until we experience everything. To spoil the beauty of the earth, to silence laughter, that would so burden a heart that it would stop beating just to avoid the pain of life. And The Big Man lets us. He says free will “Will build you into Gods. “