Mark Rogers - The Dead

“I think I hurt MacAleer when I dropped off the ladder,” Father Chuck said.

“Last I saw, he was still on the floor,” Dennis said. “Max had his back to us-probably didn’t even know we were pulling out. God, if only I’d had the guts to stay with them.”

“You would’ve been killed,” Camille said.

“I don’t know,” Dennis said. “But I had to go with you.”

“I was so frightened,” she said. “When they dropped through the manhole, I couldn’t think of anything but myself. I had to get out of there.”

“I don’t blame you, honey,” Dennis said. “Max didn’t even stay with MacAleer. The way MacAleer was screaming to him…” He shuddered, voice trailing off.

“You didn’t even have anything to fight with,” Camille said. “You did the right thing-”

“We should’ve stayed,” Father Chuck said.

“I notice you were the first to turn tail,” Camille said.

“I couldn’t help it,” the priest replied. He laughed hollowly. “You must think I’m a pretty wretched specimen of a priest. “

Neither answered.

“And you’re absolutely right,” he continued. “You know, I always prided myself on my self-sacrifice. What I thought was self-sacrifice, anyway. My commitment to living the Christ-like life, instead of to a lot of shopworn dogma. But it seems I wasn’t so committed after all.”

“I know what Max would say,” Dennis answered.

“That I was dedicated to the wrong thing all along?” Father Chuck asked.

“Something like that.”

The priest eyed Dennis, his face blue-gray in the light from the pipe mouth. “What are you? One of his disciples?”

“Some of the things he said made sense.”

“You just mistook aggressiveness for substance. The fact that he could trounce me in an argument doesn’t mean anything. Logic’s only a kind of brute force. Some people are just better at using it. Would you have been impressed if he’d shut me up by punching me in the face?”

“I don’t think it’s the same at all,” Dennis said.

“Whatever,” the priest went on. “Don’t judge my ideals by my failings. I’m pretty worthless. But it’s because I can’t live up to my ideals. Max, on the other hand, thinks that all you have to do is accept a lot of theological claptrap, and the hell with morality.”

“I never heard him say that,” Dennis said.

“Maybe not. But I know the type. And a more anti-Christian mind-set doesn’t exist. At least I know I’m a piece of garbage. You think Max realizes what a travesty his life is? That he felt the slightest qualm about leaving MacAleer to die?”

“Look, Father,” Dennis said, “for all we know, he might be dead now, too. So why don’t you stop bad-mouthing him?”

They sat awhile in silence. Far-off echoes of movement drifted toward them down the pipe, stopping from time to time, but always starting up again. The sounds never seemed to draw any closer than a certain distance before fading.

“Unless I miss my guess,” Dennis said, “they’re going in a circle back there. Keep taking the wrong turns.”

“But what if they realize it, and come up here?” Camille asked. “Can we get that grate open?”

“No.”

“What about going back up the pipe?” Father Chuck asked. “We might not run into them.”

“And then again, we might,” Dennis said. “Are you nuts, Fath-”

Footsteps crunched on the sand outside the grate; a shadow fell over Dennis, and he turned.

A silhouetted figure drew near the bars. Dennis remained motionless, staring, not knowing what to do. It was a corpse; Dennis felt its cold on his sweat-damp skin, in the crawling marrow of his bones.

“Chuck,” said a gentle voice. “You’re in there, aren’t you, Chuck?”

Dennis heard the priest suck in a sharp breath.

The corpse knelt. Dennis saw it was wearing a clerical collar. Its face hung from its skull like an ill-fitting mask, the mouth sagging open, the eyes black holes; it was hard to tell, but the terrible slack countenance seemed to be tied on. Was that a shoelace running behind the ear?

“Chuck, I know perfectly well you’re there,” the corpse said. “Come on, rap with me.”

“Ted?” Father Chuck asked, voice trembling. “Father Ted? “

“In the flesh, “ the corpse replied.

“What do you want?”

“Just a heart-to-heart,” Father Ted answered, detached lips shuddering as his jawbone moved behind them.

“How did you know we were here?”

“Legion told me.”

“How did he know?”

“The Man upstairs.”

“Man upstairs?”

“You know. El Supremo. Motherfucker Number One. Impregnated His own mother, did you ever realize that? And not symbolically, as it turns out! How deliciously filthy! I wish I could’ve been there.

“Anyway, He gives Legion little tips from time to time. Like telling him where he could find your group, back in the junction.”

“God speaks to Legion?”

“To all His creatures. In Legion’s case, He needed to point him in the right direction. Legion’s not omniscient. Not in the flesh, at any rate. He can be distracted. He can only sniff you out if he’s very close. And you’re right on the edge. Or just over it.”

“Edge of what?”

“Damnation. He can even read your mind then. But that isn’t how he pinpoints you. There’s a kind of stench. Your soul gives it off. It’s like gangrene, drawing flies. It only smells while you’re alive. And for a short time afterward. But once you’re dead a good long while, it doesn’t matter. So he doesn’t really need to find you then. Unless he needs recruits. “

“And God helps him?”

“For reasons of His own, of course. Intrigue’s His forte, it turns out…He tells Legion just what He wants him to know. Sometimes that fouls things up very badly for us. But sometimes they turn out very nicely indeed.”

“Us?”

“The opposition,” Father Ted answered. “Things don’t always come out the way He plans. He’d deny it, of course. But He did insist on giving us free will, after all. Big mistake. “

“What are you?” Father Chuck asked tremblingly.

“Your old friend and mentor,” Father Ted answered. “More myself than I’ve ever been, accidents gone, essence retained. I’m Father Ted, returned from the grave. I will tell you all.”

“You’re not!” Father Chuck answered.

“What then? Something more ? Demonic, perhaps? Would that it were true. But there are things more than human about. Legion’s one, as even you must’ve guessed. The Biblical Legion, if you can believe it. A real celebrity . Gadarene swine, and all that-it seems it wasn’t just schizophrenia after all!

“In any case, he’s running the show here on Earth. And as the name suggests, there are actually quite a few of him. On this plane, at any rate. Where he comes from, numerical questions don’t have cut-and-dried answers. Matter can only accommodate him as one being. Or as a legion. But that makes it easy to coordinate things between, let’s say, Bayside Shores and Salt Lake City.”

Father Ted slipped his hand over one of the bars, tugged at it. “Strong. Is there any way to open this thing? I’d really like to come in, talk to you face-to-face. This is too reminiscent of the confessional.”

“Go away,”Father Chuck whispered. “In the name of Christ…”

“You know, when that name’s invoked by the right sort of man, it can have a powerful effect. But you’re not that sort, are you? So why don’t you just open the grate?”

“We can’t. Go away.”

“Not until we’ve talked some more. I have an offer for you. “