The Cupid War (2 page)

1

F
allon hovered over his body, dead. His body lay on the grassy floor of the Don Valley, crumpled and still. There was a small puddle of rainwater less than a meter from his right side; in it, Fallon could see a softball-sized sphere of light. Instinctively, he knew the ball of light was his soul.

Fallon couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He'd set out with suicide on his mind, true enough, but he'd changed his mind in the end, hadn't he? Yes, he remembered doing it, but that didn't make him any less dead.

So, he wondered, what was he now? What would come next? Was he supposed to feel at peace? Sad? Guilty for all the wrong things he'd done? Happy that it was all over?

First and foremost, he felt better. The weight he'd been carrying around in his heart was gone. Of course, so was his heart. Nevertheless, he felt better than he had in ages, and it was quite a rush. He could turn his life around, make things right. He'd make his father proud, and maybe even win Becky back.

Except, he was dead. He'd had his chance.

It occurred to him that when news of his death reached Susan, she might kill herself to join him. That thought filled him with more terror than anything he'd felt before. He also realized he might end up meeting his mother. He wasn't ready for that, not yet. If it did happen, however, he'd have a few choice words to say to her.

Fallon became aware of a presence. He'd read about people who'd had near-death experiences seeing deceased loved ones on the Other Side, and he feared his mother had come after all. Don't be my mom, he thought.

He didn't turn to face the presence; he didn't have a body any more, so the old rules didn't apply. Instead, Fallon willed his light-ball form to change its perception. To his relief, he saw it wasn't his mother—it was a bald man, standing next to some bushes a couple of meters away.

The man appeared both naked and clothed; he looked naked, but there did appear to be a thin, skin-tight stocking on his pale form. An aura of brightness flowed out gently from his body, so Fallon guessed he was an angel. Fallon expected him to offer words of comfort, then invite him to embark on a wondrous journey into the Light. He was surprised, then, when the angelic being said:

“Another goddamn jumper. Just great.”

Okay, Fallon thought. Not the reception I was hoping for.

“Let's go, buddy,” said the glowing man. He raised his right hand, and Fallon found himself floating toward him. When he arrived in front of his angelic companion, the world as he knew it vanished. The bushes, the puddle, his body, the bridge, the entire Don Valley simply faded away into nothingness.

“What the … ?” Fallon said, his voice sounding like a bad recording of its former self. He didn't say the words so much as project them from his mind. At least I can still talk, he thought.

“Where am I?” he asked, looking around. He felt like he was in a room, even though he could see no walls. He didn't think it was Heaven, because it wasn't bright enough. He also didn't think it was Hell, because it wasn't all that dark. He was in a literal gray area.

“What is this place?” he asked, his first question having garnered no response.

“Shut it,” the angelic being said.

“You know,” Fallon said, “for an angel, you're mighty surly.”

“I'm not an angel,” the being said. “I'm Bud. And I told you to shut it. I'm trying to assess you.”

“Assess me?” Fallon said.

Bud held his hands on either side of Fallon's soul and concentrated.

“You were gonna off yourself,” Bud said. “We don't look kindly on that.”

“But I didn't kill myself,” Fallon said. “It was an accident.”

“I know,” Bud said. “But you were planning it. Life is the gift, and there's nothing we hate more than souls who throw away that gift.”

“Um, who's we?” Fallon asked.

“Soul Reapers,” Bud said, “like me. We collect souls and send them where they belong.”

“And where do I belong?”

“If you'll stop bugging me,” Bud said, “I'll figure that out.”

“Right, sorry,” Fallon said, and he kept quiet while Bud did his thing.

“Pretty ordinary teenager, weren't ya?” Bud said, dropping his hands back to his sides. “Think the whole world spins for you, and not a thought about making it better. Typical.”

“Get bent, baldy,” Fallon said.

Bud glared at him. “What was that?”

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings, chromedome?” Fallon asked.

“You'd better take that back,” Bud said.

“Why should I?” Fallon said. “I'm dead, this is the afterlife, and I don't know what's going on. Instead of filling me in, you've been treating me like crap. Well, it stops now.”

Bud stared at him silently for a few moments, giving Fallon time to consider what he was doing. Basically, he was telling off the one being who currently had control of his fate. Not the smartest thing to do.

“Okay, kid,” Bud said, his features softening. “I was in your position once. And you're not the jumper I thought you were. Maybe I should take the time to fill you in. Only fair. Basically, your karma's really high.”

“My karma?” Fallon said.

“Every soul has karma,” Bud told him. “It's the stuff your soul has to work through, the things you do to become a better person. Some people work off their karma by the time they die, and there's a place for them that you'd think of as Heaven. Then there's the rest, the people like you, who didn't use their lives the way they should. If you didn't work it off in your life, you have to work it off now.”

“Nobody told me that was the deal!” Fallon said. “If I'd known that … ”

“But that's the point, isn't it?” Bud said. “The people who work it off naturally don't need to be told. It's about choosing to do better, something you didn't give a lot of thought to.”

“Okay,” Fallon said. “So what happens now?”

“Now,” Bud said, “I'm taking you to the guy who knows how to deal with your type.”

“Oh yeah?” Fallon said.

“Yeah,” Bud replied. “His name's Louis, and he's gonna wipe that attitude clean out of ya. You, pretty boy, are gonna be
a Cupid.”

2

A
Cupid?” Fallon asked. “You mean … ?”

“That's right,” Bud replied. “You're going to make people fall in love.”

“Oh,” Fallon said. When it came to afterlife assignments, this wasn't what he'd been expecting.

“My man Louis runs the Cupids,” Bud said. “He'll teach you a thing or two.”

“Can't wait,” Fallon said.

“And quit with the lip,” Bud said.

“Sorry, sir,” Fallon said, glaring at Bud's back. He was not having a good night, and this bozo wasn't making things any easier. Was this really the afterlife, or was he just having a bad dream? Wasn't death supposed to be a wondrous journey to a better place? There'd been a lot of books about that.

Of course, there had been a lot of books that suggested another possibility. Books, and pamphlets, and of course tracts. He remembered getting one such tract from the religious club at school. In it, a faceless God judged a man, found him guilty, and threw him into a pit filled with flames.

So, all things considered, Fallon's afterlife could have been a lot worse.

The grayness around them changed, and Fallon found himself in another room. This one was pink, and there were heart shapes decorating the walls.

“Cute,” Fallon said. “But way cliché.”

“Wait here,” Bud said. “I'll get Louis.”

Bud walked toward one of the walls and passed through it. Fallon wondered if he could do the same thing, but when he tried, the room moved with him. He projected himself at each of the walls, then tried the floor and ceiling. Every time, the room moved with him. Escape, it seemed, was not a possibility.

Fallon waited. There was nothing else to do. The hearts stared back at him from the walls, mocking him.

“Tryin' to bail already?”

Fallon shifted his perspective to the speaker, who'd arrived behind him. Like Bud, he wore a skin-tight stocking, but his was a darker pink and had a red heart as a chest emblem. He lo
oked older than Bud, more weatherbeaten, like a man who's seen it all and probably doesn't approve. His hair was dark and military-short, and his eyes were a sharp green.

Bud appeared through the wall behind him. “Guess he moved around a bit,” he said. “Louis, meet Richard Fallon. Richard, meet Louis Baker.”

“Call me Fallon,” Fallon said.

“I'll call you whatever I like,” Louis replied. “You call me Mr. Baker or sir, got that? Now, let's get you prepped and ready to work with a new body.”

“New body?” Fallon asked.

“Well, you're not thinkin' of goin' around like that, are ya?” Louis asked with a hint of a snicker. “You need one of these”—he poked himself—“if you're going to be of any use to me.”

“But I thought … ” Fallon stopped. What was the point? He clearly didn't know the rules here. “Okay, fine. Give me a body.”

“Ever heard of the word ‘please'?” Louis said. “Dead teenagers, I tell ya. No respect.”

“Okay,” Fallon said. “Mr. Baker, sir, may I please, pretty please, have a body so I can do the job you want me to do?”

“What have I told you about lip?” Bud said.

Louis turned to the Soul Reaper. “Bud, why don't you go get the protomatter while I tell the newbie here how we do things?”

“You got it,” Bud replied, and he smiled an evil smile at Fallon before vanishing into the wall.

“You think you're something special, don't you?” Louis returned his attention to Fallon. “Yeah, I get your type all the time.”

If Fallon had eyes, he would have rolled them. If this was the man responsible for the world's love, little wonder there were so many divorces.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You're gonna show me that I'm nothing. I'm going to learn what hard work really is, and you're gonna be my teacher. I've heard it all.”

“Not yet, you haven't,” Louis replied. “You're in my world now, boy, and my world's no place for slackers who aren't willing to put in a day's work. You think the universe revolves around you?”

As Louis bore into him with a well-practiced lecture about hard work and making something of himself, Fallon tried to tune him out. He couldn't, however; Louis's words reminded him of his father's lectures, especially the one he'd received after quitting his first and only job.

Back in eleventh grade, Fallon had landed a position in the produce department of a new grocery superstore. Six weeks later, he'd quit in disgust. The store managers had completely unrealistic work expectations, and they'd treated all the new hires with contempt. Fallon's supervisor, a fat little troll named Carmella Lanniki, had been particularly abusive, offering vague directions and then ranting when things weren't done properly. Fallon had left in the middle of one such rant, waving his middle finger behind his back.

His father had not been amused. And when Fallon told him about the abusive conditions at the store, he did not find a sympathetic ear.

“You can't go through life giving up every time things get hard,” his father had said. “Do you think the world revolves around you? Should everything come to a stop just because you're not happy with the way you're being treated? That won't happen, son.”

“But Dad … ”

“Your mother left us when things got tough,” his father had said. “If you don't want to turn out like her, you'd better get your act together.”

As Louis chewed him out, Fallon couldn't help but think that his dad (and, quite possibly, Carmella) was having the last laugh.

“Are you done?” he cut in, knowing full well that Louis was not. “I really don't need you to tell me how important you think you are. And as for respect? You want it, earn i
t. I've had my fill of jerks, thank you very much.”

Louis's upper lip curled into a sneer, but Fallon was completely unafraid. Sure, he was in Louis's world, but what could the guy really do to him? Fallon was dead, and not getting any deader.

“You watch your mouth,” Louis said. “Just because you're dead doesn
't mean you can't get hurt.”

Before Fallon could wonder if Louis had read his thoughts, Bud came back with a solid cube of pink matter.

“Your new body,” Bud said, tossing the cube at Fallon.

As soon as the cube made contact, it flowed all around Fallon's soul like hot liquid metal. He fell to the floor as gravity suddenly reintroduced itself, and he felt himself forming. Arms and legs sprouted out of him, followed by his new head. In moments it was over; his new body was fully grown.

Fallon pulled his new self together and stood up. He felt different—lighter, for one thing. He didn't feel as free as he had when he'd been a soul, but it was lots better than his previous existence.

He felt his face, and wondered if it looked the same as when he'd been alive. There were no mirrors around, so there was no way to tell.

“How do I look?” he asked his silent audience.

“Like a dweeb,” Bud said. “But don't take it too hard. All Cupids look like dweebs.”

“Hey,” said Louis, giving Bud a good-natured punch on the arm.

“Come on, your guys wear pink and have red hearts on your chests,” Bud said. “What other word is there?”

At that, Fallon looked down. He was indeed clad in a pink suit with a red heart on his chest. It was skin-tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had an average build, with arms and legs slightly bigger and more muscled than when he'd been alive. Something, however, seemed to be missing …

“Hey!” Fallon cried. “I have no … where's my … ”

Louis and Bud burst out laughing. Fallon felt between his legs to see if he'd missed it, but there was nothing. The sight of him searching made his audience laugh even harder.

“I was wondering when he was gonna notice,” Bud said as he turned and walked through the wall behind him. “He's all yours, Louis.”