The Lovebirds - IV
Nazareth. Paradise Grove. Heavenly Fields. His father had a sick sense of humor.
“Alright, so, ah - where are we goin’ again?”
Stolitz looked down at the card gingerly pinched between his finger and thumb. His own face was printed on it, just below the word Florida printed in green letters along the top, staring listlessly back at himself. Making out the small text in the wan light was difficult, but, with a little effort, he recited the information printed on the address line.
“477 Nazareth Road, Paradise Grove…” He sighed. “Florida.”
“Nazareth Road,” the officer - Officer Carl McCurdy, Stolitz had learned - repeated. “I know where that’s at. Y’all over in that, oh - what’s it called again?” He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall some elusive piece of information. “Yeah, ain’t that out in the Heavenly Fields development?”
“I guess,” Stolitz replied flatly.
Nazareth. Paradise Grove. Heavenly Fields. His father had a sick sense of humor.
Officer McCurdy put the cruiser into drive and set off, pulling out of the spacious parking lot for what Stolitz now knew was called Paradise Grove Village - a hybrid between an outdoor mall, an entertainment district, and a city center, all bundled into one convenient plot of land that had as many shops and restaurants as it did apartment complexes and condominiums.
“Say,” McCurdy said. “You two… you ain’t from around here, are ya?”
“What gave it away?” Stolitz asked, an unmistakable note of melancholy in his voice.
“Accents,” the officer replied. “Y’all sound like you just got off a plane from England. You new to the area?”
Stolitz nodded, though he wasn’t sure and didn’t really care if McCurdy saw. “Very,” he answered.
“You, uh… you from England, or am I just really bad at geography?”
“No,” said Stolitz. “Spent some time there, though.”.
McCurdy hummed in affirmation, but, with either his curiosity sated or picking up on the fact that Stolitz was not in a talkative mood, didn’t press the topic. “You folks mind if I put on some music?”
Stolitz sighed. He’d been doing a lot of that over the past half-hour. “Go ahead.”
He heard McCurdy fuss with the stereo, which crackled to life. Various radio channels phased in an out in a disharmonious blend of chattering voices, ads, and music of different, conflicting genres before coming settling on one. The soft, tender twang of an acoustic guitar floated back from the speakers in the front, giving to way to a gentle melody played by a synthesizer.
Stolitz recognized the song immediately. It was one he’d never particularly minded, but, given the way that certain damned souls reacted to it when it was played in the torture pits - and the frequency it was played in the torture pits - he was somewhat surprised to find a mortal listening to it of their own accord. Much like the fact that his father had, of all places, banished him to Paradise Grove for what he could only imagine was poetic irony, it seemed that the universe, too, was mocking his situation by playing this song.
“Stuck on you… I’ve got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can’t lose… Guess I’m on my way…"
Stolitz leaned against door. His body went limp and his muscles relaxed. On the other side of the backseat, Agratta was slumped against the opposite door. He could see the reflection of her eyes in the window, staring balefully out at the palm tree lined streets and various big box stores, chain restaurants, and master plan communities as they rolled by in the darkness.
“Needed a friend… and the way I feel now I guess I’ll be with you ‘til the end… guess I’m on my way.
Mighty glad you stayed…”
Stolitz let his head loll to one side and looked out his own window, now keenly aware of why it must be so torturous for the damned to be subjected to such a song, trapped and helpless to do anything but sit there and endure the softly mocking, cruelly ironic tones of Lionel Ritchie.
So - this is what had come to: the son of Stolas, one of the most distinguished crowned heads of Hell, a disappointment to his father and an abject failure of a husband, exiled to an indefinite sentence of living among humans alongside a wife that despised him in Florida.
In Hell, America had become something of the new Babylon; a land of sin, debauchery, and deviancy, where the siren song of the pursuit of happiness bred the worst desires, encouraged the worst human behavior, and the almighty dollar reigned supreme, boasting a dozen different Sodoms and Gomorrahs sprinkled across its topography from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Even among more notorious dens of vice like Los Angeles and New York City, Florida as a state had engendered something of a reputation among the denizens of Hell. While the damned reliably flooded in from other places in higher numbers, those that did come from Florida were… interesting, to say the least. As an outsider observer, it seemed to Stolitz like something of a wild place; a semi-domesticated frontier littered with glittering urban beacons of sin and populated by the rowdy and ambitious, the insane and unhinged, and the lazy and content. Vice consumed all of them in different ways. Elderly humans, looking to live the rest of their lives in material comfort, moved from across the country to while away their last years in indulgent and, at times, ignominious comfort. Others, often younger, found themselves lured in by sunny beaches, vibrant social scenes, and what seemed to be something of a never-ending party that gradually whittled them down and scraped away at their souls until nothing was left but a husk. And, of course, there were those that had come seeking to make money off it all - merchants and dealers peddling in all manner of things, growing fabulously wealthy as they sold others the means of their own self-destruction. This was to say nothing of those that seemingly had no sense to begin with, and, through recklessness, stupidity, or just plain insanity, committed crimes and acts that stretched the limits of human imagination.
Stolitz had only ever visited the place briefly, never staying for any extended periods of time, and even then, it had only ever been to Miami. Signs he saw as they passed by the highway, however, suggested that was some distance away. The nearest city, it seemed, was Orlando, which only brought to mind something else entirely. His eyes fluttered shut and, in his mind, he saw his daughter.
Astoria had always wanted to go to Disney World.
The Disney media empire had something a presence in the lower and less esteemed class of devilry in Hell, if only through trickling down through something of cultural osmosis by those human souls that passed into the Underworld. More than a few august demons had their claws in the happenings within the company, and had the ears of some of the movers and shakers in its highest echelons.
More than a handful of humans, apparently, found the ride It’s A Small World so intolerable - and, in some cases, so creepy - that being trapped in an endless, timeless loop, passing through the ride again and again through all eternity, was a torment so vicious that it belonged in Hell, necessitating several recreations of the of the park to be built there. After spending time inspecting, surveying, and monitoring these projects - and being subjected to listening to the song that played during the ride more times than he could count - Stolitz understood why. Those alternative Disney Worlds, those infernal simulacra, however, were only cheap, hollow, and artificial versions of the actual park itself designed for the specific purpose of making damned souls miserable - not places for a child, human or demon or otherwise, to enjoy. Just horrible parodies, constructed for the sole purpose of sick mockery and torment.
How many times had Astoria asked him to take her to Disney World?
Stolitz couldn’t say. It happened so frequently that it had become something of a routine. Without fail, she’d always ask about it on her birthday. It happened the same way, every time, with the predictability of a prerecorded script recited by animatronics in one of the dark rides she wanted so eagerly to experience.
“So! What does daddy’s little princess want for her birthday, hm?”
“I want to go to Disney world, daddy!”
And, every time, he’d sigh as if he really felt all that bad about it, he’d get down on knee, smooth out her hair-feather, lay a hand on her shoulder, and say, “Well, princess - daddy’s dreadfully sorry, but daddy’s very, very busy with work, you see. I’m afraid we just… haven’t the time to go this year, darling.”
She’d always hide her disappointment well. “Oh. Well, that’s okay. What about next year?”
He’d just nod and say, “Perhaps, darling, perhaps. We’ll have to wait and see. Say, princess - what would you say if daddy took you to Philith’s Phantastic Phun-Time Pizza and Games instead, hm?”
“Philith’s Phantastic Phun-Time Pizza and Games? Really, daddy?”
“Oh, yes, princess, absolutely. Tell you what. I’ll make some calls and, in three days time, daddy will make sure you have simply the most wonderful party any demon in Hell’s ever seen. In fact, I have a feeling it will be so magnificent that Philith herself might have to come to see it.”
He recalled how Astoria’s eyes grew so wide he thought that they might burst from their sockets as she gasped. “Really? Really, daddy? You think Philith would really come?”
Stolitz nodded, a conspiratorial smile on his beak. “Oh, I don’t think so, darling. I know she wouldn’t miss a party for such a special little girl.”
“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! You’re the best daddy in Hell!”
The best daddy in Hell. What a laugh. The best daddy in Hell would have taken her to Disney World at some point in fifty-five years rather than a glorified advertisement for a children’s show disguised as a pizza joint and an arcade.
But there’s always been time. There’d always been a next year. There’d always been plenty of meaningless tat that he could buy or entertainers he could call on to keep her content until, one year, she just stopped asking about Disney World entirely. Stolitz hadn’t even noticed when she had. He shifted in his seat as his innards twisted.
Stupid - he’d been so stupid. Of course, he’d had the time to do something special for his daughter. He could - no, he should have made the time. It was the least that he could have done.
And now? He couldn’t. It was too late. That window of opportunity had closed, never to reopen, and he’d never even realized it until this cruel twist of fate put him only scant miles away from the place that Astoria had always wanted to go more than anywhere else, the place he’d always told her they’d go, and, after all those years, here he was, only a stone’s throw away.
And where was she?
If it wasn’t the irony nauseating him, then it was the guilt.
Stolitz opened his eyes just in time to see a monument made from various stones, surrounded by palm trees and arranged in a way to resemble something of a natural waterfall, with a sheet of water spilling over a large, slab-like rock with the words HEAVENLY FIELDS chiseled into it and illuminated by a large, warm light.
The homes that passed beyond the window were… well, compared to the stately manors and sprawling estates of Hell, with their spires and steeples and thorny accoutrements, the houses were little more than humbles boxes with cement siding slapped on them. Only a handful crested two stories, and each one was painted a different pastel color and fronted with neatly trimmed lawns festooned with thick St. Augustine’s grass. There were even white fences. Vinyl, not picket, but close enough. Some had American flags flying above the garages. Others had flags for various sports teams, both professional and collegiate, which Stolitz only vaguely recognized; as it turns out, plenty of humans were willing to gamble their immortal souls in order to ensure the victory of their favorite sports teams, or curse those that they disliked. It never made much sense to Stolitz, but he’d also never had much interest in sports to begin with. Sports in Hell were too violent for a demon of his build, and too rough for one of his temperament.
The streets, he noticed, were all named after biblical cities and locations, befitting the neighborhood’s name. Jericho, Hebron, Bethelhem, Shiloh, Antioch - all places he’d been before, and all places his father had done some of the best work of his career.
All in all, the neighborhood was - if Stolitz’s understanding of American society was correct - a nice one. Perhaps not the most premier, and a far cry from the luxurious penthouses atop high-rises and ritzy mansions he was accommodated to staying in whenever he visited Earth, but it seemed to be a place where a reasonable, respectable person could carve out a reasonable, respectable life for themselves and their family.
And it wasn’t a place that Stolitz felt enthused about staying in. But, as Officer McCurdy brought the cruiser to a stop before one of the houses, he had to admit to himself, if only to preserve his own sanity… it did beat having to share a cardboard box or dilapidated trailer with Agratta. He suspected that Agratta might not see it that way. Given her personal tastes, any house that wasn’t some grandiose, sprawling chateau might as well be a dirt-floor shanty crudely lashed together from corrugated tin.
Behind him, Stolitz heard Agratta make a sound that was something between a sigh, a sob, and a whimper all at once. He knew why. 477 Nazareth Road was only distinguishable from 476 and 478 Nazareth Road by virtue of a coat of soft, pastel blue paint. There were no spires. No steeples. No extra space for private offices, guest rooms, libraries, wine cellars, or the like. Stolitz highly doubted there was a pool, either - indoor or outdoor - which was somewhat disappointing, given Florida was a place that he figured one might make good use of such a thing.
“Well, folks,” Officer McCurdy grunted. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
Agratta opened the door and began to drag herself out with all the excitement of a death row inmate approaching the execution chamber, only to stop as she suddenly remembered proper etiquette.
“Thank you, officer. You’ve done us a great service,” she said, unable to mask her own despair as she did.
“Yeah, yeah, anytime, anytime,” said McCurdy with a dismissive wave. “The motto’s protect and serve, so - just doin’ my job.”
Agratta lingered long enough by the open door to shoot Stolitz a glare and jerk her head in the direction of the officer. The intention was clear. Stolitz shook his head. Agratta’s glare evolved into a nasty lour. Of all times to recall her manners, it just had to be now.
Stolitz pressed his beak shut firm. He fished his wallet out of his pants and opened the back sleeve. Flipping through the contents, he was greeted by the jowly visage of Benjamin Franklin, again and again, who was pulling a tight-lipped face that Stolitz thought suggested he had just soiled his pants. He continued to search, and figured that this was probably the only time that anyone had ever opened a wallet full of hundred dollar bills and was upset there wasn’t something else. But, after enough rifling, he finally was met by the portrait of Andrew Jackson.
He pulled the bill out, then pulled himself out of the car, only to stoop down to look through the driver’s side window. He presented the money to Officer McCurdy. There was a brief flash of surprise on his weathered face before it settled back to the expression of mild annoyance and irritation that appeared to be his default.
He shook his head. “Nah, nah.”
“No,” Stolitz said, fighting the urge to simply return the money to his pocket. He inched the folded dollar bill a bit closer to the officer. “Please. I insist. It’s only fair.”
McCurdy looked at the bill. “You didn’t get my badge number, did you?”
Stolitz shook his head, which prompted McCurdy to take the money from his hands and hastily shove it in a pocket. “Thank you,” he said, almost inaudibly, perhaps a bit sheepish.
“No,” said Stolitz. “Thank you, sir.”
With an air of trepidation, McCurdy scanned his surroundings, prompting Stolitz to do the same for fear that he was missing something he needed to see. What he assumed McCurdy was looking for was his wife. Agratta was standing away from the car, on the sidewalk, staring at the house that would be her veritable prison cell for the foreseeable future.
“Hey, man,” said McCurdy, careful to keep his voice low. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but - how long you been married, man?”
Stolitz wasn’t sure why the man would even ask such a question, but he decided to humor him. “Three centuries.”
“Excuse me?”
Stolitz shuddered. “Sorry. Sorry. Bad joke. Thirty years.”
“Thirty years?” McCurdy balked. He glanced back at Agratta. “How old were y’all when you got married? Ten?”
His incredulity prompted a chuckle from Stolitz. “We’re, um - we look good for our age.”
McCurdy sniffed. “Shit. I’ll say. The hell’s your skincare routine, ‘cuz I need to get in on that.” He waved his hand in front of his face and screwed his eyes shut like he was dispelling a bad smell. “Man, just - look.” He leaned against the door and met Stolitz’s eyes, his expression sober. “I don’t mean to bust in y’all’s private life, or nothin’, but - I can tell y’all got some issues.”
Stolitz nodded. So, this is what his life had come to - being lectured by a human about his marriage. As if he couldn’t be anymore degraded.
“You could say that.”
“Yeah, and I am,” McCurdy said. “But… listen, man. You two?” He paused. “Thirty years, man. That’s no joke. If y’all ain’t split yet, there’s somethin’ there. Whatever may be happenin’ now, I know y’all had to have some good, good years behind you. So, I just wanna say that… whatever y’all were yellin’ about tonight? Whatever issues y’all got goin’ on? I just want you to remember…”
The police officer leaned a little closer, and Stolitz noticed there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“You got somethin’ special. I know y’all wouldn’t be together for thirty years if y’all didn’t. And, I get it - my old lady and me, man, I tell ya, we can fight, okay? Lord, we can yell like the world itself is comin’ to an end, but - we’re together for a reason.” He pointed at Stolitz. “Y’all are together for a reason. Don’t you forget that.”
The words resonated inside Stolitz’s head. Slowly, dumbly, he nodded. “Right,” he mumbled. “Right.”
McCurdy glanced back over his shoulder to check on Agratta again. She hadn’t moved. Not so much as an inch. He sighed and turned back to Stolitz. “Look, man, I don’t mean to preach or nothin’. I’ll get outta your hair.” He paused and looked Stolitz up and down. “Never did get your name.”
Stolitz flinched as he found a hand thrust in his direction. He stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t been expecting this. None of it. Carefully, gingerly, as if he was afraid the man might bite him if he accepted, he took his hand. The man’s fingers curled around Stolitz’s hand, ignorant and unknowing of the scales, totally unaware he was shaking the hand of a demon that would torment and torture him for eternity without question if so directed; a being who’s sole purpose in life was to make the life of his species, his brother’s, more difficult, more challenging, and lead them into damnation.
And here they were, shaking hands - not as a tempeter and temptee, but… something else.
“Stolitz.”
“Stolitz,” McCurdy repeated. He chuckled. “Y’all English dudes got some interesting names.”
The two exchanged one good, firm shake before McCurdy retracted his hand. For the first time that night, Stolitz saw a smile on his face.
“Have a good night, Stolitz.”
Stolitz stood back up to his full height in a daze. “And you as well, officer.”
One last time, McCurdy glanced back at Agratta, and turned back to Stolitz, his grin now more conspiratorial than before. “Prayin’ for you, brother.”
He rolled up his window, put the car in drive, and rolled away.
Stolitz watched the car go, standing in the road with blank and vacant eyes.
“Please don’t,” he whispered to himself.
Another Thorny Thursday comes, another Thorny Thursday goes.
This is the second installment of my ongoing series for Thorny Thursday, which is spearheaded by Kathrine Elaine and The Brothers Krynn. I encourage you to check out the other authors that are participating, a full list of which can be found on either of their pages.
As always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this installment.