“Ready, Daisy?” Shitty Ritchie asked.
“Born that way,” I told him with a grin. “Please wish for the presence of Goober.”
“I wish that Goober and Its foul ass would appear. NOW!” the little guy shouted.
With no fanfare, magic or pomp and circumstance Goober appeared. It stood about ten feet from us and glared menacingly. Its time in the slammer, or rather Shitty Ritchie’s bowels, had not mellowed the jerk. I wasn’t sure anything would, but we had to try. Finding out the location of Uriel’s cage was paramount. My daughter’s life was on the line. Luckily, I had stated that we’d only be gone for five minutes in real time. Here? Inside the warped hallows of Shitty Ritchie’s mind, we could take as much time as needed.
“I knew you’d come back,” It snapped, waving Its hand dismissively. “I suppose you finally have to admit failure.” It smiled. It was all teeth and no joy. “You need me to end the abomination known as Chamuel. There shall be a high price to pay for my aid, Angel of Mercy. Pathetic Immortals likeyou and that small atrocity are not meant for greatness. I am meant for greatness.”
“Coulda fooled me, dude,” I said, casually walking over to the armchair and sitting down. “Chamuel wasn’t an issue. In fact, Its on our side now.”
“Rubbish,” Hemah snarled. “Lies. Chamuel may not be as strong as me, but It is far stronger than you.”
I shrugged. “Possibly, but Its not stronger than the true Higher Power who embodies compassion.”
That sure shut the asshole up. Its superior attitude had been taken down a few notches. It wasn’t sure what to do. Its eyes darted to Shitty Ritchie in fear for the briefest moment. It masked it immediately. This wasn’t how It saw the game playing out.
“TRUE!” Shitty Ritchie yelled, doing some kind of bizarre hip thrust move as he circled the couch and made his way closer to Hemah. Hemah took a few steps back. “Goober, Goober, Goober, you’re such a fucking douche. You’re in no position to negotiate. You’re in Shitty Ritchie’s stomach. All this greatness you talk about got eaten… BY ME. So cut the shite. You want out? You talk.”
Hemah was not happy. Didn’t matter. The party had started and It was the unwilling guest of honor who had nowhere else to go.
“Where is Uriel’s cage?” I asked, getting right to the heart of it. Even though I could take my time, being in Hemah’s presence made me feel dirty. It was revolting.
It didn’t speak. No surprise there.
“It’s so interesting,” Shitty Ritchie said with a mouth full of cookie. “The only, and Shitty Ritchie means only, chance you have to be shot out of my bunghole like a smelly turd is that you tell us what we want to know. How FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU?”
I stared at Hemah as It continued the mute game. The spots of transparency that had revealed Its rancid insides on our first visit were gone. I wasn’t sure that that meant. Was It dead? Was It alive? Crap. I still couldn’t tell, but I really needed to know. It would determine what happened next. If It was alive...I shuddered, thinking about the havoc it could wreak if Shitty Ritchie let It loose. But if It was dead, It could be released safely, and It could guide us to Uriel’s cage.
I knew that was wishful thinking on my part. I doubted the disgraceful being, even as a ghost, would be willing to help us. It would most likely send us on a wild needle hunt—Uriel being the needle—in a haystack the size of Georgia. Although, if I could get a general location out of Hemah, Chamuel might be able to find Uriel. If that was all I could suss out, I’d have to go with it.
“Shitty Ritchie is getting bored,” he announced. “Oh, and Hemah, this is the last time we will visit you. Just so you know.”
Hemah’s eyes practically bulged out of Its head. “What did you call me?” It hissed with spittle of rage flying from Its lips. “ANSWER ME.”
“Cakehole. Shut it,” Shitty Ritchie said, narrowing his beady little eyes. “If you yell at me, I will wish you into a toad. It’s my house, fucker. It’s my rules.”
Hemah’s breathing was labored. Its eyes were wild and It began to shake. “What did you call me?”
Shitty Ritchie grinned. “Your name. I called you by your name. Hemah, Hemah, Hemah, Hemah.”
“NO,” It bellowed. “How do you know my name?”
Shitty Ritchie rolled his eyes. “I need my backup, please.”
Jennifer and Chamuel didn’t have to be invited to the party twice. They gracefully slid out from under the couch. I stood up and joined them. Hemah was on one said of the room. ShittyRitchie stood on the middle with his hand in his pants. I stood behind him with Jennifer to my left and Chamuel to my right.
The silence as Hemah stared at Chamuel was louder than a bomb going off.
Chamuel touched my shoulder. Its hand was cold as ice. Even through the leather jacket, I could feel it. I’d never felt that in a mind dive. The dead felt warm and human. However, I’d never been in the Darkness with the ghost of the Higher Power before.
“I forgive you, Hemah,” Chamuel said.
“Fuck you,” Hemah snarled.
“I forgive you.” Chamuel continued. “To err is human: to forgive, divine.”
“Alexander Pope,” Jennifer said, naming the source. “An Essay on Criticism, 1711.”
