Last Respects

by Chromatoast

Johnny and Retta were meant to spend eternity together. Too bad Retta's "daddy" and her beloved Johnny just can't see eye to eye. Short, sweet, sad, and sick, with plenty of melodrama! Pre-MH Johperetta fic. Written for fiddlestringsandpianokeys. Inspired by a story from EC's classic "Tales from the Crypt".

10. Chapter 10

The horrid, pungent, irritating smell filled Johnny's senses. His nose, mouth, throat, stomach all burned. Dizziness overcame him, knocking him to the floor, and it felt like a century passed before the pain ebbed and he could sit up.

He stared at the box in the darkness. He could make out shadowy figures filling the room, their whispering voices hushed, their eyes glinting at him.

"Johnny Esprit?" said a severe female voice, and he nodded, struggling to his feet. "How do you plead?"

"What.. what's going on?" He squinted, trying to see faces, but could only make out vague shapes in the dark. He looked down at himself, only a little surprised to see an exact duplicate of his own body crumpled at his feet. He touched his head and looked around in confusion. "Am I dead?"

"How do you plead?"

"Where's Retta?" He turned, spinning, still trying to see clearly the dozens of people crammed into the tiny, stinking mausoleum. "Retta, honey, are you here? It's all right, doll, it's me, Johnny!"

"How do you plead?"

Johnny faced the voice, glowering. "Guilty, God damn it! I know what I did but I.. I had to.. Retta, honey, can you ever forgive me? I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry for everything!" He moved towards the voice, reaching out, and his fingers clasped something thin and wispy like a silken shroud. "Please.. just tell me where she is. Where can I find her? Will I see her again?"

"Johnny Esprit," said the voice. "For the crimes of murder in the first degree and the defiling of a corpse, we the Night Court find you guilty.. and sentence you to three thousand years in an approved detention facility."

"Three thousand.." Johnny laughed. "You gotta be kiddin' me! There's no way I can -"

"Time means little to the dead," said the voice, both gentle and sad. "It can be bent and twisted in any way to suit us. Your sentence begins now."

"No," said Johnny, as the room filled with the sound of a howling wind and a brilliant, burning white light, separating him from the corpse at his feet and the coffin beneath his hands. "No, wait. Am I gonna see her again? Just tell me! Please!"