Eternity in a Pickle Jar

Love the sinner, hate the sin.

Or, similarly, fuck the sinner, fuck the sin.


"Brooklyn's got nothin' on this," Jimmy said, kicking a particularly offensive can out of the road. "Hail Satan, I guess."

The two of them strolled along, more or less, an ambling kind of walk that matched their ambling kind of talk. The sunless sky beat down on them as hot as Hades (pun intended), but the streets were still milling with people and the smell of sulfuric acid lingered in the darker alleys. A typical eternity in Hell.

"It's not so bad," Edgar replied, smiling up at the sky. Al was up there, glaring away at an alley to their right. Probably a mugging. Al hated muggings. "Sure, the company is generally terrible, and the only things to eat are tacos and bagels, and the shrieks of the damned keep you up at all hours of the day, but the sky is a lovely shade of red."

"Bah," was Jimmy's only response.

They were walking along Cocytus Avenue, practicing the art of ignoring people's glares and rude comments. It seemed that Jimmy was getting better, and that made Edgar smile even wider. His favorite book store was up ahead, too, a ways along, and the dead man was planning to drag his friend inside and forcibly introduce him to proper literature.

"Y'know, it's weird," Jimmy started, eyeing a trio of recently deceased, nervous-looking cheerleaders on the opposite side of the street. "You don't really see people… like, together down here. You see couples, maybe sometimes, but never people like… like us."

"Oh?" Edgar prodded, intrigued. Friends, perhaps was what Jimmy meant. He'd noticed that too, but hadn't thought much of it. It was a symptom of damnation, leaving each soul an island in a sea of people, eternally lonely but never alone. It gave a person time to think... an empty place to consider... and it fed into Edgar's steadily growing hypothesis on the Reasons Behind Hell.

"Yeah. Looks kinda lonely. I've seen a lot of my old… uh… the guys around, an' they're never together..." Jimmy made a helpless gesture that Edgar recognized as his I know what I'm talking about but I can't explain it motion. "It's just… you know."

"Do you think that's why they glare at us?" Edgar asked with a laugh.

"No," Jimmy answered rather darkly. "Anyways, why are you taking me here?"

"Since you were denied both the last year of high school and the opportunity for college, it's my job to educate you. We're going to a book store, and we're picking you out some required reading."

"Of all the lame-ass…" The younger man snorted. "Th'hell is that your job?"

"Once a teacher always a teacher," Edgar replied breezily, spotting the sign up ahead. "Besides, books are probably my favorite topic, and if you want to be around me you've got to know a thing or two."

Curiously, Jimmy didn't argue with that. He simply reached out and pulled the door open for Edgar—also curious, in that Jimmy was not what you'd call 'considerate' by any stretch of the means.

They ventured inside, greeted by darkness that was utterly impractical for a bookstore, as well as a bunch of Anne Rice wanna-be titles lining the front display. Jimmy wrinkled his nose, muttering something about stupid fucking Goths which was funny considering his choice in wardrobe.

After the hit-up-gone-wrong last time he was here, Edgar was wary of attracting employee attention. If you kept quiet, they generally ignored you—terrible customer service, but actually helpful in this case—and he doubted that the same boy would be here again… but still, you can't be too careful.

"Here," Edgar directed, pointing to the dusty back shelves. "All the good literature is in the back."

"Which means something totally different coming from you," Jimmy muttered, dutifully following his companion.

Before they met, Edgar would have been appalled by the innuendo. Now he just smiled—asinine as he was, who could help but love Jimmy?

"Let's see…" the older man ran his fingers over the beautifully bound, if dusty, spines. "Dante in modern syntax… yes, we'll need that one… Anthem… couldn't hurt… and that one… oh, and that one…"

The thief waited more or less patiently behind him as he made his way down the rows, stopping every so often to recount the story of how he found this book, or the professor who had taught him with that one. They collected six by the end of it, all fairly short and simply written for Jimmy's sake. Edgar supposed he'd have to go up front and actually buy these books, since there were so many of them… drat, but he'd been so close to escaping.

"My moral compass should really learn to take a nap every so often," he muttered to himself. Gesturing to Jimmy, he went on louder, "Come on, we have to purchase these."

"So…" the younger man started, checking out the dusty depths of the rarely-visited bookstore. "…Why Dante's Inferno? Don't you think I know enough about Hell?"

"The Devil has a strange sense of humor," Edgar answered. "You read that, and suddenly you'll get all kinds of inside jokes. It's ridiculous, really."

No one was at the counter, predictably, and Jimmy took great joy in beating the life out of the service bell. Eventually, one of the heavily made-up boys from the back room sauntered up, gave Jimmy—who was still pounding away at the bell—a look cold enough to kill a kitten, and turned to Edgar.

"Yeah?"

Edgar took this moment to summon up his Book Store Personality, a mental switch flick, and shot back, "Books. Ring them up."

Not to be out-assed, the clerk took great pleasure in screwing up the very simple code swiping process, and even more in dropping all the lovely books unceremoniously into the waiting bag. Edgar buried a wince at their loud 'thunk'.

"Cash or credit?" the Goth sneered, tapping black fingernails on the counter-top.

Edgar did not deign to answer, instead holding out his card with an expression so positively dripping distaste that it seemed to plop onto the counter and roll, leaving trails of haughty goo in its wake. The worker appeared to be losing their battle of unpleasantness, since he said nothing to that and simply swiped the little blue card. It had clouds all over it, and silver lettering that said, "Ask and you shall receive."

Jimmy, meanwhile, was looking bemused by the whole exchange, and kept trying to catch Edgar's eye. Of course, the older man was in character so he completely ignored his friend.

"Hey, Edgar," he finally said, sounding frustrated, "What the fuck, man?"

Unfortunately, the clerk jumped on that. "Hey, tell your boyfriend to shut up. I'm trying to ignore you."

"Fuck you," Edgar shot back, batting not an eye, "I wouldn't even know you were ignoring me with that weak-ass glare."

"Snob."

"Bitch."

"Wanna-be writer."

"At least I don't have to get my coworkers to jack me off every time I pass Interview with a Vampire."

"...You're good."

"I know."

And with that exchange completed, the clerk bagged their books and wished them a pleasant day.

Edgar switched off the inner Arrogant Bastard quite easily and dragged Jimmy out the door, swinging the bag of books merrily. For reasons he didn't particularly want to examine, a few minutes in his character always cheered him up. It was probably unhealthy, but what the hell, he was dead. A couple Freudian quirks weren't going to hurt him.

"Dude, that was creepy," Jimmy muttered. "Who's the Evil Twin?"

"My secret weapon. As it turns out, the best way to get what you want from jerks is to be an even bigger jerk than them," Edgar replied, smiling. "And it's fun too. I always thought I should have been an actor."

"Hit me like a fuckin' tornado," the younger man grumbled, this time more to himself than Edgar. "An' to think I was worried about you..."

"Me?" Edgar questioned, raising a brow. Jimmy did not worry about people. Period.

Shifty-eyes ensued. "Well, maybe not worried... but, y'know, you really don't look like you'd hold up against the Forces of Hell."

"What, stupidity and vitriol?" The older man snorted. "You forget, Jimmy. I was here for a long time before you arrived."

"...Oh, and here I thought it was my bad-ass-ery savin' you from the dark side all this time."

There was a hint of something in his expression that made Edgar wonder. Maybe he really hadn't known? After all, Edgar never bothered to talk about the months before Jimmy's arrival-they had been dull, in comparison, and very little of interest had happened to him. Perhaps, in Jimmy's mind, Edgar hadn't existed until that day in the alley.

"So I'm a damsel in distress, am I?" Edgar replied instead, slipping into that groove of banter that was second nature to him now. "You don't cut much of a heroic figure, I'm sorry to say."

"Fuck you. You aren't much of a damsel yourself. I think it's the nose."

Edgar wasn't sure where they were headed now, since the apartment was in the other direction. It was difficult to concentrate on directions when you were busy being witty, even if you did know where you were going, and it wasn't long before they were well and truly lost. Hell was always growing, sliding along the fault line of this road and the Styx, which wove in and out of the city. The apartments seemed to shift just a little bit every time he visited, and he knew that eventually the whole town would migrate completely, leaving ruins and abandoned buildings in its wake. But for now it just threw off his internal map.

And it meant that he still occasionally got lost after all those months.

"Why do you think it's so empty around here?" Jimmy asked, breaking off their conversation rather suddenly, turning his eyes to the sinister windows above them.

At first, Edgar thought he was talking about Hell in general and he was going to reply with a hypothesis about reincarnation, but then he noticed where Jimmy's eyes were focused. The windows were lifeless, and the streets emptier still. They were alone. Totally alone. An open door ahead shifted slightly in the hot wind.

The creaking street sign read "Lethe", and below that, "Lethe" again.

"Ah..." He looked around nervously. "We seem to have wandered into the abandoned section of Hell. It's funny, I was just thinking about that."

Jimmy scowled. "Creepy as shit. Let's get out of here."

Edgar obliged and they made a turn-about. He wondered where the road led, if you followed it for long enough. Where did it go? To the fifties? To Mexico? Or maybe it was like Pleasantville, looping back on itself endlessly. After all, Earthly laws didn't apply here. Did reality just... end? He spun in mind-boggling circles, wondering at the shape of the universe. Could you reach Earth from here? Would you still be real if you did?

"So..." Jimmy started, following that lapse in the conversation, "have you seen whatshisface? ...Uh, Damon?"

The older man said nothing for a startled moment. "Er... no. I haven't."

"Oh," his companion said. An awkward air seemed to settle around him. "'Cause, y'know, he's dead an' all... an' he oughta be around here somewhere..."

No, he wouldn't be. "Damon was a devoted atheist, Jimmy. He'd rather spend eternity decomposing in a box than admit he was wrong. I don't know how the system works, but something tells me he's not here."

"Oh," repeated Jimmy, looking ...relieved?

"Why?" the brunet pressed on, curious now.

"Just... you know," the younger man answered, shifting halfway from awkward to nervous.

"I wouldn't leave just because I found an old friend," Edgar said, hazarding a guess. "I wouldn't, ah, 'ditch' you, you know."

"That's not what I was worried about," Jimmy defended, ignoring Edgar's raised brow. "An' besides, you couldn't ditch me if you wanted to. I'd, like, tie you up in my room or something."

That was an interesting image. Edgar shuddered. "Let's stop that train of thought before it leads somewhere unpleasant."

The younger man snorted. "You're just scared I'll say something about rape now."

A breath of laughter burst out of Edgar's lungs. "Ah, yes, kind of."

"Aha!" Jimmy shouted, voice ringing oddly on the empty street. "But here's the problem, my faggy friend. You know what the problem is?"

"What?" Edgar asked, in spite of his better judgement.

Jimmy leant in close. "The problem is, you can't rape the willing!"

And then he dashed off ahead, giggling, with an irate Edgar hot on his heels.

The next night fell as Edgar was buying a soda from the 7/11 nearest the subway. Gunshots outside the window made him look up, and he noticed red steadily spreading across the sky like a bloodstain soaking into a white shirt. Hopefully, whoever was shooting would take his hissy fit the other way, because Edgar didn't particularly like the idea of a bullet to the chest- though he had been through far worse.

Bottle in one hand and popped cap in the other, the murdered man exited the premise. What to do now? There was the theater, if he wanted to take a nap, or he could visit the bagel shop, or find Jimmy, or he could just sit on the street corner and finish his coke. Decisions, decisions.

Of course, it was "night" now, so Jimmy would be at the club... probably feeling up some poor damned soul, the horny bastard.

Edgar scowled.

Well, maybe he wanted to talk to Jimmy? How about that? Huh? He could just go... find him, right? Never mind that he was at a club, dancing and/or molesting people, and that Edgar was decidely uncomfortably with venturing into that bar despite having already been there once before. Well, he suppose needed to talk to Jimmy? About something. He'd think of something.

The cynical voice in the back of his head informed him that he was doing that 'thing' again. It was ignored.

His feet led him down a random street with little input from his brain, because for now this part of town was as second nature to him as banter with Jimmy. One street faded into the next, and emerging goths scuttled across his path, occasionally hissing at him. It was realy quite strange, because he at least looked like a member of a fellow subculture, and you would think that someone scorned by society would appreciate someone else in a similar position...

And here he'd though he left High School behind when he died.

The club looked just like he remembered it, windows pulsing with green and pink light and the neon sign short a few key letters. A tiny war played out in his head as the words "Second Ring" registered. How could he go in, knowing what it meant? But, he'd already done that, after all... And really, who would notice him, right? Spine, Edgar!

He pushed through the door, this time careful not to get caught in the undulating mass of humanity. Now, if he was a dead teenager let loose in Hell's loosest nightclub, where would he be...? Edgar spotted him leaning against the bar, talking to a stranger. Picking his way through the edges of the crowd to reach them was a bit of a challenge, but the dead man prevaled.

Jimmy was in the middle of a sentence when he noticed Edgar walking towards him, doubtlessly looking tense and out of sorts. Edgar could see him trail off, lips falling still in the middle of a word. Oh gosh, maybe this was a bad time...

"Hey Jimmy," he said, with a little wave. "Am I interrupting something?"

"...Nooo..." the younger man replied, glancing at his companion. Said companion turned his attention to Edgar with a sort of curiosity that seemed impersonal but not innocent in the slightest. That could be bad...

"Who's this?" the stranger asked, gel-spiked hair catching the strobe light in a dizzying flash.

"Uh, yeah. This is my... uh..."

In that break of a second, it occured to Edgar that he and Jimmy might not have a normal friendship at all.

"...My friend. Um..."

Edgar blinked, waiting for a proper introduction. When none was forth-coming, a thought occured to him for the first time. "Jimmy," he started, eyes a bit wide, "You... you don't actually know my name, do you?"

"Um..." The teen had the decency to look sheepish, at least.

"Oh my god," Edgar groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead. "You... you idiot. I can't believe this. My name is Edgar, Jimmy. EDGAR. How do you not know this?"

The criminal threw his hands up. "Hey, you're the one who never introduced yourself!"

"Because you ran off and left me in an alley!"

"Well, maybe you should've brought it up, huh?"

The stranger cleared his throat. "Uh, guys? Third wheel here, feeling pretty left out. I'm Cory," he introduced, winking at the off-kilter Edgar.

...Was he the only one who noticed what a sleezeball this guy was? You wouldn't think that there could be a sleezeball in the underground rave/sodomy scene, but there was the proof, standing two feet away and wearing glow-sticks around his wrists. He had narrow, calculating eyes-they made Edgar nervous. Very nervous. And they reminded him of why he always had such confidence issues back on Earth.

"Er, hi, Cory. I'm, yeah, I'm Edgar. Edgar Vargas. Nice to... meet you."

"Mexican?" the stranger inquired, sweeping his eyes over the dead man with a little too much fervor.

"Ah, part Mexican. Part Russian. It's a... strange gene pool, you might say."

Cory shook his head, smiling. "Oh no, in fact it's rather handsome."

"Well, um, thanks..." Edgar managed, fiendishly embarrassed. He felt a burning need to say something along the lines of ''sorry, I don't swing that way!''-forgetting, of course, that he actually did. And the only thing that stopped him was the thought of how rude he would sound, and in front of Jimmy's friend too. Oh heavens no, couldn't have that.

Jimmy chose that moment to break in. "OH-kay, so everybody's introduced. Great. F- Edgar, did you, like, need something?"

Edgar stopped to think about it. Had he actually needed something? Well, honestly no. He'd only wanted to find Jimmy, and possibly work up the courage to dance with him- not likely, after last time's fiasco, but still a nice thought- and he hadn't counted on Mr. Sleeze over there train-wrecking his ability to improvise.

"Um... I forgot," Edgar answered, shrugging. The look on Jimmy's face clearly read, "And I'm the idiot?"

Cory's eyes darted back and forth between them, and then he seemed to make up his mind about something. "Hey, Jimmy, we're pretty much done here right? You can call me if there's anything else. For now, though... I'd like to dance, if your friend wouldn't mind?"

Why the emphasis on 'friend'? Oh god, could he say no? There didn't seem to be a polite way to do it. A glance at Jimmy, who looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what to say, and then the awkwardness took control of Edgar's brain.

"Er... well, I can't really dance, you see..."

"That's not a 'no'!" Cory crowed, making to pull Edgar into the crowd. Why always him?

Edgar threw a desperate glance in Jimmy's direction. Come on, if there was ever a time to disparage my dancing skills, NOW WOULD BE GREAT. But Jimmy only stared, apparently taken by surprise. Edgar mouthed 'help' and tugged at the arms of the man now dragging him away.

Finally, Jimmy seemed to un-pause. He dashed forward and caught Cory by the throat, tight enough that Edgar could just hear a wheezing gasp escape. Jimmy's eyes flashed murder, and his whole body-language had shifted in those few seconds from 'tense' to 'I will rip your fucking face off'. His nails dug into vulnerable throat-flesh.

Edgar remembered, suddenly, that this was a man who had idolized Johnny C.

"What my friend is too nice to say," Jimmy growled, "Is that he doesn't want to dance with you. I, on the other hand, have no problem telling you to fuck. Off. Take your cummy hand off his fucking wrist or I will strangle you, right here, right now, so help me God."

Cory let go like Edgar's skin was superheated. He stared, for a moment, at Jimmy, who gradually released his throat. You didn't need to have a major in psychological studies to notice the distinctly unstable look on Jimmy's face, although Edgar did.

"Jimmy..." he started, tentatively reaching out a hand-maybe to touch Jimmy's shoulder, maybe to pull him away before he snapped.

"No, no," Cory cut him off, eyes narrowing now. "Wait a second, kid. What's it to you if I dance with your friend? I mean, yeah I know you're fucking nuts, but there's something else going on here. What do you care if I drag this man off and drop a roofie in his drink?"

"Is that what you were planning?" Edgar asked, alarmed. He was, of course, ignored.

"And something else," the stranger went on, with the air of a man on the verge of finishing a puzzle, "You don't have friends, Jimmy. People like you don't, and you in particular definitely don't. So why-"

The punch came out of nowhere, blasting Cory in the gut hard enough to knock him down and keep him down for a long time. Jimmy looked like he was going to follow his opponent to the floor, ostensensibly to beat the living daylights out of him, but Edgar caught his arm this time and really did pull him away. The teen struggled in his grasp, but Edgar had a good grip and was actually a bit stronger than him.

The older man managed to get them both to the door, using his last bit of strenth to toss Jimmy out of the club and onto the concrete outside. The door fell to behind him, cutting off the music with a clean 'click'.

Safe? Yes, he thought so.

Jimmy glared up at him, spikes of hair flipped over his eyes, black nails scrabbling at the sidewalk. Edgar waited patiently, leaning against the vibrating window that stretched out on either side of him. Eventually, Jimmy would think of somthing to say.

"That dick," he finally hissed, "That shitty little... fucker. I oughta rip his goddamn guts out, I oughta cut his dick off and feed it to him like a fucking sausage, see how he likes it, I oughta-"

"Um," Edgar cut in quickly, mildly disturbed, "I know none of us can technically die, but I really don't think this line of reasoning is-"

"And you! Why'd you pull me outa there? I could've taken care of him in five minutes, but you had to drag me off! Do you realize what he was saying? About me? About you?"

"Well, yes, I got the general idea..."

"There you go again!" he shouted, a nail snapping as he scraped at the sidewalk. "there you go again with your forgiving bullshit. You don't stand up for yourself, you don't get angry! It's not natural! You aren't mad at Nny, you aren't mad at that kid, you aren't even mad at this fucker inside! Well, somebody's gonna fight back an' if it's not gonna be you then I'll do it. I'll cut him up so bad the Devil himself won't know how to put him back together!"

"But he didn't... Jimmy, he didn't even say anything that terrible."

"Oh yeah?" The younger man laughed, although there was nothing humorous in his voice. "What about slipping date-rape drugs into your drink?"

"I'm pretty sure he was just kidding about that," Edgar replied, nervously. He hoped that such things weren't standard fare at the Second Ring. "Or, you know, exaggerating."

"Oh, you would think that, wouldn't you? Listen here, Edgar, I knew that man a long time before I died, an' he's a helluva lot scarier than I am, just hides it better. Shit, of all the moments for you to walk into the club, it had to be the night I was talking to Cory. I knew, shit, I knew the second you walked in the door..."

Edgar slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, same as Jimmy, with his legs pulled up to his chest. Well this was... an interesting development.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. He never meant to cause all that hassle.

"Oh fuck," the younger man groaned, "don't you go apologizing. As if you need any more excuse to be... you. Like that. Shit."

They were quiet for a moment, and Edgar craned to get a look in the window above his head. He was curious to see if Cory was still at the fringes or if he'd made his way onto the dance floor.

"Look... Edgar," Jimmy started, seeming to taste the name as he pronounced it, apparently liking the flavor. "I dunno... I think, maybe, I'm sorry? I just get so mad sometimes, I... an', we have history, him an' me..."

The older man held up a hand. "It's alright, Jimmy. He creeped me out too. I just don't want you to go do something you'll regret because you worked yourself into a indecent fury, particualrly not on my behalf."

The criminal- yes, because there was no doubt in Edgar's mind that he was indeed a criminal -took on a peculiar expression, a little bit incredulous, a little bit amused. Words seemed to wait on the curve of his lips, but no sound made its way out. After a moment, he just shook his head and said, "Let's get a drink, yeah? I think I need some booze."

"Well," Edgar smiled, "they say it's unhealthy to drink alone..."

"Alright! C'mon, there's an actual bar down the street, an' you got that little blue credit card..."

Edgar smiled wider. Equillibrium settled back into place, and the episode of before was... not forgotten, but moved away from. Of course, a tingle started in Edgar's fingertips when he thought too hard about the wild look on Jimmy's face, or the way his nails had dug into that man's throat...

He shook it off, and went off for a drink.

"So why were you talking to him anyways?"

"Er... he said he could get me a car."

...

SMACK

TBC