Chapter 10: Lemon Goes to Hell
Baron Samedi drags Brother Voodoo by the bare heel, and Hell surrounds them. Searing dust swirls about Jericho Drumm jerked along the road, conflagration raging on either side. Keening screams accompany the hissing and crackling hellfire, and Dr. Drumm surveys the damned sorrowfully suffering. Wretched souls swoop forth with outstretched hands and howl for some solace. However, the hero cannot help them. At least not until he helps himself. The Houngan Supreme cannot much longer endure a savage and speedy hauling over Hell's sharp scouring soil, erosive earth, grating ground.
Gasping, galled Voodoo gathers his grit and gifts. He grasps the gris-gris at his gullet and concentrates. First, he calls upon the general Vodu to govern their fellow member. Then, he summons universal magic available to all sorcerers from the Sanctum Sanctorum to the Dark Dimension to Haiti to Hades. Certainly, an ex-Sorcerer Supreme is not limited to the Loa, and a North American necromancer need not be inexorably attached to Baron Samedi and voodoo.
Susurrating a spell, Drumm transmutes into smoke and slips Sagbata's grip. The Grim Reaper's gait arrests, and a grave gaze scours the surrounding Gehenna. In the unholy glow, the Baron grinds his teeth into a grin as gross grime, on great gusts, soils his suit and stovepipe. The death god giggles at the plucky priest's precocious antics. Such playfulness pleases the Baron. For, what the hell? Samedi will play some hide and go seek.
Actually in plain sight, Brother Voodoo hovers camouflaged against the realm's smokey, fiery brimstone. Mustering prodigious power, the magician unleashes an awesome eldritch bolt upon the mischief-maker. But, the robust bolt affects the death-lord little, and the Baron just japes amused. Laughing Samedi snaps his fingers and Drumm drops forth in fleshly form.
"Lo and behold! It is the Lord of the Loa bringing levity to a gloomy land," Samedi snickers.
"I am the Lord of the Loa, and you would be wise to keep that in mind," remonstrates Dr. Voodoo, "I could summon any number of spirits."
"I can summon a f****** spirit too. It is called rum. Would you like some, old chum?" Samedi lights his cigar from flame to the side. Cocksure, he puffs it.
"I could summon your siblings," Jericho warns.
The Baron laughs, "Where do you suppose their loyalty lies?"
"Not necessarily with you," Drumm replies, "You kidnap Legba's right hand. You abuse Ghekre's keeper of order. And, Damballah is just damn unpredictable and dastardly."
Samedi shakes his smiling head, "My brethren would understand why I twice kidnapped you and hauled you to Hell. I did it for a good cause."
"People are not pawns," counters Jericho Drumm.
The god rejoins, "The Loa are lords to even the Lord of the Loa." Baron Samedi pivots his posterior to the priest, and he strides further into the Inferno's bowels.
At the Baron's back, Brother Voodoo bids "Stop!", but the "higher being" heeds him not. Rather, Sagbata says over a shoulder, "You shall follow me, boy. I shall explain your duties to you before we reach the next infernal circle."
The Houngan Supreme sprints after Master Death. But, Drumm is not tailing Samedi like some dog. Rather, Dr. Voodoo follows the footsteps of fellow heroes, Samedi's betters. Often, good guys play along with bad guys to pump them for information. They extract useful intelligence before outsmarting and besting adversaries.
Right on cue, Baron Samedi offers arrogant exposition on his wondrous plans to explicate evil in the world. He states, "Up ahead, Nathan Lemon, a.k.a. Spymaster, stands awaiting us. Lemon is a thief, a deceiver, a murderer, and a torturer. He has hurt heavenly spirits from Iron Man to Iron Fist and the good people surrounding them. He has inflicted iniquity upon the innocent and ever advanced his own eternal damnation. Thus, Spymaster dwells here in Hell."
"Mephisto's Realm is maybe made for such as him," mentions the Haitian houngan.
"Verily, it is," affirms the African god, "However, we are not in Mephisto's corner of Perdition. That would be mad. He is a major devil. Rather, we trespass a corner of Daimon Hellstrom's domain. He scares no one."
"Agreed," affirms the bona fide Midnight Son.
"Anyway, that is where in the hell we are," says Samedi.
"And, you were explaining why the hell that we are here," voices Voodoo.
"Indeed, I was elucidating amidst an inferno," a cigar emits embers, "Nathaniel Lemon is an evil **** to whom you and I shall dispense justice—poetic and divine justice just as he deserves. You and I shall meet him momentarily. It should be a nice, relaxed chat here in the infernal depths. He already knows me. He will soon trust you. As a heroic type, you seem his deliverer."
"I seem?" Drumm caught Samedi's semantics.
"Yes," the Baron expresses, "I need you to haul him from Hell to Haiti for me. There, he will find hope."
"How us?"
The Baron explains, "By your magic, Nathan Lemon will leap into a new body—a living one. It will be better than the undead meat that he currently occupies."
"So, am I saving him?" Dr. Drumm queries.
"Sure," Samedi says, "You are saving him for further torment later."
Jericho jars, "I am afraid that this seasoned sorcerer does not understand. What are your ways, wise sir?"
Samedi slings a strong arm over broad shoulders, "Well, Dr. Voodoo, you are transferring Spymaster's soul from perdition to damnable Danny Guitar, who lives in Mirebalais, Haiti."
Jericho slips a grubby grip (with actual grubs), "And, what becomes of Danny's soul, potentially displaced."
"Mr. Guitar hasn't got a soul," rotten rictus reports, "You see, dummy Danny crossed Mambo Ezili while doing dirty deeds in Manhattan."
"Do you mean mambo Calypso Ezili, deadly foe of Spider-Man and others?" digs Drumm.
"No, Calypso's sister—who she slew," replies Death.
"Of course she did," Voodoo vacillates his chin. Sometimes, this universe's strange tales get more daedal and serpentine than Damballah.
"Mambo Ezili did in Danny's psyche and spirit," continues the Grim Reaper, "When her witchery hit, Guitar gave up his ghost, and his eyes glazed forever over [see Daredevil #244]. His skull seemed a shell when American officials apprehended him for sordid stuff, and they found him incompetent to stand trial. So, the U.S. exported a vegetable back to Haiti. Haitian humanitarians dropped Danny in Mirebalais' big hospital—where Guitar hasn't moved a lick since."
"So, we are going to send Spymaster into an atrophied invalid's body? That act is not too nice," Dr. Drumm anticipates some issues.
"I am not very nice," Sagbata plainly states, "And, neither is the natural universe. And, neither is often, frankly, fairness."
Brother Voodoo frowns, "I am one of the good guys. It troubles me to so abuse even the likes of Lemon."
Smirking Samedi scratches scraggily chin. He says, "I see. Well then, you'll really get gut gas when I tell you that my punishment plan gets even grander and grimmer."
"Gosh," the humane houngan huffs.
Death discloses, "You see, Drumm, you will indeed place condemned shade Nathan Lemon into the wasted husk of Danny Guitar. However, that bad hull is, in turn, condemned. Years of heroin abuse have led to lymphoma within our wretch. Lemon will live but an agonizing year before we yank him back to Hell and put him through Hell on Earth all over again in a different defective body. That is my design. So bids Sagbata."
Brother Voodoo vouches, "Your design is grandly grim."
"Good," the Grim Reaper titters, "A sinner should suffer terribly. I shall repeatedly crush Lemon until I am bored. Then, Hellstrom may have him."
Beside Sagbata, the "Gunner of God" (see Doctor Voodoo: Avenger of the Supernatural #1) states solemnly, "I grant that I have heard and understand your plan."
The superhero scans across the hellscape. Up ahead, he sees Spymaster encircled in swirling flames and soot. The infernal elements distort the damned man's figure, made in the Image of. . . . . Lemon looks half-demonic and yet half-human in the depths' dancing dark light. And, Jericho Drumm wonders whether the tongues (of fire) warn others of Spymaster's duplicitous ways or reveal his true nature, whatever that is. In the infernal illumination, the priest perceives a poor soul paying a penance as twisting flames tortuously turn the sinner's tenebrous silhouette along the brimstone. Seeking some peace, Brother Voodoo prepares to speak with Nathan Lemon before propelling him into perpetual perdition as Baron Samedi proposes. Perhaps, this repeated thief, murderer, and torturer repents some past deeds.
The hero must find out.
Death and the doctor enter the damned's immediate environs, and he can see them despite the Netherworld's constant chaotic climate. Neither furious fire nor flitting filth obscures them. Neither brimstone's smell nor Hell's roaring knell distracts a soul.
"Peace be with you," Drumm shakes hands.
Beside Jericho, a daemon jerks in surprise. He appears puzzled by his priest's approach. However, he is certain that his servant merely palavers the prey. Perhaps, Lemon should think that the two thanatomaniacs come in peace until they take a piece and take a piece and take a piece perpetually.
"At this point, I wish that I could have peace," Nathan replies, "I know only endless tribulation lately. The Daughters of the Dragon have dealt me plenty of damage, whether I be alive or dead. The demon Riglevio, disguised as Nightshade, offed me in the first place. Then, after that bad b****, mad witch Calypso obscenely revived me and coldly dispatched a zombie after revenge. After wrecking myself again, 'benevolent' Baron Samedi brought me here to a literal living hell."
Dr. Drumm continues holding Nathan's hand warmly amidst the Inferno. Assessing, Lemon gives him an evil eye. However, Sagbata looks on amused wondering where this is all going.
The Supernatural Avenger answers Spymaster, "I am here to deliver you."
Lemon looks into Voodoo's visage. The sorry shade surveys like a spy and assesses like an espionage agent. What are this person's intentions?
Gathering intelligence, he asks, "Deliver me where?"
"To a Caribbean vacation at coordinates 18N 72W," Samdedi says. Charnel chops chuckle at their own joke.
"Haiti," the Spymaster astutely surmises, "Your home, Brother Voodoo." Spymaster and Brother Voodoo may or may not have previously met, but the Espionage Elite knows his racket.
"Correct," Drumm confirms, "You would initially be in Haiti."
"Initially," Nathan notes the phrasing, "Does anything happen after Haiti?"
"I am not sure," the Houngan Supreme sighs, "But, I would like to find out."
Eyes narrowing, Samedi studies Voodoo. Master Death is not sure that his pawn sticks to the plan. But, the Baron is semi-certain that Jericho is a good boy who would never dare screw him. So, Samedi stays silent, smiling at the condemned.
Dr. Voodoo releases Spymaster's right hand. Jericho smiles too, but kindly. The Houngan Supreme says, "Nathan, you should know that Thanatos here considers you his thrall and almost his toy."
Tickled Death, Thanatos, waves coyly. He says, "It is my pleasure to play with you."
"And, this is his plan," Drumm discloses, "He wants me to ferry you from Hell to Haiti. There, I shall transfer your spirit into a human shell. Danny Guitar is a man literally mortified and immobile after encountering the injurious occult awhile ago. A hag stole his psyche and soul, so his atrophied anatomy is utterly available for habitation."
"However, long has his comatose carcass languished in Haiti," Lemon interrupts, "A man wouldn't want to trade his zombie body for a mummy's."
"My-my, aren't you prideful," Samedi snickers, "But, of course, you are in the right place for such moral error."
From nowhere, Tartarus' thunderous gales tussle everyone's person, tremble the air, and nearly take all away. Gehenna's awful gusts assault the trio to their very souls and shake their sanity in passing. Then, they go shrieking into the crying cacophony of the condemned.
Dr. Drumm clears his throat. With courage, he confesses, "Listen, Mr. Lemon, I must level with you. Our mutual patron, Baron Samedi, proposes that I do place you in a palsied man—who is even sicker than initially apparent. Cancer claims him soon after you occupy."
"Afterward, what becomes of me? Do I haunt Justin Hammer for ever hooking me into this mess?" Spymaster speculates.
"Alas, no," Jericho tells Nathan, "This death deity plans a prolonged purgatorial suffering for you." Brother Voodoo indicates smirking skull face.
"To purge me of my sin?!" sourly scoffs Lemon.
"Yes and no," informs Drumm, "You shall suffer placement in one doomed host after another until this African god grows sated. Then, he simply pitches you back into Perdition and perpetual torment. There will be no ultimate redemption along the line."
Lemon leans back low-spirited. Lip-locked, Spymaster stands silently for a second listening to the lamentations and screams of his future fellows. Suddenly, squaring his shoulders, he states, "I feel betrayed Sagbata. You promised some light back in Montana."
"Just look at the infinite fires around you," the Baron jokes. He quivers amused at his own quip.
Fuming, Spymaster questions, "What have I done to deserve this fate?"
The deity sighs solemnly, "Nathan, Nathan, Nathan Lemon, you know your sins." Stygian fires reflect upon obsidian sunglasses.
Spymaster looks Samedi in the cheaters. "I feel betrayed," he glumly repeats.
Brother Voodoo reveals, "Fortunately, we can betray Baron Samedi right back."
The grinning Grim Reaper giggles. "Oh, how's that?" he asks.
"I am a double-crosser for the habitual double-crosser, Spymaster, and to the chronic double-crosser, Samedi," the Supernatural Avenger states.
"What do you mean?" tilted glasses glint in the hellfire. An ebon eye assesses ominously.
"I am taking Nat Lemon from your cruel chicanery," Dr. Drumm steps toward his charge.
Samedi spitefully spits through the sooty air; unctuous saliva sizzles at Voodoo's exposed feet. "Jericho, surely you jest," utters the annoyed avatar.
The necromancer answers, "Sagbata, you certainly have jerked around a lot of people recently. Mr. Lemon and I have particularly had to be patient when treated as pawns."
"I am a god," the death deity establishes, "You mortals are simply the goats that I goad or sacrifice as I please."
"Actually, priests make the sacrifices," the Houngan Supreme corrects the Loa.
"And, gods eat the meat," a blighted tongue lashes across bloodless lips.
So warned, Brother Voodoo bravely replies, "So what? Mortals have free will, and the gods have whims."
Wiley insult noted, Death nods, "But, dead mortals have fates, and Nathan Lemon's is already sealed. So. . . . ."
Short silence follows. Then, the Supernatural Avenger squares his shoulders. He states, "No, Nathan's eternal sentence is not actually sealed. There is still hope for mercy upon this pathetic man."
Lich-Lemon perks-up, "Tell us more."
"Shut up," Samedi scolds his intended tsatske.
A finger wags in a hallowed face. Brother Voodoo elucidates, "Baron Samedi, you snatched Spymaster directly from Montana to Hell. Human souls are supposed to face Divine Judgment before forever being jailed here. Otherwise, they are free to leave should they find a path or a patron such as myself."
In a sinister sneer, curled lips correct, "You are wrong, Jericho. I abducted and delivered a dead man into the Underworld—as is my divine purview—after the witch Calypso resurrected him and the bitches Wing and Knight killed him several times over still."
Dr. Voodoo counters, "Human resurrection is abominable. Therefore, poor Lemon unnaturally returned in a universe that gives no sanction to the undead's existence. Therefore, both Calypso and you have committed cosmic errors. I shall kindly correct them for you, my good Loa."
Samedi steps swiftly forward. His fearsome face meets Voodoo's visage inches away. He exhales riled, rank breath. A petulant voice pronounces, "Thou shalt not put your death deity to the test, bokor. Either properly honor me, or expect me to utterly abandon you. Then, you will be Dr. Voodoo, the f****** magician, instead of a true sorcerer with terrific powers."
"Don't be so pompous, Baron. We just had this discussion," Drumm reminds Skull-Face, "What else have you got?"
Sleight of hand flips forth a flask. Death does some rum to relieve his rising wrath. He responds, "What I have got is that God judged Lemon the first time that Spymaster died when demon Riglevio ripped the rogue in twain. Disguised as Nightshade, Pandemonium's denizen properly plucked-off Nathan with a machine gun one night. Only days later did Calypso do her black magic disturbing the universe's decorum. Between mundane death and unholy resurrection, Lemon was wholly in Heaven's hands. His soul has been judged."
"Says you," Drumm insolently utters, "I am just. And, I shall confirm or cancel your petty, punitive plans with a Higher Power."
"Lusa?" the Vodu cracks. Lusa is Sagbata's father and sire.
"No. And, not Lucifer either," Voodoo continues, "You see, Sagbata, Christian belief courses through Haiti, and it implicitly constructs both of us. We cultural icons are not strictly of West Africa anymore. Over the centuries, Baron Samedi and Brother Voodoo represent, in part, the New World and its new ways."
"Tell me something I don't know," Samedi puffs smoke (despite lacking a lit cigar), "Or, I will tell you something that we both know: namely, that the New World is an unkind place for sons of Africa. Your fidelity should be ever with the Vodu, not the Vatican."
"I acknowledge Haiti's hard history," the righteous man responds, "However, I also recognize that peace, hope, and love are often preached there over the eras, effectively or not. Christian dogma amalgamates with our people's ways and evolves it into something new: voodoo. I presently wish to emphasize such Christian belief in mercy and the practice of forgiveness."
"S***!" Samedi steps back. This Haitian's humane beneficence is silly. Spymaster is an accomplished sinner, period. The Netherwold numen knows that he is right.
On cue, Nathan Lemon kneels humbly before the Houngan Supreme. Eyes averted, he adjures, "Dr. Drumm, you are infinitely kind in your offer. But, I don't deserve such grace. I am as Samedi describes: s***. However, after experiencing Hell for this while, I know that a pathetic wretch cannot endure it. Thus, please save me if possible, despite a life lowly led."
Jericho nudges Nathan's chin up. He states, "Your grace is not at all guaranteed. My actions will grant you only a second chance at judgment. They do not undo your transgressions. You could be cast right back here into Hellstrom's Hell."
"Understood," Spymaster rises and sighs.
Brother Voodoo pats the sinner's shoulder. Then, the superhero addresses Samedi, "I take Lemon to Limbo to face redeliberation."
A god's grimy, grody teeth grind while grinning. Burning eyes complement the Inferno. But, despite increasing inner ire, Baron Samedi manages to laugh. He facetiously queries, "Are you a double-agent for Thanos? I may have pissed him off recently."
"I wasn't present for any conflict with the Mad Titan," the staid sorcerer, with a wave of his hand, simply whisks his charge from the ward of the wicked.
Left wondering, Baron Samedi wags his chin. On one hand, the morbid Loa loves misbehavior, and this mere man, Jericho Drumm, certainly has exhibited some. On the other hand, the Grim Reaper can be serious as Death, and he might have to mash this mischievous mite for repute's sake.
Suddenly! Someone to the side snaps fingers crisply. Samedi spins to see. Staring back, the Son of Satan sits observing upon a brimstone throne. Save Tartarus' tumult, there is momentarily silence.
Then, Daimon Hellstrom curtly declares, "If you think this event is mad, you should see what occurs presently at Lady Death's Palace."
Elsewhere, benevolent Dr. Voodoo brings Spymaster to a certain Oblivion. Lemon goes to Limbo. God willing, may he rest in peace. And, this deliverance is the last that anyone sees of Nathan Lemon, alive, dead, or undead.