Chapter Six-
"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Meg asked while occasionally looking up from the magical GPS plaque in her hand to check her bearings.
Death, strolling behind, shrugged apologetically. "Did I mention he's loonier than a bank in Alberta?"
"No, you failed to mention that."
"Oh, yeah," Death added. "Don't mention the word information around him. He gets a little uptight."
Meg looked back down at the map screen. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'll remember that the next time I tangle with Dr. No back there."
For several minutes, the two of them walked the neighborhoods of Limbo, sometimes admiring the scenic beauty of the endless suburban sprawl, and at other times, simply bored with it.
Finally, they found themselves in the lane of a wooded cul-de-sac. Meg checked the map plaque. According to the golden circle surrounding one of the furthest houses in the street, this was where they were supposed to be.
"Well, this is it," Meg said a little nervously, as they approached the front door of their destination. She rang the doorbell and straightened her blouse.
The door opened and Meg was met by someone she thought she would have never seen again. There, still in the dark blue jogging suit she remembered from so long ago, this time adorned with a button marked 903, and still greeting the world with her ebullient eyes, stood Jennifer.
It was as if time stood still for the two of them. For Jennifer, it was a moment too impossible to be. Meg had come. She had finally come, and more to the fact was that she missed her so much.
Heart pounding and not caring for formalities, Jennifer squealed in joy, reached out and hugged Meg as tight as she dared. An action Meg herself was more than happy to reciprocate.
"Ugh," Death moaned, clearly uncomfortable with this emotional display. "Can we at least get inside with that? I got a reputation to keep."
"Oh, you're right," Jennifer agreed, finding her composure and leading them both inside the house. "Where are my manners? You both must have come such a long way. Please sit down and I'll get you some refreshments."
Death leaned over to Meg and whispered to her, "Will we need a food taster?" He got an elbow in his side for that remark.
"Thank you, Jennifer," Meg said graciously as they sat down in the living room.
"I'll be right back."
As Jennifer skipped into the kitchen, Meg and Death took the time to rest and study the home, which was small yet well furnished for its size, with cute knick-knacks and photos of her friends in the cult.
One photo in particular dominated the row of other pictures on the mantle in size and placing, and when Meg saw it, she almost teared up.
Framed in gold was a large photograph of Meg and Jennifer taken during a stopover at the town mall in the middle of their short, whirlwind time together.
It was like a time machine to Meg. The friendship, the sisterly bond. It was all there. It was such a bright time in her young life then. All she needed to complete that sought after sense of normalcy was a good friend and Jennifer was heaven-sent.
The picture wasn't glossy or artistically shot, but it didn't need to be. It just needed to be a chronicle, a moment in time when she was just…happy.
Meg closed her eyes and let the ache of memories wash through her like the heat from a stiff drink of whiskey. It seemed as though she was a fighting a losing battle with the powers-that-be over her share of happiness in the world, and lately, the battle must have intensified.
A tear finally formed and rolled down her smooth, round cheek, and for a moment, she didn't know why it came. Was it for happiness, or was it for pain?
Meg noticed Jennifer returning with a pitcher of fruit juice, stackable cups and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She wiped away the errant tear and brightened up again as she and Death accepted the fare and settled in to eat.
It was starting to become too quiet in the room so Meg opened up with conversation.
"Look at you," she said, forgetting the fact that Jennifer was now a spirit. "You haven't aged a day."
"Smooth," Death said under his breath.
If Jennifer noticed the faux pas, she didn't let it faze her disposition. Sitting up in her chair engagingly, she replied, "Well, it's pretty easy up here. But you! Look at you! You're growing into such a beautiful woman. I have to say I'm so jealous of you."
'I'm growing into such a jaded woman,' Meg thought sourly. And jealous? What did Jennifer see in her that was so envied?
"Please, don't be," Meg said with a sudden note of weariness. "You don't have to worry about parents who treat you like trash, or kids at school taking their frustration out on you by making you their whipping girl. If anything, I envy you." Then, as a quiet addendum, she said, "I wish we could trade places, sometimes."
Meg kicked herself when she noticed how her comments took the air right out of the room. "I'm…I'm sorry. It's just…me seeing you again after so long, it's bringing up these memories. Like, life can really kick you in the teeth, you know?"
"Oh, Meg," Jennifer commiserated. "That was why I joined the Heaven's Helpers. I felt the same way you do now and I thought the cult would free me from those feelings. Teach me how to cope. I was wrong, and in the end, it was too late for me."
She reached across the table and held Meg's hands to bring home the next thing she would say.
"Don't ever wish to switch places, Meg.
What happened, happened, and right now, you can do the most good here, being who you are. I never lost faith in that, and I know you can help us because that's who you are, the nicest girl I ever knew."
Meg felt like such a fool right then. Her occasional lapse into an angst-ridden funk was a weakness that she knew, and that shamed her deeply. Why was it so easy to doubt herself, when her good friend, her best friend, was right there, giving her that support she so desperately needed at this juncture of her mission.
Meg squeezed Jennifer's hands back and lifted her head to see her face-to-face, determined to prove her friend's faith in her.
"You're right. Thank you, Jennifer. Best friends," she said softly.
To which Jennifer, remembering what they said to each other so long ago, responded back, in kind, "Friends forever."
Feeling much better than before, Meg then went into her attaché and took out some relevant stationary. "Okay, let's see how we can do this."
Number 2 stood by a seesaw monitor in his office, but was having trouble seeing it clearly because of its rocking motion.
"Can you-can you hold that-can you hold that steady?" he ranted. "I'm trying to-Look, damn it, I can't see what's going on if this piece of shit won't hold still!"
Behind him, Meg came through the door with purpose as she marched up to him.
"Ah, Number 8!" he said genially as he quickly went back to his seat behind his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Meg and Death continued to walk until they reached his desk. Death sat in one of the facing egg chairs, but Meg stood before the desk instead.
"Number 2, I've finished my interviews with the cult kids that live in the cul-de-sac and I'm ready to leave now," Meg said to him. "I believe that everything is in order?"
"Oh-oh, yes, of course, Number 8," the warden spoke with begrudging regard to her. "You will be pleased to know that all of your paperwork bore my scrutiny and was most acceptable. I must tell you that it is only my respect for you as an opponent that allows me to speak with vast deference to you."
Meg thought she misheard him just then. "Vas deferens?" she said to herself. "What a nutty thing to say." She then spoke back to the warden. "Uh, anyway, thank you, uh, Number 2. I'll be going now. I have an appointment to keep with Mr. Ragg in the morning."
Number 2 perked up at once. "Ragg, did you say? You wouldn't perchance mean one Zachary Phineas Ragg of the Massachusetts Ragg fortune, would you?"
Meg was a bit taken aback by that. How could anyone from Limbo, of all places, know anything about him?
"Yeah, I think so. How do you know about him?"
Number 2 stroked his beard softly in mad thought and misplaced admiration.
"Ah, as you can see, you're not the only one with access to…information, Number 8. You see, I knew that you weren't so forthcoming when you said that you weren't in the intelligence game."
"Apparently, neither are you. I told you I'm not a secret agent with hidden information."
"Information!" he suddenly called out, clearly liking the word and completely out of his tree.
Meg just sighed and tried to get through to him regardless. "Yeah, look, what do you know about Mr. Ragg?"
Number 2 leaned back in his egg chair, looking as though he was about to drive the final nail in his imagined rival's coffin.
With a self-satisfied smile, he said with a chuckle, "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Know all of my secrets and win the game? The only game worth playing? The game of cat and mouse playing chess on a tightrope over a minefield with a blindfold on while playing Russian Roulette to see who'll start first in a game of Risk? Hmmm?"
"Tell me what you know about Ragg," Meg said evenly. "Or I'll make you watch Disaster Movie, the Director's cut."
The man stared hard at Meg, judging to see if she would follow through with so dangerous a threat.
Meg didn't even bat an eyelash. "With commentary."
Number 2 shivered. "Well played," he finally commended softly. "It seems an inmate of mine had prior dealings with the illustrious Mr. Ragg before her arrival here."
"An inmate? Who is she?"
"A mysterious but otherwise model prisoner who was known to talk about the man at some length. It was reported that at times, it was all she ever talked about to anyone who listened," he explained.
This piqued her curiosity. She picked up her attaché, preparing to go to this new lead, and asked Number 2, "Can you arrange an interview with her? Anything she can tell me could really help me in this job I'm going to."
"I'll see what I can do, Number 8. Seeing as how you bested me in my own game, it's the least I can do for she-who-vanquished-me-by-cunningly-turning-my-moves-against-me-like-a-cat-in-season-toying-with-her-prey-while-the-mice-are-happily-away-not-knowing-when-the-day will-come-when-the-bounced-check-will-be-returned-due-to-insufficient-funds."
Meg stood stunned at that raw display of befuddled silliness and couldn't leave to talk to this mystery inmate unless she asked him one last question.
"Are you related to a man named Adam West?"
Because of its longer distance, Death had to drive them there this time. He stayed in the car with the engine idling while he talked to Meg, who was on her way to the door of the prisoner's house.
"I have to take off for a while," he said, while holding up his cell phone to her. "Just got a call of another earthquake. Six on the Richter, tops. When you're ready to go, just call me on your cell and I'll pick you up."
"Okay, I'll see you later."
She knocked on the door as she heard the loud putt-putt of the VW's engine fade in the distance. She had a pretty good feeling about this. An unexpected source of information concerning her boss, so soon, meant that this could make her new job with him all the easier for her. She wondered who she was.
Meg raised her hand to knock again, when the door finally opened. From the dim of the foyer, a feminine face leaned into view.
"I got the call from The Mayor to expect you," she said. "Come in."
Meg followed the woman into the house and closed the door. The interior, she was quick to notice, was markedly different from Jennifer's or the other kids'.
It looked like a cross between a museum and a stylishly decorated apartment. The facsimiles of trinkets and larger pieces of art were displayed in glass cases. The odd painting or two, also copies, had their places of honor on the walls.
"You like? I can't keep the originals, of course, but it's nice to know that I have a way of showing off my work. A kind of resume, if you like."
The look of the owner of the home was just as attention getting as her décor. She sat down on a plush sofa nearby and offered Meg a seat across from her.
The prisoner was attractive; a black woman in her mid-20's with loose, curly hair framing a girlish and mischievous face. However, what struck Meg the most was what the woman wore, a shiny, black catsuit whose highlights set off every curve on her body like a fireworks show and a pair of yellow-tinted goggles that crowned her head when not in use.
Obviously, these were the clothes that she wore in life, or rather, the clothes she wore at the very end of her life, but Meg also noticed something odder still about her attire. She couldn't find the button that showed off her number. Everyone else had one, why didn't she?
"Now," the woman said amicably while lounging on the sofa. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, Number 2 said that you had some information on Mr. Ragg. I have to see him tomorrow and I'd like to know as much as I can about him since I'm going to be working in his company soon," Meg said.
The woman's eyebrow rose knowingly. "Planning on brown nosing the boss, huh? Well, it's a good start, but I never gave anything for free. If you want to know something about Ol' Ragamuffin, it'll cost you."
Meg thought very little on the subject of cost. Any chance to win favor with a new boss by anticipating his every professional need by way of foreknowledge was a welcomed opportunity.
"Sure, okay. It's a deal," Meg said eagerly.
"Okay. You want to work for Ragg? Well, know this. I used to work for him, until he gave me one hell of a severance pay. A nine millimeter bonus, if you get my meaning."
Meg had to stop fantasizing about literary fame to digest what she had just heard. "He…shot you?"
The woman nodded. "I was a professional thief and treasure hunter. Anyway, that guy is a world-class asshole, and thanks to me, he's got his hands on an ancient, evil artifact that'll probably give him world power."
This was bewildering for Meg. Where was all of this coming from? A CEO who murders and has some sort of object that gives him magical powers? She was beginning to question this woman's sanity, as well, but figured that while she was here, she'd hear the prisoner out.
"Well, what kind of artifact is it?" Meg asked her. "Do you know what it's called?"
"The Soulflame," she said simply. "Some spiritual weapon from Sumeria, I think."
"What does it look like?" Meg pressed, noticing that for some reason she was becoming a little more curious.
"Uh, like some big flame carved out of amber stuck on top of a gray, marble ball with some writing all around it. Anyway, it was in a museum in the Middle East. He must have heard about it on a trip there, or something. Paid me a ton of money to lift it, but according to him, it needs souls in order to power the thing."
"Souls?"
"Yeah. See, apparently he made a deal with the Devil in exchange for these souls, but the Devil has to wait until these particular souls have been judged guilty of mortal sin, and then claimed by him. Then he can send them to the CEO, as per their agreement."
The expressions on Meg's face were chameleonic. First skeptical, then curious, then skeptical again, and now, with understanding dawning across her visage, worryingly terrified.
"Jennifer and the others," Meg whispered to herself. She then turned attention back to the woman. "Why are they so important to him?"
The woman paused, perplexed. "You know these souls personally? They're your friends?"
"Yes, that's why I came here. Why are they so important to him?"
"Because they're so powerful," the woman explained. "And the reason why these particular souls are so powerful is because they were the souls of innocents who were tricked into forfeiting their young lives. Lives that were full of promise, y'know? The fact that your friends understand this now, makes it all the more tragic, and to the Devil, more satisfying, demonstrating, to him at least, that God had abandoned them when they were at their most confused and desperate."
"Well, now I really have to do something," Meg ruminated. "They're going to be tried for killing themselves pretty soon, and I'm their defender. I'm gonna have to convince the jury that it was all an accident, somehow. I'm just glad that their paperwork was lost back then, and they had to spend time here."
"Well, I might have had a hand in that," the woman said sheepishly. "See, the reason they weren't processed right away was because the Devil found out about their Mortality Report. It's a document detailing how you died. Ragg arranged to have my soul temporarily leave my body so that I could go to Heaven and steal it, so the souls would have to be sent here to Limbo instead, until a court day could be set to render a final judgment for all of them."
Meg looked incredulously at her. "They had you steal it? They had you steal it? Why couldn't the Devil just do it himself?"
The woman shrugged. "Because holy documents hurt Old Scratch. With the report gone, it's riskier for your friends now, because instead of having a prompt evaluation based on the information on the report, they now have to be judged as if in an earthly court of law with limited access to evidence available, and the possibility of wrongful prosecution, which could lead to innocent souls going to Hell by mistake, which is what the Devil is counting on with these particular souls. He and 'Ol Dish Ragg seem pretty confident that no one'll be able to successfully clear 'em."
The depth in which this was taking Meg was breathtaking. She had no idea what was going on until right now. She had no clue as to the kind of players and the kind of stakes she was engaging in. One major mistake, or even a minor one at a critical juncture, could unravel everything she was now trying to work for. But Jennifer's soul was at stake, and now that she knew why, Meg couldn't stop now, no matter who stood to gain from her failure.
"They haven't seen me in action, yet," Meg said with a little steel in her voice.
The woman could see that Meg wasn't going to be deterred by what she just told her, but she continued anyway. The girl needed to know what she was getting into.
"Look, the Devil set this deal up with the CEO years in advance," she said while counting off the various points of the deal on her fingers. "Ragg selling his soul for earthly power and having me temporarily die so my spirit could sneak around in Heaven to steal the cult's paperwork so that they couldn't be processed right then and there. Then they killed me for good,and simply waited until the time for the souls was up and they had to be tried, hopefully without representation, so the souls will lose the case and become the Devil's property, and he can give them to Ragg to power that artifact that will give him earthly control. They're playing for keeps here."
"It doesn't matter, ma'am. They have to be stopped somehow. I can't let this happen."
Despite the nature of the conversation, the woman could help but smile at Meg's use of ma'am, and the pluck she exhibited.
"You don't have to call me ma'am, you know. I'm not that old," she chuckled. "Anyway, if you're serious about this, a good way to put a banana in their tailpipe would be to get your hands on that Mortality Report."
Meg brightened at the strategy and jumped to her feet. "Yeah! It would prove that it was stolen, but more importantly, it could get the case thrown out because the report would show that their deaths were truly accidental."
The woman stood up casually, as well, and stretched, the clingy fabric of her suit sighing as it conformed to her body. "Possibly. But if you really want to shit on their parade, try to get that Soulflame and destroy it, pronto. Without it, Ol' Ragamuffin can't become the next ruler of the world. Okay, dear, I upheld my end of the bargain. Quid pro quo, as they say, counselor."
Meg thought again about the cost of this information. She didn't have much money at the moment, but maybe if she worked during summer vacation, she could scrape together something that might satisfy the prisoner. Meg hoped that the woman was flexible.
"Okay, you did give me what I needed," she said diplomatically. "I don't have much money, but what would you like in return?"
The woman moved with a practiced grace and speed, closing the distance between Meg and herself in a heartbeat, like a predator.
With one arm snaked around the girl's waist and the other's hand stroking her warm, blushing cheek, the woman pressed firmly against Meg's body. Inside, Meg's heart was hammering.
"What I need...Sweetheart," the woman purred close to Meg's face, smiling eagerly.
"Huh?" Meg gulped, suddenly hoping that she was just as flexible.