Judgement

Judgement

     The interrogation room was stifling and smelled of rotten corpses. Timothy sat at the end of a bland wooden desk, shuffling through a stack of papers that seemed much higher than it should have been. White walls on white floors made his head throb with dull pain. Across from him sat a kind old woman wearing a blue sweater and an ugly brown scarf. Whatever matronly qualities she might have possessed in life were lost in death. A large hole split her face from ear to jaw, which provoked Timothy’s gag reflex every time he had to make eye contact. “Alright Mrs. Perkins, allow me a minute to confer with my colleagues outside.”

     “Oh you take your time dear,” she said, popping a butterscotch candy into what used to be her mouth. Timothy turned to hide the grimace on his face and left. He stepped through a wooden door and into a dark room that smelled like stale cigarette smoke and old coffee. “Are we sure that we have the right paperwork on this one?”

A man in his late forties with a bloody stab wound in his suit jacket stepped out of the shadows. He wore his black hair slicked back in an attempt to remain businesslike. While the mortal wound no longer scared Timothy, it did provide a macabre air of superiority. Takeda folded his hands and observed the old woman through the one-way mirror. “It is what hides beneath the surface that matters the most. Look through her file again if you are unsure.”

     Timothy thumbed through the large stack of papers. “Mostly clean life up until her seventy-fifth birthday. She had a family, grandchildren, and a great grandchild on the way. May the eleventh of this past year, she went on a whiskey-fueled bender and joined the Russian mob. She quickly rose through the ranks, and after several brutal equestrian killings, earned the nickname ‘The Butcher’.”

     “Equestrian?”

     “Yes, seven horses and six riders. It says that when the police found her she was barbequing a state patrolman and his mount in a public park.”

     Takeda folded his hands in a gesture of finality. “Still having doubts?” Timothy shook his head. “Alright then, you know what has to be done. Let’s finish this and get her sentenced. That line isn’t getting any shorter.”

On the other side of the interrogation wall was a line of corpses that stretched on for miles. When Timothy finished with the old woman, a new member of the recently deceased would plop down through a chute in the ceiling, along with another mountain of paperwork. Timothy’s job was to listen to their sob stories, assess whether or not they were true, and pass final judgement. It was quite a lot for the shoulders of one who had only recently been mortal, but he liked it better than working for the DMV.

Timothy trudged back through the door and into the white light of the interrogation room. The old woman still waited, with her hands folded across her lap. If it hadn’t been for the divine signature on the list in front of him, Timothy would have sworn they were making a mistake. “Mrs. Perkins, we’ve come to a decision, and I’m sorry to inform you that our verdict is unfavorable.”

“Oh dear, what does that mean for little old me?” Her good eye batted at him. The other attempted to follow suit, but instead dripped pus onto the pristine floor.

The contrast made Timothy’s head swim and he feared that he would vomit. Hold it together. “Well, I’m afraid it means that you’ve got to go to hell. I’ve booked you on a ticket for the express train leaving in five minutes. Do you have any last requests before we finish this hearing?”

“I beg your pardon!” The woman stood up with surprising quickness. “You’re sending me to hell? I paid my taxes, raised some fine children, and waited until marriage for sex!”

“While that was taken into consideration, chastity alone is not enough to counterbalance a killing spree.” The old woman held the table in a fierce grip. Pieces of wood shattered and splintered beneath her fingers.

“Those hoodlums were asking for it!” The table shook and broke in half. Her good eye began to glow red.

“Oh shit. Possession in here, code eleven. Find me an angel now!” The stink of brimstone overpowered the woman’s decayed form and Timothy wished that their shipment of hoy water had come in sooner. Cocky halo-bearing pricks. Never on hand when you need one. “Guys, little help here please.” The door remained closed, and no backup came.

“Angels won’t help you now boy. I’ve got the power of the devil flowing through my veins. I’m not going to hell unless I get to take you with me.” The timid grandmother’s voice was gone, replaced instead by the deep tones of a demon. The room grew noticeably hotter.

On the ground next to Timothy’s foot was one of the splintered table legs.  It wasn’t much of a weapon, but the stark furnishing of the judgement rooms offered little else. Unfortunately, his furtive glance was one second too long, and the old woman attacked. She leapt with astonishing force, hands outstretched, and fingernails bared like claws. He ducked below her just as she crashed into the wall behind him. There was a sickening thud as her decrepit form squashed against the holy dry wall.

Timothy picked up the splintered table leg and brandished it forward like a spear. “You have been sentenced to hell. If you would like to make a formal appeal, you may do so at your next convenience.” He lunged forward and stuck the table leg through the old woman’s back, pinning her for a brief moment to the wall. With a mighty roar the old woman dislodged herself from the wall and turned to face him, a ghastly spike now protruding from her chest.

“Oh Christ,” Tim said as she pulled the wooden leg from her chest and dropped it to the floor. She charged him again. Hellish drool frothed from her mouth as she moved forward. Each step shook the floor with a mighty rumble. Timothy found himself pondering the ocean of paperwork that would follow his double-death, and the poor sap that would have to process it. She was inches from his face, when in a moment of sheer physical impossibility, the old woman exploded into a fine, black mist. Timothy gagged as chunks of the demon sprayed over his face and jacket.

When he had wiped his eyes, he could see that the woman was no more. In her place stood a tall angel in a grey suit, holding what appeared to be a blunderbuss. “Sorry what did I miss?” The angel threw him a cocky grin. Timothy attempted a weak smile and then fainted.