The three mouths of Lucifer

Chapter 29

The three mouths of Lucifer

The list of things Nom detested was as long as a cosmic string. The list of things he truly hated was relatively small by comparison. Nom usually thought of himself as a tolerant person. Leave him be, don't screw with his things, plans, or wishes, and he couldn't have cared less about anyone else's existence.

Stupid people had a nasty tendency to violate all of the above. Nom hated them with just enough vigor that he might actually wish them all dead. Sadly, that would leave him as the sole human standing. All people were morons in Nom's eyes. In general, he focused his hate on the worst offenders.

The worst offenders by far were traitors. People so stupid as to not see the big picture and betray the side of the righteous. In his own family, his uncles had set aside the glory that the family could have reached in favor of their short sighted greed and avarice.

In Texas, he had eliminated a church full of stupid people and their pastor. That lot had betrayed the future glory of a just and advanced mankind for an ignorant ungulate rapist's sun stroke fantasy. In his old office he had eliminated the traitors who had abandoned the light of the mission they were entrusted with, caring for the needy. They had chosen to sadistically feast on the most desperate and on those who dedicated their lives to helping them.

Now it turned out the one man Nom thought he had a firm ally in had likewise betrayed the cause, the cause of driving humanity into that better tomorrow, no matter how hard it kicked and screamed about being scared of waking up.

Tollen could have done anything. He could have filed a lawsuit to try and get his job with the State back. He could have gone to the press. He could have acted like a normal mortal adult, taken the loss, and moved on with his life.

In the final days of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler came to realize that he was fighting a lost war. He had options: he could retreat to the great redoubt, built for this very occurrence, in the southern mountains by Switzerland. The bunkers and tunnels there were so deep, that even with the advent of nuclear weapons, he could have held out for years. He could have negotiated a peace with him still keeping something. Knowing that the Russians would show him no mercy, he could have fled west and surrendered to the other three allies. Truman so distrusted Stalin that he just might have reneged on the unconditional surrender pact.

The loss of the war was purely on Hitler. He forced the Wehrmacht command to invade Russia against the advice of his generals. His betrayal of Stalin was his true undoing. As he sat in his Führer bunker, contemplating suicide, the bohemian corporal decided that the blame for losing the impossible war lay with the German people rather than in his madness.

They had conquered Europe for him, created wonder weapons, and committed some of the worst atrocities in history. But it was not enough. The master race of Arian people had failed in his master plan.

Hitler ordered the remnants of the Wehrmacht and the SS to destroy everything that was left. Fields, cities, food stores, water, medicine, shelter, it all was to be destroyed, in a final glorious act of utter destruction. The Allies and the Soviets would fight their way in to find only blood and ash.

Fortunately, the Wehrmacht, seeing the writing on the wall, stalled long enough for the Soviets to relieve them of their duties.

Tollen, like Hitler, had tried to scorch the earth of District A. If he was going to be fired, than so was everyone else who failed him. Hitler had millions of casualties, and Tollen only one so far. But that one death by treason was enough. This duplicity was the worst of all. Kieve was Nom's friend, ally, and confident. Kieve and Tollen were soulmates. Tollen had betrayed both his closest friend and his lover. The sentence for treason was death.

When Nom arrived at Tollen's house that afternoon, the man was sitting on his couch watching TV. Nom let himself in, and Tollen started to get up from the couch. Nom held out a hand, and Tollen fell limply back into his repose. Like lightning, Nom struck into the man's mind. He wanted a true confession, but he could not stand to swallow even one more of the man's lies.

Wishing for Tollen to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, he pulled up an ottoman to sit in front of the man. Tollen quivered. His eyes raced. Nom had left his consciousness intact and even his will. But, he had cut off that will's ability to control his own body.

Nom pulled a cigar from his front thigh pocket before he sat. Slowly, and with relish, he pulled the seal and slipped the cap from the tube. The Romeo Y Julieta smelled divine, as he slowly pulled it from the tube and smelled it. A bit of quick work with the razor sharp knife he always kept and the cigar was trimmed. For extra dramatic effect, the flash of a wooden match brought true life to the cigar. Puffing contentedly for a few moments Nom studied his newest quarry.

"Do you remember that night three years ago? When you asked me to help cover up your and Kieve's romance?" Nom blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.

"You sat in my apartment and blew a ring just like that one. In fact, you taught me how to do it. You begged me to help you protect Kieve. The old district director, Camp, would have persecuted you two. Kieve's family would have disowned him. You hit on all the right buttons with me. I was sold. With hindsight, I really am impressed. Our friendship, my need for social justice, my need to protect the weak from the likes of Camp; you hit them all like a drunken dad with a thousand kids." Nom sat still for a moment contemplating.

"I still don't see the why yet. I saw it in both of your eyes. You and Kieve were in love. I heard it in your voice. You felt it was justice to help the workers and clients of District A to fight. But you turned, 'went to the dark side'. I just can't see your motivation; frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. But I do need to give you the fair chance to deny the charges."

"In case you're wondering why you are sitting here and not dead already, I need to find out a bit of the truth yet from you. We are completely past motivations, they won't do anything to mitigate your guilt. But I do need your true confession."

"I'm losing your tongue Tollen, but I'm binding it to only tell me the truth, not your justifications. Tell me the truth, for I have wished it. Did you know that Kieve was dead?" Nom asked.

"Yes." Tollen said in a forced choke. His face flushed, and his jaw worked as if his will could overpower the wish of Nom.

Nom nodded and leaned in. His face was mere inches from Tollen's. "Did you know that he committed suicide?" He said staring into the man's eyes digging for truth.

"Yes." Tollen said.

"Did you send pictures of the two of you, in flagrante delicto, to his family; knowing full well that as an old Polish Catholic family, they would most likely disown him?" Nom asked.

"Yes." Tollen replied.

"Did you hate him?" Nom asked in a hiss.

"No, I loved him." Tollen pleaded.

Nom smacked Tollen on the forehead with two fingers. "Then why the FUCK did you betray him?!" He screamed, spit flying into Tollen's face.

"To set an example for the rest of the office. If I was willing to destroy him, someone they knew I loved, though not how much till that moment, what would I do to them if they didn't cooperate with me?" Tollen said his voice trying to be both evasive and sly.

"It was only a battle move, not pleasure?" Nom asked, leaning back with a disgusted look.

"Yes, there was pleasure in it. He crossed me when I needed him, so I returned the favor."

"You asked the man to kill his career for you when your's was already destroyed beyond redemption." Nom shot back.

"I had a chance…"

Nom cut him off with a hand wave. Nom shook his head and grabbed Tollen by the hair on the scruff of his neck. Leaning in, he emphasized his words with his cigar hand.

"No, Tollen, you didn't. The others told you, they have all sent me screen shots of your text exchanges. I only needed Guenn York to know what you have done, but, in the meantime, the entire old crew have confirmed it!"

"Celsy, Thomas, George, Greg, and Paul, everyone that is still there working in Hell. They begged you to get help. You blackmailed and betrayed them in return. You are lost Tollen. You have committed treason against good people. People who tried to make the world a better place. You drove a good man to suicide. Worse, that man was your soul mate. That, above all else, cannot go unpunished."

Tollen's eyes rolled manically in his head. He tried desperately to free himself of bonds he could neither see nor feel. Nom shook his head.

"Sorry, old man. I've wished you to have a mild form of locked in syndrome. Basically, none of your voluntary muscles work below your chin. You seemed fascinated earlier by watching me do this to Pham. It must be terrifying to have it done to yourself." Nom said.

Tollen's throat spammed

"Now, Now! No need to be hostile. I may not be able to read your thoughts directly, but I can read nerve impulses. You may think it is brave to face death with language like that, but I'm not sure I agree. Spitting one last insult in my eye? It is hardly the same as standing on a scaffold and facing the gallows with a great line, is it?"

"No 'I regret I have but one life to give to my country?'"

"No 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; It is a far far better rest that I go to than I have ever known?'"

"No. You try to tell me to kiss your ass. Well, Tollen, from those pictures you distributed, I can only assume that it isn't a pleasant experience. After all, the last person to try that killed themselves rather than do it again."

Nom slowly stood, put his cigar between his teeth, and pushed the ottoman back to its appointed home. Speeches were best given extemporaneously and on the feet.

"Tollen, there are many sentences I could pass on you. I need not kill all of you, only part. But I'm in the mood to be merciful. I'm not going to give you a drawn out torturous death, as I have to others. I must see justice done, and the punishment must fit the crime. But, I can make it as easy for you to bear as possible. I am your jury, I am your judge, and I am your executioner. I find you guilty. I sentence you to death, and I now carry out that sentence."

Nom felt an odd tingle in the pit of his stomach. This was a sensation he had not felt in years. It was not anger, he always was angry. Anger and Nom were the oldest of friends. It was not happiness, no, for justice was a solemn, not a joyful occasion. For a moment Nom could not identify this heaviness that seemed to crush him.

The black dog had been a constant companion alongside his master, anger. Depression had a familiarity to its infinite nature, one that was far too familiar as well. Nom searched his mind to find a comparable time he had felt the same and finally landed on it. The day he had given his grandmother permission to die. Sorrow.

The inevitable justice coming to Tollen, needed or not, was a crushing reality. Nom's one remaining friend, turned to treason; and now he was forced by decency to a lost friend, to kill this last one. Whoever said sorrow was sweet must have been mad Nom thought.

Nom looked Tollen in the eye. The man had a mad gleam, like an animal ready to gnaw off a foot to escape a trap.

Nom steadied himself, drew out his cigar from his teeth, and blew out a long streamer of smoke.

"Tollen, I wish for you to stand up." He said.

Tollen complied.

"I seem to recall seeing a beat up old sports car in your neighbor's driveway when I came in, do you know what it is?" Nom asked

"It's a 1967 Dodge Charger. It barely runs, from the sound of it the engine rings are shot." Tollen said in a flat forced tone through his teeth.

Nom nodded.

"I thought so. Come Don Quixote, your 'charger' awaits you. Assume a proper countenance my lord, go to face your fate with all the nobility that chivalry can grant." Nom said with a flourished bow. He gestured his liege out the front door and across the street to the neighbor's house. With the wish cast Tollen's face took on a calm noble serenity, though the twitches in his neck still betrayed his true emotions.

Nom paused Tollen when they reached the neighbor's porch. He rang the bell and was pleased to find the lady of the house at home.

"Ma'am, my name is Nom DePlume, and I am Death. I was formerly a friend of your neighbor Tollen here. Today I am his executioner, and I need your help. I wish that you would give me the keys to that charger, so that I may kill your neighbor." Nom said with a stony tone and face.

The poor woman looked shocked beyond belief with every word, until he cast his wish. Then she, like Tollen grew a calm look, and nodded in understanding.

"Of course. I understand, Mr. DePlume."

Nom cut her off. "Death, ma'am. Please call me Death." He said.

"Certainly, Death. I'll just be a minute." She replied and left to find the keys.

Nom nodded and walked Tollen over to the car. The plan of this justice was forming in his head. When she returned and handed over the keys, Nom left her with a gift.

"Ma'am, I want you to forget this event. I'm killing the memory engrams for you, so you won't have to carry the burden. You'll remember loaning the car to someone, but you won't know who. If your husband tries to make you remember, you'll claim senility." Nom told her in a gentle voice.

"Oh, certainly." The grey hair said with a smile.

"Now, go back in your house, Ma'am. I have work to do." Nom said dismissing her.

The woman left the pair with her husband's car. After she had returned to the house, Nom held out the keys to Tollen.

"My lord, the giants await. You must mount your steed, it is my wish." Nom said with a bow.

Tollen took the keys, and unlocked the car door. He took the wheel.

Nom closed the door for him, and walked around the beast inspecting it. It was old and a bit on the rusty side. The paint was a non-descript flacking grey.

"Put the key in, and start the engine." Nom ordered Tollen.

Nom had to agree with Tollen. It did sound as if the piston rings were bad, smelled like it too. The serpentine belt was glazed and squeaked. For the steed of the Don, it was perfect.

"My Lord, as in your book, the name of your wearied steed is Rocinante." Nom patted her hood, as if he was patting the snout of an old mare.

"Tollen, you are to safely follow me while driving. I am going to get in my car. You will drive behind me. When I signal you to stop by raising my hand, you will stop and await further instructions. Do you understand? I wish all of this." Nom said.

Tollen's body was calm and placid, but the fevered mad look in his eyes, showed he was anything but.

"Yes." Tollen said.

Nom dropped his virtually finished cigar to the ground and smothered it with his boot. He headed across the street to his car in Tollen's driveway. Just as he commanded, Tollen followed him slowly and at a safe distance.

Ten miles to the north, a large, old farm field spread out from horizon to horizon. It had not been plowed in years, but it had a monstrous crop nonetheless. A few years before, the good citizens of Michigan had ratified a constitutional amendment. It required that twenty-five percent of the state's power be sourced from green, renewable sources. Michigan was a gloomy, temperamental state, prone to weeks of cloudy weather making solar power hardly a rational option. What she did have in an abundance, though, thanks to her massive Great Lakes, was wind. One of the many wind farms being built to meet that constitutional mandate was just shy of being finished in this very field.

Pulling into the drive with enough room for Tollen to fit as well, Nom held up his hand to halt the condemned. The driveway to the service road was blocked by a gated hurricane fence. A moment of quick work with the bolt cutter Nom kept in his trunk saw that the chain holding the fence shut removed. Nom swung the gate open, stowed his tool, and walked to Tollen.

"I wish for you to follow my car until I once again signal you to stop and wait." Nom said.

Without waiting for a reply, Nom returned to his car and drove into the power complex, Tollen trailing after him. On either side, towering up to the sky, countless windmills cartwheeled in the wind. Each brought good, clean power, and relegated older, polluting power to the dust bin of history.

Nom looked for the prime location to bring to life his latest tableau of Death. For twenty minutes, he slowly perused the set, judging the angles, and views, until he saw what he was looking for. A lone mill, standing directly at the dead-end of the service road. The road had meandered its way through, but for the last bit it had a solid half-mile straightaway.

Nom held up his hand to signal the halt. He moved his car to the side so as to not obstruct Tollen.

He stepped out of his car and went to Tollen's. He opened the passenger door and sat to have his final words with his former friend.

"My lord." He said. "Before you stands a terrible giant. You are on your great steed Rocinante. When I am safely out and away from your charger, you are to accelerate as quickly as you can. Aim straight for the middle of that giant." Nom said pointing.

"Right there at the middle of the base is your target. You need speed, and you will take every last ounce of what this tired old charger has to give you. I want you to take off your seat belt."

"If you were anyone else, I might let you have last words, but I simply can't bear the thought. This is what must be done here. Your final words would only be poison in the wound your death is inflicting on me, so you will be silent. That is, until I get out. Then you will cry your war cry as loud as you can while you charge. No words allowed." Nom said in benediction.

Nom felt as if his life was the one ending. Tollen had been his greatest confidant and friend for more than three years. He had been a brother in arms. Now he was nothing more than a condemned traitor.

Nom got out of the car. He walked five paces, turned and nodded to the crazed eyes watching him in the passenger side mirror.

Rocinante's clutch popped, and the first gear slid in. The wheels spun, and the break released in a cloud and squeal of smoke. The noble, old charger lived up to its reputation. It flew over the ground. Second gear, third gear, and finally fourth gear slid in. The engine screamed as it tried desperately to pull the car to Little Bastard's lock up.

The half mile disappeared in only a few seconds. The car flew into the pylon supporting the wind mill and punched clean through the exposed side. The car, built as a solid muscle car, bore down like a cannon ball.

Tollen, sitting unrestrained in a pre-airbag car, was ejected into the interior of the windmill. The wind screen first shredded his skin and pulverized his bones. The car stopped about a quarter of the way through the windmill, a shattered wreck of twisted metal. Tollen continued his flight flying directly into the power cables, running through the core of the pylon. At first, they simply sliced him. But the impact damage he was causing in return stripped away the insulation from the lines. The wind outside was rather strong, and the mill was spinning at close to full capacity. One and a half million watts of electricity slammed into his now mangled body. It was on fire in a flash.

The shattered remains of Rocinante showered the interior in atomized gasoline as the tank shattered. Lacking an ignition source it mixed greedily with the air. Then Tollen decided to start a grease fire and supplied it with an ignition source. In less than a minute, the windmill was collapsing in a giant fireball. Rocinante and Tollen were vaporized. One by one, the windmill farm's safety circuits tripped as a cascading failure brought the entire farm down.

It would take DTE two or three days to restore the farm, but the foe of Tollen's last stand would need to be replaced. It was puzzling. In the end Tollen had rewritten the story. Don Quixote had been knocked on his ass and limped away. Tollen had died, but unlike the Don he had slain his foe.

Having watched the crash, fire, and explosion, Nom shook his head in sorrow. He slumped to the ground. For the first time in fifteen years he wept.