Sebastian. “I’m dead,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Saint Sebastian winked at Daniel. “Not exactly what you expected.”
“No.”
Saint Sebastian shrugged. “Peter’s down with the flu. I’m filling in.”
Daniel felt lightheaded. He made himself nod.
Saint Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. “That was a joke. Lighten up, will you? Breathe.”
Daniel gasped, worked to catch his breath.
“Good. In, out…deep breaths, slow down…excellent. Now just relax, everything will be clear in a minute. See, I’m here to do two things. The first is to calm you down and explain the rules.”
Daniel calmed instantly. Thinking:
Impossible
.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” said Saint Sebastian. “You’re thinking:
That’s already two things.
And you’re right. Thing is, calming you down doesn’t count, they just send us to explain the rules. But if we don’t calm you down first, the explanation goes nowhere.”
Is this for real?
But not out loud. Out loud, Daniel said, “What are the rules?”
“Rules are, we don’t sweat the details here. So you can stop worrying about how many times you jerked off or if you did the right things with your life. You’re either one of the good guys or you’re not. And you were one of the good guys.” A sly grin, like they were teenage boys sharing some locker-room joke. “Tried to be, anyway. The mixed results don’t matter. You did more good than bad.”
“That’s it? That’s the metric? More good than bad? Heaven’s going to be a lot more crowded than I imagined.”
“Not exactly.” Saint Sebastian moved to his left. And again. Like a boxer. But his hands hung loose at his sides. “There’s one more criteria. A test. Different for everybody. Well, not everybody. People aren’t as different from each other as they imagine. There are a thousand different tests. One thousand, exactly, for all the souls in the universe. I looked it up.” A third move to the left, flawless footwork sliding him into slow orbit around Daniel. “Anyway, the test is the second thing. And I’m here to administer it. Your test is to fight me.”
Daniel pivoted, took a small skip-step back, keeping Saint Sebastian directly in front of him. The saint now raised his hands, adopting a true fighter’s stance, and continued to make his way around Daniel in a tight circle. Daniel pivoted again, but kept hishands below the waist. Adrenaline leaked into his bloodstream and his heart beat faster and his hands wanted to make fists. He forced his hands to stay open.
“I’m not going to hit you—you’re a saint.”
“A saint who’s been sent here to kick your ass,” said Saint Sebastian. “Understand? Because I don’t want to start this dance until I’m confident you get it. I’m about to beat the crap out of you. I would feel a lot better about it if you’d put up a defense. Sure enough, you’ll be judged by your actions, but nobody expects you to take it like a dog.” Up on the balls of his feet now, circling faster. “If you think it’s the right thing to do, you’re free to go wild on me, unleash the beast. That’s your judgment to make. Or you can go all Queensberry Rules, if that’s the way you roll. But don’t just stand there like some used-up journeyman laying down for a bottle of Night Train.”
“I must be dreaming,” said Daniel. “I’m dreaming.”
Saint Sebastian snapped a left jab off Daniel’s nose. The pain brought white blotches to his vision. As his vision cleared, blood began to leak from his nose, down his upper lip.
“I’m trying to give you some good advice here, son,” said Saint Sebastian. “You’d do well to listen and heed me. I beseech you to fight.”
A sharper jab. Square on the nose.
“Ow!” said Daniel. “That fuckin’ hurt.” He could taste his own blood now. His hands came up. Fists.
“Game on,” said Sebastian.
It did not begin well. Sebastian was a better boxer in better condition, and Daniel
“No shit, Sherlock.” Saint Sebastian winked at Daniel. “Not exactly what you expected.”
“No.”
Saint Sebastian shrugged. “Peter’s down with the flu. I’m filling in.”
Daniel felt lightheaded. He made himself nod.
Saint Sebastian clapped him on the shoulder. “That was a joke. Lighten up, will you? Breathe.”
Daniel gasped, worked to catch his breath.
“Good. In, out…deep breaths, slow down…excellent. Now just relax, everything will be clear in a minute. See, I’m here to do two things. The first is to calm you down and explain the rules.”
Daniel calmed instantly. Thinking:
Impossible
.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” said Saint Sebastian. “You’re thinking:
That’s already two things.
And you’re right. Thing is, calming you down doesn’t count, they just send us to explain the rules. But if we don’t calm you down first, the explanation goes nowhere.”
Is this for real?
But not out loud. Out loud, Daniel said, “What are the rules?”
“Rules are, we don’t sweat the details here. So you can stop worrying about how many times you jerked off or if you did the right things with your life. You’re either one of the good guys or you’re not. And you were one of the good guys.” A sly grin, like they were teenage boys sharing some locker-room joke. “Tried to be, anyway. The mixed results don’t matter. You did more good than bad.”
“That’s it? That’s the metric? More good than bad? Heaven’s going to be a lot more crowded than I imagined.”
“Not exactly.” Saint Sebastian moved to his left. And again. Like a boxer. But his hands hung loose at his sides. “There’s one more criteria. A test. Different for everybody. Well, not everybody. People aren’t as different from each other as they imagine. There are a thousand different tests. One thousand, exactly, for all the souls in the universe. I looked it up.” A third move to the left, flawless footwork sliding him into slow orbit around Daniel. “Anyway, the test is the second thing. And I’m here to administer it. Your test is to fight me.”
Daniel pivoted, took a small skip-step back, keeping Saint Sebastian directly in front of him. The saint now raised his hands, adopting a true fighter’s stance, and continued to make his way around Daniel in a tight circle. Daniel pivoted again, but kept hishands below the waist. Adrenaline leaked into his bloodstream and his heart beat faster and his hands wanted to make fists. He forced his hands to stay open.
“I’m not going to hit you—you’re a saint.”
“A saint who’s been sent here to kick your ass,” said Saint Sebastian. “Understand? Because I don’t want to start this dance until I’m confident you get it. I’m about to beat the crap out of you. I would feel a lot better about it if you’d put up a defense. Sure enough, you’ll be judged by your actions, but nobody expects you to take it like a dog.” Up on the balls of his feet now, circling faster. “If you think it’s the right thing to do, you’re free to go wild on me, unleash the beast. That’s your judgment to make. Or you can go all Queensberry Rules, if that’s the way you roll. But don’t just stand there like some used-up journeyman laying down for a bottle of Night Train.”
“I must be dreaming,” said Daniel. “I’m dreaming.”
Saint Sebastian snapped a left jab off Daniel’s nose. The pain brought white blotches to his vision. As his vision cleared, blood began to leak from his nose, down his upper lip.
“I’m trying to give you some good advice here, son,” said Saint Sebastian. “You’d do well to listen and heed me. I beseech you to fight.”
A sharper jab. Square on the nose.
“Ow!” said Daniel. “That fuckin’ hurt.” He could taste his own blood now. His hands came up. Fists.
“Game on,” said Sebastian.
It did not begin well. Sebastian was a better boxer in better condition, and Daniel
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