Wrath and Love

Wrath and Love: Chapter Five

Pepito wiped the salty wetness from his face as he hoisted himself to his feet, snatching a box of tissues from the long counter that held the bathroom sink and bringing it back to Marla.

The doctor gave it a rather unimpressed look, but took it all the same, pulling out big wads to dab the patient's bleeding cuts. She handed a handful to the President's mother. “Here, Mrs. Diablo, just apply moderate pressure until the bleeding stops. This isn't that bad. There's no new damage; some of the old wounds have just been irritated.”

“Miss Reilly, dear. But call me Rosemary.” Rosemary took the tissues, giving Todd a sympathetic smile when he groaned at the contact and the pressing. Her smile faded fast as she got a good look at his legs, instantly understanding why her son was currently a disjointed mess. “Oh, my good Lord, Pepito-”

“Please don't, Mother. Not now. I know, alright. I know.” His eyes meet Todd's again for a matter of seconds before he looked to the exit. “I...I'll be back in a while.”

Slow and steady, he left the bathroom, walked through his living room to an official looking door that connected to his office, which was just left of his rooms, though its entrance was even further left, coming out in another hall that was reserved for staff offices and not personal quarters. Stepping through the door, he pushed it closed behind him, leaning on it to catch his breath and clear his head. It had been quite a while since the last time he had cried.

He wanted to stay with Todd. He wanted to find Benedict in Hell and make him pay. But right now he was too unstable. If he faced either, he wouldn't be able to maintain control, he would lose what little composure he had left. It was humiliating to show so much weakness, to be so affected by this. But he was, and there was no denying it. Still, something had to be done about that camp.

He dropped down into his chair, clearing his throat and picking up the phone on his desk. “Put me through to Karl, please.”

“One minute, Sir.”

Elevator music was shorting followed by ringing, and ringing...and more ringing. “Damn it!”

The ear piece found it's way back to the holder with a little too much force, and Pepito paused for a few calming breaths before he made his way into the administrative hall. Karl's office was only a few doors down. After a few curt knocks, he let himself in, hearing muffled speaking from within.

Once inside the office, it soon became apparent that the muffled sounds were actually singing, or some distorted, feeble excuse for it.

“Doin the dance, the Karl Rove dance, doin the dance, the Karl Rove dance! Dancin and a talkin, and a dacin and a talkin, and a dancin and a talkin-” In the midst of the mechanical, robotic dance moves that he was fervently demonstrating, the older demon popped out his cell phone, holding it briefly to his ear for the current line of the song before returning it to his jacket for the next. “Tell us, what is your name! It's MC Rove!”

As he approached the other from behind, coming to stand beside the desk, the President shook his head in bewildered dismay. That was disgraceful...but also kind of hilarious. If he hadn't been in such a dismal mood, he might have actually laughed. “Ahem.”

At the sound Karl pulled himself from his nostalgic dance, a lecherous grin creeping onto his chubby, white face at the arrival of his requested artificial companions. Without so much as a glance back, he headed for his private bathroom to change into something leather and much less comfortable. “Hello, boys. I hope you brought those delightful whips again.”

“No. Sorry, I left those in New York.”

Karl halted mid-step, spinning around to face his boss, who was leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest, looking a mixture of ill and incredulous. “Pepito! I, uh, didn't know it was you!”

“That much is as I had hoped. This isn't a vacation, you know. When I call I expect you to pick up.”

“Yes, Pep-Mr. President. I understand. I just thought that, since you seemed preoccupied...”

When Karl's eyes seemed to linger on his shirt, Pepito looked down, just noticing that it was sprinkled with blood. Actually, his whole suite was, but it stuck out more on the pressed, white fabric. The thoughts of how it had been acquired made him feel angry all over again, but something else as well: embarrassed. Luckily, it wasn't Karl's place to question him and his pathetic and desperate hugging of prisoners and potential suspects. “That is none of your concern. But I have a job for you. Bring me the Vargas guy. You know...Edgar, I think.”

“Edgar Vargas? The dead guy?”

“Yes, the dead guy, from Hell. I want him in my office and in a body in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes! But-”

“Just do it, Karl.” His voice was appropriately firm this time as he turned to stride from the office, passing a couple of androids with large bags that probably contained “those delightful whips”, among other things, and canceling Karl's appointment.

He probably should have changed his shirt before the meeting, but by venturing back into his quarters, he would run a high risk of seeing Todd again. Pepito wasn't quite ready for that, so instead he simply rested his head on his arms, which themselves rested upon his desk.

As much as he disapproved, he knew that things like rape and abuse occurred, probably pretty regularly, especially in any kind of prison setting. It pissed him off to no end that he still didn't have enough control over the populace to put an end to it, and possibly never would, but it had never made him more than passingly sad. It had never made him cry. He knew what this meant. Whether he liked it or not, Todd wasn't just someone that he used to know, even after all the time, even after what he still considered to be a betrayal. To his unconscious mind, at least, he was still his best friend.

Besides verging on ridiculously unSatanic, this posed a small problem. The world wasn't the same place that it had been a year ago, when Todd had been imprisoned. He couldn't just release him into a political and economic state where recognition as a citizen was dependent on having a mark that Todd didn't have and most likely still didn't want. He would be reduced to the level of a homeless slave, probably arrested and imprisoned again. Or he would meet up with the Resistance again. None of this was acceptable. So...Pepito was going to have to keep him. But that was hardly a resolution to the matter because there was still the question of where he should be kept, whether he could be trusted to not attempt another escape, even whether he could be trusted not to try and gather information to feed to the Resistance.

A loud tapping upon his office door drew his eyes to the clock on the wall. It was nine twenty-eight PM. He had been in his office for about eighteen minutes, so that would probably be Karl with Damned Edgar. Since he was so rarely at this estate, he didn't have a personal secretary on call. Instead, the whole building usually relied on the receptionist down stairs, so there was no one to announce his guest. “Come in.”

The door opened without hesitation, allowing a tall man with medium brown hair to walk in before Karl. Behind thin glasses, the eyes matched the hair, as did the goatee and even his shirt. The overall impression was somewhat boring, common. This man was easily over looked, even by the Administration, but Pepito had found him useful on several occasions.

Karl looked to the clock, making sure that Pepito's time matched his own with a relieved sigh before closing the door behind him and taking a seat on one of two chairs in front of the President's desk. “Looks like I made it.”

“See, Karl, I knew you could do it. How's Hell treating you, Mr. Vargas?”

Edgar remained standing, not at all comfortable in the abode of the Antichrist any more than he was in Hell. Plus, this newly acquired body, which had been morphed to look like his old one from when he was alive via some kind of black magic, didn't seem to fit quite right. “The usual, Mr. Diablo. The usual.”

The was a brief pause during which the dead man debated speaking up about the issue yet again. He didn't want to come off like every other desperate and corrupted soul in Hell, but he honestly thought that there had to have been some sort of mistake, some oversight. “Has the Administration by any chance decided to rehear my case?”

Pepito signed irritably. He and Edgar had been through this every time that he had employed the man for any service over the past decade. “I've already explained to you, Mr. Vargas, that your appeal was denied years ago.”

“But I was a good person, at least I tried to be! I died believing in God, in Jesus, that I would go to Heaven! What more could I have done!”

“Well, for starters, you could have suffered in humility the day you died instead of fighting. You could have not suggested that Johnny C. kill himself, or let you go and choose someone who deserved to die instead. Self sacrifice is one of the easiest ways into Heaven, whereas trying to force the burden, however undeserved, onto someone else is quite the opposite. So, despite your faith, you now work for Hell.” He paused to smile at the man's distraught look. “However, on your level, there is the possibly of compensation.”

“What?”

“Of working off your sin. It is possible, you know. Especially considering how most of your life was lived in dogmatic fear and isolation.” Another smile at Edgar's offense, which he was still too afraid to really voice. Or maybe he was just smart because Pepito had come to be known for having quite a temper lately. “That would be moral virtue to you, I suppose. But anyway, stop fretting about the body. It will get better. It's like breaking in a new pair of shoes, or so I'm told.” The smile turned into a smirk when Edgar backed up some, always disturbed when the Antichrist took it upon himself to read his mind.

“W-what do you want this time, then?”

“Something pretty simple, actually. You see, I have a problem with one of the work camps up here. I need for you to take a team to Camp Thirty-one. The entire camp needs to be examined, so make sure you have some committed people as well as some telepaths because this isn't a sit down job. I expect that you'll find at least three men who have violated my policy on prisoner welfare. Have them and any others killed, and make sure that it is done in front of the other guards. Also, there may be some prisoners who have ties to terrorist group known as the Resistance. I want them detained for questioning.”

“O-kay. But why do you need me for this operation? Surely you have your own people for this kind of thing.”

“Yes, but I've found that it's best to have a group with a little bit of distance from the ones that are being tried for maximum effectiveness. At the same time, such minor dirty work can't be expected to fall upon the shoulders of Initiates or high ranking demons, so I am left with workers from Hell, people like you.” Why was he even brothering to explain this! It wasn't as if he actually owed Edgar an explanation, but it did help take his mind off of Todd a little.

“I have far too many civilians on my hands who like to cut corners, who like to do as little as they can get away with, leaving others to pick up the slack. I chose you specially because, despite your ill fated demise and its inevitable resolution, you strike me as someone who believes in justice. And I believe that you will do the job I ask of you because you want to see that justice applied not only to others, but to yourself. Because your afterlife might depend on it.”

“So what, I'm just supposed to trust you?” Edgar forced an incredulous look on top of his nervous continence. “How do I know that anything you say is really true?”

“You don't, Edgar, you don't. But that's exactly it. You're a Christian, right? So have some faith...even though it didn't help you much last time. Ha!” The President paused for a deep breath. Teasing Edgar was always good for a laugh, even if this particular one happened to be a little hollow. “I'll tell you what. When the job is done, properly done, I'll write you a letter of recommendation.”

“I hardly think that Heaven will be moved by a letter from the Antichrist. And why would you want to help me get into Heaven?”

“I'm not too worried over losing one soul to Heaven, especially if it gives me more leverage over the opposition. Besides, Edgar, I hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly the most important soul in this battle. If you were, would they have let you go to Hell?”

Edgar studied the hard wood floor intently. “I suppose not. But I still don't trust you.”

“I don't ask that you trust me. And I won't promise that Heaven will ever let you in. It isn't really as though you have a choice in the matter, besides Hell or this. But if you want to sign a contract with me, I'll let you keep that body afterwards. Think of it, Mr. Vargas, another chance at life! A chance to actually have friends, maybe even a family!”

“I think not!”

“Come now, Edgar. Give it some time. Think it over on the trip to Arizona, and let me know when the body is more comfortable.”

“But then, I will never get into Heaven! You're just trying to trick me!”

A dark brow rose in an elegant arch. “What exactly was the trick there? I thought it was all pretty obvious. Yes, if you sign the contract, you will never go to Heaven. Though you might not anyway. My deal is a sure thing, while, let's face it, Heaven is a bit of a long shot.”

The damned man gave no reply, his only reaction a barely discernible drooping of shoulders as well as the corners of his mouth.

“Karl will brief you on the specifics of your mission on your way out.” Pepito leaned back farther into his chair, cracking his knuckles as Edgar was escorted from his office. That was one thing out of the way.

Another knock sounded, this time from the door leading into his suite, which opened before he even had time to compose himself for whatever might lurk on the other side. He sighed in relief when it was only his mother, although he hadn't exactly expected it to be Todd.

The woman closed the office door behind her softly before looking to her son with a solemn face. “Pepito,” her voice was distraught, but stern, “Todd wanted to go ahead with the bath. After that...he's going to need some time to recover, and I don't think it should be in a prison cell.”

“Very well, Mother. Whatever you think is best.” His eyes found their way to the wood of his desk. “Is he...?”

“Okay? Of course not, though he's doing an admirable job of pretending to be.” Rosemary stepped closer to the desk, letting her hand fall upon her son's. She hadn't heard him sound so uncertain or compliant since he had graduated from high school. “Pepito, dearest, I know that you don't want to deal with this, but you're going to have to. This...this is a very difficult thing that Todd is going through right now, and you have to decide, right now, whether you're his friend or not. There is no room for in between in this situation.”

Both of his hands, which had been clasped together in front of him on his desk, spread further apart so that he could hold the older, but slightly softer one in his own. It already seemed that there were more wrinkles than there had been the last time that he had held it, reminding him that he was getting ever closer to losing his mother, probably for good. It wasn't fair that no matter how much power he had, he still couldn't force the people that he loved to accept it, to save themselves. His grip tightened as he met her eyes again. “I...still want to be his friend, even if he doesn't want to be mine.”

His mother smiled sadly as a tear rolled down her cheek, feeling as though her prayers had been answered, but at a terrible cost. Because of Todd's misfortune, for the first time in years, President Pepito Diablo was once again recognizable as the little boy that she had raised.

Notes:

-MC Rove Rappin: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ln5RD9BhcCo
Longer Verson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWRSgjDEQy0

Pepito, Todd/Squee and all other JV characters do not belong to me.