Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven

CHAPTER 16

  After dining at the Pakistani eatery, Tony and Gregory proceeded straight to the police station around 11PM. Heaven’s lone natural satellite, floating high above the trees, shrouded the musical streets below like a massive ghost in a muted graveyard. Folks were socializing in the few bars along the way, some of them spilling out onto the lawns to smoke cigarettes or weed. Continuing down Tinker Street, Tony spotted his new friend, Eddie Cochran, coming their way. Attired in his typical black pants and yellow Cumberland pullover, the dedicated store clerk was stepping with a quickened pace. He slowed down as he approached the two detectives.

  “Hey, Ed,” Tony greeted him, shaking his hand. “Sorry I couldn’t meet with you today ‘cause, you know, I’m still learning the ropes.”

  “That’s okay, man,” the 50’s icon said.

  “Gregory,” Tony called his partner, “this is my friend, Eddie Cochran.”

  “We’ve met,” the detective admitted, shaking the clerk’s hand.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Tony told his mentor as he and Eddie walked about 30 feet away to have a private conversation. From where Gregory stood, he could see the pair of 21-year-olds were standing pretty close to each other. In the moonlight, it was impossible for him to read their lips, but when they did finally put their kissers together, that image he recognized. Separating seconds later, Eddie continued down Mill Hill Road while Tony said bye to his partner on Tinker.

  “You young people sure move quickly,” Gregory claimed as his charge returned. “I would’ve never figured Eddie for that kind of person. He doesn’t look it.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” Tony smiled. “Pretty lonely, though. Kinda hard for him to sink in here. He just got back not too long ago from Fashionista Heaven. Said it sucks because everyone was so damned stuck up.”

  “Why’d he go in the first place?” Gregory asked.

  “To tell you the truth,” Tony shrugged, “he was never really clear on that. He visits a lot of the other heavens; maybe trying to find his place.”

  “Where else has he been?” the ex-cop queried his young partner.

  “Pilot’s Heaven, English Professor’s Heaven, Blues Heaven, Park Ranger’s Heaven, you name it,” Tony forlornly admitted. “Real random. Of course, I know how he feels.”

  “It’s so weird how they have many heavens instead of one giant one,” Gregory mused.

  “I asked Eddie about that,” Tony quipped. “He said it’s a practical solution; the individual falls aren’t big like Niagara. The hydro plants can serve maybe five, ten thousand people. That’s what my Eddie said.”

  Smiling ear to ear, Gregory lightly punched his morose friend’s arm. “You’re not gonna start crying, are you?”

  “Yes,” Tony answered. “I need a hug.”

  The experienced PI, not exactly Mr. Sympathetic, gave the youngster a hug anyway. Minutes later, they entered the police station to find that it was empty and most of the lights were out. Even the lights in the restrooms and corner office were off. Gregory checked the projected time from his holographic watch.

  “Maybe he forgot,” the PI said. “Or we’re too late.”

  “Down here!” they heard a voice call from the basement. Following it, they descended a side staircase, opened a heavy wooden door, and peered into the basement. Up close, the area seemed surrealistically large, definitely what they didn’t expect because of the relatively small size of the police station. The 12’ wide hallway in front of them stretched out for about 300 feet, about the length of a city block, maybe even more. Entering, they noticed, even by the sparse red lights on the ceiling, doors evenly spaced about six feet apart along both walls extending all the way down towards the end.

  “Sure looks smaller from upstairs,” Tony remarked.

  Gregory checked the first door. “Locked,” he stated. “This town is unpredictable.”

  Walking further, every door they come upon was locked.

  “Over here,” a voice called from the poorly lit distance.

  “Sounds like Ba’al’figor,” Tony whispered as they continued further. After a few moments, the angel came into view.

  “It’s so dark down here,” Gregory complained. “Would it kill them to put up more lights?”

  “There’s more than adequate lighting for angels here,” Ba’al’figor explained. “And they’re the only ones who utilize this sanctum.”

  “Sanctum?” the puzzled young PI asked.

  “An occultum delectamentum,” the angel answered. “A sanctuary of sorts; in this case, the doors to our world.”

  “Yeah,” Gregory moaned. “That really doesn’t tell me anything, but whatever.”

  “I’ll show you,” Ba’al’figor said, removing his unusual skeleton key from his pocket.

  Turning around, he placed it in the lock of the door closest to him and clicked it open.

  “Where is this?” Tony asked.

  The angel glanced at him. “You’ll see.”

  Ba’al’figor entered; reluctantly, nervously, the two PI’s followed him in.

  “It’s dark,” the young PI realized. “No lights?”

  “Patience,” the angel insisted.

  The PI’s started hearing a low rumbling sound, like a heavy log rolling down an endless hill. The chamber then started lighting up. Multiple colors from invisible sources streamed in parallel lines from the floor to the 12-foot high ceiling, their paths partially occluded by the odorless smoke floating in the room which was about 10 feet wide by 20 feet long. Across the end of the room, the wall started flowing a bright orange, then changed to yellow and finally to a shimmering white.

  “Let’s go,” Ba’al’figor urged them, walking towards the light. The detectives complied though it seemed at any moment their hearts would come jumping out of their chests. When they finally reached the glowing white wall, the angel used his key to open a lock there which, of course, the men couldn’t see, then…

  WHOOSH!

  …they found themselves in an unusual chamber, one bereft of ceiling or walls, just a floor lit by what resembled a star-filled constellation. Everything around and above was pitch black. About 15 feet in front of them, a heavenly creature nearly 11 feet tall with six arms and two feet was standing, facing away from them, in front of a dais, plying his trade. As glowing balls of light the size of cherry tomatoes came flowing towards him from the darkness, each of his arms would quickly bat the balls in different directions – upward, downward, left, right where they would eventually disappear.

  “What is this?” Tony asked.

  “Potens Vigilem,” Ba’al’figor answered. “The Watcher of Souls.”

  “Let me guess,” Gregory joked. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Parallel dimension,” the angel assured him.

  “Parallel dimension,” the elder PI repeated. “Of course. I was about to say that.”

  “Why’d we have to go through the basement?” Tony asked. “You couldn’t just pop us in here like you did in Hell?”

  “This is Vigilem’s domain,” Ba’al’figor answered. “Access is controlled per his request.”

  The young D eyed the balls with deep curiosity. “Are those balls of light souls?”

  “A representation for your understanding,” the angel conceded, “as is the Watcher himself.”

  “What’s he doing?” Tony asked.

  “He quickly determines where each soul goes after its host has died,” Ba’al’figor said, “depending on the level and nature of its accumulated karma.”

  “Heaven, Hell or Earth,” Gregory supposed.

  “Yes,” the angel nodded. “Remember, what you see before you – textures, smells, tastes, the suffering of billions of souls, were created for your edification from celestial matter by the beings that spontaneously spawned here, to help you discern the afterlife. If, for instance, I was to show you the actual speed on which those souls found their destination because of the movement of Potens Vigilem, you couldn’t see it. The transmigratio
n process is much too fast. This is why when you asked about the limbo between worlds, it would be so absolutely minute as to be non-existent. Doesn’t mean it isn’t there; theoretically, it would exist because even time and space is considered matter, but it would just lay undetected.”

  “Can I see what his face looks like?” Tony asked with some trepidation.

  Ba’al’figor nodded. “Of course; and don’t worry about those souls. You can’t feel them.”

  The two detectives, cautious with their steps, eased quietly towards the front of the room where the Watcher was swinging his arms, slapping each ball of light to their destination. Occasionally, a light ball would float right through them, disappearing in the darkness. The first thing the PI’s then noticed about the giant Vigilem was that he had no mouth, just skin where an opening would be.

  “He talks to no one and no one talks to him,” Ba’al’figor, standing behind the detectives, explained. “Only a select few can read his mind. Naturally, he doesn’t eat or drink. This is all he does.”

  “Can he hear us?” Gregory asked.

  “Yes,” the angel said.

  “How long has he been doing this?” Tony inquired.

  Ba’al’figor answered, “over 10 million years.”

  “Wow,” the two detectives emoted in tandem.

  “Is he the only one who does this?” Gregory asked.

  “Yes,” Ba’al’figor answered.

  Both D’s, thoroughly intrigued by the Watcher, studied him closely as if they were painting a portrait for art class. Vigilem’s head was triangular in shape – wide top, narrow chin like anime youth. What should be hair looked like jagged, scaly, uneven tissue, their heights ranging from ½ inch to approximately 6 inches. His ears jutted upward into a point about 10 inches from their base with their tips curving about 2 inches to the rear. His opalescent, almond-shaped eyes were as large as oxen hearts, their white pupils darting quickly towards each ball he touched. His nose was just two vertical 6-inch slits in the middle of his face, both about 1” wide in the middle and ¼” at each canthus. The skin on his face and arms were of a greenish, glassy hue, and jagged, as if he was cursed with the worst case of psoriasis ever. From what they could observe with the available light, he seemed to be wearing a velvet navy blue vest with cursive gold embroidering along the edges. His baggy, extra wide, harem pants, constructed of iridescent material, traveled all the way down long slender legs and tapered at the top of toe-less feet that were just as green and glassy as the rest of his body

  “Can I touch him?” Tony asked Ba’al’figor.

  “Go ahead…” the angel answered.

  Tony reached for the Watcher.

  “…if you dare.”

  “Why?” The young PI blurted out, stopping just inches away from Vigilem’s arms.

  “His skin is as cold as deep space,” Ba’al’figor cautioned him. “2.7 Kelvin.”

  “I don’t know what Kelvin is,” Tony admitted.

  “Minus 270 degrees Celsius or minus 454 degrees Fahrenheit,” the angel explained.

  “Oh, Lawd,” Gregory joked. “Colder than an Eskimo’s knob.”

  “Any more questions?” Ba’al’figor asked them.

  “Those are some sweet peels, yo,” Tony said to the Watcher, pointing to his leggings. Potens, of course, paid no attention to the Latino-Korean. “Where can I get a pair like that?”

  “Let’s get going,” the angel said, turning back towards the invisible door as the detectives followed closely. “The Watcher isn’t too keen on people invading his space. Oh,” Ba’al’figor warned them, holding up his arm, “take a deep breath and hold it till we cross the threshold.”

  “Why?” Gregory asked.

  “They’re still working out the kinks of interdimensional travel,” the angel said.

  “I think I can handle it,” Tony bragged.

  The second all three crossed the portal back into their world in the basement of the police station, Tony and Gregory were doubled over in pain, clutching their abdomens like they were pregnant with porcupines.

  “The hell!” the younger PI screamed, then started vomiting uncontrollably.

  Gregory, for his part, felt as if his bowels were going to splash out of the seat of his pants anytime. “I gotta go upstairs,” he screeched, racing for the door then zipping down the long hall to the staircase.

  “Oh, dear,” Ba’al’figor moaned. “So far from perfection.”

  “Damn!” the young man blurted, wiping his mouth. “Tell them to fix that machine.”

  “Sorry,” Ba’al’figor apologized, “but be careful. Negativity like that adds destructive karma to your soul.”

  “I see why people don’t travel around the heavens that much,” Tony groaned.

  Minutes later, after the young PI had also utilized the restroom, both detectives and Ba’al’figor were standing in front of the police station, the humans catching their breath and the angel keeping watch. Gregory, slowly recovering from the instant travel, checked his watch. It was close to 1AM and they were alone on the desolate street.

  “That was heavy,” the ex-cop groaned, wiping his sweaty brow

  “Sorry,” Ba’al’figor apologized again.

  “Feels like the D line of the New England Patriots just used my belly for a blocking sled,” Gregory complained.

  “How are you doing?” the angel asked, turning to the recovering young man.

  “I’ll be fine,” he croaked. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

  “The good news is,” Ba’al’figor assured him, “once you’ve been through it a few times, that cramp won’t happen again.”

  “It’s past one already,” Gregory noticed. “We’d better get some sleep.”

  “You go ahead, old man,” Tony disagreed. “I’m going up to Cumby’s.”

  “Now?” the ex-cop asked. “I thought you were sick.”

  “I’m starting to feel better already,” the young man swore.

  “That’s the good news,” Ba’al’figor stated. “The cramps are transitory.”

  “So,” Gregory asked his compatriot, “you’re still heading out?”

  Tony nodded. “Gonna keep Eddie C company. See what he’s up to.”

  Gregory waved his arms in exasperation. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  “Young people,” Ba’al’figor sighed, shaking his head.