Limbo: The High Comedy, #1

By Nora Quien

In Limbo, Book I of The High Comedy, Nora Quien takes the reader on a trip through the afterlife where a man walks the tightrope between good and evil, a dance we all do, often for the entertainment of everyone else.

 

Dan Twersky is a former TSA agent killed in an airport drug bust, who finds his fate in Hell, the first stop on his journey into the great beyond. At first, he must negotiate the stinky, over-populated Nine Circles of Hell, a fearsome place with a diverse cast of shady residents and loathsome characters from history. His biggest challenge is to keep the Devil happy, an almost impossible task.

 

Forced to work on Your Majesty's relentless war on goodness, Twersky must succeed at his evil assignments on Earth to avoid ending up in Hell Central, the location of the dreaded Fire Pit. His travels take him to some of the world's hotspots and on an inner journey where he faces the demons of fear and loneliness.

 

Twersky takes us on an exploration of twenty-first-century Hell and the tenuous borders between reality and fantasy and comedy and horror. Sometimes who can tell the difference?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peggy White
• Release date: Mar 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781735713304

Book preview

LIMBO

Book I

of

The High Comedy

Copyright © 2019 by Nora Quien

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-7357133-0-4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART ONE: THE CIRCLES OF HELL

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PART TWO: CITY OF DIS

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PREVIEW

Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. ~ Joseph Campbell

PART ONE

THE CIRCLES OF HELL

Chapter One

IT WAS TUESDAY and the Devil wore dreadlocks. He was meticulous about his appearance and enjoyed portraying a new image every day and Tuesday was dreadlocks day. He absent-mindedly twirled a lock while studying the daily intake when his eyes fell on the name, Dan Twersky. About time he got here, he muttered as he made notes on his list.

Dan Twersky was a TSA agent at Newark Liberty International Airport, and it was the best job he ever had. He had held a succession of menial jobs in fast-food restaurants and construction sites where he never lasted long because none of those jobs were good enough for him. He hated reporting to bosses who he deemed plain stupid or boring as pig shit. They reminded him of every teacher he had in high school. None of those jobs paid him a fair dollar either.

At age thirty-nine, he finally had a job with some authority. He enjoyed going through people’s luggage, looking at their most intimate possessions. Sometimes he’d pocket a small but essential item, especially if it was medication. He’d discard a toothbrush, break the luggage zipper, or release the cap on a bottle of shampoo so that it would contaminate everything in the bag. Twersky liked thinking about the rantings of a jet-lagged traveler when they discovered his petty invasions.

The best part of the job was examining human skeletons on the x-ray machines; the variety of human osteo-infrastructure was so compelling. He also really liked using the hand wand to outline the figures of attractive young women. Arms out to the side, he’d command, while drawing the wand close to the body, lingering over the best parts. He would stand a little too close and lock his eyes onto her breasts, her mouth, and her hips. She’d walk away feeling uncertain and a little bit dirty.

The most beautiful women were prey to his fantasies. He’d never had much success with those kinds of women, or most women for that matter. Twersky was just your average white guy, not too tall and not too short, bland in appearance, a man unnoticed among a group of men. Plain and soft, his doughy face resembled an unmade bed heaped with overused pillows. A turf of thinning brown hair sat on his head like a row of shaggy brown shrubs. Gritty stubble descended onto his cheeks and chin.

Afflicted with astigmatism since early childhood, his thick glasses could not correct his distorted view of life. Completely unfocused, he was a person of perpetual discontent. Nothing made him happy or met his expectations. Nothing was about the only thing he could ever count on.

After a while, the job started to become a little tedious. Getting up at 4:00 a.m. to make his early shift got on his nerves, and his salary wasn’t meeting his needs. He was living with his parents after his divorce, and he wanted his own place. After all, he was a grown man and needed some privacy. Disgruntled feelings began to sink their familiar fingers into his brain.

A lucky break came one day when an old high school acquaintance turned up in his aisle.

Bart, hey dude, how are you? Twersky asked.

Bart smiled at him, flashing a gold grill, his front tooth sporting a star-shaped diamond. He was a tall, lean man with an angular frame and was sporting a man bun that gave his profile the unintended likeness of Olive Oyl.

Well, if it ain’t old Twersky. Whaddup, man?

You coming from Mexico?

Yeah, I love those burritos.

Bart studied Twersky and remembered him as a glue-sniffing slacker, a mooch, always looking for a hand-out. Hmm, Twersky got hisself hella job.

So, Twersky, how’d you like to get a regular fat stack on the side?

Fat stack? Twersky wasn’t quite sure what that was, but figuring that it was pot, pussy or pesos, he was going to say yes.

And so, for a very large sum of money, and all cash to boot, Twersky agreed to be Bart’s airport drug coordinator. He was going to negotiate large quantities of heroin and cocaine from Mexico and Columbia through New Jersey customs, but little did he know that when he made a deal with Bart, he was making a deal with the Devil.

Twersky felt successful for the first time in this life. He had released his inner entrepreneur. To celebrate, he bought a gold Rolex from one of Bart’s connections. He got a new Mercedes GLC SUV, black with tinted windows. He also moved into his own apartment—all new construction with the best amenities, including valet trash, which he thought was the ultimate.

His co-workers took notice of Twersky’s Rolex, and SUV, and fancy new address. They particularly noticed his sudden upward change in behavior. The formerly indifferent Twersky was now positively upbeat and willing to do more than his share. He even adopted a new habit of bringing jelly donuts to work in the morning.

Galinda Stewart, TSA Officer, and pride of the Newark Liberty International Airport, looked at Twersky through narrowed eyes as he efficiently and lightly groped a young woman with his hand wand, and then wished her to have a great day!

She decided to watch him more closely. She noticed little things, especially that Twersky was strict with some passengers and lax with others. He seemed to single out little old ladies and physically challenged passengers for the most intrusive vetting. Sometimes he was a little harsh on children. Young women always got an extra wand treatment. Galinda started to see a pattern that involved attractive young women from Mexico and South America. He gave them what appeared to be a thorough and enthusiastic exploration with his wand, but he did not apply the same level of care to examining their luggage.

Did I just see him wink at that young woman? she asked herself. Did she wink back at him? Galinda approached the passenger who was in the process of collecting her bag.

Excuse me, Miss, please come with me.

The woman looked at her, perplexed. She did not speak English. Color rose on her cheeks and her left eye began to twitch.

"Por favor, ven conmigo," Galinda repeated as she proceeded to grab hold of the woman’s bag. Twersky became enraged at this aggression and tried to snatch the suitcase from Galinda’s hand. In their tussle, the bag flew open and packs of coffee scattered over the floor. Galinda stomped on one of them and the guts revealed not just coffee, but gleaming white cocaine. The señorita went high-tailing down the corridor with TSA agents in hot pursuit. Galinda and Twersky pulled out their concealed guns and took aim at each other. Onlookers screamed and ran for cover. Galinda Stewart was a far superior marksman and took swift and perfect aim.

The first bullet hit Twersky in his right shoulder, but the second bullet was a sure-fire and gleefully slammed into his heart. A shiny pool of blood darkened his shirt before erupting into a miniature red waterfall while his bowels and bladder let loose dousing him in his own excrement. His body fell and danced a cool jerk while the life spilled out of him onto the cold slab floor.

An arcade of lights in his brain flickered on and off until the last spark snuffed out, and then Twersky found himself gliding on a very smooth surf of light. A reel of every second of his life played out before him but he felt no emotions whether the scene was happy or sad. It was like reading a newspaper—strictly informative. A clash of voices, city sounds, tunes and jingles, babies crying, every sound he had ever heard sailed by in rapid succession. He saw everyone he ever knew and some he couldn’t place. Ty Cobb was there; Twersky, a huge baseball fan, waved at him as he passed by.

His mother waved him on with the balled-up Kleenex that she always carried. Half-baked intentions flashed across his brain. Thoughts occurred like I will donate these old clothes to the Salvation Army, or I will heat my grandma’s house with a kerosene heater. The last one proved to be a good intention that burnt grandma’s house to a crisp.

There were so many animals along the way, not pets, but those who had filled his dinner plates; a sad-eyed cow tried to charge at him. There was a dog, a bright spot in his bleak childhood, that leaped up and down with excitement as he passed. He longed to stay and hold the dog, but the current was in control and there was no going back.

The pace picked up and the light became blinding. He started to swirl uncontrollably. The skin pulled back on his face so that his cheeks fluttered and flapped and he wore a toothy grin. He spun down, down and around, reliving his adulthood, his childhood and then his infancy until his life force was wrung out of him, reduced to a little speck, and spat out into the void.

Suddenly, everything went black as he landed on his hands and knees.

The floor felt frozen and hard. The air was cold and heavy. There were distant, muffled voices so he knew he wasn’t alone, but it was pitch-black and he couldn’t see anything. He rubbed his eyes and slowly a vision appeared before him. Sepia light crowned a very large figure of either a man or a woman; he couldn’t decide which. The figure was sitting under a massive arch that had an archaic inscription on its peak, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

At last, there was enough light to make clear that he was in the presence of an entity that was a frightening and powerful sight. The vision filled him with fear and made him shake uncontrollably. Twersky knew instinctively that he was looking at the Devil and bowed his head. He did not want to see and kept his eyes averted.

The Devil sat on a throne that was an assembly of people on their hands and knees, supporting him with their backs. They kept as still as possible and were naked except for a special few that were saddled with cushions to make the Devil more comfortable. A few servants stood behind him casting light with smoky, sulfurous candles.

A tremendous mound of dreadlocks sat on his head and large coils spilled over his shoulders down to his waist. A multitude of gold earrings studded both ears. He had robust breasts that were artfully wrapped with the North Korean flag, a souvenir from a recent nuclear proliferation campaign. It coordinated with a matching red miniskirt that did not hide his gangling and spiky tail. His cleft hooves sported retrofitted high heels from the Imelda Marcos collection.

"Look at me, punk!’’ the Devil commanded.

Twersky looked but tried not to see.

I’m pretty fucking splendid, so you better take a good look. If you’re smart and follow orders, you may not have to look at me again for a long time.

The Devil pulled out a document from a saddlebag and briefly scanned it.

"I’m your new owner. I have a lot of names. Some call me Satan or Beelzebub—that one was certainly inspired; however, I accept the title of Your Majesty."

Twersky cowered. Yes … Your Majesty.

Look at me when I speak to you! the Devil bellowed.

Twersky raised his head and dared to look. He saw that the Devil was an indefinable creature, animalistic, part human in form, gender fluid, and of no distinct race. He was forced, like billions of others over the eons, to stare into the Devil’s mirrored pupils and see his own terrified and deeply flawed reflection. Above all, the Devil’s most prominent feature was the conspicuous abomination of hatred and cruelty that he radiated with boundless joy.

Y-y-yes, Your Majesty, Twersky managed to squeak out.

Here’s the drill. Everyone who comes before me is my servant. You will do as I say when I say it. I pay very close attention to each and every single human in my domain. I’ve commanded billions of humans over time and I know your countless flaws and weaknesses. You may not realize it, but you and I have had a close relationship since the day you were born, and this is true of everybody on Earth. I know everything about you, but personally, Twersky, I give zero fucks about you, I only care about your performance and that you do it well. Do you understand?

Y-y-yes, Your Majesty. I understand.

Let’s see if you really understand. He took his barbed tail and slapped Twersky across the face with it. Two teeth went flying as he tumbled to the floor in a quivering heap.

"Do you