It was so obvious, in hindsight. All the lame excuses, all the little worries pushed to the back of the mind.

It had started out with a cold that Johnny picked up and spread to everyone but Tenna within the week. With everyone else unable to play or sing without sneezing, they had called off weekend rehearsal and the gang spent it watching movies and complaining about boogers instead.

Devi was fine by Sunday morning, and spent the rest of the day hitting anyone that sneezed in her direction. Jimmy and Edgar managed to be fine by Monday night –they’d skipped school in favor of a Baron Von Bloodripper marathon—and Johnny was able to sing again by the next weekend, where they composed the song ‘Death Death Death Cheese,’ complete with gory sound effects and a three-kazoo chorus.

But he never got completely better. He’d always been thin. He’d always been short-tempered. Between practices, research, movie marathons, and the unseasonably soggy autumn that kept everyone in and out of colds, there was no time to notice that Johnny was sleeping more, shouting less, never actually fully recovering from the revolving door of winter colds, flues, and coughs. Devi forced salads down his throat now and then, Jimmy and Edgar hovered nervously when he was particularly bad, and Tenna cheerfully tried out everything from foot massage to crystal therapy on anyone that couldn’t run away fast enough. But Johnny was always up again after a few days, and it was easier not to worry about it.

Until the morning after Johnny had supposedly gotten over a 24-hour flu, where he abruptly collapsed against the desk in the middle of rehearsal and began to vomit blood.

They got him to a hospital, eventually, after Devi had simply sat on the protesting boy while Tenna bound his wrists. He was pathetically easy to pick up—Jimmy even let Edgar do it, in favor of body-guard duty, which was namely bristling at anyone and everyone on the bus, then pitching a hysterical, and ignored, fit in the emergency room.  They spent only an hour in the waiting room with a weakly cursing Johnny before giving up and simply dragging him through the doors into the main hospital.

It was like the dream where you stand, naked, in front of an audience of hundreds and hundreds of strangers, only worse because the strangers don’t even know you’re there and wouldn’t care if they did.

Nny moaned, when they set him down on an unused bed in an unused room in an unused wing, a tiny frustrated helpless sound. It was possibly the most frightening thing he had ever done. The shadows around his eyes looked like black tar, in the sputtering fluorescent light, and he was only barely aware of anything that was happening. Jimmy went to rummage for any sort of text book that could help, Devi to get antibiotics, cough syrup, and assorted painkillers. No one wanted to mention IV’s, and the prospect of having to use one loomed overhead like an invisible shark.

  Edgar helped Tenna tape up a WARNING: CONSTRUCTION sign on the door, and felt as if he had WARNING: MURDERER tattooed across his forehead in letters of fire.

Tenna squeezed his shoulder before they went back in.

“It’s not like that.” She whispered.

He just looked at her. It was worse.

OOO

“A time bomb.” Edgar repeated. “I’m an organic, heaven-sent time bomb.”

Jimmy clutched the edges of his thick, stolen medical journal and looked blankly murderous.

“How do you know?” Devi asked, looking only slightly less murderous.

Edgar, briefly, wished that he could tell them about their long and passionate nights, the way Johnny would kiss him like he was the only person that had ever mattered, their awkward but unstoppable love. Not that any of that was true, he just wanted to say it—they hadn’t yet, and probably never would, but just to say it…

It wasn’t helping anything.

“It’s logical.” He said finally, looking at his feet. “We’ve been fighting more, lately, about, you know, things. I bit him a couple times when I couldn’t get enough room to hit him. He’s bitten me before. Bloody noses and stuff. There’s been plenty of opportunity to transfer it over. I don’t think any of the rest of you have been secretly beating him up, and I haven’t had that sort of contact with any of you. And even if the virus isn’t a blood pathogen, it’s not like we don’t spend enough time together.”

He finally dared to look up, but there was no attack. Jimmy looked like a puppy that had just been shot in the head, and Devi looked like she had just discovered that Edgar was actually a heretofore undiscovered species of lungworm.  An attack would have been better.

“Well?” He said.

“So if you had it first, why aren’t you sicker?” Devi asked.

Edgar laughed, harshly. “God knows. Heaven wants him back first so I can’t rock the boat until it’s too late? They think I’d like to watch him die? I’m more compatible with whatever the virus is? I’m just bigger?”

“Die?” Jimmy whispered. “He’s not really going to die, is he? He can’t die. Not Johnny. We’re can’t lose him.”

“No, fucktard.” Devi told him, scornfully, but her green eyes weren’t nearly so sure. “Of course we won’t.”

Edgar made some sort of inane excuse, and fled.

OOO

The next few weeks were an endless hell of stealing equipment, learning to use the equipment, stealing food, money for food, enough cots to sleep in shifts, pouring over textbooks, stashing them all in The Room, following the doctors around and shouting at them –it didn’t help anything, but it made them feel better— watching Johnny for any sign of improvement, and, after Johnny snuck away and they found him unconscious in the snowy parking lot, watching Johnny to make sure he didn’t try anything like it again.

Jimmy, to everyone’s surprise, turned out to be something of a savant when it came to textbooks, and devoured tome after tome of anything anyone could lay their hands on, and was startlingly proficient at the various medications in no time. Everyone else politely ignored how he was starting to use a few of them late at night. Quarters were close, tempers were short, and it was implicitly understood that any sort of flare up between them could end up in a scalpel through the head. The virus, however, evaded any sort of diagnosis.

 Devi took up the job of telling everyone what to do, whether or not they could, or wanted, to do it. Edgar, after he lost his voice as well, became intent on cramming Johnny’s room with as many cds as possible, and keeping the small stolen music player playing something, anything, constantly. There was the vague but unshakeable conviction in the back of his mind that the music was all that was keeping Johnny going, like a sandcastle wall against a vast black ocean. He thought too often about what could happen if the music went out. Johnny was fading fast, no matter what anyone did.

Hospitals were, in some ways, easier to live in than a school. There were more floors to scavenge, the kitchens were unexpectedly huge. In addition, after Tenna hit on the idea of stealing lab coats and IDs out of the break rooms, they could even be mistaken for doctors –or at least undergraduate students-- for long enough to get instructions on equipment. It took days to figure out the X-ray machines because there was nowhere to hide in the rooms, and they generally got locked out when they were discovered, which was alarmingly frequently since the machine seemed to cancel out whatever sort of invisibility they had.

In other circumstances they might have been more exited about this, but Johnny was spending more time asleep than awake and when he was awake he mostly just stared at the ceiling or swore at them and Edgar was starting to loose his breath just walking down a hallway. They stayed away from the chemo ward entirely.

X-rays on everyone showed dark blotches all over Johnny’s lungs, heart, and brain, with some speckles starting on Edgar’s lungs. Everyone else was fine, although there was some half-hearted discussion as to whether the pattern of badly-healed fractures on Jimmy’s left humerus looked like a duck or a rabbit. Tenna was inexplicably missing a kidney, and Devi was completely fine. She spent the rest of the day breaking expensive things in doctors’ offices.

OOO

Edgar went into the Room, a box full of the latest batch of scavenged snacks underneath his arm. He was tired, a deep, bone-sickening tired, and it hurt to breathe. With a sort of grim determination he set down the box on the make-shift shelf, and began methodically tidying the cluttered mess of equipment, drugs, and trash that scattered the floor.

"Welcome to the real world", she said to me
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve…

The radio was humming quietly –Johnny was curled up with it like a teddy bear, or a talisman—and Edgar leaned over the skeletal boy to turn up the volume. His vision blurred just a little as he contemplated brushing back the greasy strands of hair from Johnny’s face, and he leaned back hastily and tried not to throw up on the mattress.

They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side

“Hey, Edgar.” Johnny whispered.

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above…

“Hey, Nny.” Edgar told him. He was too tired to be surprised.

So the good boys and girls take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits and
Maybe transfers
They read all the books but they can't find the answers.

There was nothing else to say, so he continued cleaning.

…And all of our parents
They're getting older
I wonder if they've wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies…

“It’s only fair,” Johnny suddenly said. Edgar turned to him, eyebrows raised.

They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines

He sighed, the shadows under his eyes sickeningly dark, “I killed you once.”

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you got to rise above

“Fuck fair.” Edgar told him, with more heat than he thought he had left in him. “Since when has anything ever been fair?”

I am invincible
I am invincible
I am invincible…

“ Really, Edgar?” He asked. “ ‘Heaven for me… hell for…f’r y’h…’ ” Johnny sank into a sort of exhausted delirium. “ ‘Fuck fair’…” He laughed weakly at the ceiling until a spasm of coughing ripped his voice to pieces, curled into a tighter ball, and quietly died.

…wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above…

Edgar watched him, blankly, then went to the door, fished the ring of keys from Johnny’s old battered backpack, and slung it over his shoulders.

I just can't wait 'til my 10 year reunion
I'm gonna bust down the double doors
And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all this time was for.

He brushed the hair away from Johnny’s face and headed out of the hospital, something tight and angry and burning kindled in the pit of his stomach.

OOO

He took a car. It wasn’t hard—he found one that looked like it could get him where he wanted to go, then tried every key in the big key ring until one of them worked. He hung the ring from the rearview mirror, and drove, pulling over every now and then to clear his vision or cough blood into the roadside snow.

The house by the school was much the same, even under the snow—still old, still with an air of pointedly inoffensive decay. A shaggy nervous man was repainting the “Perez” on the mailbox, and dropped the brush when he spotted Edgar. A streak of bright red paint spattered across his battered sneakers.

“I- uh.” Ingrained politeness warred with general horror across the battleground of the pale man’s face, and won. “Hello, um, Edgar.”

“Hello, Mr. Todd. Is Pepito here?”

“The princess is in another fucking castle!” A voice shouted from inside the house.

“No.” Said Todd. “No, he isn’t. You can go away now. Goodbye.” He bent down to pick up the brush, but Edgar was faster. As they straightened up, Edgar realized with a shock that he was taller than the man now. Todd looked up at him hopelessly.

“Really, he isn’t. Can I have my brush back?”

Edgar threw it into the street and stormed up the stairs, ripped open the flaking door, and ran smack into the Antichrist himself.

Pepito Diablo Perez was exactly taller than Edgar than he had been when Edgar had first met him, and was holding a cookie sheet. “Edgar. What a surprise.”

“Especially since you’re not at home, you mean?”

“Yes. Have a lemon bar. You’re not supposed to be here. At all.”

Edgar took a lemon bar before he could stop himself, and sighed. Angrily. “I didn’t come for cookies.”

“They’re not cookies, they’re lemon ba-”

“You know damn well what I mean!” Edgar said, and was gripped by a spasm of coughing that bent him over and slumped him against the wall, clutching his throat.

“Do I?”

“Johnny. Is. Dead.”  He rasped.

“And this is news?” Pepito drawled. “Amigo, everyone dies. You’re dying. My Squee out there is dying. The rest of your gang are dying as we speak, second by second. Slowly, but nonetheless still definitely dying. All that’s different with your little friend is that the big bad boys in heaven wanted to speed it up a notch. But death gets everyone in the end, hombre, get used to it.”

“Not everyone.” Said Edgar. “Not always.”

“Whatever could you mean, Senor Vargas?”

“You.”

“Me.” Pepito said. It was a statement that came with its own icicles. “And just what about me.”

“You are the antichrist, the son of Satan, the current lord –or something—of Hell. You are not going to die.”

“I can if I want.” Pepito snarled.

“Oh you can, can you?” Edgar asked, glaring into the mismatched eyes. “With all those keys? Those chains? Those horns? The basement?”

“The basement…” Pepito subsided, just a little. All trace of the sallow, snaggly young man had melted away, and what was facing him now in the front hallway had all the self-contained menace of a rattlesnake. Pepito glided measuring circles around Edgar, who fought not to run far away and hide.

“Something tells me that you’ve come to me with a proposition, amigo.” Pepito said.

“My soul for his.”

“Mm. Tangle with Upstairs for a soul I don’t want anyway? I mean, it might work, you’d match the curtains, maybe make us some cake now and then, but no. No necesito eso mierda.”

Edgar could feel Pepito’s eyes through the back of his head, could feel the intense, calculating, knee-weakening stare. The constant music of the house was dropping in volume, and noises, things, were seeping through the auditory cracks. Edgar felt as if he was being gently being set on fire. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“My life, then.” Edgar said, “My life for yours.”

“Your life is about three months long at this point.”

“So it’s a fixer-upper.”

 “Ah.” Pepito hummed, and completed his last circuit around Edgar, tilted his chin up with rough fingers. “Ah, ah, ah.”

“Well?”

“A very interesting proposition, amigo.” He said softly. The faint screaming from the basement was rising like a teakettle. “Do you know what you’re offering? Do you really?”

“I can guess.” Edgar said. “I give you everything I can give—my house. The book. My soul, if I still have one. My body, if you need it. That car I stole. And in return you give me--”

“Hell.”

“Yes. Not just Johnny’s magic key, either—I want the deeds, the titles, the instruction manual. The whole nine fucking yards.”

“And in the end--” Pepito smiled a wicked, dirty smile.

“You walk out free--”

“And --no, let me guess-- all hell breaks loose until the Big Guy decides your hombre isn’t worth the effort.”

Edgar inclined his head. Burning, burning…“And you take Todd, and the car, and your stupid cookies, and your stupid games, and you leave.”

“Pepito, I don’t--”

They watched each other, still. Edgar can hear Squee’s high, nervous hum from the doorway, the faint clank of Pepito’s chains, the soft sizzle and scream from beneath the floor. And somewhere, far away in the forgotten outside evening, birdsong. 

“I told him you wouldn’t thank him for any of this.” Pepito said. “I knew it wouldn’t end well.”

“You don’t know jack shit.”  Edgar said levelly. “Now give me something to sign.”

Pepito grinned. His teeth were dirty and very sharp, and his different eyes held identical flames. “Oh, it’s nothing so simple as a signature, Senor Vargas.” 

He held out his hand, and Edgar took it.  

It hurt more than anything had ever hurt before. He wasn’t surprised.

OOO

What was done to him, afterwards, Edgar couldn’t really remember and didn’t want to try. When his brain started recording again he was sprawled on the big battered gaming couch, an ice-pack held, incongruously, against his right elbow. He had a headache, though he felt better than he had in months. The sky outside seemed just a shade earlier than dawn, and the screaming from the basement seemed much louder than usual. Louder and clearer…

“You sucked out my soul through my elbow?” Edgar asked Pepito, who was playing a card game with a shaken-looking Todd.

“No, I just dropped you on the stairs.” Pepito shrugged. “You feel okay?”

“Headache.”

“Yeah, like I said. Dropped you. You should be fine soon. Let’s see… Name?”

“Edgar Vargas, antichrist.” Edgar said promptly, then shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked. The screaming from the basement was in his head…

“And you live?”

“Here.” Again the instant certainty.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“You’re not holding any up, you’re stealing Todd’s ace of hearts.”

“Ace of diamonds, but close. Urge to wreak havoc?”

Edgar hesitated. “Um, nothing yet.”

“Good. Stay away from mimes, old ladies, and broccoli and you should be fine.”

“Broccolli?”

“Long story.” Pepito began to pack the cards up. There were two duffle bags by the door. “Anyway, you’re low blood sugar, so have something sweet before you try to do anything big, watch out with the hellfire and general smiting, and all necessary equipment is in the hall closet with the poster of Starvaders III. I’ve cleared things up with mom and dad, they should be dropping in next Tuesday to say hi, make sure to compliment mom on her hair. The dungeon dimensions try to invade through Squee’s bedroom closet –that’s the blue room—and sometimes you get aliens. Oh, and Dib. You definitely get Dib. Damn fine hand with a flan, but you just watch that hombre around the garlic. Don’t worry about the chains, they pretty much just happen, and Boy Wonder’s got the keys to anything serious that might crop up. If you’ve got any more questions, please don’t hesitate to beat your head against the wall. You’d be surprised how much it helps.”

“I…thank you.” Edgar said, a little dazed.  

“Oh, and one more thing.” Pepito slung his bag across his back.

“Yes?”

“Your instruction manual, Senor Vargas. Good luck, you stupid, stupid boy, and goodbye.”

After they left, Edgar cracked open the thin book. The text was surprisingly large, and it didn’t use any word more than a few syllables long. There were pictures, here and there. They were in crayon, and they were remarkably informative.

Edgar lay on the couch for a long time, the manual by one hand, the tray of lemon bars by the other. 

Then, eventually, he began to laugh.