My Friend Death

The governor-elect stood at the podium ready to address his supporters. It was a hard-fought election, but Stan knew that he would win. Actually, he had no doubt in his mind that he would win. He had it on good authority that he was a shoe-in to become the next governor of California.

Now, instead of just Stan Goodwin the Lafayette High School head custodian, he was Governor Stan Goodwin of California. He still found it hard to believe that it was only a year ago that he was pushing a broom while those snotty little bastards made his life miserable.

He wanted to use his new-found power to exact revenge on a lot of different people, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that. He raised his hands to ask for quiet and then leaned forward to address the huge crowd that had gathered.

“I just want to thank Senator Constantine for a great campaign and wish him the best of luck! But as for me, g I’m going to Sacramento!”

The crowd went crazy as they started to kick around the balloons that had fallen from the ceiling only an hour earlier when Senator Franklin Constantine had conceded the race for governor of California. In his address to the media, Senator Constantine said he was “mystified by the choice of the people,” but he admitted that he had to do what the people of California wanted.

Governor-elect Goodwin waited for the crowd to quiet down again, and then he finished his acceptance speech to his supporters.

“I want to thank my family, especially my wife, for their love and support. I want to thank my staff and everyone who made this possible. Now it is on to Sacramento to make the changes that you asked me to make!”

More confetti fell from the ceiling as “We Are The Champions” blared over the sound system. Stan wondered if anyone asked Queen if his campaign could use that song, but then he realized that it really didn’t matter.

The first person to meet Stan as he got off the stage was his campaign manager Albert Young. Albert was an ambitious guy, but he wasn’t Stan’s choice for the campaign. Everything to do with Stan’s campaign was hand-picked by Mr. Ankou. Albert approached Stan and handed him a towel. Then Albert leaned in to tell Stan that Mr. Ankou was waiting for Stan in the back office.

Stan’s demeanor suddenly got very solemn. Now it was starting to sink in that it was time to pay the piper. It was time for Stan to keep all of the promises he made to Mr. Ankou in exchange for becoming the most powerful man in California. Mr. Ankou promised Stan that the Presidency of the United States was next, but that would have to wait a couple of years.

As Stan opened the door to the back office, Mr. Ankou was sitting behind the desk with his hands folded in front of him. Stan slowly walked into the office and closed the door behind him.

“Stanley. Please, sit down.”

Stan sat and then started to sweat a little bit. He wasn’t really sure what Mr. Ankou was going to do next. Stan stammered out the question that had been burning into his mind for weeks.

“Okay, so, now what?”

“So articulate Stanley! That is why I chose you! Now you just need to keep doing what I tell you and I will deliver you to the White House.”

“When we first met, you talked about bringing your people back. What does that mean?”

“Stanley, the less you know right now, the better off you will be.”

“Are you really over 1,000 years old?”

“Yes, Stanley! I am. Well over. And now that I have you in a position of power, I am going to show you exactly how I managed to stay looking so young all of these years.”

"I don't suppose that it has anything to do with banging twenty-year old, college co-eds?" Stanley muttered.

"Please, Stanley, some decorum. You're a professional. Of course no co-eds, despite your best attempts to prove otherwise. You're lucky you haven't been caught. Or maybe you have and the right people have been paid off. At any rate, Stanley, it's time to learn my secrets."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," Stanley replied. Mr. Ankou poured a glass of cognac for himself and another for Stanley. He handed it to Stanley and then sat down on a couch in the center of the room. He motioned for the governor-elect to sit at the matching couch across from him.

"Well, Stanley, it's a little too late for that. Why don't you finish your drink, then please remove all your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"Strip. Naked."

"Uh…I'm not really sure that I feel…"

"Please, Stanley. Don't flatter yourself. It's just all part of the process." Ankou watched as unease filled the face of the new California governor. Stanley slowly set down his glass on the table between the couches and loosened his tie.

"I'm not sure…"

"Of course not. Please. Remain dressed. I was merely demonstrating the power I have over you."

"Who are you?"

"As an educated man, I'm sure you realize that 'Ankou' is Gaelic for 'Death.' Well. that's who I am. Death. I have many names in many tongues, but I am best known simply as Death."

"Am I going to die?" Stanley stammered. He reached for his glass and finished off the rest of the glass. Ankou smirked from behind his own glass.

"Yes. We all are. Even me. Which is why we're here right now."

"I mean, am I dying right now?"

"Let's not to get too far ahead of ourselves, Stanley. My body is starting to wear out. I am immortal…"

"You're the devil?" Stanley asked sheepishly. All the bravado of the man who had just clinched the election for governor of the state of California was gone and replaced with the uncertainty of an adolescent boy on his first date.

"No. I said my name meant 'Death,' not 'Fiendishly Handsome Harvester of Lost Souls.' Just listen to what I'm telling you." Ankou said with a bit of impatience.

"Sorry."

"As I was saying, my body is starting to wear out. I'm looking for a new body to take over to continue my duties as Death. I've chosen you as my next incarnation," Ankou continued.

"But…"

"Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. There's nothing you can do about this. You are going to die. In three years, at your next physical, the doctor will find a tumor in your brain. You will die in office. And then I will take over your body and continue with my existence. You see, these bodies only last about 1200 years. After that time, the body rapidly begins to disintegrate and die."

"You can see the future? I'm sorry for all the questions. I'm having a hard time with this."

"I cannot see into the future. I am immortal, even if my body is not. As an immortal, time is eternal. I can pop in and out of various epochs in your past, present and future. Every once in a while my other incarnations meet up at the same event in history. Which, of course, is how we got the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It was the one time that four of us showed up at the same place. It's the end of the world, for God's sake! Who wouldn’t want to see that? Especially Death? In those days I still rode horses. And the poor writer of ‘Revelations’ who had the vision mistakenly called us by these other names, which has stuck. I lose all the credit."

"You rode horses? What do you ride now?"

"Yes. I used to ride a flaming steed. It used to burn my ass. With new human technology, I have upgraded my horses to a Fat Boy Harley."

"With flames on the tank?" Stanley asked. He walked across the room to refill his glass with cognac. He took a pull from the glass and topped it off again.

"Yes, with flames on the tank. And let me tell you, when I show up to take the dead away, chicks really dig those flames. Hey, would you fill me up?" Ankou held his glass out to Stanley. The governor-elect served his benefactor a second drink and headed back to the couch.

"It's a beautiful machine," Stanley commented.

"It is. And now we must get back to the matter at hand. You are going to die in three years. I will make you the most powerful governor in California history in the time we have left. Well, maybe second most powerful, but you'll do it without steroids. I will even pave your way to the White House, just as I promised."

"What is going to happen to me?"

"Well, that's a very interesting story," Ankou answered.

“As I told you,” Ankou continued, “on the occasion of your next physical, just before you take office, your doctor will find a tumor in your brain. You’ll be given just weeks to live but I’m going to hold off from reaping you for another two years and 10 months after that.”

“What? Why?”

“Stanley. Would you kindly shut the fuck up and listen for a change?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I …”

“Really. Just shut up.”

Stanley and Ankou both took a sip of their cognac and stared intently at one another for 30 seconds. Stanley wanted to talk and Ankou wanted to exert his influence of the humble-janitor-turned-governor-elect.

“Thank you,” Ankou continued. “You see, I am immortal. But I am not omnipotent. I have only one real gift. I can choose how and when people will die. Or how long they will live. I have some other minor abilities, mind you, like convincing people to do my bidding in exchange for certain favors. It is how you have ascended to the role you have now.”

“Okay …”

Ankou stared intently at Stan, silently reminding him to keep quiet.

“I have made you the poster boy for hope in the world. If a lowly janitor can become governor of California then anyone can do anything. You may think this a good thing for humanity, but truly there is no greater evil than hope. People will attempt all sorts of irrational and stupid things. Just tonight, for example, with the knowledge that you have pulled off the impossible, hundreds of men across the country will take it as a sign to ‘go for it,’ and finally ask the girls of their dreams to dinner or drinks or whatever. They’ll all be shot down. Every one of them. For hope is a fool’s game. It convinces people to believe in the impossible.”

Ankou sat back in his leather chair and swirled his cognac in his glass. Taking a sip, he unleashed a smirk the size of San Andreas Fault.

“People will run red lights, play chicken, try to jump over cliffs on bicycles. Your winning tonight will bring about more deaths in the next three years than the Third Reich. Your ‘hope’ will actually bring chaos unseen in centuries.”

“But I …” Stanley attempted to interject.

Shooting up from his chair, Ankou shouted, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. This isn’t about you. It was never about you. And you should consider yourself lucky that I’m not only allowing you to keep your meager existence but promoting you to something so much greater than you could ever wish to be. If you open your mouth one more fucking time before I am done, I will strike you down right here and now. No governor. No wife. No kids. No fucking co-eds. Just me. Death. Now. Do you under-fucking-stand?”

Stan’s eyes stood as wide as saucers, but he dared not speak.

“Your election tonight brought hope. The announcement of your brain tumor will be seen as a setback at first but my allowing you to live for years past the doctors’ diagnosis will actually make you a heroic character, able to fight through all odds. Your legacy will near that of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and many other people whose lives I’ve ended only when I felt it appropriate.”

“After your brain cancer diagnosis, you will take time to ‘consider your future,’ after which you will announce that you will press on. In a year, you’ll announce that you’re running for president. You’ll win. You’ll die in office and when you’re buried, I’ll take over your physical form. With some alterations, mind you, so I’m not mistaken for you. I’ll get a ‘new lease on life,’ if you will, and you’ll have the legacy your parents always wanted you to have.”

“Now. Do you have any questions?”

Stanley was a little hesitant, but when Ankou shot Stanley a slight smile with an inviting nod, Stanley knew that he could speak.

“Ok, yeah. I have a question. Why don’t you just take over my body instead of all of this commotion? I mean, why did you make me governor just to eventually kill me?”

“That, my dear boy, is a very good question. I like games. Do you like games, Stanley?”

Stanley looked blankly at Ankou and then just nodded.

“Of course you do. Hope is a game to me Stanley. I give the human race hope, then I take it away. It is what I do. Your ability to live on past your diagnosis will give people hope. Then I will take that hope away. It helps me to create the sense of disparity that I need in order to feel comfortable on this loathsome planet. I create hope by using a figure that beats the odds, then I take that hope away. It is what I do. Abraham Lincoln was one of my greatest achievements. The world really thought he was going to change things, and then I took him away.”

Stanley looked solemn for a while and then slowly stood up.

“Look, Mr. Ankou. Is it okay if I just . . .  go for a walk?”

“Of course, Stanley. Just be back in one hour. We have appointments to keep. Oh, and Stanley. Don’t try to run. I may not be omnipotent, but I do own your soul. If you run, I will find you. And when I find you, the deal is off and you are dead.”

Stanley slowly wandered out the back exit of the hotel where his victory rally was being held and started walking down the street. Some people recognized him and wanted to have pictures taken with him. But no one really bothered him. He always thought that being a celebrity would be different.

He wasn’t really paying attention, but he suddenly found himself standing at the archway entrance to a park.

This park looks familiar. Stanley has seen this park on television before. Isn’t this the park where Santa Claus was killed? Or something twisted like that? Some little girl was killed here too. He remembered that story from a year or two ago.

It was a pleasant enough evening and there were people walking through the park just minding their own business. Stanley walked towards the fountain where some street vendors were packing up after an evening of selling their wares.

Stanley just watched them pack up their tables. He started to wonder what life would be like with a brain tumor. Then he wondered if his wife really loved him, or if Ankou has her under some kind of spell. Stanley was contemplating the foundation of his marriage when he heard a female voice answer his unasked question.

“She loves you, baby. You just have to be patient, that’s all. Come talk to mama, I know what’s on your mind.”

Stanley turned around and saw what looked like a homeless woman sitting on one of the park benches next to a shopping cart that had an array of goodies in it. She was older looking and, much to his surprise, she actually looked rather pleasant.

“How…how did you know what I was thinking?” Stanley asked.

“Baby, you don’t have to do what that man says. He is lying to you. He is not who he say he is.”

“What? What man? How do you . . .”

“Look, mama knows everything. That man is a deity, but he is not no god of death. Think about it baby: Wouldn’t the god of death be all-knowing? Of course he would. That man ain’t all-knowing. He isn’t who he say he is.”

“Well, who is he then?”

“He’s Loki, baby. And you need to stop him before he uses you to kill millions of people.”

“Millions of people?”

“He’s not going to wait until you are dead to try and possess your body, baby. He is going to wait until you are inaugurated as governor. Then all hell’s gonna break loose.”

“What do I do?”

“You need to find my boy. He wanders this park and he is the only one who can defeat Loki in a fair fight.”

“Your boy?”

“Oh yeah, baby. I gots me one helluva boy!”

Stanley awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Next to him, his wife's sleeping form never stirred. Maybe it was all a dream and I'm still just a janitor and a crappy city school rather than the governor-elect. Maybe it would be just as easy if it all was just a dream.

"Sorry Stan, but it's not a dream," a voice called out of the darkness. A match flickered and burst into flame before being put to cigar. It was Ankou sitting in the chair in the corner. Stanley leaned back into the pillow that was propped against the headboard. He glanced over to his wife a second time.

"Don’t worry about her. She won't wake up for this. I guarantee it. Though I do have to admit, the victory sex was definitely something to see. I didn't know you could still do things at your age."

"Y-y-you were watching?" Stanley stammered.

"Stanley, please. It's hard to get dates when you only show up when they're dead to take their hearts to be weighed. You disappoint me, Stanley. Talking to strange, homeless women in the park? That boy of hers wouldn't think twice about ripping your arms right off from your torso if the mood hit. And really, a crazy homeless person? They can't be the best character witnesses."

"She said you were no God. She said you were Loki."

"Again, Stanley, are you going to listen to that old woman or to the one who brought you to the position you now hold?  You must remember, Loki often appears as an old woman to the people he torments. And I must apologize for my outburst earlier. I generally am a much nicer guy. Sometimes, it does get frustrating to deal with only dead or dying people, though. Sometimes I just want to be the free-loving, all-around good guy that deep down, I really am. And I'd like to get laid," Ankou waved his cigar nonchalantly as he spoke.

Stanley glanced out the window. Rain ran in rivulets down the hotel window. Occasional flashes of lightning streaked across the darkened sky. Ankou remained in the chair, blithely blowing smoke towards Stanley.

"Let me set your mind at ease, my friend. Of course I'm not omnipotent. There's only one cat daddy who holds those cards. It ain't me, but I think you know who I'm talking about. I also don't need your body until you're already dead. I may be Death, but I can't actually kill people. There's a timetable, you see. I can't change that. Once your name comes up, I show up. Sure there are people who have tried to cheat me, but I always win."

"I don't understand. You're like two different people. Sometimes you're really a great guy, like now. And other times, you're just plain evil and mean," Stanley questioned the apparition in the corner. He was still frightened of the man, if he really was a man, but the relative ease of Ankou's present personality gave him a little more bravery.

"Yeah. Sometime when I don't take my meds regularly, I get crankier than normal and just get a little nuts."

"Wait. What? Meds? You're Death. A demi-god. Why would you need meds?"

"Because I'm Death. I deal with dead people day in and day out. All the time. You try to walk in my shoes for a day and I guarantee you'll max out your insurance-approved psych visits. It's not easy being me. I'm bad ass. But I also have feelings. You want to know something? There's someone else who needs meds. I mean, have you actually ever read the Old and New Testaments? Yahweh is on one hell of a bender in the Old Testament."

"Oh, my God." Stanley muttered.

"Yeah. Mine, too. Listen, Stanley. I like you. You're a good kid. I really don't want to see you die, but you're on my list," Ankou pulled a tattered notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened it to a random page. "See right here, Stanley Horowitz Goodwin."

"Stanley Horowitz Goodwin? That's not me. I'm Stanislaus Henri Goodwin."

"What?" Ankou said with obvious doubt and surprise.

"Stanislaus Henri Goodwin. I have no idea who Stanley Horowitz Goodwin is."

"Well, fuck me. That's never happened before."

“Okay, Stanley,” Ankou said after a long pause, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go find the right Stan Goodwin, make him governor and … Shit, no. Wait. That won’t work. We’re going to … I have no idea what we’re going to do.”

“So? You’re kind of an idiot,” Stan said. “You pulled the wrong strings and got the wrong guy elected as governor and now WE have to fix it, is that it?”

“Well, aside from the idiot part, yeah, that’s pretty much accurate,” Ankou said back sheepishly.

“And yet, here’s me thinking that I don’t have to listen to a word you say,” Stan said. “Your contract is null and void. You didn’t even have my name right.”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ankou chimed in, the sheepishness replaced by force, “No. Our contract is good. The dates might just be a little off. But I made you. And I can still break you. And you still belong to me.”

“Except, if I’m not going to die by the time you shrivel up, what good does that do you?” Stan asked, having thought about their earlier conversation. “Seems to me that you better go find some other body to inhabit. It also seems to me that I know your big dark secret and in fact, I own YOU.”

“Um.”

“So here’s what YOU’RE going to do. You go off and kill some people - or whatever it is that you do. I’m going to wake my wife up for round two. And you leave me the hell alone.”

Stanley looked over at his wife and back to Ankou. In that brief moment, Ankou was gone.

Cue Barry White.

The next morning, Stanislaus Henri Goodwin woke up feeling like a million bucks. He wanted to tell his wife everything that had transpired in the course of the last 12 months but thought he’d better wait. Or just not. She might think he was crazy. Hell, he thought he was crazy. Maybe he was crazy. But he’s free. And he’s the governor-elect of California.

A knock on the door rips him from his pleasant thoughts.

“Stanley Goodwin?,” the man at the door asks.

“I’m Stan Goodwin, yes. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Goodwin, I’m Karl Forte. I believe you know my boss Mr. Ankou.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Stan interjected. “Ankou and I no longer have a business relationship. He forgot to dot his i’s and cross his t’s and our contract ended last night.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know,” Forte said. “See it’s not so much that Mr. Ankou didn’t dot his i’s and cross his t’s it’s that I may have misled him. By which I mean, I misled him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m sick of his games and I’m sick of his plans to take over the world. And I’m sick of that stupid motorcycle. And I’m tired. And I just want to die.”

“Well, that took a morbid turn,” the governor-elect said.

“So,” Forte continued, I was hoping that since Mr. Ankou was so willing to screw up your life, you might be willing to exact a little revenge.”

“I don’t know,” Stan said.

“Here’s what I’m hoping we can do. I want to run out the clock. I want to make sure my boss spends the next few years searching for - but not finding - a new body to inhabit. And once his current form degenerates to the point at which he’s weak enough, we can kill him.”

“Wait a minute, here,” Stan said. “I don’t know about killing. That. That just doesn’t seem like the type of thing I’d be capable of.”

“First of all, Mr. Goodwin, he was going to kill you. Secondly, in case you missed the memo, you’re the governor elect of California. One of the most powerful men in the country. You can do whatever you want. And third, if we kill death …”

Stan really did contemplate the possibility of killing Death, but then the logistics of not having the rules of Death apply just did not sit well with him. Besides, Stan had other ideas.

“No, I am just not interested.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you not want to exact revenge on the man who set you up to die a painful death?”

“Because,” Stan said as he walked back towards the couch in his room and lit a cigarette. “You are not Death.”

At that statement, the form in the doorway morphed into Ankou and he had a large smile on his face.

“Well Stanley, you certainly passed the loyalty test. But I am afraid that you are wrong about who I am. I am, most assuredly, Death.”

“You know, Loki.”

Ankou stiffened at the sound of his real name being spoken by a mortal.

“I believed all of your little stories, but a lot of things just did not make any sense. Why would Death need a human form? That bothered me from the moment you said it.”

“Well…I…”

“Shut the fuck up until I am done! Do you understand Loki?”

Loki looked reserved as he stood in the hotel room doorway. “Of course, Stanley. Can I at least come in and sit down?”

“No, just stand there.”

Loki leaned against the door frame and tried to maintain his composure. Then Stan continued.

“No, none of what you said made sense. The only person who made any sense was the old lady in the park. You see, Death IS omnipotent and Death does kill people. It is his job. You know how I know that?”

Loki shook his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“Because Death told me so. I went back to that park yesterday afternoon and talked to that old woman. She has a lot of friends in some very high places. Death actually looked a lot like G. Gordon Liddy. Which I thought was odd. But Death apologized for everything I had been through. He said he could not interfere because, well, he just doesn’t interfere with lives. He only takes them. But when the old lady convinced me of who you were, Death felt compelled to apologize to me, in person.”

“Well Stanley, you can’t believe…”

“Have I said it in a language you understand? Shut the fuck up!”

“Yes, of course.”

“When Death was done apologizing and after he had left, I did NOT shake his hand by the way, the old lady introduced me to her boy. He’s a cute kid and he just loves to play.”

At that moment, Loki sensed that there was something hulking behind him. He could hear it breathing and he could feel the breath on the back of his neck. Loki did not dare turn around, but he also knew that running was a really bad idea.

“Play chase?”

Stan smiled and Loki turned to address the old woman’s “boy.” He was a huge monster with horns on his head and hands that could palm a beach ball. Loki found himself looking straight into the boy’s face. The boy was smiling, with trails of slobber coming from the corners of his mouth. Then the boy spoke again, with a gravelly voice that Loki recognized right away.

“We play chase. You have head start.”

Loki turned back to Stan with a look of fear on his face.

“This isn’t over Stanley! Not by a long shot!”

Stan just closed the door with his foot and waved to Loki as the door was closing. Once the door was closed, Stan heard the boy roar, Loki scream and the sounds of the chase being underway.