THE INFERNAL GOD

Sparks Fly Upward

Max Keller was no stranger to the shitty aspects of life; in fact he was a troubled kid who believed he had the worst luck in the world. His mother, Vanessa Keller, was the only surviving child of an immigrant couple that had died in an accident ten years before his birth. Also, she was a single parent, who worked tirelessly to make sure her son never felt unloved. Before moving to the city, they’d owned a modest house out on Long Island Sound, where he spent the first thirteen years of his life; Mom was a public teacher at the local center, and her students were a bunch of old illiterates.

By the tender age of seven, Max had already acquired somewhat of a notorious reputation – mostly famous in his little town for causing mischief, pulling pranks on elderly neighbors, picking fights with his peers and generally being up to no good. Like a little black Dennis the Menace.

And when that was put together with a learning environment? Disaster.

The major challenges started in high schools, when he kept getting thrown out of every academy he attended on account of violent behavior, even after giving his word that he wasn’t the one who started those fights – he only finished them.

At his eighth-grade school, he was Mr. Popular for the wrong reasons. Due to repeating grades, he was a bit older than his mates. He didn’t fit in well with other kids, had no cliques of his own, and people steered clear of him because he couldn’t stand being teased – which he guessed was typical for most African-American kids. Or maybe not.

When the rest of the year passed uneventfully, he began to think he’d gotten a stroke of good fortune.

Then one time, in ninth-grade, this bully Martin Corazon called him a dumb n-word during gym class. Max threw a b-ball at him so hard it caused a nosebleed. Other students had to tear them off each other. Martin got a black eye to match his swollen nose. In Max’s opinion, the dummy deserved the hurt.

But the school did not share his opinion.

One visit to the Headmaster’s office, and later he was emptying his school locker, having been expelled from yet another school, again. The sixth one in four years! Quite a record.

He was thirteen years old at the time.

Normally, an expulsion wouldn’t have bothered him, but this one happened around the time his mom got laid off at her place of work – who knew genarians hated being corrected all the time?

When she saw the expulsion letter from the town school that night, Max dreaded her reaction. But she only tossed the paper aside and asked if he had got hurt. When he said no, she made his favorite for dinner – peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – and they watched an old movie. He fell asleep in her arms.

Next month, they moved to Manhattan. Hello, city! Mom had gotten this new job at a five-star hotel – FIJEDOM LODGE – that was a subsidiary of a Forbes-listed company, and the pay was really good. Enough to send Max to a private boarding school in upstate New York.

Where things went very wrong.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice nearby. “You alright?”

Max looked up at the welcome face of Layla, his only friend so far in this… prison. She was in his age group, a pretty brunette with light-brown skin, caramel eyes and an expression that said: Don’t mess with me or I’ll shave off your eyebrows and make you eat them. She was fresh meat, though – been in juvie for about three months now, under a sentence of one year, charged with social misconduct. She’d sprayed graffiti over a street poster of the mayor, but had been too slow in making a getaway from the local cops.

Too slow, Max thought, just like he’d been on that unfortunate day.

Clearing his throat, he surveyed the compound. It was a beautiful sunny hour, the afternoon skies blue and clear, the air pungent with the smell of city. The inmates of Harvey’s correctional facility loitered on a wrap-around porch before the stone steps of the National Conservatory of Historical Art. Standing near the bus parked on the roadside was a heavily-built man with a shaved head, cold dark eyes, a buff jaw and a permanent scowl. His all-white uniform seemed a little too tight on him, well stretched over his bulging muscles. He looked like Roman Reign and The Rock fused into one, and he was here to make sure not one of them stepped out of line. Max knew him well, because he lived to torment society degenerates like Max.

The man’s name was Aiden, one of the disciplinarians working at Harvey’s Institute. When he caught Max looking, Aiden’s face creased into a deeper scowl. There was something almost… unnerving about his face. But Max didn’t dwell on that for long. Like he’d done so many times before, he flashed a wink and turned away.

The chaperone of their unlawful squad – Max knew her name was Mrs. Burnish but not much else – was standing on the top step before the heavy front doors of the museum, having a discussion with a tall dark-haired man in sunglasses and a pinstriped suit. Scattered around the yard, the rest of their group – juvies dressed in blue uniforms like Max – were divided into smaller groups, talking and laughing. The generic age was sixteen. He spied Tamara Jenner’s blond hair swinging as she laughed in response to whatever her beau, the brown-haired Ryder, was telling her. Max recalled those two had been dumped at Harvey’s sometime last year, after being arrested for B&E at a car retail store.

Welcome to Harvey’s Institute, where we take in the worst and make them the best.

Well, the first part was definitely true.

“Hullo,” said Layla. “Earth to Skyhead?”

Skyhead. Her nickname for him. She’d complained that Max spent a lot of time with his head in the clouds. And although he’d explained that he got distracted a lot, the name still stuck.

And of course, it was Layla, so he found the term endearing.

“I’m fine,” he said, then motioned to Mrs. Burnish. “Who’s the chick?”

He had never seen her before today. And all through the journey here, she had occupied her eyes with him, which he found weird, though he hadn’t given it much thought. Weird stuff happened to him most of the time – present situation included.

“Social worker in charge of parole. She keeps all our files and stuff, checks in periodically to monitor our progress,” said Layla.

“Oh.”

“How come you’ve never seen her? You’ve been here far longer than I have.”

Max did not need the reminder. “Yeah.” Was it his imagination or did she frown a little when her gaze passed over Aiden? “I probably mistook her as someone else.”

Layla didn’t look convinced. “From what I heard, I think she told the Warden it would be good publicity for us to visit a cultural center today, a form of rehabilitation therapy, I guess.”

“Right. Cos staring at a bunch of ancient junk will make me a betterment to society.”

Layla giggled. “I actually like history.”

Max deadpanned. “I know you do. The mayor knows it too.”

Her whoop of laughter earned them looks that were not returned.

A glance at his watch – the last gift Mom had given him before his incarceration – revealed the time was three thirty pm. He’d tried calling her this morning on the facility phone; when he got no response, he left a host of voicemails – Mom, we need to talk, for real. It’s important. Can you please call me? I love you – after which he’d read for a few hours before playing chess with Layla, though he lost every game.

Then they had lunch, and he’d hoped the evening would be a free one. But no, there just had to be a trip, and to a museum nonetheless.

Max muttered a curse under his breath. Of all the places they could have come to.

He hated museums. After all, the reason he was here in the first place…

When Max got into that private boarding school, Elite Academy, things were odd for the first few months, given his past history with schools. As the new kid, naturally, other kids gave him space, even the nerds. None of it bothered him, though. He actually preferred keeping to himself. His time was mostly spent at the library, the courts, and the pool.

The only real friend he ever made there was Jake Sullivan. He was Max’s roommate.

Jake was this blond surfer dude with a deep tan, abs and teeth worthy of Adonis. A socialite with wealthy parents, both of whom were also on the school board. He was the kind of person every kid wanted to hang out with, but he kept a tight ship. And yet, somehow, Max ended up in it.

Their friendship started out okay – sitting together during lunch periods, doing gym sessions together, even going to the library, though Max was basically the only one reading – but then he got to discover that Jake had some… unique tendencies.

To start with, he was a party animal who loved to have fun. Time and again, he was prone to hosting small revels in their co-ed dorm room, having settled the senior prefects for the night. Underage Max got to observe a lot of… action at these lewd parties, since they were happening in his room.

As the months progressed, he found himself being sucked into Jake’s depraved lifestyle. At the end of each semester, during the holidays, Max would spend days at Jake’s studio apartment, messing around with other kids years older than him. Not that any of them knew this, of course. Close to the beginning of their friendship, Jake had relayed to Max that he seemed like a fifteen year old, even though in truth he was actually two years younger.

Max had not felt the urge to correct him.

He spent that Christmas with Mom, telling her all about his new school, though he left out some parts, like Jake’s extravagant lifestyle. She seemed happy that he was having fun and making friend(s), which felt like a miracle given his history, but she made him promise to be careful and not draw much attention to himself.

He’d promised, even without understanding what she meant by not drawing attention. Who’d bother with a nobody like him?

The next school year was even better, which meant he turned on his worst behavior yet.

Classes became a forgone memory. Jake influenced him so much he started sneaking out at night with him. Once they went clubbing using fake IDs – well Max used a fake ID because Jake was sixteen and looked eighteen – to infiltrate a private lounge, where they spent many happy hours hooting at exotic dancers and guzzling vodka-laced margaritas.

Lots of girls sporting mascaras tried to pick a conversation with Jake, and later while he was busy with the lucky one in the back of his Bentley, Max was busy throwing up in the back of an alley.

Around two am that same night, after dropping the chick off, Jake drove them back to school and they managed to slip in without getting caught, even though they laughed all the while.

That night Max dreamed of margaritas.

And so the depravity continued. Then, Mom would call almost every minute, having received concerned reports from teachers about his drab academic performance, but he wasn’t chanced to pick her calls, nor did he really want to. Whenever he did pick, he would lie about his whereabouts. They’d squabble over the phone until one of them hung up.

Yes, it was kind of messy. But he just didn’t know how to tell her the truth – the only friend he had in the world was a bad seed slowly corrupting him.

The rest of the month was mostly spent visiting parties and social functions. Max pretty much became Jake’s sidekick. Jake’s quite… abrasive sidekick.

Then came the golden day – when he turned fourteen. Coincidentally, to celebrate a festival, the school organized a trip to a gallery on Park Street: THE SCANDIVANIAN HOUSE. An exhibition center boasting tenets of Norse mythology.

Minutes after arrival, Jake took him down to one of the old offices in the underground wing, a place it seemed he was well familiar with. There they spent the time getting wasted on expensive scotch. A birthday gift, Jake called it, since he’d thought Max was turning sixteen.

Looking back on that day, it almost seemed like a dream, something that happened in a past life.

Max could recall laughing hard as they’d exchanged jokes, Jake idly playing with a bunch of old cables and switches.

“I knew Jessica just wanted me,” he was saying, his hand clenching the almost-empty bottle of Scotch. Curls of blond hair drooped over his tanned forehead. “It wouldn’t have ended any other way.”

“So you don’t care that she has a boyfriend?”

“I mean, she didn’t.”

Max had laughed more from the alcohol singing in his veins than actual humor. At one point, Jake had lit a joint and offered him.

“Ah…no thanks.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

Having thought of all the trouble he’d faced at his former schools, Max tried not to snicker. “I’m not.”

Jake held out the joint imploringly. Well, Max thought. One puff couldn’t hurt. I won’t inhale.

He took a drag. Smoke burned down his throat. He started to wheeze like some pneumonic patient, feeling dizzy. Over the noise in his ears, he heard Jake laughing.

Playfully enraged, Max pursued him across the room till Jake had stopped and asked them to play a prank on everyone else.

His voice had suddenly changed.

“What do you mean?” Max could recall blinking in confusion at the color of Jake’s eyes – reddish-black instead of aquamarine blue – but assumed it was the highness making him see things. The room had started to spin. “What prank?”

Then, as if in a daze, Jake had walked past him, stumbling over toward a electric panel set in the wall. When he pulled a lever, the room went dark. “This controls the sixth floor. This” – he moved to pull another, and Max heard a faint hum of surprise upstairs – “controls the fifth.”

“Good to know. Can you step away now?”

But Jake had remained right where he was, his grin flashing through the gloom like the gleam of a silver blade. “Let’s make them think there’s a power outage.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he’d started pressing buttons and pulling levers that he did not seem to understand. Laughing – laughing – until there was a burst of static feedback. Till zaps touched piles of paper, and whiskers of flame rose in their wake, spreading faster than their joined hands could bat them out.

And sparks fly upward.

It would have been the perfect day. Instead, they started a fire that had almost destroyed the entire floor. The drugged culprits tried escaping, but were easy prey for the alert authorities.

The school management was made to pay damages. Since Jake’s parents were on the school board, and well… white, he was let go with minimal punishment. Max’s black butt, however, was expelled immediately without so much as a hearing to plead his case, not that anyone would have listened, anyway.

Also, as recompense, he was charged with arson and directed to a youth detention center with a three-year sentence to complete.

Hello, Harvey’s!

Worst part about the whole thing? The look on Mom’s face when she was told. Like he’d broken her trust and brought shame upon the family name.

Which was actually true.

Alcohol, Max? She’d scolded him in a tone she had never used before. Really thought I taught you better than that. So this is what you’ve been doing. Why you’ve been lying to me. Gods!

I’m sorry, mom. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be good.

The decision is out of my hands. They want to send you to juvie. For three years.

No, mom. Please don’t make me go. Please!

Perhaps you should. Perhaps this is best. Maybe it is what he would have wanted.

Who?

Your father.

That had been their last real conversation in over two years. Mom still called the facility periodically – every six months – to get an overview on her son’s welfare and discipline, but her conversations with him over the phone were bland and brisk. He knew he’d hurt her deeply, and hated himself for it.

However, he’d also promised himself that when he got out, things would be different. He would be different.

“Gather around, kids,” called Mrs. Burnish from the top step. The dark-haired man in the suit stood beside her, his expression formal. To amuse himself, Max imagined that he had laser red eyes behind his sunglasses. “Yes,” continued Burnish when every inmate was assembled before them. “This is Mr. Travis. He’s the curator on duty today and will be your tour guide. Please try to comply with any instructions given.”

Tamara blew a bubble gum balloon. It made a loud noise as it popped, making other kids giggle. Layla shot her a look of disdain, but Mrs. Burnish pretended not to notice. She was scribbling furiously on her notepad, tufts of dark hair escaping from her beret.

“Keller,” she said suddenly, startling him most. He could feel every gaze settling on his body. “Maxwell Keller.”

A hand was raised in response.

Mrs. Burnish’s cerulean blue eyes met his for a moment. Then she continued scribbling. “Got a message from the Warden. Your mother called.”

It was like sunshine had risen in his grey heart. “What did she say?”

He must have sounded real eager because Tamara’s boyfriend snorted.

“Would ya look at that,” teased the blockhead. “A momma’s boy.”

“Shut up, Ryder,” hissed Layla. Tamara let out a screech of laughter. Max tried to tune them out, keeping his focus on their chaperone.

Mrs. Burnish shot both noisemakers a stern look, her pen tapping the notepad ominously. When they quieted, she turned back to him. “Nothing really, dear. Maybe it’s a routine call.”

That’s not possible, he thought. The last routine call had happened three weeks ago. Another one wasn’t expected for about five months. Perhaps there was something important she wanted to tell him. Or maybe she’d listened to his voicemails and agreed to his terms. A guy could only hope.

“You’ll be allowed to call her when we return,” said Mrs. Burnish. “The Warden has granted permission.”

It was hard to keep his excitement down, but he managed. “Okay,” he said.

Mrs. Burnish flashed a warm smile before making a clean exit. “Remember, kids,” she called out as she climbed into the bus. “No trouble. Aiden is in charge till I return. Be good, and you just might get parole early.” Her eyes were on Max when she said the last statement. He took that as a sign from heaven.

Then the engine gunned to life and tires screeched down Fifth Avenue, leaving a bunch of delinquents in front of an exhibition center. An open space with no walls and minimal security. Of course, he thought grimly, each of them knew better than to run.

If caught, the consequences… were sometimes more than a person could bear. Joel Winston was still missing, and no one talked about what must have happened to him.

“Single file,” barked Aiden, striding into the Museum after Mr. Travis.

“This should be uneventful,” said Layla, adjusting her blue shirt collar. “Any chance you got a spare flask somewhere? Could use a tonic right about now.”

A memory of what had happened last time he got drunk at a museum flashed through his mind. Max repressed a shiver. “No,” he said.

“Bummer.”

“Sorry.”

Layla slid a peeved look toward Tamara, who was openly swigging from a steel thermos Ryder had supplied her. “Actually, I think I will be better off sober. Wouldn’t want Miss Big-Bosom-And-No-Brains over there to think we’ve got something in common.”

Max laughed; sometimes Layla’s accent really cracked him up. His glee subsided when he caught her smiling at him, and then he realized that his reaction had been her goal all along. Although, something behind her eyes seemed… strange somehow. Almost as if she was waiting for something. For him to do something.

“What?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring at me.” The way you usually do when you think I don’t notice.

She shook her head. “You must be delirious. We had better go in.”

He grabbed her hand as she took a step forward. They were the only ones left outside the museum now. The sun sent bright pins of light streaking through her irises. On her bare wrist gleamed a dark bead bracelet he’d gifted her four weeks ago; there was a similar one on his wrist. They’d used the trinkets to mark a friendship anniversary of two months. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell me, Layla.”

She stared at him for so long he thought she’d gone deaf. Sometimes it almost seemed like Layla had a lot of things she wanted to say. Yet she never said them. Of course he’d learned not to pry, but he really wished he knew something about his friend other than the fact that she hailed from a small town on the coast called Themy and had really strong knuckles.

He didn’t even know her last name.

It had been among the first five things he’d wanted to know, but she’d given an evasive answer. When he’d persisted, she’d flat out told him to drop the matter. He hadn’t asked much again. If the girl from Themy was ready to talk about her life, she’d talk.

However, he couldn’t pretend the lack of info did not bother him.

Layla exhaled. She let go of his hand and offered a wan smile. “I am fine, Max. Let us just try to keep our wits during the coming hours of attempted rehabilitation.”

Yeah, he thought with a resigned smile. Let’s.

They started walking toward the wide doorway, which lay open like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole. His nerves were buzzing with anticipation! After this museum ordeal, he would return to the facility, where an important call awaited him.

Mom.

He was really looking forward to their conversation. Just had to endure, what, two to three hours of boring history?

Easy-peasy.

Though he couldn’t deny some misgivings clouding his mind. Last time he’d entered a museum, his life had taken a turn for the worst.

He could only hope things would go well this time.

He had no idea how wrong he was.