Life after Death?

BAM-BAM-BAM!

". . . ."

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

"Mrrrf?"

BAM-BAM-BAM! "OPEN UP, MIKE! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! DON'T YOU GO MAKE ME GET THE KEY!!"

"Mrr-fkrrr. . . ."

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

BAM-BAM-

Click.

The door slowly swung open to reveal Marv's ugly face. "Mike! Just where the hell have you been?" He muscled his stocky frame past the door and into the room. "I've been callin' over here for--Good God, are YOU a mess! Just what in the devil have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Urrr. . . ."

"Dammit, are you drunk? Shit if you ain't. Well, get yourself cleaned up, 'cause we need you to get your ass on up to.... Ohhh, no! Don't you go climbin' back into that bed on ME!"

Scattering empty whiskey bottles with his combat boots, Marv stomped forward, grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me to my feet. "What YOU need is a little pick-me-up. C'mon, don't you go make me do all the work! Tha-at's right; left foot, right foot. Now why don't you just stand right there for a moment while I turn this on. . . ." Marv ripped the curtain closed, stuck an arm in, and…

Squeeek! Whoooosh!

"RHAAAAAAAHRRRR!!!"

Marv clumped his way out of my tiny bathroom. "Now, don't you go away, at least not till I find you serviceable clothes. . . . You DO have somethin' clean around here?"

"HSSSSSS!!!"

"And I love you too. Good God, this place is a pig sty. . . ."

I coughed, spluttered, then sighed and bowed my long neck, letting the icy water cascade across my metallic scales. I stared for a moment at my forepaws where they pressed against the shower wall, then down further to the ruined pair of boxer shorts that now hung in rags from my draconic hips. Slightly sober, I quickly clamped down of the rising expansion feeling.

Marvin. Marvelous Marv. Together he and I ran the maintenance office for this nuthouse, though he had seniority. Best guy I ever worked for, even if I sometimes wanted to kill him. Like right now. . . .

"You sober in there, yet?"

A pause while I got my act together, then I answered, this time in my human voice.

". . . .Yeah."

"You gonna go crawlin' back into that bed on me?"

". . . .No."

"Good." There was a thump, then a towel landed on my head. "You can come on out when you're presentable."

I eventually came stumbling out of the bathroom, to find Marv tossing bottles into the wastebasket. He glared at me. "Just what the hell is goin' on here, Mike? I come back from up north to find most of the hangar roof missing and six inches of water on the floor, the office empty, nobody knowin' what to do, and you on a four-day bender." As he stared into my numb face, though, his gaze softened. "Damn." He grabbed my arm and guided me into my desk chair.

"You look like someone just shot your dog. What's up with you?"

I stared at him for long moments, my mouth opening, then closing. Finally I sighed and shook my head. "It doesn't concern you, Marv."

"Like hell it don't! My number-one man suddenly goes to hell in a handbasket, I make it my business! Now what the devil's wrong?"

Marvin, your "number-one man" is actually a multi-ton, winged, fire-breathing dragon who just had his mate's throat torn out by a rival. "Marv, please. I can't. Not right now."

Marv's face darkened. "Uh-huh. You in some kind of trouble?"

I shook my head and stared at my hands. "No. Nothing like that."

There was a long pause, during which I felt his eyes boring into me. "Well, I ain't got the time to dig it out of you just now, but don't you think this is over. Get your boots on and meet me downstairs: The CO wants to talk to you."

I nodded, still studying my hands as I heard him clump toward the door. "Hey, Mike?"

I looked up, to see him in the doorway, looking back.

"When you feel like talking, you know where I'm at."

I felt like crying. "Yeah. Thanks, Marv."

For long moments I stared at the closed door, then I slumped and nursed my throbbing head. God, I felt so tired. . . . So very tired. All I wanted to do was sleep. . . .

A wave of gut-wrenching sadness and blackest despair suddenly threatened to drown me. I turned and pulled open the center drawer in my tiny desk, then stared down at the two rag-wrapped bundles resting within. I picked up and unwrapped the first, to reveal a crumbling piece of blue-grey eggshell. Gently, I stroked my fingers across the shard's smooth surface. My child, whom I'll never know; what do I do now? I'm so damned tired, and I miss you, all of you, so very much. . . .

I stared at the fragment for long minutes, then set it aside as I turned to look at the other bundle. Slowly I unfolded the cloth to expose what lay inside. A long pause as I studied it, then I gripped the Glock 19 and lifted it free, letting the light glint from its grim lines as I sat there, feeling its cool metal and deadly weight. Then I felt my face twist in disgust. With sharp, savage motions I popped the clip and cleared the weapon's chamber, then caught up the magazine and stripped out its single round.

. . . .Maybe later.