Penemue's Inferno

by Ramy Vance

  There are so many accounts of the day the gods left—the GrandExodus—and what it was like to be expelled from the heavens or hells that the Others were in. So many different stories about the pain and confusion that occurred that day. But no matter who you spoke to, no matter what domain they came from or what kind of mythical creature they were, they all shared two crucial and critical elements:

  The gods’ final message to everyone. Thank you for believing in us, but it’s not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.

  And the rolling darkness that forced them out of wherever they were and onto Earth.

  Seeing the dark, foglike cloud come our way was unmistakable. Penemue was reenacting his own GrandExodus, only with us as the denizens to be expelled.

  But when we heard Penemue’s slurred words … “Thank you for trying to save us—I mean, me—but it’s too late. You’re leaving. Best of luck.”

  … followed by an unmistakable hiccup …

  … it was time to run.

  Away from the cloud of darkness and toward whatever pinprick of light Penemue had chosen as our exit.

  ↔

  The direction Penemue was herding us was obvious: away from the mountainside floating in the distance. That was where the dark fog emanated from, and so we ran away. But away meant back down the hill and toward the hells beyond.

  Except we were no longer on a hill, no longer standing in the ruins of a destroyed classroom. We were standing ankle-deep in mist … And as soon as I heard the rumble of rolling thunder and saw a flash of lightning beneath our feet, I knew exactly where we were.

  On a cloud.

  In the middle of a thunderstorm.

  Penemue is nothing if not dramatic.

  We ran as lightning flashes shot up from the ground, accented by crackles of thunder. And every time I looked over my shoulder, I saw the impending darkness get closer and closer.

  And off in the distance was the promised pinprick of light—the portal back home to Earth, where we’d be safe from the doom and gloom of what was behind us.

  “Over there,” I said, not that I needed to. On this cloud there was only one place to go, its guiding light as obvious as a blinking neon sign on an empty (albeit electric) highway.

  As we ran, my mind raced with the possibilities that lay ahead. We were headed toward the portal home—that much was clear. And I was sure that as soon as Judith and I jumped through, we’d be home again … Maybe in Paradise Lot, maybe somewhere else on the globe, but we’d be on Earth.

  But what about Medusa and Bella? Would they also be on Earth, returned from the dead? Could this really be a chance for them to live again?

  I had no understanding of Penemue’s powers, but I did know from speaking to him and Miral and Michael—three angels who were privy to knowledge most did not have—that the Creation Crystals were a power that God had forbidden them to use. And angels, being angels, obeyed. Even the fallen ones.

  Michael once told me that even the Devil would never defy God by using the power of a Creation Crystal for himself. I guess even the Devil had a line—a line Penemue crossed. In a moment of unimaginable grief, he shed the constrictions of his angel-ness and tapped into the crystal’s powers to create Hell.

  As in, literally.

  What else could he do? I mean, if he created all this, then certainly he could resurrect the dead, could he not?

  My heart thudded in my chest—not with the strain of my full-tilt run, but the anticipation that they two people I loved more than anything else could live again.

  “There,” I yelled again. “Through there.” I pointed at the pinprick, egging them on.

  They ran. As they did, my mind jumped to the last place it should have … to my friend, the twice-fallen angel, Penemue.

  We might be OK—Bella and Medusa might live again—but he would be stuck here forever, reliving the moments of his failure again and again on the endless loop that was Hell.

  Jumping through that pinprick of life would mean that I would live on, and so would he—in here. As much as I wanted to be in a world that was filled with Bella and Medusa, I could never live with myself knowing that I hadn’t done everything I could for him.

  For my friend.

  Not that he was giving me much choice. If that darkness was anything like the one that had expelled the Others from their domains, then the choice was simple:

  Jump, and live. Stay, and perish.

  My best friend was literally going to kill me if I didn’t do as he demanded.

  I got to the portal and saw where we were … back on the island where all this had started. There, General Shouf was still walking away as though we had just gone through.

  From the way she turned and looked at me, I realized that it might have been days in here for us, but it was only a few seconds for her. She must have thought we had changed our minds. Not that I had time to deal with the general now.

  I turned to help the others through as I watched the rolling darkness approach.

  First were Medusa and Marty. Grabbing her hand, I helped her through the portal, my heart thudding with anticipation as she stepped through. The way I figured it, as soon as she touched solid ground, she’d either evaporate into nothing or be whole again.

  She hesitated, squeezing my hand.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  Medusa nodded. “What choice do I have?” And planting a kiss on my lips, she said, “There,” like she’d just pulled off a bandaid. Then she closed her eyes and stepped through.

  As soon as her foot touched the hard concrete of the prison island, her body became rigid as she fell over clutching her head and screaming in pain.

  Marty, who was wrapped around her neck, tried to comfort her with continuous hisses, but Medusa was writhing too aggressively to notice her snake. General Shouf went to her side, caring for her as though she were experiencing an epileptic seizure.

  And maybe she was. How was I to know?

  I sought to step out, to reach for her, but hesitated. Bella and Judith were still running over, and I couldn’t just jump through without knowing they were safe.

  Besides, if Medusa were to perish, then so would Bella, and there was no point in me stepping through without her. I couldn’t go on without her.

  But Medusa didn’t die. Instead, she stopped writhing as her body gained an effervescence. She lived.

  She lived.

  And if she lived, then so could Bella.

  I grabbed my wife’s hand as she reached the edge, and holding onto her, I helped her step through. As soon as her foot touched the earth, I watched her body writhe as she cried out in the same pain as Medusa.

  Judith jumped out to grab her hand and hold her daughter, who was whole and alive in her hands.

  I stared through tear-soaked eyes as the two women whom I loved very much stood alive and whole and well.

  “Come on.” Bella reached out a hand to me through the narrowing portal. “Come out. Come and live.”

  I shook my head, looking over my shoulder at the approaching darkness. “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t leave him here.”

  “But Jean,” Bella said, running toward the open portal. Judith immediately got to her feet and held her daughter back from joining me in Hell. It was clear whom Judith sought to protect: Bella over me. I completely agreed with her choice.

  This is the part of the movie where everyone’s screaming, “You fool! What are you doing? You have her back. She’s back! Jump through and be happy.”

  They’d be right to think that, and they’d be right to label me a fool. An idiot.

  But they’d also be wrong. Wrong, because there was no way I could live on knowing that I left Penemue behind. Despite all his faults, all his nutty antics and all the times he drove me crazy … he was one of the good guys. One of the few who tried to make a positive difference, and I couldn’t turn my back on him. Not now.

  Not ever.

  But it went beyond just simply wanting to help him, even if it meant losi
ng Bella again. I made a promise ... a promise to my dead wife who stood before me, alive and well. I promised to help, no matter what. To do everything in my power to be one of the good guys, and I couldn’t live with her knowing that I’d chosen happiness with her over keeping that promise.

  And neither could she. Sure, we’d tell ourselves that it was all we could do. That Penemue was literally giving us the choice to leave and live, or stay and die.

  But I knew that not to be true.

  Because no matter how far gone the angel was, there was no way he’d kill us. Or kill anyone, for that matter.

  The black cloud would stop. It had to. And when it did, that was the moment he’d be forced to face me.

  “I’m going back for the angel,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Judith said. “You’ll die.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think Penemue has it in him to kill anyone, let alone his bestest buddy in the whole world,” I said with a wink.

  Bella reached out her hand, extending it even farther. Then she stopped as she recognized what I meant to do. If anyone in this world understood sacrifice for the greater good, it was her. And with a nod, she gave me her Go get ’em, Tiger look.

  “I’ll be back,” I said (this time without the Arnie accent. I just said it … and meant it). “Do you remember what you said to me the day you died?” I asked, stepping away from the portal. “Live well …”

  I blew my Bella a kiss as I stepped back and, with hope that I was right and that the twice-fallen angel would never kill me, I turned and waited for the darkness to wash over me.

  End to Part 3

  Chain Guns, Shooting in the Dark and Misguided Teenagers

  Marc runs out the door, fumbling in the impossible darkness as he retraces his steps back to the helicopter. It isn’t easy, and he feels fear; every dry leaf’s crunch, every rustle of the wind, every sudden silencing of a cricket’s chirp gives him pause.

  He knows there are more hellhounds here. And he also knows that they are but the canine bitches of their powerful masters. The woman of impossible brightness, for one, but there are others, too.

  He knows this because she entered the fight as a scout, not a warrior. A warrior would have attacked without hesitation. A warrior would have stalked her prey, not revealing herself until the last possible second.

  This creature let him run. And she did not pursue, sending her hellhounds after him instead.

  No, she is not alone. Of that much he is sure.

  Fumbling to the helicopter, Marc almost knocks himself out cold as he runs into the damn metal beast. The only thing that stopped him was his near perfect memory of where it was.

  Perfect, because he found the helicopter after running out of the Millennium Hotel’s back door and straight to it. Near perfect, because he miscalculated the distance and hit its side at almost a full-out run.

  GoneGodDamn it, he thinks. Not as precise as I would have liked. And Marc makes a mental note to take better stock of his surroundings next time.

  Normally such simple clumsiness would bruise only his ego. But given how badly injured his shoulder is, he couldn’t stop the yelp of pain that just escaped his lips.

  A yelp of pain that will betray his location. And almost immediately he hears the footsteps … not from the outside, but from within the hotel itself.

  Using his hands as his eyes, he yanks himself into the helicopter’s belly. Searching the bowels beneath the seats, he finds what he is looking for … a chain link of bullets.

  Even though he—or rather, Jean-Luc—has never loaded a gun such as this, he quickly runs through the logic of such a device, and without incident manages to load the chain gun.

  Then he waits, pointing the gun at the door he just exited.

  It does not take long for the scout to exit, her face illuminating several feet around her. She has five hellhounds with her, not that they will be of any use to her.

  Unleashing the fury of the chain gun, he cuts down the three hellhounds in front of her before piercing her stomach with three bullets.

  He is careful to not kill her. She is an enemy, yes, but she is not the one he must worry about.

  The creature falls to the ground, clutching her stomach and screaming in pain. Green blood flows out of her—fae blood. At least now he knows the manner of creatures he fights.

  And the nature of their magic.

  “Ahhh,” the creature—more a girl than anything else—moans out as she tries to plug the holes within her. Already blood has made its way into her stomach, and she cries tears the color of autumn leaves, grass-green blood painting her lips.

  She is afraid, for she knows she is dying. But she is also in awe, for never before has she suffered such an injury. Never before did she think her body capable of producing so much blood.

  The pain has yet to register. It will … and soon.

  Not that Marc will wait for that. Now he watches the young fae’s face intently until she does exactly what he knew she would.

  The fae girl points toward the forest in front of the Millennium Hotel, her hand reaching out for help.

  Help from the others.

  “Bingo,” Marc whispers to himself as a devilish smile creeps across his face.

  Turning the chain gun in the direction she pointed, he releases the full fury of human-made death.

  He screams out his war cry as he does so, spraying the darkness with bullets he is sure will hit their mark.

  The chain gun clicks empty, the spinning of its rotating barrel the only sound remaining.

  And as if releasing the trigger was also the switch to turn off the darkness, the world lights up again with the morning sunlight.

  There he sees another fae creature who looks much like the one dying by the hotel, only older.

  He also sees a young boy crouched near her, holding his head down even though the bullets are no longer flying.

  Marc takes a second to search Jean’s memories before realizing who the boy is … the one called EightBall. The one who is angry at the angel Penemue.

  What is he doing here? Marc wonders, but before his mind can come up with any theories, the air before him rips open with a sound similar to fabric ripping.

  And hovering over the garden’s floor are Penemue, Jean and … is that Bella?

  Part V

  EARTH

  Marc’s Story—Part 2

  EightBall is doing something he hasn’t done in a long, long time.

  He’s stalking his prey.

  Making his way up through the trees lining the Millennium Hotel, he plans to find a good hiding place and wait for the fucking twice-fallen murderer of his parents to stumble out. It’s only a matter of time before the alcoholic angel gets so drunk that he passes out somewhere outside.

  And when he does, EightBall will … well, EightBall will introduce him to something that he made long ago, when he vowed to avenge his parents’ death.

  A baseball bat with three nine-inch nails hammered through it.

  It took multiple attempts to create this instrument of death—the wood kept splitting—but EightBall stayed patient.

  This was how he wanted to avenge them. With the symbol of America’s favorite pastime and one of the only joys he remembers sharing with his dad: baseball. And the vengeance and ire of the nails that, once upon a time, killed a god.

  Fitting way for an angel to go down. Very fitting, indeed.

  ↔

  But vengeance isn’t as straightforward as he’d thought.

  A helicopter sits on the lawn near the back door. Not far from where EightBall waits, three young women step out of the forest line. They are beautiful, armored, and each carries a bladed weapon; he knows they’ve come to pick a fight.

  EightBall considers warning everyone in the hotel, but then he remembers why he’s here. To kill, not save. Still, he likes Jean. The man was kind to him. So was Judith, in her own judgmental way.

  And should the hotel have guests, they will probably be
innocent too, and—

  Before he can decide what to do, the world grows dark. He can’t see a thing, and he knows that no matter how long he stays here, his eyes will never adjust to this absence of light.

  He considers fumbling his way to the hotel, calling out for help—when he hears the unmistakable sound of dogs growling as they scamper across the field and … What was that sound? Shattering glass. The dogs are inside.

  Unsure what to do next, EightBall stays put and does something he knows is useless.

  He prays.

  He prays for the darkness to lift. For the dogs to leave this place or be killed, and for himself, EightBall, to be able to crawl away unharmed.

  As if by some cruel joke, his prayers are answered. First he hears the thunderous sound of machine-gun fire. Then there is light.

  The light reveals one Jean-Luc sitting in the bowels of a helicopter, chain gun in hand, and another Jean-Luc hovering in some sort of magical portal with Penemue. Behind them, a woman he recognizes from somewhere he can’t quite place and …

  What the fuck? he thinks, seeing a familiar face. One he thought he’d never see again.

  In shock and awe, EightBall only manages to whisper one word to himself. One single, damning word.

  “Mom?”

  ↔↔↔A Very Brief Interlude↔↔↔

  Little Newton might have been a young boy when his parents died, but he remembers everything. Up to a point.

  He remembers playing near the old oak tree in front of his house. The one where his mom could see him from the kitchen window.

  He remembers waving to her from beneath the tree’s canopy as his mom stood in the kitchen, drying dishes.

  He remembers what she was wearing the day she died: her floral dress that she wore all the time, even though his father called it her “Sunday dress.” That day wasn’t a Sunday—most days aren’t. Didn’t stop her from wearing it.