by C. F. Waller
We all nod in agreement and I join the ladies. Nothing happens, but Rahnee motions for us to wait. After several minutes, Annie sits down on the edge, her feet still submerged.
“Do we need some sort of incantation?” I ask.
“We have to wait for it,” Rahnee grumbles. “The elevator isn’t always on the same floor as you are.”
“That’s fair,” Annie nods.
“Gabriel said he told you how were can free Rhea,” Rahnee recalls, tapping the white gun on her hip. “Care to share while we have some time?”
“He didn’t tell me how. He just made me memorize a Bible verse.”
“Must mean something. Spit it out.”
I pause to organize the verses in my head. It was John, Chapter Seven, but I struggle to recall the verse. I was only instructed to memorize it. Not my strong suit.
“The verse is Jesus talking,” I explain, but they both nod. “I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you cannot have eternal life within you. But anyone who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life and I will raise that person on the last day.”
“That’s pretty vague?” Rahnee groans. “He didn’t tell you anything else?”
I shake my head.
“I’m not eating anyone,” Annie announces, but then smirks, indicating it was a joke.
“Very funny,” I moan, but the water begins to swirl around my feet.
“I think the elevator is here,” Annie sighs, standing up and forcing a smile.
“Once we get down to three, stick close,” Rahnee warns. “Purgatory can be a little hard to swallow.”
Before I can form a reply, the water explodes up and we are sucked down. I hope we stood on the right level.
Chapter Eight
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
Level Three, Purgatory
The impact is tremendous. I am slammed into concrete, knocking me unconscious. I am dragged back to reality by someone pulling me up by the collar of my leather jacket. The face is not altogether familiar to me. Who is this?
“That’s gotta hurt,” the man chuckles, letting go of me once I’m standing.
Annie and Edward lay still on the fountain, but there is no water. Blood trickles down my cheek and I touch my nose, receiving a jolt of pain.
“Yeah, looks like that’s broken,” the man warns. “It’s not bent too much, but you’re going to have two black eyes.”
“Where is the water?” I wince; pressing both hands to the sides of my nose to make sure it’s straight. “Wasn’t there water in here before?”
“Balthazar had them drained.”
“Do I know you?” I scowl, my nose throbbing.
“We met a few times. I’m Josef.”
“Right, right,” I nod, recalling him now that my heads clear. “You’re the Nazi.”
“Was,” he argues. “I try not to let it define me. That was a long time ago.”
“Trust me. No matter how long it takes for this to end,” I sigh. “You’re always going to be Josef the Nazi.”
He frowns.
“How come you haven’t gone down yet? When did you die?”
“1986,” he answers, tilting his head. “I was one of the South American Nazis.”
“The inference being that you’re good at hiding in plain sight?”
He nods, touching the end of his nose with his index finger, then pointing it at me. I would think there’s a big difference between hiding in South America for forty years, as opposed to down here for a hundred thousand. He must have taken a deal.
“Who’d you make a deal with?”
“I’d prefer to not say it out loud.”
“You’re a janitor,” I snort. “Get over your pride, Josef the Nazi.”
“Fine, but it has kept me from going any further down.”
“Chicken,” I taunt. “I been down to four. They would treat you better than you treated the Jews.”
“You’re very hard to like.”
“Sorry, can you put water back in the fountain?”
“Why would I do that?” he frowns, crossing his arms.
I reach behind my back looking for the gun, but it’s gone from my waistband. Do not remove from Level 2 echoes in my thoughts. I guess I will have to try a different approach.
“They still got the Angel over at the Amphitheater?”
“You know it.”
“How about I let her out?” I suggest. “The ruckus that will cause should keep them from deporting you for a while.”
“How you gonna manage that?” he shakes his head. “If she could get out, she’d be out by now.”
“Don’t worry about how. You just get water back in this fountain and I’ll figure out the how.”
“I’ll get strung up my privates if they catch me.”
“They will be plenty busy looking for the Angel,” I assure him. “Besides, you sorta have that one coming.”
“Ha, ha, Nazi joke,” he waves a hand at me. “How original.”
“Just get some water in here and do it quick,” I bark, then notice Annie sitting up and holding her head. “You going to make it?”
“Whoa,” she groans, shaking her head. “Watch that first step.”
“How much time you got?” I ask, wanting to make sure mine is in sync.
“What, huh,” she stammers, then turns her arm over to show the yellow numbers.
“1:35,” I sigh, then watch it click down to a thirty-four. “We need to keep moving.”
Edward Grey
Annie’s muted voice sings all around me. Where am I? Pain trickles down my right arm, ending in an explosion of tingling. Sudden movement turns my stomach, as if I am being dragged upward.
“Get up,” Annie yells, slapping me.
“Stop that,” I groan, holding my hands over my face.
“That arm looks bad,” Rahnee barks. “Can you move it?
I lay on grey cobblestones, having been dragged out of the fountain. My right forearm looks bent, but when I rotate it, looks like the wrist instead. I cradle the arm over my stomach and Rahnee drags me to my feet by my suit jacket.
“What happened to the water?” I stammer, wobbling.
“Your pal Balthazar drained it.”
“Why?”
“It’s Hell,” Rahnee chuckles. “He doesn’t need a reason.”
“Are you okay?” Annie whines, putting her shoulder under my arm to steady me.
“Yes, fine,” I mutter, scanning around the town square. “This is where?”
“Level Three,” Annie answers.
“No, I know that, but its familiar.”
I turn my head from side to side, taking in the buildings. The sky is crimson red with dark clouds moving quickly. The over the top damnation cliché’s aside, I have been here before, or wherever this is modeled after. Whitewashed two story buildings with thatched roofs circle the square. Three different roads exit, but the far right is obscured by a trail of red smoke.
“That the way to the Amphitheater?” I nod.
“How’d you guess?” Rahnee smirks.
“Because that’s where the gallows are supposed to be,” I roll my eyes. “That and the sulfur smell carried by the wind.”
“Gallows?” Annie turns to look, but finds nothing.
“This is Paris,” I remark, slipping off Annie’s shoulder. “Purgatory is Paris.”
“No Eiffel Tower?” Rahnee shrugs unconvinced.
“It’s long ago Paris,” I explain. “Neither of you were alive a thousand years ago, but I was. This is most assuredly Paris.”
“Lead the way?” Rahnee bows, waving a hand for me to go first.
Nodding I do, but then turn left and limp over to a wooden door under a weathered sign reading La maison de treuil. I hold the door for the ladies, then join them. Inside, a dozen patrons lean sullenly over wooden cups. One or two seem out of place, one gal in very contemporary yoga pants and a LA Lakers tee shirt.
I pull up an uneven sto
ol at the bar, and am joined by my companions. A bartender in a rough-cut burlap shirt scowls at us from three patrons down.
“What’s La maison de treuil?” Annie inquires.
“Roughly translated,” I pause, a finger on my lips. “Wench House.”
“I take it you have been here before,” Rahnee mutters, holding up a hand to the bartender.
“Yes, it’s where Dorian and I met Beatrix.”
“Is she here?” Annie blurts, spinning around to search. “What’s she look like?”
“She not,” Rahnee shakes her head. “Hey can we get--.”
“Don’t bother,” I smirk, putting her raised hand down. “They only have two things and one of them is water.”
“I’ll take the other,” she snorts.
“Les trois vin chaud,” I shout, pointing at all three of us.
“You speak French,” Annie grins, then puts her head on my shoulder. “It’s sexy.”
“I do now,” I smirk, recalling my first time in Paris.
Before Rahnee can comment, the barkeep slams three wooden mugs down, then stands there as if he’s waiting to be paid. I search my jacket pocket, but find nothing of value. What sort of currency is used in Hell? Rahnee tips her cup up, then coughs, wiping her mouth on her forearm. The man laughs loudly, then wanders away.
“What is this?” she winces.
“Mulled wine,” I answer, taking a sip of the sour liquid. “Or I think that’s what I ordered.
“It’s not bad,” Annie scowls, taking a second sip. “At least it’s wet.”
As I gaze around at the familiar surroundings, a cold shiver travels up my spine. Does the Devil know we are here? What if the locations are tailored to each individual soul? I try to find a common thread in New York City, but it doesn’t take long. I laid low in a New York brownstone for ten years after Beatrix warned me to hide. During which time, she was killed. Is it possible Balthazar is putting on this elaborate show in my honor?
“Do you think they are here?” Rahnee mutters, taking a sip.
“They are,” I nod, feeling certain. “We should start looking at the Amphitheatre.”
“Finish up your drinks then,” Rahnee orders, pushing off her stool. “We are on a deadline. This is Level Three and Gabriel warned us Jennifer could not reach us here. We need to grab Rhea and get back to Two.”
Annie can’t finish her wine, but hands it to Rahnee, who sucks it down. I sip on mine, hovering just inside the door. What are we planning with regard to the rogue Angel? Pondering this, I notice my arm has stopped hurting. People without bodies can’t get hurt. At least not permanently.
Outside, we watch a man pouring a wooden bucket of water in the fountain. He nods in our direction, then walks away. Rahnee starts down the avenue obscured by red smoke. I follow along, peeking back at the man who is filling the bucket from a horse trough.
“He’s filling the fountain,” I remark, speed walking to catch up with Rahnee.
“He’s preparing our escape.”
“Balthazar won’t like that,” I chuckle, pulling my vest down and straightening my jacket. “How’d you convince him to do your bidding?”
“I promised to free the fallen Angel.”
“He a big fan of Angels?” I sigh, thinking it unlikely.
“Not so much,” Rahnee turns and walks backward, eyes on the man with the bucket. “He is however a huge fan of chaos.”
Chapter Nine
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
Theater of the Dammed
As if the crimson smoke wasn’t enough, wooden signs with hand painted arrows show the way to the Amphitheater. Edward complains that it should be much closer to the Wench House, but admits this isn’t a perfect replica of medieval Paris. Apparently, the house of ill repute that Dorian used to patronize wasn’t included at all. It is supposed to be Dorian’s Hell too, is it not? Ragged looking people of all races and genders pass us. None of them appear to be particularly industrious, but then again, everything is free.
Edward seems to think this setting is specifically for him and I don’t have the energy to explain it to him. The scenery around here changes from time to time. When I first arrived, it looked like Las Vegas, another time, a small town in Sweden. On this visit it’s Paris, let’s just hope I don’t have a fourth.
A line of dammed souls snakes in our direction from the next street. When we reach the intersection, it turns left and runs several blocks, ending in huge stone gates. It is a ponderous wait for entry. The wooden sign on the corner reads Caged Angel this way. The wayward Angel is a very popular attraction. Then again, what else is there to do?
“Is this the line?” Annie whines.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I assure her, walking past the end and ignoring the queue. “I know a guy.”
“You know a guy?” Edward asks, seemly unconvinced.
“Yeah, he works at the Amphitheater.”
“How’d you meet him? What if he’s working for Balthazar? He might recognize us.”
“Everyone here technically works for Balthazar. I met him a long time ago,” I explain, then point up. “Topside. He owes me.”
“I guess you do meet your friends in the afterlife,” Annie chirps.
“Does this prior acquaintance of yours know Dorian?” Edward asks, aware that his friend gets tangled up with suspicious characters quite often.
“As a matter of fact, he does know your friend,” she nods, pausing. “He knows your precious Beatrix too.”
“How’d they meet?”
“He killed her,” Rahnee remarks, turning around and walking backwards a few steps just to see my reaction. “Don’t attack him until we get in.”
Edward Grey
Rahnee grins, then turns forward and speeds up her pace. I’m stunned, my chest tightening. I have only fragmented information regarding Bea’s demise, but I never expected to come face to face with her killer. At the least the bastard is in the right place. Serves him right for hurting my beloved.
We have to walk three more blocks before we reach the front of the line. The crowd is rabid, chanting vile threats and shoving each other. I attribute this to the long wait, although some of them look downright carnal. These folks were a bad lot, long before landing here.
Two huge men, maybe eight feet tall, guard either side of the entrance. Using the term men might be giving them the benefit of the doubt. One has scales, like a snake, with two huge blunt teeth hanging over his bottom lip. The other is covered in black hair, with a long snout and pointy ears sticking straight up. He reminds me of the Egyptian God Anubis. If worshiping false Gods is a sin, then being one might be worse. I wonder if Odin is around here somewhere?
Rahnee pushes us forward, then to the left side, down a narrow dirt path. A huge iron wall rises up several stories on the theatre side, the backs of mud brick houses on the left. Once we are out of sight, she lets go of our necks.
“What’s that all about?” Annie complains.
“Balthazar is standing next to the ticket office.”
“You need tickets?” I ask, recalling we didn’t pay for the wine.
“Yes, you have to earn them.”
“How do we earn tickets?” Annie demands, seemly up for any challenge.
“They,” Rahnee rolls her eyes, pointing at the line. “Work off their tickets by agreeing to get called down to Level Four quicker. If you put your name at the top of the naughty list, you can see the show.”
“Why would anyone do that?” Annie mutters.
“People in general have virtually no imagination. It sucks here, but they figure how much worse could Level Four be,” Rahnee shakes her head. “They’re too sure of themselves to comprehend the horrors of what comes next.”
“Four is that bad?” Annie begs, her voice rising several octaves.
“This is Purgatory, basically a pitstop for dammed souls. This is the last stop in the sorting process. Level Four is the Reaping.”
“And that is?” I ask, reminded of a
Susan Collins novel.
“Anything and everything you fear. If you don’t like it, that’s what you get,” she winces. “The more you fear something, the more of it you receive. The more you hate it, the longer you stay. It possesses only one redeeming feature.”
“And that is?” Annie whines, hands on her red cheeks.
“It’s not Level Five,” Rahnee smirks.
“What’s Level Five?” Annie sobs, looking as if she may pass out.
“It’s hard to explain,” Rahnee shakes her head, holding up her hands.
“But, you have been as far as Level Five?” I mutter, recalling her admitting this.
She nods, pushing a rock around with the toe of her boot.
“So?” Annie begs.
“Wrath,” she inhales deeply. “I wasn’t there long. Balthazar came down and pulled me out before I was too far gone.”
“Too far gone?” I remark, confused. “Too far gone to what?”
“There is a point where your soul can’t take it anymore,” she explains. “It loses cohesion and splinters. Once you hit that point, it’s game over. They toss you down to Level Six and you’re gone. I don’t think you even notice the pain at that point. It’s hard to say as no one comes back from that.”
“Dare I ask what Level Six is?” I sigh, waving a hand for her to lay it on me.
“The Lake.”
“Of Fire,” Annie cries. “The Lake of Fire?”
“Relax baby doll,” Rahnee tries to calm Annie. “You’re not staying here. You’re the only one of us who’s got a gold pass to the pearly gates.”
“Only if I can get back to Level Two,” she pulls away from Rahnee’s outstretched hand. “What about Edward? I can’t let him get all splintered. This is a horrible place. We should go back up.”
“That’s fine for you,” Rahnee exhales deeply, “but if we don’t free Rhea, Edward and I stay here.”
“Who cares, you’re a frequent flier,” she grunts, hanging onto my shoulder.
“I can’t argue that, but look at it from my point of view. I was already on Level Five,” Rahnee shares, lowering her voice. “If we fail, I go directly to Five for about a half second, then into the Lake. No one has more motivation to succeed than I do.”
