by C. F. Waller
“She makes a good point,” I assert, rubbing my hand on Annie’s back. “Let’s get inside and see how tough this is going to be.”
“Agreed,” Rahnee nods, leading us down the path for a half mile, then stopping along the iron wall.
She paces back and forth, running a hand on the rough surface. I pull Annie back, holding her trembling body close. The poor dear is shaking in fear. I guess if you’re a decent person, this would seem an unfair end. To be honest, I’d like to talk to someone about my situation. Being born immortal and refusing to die seems a poor excuse for eternal damnation.
Seeming to find the spot she’s looking for, she pounds a fist on the wall. After waiting a minute to see if her knock was heard, she pounds again. Before I can ask what she’s up to, a panel in the wall slides to the right revealing a well-dressed man. Is this Bea’s killer?
“Dom, long time no see,” Rahnee offers, holding out her hand to shake.
“You again?” he complains, but shakes anyway. “How about you give me whatever bus pass you’re using. How are you back again? If I got out, I’d find the nearest church and get busy praying.”
“It doesn’t work like that Dom,” she chuckles. “Besides, you’re a self-absorbed bastard.”
“Maybe so, but I haven’t been down as far as you. I hear it’s pretty hot on Four? See anyone we know down there?”
“Keep talking and I’ll have you transferred,” she threatens.
“Doubt you can. I don’t think Balthazar likes you anymore. He’s been asking about you.”
“He knows we’re here?” I shudder, having hoped to stay under the radar.
“Maybe,” he sets his gaze on Annie and I, then offers his hand. “You, I don’t know. The names Dunn, Dominick Dunn.”
“Edward, Edward Grey,” I explain, then punch him in the nose as hard as I can.
He staggers, hands covering his face. Rahnee shoves me back, then gets between us. Maroon drips of blood run from between his fingers as he wobbles. When I try to advance on him, Rahnee shoves me again. That felt really good.
“Stop it or he won’t let us in,” she whispers, hands clamped on the shoulder of my blazer. “You can seek revenge some other time.”
“What gives,” Dominick blurts, blood spay hitting Rahnee’s back. “Who does this guy think he is?”
“It’s a long story,” Rahnee sighs, putting a hand on my chest and the other on the bleeder. “We need to get in to see the her.”
“Forget that,” he sniffs, lowering his hands. “Is this how you got the bent nose?”
“No, I landed awkwardly on arrival,” Rahnee pinches her own beak, attempting to straighten it out.
“You can go in, but screw this guy,” he barks, wagging his index finger at me. “What’s his problem?”
“Does the name Edward Grey mean nothing to you?” I ask, then pause, but receive only a dull expression in return. “Not one neuron in your tiny brains lights up?”
He starts to talk, but then just shrugs at Rahnee. She removes her hand from my chest, then turns to him and whispers in his ear. He looks over her shoulder, then between us several times. This goes on for a full minute, then he nods over and over, seeming to experience some sort of epiphany.
“Here and all this time I thought Beatrix was Dorian’s girl,” he suggests, wiping blood off his lip. “That said, you got me all wrong.”
“You did kill Bea didn’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, but only after she ran me through with her pig sticker,” he chuckles. “Bitch pushed it in my back and out my left nipple. Hell, I was trying to help her.”
“That’s true,” Rahnee interrupts. “At that exact moment he was trying to shoot me.”
“Still, you seem like a rather untrustworthy fellow?” I shrug.
“Right, well, you weren’t there when Rhea went Old Testament on everybody,” he argues. “In any case, my apologies for snuffing your lady.”
I nod, but would prefer to punch him a few more times. He and Rahnee share more whispers, then he waves us inside. He takes a step back when I pass, still holding a finger under his nose to stop the blood from dripping.
Rahnee leads us down a dark corridor, illuminated by yellow candles. They sit in recessed gaps in the cut stone walls. Candle wax trails down to the floor, leaving puddles several inches high. After twenty yards it hooks left, revealing bright yellow glow from the tunnels exit. Rahnee turns and leans on the wall.
“You need to stay behind me,” she orders. “This comes out on the ground level. We will be within spitting distance of the cage, but also in front of the entire crowd. I’m just going to take a step in to check it out. Feel free to look, but don’t go strolling out there. Balthazar may have come in from outside and he will recognize us.”
“And if he sees us?” Annie inquires, having not actually met the Devil’s right hand previously.
“Pray he doesn’t,” Rahnee answers, patting her on the shoulder.
Her warning received, Annie and I follow along. Stone cut bleachers rise on either side of the opening. The angle is steep, far steeper than any professional sports stadium would use. I assume there’s no concern about fans falling down in this place. It’s not like you can sue anyone. The area is packed, and the seats run up farther than I can see. There seem to be circular walkways every so often, but there is at least three stories between them.
This skyscraper area is theatre in the round, spectators in a complete ring around a massive metal cage. The enclosure reaches hundreds of feet high, the top bars bending over, leaving it looking like an aviary. I wonder if the Angel will do any flying? While yellow light dances across the crowds faces, bright white bathes the cage.
Once the wonder of my surrounding passes, I scan the seats, hoping to find Bea. I’d be hard pressed to recognize anyone more than twenty rows up, and this is only on my side of the cage. Annie clings to the back of my blazer, cowering from the jeering onlookers and searing lights.
Every so often glass bottles or what appears to be rotten vegetables are hurled into the cage. When the glass shatters on the corroded iron bars, it sprays in all directions. I am forced to venture out two steps further than seems permissible to view the cage’s occupant. Over Rahnee’s shoulder I get my first glimpse of the fallen Angel’s predicament.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” I exhale, making sure to keep my back to the crowd.
Rhea paces in a circle at the edge of the bars. She scowls and hisses at her tormentors, wearing only a filth covered tunic top that stops mid-thigh. Her perfect olive complexion is obscured by either dirt or burn marks. A wild tangle of black curls explodes off her head, what looks like a banana peel stuck there. Unchanged are the bright white teeth and blazing green eyes I recall from the Estate.
“Her wings are still gone,” I whisper to Rahnee.
Over her shoulders, burnt stumps twitch as she moves. They rise a foot, before bending over at a ninety-degree angle. Apparently, wings are the only thing she can’t heal. In my previous encounter, any damage inflicted was quickly repaired by a floating glitter cloud. I am hard pressed to feel sorry for the maniacal viper, but my own fate is intertwined with hers. For the time being we are playing for the same team.
Rahnee leans a shoulder on the side of the stone carved seating and peeks back at me. A bottle containing some sort of alcohol hits the bars, exploding into flames when it drips on a circular pipe running around the bottom of the cage. Over a foot in diameter, it glows blue from tiny holes drilled on the top. Rhea lunges at the bars, then a wall of flames explodes up the cage, incinerating her arms.
The flames die down after a half minute, leaving the star of the show’s arms burnt to the bone. Swirls of sparking gold glitter quickly return the flesh, an event I have previously witnessed. Rhea flexes her hands as the process takes place, then scoops up the neck of the broken bottle and throws it into the crowd. It strikes an onlooker in the face, knocking him back into the sea of hecklers, the sharp end of the glass stuck in
his right eye.
“Are you sure all Gabriel gave you was that one Bible verse?” Rahnee asks, elbowing me. “Because strong language isn’t going to get this done.”
“He didn’t give you anything?”
She shakes her head.
“They will let anyone in here,” a familiar voice shouts. “I feel far less special with you in attendance.”
Walking down the aisle from above us, Dorian Faust frowns. He is as I recall him. White shirt cuffs folded over his jacket sleeves, wrinkled dress slacks and square toed shoes. As if taking a leisurely stroll, he parades over to us. After acknowledging Rahnee, he turns to me, a look of sympathy crossing his face.
“Long time no see.” I stammer, the presence of my friend making me sentimental.
“Too long,” he replies, then throws his arms around me in an unheard-of gesture for him. “I’m so very sorry to see you here.”
“Everyone dies my friend.”
“True, we are all dead men, some of us just don’t know it yet,” he rolls his eyes, backing away. “Who is this beautiful creature?”
This is Dorian 101. A split-second gear shift from deep sadness to lust is one of his least likeable characteristics. Even in this place, he is a skirt chasing degenerate. Before I can introduce Annie, he takes her hand, bows and kisses it. As is the norm, Annie loses all track of her surrounding and swoons. If it were not for Beatrix, I might toss him in the Lake of Fire myself.
Chapter Ten
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
I grow bored watching Edward trying to peel Dorian off of his wife. When I turn back to the spectacle at hand, Rhea’s green eyes lock on mine. Her pacing continues, but she sneaks glances my way. Is this to avoid my discovery? This goes on for five minutes, then she is struck by a bottle, dropping to her knees. She crawls to my side of the cage as if injured, then peeks up, her eyes partially hidden by her unkempt hair. As she rises, she mouths something silently. Given the crowd noise, it’s unlikely I could have heard anything less than a shout, but she repeats it several times, before returning to her act.
“Release me,” I mutter, turning back to the threesome. “It would seem the queen grows weary of her imprisonment.
“Not a very good sport about the whole thing,” Dorian announces, finally taking his eyes off Annie for the moment.
“Is Beatrix here?” Annie begs, drawing an odd look from Dorian. “She hasn’t gone down to four, has she?”
“Beatrix?” he mumbles. “Of course not. Good luck to the man who tries to force her.”
“She’s here?” Edward asks, scanning the crowd.
“Afraid not. She was feeling a little off this morning,” he informs Edward, a hand on his shoulder. “Well, morning, evening, it’s all the same here really.”
“But she’s not with you?”
“Quite right, stayed home to have a nap,” he nods, then wobbles on his feet, possibly inebriated. “By the way, I meant to ask about my boy Arron. This one wouldn’t share even a tidbit of how that mess played out,” he snorts, wagging a finger at me. “You would think a person who paddles across the river Styx for entertainment would share some—.”
“Please shut up already,” I bark. “I was only up top for twenty years and yet, I forgot how utterly tiresome you are.”
“Where is Beatrix?” Edward repeats.
“Right,” he scowls at me before he turns. “She’s home. What do you say we reunite the lovers?”
“Go,” I order Edward before he can ask. “I’m going to stay here till they close down. Maybe get a word with Rhea.”
“How will you find us?” Annie asks.
“Where are you staying?”
“Um, let’s see,” Dorian mutters. “Do you know where Decker’s place is?”
I smile, recalling that my former partner’s time here overlapped mine. That seems like eons ago. Decker had a nice place on Rue Boca, near Claude Bernard. It had not occurred to me that he might still be here. He went to the Amphitheater so many times, I assumed he was sent down already. In his case, throwing rubbish at his killer never grew old. And was apparently worth whatever price Balthazar was charging.
“He’s still here?”
“Sorry, no,” Dorian winces, putting on more of a theatrical look of sadness than an actual emotion. “Poor lad went down quite a bit ago. Went kicking and screaming though. Fought hard to the end.”
“How reassuring,” I grumble, feeling worse just for having my suspicion confirmed. “Your place over by his?”
“Quite right, only Castle Beatrix is his old place. He left quite unexpectedly and she snatched it up.”
“And your place?” Edward cuts in.
“That’s rather forward,” Dorian rubs a thumb on his chin. “Possibly I reside there as well. We shared a rather large loft up on Level Two. You remember the one, don’t you dear,” he stares at me, clearly taunting Edward.
“I remember you sleeping on the couch,” I growl, taking a step in his direction.
Edwards head swivels back and forth between Dorian and myself, trying to discern his riddles. I am surprised by the Mad Hatters attitude. He spoke so highly of his friend and was never romantically involved with Bea. What has gone on in my absence? I’ll probably have to ask Bea to find out. She will sort these two out in a split second. Beatrix is more like me than she’ll admit. I sort people out with violence, while she uses her sharp tongue. It will be nice to see her.
“Right then,” Dorian smirks. “You know where we will be. Don’t be out too late.”
He wanders down the tunnel in Dunn’s direction.
“Go with him,” I wave at Edward. “I’ll catch up with you tonight. Get inside and stay there.”
Edward nods, then takes Annie by the arm, leading her away. I’d like to see the fireworks display this reunion will cause. In the past I would have trusted good manners and decorum to be strictly adhered to by Bea, but given Dorian’s dark transformation who can be sure? The plausibility of Dorian or Beatrix actually getting top side at the crescendo of this aria may be a moot point. Beatrix might just kill them all before the final bell.
Edward Grey
We walk through slime covered streets. The contents of bed pans having been tossed from windows onto the gravel pathway. I had forgotten how bad Paris smelled in the distant past. How long would a person have to live for an olfactory memory of this magnitude to fade? Dorian walks a few steps ahead of us, while Annie holds tight to my arm. Even though she was living a slave’s life at the Estate, the accommodations were superior to this.
“How much farther?” I inquire of my former friend.
“Not too far,” he answers without looking back. “Are you sure you want to see her like this?”
“How’s that?”
“In the company of another woman.”
“You have us all wrong smarty pants,” Annie argues.
“Oh,” he stops dead in the street, then spins about. “Explain it to me?”
“He saved my life. If it wasn’t for him I’d have been down here twenty years ago. Starved to death by your witch of an Angel.”
“How quaint,” he grins, pressing his fingers together under his chin. “Tell me again how that keeps Beatrix from ripping his head off?”
“Okay, leave her alone,” I put a hand on Dorian’s upper arm to move him back.
“He’s a free man,” Annie blurts. “I’ve no claim on him. He’s only here to find her. Stop making trouble where none exists.”
Dorian seems stymied by this. His mouth hovers open, words escaping him, which is a rare occurrence. He wags a finger slowly, then turns abruptly and marches off. Unable to stop myself, I leap forward and take him by the blazer collar. He spins, catching me off guard, then pinning me to a wooden door with two hands on my chest, fingers wraps tightly in my shirt. His quick movement and strength startle me. He was never a man of action.
“Stop it man,” I bark, trying to push him off, but failing. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Ho
w can you,” he sobs, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “How can you possibly know what is right and wrong with me?”
“I’m sorry, but we never quarreled over Bea in the past. I’m at a loss for your behavior.”
“My behavior,” he grunts slamming me against the door, then leaning so close his nose touches mine. “How long is your past? How long have you lived?”
“Longer than you.”
“Oh really,” he smirks, bumping his forehead on mine during a brief pause. “How long is that then? A thousand years? A few hundred more? I don’t want to short change you.
I nod, shrinking back as he twists my shirt as if he was turning a screw, suffocating me.
“Didn’t Rahnee explain how it works down here? Did she not mention how bloody slow the dial turns? Last time she was down, Rahnee inferred you had been made of aware of the particulars.”
I struggle to think, then my mind clears. All the time we have been here is but a few seconds up top. We only have the window to save Rhea due to this anomaly. Rahnee told me over drinks that her first seventy years in Hell felt like thousands. My good and trusted friend has been here twenty years longer still. His memory of life must be as if he was watching at a candle flicker across a river. I have used the term, a love for the ages to define my relationship with Bea, but how long is eternity? Have I made a horrible mistake by coming here?
“Oh God, I am so sorry,” I choke out, barely audible.
“Now you come here to take her away from me,” he growls, pulling me off the door, then slamming back into it over and over. “You think she belongs to you?”
“No, I didn’t understand.”
“I’ll share tiny secret with you my friend,” he whispers, looking down the street in both directions before speaking. “I loved her the first time I laid eyes on her. I got her off the pyre. I got her to the nuns. I stayed with her for two years while she healed. The burns were so excruciating she begged me to kill her. Night after night she pleaded for the sweet release of death, but, I refused to let her go,” he sobs, tears flowing at will. “And she never forgave me for not killing her. To this day, it haunts me like a phantom.”
