Hell Cop

by David C. Burton

  Used air burst from me. I clawed for the surface. Where was it? My limbs were heavy, my mouth open, eager to suck water, when I broke through. Air! Hot, acrid, brimstone tainted, sweet air. I sucked it in with groaning gulps while the flood swept me, unprotesting, toward the lake.

  My whole body ached as I crawled onto the far bank and allowed myself a minute to catch my breath. Feeling exposed, I hid behind a boulder where the water had washed away the dirt. The river receded quickly, and the Schoolyard became eerily quiet. I planned to rest for five minutes then move on.

  When I woke up, it was dark.

  Loneliness filled me. Worry pressed down on me. Did Sneaker make it okay? Was she a prisoner waiting for me to rescue her? Did she miss me as much as I missed her at that moment? Of course not. She was busy getting Bobby Johnston safely across the River Styx then to Heaven Gate. I sat alone in the dark for a few minutes, feeling sorry for myself, then forced myself to stand up. Brittany's soul needed retrieval, and I'd wasted too much time already.

  I crept up to the rear door of the massive school building. A light shone high up in the tower annex. I knew that's where Bujo would be, and most likely Brittany, too. There were no guards on the outside. Who would want to get in? And there were plenty of things inside to keep souls from getting out. And where would they go if they got out? In my mind, one of the worst concepts of Hell was that no matter what you did, where you went, you were always in Hell. Something was always after you or tormenting you. For the souls who were supposed to be there, there was no escape. I'd heard rumors of sanctuaries, but I didn't know anybody who'd ever been to one.

  Inside, the odor of decay predominated, underlain by the sour smell of fear, sweat, and cooking sauerkraut. Kitchen noises came from down the hall ahead of me. A torch-lit, stone stairwell spiraled up to the left. I doubted there was anything in the kitchen I wanted, so, every nerve and sense alert, I started up.

  The stairwell let onto each floor through an open archway. The stairs were covered with dust despite many foot prints; the halls were dust free. On the third floor I found out why.

  At first I thought the opening had been filled with stone, then the blockage seemed to shrink and slide away, and then expand again. I came up to it cautiously. Again it shrunk, slid, and expanded. I reached out to touch it. Then snatched my hand back when I realized that the stones were actually scales on a huge serpent that patrolled the halls. I hoped I didn't have to retrieve anything from the third floor that night.

  The fourth floor was clear. On the fifth, a lighted doorway begged me to look in. I crept up to it and heard voices. So I listened.

  “There you are now,” a smarmy, ingratiating tenor said. “A nice cool glass of lemonade.”

  “Thank you,” a trembling little girl's voice said.

  “Now Brittany, relax.” Bujo cajoled easily. “You're not frightened of me, are you?” After a short pause he said, “Oh please, don't be. I'm not going to hurt you, actually I want to help you. Go ahead, drink. I guarantee it's very good. Everything I have here is good, the best. You like nice things, don't you?”

  “Yeah,” the girl said with a bit of enthusiasm.

  “I thought you did. There aren't any nice things in the dormitory or in the classrooms, are there? No, there aren't. And Mrs. Scritch is mean, too. Is she mean to you?”

  “Yes, she is. She's terrible. I don't even do anything and she picks on me.”

  “You like attention, though, don't you?”

  “Yeah, but not like that.”

  Bujo's voice sounded as if it were turned away so I chanced a peek into the room.

  Bujo faced a double opening stained glass window that might have come from a major cathedral except the glass depicted a dragon disemboweling a naked man while extremely female demons looked on. The room was classic old European: dark wood paneling, bookcases filled with old leather bound books, heavy furniture, lots of brass and leather. But several things reminded me of where I was, a large bust of a pointy eared devil, a hooked beak, raven-like bird in a cage made from a child size skeleton, a display of edged weapons with the blood still on them.

  Bujo's fur had dark stripes like a tiger tabby. His sleek furred tail twitched like a caught snake. He wore tight, high-waisted leather shorts, and a heavy gold chain with a circle made of bone hung from his thick neck. He had cat legs with an extra knee to allow him to stand upright on thick paws.

  A huge wingbacked chair engulfed Brittany. She wore an ugly brown and red plaid skirt and a white blouse spattered with blood. Her small white hands rested open-fingered on the chair arms. I could just see her profile, a white blotch against cracked leather. She stared at Bujo's back, eyes wide and wary, sharp nose flaring slowly.

  Bujo turned away from the window. I ducked back, but I recognized the cunning in his deep-set, feline eyes.

  “Did your parents give you a lot of attention? Give you things?”

  “Yeah. My father gave me stuff all the time. So I wouldn't tell Mom things that would upset her.”

  “You like that? Getting stuff you want all the time?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “What about before, when your little sister was born? Did they pay attention to you then?”

  There was a long eloquent silence before she said, “Yes. No. My Mom was busy.”

  “You didn't like that did you?”

  “No.”

  “So you did something to her to get the attention back.”

  “I didn't do anything to her.”

  “What happened to little sister, Brittany?”

  “She ... she died.”

  “How?” Bujo asked, beginning to push.

  “I don't know.”

  “How, Brittany? What did you do?”

  “I didn't do anything. A plastic thing got over her face. She couldn't breathe.”

  “You put it there.”

  “No, I didn't.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn't mean to. I mean I didn't.”

  “I know you did. She took away your parents. You hated little sister. You were angry and wanted her dead.”

  “I wanted her to go away. Then he wouldn't do anything anymore.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I had to strain to hear. Had Mrs. Hightower's visions been wrong? Was I about to make a big mistake? Did that little girl belong in Hell?

  “So you killed her.”

  “No! It was an accident.”

  Bujo's voice turned calm, disinterested.

  “Would you like more lemonade? Try those chocolates. They're wonderful, and you can eat as many as you want, while you're with me. Do you like it with the other students?”

  I dared another look. Brittany still sat in the chair, her head bowed, tendrils of blond hair stuck to glistening tear trails on her cheeks.

  “No. They're all mean to me. I want to go home.”

  “Can't do that. The only place you can go is back to the dormitory with the other students. Mrs. Scritch will be happy to see you.”

  “I don't want to go,” Brittany sobbed.

  “You have to,” Bujo said, “unless ...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you admit that you killed little sister and then ask to join us here, become one of us.”

  “One of you? Like you?”

  Bujo launched into his big sales pitch. I could imagine his eyes glowing with the excitement.

  “Yes, if you wish. You can be anything you want, Brittany, a beautiful woman, a powerful demon, a cat like me. You'll be the center of attention, have anything you want. Just admit it. Tell me you killed her. Join us forever.”

  “I didn't kill her,” the girl whined.

  “Then it's back to the dormitory for you.”

  “Please, no.”

  “Admit it then!”

  “It was an accident,” she insisted between sobs.

  “But you knew what might happen. You knew little sister might suffocate under the plastic. Your parents had told you th
at, hadn't they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it's your fault, isn't it? Isn't it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you did.”

  “I killed her. I killed her.”

  Oh man. I pressed my back against the corridor wall. You don't go to Hell for accidents, unless you've been drinking, even if you are a spoiled brat. If Bujo got her to sign the Paper there'd be nothing I could do. She'd be stuck for all eternity with his lying promises.

  “Do you want to join us, Brittany? Be a demon instead of a tortured soul?”

  “Yes,” she said, beaten. What choice did she have?

  “Yessss!” Bujo purred in triumph.

  I took several deep breaths. Time to go to work.

  “All you have to do my pretty demon is sign your name and then it will be done,” Bujo said with unconcealed glee. “You will go see Mephisto, he will be so glad to meet you. Where are those papers?”

  I heard a file drawer slam. I took a look. Bujo had his back turned to me as he looked through a file cabinet. Brittany quietly sobbed. It looked like a quick smash and grab without the smash for once.

  In a crouch, I ran up to Brittany, clapped a hand over her mouth, scooped her up, turned, and took three steps to the door. Oh shit. A large demon filled the doorway. Mephisto. I glanced over my shoulder at Bujo. He still concentrated on his search for those papers. Mephisto smiled down at me.

  “Well,” the Helland Security chief said, amused at the surprise on my face. “You must be Getter.”

  I only had two seconds to take in his black armor, red leathery face, black hair, and turquoise horns. But it wasn't his look that convinced me he was Mephisto. It was his Presence. His aura of authority immediately reached out and tweaked your nose and slapped you twice. No one could ever doubt that he was Chief of Helland Security. I didn't have time to chat.

  I pointed to my right. “No, that's Getter.”

  He fell for it and looked right. Some security chief.

  I slammed the door in his face and jumped left. Then I ran in full stealth mode ten feet to the only other door from the room. Simultaneously, Bujo, papers in paw, turned the opposite way to check out the bang of the slamming door.

  I froze with my hand on the door handle in case the motion attracted him. No need to bother. The front door flying off its hinges and crashing to the floor in front of him was distraction enough. I slipped through the door, though I'd have liked to witness the meeting between the two demons.

  A squeaky, “Sir?” from Bujo.

  A loud, “Where is he?” from Mephisto.

  A pause and a, “Where's Brittany?” from Bujo, gave me good preview of a future conversation between the two.

  Light from the hall pinpointed another door. Halfway there, a sleepy voice of indeterminate gender came from the bed. I stopped.

  “That you, Buji?”

  A quick survey of the room revealed lacy curtains over the windows, a four-poster bed with a frilly skirt, and roses in a vase on a vanity table. The room smelled flowery.

  “Buji, come to bed and snuggle with me.”

  While the sexy voice oozed seductive invitation, the size of the shape on the bed was a bit intimidating.

  “Start without me, Sweetie. I'll be right there,” I said.

  The stomp of Mephisto's hooves in the other room signaled my departure. Once in the hall I ran toward the stairs. Even if she/he was a demon, I hoped Sweetie wasn't too disappointed.

  We'd only reached the top of the stairs when Bujo's official demon voice, “Brittany!” was drowned out by Mephisto's wall shaking, “GETTER!” Where was a five story tall fireman's pole when you needed one?

  The little girl soul didn't weigh much, but it was awkward running down steps with her in my arms.

  “Brittany,” I said in a loud whisper. “Your parents sent me to take you to Heaven. Can you run?”

  The sudden turn of events dumbfounded her. She managed a nod. The same look of hope that I'd seen on Gregory's face began to spread over hers. It felt good to see that. I set her down, grabbed her hand, and dragged her down the stairs. The serpent sentinel was gone from the door to the third floor. The second floor looked clear, also. A loud hiss filled the stairwell. I thought the snake was behind us. I chanced a look. Nothing.

  Bujo roared for Security.

  When I turned to look where I was going, a thick, bright green forked tongue blocked our way. Doors slammed open. Voices questioned loudly. We had no time to stop, and they already knew I was there. I drew my gun and fired at the tongue. It withdrew with an ugly sucking sound, leaving a splotch of yellow blood. The boom of the gun in a small space deafened me. I think Brittany screamed. A huge triangular serpent's head darted through the door as we raced past. Too late, the now one-forked, green tongue flicked after us.

  On the first floor I grasped the ring to open the backdoor. A shrill scream cut through my temporary deafness like fingernails on a blackboard. I looked over my shoulder and saw Mrs. Scritch inching down the hall.

  “Young man, what are you doing with that little girl?” The rear of Mrs. Scritch's translucent inchworm body caught up with the front. The black rear feet gripped the stone floor and lifted her wrinkled, old lady head with the frizzy gray mane ten feet in the air.

  “Leave her alone, you scoundrel, or you'll get a good whipping,” she warned.

  A mostly human arm holding a slender switch emerged from the second segment down. She swung the switch at me. I ducked and twisted the door ring. The door creaked open.

  “The party's over, Mrs. Scritch,” I shouted. “I'm taking Brittany home now.”

  As I pulled the door shut behind us, I heard the old maid screech indignantly, “Mr. Bujo, will you please come here?”

  Above all the commotion Mephisto's deep demon voice called to me. “Getter, why run? Your destiny will bring you to me eventually.”

  “Not today,” I yelled back. What happened to quietly slipping in and out? If I continued to be a Hell Cop, I'd have to start wearing a disguise.

  While Mephisto organized his chaos of minions, Brittany and I raced up the road toward the Nexus. I confess to being a bit disappointed Sneaker wasn't waiting for us in the forest. On the other hand, I'd have been disappointed in her if she had not put her retrieved soul first.

  Bandy legged minions poured from a wide door at the other end of the building. Mephisto trotted along the road, urging them on. Brittany could run. Tears streaming, driven by fear, she kept up. She slowed when we entered the forest, tried to look everywhere at once. “I don't want to go in there,” she said. “I want to go home. I'm scared.”

  “It's either Heaven or stay in Hell with them,” I told her, hooking a thumb over my shoulder.

  She glanced back at the twenty screaming minions behind us and didn't say another word. Those minions could scoot if goosed hard enough, and Mephisto could goose with the best. They would know I had a gun. On the other hand, they weren't smart enough to worry about it.

  We ran. The Nexus glowed with St. Elmo's Fire about a quarter mile from the building. We could go into the Nexus or go through the forest, at night, and then climb five hundred foot cliffs while getting rained on and struck by lightning. Good survival instincts or not, there was no choice.

  We made it within twenty feet of the Nexus when it shimmered and two Elite Guards of Helland Security appeared. Great. Well, we couldn't go back, and with their stubby third legs cum tails I wasn't going to bowl them over and run past them. I couldn't go up and I couldn't go down so left or right were my choices. I grabbed Brittany's hand, faked right and jumped left.

  The Elite Guards are the best of the best in Hell. Still, they're not too swift on the uptake. We ran half way around the Nexus rock before they yelled and followed. That meant they were on the other side when we returned to the entrance. I activated the Find and, with a tight grip on Brittany, leaped into the Nexus.

  We landed in a jumble, me on my face and Brittany on top, legs in the air. I'd
set the Find and punched the button for section 1 before I hit the supporting, yet giving, floor. I felt the motion that's not motion and breathed deep with relief.

  Then I realized we weren't alone.

  “I am impressed, Getter. Though this hasn't been your usual quiet, subtle retrieval, you still got the soul. You are as good as everyone says you are.”

  “Who's everyone?” I asked, struggling to stand and catch my breath. I tried to keep Brittany behind me. The run must have used up her fear because now she was curious. She looked out and up from behind me.

  “Who's that?” she asked.

  “That is Major Molas,” I told her. “Not someone I expected to see at this point in your retrieval.” I looked into his big orange eyes and added, “But I think he may possibly be a friend.”

  He allowed that little crocodile smile to show and said, “'Friend’ may be a bit too strong a word, Getter. Ally might be more accurate.”

  He touched the Find clipped to his wide belt. I felt a faint sensation of stopping.

  “Getter, there is little time. They will override my Nexus block quickly. Mephisto is tracking you. Guards wait at Nexus 1. I can help you if you will help me. Besides, you have been chosen.”

  Chosen? I didn't like the sound of that. It sounded too much like prognostications and superstitions. I didn't want any part of being “Chosen.” I was just a Hell Cop, struggling to do his job and not even sure he was suitable for it. “Who ‘Chose’ me?”

  “Reech.”

  “Reech? Oh, man. How'd you find me?”

  “Reech. Your help is needed, Getter. There will be war. Satan is tired and out of touch. Mephisto will win easily. There are many who feel this would not be good. He hates Hell Cops. If he wins, you will not survive. And many more innocent souls, such as that one, will suffer.”

  Brittany didn't like the sound of that any more than I did. She hugged my waist tighter.

  “I'm not agreeing to anything, but what are you asking me to do?”

  “Get the other Hell Cops to help Satan win the war.”

  “What? That's crazy. Help Satan? Father Joe would love that. What makes you think they'd listen to me? What about Destiny? He's a damned legend for Christ's sake. If you'll excuse the expression.”