The Angel of the Abyss

by Hank Schwaeble

“So, damnation is some sort of torture-based feudal system.”

  “It sounds so primitive when you put it that way. But, yes. Something like that. It really cries out for some witticism using the word 'serf', don't you think?”

  Hatcher thought of Vivian, suffering for who knew how long as she was drained of who she is until there was nothing left.

  “Whatever game you're playing, just stop. Tell me what you want so we can get this over with.”

  “What I want, my prideful, stubborn man of the world, is for you to realize, completely and precisely, that the one thing this is most definitely not is a game. There is no way for you to win unless I let you. You cannot overcome any of this through a sheer act of will or determination. What I want is for you to understand that your resolve holds no sway in this place, and neither does your proclivity for derring-do or whatever vulgar approximation of it you gravitate toward.”

  Hatcher gazed down at the uneven, rocky floor, digging his fingernails into his palms. The ground beneath him was somehow dark and glowing at the same time, solid but molten. “She doesn't deserve any of this.”

  Raum shrugged. A tiny laugh puffed through his lips. “That is rich. I mean, seriously, who does? But let's stipulate that, true or not, this lovely young lady is especially undeserving. The least so of all our many, many permanent guests. Frankly, it doesn't matter. What matters is, I'm going to give you the chance to remedy the situation. Fortunately for you, deserving doesn't enter the equation.”

  “Remedy the situation, how?”

  “There is someone on your earthly plane planning something quite... distasteful to the one I answer to. Something that has a lot of followers worried. Something the powers that be would rather not see take place.”

  “And you want me to kill him.”

  “Kill him? Hells Bells, no! I certainly hope you won't go around telling people I suggested anything like that. That would be tantamount to slander. No, I am not asking for you to kill anyone. What I want, is for you to stop whoever it is.”

  “Stop him from doing what?”

  “Call it a hostile takeover.” The man spread his arms, as if to say it was as simple as that, no explanation needed. Hatcher's eyes slid to the texture of his clothing. The way it shined, the way it bunched. Leather? It hadn't been leather to begin with, he was certain of that. Almost certain.

  “Takeover. You mean, of here?”

  “Here, there. All of the Dark Domain.”

  “By that you mean Hell. It sounds like you're talking about a coup.”

  “That's because I am talking about a coup.”

  “And the person mounting the coup is a man, not a demon?”

  “Yes, though no one is quite sure whom. It would have to be a very ambitious man. A very unusual man. A very dangerous man. But, yes. A man. In a classic but completely non-sexist sense of the term, of course. One of you.”

  “And you want me to stop him.”

  “Well, I do, certainly, but more importantly, so does my boss.”

  “Your boss?”

  Raum let out a breath that sounded to Hatcher like a sigh. “Yes, the Son of the Morning, Chief of All Demons, the Prince of the Power of the Air himself, blah, blah, blah, had to sign off on this. Come now, don't give me that look.”

  Hatcher said nothing. The leather was no longer smooth, but a crocodile print, blood red, and suddenly Hatcher wasn't even sure it was a suit at all, or that he was even wearing it. It was more like a hide. No sooner had he noticed that he saw that the dark opening through which he'd glimpsed Vivian had changed. She was no longer there. All he could see was a wall beyond it, moving and shifting. Then his eyes abruptly adjusted, like a stereoscopic poster coming into focus, and he saw that it wasn't a wall, but an infinite number of scenes in the distance, tiny versions of what he'd witnessed with Vivian, people screaming, flesh searing and tearing and ripping, things happening he couldn't quite comprehend.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Impressive as I am, I don't sit at the head of the table. I'm merely the devil-you-know, one of Hell's Angels, patched in, charter member, Redwood Original, but not the leader of the pack. Oh, enough about me. Let's discuss the arrangement. If you succeed, I'll let her go. No gimmicks, no fine print.” His mouth spread into a wide grin. “Provided, of course, that you immediately take her place.”

  “How generous of you. After that little speech you gave.”

  “I'm kidding! Lighten up, Francis. No, as much as it pains me to offer this, here's the deal: if you somehow manage to not make a royal hot mess of everything by failing, she will walk the Earth, a living soul, as if she'd been alive all along, and you... well, to make things more interesting, should you survive the ordeal, let's just say you will no longer be considered irredeemable.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means if you emerge in one piece you'll end up where you end up, but it won't be due to the taint on your soul from having been in contact with an unclean entity. You'll be just like everyone else, likely to end up here fair and square.”

  “Why does that sound like you're being very careful with your words?”

  Raum tossed his arms in a theatrical wave, like a punctuation. Hatcher noticed horns for the first time, red and glossy.

  “Because I am. Make no mistake, I still expect you to end up here, assigned to my game room. You have stains on your soul that would require a few millennia at the river Lethe with a rock and a stick to remove. But you will no longer be a season ticket holder. In other words, you'll be the same as any Joe on the street. Only more spunky.”

  Vivian. Out of here. Alive or wherever, just not in this place, not in a state of eternal anguish or torment. The mere idea sent a wash of relief through him, a lightening of weight.

  But there had to more to it. If he'd learned anything dealing with whatever the hell he'd been dealing with since coming into contact with the Carnates, it was that nothing was ever as presented.

  “The last time you spoke to me, you tricked me into doing the opposite of what I intended.”

  “Ha! That's what I get for being completely honest. I told you in no uncertain terms, if you recall, that I was being one hundred percent truthful, that I had no choice but to be. If you would have only listened. But, no. You tricked yourself.”

  “How about now? You have a choice now?”

  “Now? Now I'm free to be me. But that doesn't mean I'd renege. I won't insult you and say it's against the rules. But a deal is, as they say, a deal. Even if the whole situation is your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “Yes. You see, Mr Man of Action, by first annihilating the corporeal incarnation of Belial – crude as that incarnation was – you created somewhat of a power vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum, and make no mistake, we strive to match nature wherever we can. Nothing is more red in tooth and claw. It's the all-time champ of ruthlessness. Which sort of puts those like me in the business of wildlife management, if you think about it. Anyhow, replace a Crown Prince of Hell, factions start to form and it gets all political. Go figure.”

  Something swung from behind the man's legs, it darted into view, then disappeared. Hatcher realized it was a tail. It was dark, a black cherry color, with a fork at the end.

  “Didn't mean to sabotage your corporate structure. Did I cost everyone their bonus?”

  “Oh, don't misunderstand, no one shed any tears. Belial was not the most collegial sort. But the competition to take his place was fierce. Many resented the ultimate choice to become the next second-in-command. Which would not have likely been that big a deal had you not engaged in your second round of bull-in-the-china-shop meddling.”

  Hatcher started to speak but Raum stopped him with an outstretched palm. Was that a real hand? It looked like something off a lizard, maybe crossed with a gorilla.

  “Let's not quibble over your brother's role. I will stip
ulate that Valentine was just as much an annoyance as you, for quite different reasons, even if he was what you might call our kind of guy. But, in the end, you were the last one standing. While the proposal he forced upon us was uninvited, it was not entirely unattractive. He was to pass the Ring of Aandaleeb through to Asmodeus, then allow him to break the plane. Hell on Earth would have ensued, joyous day and all that. It certainly would have helped him in his bid to succeed Belial. But you mucked up the works, again. Getting the ring across the divide certainly made it much, much easier for your kind to communicate with and summon us, bringing back the good old days in many ways, but by not bringing one of us through while the door was open he reverted us back to those days in other ways, too. That meant conjurings were once again within the power of a human population that has lost all familiarity with the art. This has created a rather large problem, especially considering the vacuum I mentioned.”

  “And what kind of problem would that be?”

  “There is someone out there who has figured out not only the ancient methods, but something even more alarming, something no one since Solomon himself has realized. All indications are this someone has discovered a way to usurp the throne.”

  Raum joined his hands together in front of him, resting them on the end of a sleek walking stick. Black, with red tips. Hatcher didn't even bother to wonder where it came from.

  “We're talking about regular person? How would someone go about doing something like that?”

  “The same way all thrones are usurped, of course. There have been whispers in the shadows, talk of a revolution. Someone has used these new-old windows now available to sell some of my brethren on his vision. He has offered promotions and rewards once he is the new Regent, promised to upend the old order and replace it with something more... progressive. More aggressive. Most importantly, he has sowed the seeds of distrust, and created an impression of vulnerability. Exposed fault lines in the demonic order of things. It may shock you to hear, but some of us are, deep down inside, not the most loyal of creatures.”

  “So who is it?”

  “I wish I could tell you. It's one of the little ironies of damnation. We are afforded very little interaction with people, relatively speaking. You're an exception because you have been marked as a hellbound spirit. In that way, you're already ours. It was why my colleague in that cave was able to initiate physical contact with you. You made quite an impression, by the way. I'm sure I could trade you to him for quite a tidy sum of favors. Would never do such a thing, of course. No matter what he paid, I'm sure I'd suffer from seller's remorse.”

  “How sweet. I guess you'll just have to keep buying your cigarettes with what you earn in the cell block laundry room, then.”

  “Keep that sense of humor.” Raum pointed with his walking stick, then gave it a toss and caught it. It now had a three-pronged end, the middle prong the largest. The tips of each prong were triangular. Their points looked sharp enough to prick a finger. “You're going to need it. You have four days. Until the next Blood Moon is complete. If you haven't stopped this troublemaker by then, the deal will have expired.”

  “How do I even know any of this is real?” Hatcher said, looking around at his surroundings, remembering that flash of illumination, like a glimpse behind a curtain. “Last time, you told me you were in my head. Maybe all this is, too.”

  “Jake, Jake, Jake. Of course this – all that you see here – is in your head. That pretentious boor Milton certainly got one thing right when he said the mind, in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell and a Hell of Heaven. But just because some of this is projected onto your brain doesn't make it any less real. Does the Internet take place on your computer? Does it make the page you visit any less real because you're not transported somewhere else? Yes, it's true, what you're seeing is not Hell. This is merely a construct of your mind. The actual thing would be far too distracting. But it is very real, that I can assure you.”

  The ground beneath Hatcher's feet slipped. His balance disappeared and his surroundings seemed to list, like he was at sea.

  “Oh, one more thing. If you happen to kill whoever it is, the pact is void. Sorry about that. And I say that not because I care, but because if it happens you'll find a way to blame me and I just don't know how I'll go on carrying that knowledge around with me.”

  Raum moved in close, to within inches, though Hatcher only registered the change after it happened. It snapped his concentration, scattered his thoughts. One blink they were a comfortable distance apart, the next he was right there, less than an arm's length away. It was like he saw the step after it happened. It was becoming hard to concentrate. When had Raum's face become so wide, that mouth so large? He couldn't have had those enormous, conical teeth before. And when did the hair go? And what the Hell was with those eyes?

  The demon raised a hand, reached for Hatcher's face. Hatcher blurted out for him to stop, that he had one more question, one that screamed inside his head before exploding out of his mouth. The demon said something in response, then suddenly that hand, too large and too feral and too taloned to be real, was stroking his cheek and he was spinning, draining down a whirlpool. He felt his body stretch, stretch, stretch as he was sucked in, elongating then snapping back like a band, rocketing through layers and layers of images and sounds and sensations, too many for him to grasp any one of them, too fast for him to make out anything recognizable. All his mind registered was temperature, first blistering heat then stinging cold, then that hand again, on his cheek.

  He opened his eyes and jerked, snagging the arm by the wrist and gasping as he sat up. Amy flinched.

  “Jesus, Hatcher! Are you okay?”

  Hatcher swallowed, cleared his throat. He tried to catch his breath. He rubbed his eyes. It felt like his lids were lined with sandpaper.

  “Hatcher... Jake, you're hurting me.”

  He shook his head and looked up, realized he was still squeezing Amy's wrist. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “What happened?”

  “It's hard to...” He looked around the room. Sahara Doyle's office again, or whatever she called it. It was in the same condition as when he'd walked in. Water running down the walls, fire in the middle of the circle of columns. “...explain. Where is she?”

  “She left. She came out to the waiting room. Her and an entourage. Told me you were in her office and that I should go see you. Confused me, but I also got worried. She wasn't exactly giving off the best vibe. She had the receptionist buzz me in as she and her group headed to the elevators. I had to wander the place, calling your name. No one else was back here, anywhere. It's like everyone cleared out. I think they used the stairwell. I wasn't sure I was even going to find you. ”

  Hatcher nodded, pushed himself to his feet. Amy popped up first and helped him stand. “What did she do to you?”

  “You might say she brokered a conversation. With someone wielding a pitchfork.”

  “Oh.” Amy looked down, tightened her lips. She had a hard time reconciling these things with her skepticism, he knew. He understood the contradiction, because so did he. “In that case. Did you find anything out?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “So, I assume that means we're not heading home. What's the next move?”

  “I have no idea. But we don't have much time to figure it out.” He surveyed the room, saw the pedestal with the fire pit, surrounded by the benches and pillars. The sight caused a cog to turn and catch. “I take that back, I do have an idea. I'm going to need an Internet connection. And I'll probably need you to call in a favor or two. Then we can talk about it on the way, come up with a plan.”

  “The way where?”

  “To the only people I can think of who may be able to point me – us – in the right direction.”

  Amy made a grim face but held her tongue. She knew what he meant, he could tell. She slid her fingers in between his and squeezed his hand – I'm just
glad you're okay – and after a few more glances around the room they left.

  They didn't speak until they were back in the rental car and on the road. The whole time he was remembering the last exchange with Raum, where he'd asked if what he was seeing was in his mind, did that mean the images of Vivian suffering weren't real? Was what she was enduring really that bad? He'd blurted out the question, couldn't even remember exactly how he'd phrased it. But he remembered the answer vividly, like an uploaded video replayed over and over again in his head.

  No, Raum had told him as he'd touched a gentle hand to Hatcher's cheek, a tender gesture, even though the hand was large and black-green and thorny with talons like fangs.

  This is all pieced together out of your imagination... What she is going through is much, much worse.

  Chapter 6

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Amy lowered the NVD, shook her head. “I'm not sure of anything.”

  The narrow street was empty. A few overhead lights shone above doorways, just enough to make use of the night vision scope tricky, but there had been little sign of activity for the last hour. Just an unending patchwork wall of dark brick and iron bars and fortified doors from one corner to the other on each side.

  Amy adjusted herself in the passenger seat. “I have to say, I'm not even sure if I want you to be. Right about it, I mean.”

  Hatcher looked at her, reminded himself to be understanding. He knew she didn't like this, but if any people were likely to know about things that involved demons, it was the Carnates, and there was only one Carnate he felt remotely safe approaching. Of course, she would likely want to remind him that Carnates weren't exactly people. Not entirely. They had no souls. And there was the minor fact this particular one was complicit in events a few years back that caused the deaths of several people, including a detective Amy worked with, and nearly caused hers, too. And that was just in New York. Amy hadn't even been around for the stuff in LA.

  And he supposed the fact they were all physically perfect females that traded on their virtually irresistible sexual charms didn't help.