Pyriel pointed a finger. “Keep it that way.” He looked down at the land-bridge and scoffed. Feathered wings hefted him from the boat and carried him across the river and over to land. Pyriel wouldn’t lower himself to the ground, though. He maintained a hovering position, keeping his feet just above the surface. The angel had no intention of sullying himself by placing his feet on the grounds of Purgatory.
He looked around and saw only the rocky, bluish walls and ceilings of a cave. Torches provided flickers of illumination, but deep shadows lingered in every crevice. Pyriel moved with determination and didn’t show an ounce of fear or apprehension.
Eventually, he came to a stop at the mouth of another cave. Only the deepest darkness could be seen inside, not a flicker of light. This was where he was instructed to wait. Pyriel folded his arms and sighed, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling.
“Why my dear Mr. Grant, I do believe we have a visitor.”
“T’would seem you are correct, my esteemed Mr. Moore.”
The voices spoke with an air of polite haughtiness and they echoed from the darkness of the cave. Within a few moments, the two beings emerged. Both were dressed in pressed black suits with spotless, bright white shirts. Their skin was pale, their eyes concealed by dark sunglasses and their hands covered in black leather gloves. Both stood at the mouth of the cave with their hands clasped in front of them. One was bald while the other sported a beard and long hair neatly tied in a ponytail.
“Lord Pyriel, I presume,” said the bald one before gesturing to his colleague. “Allow me to introduce my companion, the erudite Mr. Moore.”
“And if I may,” said Moore, gesturing to the bald man. “It is my humble pleasure to present to you the sophisticated Mr. Grant.”
“I don’t care,” said Pyriel. “I have an appointment with your boss, otherwise I wouldn’t sully myself by setting foot in this impure excuse for a dimension.”
Moore frowned. “I say, that was quite uncalled for, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Grant?”
Grant nodded. “Indeed I would, indeed I would, Mr. Moore. Manners, my Lord Pyriel, are what separate us from the peasants and the beasts that roam the Earth.”
“Though that phrasing is quite redundant, Mr. Grant.”
The two men shared an eerily unified laugh, their heads tipping back in exactly the same manner.
“If all you’re going to do is waste my time, then I have other matters to attend to,” said Pyriel, beginning to turn around. “Tell Thanatos to call me once he gets serious.”
“Now, now, let us mot be too hasty, my Lord Pyriel,” said Grant. “Do please excuse Mr. Moore. It’s not often we entertain guests, and he has a tendency to be a bit risqué with his humor.”
Moore hung his head. “Unfortunately, Mr. Grant is correct, as usual. My humblest apologies for any offense I may have caused you, Lord Pyriel.”
Pyriel huffed. “Just take me to Thanatos so I can get out of here.”
“Yes, yes, right this way, my Lord Pyriel.”
Grant signaled for Pyriel to follow them into the cave. In unison, they both spun on their heels and started walking into the darkness. Pyriel couldn’t help but notice that their strides were perfectly matched and in-step. He’d seen many things in his long existence, but he’d never seen anything quite as unsettling as these two servants of Purgatory.
Pyriel’s wings carried him after them, moving into the black. His eyes were capable of seeing clearly in even the darkest of environments, but that apparently didn’t apply here. For the first time in his existence, Pyriel was truly without sight. And as he moved through the darkness, guided by nothing other than the banter of Grant and Moore, he started to feel a twinge of what could be interpreted as fear.
The darkness ended suddenly. Pyriel looked behind him but saw no cave exit. Now they stood on a series of bridges. They criss-crossed each other, each one going to a different area, like an intricate spider web. Pyriel looked over the edge of the bridge, but saw only more stretching out into infinity. He looked up and saw the same thing.
“Mind your step, my Lord Pyriel,” said Moore. “Purgatory is the place of lost things.”
“One wrong turn and even an angel of the Host can find himself amongst the forgotten,” said Grant.
Pyriel was starting to feel unsettled as he followed the two, who now walked with their hands clasped behind their backs. He looked at the other bridges and he saw they were all like cylinders, no flat surface whatsoever. And the souls that traversed them did so on all sides. Top, bottom, left, and right. He tried to look at their faces, but every single one of them seemed to have no distinguishing features. They were just completely blank.
“When one has been lost and forgotten for so long—” began Moore.
“—one soon forgets what they once appeared as,” finished Grant.
When Pyriel dealt with Thanatos in the past, it was through transmissions. But after Raziel’s disappearance (which Pyriel himself was responsible for) and the imprisonment of Asmodeus, there were those in both Heaven and Hell who would be paying more attention. Pyriel couldn’t risk interception and Thanatos would only agree to meet with him, not Zadkiel.
The bridges intersected at various points and several times, Grant and Moore walked off onto another bridge. In some cases, walking from the top of the bridge to walking along the bottom, as if they were in an Escher painting.
When they finally reached their destination, they stood in front of the steps leading up to an ivory castle. It was misshapen and looked to be constructed from bone, even broken in places. Grant and Moore started up the steps and the massive front doors opened for them. They entered and Pyriel hovered behind.
The doors shut behind the angel. He flinched and glanced over his shoulder, then continued to follow his guides. Now they were in a massive hall. Framed portraits hung on the walls, the subjects dressed in clothing from different eras. But in every single portrait, the faces were completely blank.
They moved through corridor after corridor, taking several turns along the way. The path seemed endless and Pyriel found it difficult to even imagine how deep into the castle they’d gone—or even if they were still on the first floor.
Grant and Moore stopped in front of a set of doors that ended their latest corridor. They opened them together and stood to the side. Pyriel hovered through the entrance and found himself in a large dining room. A fireplace sat at one end, large enough for a man to walk into, with flames consuming the wood inside. Hanging from the ceiling was a massive chandelier. But instead of diamonds or crystals, it appeared to be decorated with teeth—both human and animal.
Below the chandelier was a long dining room table, a candelabra placed in the center. There was an empty chair near Pyriel and at the other end was the man he’d come to see. His dark, greasy hair was receding and slicked back and his thin beard had spots of white in it. Thanatos has already gotten to work on his food, hungrily stuffing his face. But not with any utensils, instead he messily and eagerly ate with his bare hands. Pyriel could see the plate even from this distance—rotted, uncooked meat infested with maggots.
Thanatos looked up from the plate and sucked his fingers clean before chuckling. “I see the angel has finally graced us with his presence.”
“Is there a reason I had to come here?” asked Pyriel. “Or did you just want to see me vomit?”
Thanatos laughed louder and wagged a finger at Pyriel. “I like this one. Has a sense of humor about himself. That’s something sorely lacking in many of the winged monkeys.”
“You’ve been making problems for me.”
“Me?” Thanatos pointed at himself. “I lived up to my side of the bargain, Pyriel. I held on to Luxton’s soul. And as penance for losing it, I kept Asmodeus prisoner.”
“And then you released him. For reasons I can’t yet understand,” said Pyriel. “That is what surprises me the most. Why would you release someone like him when I told you the threat he posed?”
“You didn’t count on Cross and Lilith joining forces, my friend. A distraction was necessary.”
“Cross was perfectly distracted by Lilith. He gave up on his mission. I know Asmodeus was after the child. That triggered something in Cross, brought his focus back to my affairs. I can’t have that.”
Thanatos shrugged. “And what would you have me do?”
“Cross is beyond my reach now,” said Pyriel. “Before Asmodeus was imprisoned, he managed to avail Cross of his meat-suit.”
Thanatos cocked an eyebrow. “He’s dead?”
“Indeed.” Pyriel walked over to a small cart with a collection of bottles and tumblers on top. He poured himself a drink, but when he raised it to his nose and took a sniff, the angel made a face and tossed it to the side.
“Then what is the problem?” asked Thanatos.
“I told you, he’s beyond my reach,” said Pyriel. “I can employ living agents, use my own abilities to empower them. But I have no power over the dead. If I were to attempt to exert such influence, it would surely alert others to my actions.”
“Why would you need to?” asked Thanatos. “He’s dead, problem solved.”
“Cross is in the veil, but if he were to cross over, that would cause problems,” said Pyriel. “Only Lucifer could have given Cross the means to contain Asmodeus. If Cross returns to Hell and tells Lucifer what happened, that could make things difficult for both of us. In the veil, he has options. But there is one place he could go where he’d have nothing.”
“Ahh…” Thanatos smiled and nodded. “You want him back in my loving embrace, is that it?”
“That’s correct,” said Pyriel.
“So you want me to hunt down your little wayward ghost and bring him back home where he can finally experience his richly deserved punishment.”
“What do you say?”
Thanatos chuckled and rose from his chair. He walked over to Pyriel and patted him on both shoulders. Then he leaned forward and said, “I say blow it out your ass, choir boy.”
Pyriel frowned as Thanatos released his shoulders and approached the drink cart. The angel brushed his shoulders from the spots where Thanatos’ hands had rested. Thanatos, meanwhile, poured himself a drink and consumed it with relish.
“I think you ought to reconsider,” said Pyriel.
“Why?” asked Thanatos with a hiss.
“Because Luther Cross did something that should be impossible. He entered your domain and took a soul out. He made you look like a fool.”
Thanatos’ lips curled back as he growled.
Pyriel moved over to Thanatos’ side and put an arm around his shoulders. “I will remember my friends, Thanatos. Once this is all over, I will give you what you desire—those who escaped your grasp. Not only Cross but also the witch. And of course…”
“Cain,” muttered Thanatos.
“All three, locked in your realm for eternity, to do with as you wish,” said Pyriel. “What do you say?”
Thanatos rubbed his beard as he stepped away from Pyriel. He looked at Grant and Moore, who stood on either side of the doors. “Boys, I have a job for you.”
11
After the abyan struck me with that coconut, I was instantly transported somewhere else. I was in the back row of an old movie theater designed in an atmospheric architectural style. Looked like the movie had already started. Robin Williams was on the screen, running through a colorful garden. The flowers and grass smeared into paint as he and his Dalmatian moved through them.
“Y’know, Williams gets a lot of credit for his serious roles, but no one seems to remember this one. That’s a shame, it’s one of my favorites.”
The voice came from my left and I looked towards it. I saw an old man in a theater uniform sitting there, eating popcorn. I’d seem him many times before, often in this very theater, but now things were different.
“Whitey,” I said. “So I’m back in Chicago?”
The Music Box Theatre was one of the Windy City’s historic buildings. Built in the late twenties, it later closed before being reopened as an art-house and repertory cinema. Whitey was the manager from opening night until his death in 1977. But his ghost remained with the theater, even being acknowledged by the owners as Manager Emeritus. He’d been useful to me in the past as a source of information, but I didn’t expect the abyan to send me to him.
“Where else would you be?” asked Whitey, his eyes glued to the screen.
I settled in my seat, raising my legs and resting my feet on the back of the chair in front of me.
“Hey, you raised in a barn or somethin’?” asked Whitey. “Put your damn feet down.”
With a sigh, I did as I was told. “So what are we watching anyway?”
“What Dreams May Come,” said Whitey. “About a man who travels to Hell so he can rescue his wife’s soul.”
“Oh yeah, I think I saw this once,” I said.
“Seems appropriate given your current situation, doesn’t it?” asked Whitey.
I looked at him. “So you know?”
“That you’ve shuffled loose the mortal coil and joined the Dead Guys Society? Yeah, I know. Welcome to the club, by the way. Your membership card and secret decoder ring are in the mail.”
“If everything goes well, hopefully I won’t need them. But the abyan told me I had to go on a spiritual journey, find my guide. Then he hit me with a coconut and I woke up here.”
Whitey chuckled. “I would’ve paid good money to see that.”
“Very funny, old man. So what’s the deal, are you supposed to be my guide?”
“At least for this first part,” said Whitey.
“What’s this journey all about anyway?” I asked. “If Alistair and Tessa are going to find a way to resurrect me, why do I have to do anything other than wait?”
“Because for one thing, we wouldn’t have a story otherwise. You gotta think about your audience.”
“What audience?” I asked.
“Never mind,” said Whitey. “And two, say you sit around and wait for your resurrection—if it even happens. What then?”
“Then…I’m back to life.”
“Right, but what would you have learned?”
I shrugged. “Don’t get stabbed and stay away from spirit guides who drink out of coconuts?”
Whitey sighed. “You’ve got a rare opportunity here, Luther. You might think of yourself as trapped, but in reality, you’re more free than you ever were in life. You can go anywhere you want without being detected. Doors, locks, they mean nothing to you now.”
“Secrets,” I said. “That’s what you’re getting at. I can discover things I never would have known while alive.”
“That’s exactly it. But finding those answers won’t be easy. You still have threats here,” said Whitey.
“I already had an encounter with a wraith, but couldn’t do much other than run. Only reason I survived was because of the abyan,” I said. “Hey, speaking of, how come you never mentioned anything about wraiths? Why have you been sitting in this theater for over forty years without being chased off?”
Whitey shrugged. “Hell if I know. It’s not really clear how the wraiths pick their targets. Maybe an old ghost who spends his days watching movies and keeping out the riff-raff isn’t enough for them to care about. Or maybe they’ve got a particular reason for pursuing you.”
“Before I can do anything, I need to know how to actually be effective as a ghost. You can make drapes fall and frighten off kids trying to sneak in. I was able to save some friends from an attack, but that took a lot of effort and afterwards, I felt like I could sleep for a week.”
“There are two ways that spirits can take control of their powers. The first is one I don’t recommend.”
“Which is?”
“You draw from your rage. Years of pent-up frustration at not being able to set things right causes you to snap. Your anger and your fear starts affecting the world around you. If the rage is strong enough, you end up a poltergeist.”<
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“You’re right, that doesn’t sound too appealing,” I said.
“No, you’re basically batshit crazy once you get to that point.”
“What’s the other way?”
“Coming to terms with what’s happened to you.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said.
“Not quite so simple, though. This path requires you to go through some very deep introspection. To really look at yourself and the life you’ve lived.”
“You’re saying I’ve got to relive my life?”
“Yup. You need to understand your place in the world and how you became the man you are today.”
“I can do that.”
Whitey nodded. “Good, I’m glad to hear you say that. Because you might change your mind once we get started. This isn’t going to be like looking through old photo albums. You’re going to experience those thoughts and emotions all over again. Both the good and the bad. Are you sure you’re prepared for something like that?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a nod. “Let’s get this show on the road. Sooner we can get this done, sooner I can start learning the things I need to learn.”
“Okay, then sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”
Whitey turned his attention back to the screen. I was confused why we weren’t getting up, but I decided to play along. I looked at the screen, too. What Dreams May Come was gone now and the screen was black. After a few moments, the credits started to roll. The words “A MUSIC BOX” production appeared on the screen, followed by “A FILM BY WHITEY” and then finally, “THE LIFE AND TIMES OF LUTHER CROSS.”
12
The movie started and then the next thing I knew, I was transported somewhere else. I was in a very spartan room, with nothing but four drab, gray walls, a desk, a bed, and a closet. No windows. Shelves on the wall above the desk held several different books and I walked over and looked at the spines. They were all texts dedicated to the life and works of King Solomon.
“So where are we anyway?”
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