Hell's Pawn

by Jay Bell

  C ountless souls were pressed together, their twisted limbs forming a barrier against whatever was beyond. Already the spiders were working the new arrivals into this patchwork, binding with blue web that soon dissolved to become part of the abominable structure.

  J ohn was stuffed unceremoniously into the mass of bodies. He wanted to scream, but the thrumming blue energy overwhelmed him, made even worse when more souls were layered on top of him. All he could see in front of him were bodies, souls transformed into corpses, translucent like frosted glass.

  Despite his growing claustrophobia, J ohn didn’t dare move until the activity behind him had ceased. Then he tried moving his arm, causing a shock to run along his body.

  He tried again and again, every movement sending another burst of pain that subdued him like the spider’s venom had. W incing with each effort, he maneuvered to identify his neighbors. J acobi was beside him, the old man’s hand reaching down to grasp the hand of someone below. I f the spiky hair near J ohn’s feet was any indication, it was Dante. Neither of them stirred. E xcept for J ohn, no one in the hideous barrier was awake.

  He reached out to shake J acobi’s arm, but before he could reach it, the repeated shocks overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness. W hen J ohn awoke some time later, he chose to remain still and think rather than suffer further.

  S o this was graduation. No Heaven or Hell. J ust a bizarre traffic jam of souls with nowhere to go. M aybe that was the truth. M aybe P urgatory was all there was in the afterlife. J ohn’s mind drifted, thinking of how J acobi and Dante had reached for each other before being stung, clasping hands like frightened children. He wondered how they felt now in their sleep, and whether or not it was a state he could ever a ain. J ohn tried his best to join them. W hen this failed, he grew restless and moved, clambering through the other bodies before passing out, but he was no longer certain which way was up and which was down, or if either held meaning anymore.

  J ohn returned for his companions, and found that he could drag them along when he moved. J acobi was a lifeline linked to Dante, their grip on each other’s hand unbreakable. This gave J ohn hope. I f there was somewhere to go, he had an eternity to find it. M aybe he could work his way down and drop through the sky back where they had come from. The thought of the glass man’s hands made him abandon this idea.

  I nstead he tried moving upward, hoping to find something beyond the dome’s barrier.

  Time stretched on as he continued dragging his companions along with him, even though it doubled the amount of movement necessary and increased his suffering.

  The process was slow and painful, like moving through electrified jelly. J ohn passed out countless times, awaking with his will diminished. For how many centuries had souls been left here to rot? Was it everyone who had ever died? Was the pain he endured for nothing?

  Days, maybe even weeks, passed like this. S ometimes J ohn would quit, not moving a muscle and preferring to lose himself in his thoughts rather than suffer any more pain. Then he would grow bored and try again.

  He shifted, feeling a sting and screaming in response. He continued screaming. No longer needing to breathe meant his screams could continue for as long as he pleased.

  The sound wailed out of him like a ship lost at sea until it eventually broke into a sob.

  A dog barked.

  Hope, desperate and tiny, blossomed within J ohn. He screamed again, primal and formless. The bark came again, from behind him. I f the bark was coming from outside the barrier, as he hoped, then J ohn had been travelling horizontally through the bodies. He had experienced the same disorienting sensation in the ocean once, when the waves had sent him tumbling below the surface. O nly by relaxing and allowing his body to float had he rediscovered which direction up was. The bark came again, se ing J ohn into motion. He ignored the pain, only screaming now to trigger another bark that he could hone in on.

  E ventually he stopped howling and began calling B olo’s name, for J ohn knew it had to be the same dog. B olo had been there since the first day. M aybe the dog is G od, he thought madly as the barks continued to guide him. J ohn still passed out regularly.

  E ach time he awoke he was terrified that the dog might have wandered away, but every time he called out the bark came again.

  Thrusting an arm upward for the thousandth time, J ohn was overjoyed when it was greeted not by pain but by a barrage of licks. J ohn laughed joyously and redoubled his efforts. W hen his head broke through the surface, he felt reborn. L e ing go of J acobi, he squirmed out of the sea of souls and found himself free, moving without pain. B olo bounded into him, moving through the air like a canine version of S uperman. He continued to laugh with joy as the dog licked his face, tears streaming from J ohn’s eyes.

  * * * * *

  B odies of light, very much like suns, radiated strange vibrations that could be felt across the endless void, swirls of color without names and in impossible shapes.

  S ounds chased each other across space, noises more haunting than whale song and twice as hypnotic. S ensations travelled in waves, feelings floating along on an invisible astral wind.

  J ohn stared, taking it all in, one hand scratching the scruffy fur on B olo’s neck. They were si ing on nothing. They had no gravity, and yet it wasn’t like the free-floating astronauts he had seen on television. J ohn could stop and move at will, depending more on his mind than on physical movements. All of this took a lot of ge ing used to, which is why he hadn’t yet freed J acobi or Dante. He wanted to be sure of his abilities and to regain some of his strength before he even tried. S o he sat with his dog and marveled at the wonders surrounding him.

  W hen J ohn felt ready, he turned back to the sobering blue dome of bodies. I t stretched impossibly far in all directions, like the atmosphere of a planet and just as beautiful, despite its horrid nature. Bracing himself against the pain, John reached in to where he thought he had left his friends, grabbed a body part, and pulled. W hat came out of the barrier wasn’t J acobi, but a li le old lady. S he came to life instantly, gasping as if she had been holding her breath for a very long time. Her face flushed in excitement.

  “Can you see it?” she asked with watery eyes.

  “Yes,” John said, smiling in return.

  “I t’s Heaven! J ust like they said it would be. The white clouds, the angels, and S aint Peter’s gate. Oh the gate!”

  J ohn frowned in puzzlement. He hadn’t seen anything of the sort. He was about to turn and look when the woman began to blur as if she was somehow moving. And then she was gone.

  J ohn considered what this meant, coming up with a few theories. He liked to think that the old woman had seen Heaven, and that was where her soul belonged. M aybe he had just witnessed a soul gravitating to where it was meant to be. That would be nice if it were true, but maybe the woman’s soul had become weak after being frozen in place for so long. Perhaps her soul had extinguished, fading away before his very eyes.

  J ohn decided to pull another person free, this time intentionally choosing someone he didn’t know. O ut came a stocky middle-aged man who glared at him and the realm beyond with disdain.

  “W hat’s all this then?” he spat in a thick S co ish accent. “All a bit science fiction, isn’t it?”

  John didn’t know how to respond to this, so he continued to quietly observe.

  The man seemed happy to see a dog and was reaching down to pet B olo when he suddenly stood straight up again.

  “Do yeh hear it?” he whispered. “Gabriel’s horn! It’s a-callin’ me. Do yeah hear it?” Like the woman before him, there was the curious notion of movement along with a blurring before the man disappeared. J ohn felt certain now that the souls were finally going to where they belonged. He realized that he could free them all, dismantle the dome piece by piece. I t would take forever, but maybe if he did this, he too would be called away to an eternal reward.

  J ohn was careful with his next selection, making sure this time to choose J acobi. The old man
awoke with a start and took in their surroundings with wide eyes. J ohn was looking so intently for any sign of departure that he flinched when J acobi starting shouting with glee.

  “We’re free!” he said, doing a little jig. “Oh, by the heavens, we are FREE!” J ohn laughed. “That we are. Do you feel all right? You don’t hear any horns or see any pearly gates?”

  “Look around, John! This is Heaven!”

  B ut J acobi must have meant this figuratively, because he didn’t disappear. J ohn described what had happened to the other souls, Jacobi listening with rapt attention.

  “I t could be any number of reasons,” J acobi surmised. “O ur souls may still be tuned to P urgatory, since we never truly earned our graduation. That means we are still in balance, not quite good or bad enough to be summoned elsewhere. O r maybe it is a lack of desire or faith that leaves us free to choose our own destiny. Yes, I like that.”

  “We be er be sure before we pull Dante out,” J ohn said. “S omething tells me he’s the ideal candidate for a trip south.”

  “Nonsense,” J acobi said dismissively. “He’s one of us! P urgatory’s great escapists!

  B esides, he always kept his points in balance so he wouldn’t be expelled. L et’s pull him free. Then together we can decide what to do next.”

  S till J ohn hesitated, but he couldn’t just leave Dante trapped forever. He reached down, grabbed the hand sticking out of the barrier, and pulled.

  The I rishman groaned when he was free, mu ering something about a bender. He glared at each of them before rubbing his eyes. “I take it we ended up in Hell?”

  “O n the contrary,” J acobi said. “M y theories were correct. We are now on the astral plane. Here we will be able to give shape to the formless, to create a world of our choosing!”

  “So which one of you made the train station?”

  They looked to where Dante had nodded, but neither J ohn nor J acobi could see anything but swirls and stars.

  “You feel that?” Dante asked. “Like being pulled by an undertow. What is that?” The I rishman’s features began to blur, but before he could disappear, J ohn leapt on him, wrapping his arms firmly around Dante’s torso. He wouldn’t let him fade away!

  There was a terrible sinking sensation, and J ohn strained against it until it passed and Dante’s features went from blurry to solid again.

  “That was a close one,” John said with relief.

  “Think so?”

  A train whistle startled J ohn into le ing go. He spun around to find himself submersed in a massive station. Trains from all time periods occupied the platforms, passengers pouring out of each one. There was no sign of B olo, J acobi, or the psychedelic lights of the astral plane. All of it was gone, replaced by a train station where everyone seemed to be arriving, but no one was departing.

  “Doesn’t look so bad,” Dante said with cautious optimism as he stepped into the crowd.

  John hurried to keep up with him, grabbing his jacket so as not to lose him.

  “Dante, what was your standing in Purgatory? How many points did you have?”

  “About five thousand.”

  “Oh. Good!”

  “In the red.”

  J ohn gaped at Dante who was grinning. “Do you know what that means? Do you realize where we are?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then why are you acting so nonchalant?”

  Dante stopped, the crowd pouring around him as he turned to face J ohn. “B ecause for the first time since dying, I feel like I’ve come home again.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” John said through gritted teeth. “What about me?” Dante shrugged. “You managed to break out of P urgatory easily enough. I ’m sure your superpowers can help you leave here if you want, but I think you should wait.

  I ’ve been here before. Well, not here but the equivalent on E arth, and I think you’re going to like it.”

  They were alone now, the most recent arrivals having dispersed to whatever their destination was. Not knowing what else to do, J ohn followed Dante through a large ornate hall. The exit was blocked by the standard passport control usually found in airports. E ven the guard on duty, who appeared human enough, seemed appropriately bored with his post.

  “What are we going to do now?” John asked.

  “S how them our I Ds, of course.” Dante pulled a passport from the air. He looked as surprised by its appearance as J ohn did. The passport was blood red and had the word

  “Hell” emblazoned on it beneath a stylized depiction of a devil’s head.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I don’t know,” Dante admitted. “I was going for our papers from Purgatory.” John tried the same trick but came up empty-handed. “Now what?”

  “Let’s see what they say. If you aren’t allowed in, then they’ll show you the exit.” W ithout waiting for approval, Dante strode up to the guard on duty and presented his credentials. He was waved through the barrier, where he waited for John.

  “Passport,” the disinterested guard droned.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “He’s with me,” Dante offered.

  “Get lost,” the guard growled. “Next!”

  John looked behind him. There was no one else in line so he stayed where he was.

  R eluctantly, the guard turned his a ention back to him. “I said to get lost, so turn around and go back the way you came. Don’t make me sick the three-headed dogs on you.”

  “Forget him,” Dante called. “Who follows the rules in Hell anyway? Come on!” The guard bared his teeth and stood, readying himself for conflict, but then a look of surprise crossed his face. He placed a finger to one ear and listened, responding finally with a humble, “Yes, sir.” S i ing back on his stool, he thumbed toward the barrier, indicating that John could pass through.

  “W hat did I tell ya?” Dante smirked. “No problem. P repare yourself for some fun, Johnny-boy, because I was right. See for yourself!”

  O utside the station was a long stretch of concrete slashed across by rail tracks.

  B eyond this, an old E uropean city was squeezed in between rows of canals. The buildings, tall and narrow, were covered in ornate detail that had been worn down over the centuries. From behind the station, barely detectable over the typical city sounds and smells, was the scent of a harbor and the occasional call of a seagull.

  “Welcome to Amsterdam,” Dante said, throwing an arm around J ohn’s shoulders and leading him forward.

  “I thought we were in Hell.”

  “Call it what you like, but either way it’s paradise to me.” As they made their way around the stationed trams, J ohn read their destinations: L as Vegas, S odom/G omorrah, Shanghai, Bangkok. Despite his apprehension, J ohn couldn’t help but laugh. So Hell was one big bachelor party?

  Dante’s earthly visit to Amsterdam must have been fresh on his mind, because he made a bee-line for the old part of the city. Here the cobbled streets narrowed so much that the sky above was almost lost behind the tall, leaning buildings. All around were smoky coffee shops, windows full of blow-up dolls and pornography, and stores offering a plethora of mushrooms and herbs. The streets were stuffed full of people, not all of them entirely human, but J ohn couldn’t focus on them lest he lose Dante in the crowd.

  Dante led them to a coffee shop on the corner. The smoke was thick inside the dark interior, and most of the stools were filled with patrons not the least bit interested in coffee. David B owie was blaring over the speakers, singing something about sound and vision, as Dante pointed happily to the ceiling and grinned. J ohn realized he hadn’t heard any music in P urgatory. He couldn’t imagine going without it for as many years as Dante must have.

  They wound through the tables until they found a free spot in the back. Dante left to order from the counter, leaving J ohn to examine the other patrons. For the most part those here were human, none of them appearing particularly seedy despite being in Hell. The rest were demons. He didn’t know what
else to call them. They had red skin, horns, and tails, the basic criteria for such creatures, but the humans they intermingled with didn’t appear intimidated.

  Dante returned with a tray loaded with a half-dozen joints already rolled, a plateful of brownies, and a couple of beers. I f Dante’s grin was any wider it would have severed his head in two.

  “I found money in my pocket!” he exclaimed, tossing his change onto the tray after he was seated.

  J ohn picked up a coin and examined it. O ne side was engraved with a sour, fat-faced devil. O n the other a pile of bodies engaged in an impressively detailed orgy.

  “Why am I not surprised that Hell has an economy?”

  Dante sparked up one of the joints and took an impressive pull that burned away half its length, something no mortal could have achieved. He then held it out to J ohn with a questioning look.

  “No, thanks. I think one of us should keep a clear head.” Dante shrugged indifferently and finished it off in another drag. “You could have a brownie. They’re fine.”

  J ohn rolled his eyes. “I ’m sure they are.” He left the hashish-laced brownies where they were, but allowed himself a few cautious sips of beer. The draft was cold and tasted even better than the German beer his father used to import.

  J ohn realized that he was both literally and figuratively holding his breath. He kept waiting for a li le monotone voice to announce demerits. S o far their limited experience of Hell had been a marked improvement over P urgatory, which didn’t seem right at all.

  “I f only I had known,” Dante said wistfully. “E ight years wasted in P urgatory when I could have been here. Here’s to eternity!” He raised his glass and gasped in satisfaction after a hearty swig. Then the music changed, and his ridiculously bloodshot eyes widened. “Hey, who’s singing this?”

  “Nirvana. They’re after your time.”

  “Man, they’re really good! Music is way better in the future.” J ohn thought of the endless boy bands and sophomoric teenage pop stars that had dominated the music scene since the likes of Kurt C obain had died, but kept his mouth shut. It was kinder to let Dante believe the lie.