by C. F. Waller
When we pass the tavern, Dorian breaks from our group and throws himself against the wooden door. I try to go on without him, but Bea forces me to wait. Moments later he bursts out, a wooden mug in one hand. Once he catches sight of us, he hurries along, drinking as he goes. While being my best friend, Dorian is a complete fool.
“There,” Annie shouts, pointing ahead to the fountain.
The ash lets up, once we clear the last building and enter the open square. A dozen bodies are strewn around the fountain, laying in blood puddles of varying sizes. Sitting on the stone wall, surrounding the water is Helen. When she sees us, she stands, the broken off end of a bloody coat rack in her hand.
“Surprise, surprise,” I chuckle. “You didn’t steal that coat rack from Level Two, did you?”
“Who is this beautiful lady?” Dorian beams, then stops to straighten his vest and pull down his jacket.
“I’m Helen,” she nods, shifting the coat rack to her other hand so she can shake his. “We met previously.”
“Right, you are correct,” he nods, sidling up to her. “How could I forget the face that sailed a—.”
“No time Romeo,” Bea barks, nudging him from behind.
His legs hit the retaining wall, then he tumbles face first into the water. Annie looks horrified at this turn of events, then jumps in to help him. Once Bea is sure Dorian won’t drown in two feet of water, she turns back to me.
“Want to introduce me to your friend?” she purrs, rolling an eye.
“Beatrix Moffat, meet Helen of Troy,” I announce, then wave a hand at my old friend.
“Nice to meet you Beatrix,” Helen puts out her hand to shake. “Edward has told me so much about you.”
“Did he now?” Bea frowns, but shakes slowly. “Edward, exactly how many women have you been stringing along?”
“It’s nothing like that,” I argue, then scan the corpses littering ground. “What happened here?”
“These guys?” she sighs, pointing around at the corpses. “For some reason, they wanted to drain the fountain.”
“Did they now?” Bea grins. “It would seem you brought them around to your way of thinking.”
“With a little help from my friend,” she smiles, holding up the bloody coat rack.
“Come with us,” I ask, helping Bea over the wall into the water. “The whole plan’s a hot mess, but if we get back to Level Two there’s a slight chance we can get out of here.”
“For about a split second, then we come right back when the trumpets sound,” Bea grunts, taking Annie by one arm, while Dorian holds onto the other.
“Edward, a moment,” Helen whispers, then puts her hand on my elbow and turns me away from my fellow jail breakers.
“Of course,” I shrug, waving a hand to silence Bea’s stare.
“Those two,” Helen whispers. “Not Annie, but the other two. You are aware they’re dead.”
“As are most of the people here, especially the ones you coat racked to death.”
“I understand the overriding principle, but you can’t take them with you,” she argues. “No bodies up top, no escape.”
“How are you so sure?”
“I honestly can’t say,” she admits. “I can’t even tell you how I got here from Level Two.”
“You can’t?”
“Edward, I died at the Estate, woke up on Level Two,” she explains, waving a hand over her head in frustration. “I was up there fighting off the laughable security guys looking for you, then poof, I am down here.”
I nod, but find the idea that since sacrificing herself for me back in Greece, she’s just popping in and out of existence hard to swallow. I stare at her face, the perfect skin, the rows of white teeth and the eyes so blue they can’t be real, and that’s just it. Helen is not real. She’s a clay statue on the Almighty’s office wall. She watches me and it’s clear, she knows this to be true. The anguish on her face is heartbreaking.
“I’m so sorry Helen,” I whisper, putting my hand on the back of her head and pulling her close. “When this is over, win, lose or draw, you are going to return to the good place. None of this will matter and your nine brothers and sisters will all be there.”
“Even Phoebe?” she groans, the top of her head pressed into my chest.
“Yes, even Phoebe, but after all of this you might be happy to see her.”
“I’d like to think I will see you there,” she sighs, raising her head and pushing me back in the direction of the fountain. “You and your friends.”
“We are making every effort,” I assure her, stepping into the water and taking Bea by the hand. “Safe travels Helen of Troy.”
“Safe travels Edward,” she chokes out, a tear on her cheek.
“How well do you know her?” Bea whispers annoyed.
“You should invite her along,” Dorian suggests, leering at her intently. “Quite an attractive maiden.”
“Oh, grow up the both of you,” I grumble, then the water explodes all around us.
Chapter Eighteen
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
The Seventh Level of Hell
The sandstorm ends in a dimly lit cave at least four stories high. Several yellow torches flicker from holders constructed of steel bars forced into the rock. A passage leads to the right, ending in a red door. I push myself up on all fours, trying to shake off the cobwebs.
“Are you just going to lay there?” a voice taunts, from behind me.
When I flip over a smaller version of a cage from the theater covers the far side of the cave. It’s only two stories tall, the top bars well below the stone ceiling. Inside Rhea scowls at me, hands gripping on the bars in anger.
“Balthazar double crossed you,” she barks, drops of spit hitting the floor between us. “You’re such a moron.”
“I knew there was a fair chance he would, but hey, I needed the cage open.”
“Well, good for you,” she rolls her eyes upward. “My situation has changed little, possibly improved. At least I am not on display anymore. You on the other hand are screwed. Do you know where you are?”
“Level Four?”
“Seven,” she hisses. “You skipped hundreds of thousands of years and vaulted right to the Devils playhouse. You are so completely doomed, it’s almost sad.”
“You’re forgetting I was sent here to free you,” I point out. “How does my being doomed affect your future?”
Rolling my arm over, I gaze on the glowing yellow countdown, then hold it up for her to see.
“One second?” she grunts. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“That’s the count down to the Rapture and the odds are looking pretty long against you getting topside before it happens.”
She starts to argue the point, but then her bravado disappears. I do not know what it is about the numbers on my arm that gets the truth of the matter across, but it clearly gets to her. Her arms droop, hands still hanging on the bars. I turn away, but am hit by a drop of water. Before I can wipe it off, I see another drop hit the floor. When I look up there is a pool of water on the ceiling.
“What is that?”
“The underside of a fountain dummy,” Rhea grunts.
“Which one?”
“No way to tell,” she joins me in looking up. “I’d imagine it goes where ever Satan wants it to go.”
“He fly?”
“He used to an Angel,” she points out. “What do you think?”
“And if you could fly?” I mutter, turning back to her.
“If, I had my wings back,” she nods, pointing a long filthy finger at me. “I’d fly us both out of here.”
“Well, you’re also in a cage.”
“You have seen me in action,” she smirks. “What do you think I would do to this cage if I had my wings back?”
“Plenty,” I nod, then move closer to the bars. “There isn’t much reason for me to free you, unless you’re going to take me along.
“Oh, I’ll take you,” she begs, eyes wide.
> “I hear that, but your track record is very poor. I’d hate to free you, then be left down here to explain to Satan, why I let his prize possession go.”
“Won’t come to that,” she promises frantically. “Did you figure out what the Bible verse means? Can you fix my wings?”
I nod, pacing around the outside of the enclosure. She follows me, hands gripping the bars, a look of wild anticipation on her twisted face. There is no possible way I can trust her, but what are my options?
“Do it,” she hisses, reaching out between the bars. “We need to go.”
“Okay,” I sigh, pulling out the knife Balthazar gave me. “You promise to take me up with you?”
“Yes, yes,” she howls. “Do it, do it.”
“I am going to regret this,” I mutter, then hold out my arm. “Cup your hands under my wrist.”
She looks confused, but does as I ask. Once she’s in position, I slash the blade over the underside of my wrist, an inch to the side of the glowing counter. I expect blood, but clear water drips out of me.
“What’s all this?” she shrugs.
“Drink it,” I order. “If you ever want to see blue sky again, drink it.”
Desperate to escape, she licks at her hands, putting the right under the dripping water, then the left while she licks the other. After less than a minute, Rhea stumbles back as if she was choking. She flops on her back, then flips over on her hands and knees. It’s eerie and looks as if she was thrown as opposed to moving on her own. Without warning a huge white wing explodes from her back.
“Bingo,” I exhale deeply, the air wave concussion that occurs when the wing appears blowing me backwards into the cave wall.
Before I can get to my feet, there is a second explosion, dust swirling in the air all around me. When it clears, I get my first look at the fallen Angel. She looks as she did back in Greece. Silver tunic top, clear caramel skin and two huge white feathered wings. Without waiting for me to comment, she flaps her wings a few times, then bursts through the bars as if they were made of cardboard. She circles the room, twenty feet off the floor, wings flapping.
“Hello Sister,” a deep voice booms from the direction of the red door.
Turning, I see a tall lanky man in a fancy silk suit standing in the doorway. A closer inspection reveals two stubby horns on his forehead. While the man is unfamiliar, it’s clear this is my old friend Satan. Just because I have not seen this form, doesn’t mean it’s not him.
“Brother, so nice of you to come to see me off,” she smirks, fluttering in place. “I’d come down there and have a go at you for putting me on display, but the end is near.”
“Let’s go,” I shout, positioning myself directly under her.
“How cute,” she laughs. “You really thought I’d help you?”
“I hoped,” I whisper, one hand waving frantically.
“Brother dear, don’t fill her head with lies about me after I go,” Rhea remarks, then explodes up, leaving me standing in a shower of water.
It is as if I was standing under a waterfall. I am driven to my knees, then as quickly as it began, it stops. A look overhead reveals the same pool of water on the roof of the cave, but now it’s tossed about and full of waves. She left me. How could I have possibly thought otherwise?
“Not the happy ending I was hoping for,” I groan.
“There are no happy endings,” Satan’s voice echoes from behind me. “Only stories that are not yet finished.”
“Perfect,” I sigh, turning to face him.
“Rahnee Ben-Ahron,” his voice calls out joyfully. “I heard you had arrived. Come on in and catch me up on what’s been going on with you. We have much to discuss.”
Chapter Nineteen
Arron Faust
Columbus Circle, New York City
I hear a siren far off in the distance, someone has called for help. The three bodies lying face down in the fountain draw far less attention than I anticipated. A few people kneel down around the man Jennifer drained, others milling about taking pictures or talking on their phones. The smoking remains of the woman on the other hand have created a clearing. It appears no one wants anything to do with that mess.
“How long?” Jennifer asks, standing just outside the fountain’s retaining wall.
“Nearly there,” Gabriel answers, a pocket watch flipped open in one hand.
“What happens when the trumpets sound?” I ask, tapping Gabriel on the shoulder.
“Are you asking for an answer based on my vast experience in Rapture situations?” he mutters, scanning the crowd then tapping a finger on the face of the watch.
“You have attended other Raptures?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “I thought the sarcasm was assumed.”
Before I can form a reply, a trumpet blast erupts from the sky. I bring my hands up over my ears for nearly a minute, then the sound barrage ends. When I remove my hands, I expect my ears to ring, but they don’t. It’s as if the sound came with earth shattering volume, but caused no pain. People all around the fountain remove their own hands, scanning the sky for the source of the blast. Gabriel snaps his pocket watch shut and replaces it in his vest pocket.
“Now?” Jenn begs, lifting one foot over the wall and dipping it in the water.
“Wait for it,” Gabriel suggests, holding up a finger to Jenn.
“Wait for what?” I ask.
“This,” he smiles, snapping his fingers.
A cloud of dust explodes from my right, then another. I spin, but find only a woman coughing into her hand and stepping away from the cloud of grey soot hanging in the air. The soot is in the vague shape of a man. There’s another cloud to my left, then silence.
“What’s—,” I start to ask, but the trumpet sounds again.
My hands go to my ears reflexively, but I lower them almost at once. A man in skinny jeans and a knit hat is waving his hands around one of the soot clouds shouting. The trumpet blast ends, leaving his yelling very loud and understandable to all around the fountain.
“Oh, my God,” he howls. “Where did she go?”
Spinning around a soot cloud hangs over a bench, a newspaper floating away in the wind caused by the readers poofing out of existence. There are no blue lights from the sky taking the true believers skyward, simply grey clouds of smoke left where they stood.
“Or sat,” Gabriel whispers in my ear, startling me with his mind reading.
“So now?” Jenn begs, putting her second foot in the water, a hand on Annie’s calf.
“I thought there would be more,” I whisper, waving a hand around at the vast majority of people who remain. “Only a handful went up.”
“I wish this was a huge surprise,” he shakes his head in a disappointed way.
“Hello, Earth to Gabriel,” Jenn shouts.
“Yes, yes, by all means,” he suggests. “Pull in the line and see if we have any fish.”
Jenn kneels down next to Annie, then pulls an arm from the other two over, so she is touching them all. She pauses to peek back, making eye contact with me and taking a deep breath. The trumpets blast again. I manage to refrain from covering my ears this time, intent on watching Jenn.
“How many—,” I shout, but the blast ends leaving me yelling, “times is that going to happen?”
Gabriel shakes his head, either ignoring my questions or busy watching Jenn struggle in the fountain. She grimaces, but only a faint trickle of light moves over the bodies. None rise up, or cough water.
“What’s the problem?” I inquire, stepping over to the retaining wall.
“It’s not working.”
“Not working?” I wince, fearing for Annie more than the rest. “They aren’t there, or you can’t revive them?”
“I don’t know,” she huffs, standing up and arching her back to stretch. “I’m pulling, but they aren’t coming back.
I look back to Gabriel, who removes his watch and snaps it open as the trumpets sound again. Why does he look so bored? Is it possi
ble he wants us to fail? Did he know Jenn wouldn’t be able to get them back?
Jenn reaches down and tries again, but this time she pulls away quickly, as if she received a shock.
“What?” I shout, worried from the terrified expression on her face.
“Whatever’s down there pulled back that time,” she stammers.
We both glance at Gabriel, who shrugs.
“Return flights are not within my purview.”
“That’s just great,” Jenn barks.
“Do you think they’re on the other end?” I ask. “Maybe it’s something else you shouldn’t bring up.
Gabriel shrugs again, remaining completely neutral, or possibly simply unable to offer assistance. Jenn looks back and forth between the Angel and myself, then turns in a circle.
“These people,” she points as she turns. “They are all going down, right?”
“Yes,” he bobs his head from side to side, “but not until the Tribulation is over. Technically speaking their judgment is on pause.
“Okay,” she nods, pushing her hoodie sleeves up. “I’m going to need a few of them.”
“Excuse me?”
Jenn puts a hand out in the direction of the man in the skinny jeans. The now familiar red flash of light flies out of his chest into her hand, a crisp sizzle sound audible. Before his charred corpse hits the ground, she uses the other hand to snatch the life force from a woman walking a dog to the left us. The dog scurries away, the flaming leash dragging behind as it flees. Two men in sweat pants and workout jackets arrive at the edge of the fountain as if they were keeping the peace.
“What do you think you’re doing,” the taller of the two demands, dropping a gym bag on the ground to his right.
His friend crosses his arms over his chest, as if making the point that he would also like to hear Jenn’s answer.
“How nice, volunteers,” she grins, putting both hands out in their direction, turning them to ash piles.
“I’m not sure this is appropriate,” Gabriel shouts, once the latest trumpet burst falls silent. “These lost souls are not intended to be used in this way.”