“No, I guess not,” Sneaker agreed. “He won't risk dying in Hell and never seeing Grace again. For that matter he may not care about living at all. He needs watching.”
She said a few encouraging words to Dimitri, said, “Call me,” to me, and she too, was gone.
I shrugged on my backpack, picked up my rejuvenated staff, and led Dimitri out of the room.
Chapter Forty-four
We walked through hazy corridors. Occasionally, we passed other Attendants. They all stared at me. I know they talked about me behind my back. That damn Prophecy thing. They probably wondered if I'd put them out of a job.
We came to a small wood door, the nearest exit from Purgatory to the cave that led home. I wanted to go out right away. Too long in safety can be debilitating.
Dimitri stopped short. “I can't,” he said.
I dragged him to the door. “Don't say that. Don't think that. You can and you will. We'll make it home, I promise.”
I lifted the heavy bar, pushed the door open, and pushed him out. The bar fell in place once we were through.
We walked on.
Out of a short, hidden cave we climbed up a rocky slope to a bare plateau. There were dangers there, and without my gun I had some concerns, but I wasn't stopping until I parked my truck in my driveway. We pushed on, skirting known dangers and alert for new ones. Neither of us said a word.
With the ever shifting geography of Hell, sometimes the plateau led right to the base of the mountain with my entrance/exit in it. Sometimes the Spire Forest moved in the way. I wanted my mountain. I got the Spire Forest.
I checked my Find and walked on. Jittery, Dimitri followed.
A ways into the confusing maze of red/orange mud spires we saw several Sticky Lips noisily slurping up Spire Mites through a three foot hole in the base of a spire. We stopped to observe.
“That's not right.” The first words Dimitri had uttered in an hour.
I'd never seen a hole like that. The spire bases are two or three feet thick. Much easier to climb up or even dig down to the connecting tunnels.
“I wonder what caused it?” I said.
“Getter, I know you want to check it out, but we ... I need to get out of here, man or I'm going to freak.”
“Okay. We'll just go around this spire and look as we go by. It'll be fine.”
It was fine, but not for us. As we rounded the spire the ground gave way and dumped us into an eight foot deep Spire Mite tunnel. That was bad enough. Then a familiar voice said, “Well, Getter, make any new enemies lately?”
Captain Boam.
I dusted myself off. Looked up at him. He aimed a flamegun at us. “Well, Captain Boam, flown on any Pragons lately?”
“Mephisto will give me my own when I deliver you to him. I've got you this time. I knew you couldn't resist that hole I blasted. You walked right into my trap.”
From down the tunnel I heard the chittering of mites rushing to the new breach. And he stood right on top of the tunnel.
Dimitri stood frozen behind me. He muttered over and over, “We have to go, we have to go.”
Over my shoulder I told him, “Get ready to run.”
Captain Boam dropped a rope to us. “Better hurry up. The mites are hungry.” He laughed.
The mites were close enough. I jammed my staff into the dirt under the laughing demon. To my surprise it went through on the first try. Did it have a power of its own, or did my desire to get home give me extra power? I levered it up. The dirt gave way, and Captain Boam came down on his ass.
“Run,” I said and pushed Dimitri through the tunnel away from the swarming mites.
Fifty feet along light showed through an opening above us. I placed my feet on either side of the tunnel and climbed up. The Sticky Lips, lapping up a few stray mites were surprised to see me. I jabbed at them with the staff. They backed off. I hauled myself through the hole. Dimitri scrambled after me.
The Sticky Lips didn't like being disturbed. They were thirsty. I had no time to mess around. I jumped at them and with three quick flicks, sent them flying into the trap with Captain Boam. A hell of a racket came from the hole as Captain Boam, the Sticky Lips, and the Mites mixed it up.
Dimitri and I ran. I had to carry him the last bit to the tunnel. As we reached the entrance I heard that old familiar cry, “GETTER, I'll get you!” Captain Boam had survived again. That pleased me. His bumbling helped me to not take Hell so seriously. I had a feeling that ability might come in handy in the future.
Epilogue
Sneaker and I lay in bed watching TV. We were in a cabin on the coast of Maine. It was a drizzly October night, and we hadn't ventured far, a short walk on the beach, the rest of the day reading and dozing.
Four weeks had passed since our return from Hell. Sneaker had decompressed in her usual way, then got stopped for drunk driving. The officer tried to cop a feel, and she put him on the ground so fast the video tape showed only a blur. Case dismissed. “I was pissed that Cappy died,” she said. “I just needed to take somebody down, and that cop was it.”
Cappy had a father, and a sister and brother both with three kids. They adored Uncle Cappy. Only the father had the faintest idea what Cappy did. It was a hard day for Sneaker.
Dimitri didn't talk for five days after we returned home. He lay in bed mostly, crying quietly, staring at the wall, sleeping. His sister, Christine, insisted on caring for him. At first she'd been so excited to have him back. She'd been waiting at my truck when we arrived, not able to muster up the mindset to go through. She had her own Find. I took it from her. Said I'd keep it until she needed it. We both knew she never would.
She couldn't understand why Dimitri wouldn't talk to her. I explained. By some twisted logic of her own she blamed me. We didn't talk for two days. That was all right with me.
I met with Brittany's parents. The mother had had a dream that satisfied her Brittany was indeed in Heaven where she belonged.
“Did you get to talk with her?” the mother asked. “I don't know how it works, but did she say anything?” She was clearly relieved to hear of her daughter's safety; equally clear, she carried a lot of guilt over her death.
“Yes, we were together quite awhile,” I told her. “Brittany does not blame you in any way for the accident. She loves you very much. She is safe and looked after and wants you to be happy.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said, tears streaming. “And thank you. I was so worried. She was usually such a quiet girl, when she began to act out in the car, I didn't know why.”
“Brittany told me what happened,” I said, aiming my words at the father. “She told me everything.”
Through her relief the mother caught the chill in my words and my look of contempt at her husband.
“What do you mean by everything?” she asked.
The father knew what I meant.
He stood up. “Thank you for your services,” he said. “We'd like to be alone now.”
The mother loved her daughter and wanted to know everything she could. “What do you mean by everything?” she repeated, stronger, suspicious.
“Do you want to tell her or do you want me to tell her?”
“Get out,” he said.
“Stay,” she said.
I stayed.
At one point he said, “You can't prove anything.”
The mother raised an eyebrow. That he would make that statement was proof enough for her. He took a couple swings at me, and never did admit what he did to Brittany, but I knew where in Hell he was going and as I escorted the mother out I assured her he would not like it.
At the cabin, watching the movie credits roll I asked Sneaker, “Maybe we could be partners next trip. Fifty-fifty. Try it out.”
She thought for a minute, then said, “Then I wouldn't be able to love you. And I'd rather do that than be a partner in Hell.”
My feelings were hurt for a few seconds, but she was right. “I'd rather you did that, too. But we could sign an agreement in blood, no love fr
om midway through the entrance tunnel until—.”
“Getter, shut up.”
“Make me.”
She did.
Later, Sneaker patted my chest and said, “Not bad for a Big Man in Hell with a Big Prophecy to live up to.”
“I don't want to be a Big Man in Hell, and I don't want anything to do with prophecies.”
“I doubt prophecies care what you want.”
“I don't want to think about it.”
She patted my cheek. “I know you don't.” She kissed me, and within two minutes she slept.
I did think about it, of course. You can't not think about something without thinking about it. Reech's words haunted me. I didn't really believe in Prophecies. But Mephisto did. That meant the only way to avoid dealing with it was to not go into Hell again. Ever.
But, as I gazed out the window at moonlight rippling on dark water, I realized one thing, I was, and forever would be, a Hell Cop.
About the Author
David Burton has been a mechanic, boat builder and sailor, and has traveled by thumb, motorcycle and sailboat. Upon his return from sailing in the South Pacific, he turned to writing. His first writing teacher was mystery writer, Elizabeth George. Manmade For Murder was published by Write Way Publishing, Worldwide Mysteries, and selected by the Detective Book Club. Now working as a custom cabinetmaker in Colorado, the water calls, and plans to return to the proximity of Big Water are in the works. There, in some paradise by the sea, he hopes to have plenty of time to write more about Hell and Getter's adventures, as well as other characters that pass through his life and brain in both novel and screenplay form.
* * *
Visit www.silverlakepublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
Hell Cop Page 30