City Infernal

by Edward Lee

  “No ifs, ands, or buts,” Xeke said.

  “If you commit suicide, you go to Hell. Period. No way around it. If the Pope committed suicide, he’d go to Hell. It’s one of the Rules.”

  Cassie touched her locket, felt something shrivel inside. Her sister, Lissa, had committed suicide. So she went to—

  Cassie couldn’t finish the thought.

  “This house is a Deadpass, or I should say the newer part of the house, the part that Blackwell built. His atrocities caused the Rive—that’s, like, a little hole between the living world and the Hellplanes. If you’re like us—if you can find one of the holes—you can take refuge in the living world.”

  “But no one in the living world can see you,” Cassie figured.

  “No one. Period. That’s another one of the Rules.”

  Cassie began, “Then how come—”

  “You can see us?” Xeke held his finger up. “There’s a loophole.”

  A dense silence filled the narrow basement. Via, Xeke, and Hush were all trading solemn glances. Hush held Cassie’s hand and squeezed it, as if to console her.

  Cassie looked back dumbfounded at them all. “What is it?”

  “You’re a myth,” Via said.

  “In the Hellplanes,” Xeke went on, “you’re the equivalent of Atlantis. Something rumored to be true but has never been proven.”

  Via sat down next to Xeke and slung her arm around him. “Here’s the myth. You’re a virgin, right?”

  Cassie flinched uncomfortably but nodded.

  “And you were never baptized.”

  “No. I wasn’t raised in any particular faith.”

  “You’ve genuinely tried to kill yourself at least once, right?”

  Cassie gulped. “Yes.”

  “And you have a twin sister who did kill herself.” Via wasn’t even asking any more; she was telling Cassie what she already knew. “A twin sister who was also a virgin.”

  Cassie was beginning to choke up. “Yes. Her name was Lissa.”

  More solemn stares.

  “In Hell, you hear about it the same way you hear about the angelic visitations here, like these people who see Jesus in a mirror, or St. Mary on a taco,” Via went on. “Stuff like that. You hear about it but you never really believe it.”

  “It’s all written down in the Infernal Archives,” Xeke said. “The Grimoires of Elymas, the Lascaris Scrolls, the Apocrypha of Bael—the myth’s all over the place. We’ve all read about it, and never really believed it either. But you’re real.”

  “And the myth is true,” Via said. “You’re an Etheress.”

  The strange world seemed to flit about the basement like a trapped sparrow. “Etheress,” Cassie repeated.

  “Just like it says in the Grimoires,” Via continued, “you’re a physical bond in the Etheric Realm, something that’s created by astronomical circumstances. Two twin sisters, both virgins and both suicidal. One commits suicide and one survives. Both born on an occult holiday.”

  Now Cassie frowned. “Lissa and I were born on October 26. That isn’t any occult holiday.”

  Via and Xeke laughed out loud. “It’s the date of Baron Gilles de Rais’ execution,” Via explained.

  Then Xeke: “To the Satanic Sects, it’s their most powerful day of worship. Makes Halloween and Beltane Eve look like a sock hop.”

  Via spoke louder now, her voice echoing. “You’re an Etheress, Cassie. You’re very very special.”

  Xeke leaned forward. He seemed hesitant. “And because you’re an Etheress ... you could really help us out....”

  “Damn it, Xeke!” Via turned and yelled. “Don’t be so mercenary!”

  Xeke shrugged. “Well, it can’t hurt to ask.”

  Via elbowed him hard, then looked to Cassie. “What asshole here isn’t telling you is that we can’t stay here any more unless you say it’s okay. That’s one of the Rules, too. If we stuck around without your permission, all you’d have to do is get a priest to bless the place, and we’d have to leave.”

  Cassie didn’t get it. “Why would I want you to leave?” Then it struck her; it was almost ironic. These people are my friends. Somehow, it didn’t matter that they were dead.

  “It’s just another one of the Rules,” Via said. “You’re an Etheress. We have an obligation to tell you.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to leave. As far as I’m concerned, you can stay here as long as you want.”

  Xeke cracked his hands together in celebration. “I knew she liked us!”

  “And what were you just saying?” Cassie asked. “Something about me being able to help you?”

  “Yeah,” Xeke edged back in. “Do you have any—” Via shot him another hard elbow. “Damn it! We’re not allowed to ask! You know that!”

  “Sure, but—she can ask us.”

  “All right,” Cassie insisted. “I’m totally confused now.”

  Via stewed over a contemplation. “Be ready, tonight at midnight. But that’s only if you want to go. You don’t have to go, and we can’t try to influence you. It’s one of—”

  “It’s one of the Rules,” Cassie rushed. “I get it. But ... where are we going?”

  “Just so long as you understand. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “Of course she wants to go!” Xeke exclaimed. “She’s an Etheress! It’s her destiny to see!”

  Cassie had no idea what they were talking about.

  Via stood up, put her jacket back on. Xeke and Hush got up too.

  “Out here, our energy fades during the day,” Xeke said. “we have to go back upstairs and—well, it’s what you would think of as sleep.”

  “Be ready, tonight at midnight,” Via repeated. “If you have any jewelry—not gold or diamonds—but silver, with any gemstones like amethyst, sapphire, or pretty much any kind of birthstone—bring it. Onyx is especially important.”

  “I think I have some of that,” Cassie said, still bewildered.

  Xeke was nudging Via excitedly. “And tell her to bring—”

  “Bring some bones,” Via said.

  “Bones?”

  “Chicken bones, a ham bone, a soup bone. Go down to the diner in town and look in the garbage. Any kind of bones will do.”

  Bones. From the garbage? Cassie couldn’t figure it but she consented. “Okay,” she said. “So where are we going?”

  It was only Hush who looked back at her worriedly. They were leaving the basement now, their forms seeming to fade before Cassie’s eyes.

  “We’re going to the city,” Via said.

  Her voice was fading. “We’re going to the Mephistopolis....”

  (III)

  Suicide, she thought. The only unforgivable sin. Cassie was looking at the scars on her wrists. The healed-over knife slashes looked too insubstantial to carry the consequences that now weighed down on her heart. Back when she’d been suicidal, she’d just wanted everything to be over. Life was just a ball and chain of guilt, failure, and despair—it seemed pointless, masochistic.

  Why go on? was the question she’d asked herself a hundred times a day.

  Why go on in a world she would never be a part of?

  Yes, killing herself seemed the only option that made sense. But now she knew the terrible flaw. Her finger traced a meager scar.

  Now she knew the truth. If she killed herself, everything would not be over. Her pain and sadness would not come to an end. Instead, it would persist forever.

  In Hell, she thought.

  Guilt collapsed on her, like a brick wall toppling. She would always blame herself for Lissa’s death. She’s in Hell now—because of me. She unconsciously touched her locket. True, Lissa’s mental illness had nothing to do with Cassie. But I was the one who pushed her over the edge....

  “I miss you,” she said to the tiny oval picture in the locket. “Please forgive me.” Lissa had been her only real friend, and now she was gone.

  But she had new friends now, however impossible the circumstances. At this
point she couldn’t deny the existence of Via, Xeke, and Hush, and her cognizance of that was something she—for some inexplicable reason—found easy to accept. All her life, she knew she was different from everyone else. Perhaps this was why. Xeke had even said it was her destiny.

  Etheress, she thought.

  She didn’t know what it meant, but that didn’t really matter. Now she had something to do, and the prospect thrilled her. Her stereo beat quietly in the background as she showered and dressed. (This time, of course, she made sure her door was closed. She didn’t want to provide any more scenery for Jervis’ perverted eye.) The hot sun blazed in through the French doors; she began her hunt. She’d never been much for jewelry, and she really hadn’t brought very much in the way of possessions. One thing she did have, though, was a small felt-lined ring box. Silver. Birthstones, she remembered Via’s comment. Inside she found a few silver bracelets, a pair of onyx earrings, and an old amethyst pendant on a silver chain. She couldn’t imagine what they could want with them—none of it was worth very much—but by now Cassie was getting the picture that things from their point of view weren’t easily explained. It was best to simply be shown, and Cassie suspected that what they would show her tonight—the city—would be something to behold indeed.

  She turned off her stereo and left her room.

  The city. What had Via called it? The Mephistopolis? Yes, she was sure that was it.

  She was also sure that it was the place she’d seen last night, when she’d looked out the oculus window.

  The raging city beneath the blood-red twilight. A city, yes, built on slabs of flaming rock, whose limits seemed to encompass the entire horizon.

  Cassie couldn’t shake the creeping notion that something was waiting for her there.

  (IV)

  Dressing for the rural south in the summer was a challenge (the environment simply wasn’t her). Back in D.C., at this point, she’d scarcely look Goth at all, not with the evident sunburn that was slowly peeling to a tan. And wearing black only amplified the heat. Today she settled for a black bikini top and black denim skirt. Flipflops, she supposed, would remain the exclusive footwear of the season. At least the sun seemed to bleach her already bleached hair, which softened the lime-green highlights. I’ll get used to all of this eventually, she assured herself.

  But now, as she descended past the somber statues that lined the stairwell, she considered her immediate assignment.

  Bones.

  This request baffled her even more than the request for birthstones—but she oddly refused to question it. Once downstairs, she began to sneak around without fully realizing it, as if she didn’t want to be seen. A glance out into the back court showed her father attempting to teach Mrs. Conner how to hit golf balls. Cozy, she thought with some sarcasm.

  My father doesn’t really have the hots for her, does he? Another glance out the front bow windows showed her Jervis edging around the flowerbeds.

  Perfect.

  She rushed to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, then the freezer. Great, she thought dully. No bones. Not even a steak or a pack of frozen chicken. She really didn’t want to walk all the way into town just to root through the dumpster at the local greasy spoon.

  Wait....

  Via had said any kind of bones, hadn’t she?

  “Well,” Cassie talked to herself. “Here goes.”

  Next, she was on her knees without forethought, rummaging through the bag-lined kitchen waste-basket. Boy, wouldn’t this look great if someone walked in right now? Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just looking for some bones. Why? Because the dead kids living upstairs told me to. But in another moment—her nose scrinched up against the smett—she found her bones.

  The bones from the catfish her father had caught yesterday. He’d fileted them, and here were the bones, heads still attached.

  She washed the long spines off in the sink as best she could, then wrapped them in foil and put them in a bag. When she went out into the garage, to hide the bag until nightfall, she made another discovery. On a rear shelf, beside weed-killers and bottles of Ortho-Gro, she spotted a sack of bonemeal that Jervis used to fertilize the flowerbeds. Bones are bones, she reasoned.

  She emptied several cupfuls into her bag.

  That should do it.

  She hid the bag behind some unpacked moving boxes, then went outside.

  All she had to do now was wait until—

  Chapter Five

  (I)

  The tall, chain-driven grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight, its twelve crisp peals ringing musically throughout the depths of Blackwell Hall. But as unobtrusive as the sound may have been, it surely startled Jervis Conner—to the point that he’d nearly shouted. He bit down on his lip, cursing to himself. If he’d made even the slightest sound, that would be it for this cush job, and he’d probably even get a chance to check back in to the slam for another month or two.

  Of course, this bitch wasn’t a minor, not like those little sweeties he’d been peeping back when he’d been a janitor at Luntville Middle School. Talk about a great gig for a Short Eyes. Jervis had simply cut a hole in the air duct on the other side of the shower wall. Stuck his head right up there and got himself an eyeful of all those little white stringbeans frolicking around in the showers after gym class. Jervis was inventive: he’d rigged some sheet metal with magnets to cover up the hole when he was done, a perfect fit. Too bad the vice-principal had caught him, literally, with his pants down.

  This bitch Cassie was twenty or twenty-one, but Jervis doubted that that fact, at this point, would urge a judge to be very lenient. He knew he’d have to be very careful from here on.

  First couple weeks working at the house, he’d gotten some great peeps on her. If you stood at the end of the hall and hid around the corner, you could look right into the back end of her room if she left her door open (and she almost always left her door open). Better still was that the angle let his glance shoot straight into the bathroom (and she almost always left that door open too). He’d seen her buck naked in the shower at least ten times now. Problem was it was a tad too far for Jervis’ liking, and if someone came up the stairs while he was peeping, he could get caught.

  And, well, there was a third problem too, but Jervis guessed it was just paranoia. The comer he’d always hide behind was right next to the stairwell that led up to that funny room with the round window. Jervis had used that room a bunch of times, to take care of his need after a peep, but to tell the truth, he always had the weird feeling that someone was watching him. The house creeped him out bad enough during the day. But now, at night—at midnight—it was ten times worse. Not that Jervis was squeamish, mind you.

  He just couldn’t lick the idea that someone was there, someone in the shadows, looking at him.

  Forget that crap, he ordered himself. It would ruin the peep, and peepers had it tough enough to begin with.

  He didn’t feel the least bit guilty, by the way—peep—ing on chicks and such. Figured he deserved it, figured that life owed him a little spark now and then. Growing up in this hot sinkhole of a town, busting his ass in one pissant low-pay shit job after another for his whole life? It wasn’t like he was knocking over banks or selling crack to nine-year-olds like they did in the city. It wasn’t like he was killing folks. He was just taking a peek at pretty things and fetchin’ some pleasure out of it. The way he saw it, it was God who made gals good-lookin’, so what harm could there be in taking a gander and appreciating the fine-looking things that God made? Seemed a right fucked up, it did, that looking at God’s creations could be a blammed crime that could land Jervis’ fat can right back in jail with the winos and punks and crooks, with the real criminals. It just didn’t seem fair, not one dang bit.

  To hail with the law, he resigned. I’ll take my chances.

  Today Cassie had kept her door closed whenever she was in her room, and that rightly pissed Jervis off because after seeing her this morning—in the practically see-through little night
ie—he’d about gone nuts.

  But he’d already been working on a fix.

  Most of the walls in the house weren’t fashioned from sheetrock; they were wood slats with plaster, and wallpaper, while Cassie’s walls were paneled. The smaller room next to Cassie’s had a big closet with one end broken out. For days Jervis had been slipping into that opening for a little handiwork with his hand-drill and a tiny eighth-of-an-inch bit. He’d gingerly located a slat-seam in the closet that directly adjoined to a seam on Cassie’s wood paneling. Just a few tiny holes per day had eventually formed an inch-long line indiscernible to the eye.

  But Jervis’ eye struck Peeping Tom pay dirt.

  Kneeling at the gap, he could see right over her big four-poster bed and into the bathroom.

  He’d snuck back into the house after dropping his mother off when the work day was done, and now here he was again, hunkered down and waiting in the dark. No one knew he was here, and that secret titillated him; it made him feel charged by some weird hidden kind of power over others: that he could peep on them as he pleased, and they never knew it. Usually Cassie went to bed about ten, and Jervis wanted to be ready when she undressed and slipped into one of those tight foxy nighties. Or maybe she’d do him a real favor and sleep nude. In this heat? Come on, baby! Get nek-it!

  The gig was great. Good money for not a whole lot of work, plus the eye-candy on the side. The kid and her old man didn’t fit in out here at all—rich cityfolk, with their weird city ways—but what did Jervis care? If they want to live in this big creepy place, that’s their business. Most of the furniture had stayed in the place for the whole time it was closed up; the ghost stories kept the thieves away. Jervis didn’t believe in ghosts, but he loved the stories. (On the other hand, he’d never quite summoned the balls to come up here and steal himself.) The old man was cool, Jervis supposed—a bit stiff sometimes, but he generally paid twice what the work was worth. And his kid?