What the Hell Page 8

  “Whoa.”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Samael said admiringly as he regarded his collection.

  I said nothing, only looked all around with my mouth open. I became aware that the silver key was pulling on my breast pocket toward a small chest that rested on a table between Samael and myself. All my rage for Dawson was stuffed into a dark corner of my mind with the promise of metastasizing before returning with a vengeance, but only after I dealt with the thing that could save all of creation.

  “Shit,” I said flatly as I looked between the box and him, everything coming back online with the recognition of what lay just feet away.

  “I take it you already know what this is,” Samael said, gesturing with a dramatic wave of his hand to the table between us.

  Leaning back in my chair — because I was sitting in one and hadn’t noticed — I shifted my weight and lifted one leg to fall over the comfy armrest. “Yeah. Yeah, I know what it is.” I could feel my familiar self slowly returning, like watching a pool fill with water.

  “John, do you know why I am declaring war against Heaven?” Samael asked, cutting right to the chase.

  “Oh, let me guess. Something about being tired of eternal punishment for going against your pop back in the revolt and, stop me if I’m wrong, wanting to either run all of creation or die trying? How close am I? Hot or cold?”

  “Cold,” he answered in response to my game inquiry. “You see, John, Father is absent and we are being punished for it.”

  “Ah, the ol’ ‘Dad went out for a pack of smokes and never came back’ gag, huh?” I asked with air quotes.

  “Colder,” he informed me. “After the revolt, which was overpresumptuous of me, by the by, Father went into a, let’s call it, depression. I can own up to my part in that, and even empathize with Him. But He still has a responsibility to all the souls that live upon His Earth, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Not knowing what to say, I opted for silence. I was still seething from the dark place in my mind for what had happened to Dawson, even if Samael hadn’t thrown the spear himself. The tendrils of hate were snaking out from the shadows, lashing at coherent thought.

  I had to remind myself to focus on all of creation now, and avenging Dawson later.

  The tendrils reluctantly retreated while somehow managing to flip me off before disappearing into the shadows again.

  Samael continued, breaking me from my struggle.

  “You see, Earth is like a garden. It requires constant love and attention in order for it to thrive. If one were to leave their creation alone for too long, all manner of bad things could happen. Insects might eat the leaves while little furry animals consume the vegetables and fruit. Disease and sickness could spread if not purged at first signs of infection. Water must be provided, along with pruning and so on . . . and so on, and so . . . on. You see my point, yes?”

  Once again, I said nothing. Well, I tried for as long as I could.

  After moments of silence, I blurted out, “So you’re the replacement gardener. Is that right, Sam?”

  “Warmer,” he said with a deceptively handsome grin. “I care about the garden Father has created, and it pains me to see it in such disrepair.”

  “What do you mean? Everything seems fine to me.”

  “Oh, dear boy, you could have a broken bone deep beneath your flesh and your skin not advertise the fact. One needs special instrumentation in order to see the full magnitude of the damage that has been done.”

  “Why doesn’t, you know, God, snap out of it? I mean, wouldn’t the best course of action be to get the original gardener back?”

  “Why yes, of course,” Samael agreed, surprising me. “I would actually prefer it, you see. I am busy enough as it is and don’t wish to take on the added responsibility of Heaven, along with all the poor souls on Earth who desperately reach out to a deafened Creator.”

  I arched an eyebrow. Samael caught it, and I tried to force it back down, but it refused to budge. Making a show of it, I lifted an index finger to my brow and pushed it back down in place.

  Samael snorted as he shook his head in playful laughter. “You are too funny, John.”

  “Is there a way to, ya know, wake God?” I asked, lifting my leg from the armrest and leaning forward in my seat. I clasped my hands together and rested my elbows on my knees, content to play along, for now.

  “That, I do not know. My brothers, especially the Archangels, are not being very forthcoming, as you might imagine.” Samael cocked his head and lifted a finger, as if just coming up with an idea. “Maybe you might have better luck with them?”

  “Little obvious on the manipulation front, wouldn’t you say?” I told him as I leaned back and crossed my arms defensively.

  “No harm in simply asking,” Samael returned with a winning smile.

  “So, let me get this straight, Sam: you want to either get your pops to stop hitting the snooze button and get back to work or take over for him. Is that about right?”

  “Precisely. And once again, I’d like to reiterate my wish to remain in my current position. You see, I’m at the wage ceiling, and a promotion would merely mean a bigger headache and less time at home for the same salary.”

  “You get paid? Bah, of course you don’t. What am I thinking? Figure of speech, right?”

  “The message remains the same.”

  “And why should I believe the Father of Lies?”

  Samael did something I wasn’t expecting. The Lord of Hell leaned back in his chair and let out a long, exhausted breath while his eyes went unfocused, staring into the distance.

  “There’s so much you don’t understand. So much you can’t understand,” he said coldly, which was uncharacteristic of our conversation until this point. Even his smile faded as he peered at his own private theater inside his mind.

  “Try me,” I challenged.

  Samael let out a quick bark of laughter before returning his gaze to me.

  “I mean in every literal sense of the word that your current mind cannot fathom what is behind the veil which I, alone, watch over. Only Father and I have the sight with which to see. And of the two of us, only I have the desire to do something about it.”

  “About what?”

  Samael took in a deep breath and slowly shook his head while steepling his hands and resting the tips of his index fingers against his pursed lips. His eyes stared off again as he spoke.

  “To erase the darkness, one must first shed the light.” It unnerved me how distant he was from the now, though I couldn’t pretend to understand where his mind was. An overwhelming sense of unease spread over me like water from a rampant leak somewhere unseen.

  “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  Still in a deadpan voice that sent goose bumps down my skin, Samael spoke, “I know, dear boy.” His eyes locked onto mine for the first time since his fall into the darkness of his mind, and he whispered, “And I pray that you’ll never have to.”

  “W-why should I believe anything you say? I mean, isn’t it your, like, goal to make as many mortals as possible burn in Hell?” I asked, feeling like I was grasping at straws.

  Samael’s demeanor changed as his gaze became more focused.

  “Do you honestly think that is my eternal desire? To coax as many pathetic mortals as I can to commit sin so I can, what, burn them forever?” His tone found a balance somewhere between his confident speaking voice and the dark timber from when his mind was somewhere far away. “It’s funny to me that in silence, mortals wonder if each sin they commit is but a tiny pinprick to their souls, barely even noticeable at first. Eventually, the sins begin to blot out who they are like the stars painting the inky black of night with their incalculable numbers. What humans do not realize is that those pinpricks cause the part of them which is immortal to sink to my depths — to where Father cast me down — only to have those once tiny holes filled with unending sorrow and maddening agony. By thine own hands dost thou decide eternity.” He exhaled seemingly in exhaus
tion as he spoke. “No, John, I do not care about the sins of man. Besides, what would I have to gain in meddling with the affairs of mortals?”

  “I don’t know. Just figured you were into that kind of thing. And I’m not kink-shaming you,” I held up my hands as I spoke.

  “Do you know what I would have said to you a millennium ago?”

  I shook my head with consternation on my face. I had no idea where he was going with this odd conversation.

  A smile lifted the corners of his lips but didn’t touch his eyes as he said, “I would have said something along the lines of, ‘Lay thine eyes upon me, for I am the keeper of eternal anguish and delectable agony. Kneel, ye who is damned, and beg forgiveness, for God cannot hear you in Hell.’”

  I gulped, loudly, very aware that the man sitting across from me had to have heard me do so.

  Samael leaned forward, dropping his hands as he said, “John, I wish I could explain to you why I must do what I do. Suffice to say that it is a burden that only I can bear.”

  “Sounds familiar,” I chided in a cold voice.

  “Right, because only you can bear the weight of the apocalypse. Is that right?” Samael asked as he leaned back in his chair and squinted his golden eyes at me.

  I didn’t respond.

  “You cannot stop what is coming, child. Ulric understood that. Why can’t you?”

  At the mention of my maker, my determination was renewed.

  “Though the words you speak are silken and poetic, I could never believe the Father of Lies. I will fight you,” my mind flashed to my friends and my parents in Heaven, “and I will win.”

  To his credit, Samael didn’t flinch. Not even the tiniest muscle dared move in his features as he stared at me with intelligent, assessing eyes.

  “Very well, John,” Samael said while his expression softened. “I will hold true to my word and let you leave this place.”

  “What about those,” I said, lifting my chin to gesture toward the chest.

  “Those,” Samael said while letting his gaze drift to the table, “are for you, and you alone, abomination.”

  “Y-you’re just . . . just gonna . . . let me . . . ?” I asked, my eyes flicking to the chest as my eyebrows went up.

  “John, you must understand something. If nothing else from our conversation takes hold in your limited mind, please know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  He slowly leaned forward, frowning, as if he didn’t want to speak the words he was about to share aloud.

  “You cannot stop me killing my Father and assuming His throne. It will be done because it must be done. I am confident that what’s in that chest will show you the futility of opposing me. So, open your box and behold the unchangeable future of eternity. You have my word I will not stop you nor try to take from you what the contents therein hold.”

  My eyes shifted between the table and Samael.

  Recognition of my doubt showed across the Devil’s glowing gaze.

  “A show of good faith, then,” Samael said, waving his hand before him.

  I sat in the fine reading chair but was now on a pathway leading into a mountain. I shot to my feet, holding onto the chair as if in letting go I might lose my grip on reality.

  Brimstone and sulfur flooded my nostrils while a wave of heat washed over me, dazing me while overwhelming my senses.

  I frantically looked all around and realized I was back at the entrance to Hell, with the River Styx below me. Souls were clamoring over one another far below at the sorting flame, filling my ears with the din of agony and untold suffering. I shot to my feet as I turned my body to regard the screaming masses of millions of damned souls.

  Lunging away from the chair in horror, I bumped into something and whirled around, knocking the chest off the table I had backed into with my elbow and sending the prophecy scrolls tumbling down the mountainside. The River Styx awaited its prize.

  “SHIT!” I shrieked in a pitch reserved for people without testicles, and dove headfirst down the mountainside. I hit the slanted ground and began tumbling, trying my best to orient on the chest. Sharp rocks tore at my soul as blinding dust plumed into my eyes and mouth. The heat was growing the further down I slid with hands outstretched like I was at a water park.

  The River Styx was fast approaching, almost reaching out, and I knew I had to act quickly.

  I reached into my breast pocket and grasped for the nail. Fingers grazed the heavy key, but the nail was missing.

  Frantic eyes searched all around and I remembered with a start that I had put the nail in my side pocket.

  Shooting my hand into the pocket, wide eyes saw the chest land at the edge of the bank and start to slide into the molten lava. Fingers wrapped around the nail, and my preternatural senses flowed through me, slowing everything to a crawl.

  I shot to my feet and blurred down to where the chest was sinking into the river.

  I grabbed the handle and pulled it free, a glob of lava landing on my boot. Reaching into my breast pocket, I pulled out the key . . . and started screaming as the lava ate through my foot at the pinky toe. I dropped the key and nail on the ground as my hands tried in vain to wave the flames out.

  “Yyyyyyyyoooooowwwww!” I cried out before I began blowing shotgun blasts of air from my metaphysical lungs, trying to blow out the birthday candle that was my foot. Too bad for me, it was one of those trick candles that never seemed to amuse the recipient.

  The lava burned right through my flesh and started eating into the mountainside underneath. “Damn it!” I growled, wanting to wrap my hands around my foot but not wanting to risk my fingers.

  Something tugged at my attention and I saw the glowing chest at my feet. Smoke was starting to billow out of the keyhole.

  “Shit!” I barked before fumbling to grab and then stab the key into the socket and unlock the answers to eternity.

  There was no bright light or anything like in Pulp Fiction. No choir belting out powerful notes. No orchestra playing in the background. It just . . . opened.

  Inside were thirteen books. Eleven of which were on fire. I grabbed the last two novels which were still intact, and dropped the twelfth on the ground. The title was, A Dance with the Devil, and it was being eagerly consumed by flames. I rushed to put them out, but the fire that had stemmed from the River Styx was not to be denied.

  With a heavy heart, I looked inside the chest and saw everything inside was ablaze. The books of the prophecy which foretold the end of the universe were gone; all except book thirteen.

  I picked up the last book with singed edges and saw the title was, In the Pale Moonlight.

  With a scowl of concentration, I began flipping through the pages. There was death and destruction of untold magnitude. Unimaginable suffering and extensive loss of life provided a prelude to the final battle.

  I landed on a page at random and read the words with widening eyes.

  I removed the breathing apparatus with the red goggles that had once belonged to his former master.

  “I’m scared,” Magni whispered softly as he stared up at me with eyes that were slowly glazing over.

  Those two words stole my breath and blurred my vision as they pierced my soul like the spear in Christ’s side. It wasn’t the first time I had borne witness to those closest to me as they uttered those very words with their dying breaths. More than once, I had felt the unimaginable horror of the unknown escape the mouths of those I cared for behind two . . . simple . . . words. I’m scared. First Dawson . . . then . . .

  “I’m sorry. It has to be this way,” I said with a pained voice as Magni’s heart beat for the last time. Lachesis had been right. The boy was dead, and by my trembling hands.

  I stood in the darkness, staring in disbelief at the corpse of the boy from the cemetery, the circle finally complete. After Ludvig, I felt like I had become a father for the first time in my existence. I knew what it was to have pride for someone you helped shape into a man. I knew what it was to love another
like your own child. After my visit with Lachesis, I had always wondered what it would take for me to kill the innocent, crying boy who had held up his action figure in defense all those years ago. Now I knew, and my soul was forever stained.

  “There he is!” a gravelly voice cried out. I shot my gaze to the bridge to see a horde of demons rushing through the mass of souls, throwing countless into the river of molten lava to get to me.

  “Shit!” I cried out between gritted teeth as I flipped to the last couple of pages and began frantically reading, hoping to get some insight. Anything to help stop the end.

  My heart sank as I read.

  Blood slipped from between my lips, spilling down to disappear into my beard as I stared with tears beginning to blur my vision. The ground yawned as the gates of Hell opened wide, a culmination of consequences I had desperately tried to avoid. At that moment, I understood the futility of it all. Fate would have me.

  At the mouth of the foreboding abyss stood an army of demons in formation that stretched back further than I could see. Thick armor and powerful weapons, all made of obsidian, reflected in the hellfire that danced all around.

  Somehow finding the strength to lift my weary head, I managed to look up and bear witness to the contrasting image in Heaven above. Countless angels stood clad in beautiful ivory armor lined in gold. All eyes were on me.

  “Lachesis was right,” I mouthed to myself as a shaky hand covered my slack-jawed mouth. “Oh, Lilith . . . she was right about everything.”

  I became overwhelmingly light-headed at the words I had read. My vision began to spin as my lips and the tip of my nose began to tingle. My head became incredibly heavy and I had to try with all my might to hold myself up.

  Footsteps over rock brought me back, and I turned to see several monstrous demons were almost upon me.

  Without telling my hands to do so, I threw the book into the River Styx and watched as the lava engulfed the paper, destroying the last of the prophecy. Only I would know the ending to everything.