Alternate Ending to Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Richard watched Door.
He watched her turn the key in the lock, and for a moment it was hard to believe that little key could be the end of the world. It was also hard to believe that Door was actually going to do this. The click of the lock opening echoed through the silence, and then a pure, soft light began to pulse around the edges of the door. Islington smiled, coldly, and Richard found it hard to believe that an angel could cause this much terror, an angel for heaven's sake.
But then again, he found everything in the last few weeks hard to believe.
Islington nodded at Door. With a shuddering breath she began to pull open the door. The light grew, brighter and whiter. Richard shut his eyes, but he could feel it searing through his eyelids. He could hear Door's strained breathing as she struggled with the heavy thing, and then…
It opened completely.
Light flooded in like a tidal wave. It was so bright, so beautiful, but too much for him. He felt his skin being burned away, his eyeballs shrink, his face shrivel away, but it didn't hurt. He could hear Croup and Vandemar screaming. Did they feel pain?
I'm dying, he thought vaguely, and then his consciousness gave way.
___
The first sensation Richard felt when waking up was that his cheek was pressed against something warm and soft. Groaning, he sat up and looked around. Beside him, Door was getting up, her pixie eyes open wide in astonishment. She looked at Richard. "Where? What?"
The questions came in fragments. Richard shrugged. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. You?"
"Fine, I guess. What do you think happened when you opened the door?"
"Easy. We died, apparently," came a familiar voice. "And we also appear to be in heaven."
The marquis de Carabas towered above them, examining his surroundings. Richard scoffed. "Heaven?"
"Richard, I think he's right," whispered Door. "We're standing on a cloud."
Richard looked down. Wisps of white vapor curled about his feet, through them the blue of the sky was clearly visible. "Wha! You-you're right! We're in heaven! Then, how come the marquis is here?"
The marquis sniffed disdainfully. "Normally I would take that as an insult, but I agree. Not that I'm complaining."
Door had been thinking all the time Richard and the marquis had been talking, and had arrived at a terrible conclusion. "So if we're in heaven, then Islington must have made it too! We have to warn someone!"
"Who, exactly, did you have in mind?" the marquis asked, sardonically. "St. Peter?"
"Well, yes," Door huffed. "He's bound to be up here."
Richard looked around. Yes, St. Peter should be up here…there! In the distance he saw two towering golden gates, and even from his vantage point he could see the sparkling crystal embedded in it. "There!"
He and Door took off for the gates, the marquis following slowly behind.
___
St. Peter greeted them with a smile on his wizened, kind face. "Come in children, please."
"St. Peter," Door greeted hurriedly. "There's been an accident. I think Islington has come to heaven, and he plans to overthrow God, if that's even possible."
St. Peter frowned. "That's not possible. His Lord locked Islington down in the Underground, he can't of possibly gotten the key."
"But he did!" Richard cried, not throwing in the part of how he had gotten it. "You've got to stop him!"
"My dear children you must be mistaken-"
"There is no mistake, St. Peter."
Islington stood in all his shining radiance in front of the Pearly Gates. He had wings now, bright golden wings touched with dark bronze. He had them unfurled to their full length, imperious and opposing. "I've come to take my revenge."
His voice was soft and musical like Richard remembered, but had a note of hate behind it. It was terrible hate. He remembered what the marquis had said earlier. 'When angels go bad, they go worst of all.'
St. Peter gasped. "How-"
"It's thanks to this young lady, Lady Door," Islington said, softly. He held out his hand and the gates swung open. He walked into heaven.
"Come on," Door groaned, turning to St. Peter. "God has a plan right?"
"The Lord will provide," St. Peter answered, and folded his hands to pray. Door gestured to Richard and the marquis.
"We've got to follow him and try to stop him."
"You're crazy," Richard argued, crossing his arms stubbornly. "He is an angel for crying out loud. How do you stop a crazy angel? Only God knows and I'm sure he's on it."
"We were responsible for this mess, and we can at least do something," Door said haughtily and vanished through the gate. Richard sighed and followed.
"I've always wanted to see heaven," the marquis mused to himself. "But those two can take care of themselves. I'd like to enjoy heaven when it's safer."
___
"Door…slow…down!" panted Richard. He had a stitch in his side from running this long. Door seemed unbothered, running with an ethereal grace and speed. Richard was beginning to doubt she was human.
"Can't. He must be halfway across heaven by now, who knows what he might do."
Richard groaned. "Take revenge, that's what. This isn't our business Door!"
"I'm making it our business."
Richard could see a gilded palace rising in front of him. Shining turrets and spires with crystal windows, the sunlight blazing brightly off of it. Tiny diamonds glittered like stars in the polished gold, the whole thing wrought in designs of silver. This is God's palace, thought Richard. It's beautiful.
Suddenly a flare of bright white light erupted from in front of the palace. Islington. Richard cursed, then amended to God silently. He shouldn't use foul language in heaven.
The palace was now but a few feet away. He could see Islington striding in proudly, his beautiful head held high in triumph. Door had already reached the gate, her pixie eyes reflecting the gold light, wide in wonder and fear. And as he got closer, Richard could see why.
Another angel was waiting for Islington.
At first he seemed to ominous to be an angel, seemed to be made out of darkness more than light. Blood red hair with streaks a midnight black, four wings the color of obsidian, and brilliant golden eyes, almost hawk-like. He carried a long scythe, the staff made of ebony with a silver blade. Like all the other angels, he was beautiful. Azrael, Richard realized. Azrael, Angel of Death.
"So," Islington said quietly, haughtily. "God sees it fit he sends his best warrior after me. Does he fear me so?"
The other said nothing. Islington continued conversationally. "No matter. I will not be stopped here when I have come so far. If you wish to fight me, so be it."
Islington held up his hand, as he had done at the gate. In it appeared a flaming sword, the one used to exile Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Azrael raised his scythe. They flew at each other.
It was a terrible battle, but a beautiful one. They soared against sky and light, weapons flashing like sunrays. Strike, parry, block, strike, block, strike, parry, like an intricate dance. Neither bled, neither seemed wounded, and neither Richard nor Door could tell who was winning. That is, until Azrael swung down swiftly and accurately. Islington screamed, a high, wailing noise that Richard would remember the rest of his existence, and fell.
He lay on the cloud, clutching his wounded shoulder. Light seemed to be pouring out of it. Pure light. Door clutched for him and Richard pulled her close. Azrael floated down gracefully.
"Why?" gasped Islington. "Why? They deserved it. I drowned Atlantis beause they deserved it. They did not worship me, they did not worship God so I killed them. I killed the heathens…"
Azrael remained silent. He slashed again with his scythe, and then there was a blaze of light. Then nothing, but a few golden feathers.
The End