Chapter 3
After ten minutes Thomas knew he was lost. The dark corridors ran into frequent intersections at odd angles, with a labyrinthine layout. The walls were made of cold stone, with a curved roof supported by pillars at regular intervals. He was surprised; he always pictured Hell as being hot, full of fire and brimstone. Finally he reached a door, a large oaken affair with a brass door knocker. With a shock, he recognized it as the front door of Amanda's house. Tentatively, he pushed the door open.
The hallway inside was the same as he had remembered it. A long staircase led up to the second floor, with the railings gone. The white wallpaper was cracked and peeled, exposing the singed woodwork slats. He crossed over into the kitchen and found the ruined table and furniture, the plastic coffeemaker twisted and warped into an abstract sculpture.
The only difference was the corpse.
It had once been a man, now horrifically burnt into little more than a charred skeleton that sat in a chair at the table. Its skeletal hands rested on the tabletop, a gold watch decorating one wrist. What was left of the suit was grey flannel; it was the same suit as the man in the picture.
"Tony," said Tom, his voice quivering, as he drew out the pistol and began searching the room. From the hair rising on the back of his neck, he could tell that they were nearby….
"Hey, that's my gun," said a raspy charnel voice. Tom turned to see the corpse staring at him with piercing green eyes. Tom screamed and backed into the stove, knocking several pots and pans onto the floor.
"I'm s-sorry," he stammered hysterically.
"How'd you get it?" demanded the corpse frowning.
"Miss Black gave me the c-combination," he replied nervously, wondering how he could be holding a conversation with a corpse. Of course, he realized: this was Hell.
"Amy made it?" inquired Tony casually. When Tom merely nodded, he let out a deep sigh. "Got a light?" he inquired. Thomas took a pack of cigarettes from his backpack and held it out.
"Thanks, kid," he muttered as Tom lit the cigarette for him. He took a deep drag and the smoke drifted from his charred lips and between the ribs in his chest.
"Should you be smoking?" wondered Tom, feeling insanely foolish for asking.
"You really miss cigarettes here," stated Tony as he indicated a chair, "Have a seat." Tom slowly sat in a ruined chair and placed the pistol and backpack on the tabletop.
"She's in Saint Matthias hospital," explained Thomas hopefully, "I came here to offer my soul for hers."
"You're crazy," rasped Tony incredulously, "You have any idea what it's like here?"
"Some," replied Tom as he rolled up a sleeve, exposing the tattoo and faint needle marks on the inside of his elbow.
"I deal only with prescription drugs," sniffed Tony as he narrowed his eyes at Tom warily, "Not that ghetto shit."
"I'm not here to judge you," said Tom somberly, "I came to save Miss Black." Tony took another long drag on the cigarette before replying.
"You like her, huh?" he murmured, "So what did that whore promise you?"
"Don't call her names…," began Thomas defensively. Before he could finish Tony had reached across the table and grabbed the pistol.
"Don't mess with me, pal!" he screamed in a terrible voice as he raised the gun, "She should be here instead of me!"
"I-I…," said Tom raising his hands.
"She opened the box, not me!" he bellowed, "That bitch deserves to burn!"
"But you gave it to her…," said Thomas.
"Karl wanted the box to be tested," said Tony coldly.
"Karl…Wentworth?" whispered Tom, "Oh God."
Back in room sixteen, a cold eerie light woke Amy up. She looked over to the window and saw the scraggly grey tree lit up from behind by a strange blue light.
"Tom, what have you done?" she breathed. With difficulty she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She paused for a breath and then swiveled her legs over the side of the bed. Gasping, she pulled the wheelchair over. Amy then climbed into the chair. She was fumbling with the oxygen tube when Wentworth strolled in.
"Amanda, what are you doing?" he inquired in a gently chiding voice, like he had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. She took a deep breath before responding.
"Tom is in danger," she explained, "There's this puzzle box…." She stopped, knowing she'd sound like a raving lunatic. To her amazement, the Doctor walked over to the wall and unplugged her oxygen, reattaching the canula to the tank on the wheelchair.
"I know about the box," stated Wentworth calmly, "Tom told me all about it." He began wheeling her out of room sixteen down the hallway.
"Do you believe that it opens a door to Hell?" she wondered. Behind her, she could hear the doctor chuckle softly.
"Oh, I believe that Tom believes it," he replied, "And that will put him in terrible danger." They stopped at the unattended nurse's station, noticing the silence for the first time. They seemed to be the only ones on this floor. Wentworth wheeled her to the elevator and pressed the button. At least the elevator still worked. Within minutes they were in the courtyard. Amanda reached down to the base of the tree and picked up the photograph next to the votive candle.
"Martha," she murmured, "Was she your patient?"
"Yes, but the operation wasn't successful," he said sadly, "Tom took it especially hard."
"You're the one who hired him?" said Amy, mentally putting the pieces together. Wentworth knelt next to her, placing an arm on her wheelchair.
"He was in bad shape when they brought him in the E.R.," he said candidly, "Honestly I was surprised he lived."
"Why would you want him to work here?" she asked, frowning. Something didn't add up.
"I'm shocked at your prejudice Amanda," said Wentworth with a grunt as he stood up, "Everyone is entitled to make a few mistakes." He positioned the wheelchair so it was facing one of the dark corridors.
"Let's hurry," she urged. It was then they heard the distant sounds of gunshots reverberating through the hallways.
Thomas had managed to stumble out of the kitchen into the front hall. He clutched his shoulder as blood dribbled on to the wallpaper. He reached the door when another shot rang out hitting the oak an inch from his cheek. Tom spun and slumped against the door. Tony emerged at the far end and swiped some of the blood from the wall and tasted it.
"We don't want to spill too much," he said leisurely.
"What do you want?" gasped Tom.
"I want to live, you little junkie freak," he replied in casual spite, "Your blood will help me."
"What are you going to do to her?" Tom demanded.
"I'm going to drag her ass into Hell," he said as he raised the pistol in a skeletal hand. The whole house around them began to shift and creak. Harsh light filtered in between the slats of the walls and the floorboards.
"No!" screamed Tony in anguish as he prepared to fire. A hooked chain shot of the wall and impaled his gun arm, pulling it to the side as a shot harmlessly hit the ceiling. A second chain hit his other arm pulling him spread eagled off the ground.
"It's not fair!" he roared as dozen of chains from all direction pieced what was left of his flesh. Then they pulled taught, pulling him into pieces. The gun spun across the floor, rebounding off of Tom's shoe, a skeletal hand still wrapped around the grip. He felt bile rise in his throat as he tried not to vomit.
Shadowy figure appeared in the doorways. A man in a long black overcoat stood in front of the dining room, his bald head devoid of any facial features, only stretched smooth skin where the eyes and mouth would have been. A long bladed sickle was held in a gloved hand.
A hunched figure with metal spikes protruding from his neck, shoulders, and arms stood in the kitchen door. Black leather partially covered his body, leaving ghastly white flesh exposed, which was covered in blood red welts. It snarled its sharp crooked teeth at him.
"What a pity," said a reverberating voice, "He never understood his own limitations."
Tom looked up to see a magnificent figure standing at the top of the stairs; his pale white face and head crisscrossed with geometric rows of pins. He wore dark clothing, with two vertical leather strips piercing through his chest and a long trailing cape starting at the waist. Tom could sense cold commanding imperiousness in his gaze, like an exiled king.
"You have summoned us," he said narrowing his black eyes, "And we came."
Tom nodded and pulled out the Lament Configuration. The Lead Cenobite seemed to glide down the stairs and he reached out to the puzzle box. Small bolts of electricity arced out of his fingertips and the box reconfigured itself as a long thin needle-like pyramid. Thomas nearly dropped it on the floor in shock.
"I…I opened the box," said Tom fearfully, "Because I want to make a trade." By now the Faceless and Spiked Cenobites has joined with their master in hovering menacingly over him.
"What sort of trade?" asked the Leader with air of mild irritation.
"The soul of Amanda Black for my own," proposed Thomas, "Take me in her place." The Spiked Cenobite began to chortle cruelly.
"And why should we agree to this?" demanded the Lead Cenobite with dry amusement, "We can still take Amanda and you as well." Tom realized he hadn't thought this through; still, he had to try.
"If you want a soul to torture," he stated, "You will find my suffering far more exquisite." The Faceless Cenobite picked him up and threw him up against the door, drawing out the sickle. He began to dig the tip of the blade into Tom's shoulder wound. He howled in frenzied agony as the Leader listened appreciatively, like an audiophile listening to a concert.
"Enough," commanded the Lead Cenobite, "Yes, you have potential."
"So…you'll…accept?" said Tom between pants for breath.
"We will consider your offer," he clarified, "Provided you bring another soul."
"Another?" gulped Tom, "Who?"
"The one who truly desires this box," he explained. Tom felt a chill run through his body.
"Doctor Wentworth!" he exclaimed, "You want me to bring him here?"
"You already have," said the Lead Cenobite with cold amusement. Then they seemed to melt away into the dark shadows of the ruined house. Tom slowly stood up, still gasping for breath as he clutched at his shoulder. With his free hand he retrieved the gun and headed out the front door.
The outside corridor was enormous and completely different from the one that was there before. It towered overhead into a cavernous ceiling as he walked down and noticed a room ahead that looked equally vast. He found himself in a large circular room, like a coliseum, with a curved dome overhead. A single oculus in the center let the only light filter down. Tom heard a faint sound like a distant foghorn as he saw a sweeping beam of darkness briefly block out the light. The stone floor was inlaid with intricate circular and square metallic patterns as he made his way to the center of the room.
"The Shadow of Leviathan!" shouted a voice. Tom whirled around and saw Doctor Wentworth and Amanda at the far end of the room.
"Tom!" cried Amy, "You're hurt!" He ran over to them and knelt in front of her. She embraced him tightly, aggravating his wound. Amy looked apologetic when she saw him grimacing. She unwound some her own bandages and wrapped his shoulder wound with it.
"Miss Black, I'm sorry," he said sorrowfully, "My soul is not enough."
"You idiot," she replied touching his cheek with a hand, "Who said you should try?"
"They want your soul as well," he said glancing up to Wentworth, "In exchange for Miss Black's." The Doctor arched an eyebrow.
"Not much of a bargain," he responded gravely, "But you should keep your part."
"Don't listen to him!" pleaded Amy, "We'll all get out of here and find another way!"
"They'll pursue you forever if I don't," he said taking her hand, "And I don't want the Doctor to be sacrificed as well."
"Well said my boy," said Wentworth, "Now go to the center of the room."
"What will happen?" asked Tom as he stood. Amy refused to release her grip on his hand.
"Leviathan will devour your soul," stated the Doctor clinically, "It is eternally hungry."
"How do you know so much about it?" demanded Amy.
"No time for questions my dear," said Wentworth holding up a gun at her. Tom felt at his waist and realized Tony's gun was gone. The Doctor had managed to take it from him without noticing, along with the Lament Configuration.
"Don't kill her!" demanded Tom indignantly, "Please!"
"Don't worry Tom," she said defiantly, "He won't."
"Would you like her to call my bluff, Tom?" he asked, faintly amused.
"No, please!" said Tom holding up his hands in surrender, "I'll go."
"Tom!" said Amy with a strangled cry. He smiled reassuringly to her as he walked into the center of the coliseum. Thomas stepped into the circle of light then took a deep breath before looking up. Another black beam of light swept through and enshrouded him in darkness.
He looked down at a vision of a man strapped down to a gurney shrieking in pain. The man looked wasted and thin, with long ratty hair and a week's worth of stubble. In numbing horror, he recognized himself as that man raving and foaming at the mouth as doctors tried to restrain him. He saw the specter of his past knock one of the nurses away before Wentworth injected him with a sedative.
A split second later he had a vision of himself standing in a rain swept courtyard, staring at a ragged grey tree. A small sickly girl was in his arms, wrapped up in several blankets. She was smiling up at him, a locket clutched in her grasp. Slowly she pressed it into his palm as she whispered something about this being their special meeting place.
The scene shifted again and he found himself hunched over an empty bed, his body convulsing with sobs. Doctor Wentworth had a comforting hand on his shoulder. He couldn't live without her, but he had to go on, to make meaning of the suffering.
To make meaning of the suffering….
With a jolt he found himself back in the light. He rubbery legs gave way and he slumped to the ground. It felt like some obscene entrance exam. Vaguely he wondered if he had passed the test.
"Tom, are you alright?" yelled Amy. He looked up at her longingly as he heard a distant rumble. Twin circular pillars rose from the ground a foot on either side of him. They spun with surprising grace as they glided upwards, like corkscrews. When they finally came to a rest, he could see a hole though each one, about six feet up. Thomas slowly got to his feet and pulled out Martha's locket. He looked at the picture and then up to Amanda.
"Don't look," he said softly. He raised his arms and stuck them through the holes. Spikes drove into both his wrists and the floor dropped from under him, so he was supporting his weight by just his arms. He howled in torment as blades sliced into his sides and shoulders. The locket fell from his grip onto the cold marble floor. The pillars began to sink back into the ground, and Thomas Rathburn slowly receded from view, although it took much longer for his screams to fade away. Amy watched in terror, covering her mouth with both hands to stop from screaming. Wentworth crossed over to the wheelchair and swiveled her around. She began sobbing as he wheeled her down a corridor. Poor child, thought the Doctor, she didn't understand the gift that had been given.