someone not a million miles from here starts another bloody angel war.”
“I did not…”
“Right,” said Alex. “That’s it. You two enjoy the show, Cathy and I will be down in the bar.”
“Don’t you want to see what’s on the DVD?” said Bettie.
“I would rather stab myself in the eyes with knives,” said Alex. “Come along, Cathy.”
“But I want to watch it!” said Cathy.
“No, you don’t,” Alex said firmly. “Wait until John’s test-driven it; then, if it’s safe, we can have a peep at it.”
“So I’m your guinea-pig now?” I said, amused despite myself.
“Hey,” said Alex. “What are friends for?”
“If you do get Raptured,” said Cathy, “can I have your trench coat?”
Alex hustled her out, leaving Bettie and me alone with the television and the Afterlife Recording. The disc looked quite remarkably ordinary, almost innocent, as I took it out of its case. I handled it gingerly, half-afraid the thing might try to bite me, or even burst into flames once exposed to the open air; but it was only a DVD. I slipped it into the machine, hit PLAY, and Bettie and I settled back to watch.
There was no menu, no introduction. It was a recording of an unexpected transmission, with the beginning missing. It just started, and the television screen showed a view into Hell. There were buildings, or more properly structures, great looming things, like impossibly huge cancers. The walls were scarlet meat traced with purple veins, sick and decaying. Suppurating holes that might have been windows showed people trapped inside, plugged into the breathing sweating architecture, sometimes sunk deep in cancerous flesh; and all of them were screaming in agony.
The structures were packed too close together, their malign presence like a concentration camp of the soul. Through the narrow streets ran an endless stream of naked sinners, burned and bleeding, sobbing and shrieking as horned demons drove them on. The sinners who fell or lagged behind were dragged down and torn apart by the demons. Only to rise again, made whole, so they could be driven on again, forever. Bodies hung from lamp- posts, still kicking and struggling, as demons tugged their intestines from great rips in their bellies.
The sky was on fire, spreading a blood-red light across the terrible scene. Huge bat-winged shapes circled overhead. And from far off in the distance, vast and terrible, came the laughter of the Devil, savouring the horrors of Hell.
I hit the PAUSE button, leaned back on the sofa, and looked at Bettie. “It’s a fake. That’s not Hell.”
“Are you sure?” said Bettie. And then her eyes widened, and she actually leaned back a little from me. “Do you know? Are the stories true, that you’ve really been to Hell, and returned?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Only one man ever returned from the Houses of Pain, and he was the Son of God. No; you can tell that isn’t the real thing from looking at the sinners. They all have the same face, see? Pen Donavon’s face.”
Bettie leaned in close for a better look. “You’re right! All the faces are the same! Even the demons, just exaggerated versions of Pen’s features. But what does this mean, John? If this isn’t a recording of the Afterlife, what is it?”
I hit the STOP button and turned off the television. “It’s psychic imprinting,” I said. “We discussed this, remember? What we were looking at was one man’s personal vision of Hell. All of Pen Donavon’s fears and nightmares appeared on his television set, leaking out of his subconscious, and when he tried to record what he saw, he psychically imprinted his own vision onto the DVD. Poor bastard. He believes he belongs in Hell; though probably only he could tell us why.”
“So there never was any transmission from Beyond?” said Bettie.
“No. All that junk Donavon bolted onto his television set was just junk, after all.”
I removed the DVD from the player and slipped it back into its case. Such a small thing, to have caused so much trouble.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bettie said cheerfully. “It looks good enough to pass. Fake or no, the paper can still make decent money off it. Actually, it’s even better that it’s not the real thing; now we don’t have to worry about upsetting anyone Upstairs. It looks impressive enough, and that’s all the punters will care about. So what do we do now, John? Take the DVD back to the Unnatural Inquirer offices, along with poor Pen? We can keep him safe there, until the DVD’s appeared, then we can leak the news that it’s not the real thing after all, and everyone will leave him alone.”
“It’s not going to be that simple,” I said reluctantly. “That might have worked, right up to the point where I killed all Kid Cthulhu’s combat sorcerers over it. No-one will believe I’d go to so much trouble unless there was some truth to the story.”
“Ah,” said Bettie. “Then, what are we going to do?”
“Good question,” I said. “I’m not entirely sure. We need to play this exactly right…”
I thought for a while, pacing up and down, rejecting one idea after another, while Bettie watched, fascinated. And finally, I got it. A very crafty and downright sneaky way out of this mess. I took out my mobile phone and called Kid Cthulhu, on his very private number.
“Hi, Kid,” I said cheerfully. “This is John Taylor. How are the barnacles?”
“How did you get this number?” said Kid Cthulhu. As always, he sounded like someone drowning in his own vomit.
“I find things, remember? I know everyone’s private number. Or at least, everyone who matters. You should be flattered you made the list. Now, I don’t want a war with you. I’ve got the DVD of the Afterlife Recording right here in my hand, and I’m willing to sell it to you for a merely extortionate price.”
“You killed all my combat sorcerers, didn’t you?”
“Try not to dwell on the negative aspects, Kid; we can still do business. How about I come over to your place, and we discuss it?”
“You’re not coming anywhere near my place,” said Kid Cthulhu. “I’ve just had it redecorated. How about The Witch’s Tit? Down on Beltane Street? Lap dancers and the like. Very classy.”
“Sounds it,” I said. “Okay, meet you there in an hour.”
“Why the rush?”
“Because the Removal Man is on my trail, and I want to be rid of the damned DVD before he catches up with me. You know he’s already taken out the Cardinal over this? Once the DVD is yours, he’ll be your problem.”
“One hour,” said Kid Cthulhu. “And don’t bring Shotgun Suzie with you or the deal’s off.”
“Such a fuss, over one little tentacle,” I said. “If she’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“Have you seen what’s on the DVD?” said Kid Cthulhu.
“Of course not,” I said. “And yes; I guarantee there are no other copies. You’re buying exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording.”
“One hour,” said Kid Cthulhu.
The line went dead. I put the phone away, smiling. These gang bosses all think they’re so smart.
“Right,” I said to Bettie. “Let’s go meet Captain Sushi.”
“It’s bound to be a trap,” said Bettie. She’d had her head right next to mine, so she could listen in on the call.
“Of course it’s a trap,” I said. “Kid Cthulhu owns The Witch’s Tit. But since we know it’s a trap going in, we can be ready to take advantage of it. What matters is setting things up so everyone will believe Kid Cthulhu has the Afterlife Recording.”
“Wait a minute,” said Bettie. “You can’t just give it to him, John. My paper…”
“Relax,” I said. “At exactly the right moment, you will distract him, and I will swap this DVD for one I will happen to have hidden about my person. Something from Alex’s collection; he won’t even know it’s gone till it’s too late. Kid Cthulhu will be bound to make a fuss about getting the DVD from me, and the news will be all over the Nightside by the time he actually works up the nerve to watch what he’s bought. By which time we will have delivered the real thing to your paper’s offices, where it will be safe. Until you give it away with this Sunday’s edition. And Kid Cthulhu…will learn the cost of messing with me and mine.”
“He’ll kill you,” said Bettie.
“He can join the queue.”
I took an unlabelled disc from Alex’s private collection of elf porn, slipped it into an inside pocket, and smiled
