Our Lady of Perdition

The Fourth Circle - Avidita

Once crawling through the jungle again, I wondered how big the island was. The rain had stopped not too long ago, which made it seem like weather patterns could differ across the breadth of the land, but there was no way it could be big enough. Something magic, good or evil, had happened, and I couldn't control it. I thought back to when we crashed, wondered what kind of storm could push us through to the other world. "Bugs," I asked, "I was thinking... how did a rubber raft take us all the way to Hell?" 

"What a stupid question." 

"It's not stupid. Think about it: that thing was flimsy. We even had to be careful with our fishing hooks lest it pop. It lasted eight days, then we landed on Perdition." 

"I don't think there's meaning in it, boss. People get to Hell without rafts at all." 

"So you agree this is Hell?" 

"It's Perdition. That seems pretty close to Hell, if it isn't exactly Hell." 

I shivered. If Bugs was right and that little girl running around the island was really Mary, it meant we were looking at some future punishment. Maybe the reason Bugs was so scared of the melting speakeasy was because he was a drunkard. He wasn't actually afraid of the depravity whirlpool, so maybe Lieutenant Braxton B. Hunt had been wrong about Bugs. Maybe the man wasn't a fairy. 

A little ways further through the thick jungle and I asked, "Say Bugs, I, uh... I got a question for you." I bit my lip and considered backtracking, but that wasn't the way of pilots, of Navy men. "That Lieutenant back on the plain told me you were a fairy." 

Bugs smiled. "Not a question, boss." 

"Is it true?" 

The man whacked a vine down seamlessly and smiled. "Lord no. Is that what got you all hot and bothered about that whirlpool? You thought this whole thing was about where I'd end up in Hell?" 

My mouth felt cotton-dry, and I couldn't say anything. 

"Oh, Walt, that's funny shit. I'm not going to sex-hell, but I'm sure as heck going to liar's Hell, assuming that exists. I even lied to you not long ago." He handed the machete back to me. 

I took it, then switched positions with him. "You lied to me?" 

"More or less. See, I know what happened to my Mama, but I told you it was a mystery." He took a deep breath. "Last I saw her, Pops was throwin' her stuff out the door telling her never to come back. I was glad to see her go; she worked at a speakeasy and more often than not came home ready to sock my ears off. Papa said she was unfaithful, said that was why he tossed her out. I was maybe seven or eight at the time, so I didn't really know what was going on. It's possible she died, possible she shaped up. But I was worried in that bar, Walt. If I'd seen her there, I'm not sure I coulda left." 

"Oh." I felt ashamed for asking. "That's... that's rough. I'm sorry you had to go through it." 

"No you ain't. You're just sorry you had to listen, is all." 

I took a step forward, and my foot gave way to emptiness. 

Bugs, quick as he was, grabbed hold of my shirt and scrambled to pull me back from the edge of the precipice. The false jungle cover fell into the perfectly circular hole, all the way down to a bottom so far away that I'd surely have died by falling. 

A voice cried up from the pit and echoed off glass-smooth walls. "Hey! Get away from here - it's mine!" 

It was hard to tell exactly what was happening in the bottom of the pit thanks to the twilight sky, but it was easy enough to see a man splayed out across a pile of gold coins. The coins spread across the entire floor of the pit, coating it with rich splendor. The man atop the pile wore white gloves, a top hat, and waved a slender cane above his head.