For the hundredth time that night, I cursed myself for ever deciding to venture out. The rain lashed streets were empty except for a sorry looking tabby cat. The poor thing looked like someone had attempted to drown it. The place had changed quite a bit in the five years I had been out of circulation at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Shops that I had known then were closed, their windows boarded up, where they weren’t smashed. The City of Light that once burned so brightly now flickered and faded.
Five years and everyone that I once knew had gotten on with their lives. Some had moved, some had gotten married, and some had even died, though no one bothered to tell me. People I counted as close friends stopped visiting after a while; my girlfriend sent a short letter to tell me she had met someone new and that was that. Even my family refused to make the trip to see me. I guess that’s what you get when you beat a pensioner half to death for his pocket change.
Spending yet another night with in my state assigned flat, with only the water pouring down the insides of the windows to watch, somehow didn’t quite appeal to me. The thousand or so cockroaches, I shared the flat with, didn’t seem to mind the conditions.
With no sense of direction that night, I just walked. The freezing winter rain plastered my hair to my scalp and ran in rivers down inside my collar. Through the mist and gloom, I spotted the welcoming lights of a late night bar. I crossed the deserted street and stepped ankle deep into an overflowing gutter; the water soaking through my charity shop boots.
As I approached the bar, something tickled the back of my mind; I could have sworn the site where the bar now stood had been a vacant lot when I had gone inside. Too many bottles of cheap scotch had left my memory with more holes than a cheese grater. With a shrug, I pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The joint was like many of the soul-destroying bars that I frequented in my youth. Inside the bar was just as dark as out in the street, with only small pools of smoke infested light filtering through the haze. Either the owners hadn’t heard about the smoking ban, or had chosen to ignore it. Ashtrays sat on every table and the fingers of most of the patrons held a lit cigarette. Mixed in with the smell of stale booze, sweat and cigarettes was a scent that made my nose itch. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was; it smelt like the smoke given off when you strike a match.
Along the long bar sat an odd assortment of people on old wooden stools. Bikers sat next to salesmen, drifters next to a cop in uniform. Everyone sat hunched over their drinks, silently contemplating their own lives and what had brought them to the bar on that miserable night. The only sounds I could hear throughout the bar were the occasional clink of a glass, the flick of a lighter or a cough from one of the patrons. Even two bikers playing pool in the far corner of the bar did so silently, the striking of the balls deafening against the oppressive silence.
I shrugged out of my large army surplus coat and took a seat at the bar. The heavyset bartender, while drying a glass with a filthy cloth, wandered over and raised an eyebrow in question at me. I ordered myself a scotch on the rocks and attempted to strike up a conversation. “Glad to be out of that rain.”
Without replying or bothering to look, he merely scooped up the change I placed on the bar, turned and wandered back down towards the cash register. I didn’t mind really. It was good simply to just have somewhere warm and dry to sit. The parole board assigned me a flat that wasn’t exactly full of creature comforts. Damp mould covered the peeling wallpaper, water ran down the insides of the windows and the heating system had given up the ghost sometime in the last century.
“Nice night for it,” a voice said beside me.
I jumped slightly in my seat and looked around quickly. Another refugee from the winter storm stood next to me. There had been no one in the seats either side of mine when I sat down and I hadn’t noticed the door to the bar open, which lay only a few feet to my right.
“A bottle of scotch and a glass.” His voice was deep and he spoke with an almost forced levity. I caught a look at him in the mirror behind the bar as he shook the water off his head. He was a big man with close-cropped dark hair. His clothes consisted of dark blue jeans and large charcoal grey wool jumper; an oilskin coat lay draped over the bar, dripping onto the threadbare carpet beneath our stools.
The bartender slid an unopened bottle of scotch and glass across the polished wooden bar to my companion. With a quick twist of his wrist, he unscrewed the bottle and poured himself a large measure of dark brown liquid. He grabbed the glass, threw his head back and emptied the contents in one gulp. He stood beside me with his eyes closed for a slow count to thirty, before forcing the air from his lungs and slumping down into the bar stool with a groan.
My companion introduced himself and we sat exchanged pleasantries the way strangers do simply to break the silence. My glass empty, he leaned over and filled it along with his own, before leaving the open bottle between us.
We continued to talk about this and that and I found myself relating the story of my conviction and incarceration. It was a simply enough tale, one often repeated throughout the ages. Too little time spent in school and too few opportunities outside led me down the path of petty crime; first committed out of boredom, then out of necessity. It caught up with me eventually. I spent time in juvenile detention before graduating to adult jails with revolving doors. I had only completed my last stretch the day before, and I wasn’t planning on returning. I promised myself the same thing each time I received my parole, and each time I’d fall back into the same habits.
My companion commiserated. “I did a five stretch a while ago.” He took a long sip from his glass, sighing with contentment, before going on. “Got done for break and enter on some bloke’s house. Silly sod was home when he shouldn’t have been, and put up a fight when he should’ve just handed over his cash. That was enough to stop me going back again. Too much time spent watching your back, especially in the shower.” He chuckled to himself before falling silent.
I asked him what had brought him out in the cold winter storm. He looked down at his glass for a long moment, grabbed it and emptied it before speaking. “I woke up from the weirdest dream and had to get out of the house and find some company.”
“What was the dream about?”
“You’re never going to believe me, you’ll just laugh.”
I assured him I wouldn’t and settled back to listen to the most fantastic yet harrowing tale I’ve ever heard.
“I found myself seated in a small wooden boat in a dark cavern. The air was hotter than a furnace and stank of sulphur; when I looked down, we were not floating on water, but a river of fire and molten lava.
“The ferryman stood at the rear propelling us forward with a long slender pole. He wore a dark hooded cloak that concealed his face, for which I’m eternally grateful. For when he raised the pole, I saw that his arms were merely chalk white bones.
“I called out to the ferryman, begging him to tell me where he was taking me. He didn’t reply, but continued to push us through the cave of black granite rock and fire.
“Eventually I spied a distant shore. Upon it, a solitary figure stood awaiting our arrival. As we drew closer, I saw it was a tall well-built man in a black tuxedo. He possessed the most perfect features of any man I have ever known, with shoulder length dark blond hair tucked neatly behind his ears.
“As the boat came to a halt beside the shore, the man called out to me by name and welcomed me to his kingdom. I stood in the boat and lost my balance, nearly tipping the craft. As it steadied once more, I looked down into the fire and felt the blazing heat burn my skin. I could’ve sworn that I saw images of people reaching up towards me from beneath the surface, beseeching me to either save or join them. I looked away in fright and the stranger on the shore laughed a soft, yet cold chuckle. He told me not to fret, for they wouldn’t hurt me; provided, of course, that I not fall into the depths.
“He motioned for me to join him on the shore, which I did with a reluctance that I felt right down to my core. We walked side by side through a long tunnel of smooth and black basalt. His gait was smooth and flowing, almost as if he was gliding. Though the tunnel was wide enough for many more to walk beside us, I felt the walls pressing in against me. It was suffocating.
“After walking for what seemed an age, the passageway opened to reveal a massive vaulted chamber. At the far end, a large dais stood above a flight of stairs. Crowning the dais were two thrones, carved with elaborate designs of dragons, eagles and lions, one far larger than its companion. The stranger and I walked towards the far end of the chamber beside an enormous granite table flanked by chairs carved from the same basalt rock columns that supported the vast ceiling.
“He led me up the stairs of the dais and sat down with a grace that spoke of a warrior’s strength and skill. He smoothed the fine material of his trousers and adjusted his cuffs so his jacket sat upon his shoulders, as he desired. I had remained silent, waiting for him to introduce himself, but finally opened my mouth to speak. My companion raised his hand to forestall me.
“’Fear not, I will answer your questions.’ He possessed a voice that was deep and powerful, yet smooth and crooning. It seemed to come not just from his mouth but from all around the chamber, and within me.
“’Throughout the ages,’ he said to me, ‘I have been known by many names in many different cultures. Some name me Shaytan, Iblis, Beelzebub and Baal. Others call me Morning Star, Light Bringer or Satan. I am none and all of those.’”
“’I am lucifer, Archangel and beloved of God.’ He fixed me with an intent stare that bored right down to the depths of my soul. ‘Or I was until He cast me out for my pride.’
“I took a deep breath and glanced around the chamber for an avenue of escape. As I looked around the room, I caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye of the shadow he cast upon the black walls. Two immense wings appeared to emerge from his shoulders and curling horns grew from either side of his head. He watched me and laughed, his rich voice full of mirth. ‘Do not be afraid, my friend. While you are here as my guest you are quite safe. Your body still slumbers in your bed. I have a proposal for you.’ His words took me aback. What would the Devil want with me?
“I listened closely as He described his loneliness in Hell, cut off from God and his brother Angels. His only companions for the rest of eternity were the tortured souls of sinners. He told me about the war in Heaven and upon the plains of man. As He spoke his voice carried the longing of ages and a torture most painful. Tears of blood ran down His cheeks as he recounted tales of the slaughter of his brothers and sisters as they fought.
“He focused upon me with an intent stare, the fires from hundreds of blazing torches affixed to the stone columns burning brightly in his eyes. ’You have filled your life with crime and sin. Continue upon the path you have chosen and you earn your place in Hell.’
“The shock of his pronouncement nearly threw me out of my seat. I knew the life I had led was far from blameless; however, I never suspected it would result in spending an eternity in hell.
“’The Devil raised a large silver goblet with intricate designs carved into the surface. He watched me in silence for what seemed to be an age over the rim whilst he took a long drink of its contents. As he sat the goblet back onto an oak table beside his throne, I felt my throat shrivel with thirst. The Devil waved a hand over my shoulder indicating towards a twin of the table beside his throne. His raised eyebrows offered me a drink from the silver goblet resting upon the surface.
“I took up the heavy cup and looked at the rich purple red liquid it contained. I caught the aroma of the finest full-bloodied Shiraz, delicate tannins, ripe fruit and a finesse that belied its inky consistency. The Devil waited while I took a sip of the luscious wine before speaking once more.
“’The proposal I have for you is simply this: join me. Fill your life with sin, give your soul to me, and you could sit at my side. Together we can rule over my kingdom.’ A quote I heard many years ago flashed through my mind. ‘For it is better to be at the right hand of the Devil than to suffer at his hands.’ I wondered if the person who wrote it had ever sat in the seat where I now found myself.
“The Devil went on to explain that the choice was entirely mine. If I turned down his request then it was of no consequence to Him; scores of people are waiting to burn with him there in Hell.
“‘Free will is the greatest gift God bestowed upon mankind and it will ensure their downfall.’ The Devil peered intently into his goblet and swirled the contents around the rim to release its aroma. His nose inches from the goblet, he inhaled a long luxurious breath, gave a sigh of contentment, before a smile curved his lips. ‘He gave you all the choice as to how you live your lives and many of you turn your back on Him. Those who do will find that eternity in torment is longer than you can ever possibly imagine.’
“I thought of all those souls I glimpsed writhing in pain below the surface of the river of fire and shuddered. The Devil took another sip of his wine before continuing. ‘The reason I have presented this offer to you is that I was punished with this gruelling task. Six billion people on the planet, most of them are busy filling their existences with sin. I am the sole controller of all-evil and I can barely cope with all the souls that are leading lives that guarantee them a place here in Hell.’
“’Many have sat in the seat where you now rest and have received the same offer that I am putting before you. Most scream and cry, protesting innocence from their sins, repenting and promising to amend their ways.’ The Devil gave a slight chuckle. ‘Some actually manage to hold to their pledges. Most, unfortunately, do not, and have found themselves burning in my lake for the rest of eternity. Accept my offer and I can save you from that torment.’”
My companion took a long pull of his scotch. His hands shook with such force that he nearly dropped his glass. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed, pressing the glass against his forehead. I glanced around me; the scene hadn’t changed one bit. Everyone sat, as if glued to their seats, drinking in silence. The only sound was the occasional clink of glasses on tables or pool balls striking each other where the Bikers still played.
I was surprised to find that we had managed to get through more than half the bottle. I pulled out my wallet and slapped a few notes on the bar to buy a second. A look in the direction of the barman was enough to bring him over with a fresh bottle. Without a word, he snatched up the cash, walked to the till, rung up the sale and returned with the change. He didn’t even look in my direction as he put the money in front of me, before walking back to his post halfway down the bar.
The eyes of my companion were still haunted when I looked back towards him. He had poured himself another large glass of scotch and drained it in one mouthful. I wanted to say something conciliatory or reassuring to him, but everything that entered my head sounded empty and slightly patronising. He looked as though he had more to say, therefore, I simply waited in silence for him to finish his story.
“I had a lot of questions for the Devil,” he said, taking up the tale once more.
“I looked at the Devil for a moment. I knew I would never have this opportunity again, but if I asked the wrong thing, would I find myself burning in the river of fire? I chose my words carefully. I asked him ‘Why I felt as though people had it in for me? Why did it feel as though the world was falling down around me?’
“The Devil replied with a laugh. ‘It’s not the world falling down around you, its Angels falling to earth in despair. You humans are God’s favoured creations above all others, yet you spend your days fighting wars, bent on the destruction of all those around you. Your leaders use genocide as a tool to further their own agendas. Considering what He gave you, the way you act belittles you all. Hell is so full that I’ve had to start expanding.’
“I knew that what he was saying was the truth. How many times throughout history have we embarked upon wars with the sole aim to destroy other races, religions and countries? How often have killers gone out with the sole purpose to kill as many innocent people as possible.
“I asked him what would happen if Hell broke through and rose to earth. Would heaven collapse? The Devil smiled; I knew what that smile was his response. He almost has what he wants, I thought.
“He leaned forward with fire burning in his eyes. I realised then that it wasn’t torchlight burning in them; they blazed with their own hellish fire. ‘I’ll tell you my one desire. That is for the earth itself to become my empire. I want what God gave to you pathetic humans, what you don’t deserve, what should have been our right.’
“’This battle is far easier than the one I fought against my brothers and sisters in Heaven. Every politician is a gun for hire. They’re all so disgustingly corrupt, lining their own pockets with money soaked in the blood of innocent souls. They fill the world with hate and fear, weakening the resolve of everyone around them. My greatest weapon, though, is the church itself. How many wars have you fought in God’s name? How many people have been slaughtered to further the churches own goals? How often has the church become embroiled in yet another sex abuse scandal? The pews are emptying as its leaders alienate almost every section of society and spew hateful messages to mindless followers. It won’t be long before Hell breaks through and I can escape into the world. When I am free, the earth will be closed off from Heaven, and I can create a world where I can torture every soul.’
“I knew that the Devil could sense my fear,” my companion said, “because he said it was time for me to go. He then said that I had to decide upon which side I would stand. I either was with him and ruled over Hell, or found myself crushed under his heel with all the other souls in the world. He laughed and snapped his fingers. With that I woke up in my bed, the stench of sulphur still burning my nose and throat and my sheets sodden with sweat.”
He drained yet another full glass of scotch, before lighting a cigarette, which he held with unsteady hands. He took a long drag of the toxic smoke and exhaled with a slow breath. “The problem is that I’ve got no idea if it was actually a dream. I mean if it was, that’s a fucked up one. Could it have really been the Devil in my dreams offering me a seat right by him? Or could it be a warning about the path my life was following, by telling me I could be condemned to an eternity in Hell?”
I sat silent, wondering if this guy was nuts. All that Heaven and Hell stuff was just bullshit, made up by people wanting to control those around them. Be a good boy and you go to Heaven, if you’re naughty, the Devil will get you in Hell. Bollocks.
My companion stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him and drained his glass. I held up the bottle and went to pour him another measure. He waved his hand over the glass to decline and stood up in a somewhat unsteady fashion. He shook his head as if to clear it, before grabbing up his coat and walking towards the front door.
As he opened it, sunlight spilled through the doorway. He turned to me with a strange smile on his lips. “Be careful of your dreams.” His voice caught somewhere between a threat and a warning.
With that, he walked through the door and into the street beyond, all sign of his unsteadiness gone from his gait. Through the open door came a gust of clean fresh air that seemed to seep all the way into my soul, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his shadow on the floor as he walked outside. Two immense wings appeared to emerge from above his shoulders before snapping back behind him.