Donny's Inferno (12 page)

CHAPTER 25

D
onny woke when he heard the door to the apartment close, and sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes.

“There's a bed in your room, you know,” Angela said.

“Uh. Yeah. I fell asleep.”

She kicked her shoes off and flopped down next to him. “It was a very exciting night all around. You didn't miss me too much, did you?” She patted his knee.

He looked away and shook his head. Angela yawned. “Well, I think I'll crash for a while. See you in the morning?”

Donny nodded. She started to get up, but he said, “Angela?”

“Mmm?”

“I did something that might have been a bad idea.”

She stiffened and swiveled toward him. “Would you care to be more specific?”

“I used the phone you gave me to call my best friend. I wanted him to know I wasn't dead.”

She shot to her feet. “Where's the phone?”

“Right here,” Donny said. He held it up.

She snatched it from his hand and crushed it in her grip, pulled the battery out of the wreckage, and let the pieces drop to the floor. “That was dumb, all right. You know phones can be tracked, right? If your friend told the police that you called, you know they could find us? Right here in this apartment?”

“I . . . I . . . don't think Kevin would do that.”

Angela's phone rang. She pulled it from her purse. “Hello?” She listened and scowled and rolled her eyes. “How long ago?” She paused, listening. “Got it,” she said. “Thanks for your help.” She hung up, closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and glared at Donny. “You messed up, big-time.”

Before Donny could open his mouth to respond, the door to the apartment burst open. Policemen in protective gear with helmets and faceguards, all carrying rifles, poured into the room. “Get on the floor!” the first one shouted.

Angela grabbed Donny, tossed him over her shoulder, and bolted for the stairs. She slammed the door behind her and sprinted up, toting him like he weighed less than a cat. When she entered the round room, she shut that door too. She dropped him on the floor and heaved furniture
into a pile in front of the door. Donny heard the policemen stomping up in pursuit.

“Close the shades!” Angela snapped. She started at one end, and Donny went to the other. As he started to pull one shade down over the tall window, a powerful beam of light shot from the next rooftop. Donny yelled and shielded his eyes. He had caught a glimpse of a figure on the roof, holding a spotlight.

“Police on the roof, too! For crying out loud,” Angela said. “Like you're that important.”

“Open up!” shouted the cop on the other side of the door. “You have no way out. Let's not make this harder than we have to.”

“No, let's not,” Angela muttered as she tugged down the last of the shades.

“I'm so sorry,” Donny said.

“Save it,” Angela told him. She ran to the fireplace and turned a dial on the wall beside it. A propane fire whooshed to life and formed a knee-high curtain of flame.

“We can use that?” Donny asked.

She sneered at him. “Get ready. I set the timer, and the fire will go out in sixty seconds.” There was a loud crash by the door, and the pile of furniture shifted. Angela went to the fireplace, cupped her hands, and spoke into the fire. It was a strange, hoarsely whispered series of sounds, like no language Donny had ever heard. The only thing that sounded like a word, somewhere in the middle, was
Porta
.

There was another loud crash, and the furniture shifted again. The fire went ruby-red, and a diamond shape appeared. It was no bigger than a playing card at first, but in seconds it grew big enough to crawl into. “Get in before I bowl you through,” Angela snapped.

“Yes, ma'am,” Donny said, and he scrambled into the dark space. He felt only the slightest resistance from the parchmentlike film that had appeared within the diamond, but the heat of the fire nearly scorched his shoulders and legs. On the other side, he tumbled into the stony corridor where the keeper, Porta, stood.

Through the opening, he saw the apartment. The pile of furniture lurched forward as the door was forced open, wide enough to enter. There was a shout: “Police! Don't move!” Angela rolled through the low space and sprang gracefully to her feet. “Close it up, please,” she said. Porta waved an arm, and the opening vanished just as a policeman rushed into the room with his rifle raised. Donny thought he looked a little stunned to find the room empty. Then the flames filled in the open space and erased the apartment from sight.

Donny got to his knees and stared at the fire. His heart thumped and his chest heaved. He turned to Angela, meaning to apologize again, but the words froze in his throat when he saw her expression. When she spoke, it was like a snarl. “Do you realize what you just did?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know—”

“You didn't know
what
?” She paced back and forth as she ranted. “You didn't know that you were going to ruin everything? I can never use that apartment again! Who knows if I can even go back to New York! The police will ask questions. And if they got a look at me, I'll be a wanted woman.” He'd never seen this from her before—a vivid, white-hot anger. She stuck a finger to his chest to punctuate her words, and he stumbled back with every jab. “I
like
New York, you stupid mortal. It's my
favorite
city. And you messed it all
up
!”

Donny's stomach was knotted tight. “I just . . . ,” he said, but the words crumbled on his tongue. “I wanted—”

“You know what? I don't want to hear it!” she raged. “I don't even want to
look
at you. I should just drop you off where I found you. Let the police find you on the streets. What do you think they'll do when you tell them where you've been? They'll think you've lost your mind, that's what they'll do!”

Donny put his head down and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Don't do that. Please don't. I can't go home. I don't have anywhere to go.”

Angela growled through her teeth and stomped away. Donny lifted his head. Porta stared up at him without expression, her baboon snout twitching. Angela rounded the corner and headed for the barred entrance to Sulfur. Donny's eyes bugged wide—he was about to be trapped in this corridor with only Porta for company, and she didn't seem the friendly type.

“Wait, please,” he moaned, and he got to his feet and ran after Angela. She knocked on the door to Sulfur and swept through as it swung open. Donny arrived a second later, barely in time to grab the edge of the door and keep it from shutting. Grunyon's hand went to his sword but relaxed when he saw Donny.

“Vanilla extract?” Grunyon asked. Angela had already stormed away, moving even faster than usual.

“I'll bring you gallons next time, I promise,” Donny said as he went by. The vanilla extract, at least twenty bottles of the stuff, was back at the apartment, soon to become a puzzling piece of evidence.

He stayed far behind Angela, who never turned around to see if he was there. She just went on slapping the path in her bare feet, swinging arms that ended in fists.

CHAPTER 26

A
ngela stomped all the way to her pillar home and up the circling road. Donny hung back, just close enough that she did not vanish around the curve. She reached the door, unlocked it, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind her without a backward glance. Donny heard the bolt slide from within.

For a while he just stood and stared at the door, bathed in the harsh light of the fiery clouds. Then he sat with his back to the wall and his arms folded across his knees, and put his head down.

He looked up again a few minutes later when he heard feet scuffing the stone.

“ARGLBRGL,” said Arglbrgl.

“Hey,” Donny said. With an effort, he mustered the faintest of smiles.

Arglbrgl looked at Donny and cocked his head to one side. He made a fist with one hand, put it next to his eye, and twisted it back and forth. “GRBLRGL?”

Donny shrugged. “Yeah. I'm sad. I messed up.”

Arglbrgl sighed. He plopped down next to Donny and leaned against him. Donny put his arm around the imp's shoulders. Arglbrgl started to snore a minute later.

“Donny?” said a familiar voice. Zig-Zag was approaching and had just come into view around the bend.

Donny waved. “Hi,” he said quietly.

Both heads stared down at Donny, then at the door, and then at the higher windows of Angela's home. “Why are you out here?” asked Zig.

“I made a huge mistake,” Donny replied. “I don't think Angela likes me anymore.”

Zag rubbed his chin. “Is that so?”

Zig and Zag looked at each other, then whispered into the other's ears and nodded.

“Why don't we continue with your orientation?” asked Zig.

“There's much more to see,” said Zag.

Donny looked up at the two-headed being and saw two kind smiles. “Really? I mean, I don't even know if I'm supposed to be here.”

“The last we heard, we were supposed to go on educating you,” said Zig.

“Those are the standing orders. We'll sort your dilemma
out later,” said Zag, and he nudged the snoring Arglbrgl with his toe. Arglbrgl woke with a start and snarled. His skin began to bristle, until the sharp points stuck through Donny's shirt and he winced. Arglbrgl whimpered and jumped aside, and his points melted away. “RGBR?” he asked Donny, putting a paw on Donny's shoulder.

“I'm fine,” Donny said as he rubbed the wounds.

Zig held out a hand. “Come on. It is time to see what replaced the Pit of Fire.”

Donny took the hand and was pulled to his feet. “Thank you, Zig-Zag.”

“Our pleasure,” Zag said with a nod. “Arglbrgl, please join us. If we run into Butch, we could use your protection.”

“ARGLBRGL!”

Donny's mouth trembled when he smiled. “I'm really glad to see you guys.”

“We came by to deliver some interesting news for Angela,” said Zig, “but that can wait until we return.”

Donny hesitated to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. “What was the news? I mean, is it okay to tell me?”

“Of course. The riddling imp is missing. Nobody can find Sooth. This has never happened before,” said Zag.

CHAPTER 27

H
ow many types of infernal beings have you encountered so far, Donny?” asked Zag.

Donny searched his mind. “Well—there are the ones like Angela.”

“The archdemons,” said Zig.

“And there are imps,” Donny said. “Lots of imps.”

Arglbrgl raised his clawed hand. “ARGLBRGL.”

Zig and Zag nodded.

“And the flying things. The gargs and the shreeks.”

“Those are imps as well,” said Zag.

“And that murmuros. Angela said it was a demon.”

“A lesser demon,” said Zig.

“And the worms,” Donny said with a shudder. “And those nasty fish in the river. And . . .” He paused to try to figure
out the best way to phrase the next thing. He looked at Zig, then Zag. “There's you?”

Zig-Zag was not offended. “We are demon too,” said Zag.

“But there are more creatures down here, especially in the Depths,” said Zig.

“And another being, which you are about to see,” said Zag.

“The strangest and most wondrous of all,” said Zig.

“Not all of us find it wondrous,” said Zag.

Donny tried to imagine what that could be. “Great,” he said.

Zig-Zag took Donny down the street that led to the diner. Along the way they again passed the broken column where Sooth should have been perched. Donny looked at the mounds of shattered marble behind the column, and scanned the niches and alleys, but he saw no sign of the old imp.

They turned another corner, and that byway led to a circular path where chariots seemed to gather. Zig-Zag led Donny to one of the smaller chariots, drawn by a ­single long-legged imp. “To the Caverns of Woe,” Zig told the runner. Soon they rumbled down the road, out of the city that wreathed the Pillar Obscura, and into the lands Donny thought of as south, or downriver.

The road followed the path of the river, more or less, but without hugging every curve. They passed more
jagged formations, fields of dark moss and lichens tended by imps, a pond of boiling water, and a craggy land with geysers blasting high into the air.

Ahead stood another of the enormous pillars that supported the roof of Sulfur. Like the Pillar Obscura, this one had a city around its base—but in this case the city lay completely in ruins. Even the pillar itself had been blasted and gouged.

“Look over there,” Zig said. “See that smoking cone of rock on the other side of the river?”

Donny looked beyond Zig's pointing finger, and saw the formation. It looked like a stumpy volcano, not much bigger than the brownstone where he grew up. Smoke trickled out of the jagged opening at its peak. “Yes, I see it.”

“Stay clear of that. It's where Havoc lives.”

“He lives in
that
?” Donny stared at the lump of rock. Sure enough, even from this distance, he could make out the door that had been carved into the base, the porthole windows on its slopes, and a terrace near the flat top.

“He does now. Before the war, he lived with his family in the Pillar Arcanus—the one you see over there. That city was ruined in the war, and only Havoc survived. His parents, his brother and sister, all were lost. In his grief, he moved to that former refinery. Staring every day at his ruined ancestral home has only stoked his fury over the reforms. He doesn't like anyone getting close to his home, never mind stepping inside. And he
has some nasty imps for guards. Butch loiters there too, of course.”

Just the mention of the Jolly Butcher was enough to set Donny's nerves on edge. “Yeah, no problem. I'll keep away from there.”

The chariot rumbled on. An hour later, much farther down the road, the river curved so close that the road nearly touched its bank. Donny saw another barge, the ominous ferrymen fore and aft of the anxious dead. The craft had come to a stop at a landing, where steps in the riverbank led to the deck of the barge. There the dead filed onto the shore in an eerily organized manner.

“Where are they going?” Donny asked.

“The same place as us,” said Zag.

Zig pointed down the road, where the western wall of Sulfur vaulted to the roof. “There.”

Donny looked at the dark space at the foot of the wall. It looked like the entrance to a train tunnel, although an exceptionally wide one. The shadowy space looked blacker still against the harsh light of the fiery clouds.

The chariot was there a minute later. It slowed to a halt, and he and Zig-Zag stepped down. Arglbrgl hopped out and growled and bristled in every direction before taking his place by Donny's side. “Thanks, buddy,” Donny told him. “I think I'm safe.”

Something was in the tunnel, coming toward them. It glowed softly within the dark and bobbed through the air.
Donny recognized it, because he'd seen it before at the source of the river: the bundled, pulsing lights of a human soul. When the soul emerged into the bright light, it was harder to see, but Donny watched it float past them and head toward the river.

“Another soul on its way,” Zig said.

Arglbrgl watched it pass right over his head and sniffed as it went by. “GRLG?”

“Shall I do most of the talking this time, brother?” Zig said to Zag. “I know this is not your favorite subject.”

“Go on,” Zag said, rolling his eyes. “In fact, would you mind if I napped?”

“Certainly not,” said Zig.

Zag closed his eye, and his head listed to one side.

Zig smiled and cleared his throat. “Donny. You have been wondering, I am sure: Once the Pit of Fire was abandoned, how did we punish the wicked dead? The answer, it turns out, was in front of us all the while. It lies down that passage, in the Caverns of Woe.” Donny looked into the tunnel, but all he saw were the thick tendrils of mist that slithered out from the depths. There was an unseen source of inner light, dim and silvery like moonlight. Even as he watched, another cluster of lights floated out into the open, and another soon after that.

“These caverns were always here, but very few of the denizens of Sulfur were willing to enter them. Mysterious entities live inside, and they are unlike anything else in
the underworld. We call them sorrowmongers. They have the ability to cause fearful hallucinations. If you went too far inside the caverns, a sorrowmonger might come upon you and envelop you within a spell that forced you into a dreamlike state. Your memories would bubble up from inside your brain—and those would not be your happy memories. It was a deeply unsettling feeling. So most of us preferred to stay out of the caverns.”

Zig put a hand on Donny's shoulder. “Are you ready to go in?”

Donny stiffened. “Based on what you just said, no, I am not at all ready.”

Zig laughed. “Don't worry. We have an understanding with the sorrowmongers now. They will not bother you, with so many souls to tend to. Come, this is too ­important to miss.” He gave Donny a gentle push, and against his better instincts, Donny walked into the long passageway.

Donny heard a high-pitched whine and looked back to see Arglbrgl pacing back and forth at the entrance. “Aren't you coming?” Donny asked.

Arglbrgl shook his head.

“He doesn't like it in there,” said Zig. “We'll be back soon,” he told the imp.

It was cool inside the passage. For the first time in ­Sulfur, Donny wished he had a jacket with him. As they walked along, the mist grew thicker, the tunnel brighter. The mist itself, Donny realized, was the source of the light.

“In the old days,” said Zig, “a soul would occasionally escape from the pit and go on the run. There were imps whose job it was to track it down and bring it back. Sometimes a runaway soul would be discovered here. That is how we learned about the power the sorrowmongers have over the dead.”

Where the passage ended, a vast cavern began. It sloped downward ahead of them, and Donny could look at least a mile into the distance.

Countless people were on the cavern floor, frozen in place, a sea of statues. The thick, nearly liquid fog pooled around their feet, as high as their knees. From that ocean of fog a thinner vapor swirled up and enveloped every figure in sight. It was like looking at them through silken veils.

Donny tried to guess how many people there were. Thousands upon thousands, and that was just in the space that was visible to him, before the distant mists hid the rest from sight.

“How big is this place?” he asked. He rubbed his arms. It was even cooler in the cavern than in the tunnel.

“We don't know,” Zig said. “Bigger than the Pit of Fire for certain. Bigger than all of Sulfur, perhaps.”

A sound came from everywhere at once. It was a low, ominous, unsettling noise, like the hum of a million bees. Donny felt it in his ribs and spine. It made him want to stick his fingers in his ears.

Some of the people below stood, some knelt, and sometimes all Donny saw was an arm that rose up with fingers bent and grasping. None of them moved, even when striking awkward poses that should have made them topple over.

“There,” Zig said, pointing. Not far from where they stood, something tunneled through the fog, causing the vapor to bulge where it passed. It was like watching a snake crawl under bedsheets. As it slithered its way toward where they stood, Zig put his arm around Donny's shoulders.

Donny held his breath and bit his lip as the thing drew near. It finally rose out of the sea of fog just below where they stood. It seemed to be made of fog itself, until it solidified before Donny's eyes and formed a tall, wormlike figure, ghostly white.

The thing had no legs, just a tail of insubstantial fog that turned solid near the waist. There were three delicate arms on each of its sides, its hands clasped in front. The face was something like a goat's, with white whiskers sprouting from the chin and horns curving from its skull. Where the eyes should have been, there were only vacant holes.

“This is a sorrowmonger,” Zig-Zag said quietly.

Donny tried desperately to keep his fear from showing, but his shivering legs betrayed him. He clutched his stomach, afraid he might get sick.

“A living mortal,” the sorrowmonger said. His voice
was a whisper but somehow easy to hear. Vapor drifted from his mouth when he spoke.

“A friend,” Zig-Zag replied. “Here to understand.”

The sorrowmonger nodded. Without another word, he turned and drifted back down the slope toward the frozen figures. With one of his six hands, he beckoned for them to follow.

There were spaces between the people, but not much. As they passed among the petrified crowd, Donny got a better look at their expressions. Everywhere, he saw anguish, sadness, terror, or pain.

The sorrowmonger paused beside a man who was on his knees, his hands raised to ward off something terrible. Donny looked at the wreath of mist around the man's head and saw that it moved and swirled like a thunderstorm blooming. There were fingers of vapor that plunged into the poor fellow's eyes.

“What do you see?” the sorrowmonger said.

It took Donny a moment to realize that the sorrowmonger had spoken to him. He bent closer and peered into the mist. The face of the frozen man was contorted. His mouth twisted, and his eyes were squeezed halfway shut. “He looks . . . afraid. And guilty, I guess.” Donny said. When the sorrowmonger said nothing in return, Donny added, “Why is he afraid?”

“Because he understands what he has done. From the outside looking in, you see the mist that surrounds
him. But from the inside looking out, he experiences the pain he has caused. Imagine the worst moment of your life, mortal—the time you were most afraid, most anguished.”

That was easy for Donny. It was when he was in the brewery, heartbroken, his life ruined. Even before the fire had nearly killed him, that was the darkest point. His heart had felt like it was rotting inside his chest.

“Now,” the sorrowmonger said, “imagine that lasting a hundred years. And when that is over, another terrible fraction of time replaces it. That is what this man will feel. But it will not be
his
anguish. He will know the terror his victim knew—bottled up inside that instant as if he were the victim himself. Never will he become accustomed to the feeling or grow numb to the fear. The last second will be as horrible as the first.”

Donny stared at the man. He couldn't imagine it.
Is this really so much better than the fire?
he wondered.

“But that is only part of what the dead will know,” the sorrowmonger said. “They will also understand the things in life that formed them—the things that made them the way they were.”

Donny stared at the man's face and wondered what terrible vision he perceived in the mist. As he watched, he noticed that the man's eyelids were closing, but moving as slowly as the minute hand of a clock. He was
blinking
. Donny turned his head and put his ear by the man's face.
This close, he heard one specific sound that he could pick out from the eerie hum that was everywhere at once.

The man was
screaming
.

The hairs on Donny's neck stood up as he realized that this was just one of the countless voices, one buzz in the hive. That awful pervasive noise was the grand total of every one of them screaming, wailing, or weeping in the slowest of motions.

Donny looked around at the countless figures. He tried to imagine how many more must be deeper inside, trapped in their own terrible moments. Were there hundreds of thousands? Millions? Sure, each had done wrong in their lifetime, but how much pain would they endure before they moved on? He thought suddenly of his father, Benny Taylor, the killer for hire who was destined to become one of these frozen figures. Would his father see the pain he'd caused? Would he become one of his own victims and stare down the barrel of a gun?

Donny covered his eyes with his palms. “Zig, can we go, please? I've seen enough.”

Zag was awake now, frowning at his surroundings. He and Zig nodded together and led Donny back toward the tunnel. The sorrowmonger melted into the fog. Of all the beings and creatures he had seen, that ghostlike figure had filled Donny the most with dread. “How many of those sorrowmongers are there?” he asked.