Chapter Twenty Five: Ghouls are for Fools

Hadrian follows me home, ranting.

Feeling the cool air, I pause as I reach the apartment block. After the bet with Chronus, my head is beginning to pound and the alcohol's making my eyes water with the need for sleep. Plans, and conquering, can begin tomorrow, I decide, stifling another tear-spilling yawn.

Just thinking of the word yawn makes me yawn, and my eyes flood tears once more. I scrub at them, careful not to seem too delicate or Hadrian might think I had actually been listening to his lectures. He's still talking, it seems.

He had tried exceptionally hard to get Chronus to change his mind, but the Elysian ruler didn't comprehend adjusting a bet. Especially one he believed he could win.

And why won't he win? A nasty voice in my head insists. Nobody escapes Elysium. Why should you?

Not that I had helped in negotiations. No, I had stood back and let Hadrian argue with his brother in undertones. Intuitively, I had deduced that Chronus was the kind of bull-headed king that once a ruling was made, would rather keep his pride than change it. Hadrian's argument, whether for my benefit or not, had no effect.

I breathe out, shooting a sideways glance at Hadrian. That mystery. Is he really trying to help me? But if he is, why argue against my potential freedom? Sure, it would be risky...I may be confined to Judgement, which sounded-- excuse the pun-- worse than death but I'm not that important. Unless I am...

I watch as his jaw clenches, a habit he does when he's cheesed off. Which aptly describes the situation, I'm certain.

Because, one step further than ignoring his pleas, Chronus had forbidden him to assist me, and that made me wonder just what was in store down in the sewers. Lots of goop? Rats? Stone cold realisation?

He had also been forbidden to assist me because Chronus thought we were in love, which meant Hadrian would destroy whatever came in my way. I had played on that; how eager Chronus was to place a bet on something as frivolous as his brother's virginity, when there was larger matters in the world. And little did he know that I can take care of myself. I don't need Hadrian to protect me, so that's no loss.

Hadrian turns from where he'd been eying up the apartment complex, catching my glance. I swiftly jerk my eyes upwards, letting out an audible huff. My heart tells me to trust him, and my head counters that everything I've ever loved has been spoilt, for one reason or another. Which makes having these feelings bubbling very difficult; one betrayal from Hadrian and all my plans will be destroyed.

Between the two brothers, there's enough hassle in my life to last a lifetime.

Hah. Lifetime, or afterlifetime?

I scoff at my own joke, ignoring Hadrian as I cross into the entrance hall of the flats. He's clearly waiting for me to talk, hovering in the doorway.

Doorway? My interest is piqued. He's not coming in. 'Where do you sleep?'

It's not the talking he hoped for, clearly. Hadrian gives me a look. 'I'm not a citizen. I'm a god. They haven't given me a bed.'

My eyes narrow. 'Don't go creeping into Blondie's bed,' I say before I can think the comment through.

'Who?' He laughs at the nickname, but he seems genuinely lost.

My eyes narrow further. 'Never mind. I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow.'

I turn, my dark hair flipping over my shoulder.

'Wait!'

I pause, my hair swishing back again as my head tilts towards Hadrian. 'What?'

'You can't just...' He swallows, clears his throat. 'You can't just go to sleep.'

'I'm tired. Why wouldn't I?'

'You...you bet your life, Ness! For...' Hadrian coughs again, and I squint through the dark to realise his cheeks are pink. Why? Why is he embarrassed?

He takes another few seconds before his voice returns. 'For me. You did it for me?'

Oh.

That's what he's embarrassed about.

He thinks I've made a stupid deal because I'm stupidly in love with him.

I laugh. And I laugh deeper. I clutch my sides. Hadrian scowls.

'What's so funny?' He demands.

I stop laughing and give him a serious look. 'You're cute, I'll give you that. But I'm not making the deal with Chronus because I'm desperate for you. I'm making the deal so that I can find my brother's killer. If he's here in Elysium, I can ask him. But according to legend, Chronus has the records in his palace.'

The records had been a discovery made when reading those old books in the library. A record of all those living in Elysium, and those temporarily or permanently assigned to Judgement, is said to be kept in the heart of the Underworld city. Finding Nate's name in there would assure me that he'd at least made it to the next life, and secondly I would be able to see him. My brother. My twin.

But my words are harsh, and I hate myself for pushing Hadrian away. But until I can trust him, until I know whether he called Chronus to help him or me, I can't let my own body take control.

Hadrian looks physically slapped. So much so he takes a step back, blinking rapidly. 'I'd forgotten about your brother,' he admits.

'At least someone can.'

It haunts me every hour of the day. Nate's blood, dripping through my fingers...

I suppress a shudder, but it doesn't slip Hadrian's notice. He takes a step forward, concerned and reaching out to me, but I shrink away.

'Leave me,' I ask, waving my hands in apology. Please, I want to add, don't tempt me.

'Ness, I don't...' He pauses, shuts his eyes, then nods, once.

'I have to escape from here,' I say, almost to myself. 'No matter what game you're playing to get me to do what you want me to, there's a killer out there. And nobody else knows but me.'

Nate's glassy eyes, staring up at the sky.

Nate's head, severed in sinews from his shoulders-- a slow, painful death of hacking and sobbing.

I turn back into the darkness of the lobby, my heart shutting out Hadrian and this dangerous game we have. At the end of it all, I'm still a murderer. Even if I fail, I deserve to be in Judgement.

I need judging most of all. I killed my own brother, evil or not.

---

'Oh. It's you.'

My supervisor, the woman I'd had a fist fight with-- she's now staring down at me with a bemused smile. It's more like a grimace, actually, but that may be the fat lip she's sporting. At least if I screwed up my chances of ever escaping, I'd done it well.

'I've been told that you want to go straight to the sewers,' she continues, and that grimace is trying forcefully to become a snide smile, but not quite making it. I realise that she's laughing at the idea of me going down there, and I'm starting to feel like I'm missing a key point.

'That's right,' I say.

'Very well.' Far too easy. Far...

I'm so dead...dead? What could possibly happen?

I make a mental note to ask Hadrian, but then I remember, he's not here. He can't help me, and I shouted at him last night.

My supervisor is called Shan. Shan leads me to the elevator shafts, where workers are hauling the lifts up and down in turns. Before we join the queue, Shan pulls me to the cupboard nearby-- at least, what I'd assumed was a cupboard-- and reveals another cloakroom: of weapons.

My mouth pops open.

Soundlessly, Shan straps a utility belt over her hips, and presses goggles onto her dark eyes. Next, she chooses a flashlight, a whistle, a notepad, a knife, and a small pistol, placing each one routinely onto her belt. I follow suit, quite literally-- we look almost identical, aside from our height and hair, but most of our faces are covered by the goggles, and we're wearing the same neon outfits.

She grunts at me to follow, not bothering to check whether I'm ready or not. I scramble after her, finishing sheathing the knife onto my left hip.

Back in the lobby, we wait for the lift to arrive in silence. A few workers cast us nervous glances ahead of us, as if unsure whether to speak up. The look on Shan's face is enough to banish any idea of conversation, and the queue for the lift is like a walk of shame. Nobody makes eye contact.

I clear my throat. One of the workers gives me an incredulous look.

Shan doesn't flicker.

'What's with all the gear?' I ask.

Shan still doesn't reply, but I sense a tightening of her jaw. Perhaps it's my imagination; after all, there's not a lot to see of her. Particularly when the person you're looking at is staring at anywhere but you.

Even if the person in front of us is visibly shaking, she might not be angry.

'So...a notepad? Am I going to be making notes down there?'

My joke falls as flat as Shan's facial expression as she turns to me, pulls up her goggles, and glares. 'No, but you might need to jot a note for when your body is found for any last words.'

I blink, and then give a small smile. She has to be joking, because how can a body of an already-dead person be found?

'Ha-ha,' I agree in a wooden tone, 'That's a good one.'

She gives me a funny look. 'No, I'm totally serious. We carry notebooks if we're in trouble that we can't get out of...and we might be found by the wrong people.'

'Wrong people?'

By now, the entire queue is shooting us furtive glances, taking in turns to note whether Shan is ready to switch prey yet. Whilst its my turn to be interrogated, they seem at ease.

'You've got to know what's in the sewers...' Shan spots my confusion, and claps a hand over her mouth. She lets out a shrill laugh. 'You don't? Oh Chronus, you might change your mind when you hear.' With a sly grimace, she says, 'There's no shame.'

I place my hands on my hips. 'What's down there? Just tell me. Nothing can be worse than dying.'

Shan's teeth show as her lip curls. 'On the contrary, the sewers are the epitome of "worse than dying." Trust me. When you live in eternity, there's things that can happen to your soul that's destructive.'

'Soul?'

Shan looks even more triumphant. 'You really didn't do any research, did you? In the Afterlife, in Elysium, you're a soul, stripped down to your bare essence, with your chosen age and form. For example, I died at sixty-seven. Do I look sixty-seven?'

No. But half of me wanted to say yes, just to see how much she would hate me, but answers are worth more. And when she has the upper hand, Shan wants to talk down to me.

I shake my head.

Happy, Shan continues on.

'Souls are fragile things. If you sever your chain-- that's your number, by the way, that hangs around your neck-- then you become a Phantom. You lose your own self, and you wander, a lost soul-- an empty vessel that can be possessed by any dark magic.'

I shake my head. 'Dark magic...? Who could...?'

Who could do that? Other than Hadrian?

'The sewers can be accessed by people living in Judgement, which is eternal hell for those who have really sinned. Backstreet deals are always slipping through; dark magicians often live unnoticed in great caves, accessible by the sewers. Part of our work is to root them out.'

As she says this, I notice how her hand goes to the hilt of her knife, the other to her pistol. I can't help but imagine her trying to take on a dark magician-- in the form of a dragon in my wild, uncontrollable thoughts, of course-- and having only a useless, puny knife to fight with.

'Can't be that bad if you only carry knives and pistols,' I say.

'Not bad at all,' Shan replies drily. 'Getting lost down there means you could wander for weeks without finding the way back. Then there's Ghouls down there...they are those fantastical human equivalents of the walking dead. Ghouls have escaped Judgement, but rot away from the weight of their sentence, living an agonising and painful existence...and they don't hesitate to attack. They have nothing to lose.'

I try not to let her words intimidate me. Not. At. All. I flick my hair back, tucking it into my yellow hazard suit, before pointing to it and saying, 'Haven't thought these through then, have you? We stand out quite a bit to any-- er-- ghouls.'

'We also stand out to our friends. Long days do strange things to people we think are allies. It is not uncommon that they shoot the wrong person.'

'But you can't die from being shot here. Can you?'

'Death would be welcome. Souls don't die, but they can fade. An untreated gunshot can cause a soul to fade from existence entirely.'

No afterlife to the afterlife, then.

The elevators heave upwards to reveal the empty carriage. To my surprise, the workers at the front of the queue, ahead of us, step aside to allow Shan to stride in first. She doesn't question their submissive attitude, and instead revels in it. She steps gracefully into the elevator and pulls her goggles back over the bridge of her nose, wrinkling it to adjust the fit. Then she puts her hands on her hips, waiting for me.

One step. Two. Three, four.

The fifth step and I'm in that tiny box taking me down to my doom. I try not to appear hesitant, but I know all of the workers are watching me, assessing me. I tilt my chin, telling myself that this can't be the worst thing I've ever done.

Burying my brother. The second worst thing in my life, second only to having to explain why his body was in pieces.

I can do this.

For Nate.

I step over the threshold, and I hear the familiar clunking and whirling as the elevator descends. I count to ten, fifteen, twenty as the descent carries on. Shan merely looks bored, inspecting the bright yellow walls of the lift.

And then the elevator hits the bottom with a deafening crunch, and the vibrations slowly subside. Dust stops crackling down, and my leg stops twitching in anticipation. When we pull open the doors, cold, damp air floods in, and I take a big deep breath of it in.

This is it.

Now it's my turn.

A/N: Hope for those of you a little confused that this chapter might have clarified it again! Thank you so much for your votes and comments, and please keep them coming!

Larissa xxx