Hell's Detective

Chapter Twenty-eight- Hell

The corridor was pale and sickly, filled with men and women in lab coats ushering people in straight jackets this way and that.

But they weren't normal men and women.

They didn't have faces. No mouths, no eyes, nothing.

And the patients were screaming, flailing, biting. Drool spilled from their mouths like rabid dogs.

"Welcome home, kiddo," Ingleseid murmured.

Samael pressed himself closer to him, clung onto his hand.

"Just act normal, yeah?" Holly said, but her voice was wavering.

They slipped through the corridor in single file, not looking at anyone, not making a sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ingleseid saw a faceless doctor march past, pushing along a thrashing man in a wheelchair. Ingleseid swallowed.

Out of no where, a man in a hospital gown launched himself at him. Ingleseid dropped Samael's hand and brought his arms up to his face as the man made a wild grab for his eyes. Spittle flew in all directions as he screamed nonsense.

Ingleseid crashed to the ground and rolled over, but the man was faster. In one swift move he had his hand tangled in Ingleseid's hair and was slamming his head down. The impact rocketed through Ingleseid's skull, spots bursting in front of his eyes. He brought his knee up, and it connected with a satisfying 'crack!' The man wheezed and doubled over. Ingleseid leapt up and turned to run, but his feet were kicked from under him. He crashed into a metal utensils table. Knives and forks and spoons clattered over his head. He curled his fingers around the nearest thing he could find. The man gave a wild, animalistic cry and charged, slamming into him like a brick wall. Ingleseid toppled over and held up his hands up for the final blow.

But it never came.

The man stood, swaying slightly, with an almost dreamy look plastered across his face. Slowly, he looked down at the red stain on his dressing gown, rapidly expanding as if it were eating away at him. Sticking out of his chest was the silver hilt of a fork.

He was on the ground in an instant, spluttering, wild eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Ingleseid just stared at him. He wasn't dead, not really. You couldn't die in Hell. If you did, you just got transported to another level. After all, torture's no fun if you can't feel it.

That didn't mean he didn't kill him.

He tore his eyes away from the pale, lifeless body and turned to Holly and Samael.

Except they weren't there.

"Holly?" he yelled, tearing down the corridor. "Holly!"

But she wasn't there. Just men and women in straight jackets, drooling and laughing and singing.

He ripped open the nearest door, labelled 'Nursing Room,' but it was just another corridor, doors lining the walls like silent soldiers. He ran down, went through the second one to the end.

Another corridor.

He ripped open one of the doors, and out of the corner of his eye caught someone duck in after him.

A faceless nurse.

His heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and went through.

A corridor.

Every limb in his body screamed at him to run, but as carefully as he could, he walked down to the end. What was it Holly had said? Just act normal.

His heart thudded to a stop as he reached the end.

A faceless doctor was standing in front of the door.

Slowly, he turned around. A couple of feet away was the nurse who had been tailing him. He slipped through a door into another identical corridor, and this time three nurses stood a couple of doors down in a line, stiff, silent. Like statues.

He tore into another corridor, and their footsteps thundered behind him. He burst through a door and stared into the faces of fifteen or so nurses and doctors, all perfectly still as if they were waiting for something.

Waiting for him. The door behind him snapped shut, and the doctor and nurses advanced. He thrashed and struggled as dozens of gloved hands grabbed him, but it was no use. They dragged him to a room containing an empty chair with leather straps on the arms and legs, pushing him down and pulling the straps until they were ripping into his skin.

The doctor put something cold on Ingleseid's head. A wire snaked down his torso to a ticking machine with a dial labelled, 'Volts'.

Oh no.

Ingleseid screamed and wrenched at the straps. Blood trickled down his arm.

"No!" he screamed as the doctor went to turn the dial and-

His forehead exploded.

Blood showered Ingleseid, and the doctor collapsed to his knees, the blade of a kitchen knife protruding from his head. He sank to the ground and didn't get up.

Holly appeared where he had just been, her hands shaking, staring at the doctor's limp body like she was in a trance.

"Holly..." Ingleseid croaked.

Her head snapped up. She ran to him, undid the straps. Samael watched them curiously from the door.

She pulled Ingleseid up, and when they were sure the coast was clear of faceless wards, they ran out.

"Where do we go?" Holly demanded.

"I don't know," he said.

"Abner!" she yelled desperately.

"I don't know! I don't remember!"

"Shut up," she said, pulling at her hair. For a second, he didn't know if she was about to burst into tears or hit him, then she stopped dead in her tracks, pointed. "What's that?"

Ingleseid followed her gaze.

"It's a staircase," he said disbelievingly.

Cautiously, they made their way over to it. No faceless nurse pulled them inside. No horrible monster burst out to eat them whole. It was just an ordinary staircase.

Holly squeezed his hand. "See you on the other side," she said, and they made their way down.