Tragedy of the Gimbles

VIII

Lionel Gimble watched his children, as he had watched them for the past forty-three years. There were three screens on the wall in front of him, each showing him a different prison. A room filled with clocks. A cavern of treasure. A cave of whispers. In each room sat a different prisoner. Three murderers, all suffering in isolation.

Lionel had designed the rooms, of course. And what clever rooms they were, if he could say so himself. Each one a constant, inescapable reminder of what its prisoner had done to deserve their fate. Impatient James with his clocks. Greedy Nancy, and her mounds of treasure. Paranoid Thomas, encompassed by whispers. It was truly brilliant. His Friend had been more than happy to implement his designs. 'Wicked enough for me to have thought it up,' he had said to Lionel. Quite the compliment.

As Lionel watched, Thomas suddenly sprung to life in the cave, yelling and gesticulating wildly at the circle of shadows which surrounded him. Lionel gave a small grunt of mild interest. The boy was rarely conscious anymore. Seeing him so active was beginning to become a true rarity. Perhaps I overdid things with that one. Lionel didn't feel bad for the boy, of course. But torture required that the subject be aware of what was happening to them, and Thomas had steadily been sliding into a state of near-permanent senselessness. Lionel's only hope for Thomas was that his nightmares were somehow worse than his reality.

"I thought I might find you here."

Lionel didn't turn as his Friend entered the room. "Just checking in on them," he commented idly.

"Having second thoughts about locking them away?" The voice was smooth and silky, but touched with sarcasm.

Lionel scoffed. "Not a chance. They did kill me, after all."

"You're still hung up on that? Honestly, I thought you'd be over the whole thing by now."

Lionel's jaw tightened. He did hate how his Friend liked to tease him. "I'm far from over it, and I doubt I ever will be. After I raised them, fed them, provided for them for decades on end... as far as I'm concerned, the ungrateful little things can drive themselves insane for eternity."

His Friend chuckled softly behind him. "I doubt their mother would appreciate you saying that, you know."

Lionel sighed. It was difficult to carry a civil conversation with the person who had invented incivility. Especially when they knew your every pressure point so intimately. "She's still getting their letters, yes?"

A sigh of exasperation, like a sudden gust of nighttime wind. "Of course she is. 'Hello mother, how are you, we're fine, father is taking good care of us, etcetera.' Such blatant lies. Honestly, how had the woman not caught on yet?"

"She's always been trusting," Lionel noted. "She had a particular blind spot for the children, Thomas especially. I suppose that's part of the reason she isn't down here..." the room lapsed into silence for a moment. Lionel growled softly, realizing what his Friend was trying to do. "You can't get to me that way, you know. Maybe I'm sentimental, but she and I parted long ago. It's over. You'll have more luck with traditional tortures."

His Friend let out a light chuckle, clearly not believing him. "Well, you can't blame me. After all, you are here for a reason, and it's not to spend eternity watching your children go mad."

Thomas' brief fit of sanity had waned, and he had fallen catatonic once again. In the cavern, Nancy was busy stacking yet another pile of worthless crystal goblets. From what Lionel could tell by the way she had been sorting everything, she seemed convinced that one of the things in the cavern was secretly the key to her escape. A ridiculous notion, of course. She would be spending the rest of eternity locked up in there.

Lionel realized his Friend was waiting for a response to his last comment. He sighed, and nodded grimly. "You're right, of course. We have other matters to take care of. I assume that's why you're here, yes?"

He stood from his chair in front of the monitors, and turned to face his Friend. Even now, after so many decades, Lionel failed to repress a shudder as he beheld him. The fall from above, it seemed, had not been kind to the former angel. Lionel's Friend grinned wickedly, rows of sharpened teeth glistening under the light of the monitors. "Yes, Lionel. Don't worry, you'll be back here sooner than you think. Kasdeya just finished with Brutus, and you know how that tires him. Who knows? Maybe he'll let you go early." His Friend motioned with a nine-fingered hand. "Come along, now. Wouldn't want the fires to get cold, would we?"

Lionel took one last look at his children. James, trying vainly to shatter one of the wall clocks. Nancy, gummily gnawing at one of her goblets. Thomas, completely dead to everything around him, lost in unknowable dreams. Lionel smiled. "The fires of Hell never go cold, Friend. You know that as well as anyone."

Lionel followed his Friend out the door, head held high. The heat, as always, was stifling.

THE END