The Angels from Hell

Prologue

The tablecloth was barely visible beneath a lunch that Mr Castillo could not afford. He had sat there for some time, surveying his meal. Where should he start? He contemplated the two dishes closest to him. Thickly cut steak, medium rare, baby potatoes cooked whole resting on a bed of green beans all drizzled in gravy. Or, perhaps, the lobster dish, so fresh it could have been caught that very morning. He settled on a glass of wine, raising it to his lips as he leaned back in his chair. There was no one else around him, he had reserved the whole restaurant to himself, even the waiters had returned to the kitchen at his command though he knew they would be back. He was looking forward to seeing their faces when they brought the cheque. Mr Castillo would smile, it was ever so sweeter that way, let them expect a tip, a generous one, let them expect it right until he stormed out of the doors. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, if their disappointed faces was the last thing he ever saw.

He glanced down at his watch. He still had time. The sun wouldn't set for hours and when it did he would be prepared, he wouldn't run or cry, he would face it like a man. What was death anyway? Where he was going, he could eat steak at the wave of his hand. And yet...

Mr Castillo dragged the steak dish towards him and began to shove forkfuls into his mouth, not bothering to dab at the juice running down his chin. It had not been that long since he had heard that knock on his door. He had believed them then, obeyed their every command. The week's end had seemed like a lifetime away. It was not far away now. Sure, he had time for a steak lunch but not a lifetime. What did he know, really, about these matters? Was there steak dinners in heaven?

No, he couldn't think like this. They had promised heaven and what would heaven be without all the luxuries the human mind could desire. Still, he kept eating, stuffing his face with the contents of each plate. When the last spoonsful of ice-cream passed his lips, he stood up. At once, a woman in a white shirt and apron hurried to his table.

Mr Castillo tried to smile and perform his usual routine, but something felt wrong. His smile wavered as he signed his name on the receipt and not even the waiter's barely concealed disappointment brought it back. He was only thirty-nine, he had never bought that house by the river or opened that business, he was still a bachelor though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. When he slunk out of the restaurant, he saw the sun was just starting to touch the top of the highest city buildings.

He glanced down at his watch again. The second hand ticked loudly, the noise reverberating in Mr Castillo's head. He ripped the watch from his wrist and threw it into the road watching with satisfaction as it shattered under the wheel of a car. But the ticking didn't stop. In fact, it seemed to be growing louder. Mr Castillo stuck his fingers into his ears, tripping over his feet as he stumbled forwards, the plates of food in his stomach weighing him down.

He rounded the street corner and was almost hit by a car emerging from an underground parking lot. Mr Castillo barely bothered to cuss out the driver and kept moving. His feet felt like they were sinking into the pavement, each step a major effort.

Mr Castillo reached the door to his apartment block and wrenched it open, the force almost causing him to fall backwards. He rushed towards the elevator and jabbed the button repeatedly, listening to the tired whir of mechanics and a faint ding as the slightly rusted doors parted. There were two people emerging from inside. He pushed past them, deaf to their protests and leaned back against the elevator's walls, breathing heavily. His lunch did not appear to be digesting. Instead it was squirming in his stomach, threatening to force its way back up his throat.

With an effort, Mr Castillo rested against the cool metal. He was alone again in the lift, nothing but his reflection staring back at him from the metal surfaces.

He jerked backwards, banging his head hard.

There was his reflection, oily hair smoothed back against his skull, wide dark eyes narrowing as he approached the opposing wall. He lifted his hand to his face and felt his cheek gently. There were wrinkles under his eyes which he had never noticed before, perhaps the stress but had patches of his skin always been this discoloured?

The door dinged open, and he collapsed out, grabbing onto a nearby bin for support. When he removed his hands he saw in horror that they were deeply lined, veins clearly visible through pale skin. They seemed to be spreading, his skin sinking and cracking like drought stricken earth. Trying to remain calm, Mr Castillo drew his keys from a jacket pocket and fumbled at the lock to his apartment.

Reluctantly, the door creaked open, and he entered, pressing it closed again with his back. He remained there, against the door, his breath coming out in short bursts. They had never mentioned this.

When he separated himself from the door, Mr Castillo approached the window and from his vantage point on the ninth floor he could see a city bathed in afternoon light. People walked by beneath him, unconcerned. It was not his fault. Not the long fights, the alcohol, the gun stored in the glove box. She hadn't left him with a choice. That road trip, all the arguing about every little thing, what man would have sat there and done nothing. He didn't deserve hell, he deserved to go to heaven and bathe in angel choirs and he would. They had promised him that, an end to all the running and the cheap apartments.

Mr Castillo fell to his knees. All across his arms, the lines deepened. His muscles shrunk while his bones became brittle and creaked like the lift's rusted mechanics. He ran his fingers through his hair, and it came away in chunks. He could almost see his bones through his skin and feel his eyes sinking into dark pits. With a great effort, Mr Castillo raised his head, looking up past the roof of this foul apartment, past the other rooms above him, all the way up into the very heavens itself and let out a scream, a long drawn out scream letting out all the fear, the anger, the bitterness inside him until he collapsed sidewards and was still.