Hell's Detective

Chapter Three- Meet the Boss

Ingleseid walked down the alleyway, hands in his pockets, goggles glinting in the moonlight. A cat peeked out from behind a rubbish bin and watched him warily. He ran his hand along the crumbling wall, stopped, reached into his coat pocket. Withdrawing a stick of chalk, he drew a symbol on it, the cat's eyes shining as he worked. The symbol lit up like lightning, tearing over the cat's eyes, and he pressed his palms to it. They began to melt into the concrete as the cat yowled and took off down the alley. His arms were next, then his shoulders and his head, and suddenly he was standing on a cold marble floor. Statues towered above him, the lines of their faces so deep and contorted they were mutated, lips pulled back into snarls, mouths so wide Ingleseid half expected them to jump down and eat him whole.

Well dressed demons scurried around with files, on phones, talking to one another. Some were in their human disguises, some not. No one took any notice of him. He wandered over to an oak door that reached the ceiling, slipped inside.

The room was circular, domed ceiling proudly displaying a mural of dancing flames, a red, horned man with blazing eyes in the centre, holding a pitchfork as people burned around him, their mouths so wide with silent screams they almost looked like cartoons. The human depiction of Hell.

If only Hell were that simple.

In the middle of the room was a pit. It spanned almost the entire length, who knew how deep it went. Inside were bodies. Hundreds upon thousands, piled on top of one another like fat, frightened worms, writhing and clawing and trying to crawl over each other. Some screamed. Some sobbed. Some just lay, curled up, staring into nothingnes. Souls awaiting judgement. A man knelt before the court, shackled in iron chains. The judge in the podium, a robed demon with a shrivelled face like an old goat and horns protruding from either side of his head, said, "Andrew Blakley. 5,032 counts of blasphemy, 311 counts of lying, four counts of stealing, and three counts of adultery. My, my. Someone's been busy. Do we agree with 150 years, gentlemen?"

There was a murmur from the jury.

"Please," Andrew begged suddenly. "Please! Let me go. I-I didn't know this crap was real, didn't know I was going to- I'm sorry!"

The judge's eyes glinted.

"I'm afraid apologies won't work here, Mr Blakley," he said. "It's far too late for that. Take him away."

Two hulking demons wrapped their hands around each of Andrew's arms and dragged him out of the room. His screams echoed down the corridor as the doors slammed shut.

"Next," the judge said, stifling a yawn.

Another man was pulled out of the pit. He didn't beg like Andrew, just stared blankly ahead. Ingleseid wasn't even sure he was hearing what was being said.

"Luke Simmons, 840 counts of-" The Judge's eyes travelled over the audience, caught Ingleseid's. He faltered. An unpleasant smile spread across his face. "I'm sorry, Mr Simmons, but something has come up. Jury, you are dismissed. Boys, throw him back in, would you?"

The two demons took a hold of the man and tossed him into the pit. There was a wet sound as he slapped against the other bodies.

The court filed out, and the judge strolled to the edge of the pit, beckoned Ingleseid over. "Abner Ingleseid." He smiled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Ammelius," Ingleseid said. "The case you put me on."

"Ah, yes. Terrible business."

"The victims had the Militia's tattoo. They served in the war. Specifically, on the Earthplane. That was your jurisdiction, wasn't it? They would have been under your hand."