Hell Is Forever

  There was a tap on his shoulder and he was not too surprised to see Lady Sutton standing beside him. She still wore the sequined evening gown, and in the lurid moonlight her face was as course and masculine as ever.

  Finchley said: "Oh... it's you."

  "How are you, Dig, m'lad?"

  He thought it over, trying to bring some reason to the dumb despair and yet ludicrous insanity that pervaded his cosmos. At last he said: "Not so good, Lady Sutton."

  "Trouble?"

  "Yes-" He broke off and stared at her. "I say, Lady Sutton, how the devil did you get here?"

  She laughed. "I'm dead, Dig. You ought to know."

  "Dead? Oh... I-" He floundered in a horror of embarrassment.

  "No hard feelings, though. I'd have done the same m'self, y'know."

  "You would?"

  "Anything for a new sensation. That was always our motto, eh?" She nodded complacently and grinned at him. It was that same old grin of pure deviltry.

  Finchley said: "What are you doing here? I mean, how did-"

  "I said I was dead," Lady Sutton interrupted. "There's lots you don't understand about this business of dying."

  "But this is my own personal private reality. I own it."

  "And I'm still dead, Dig. I can get into any bloody damned reality I choose. Wait-you'll find out."

  He said: "I won't-ever-That is, I can't. Because I won't ever die."

  "Oh-ho?"

  "No, I won't. I'm a god."

  "You are, eh? How d'you like it?"

  "I... I don't." He faltered for words. "I... that is, someone promised me a reality I could shape for myself, but I can't, Lady Sutton, I can't."

  "And why not?"

  "I don't know. I'm a god, and yet every time I try to shape something beautiful it turns out disgusting and loathsome."

  "As how, for instance?"

  He showed her the twisted mountains and plains, the evil lakes and rivers, the distorted grunting creatures he had created. All this Lady Sutton examined carefully and with close attention. At last she pursed her lips and thought for a moment; then she gazed keenly at Finchley and said: "Odd that you've never made a mirror, Dig."

  "A mirror?" he echoed. "No, I haven't-I never needed one-"

  "Go ahead. Make one now."

  He gave her a perplexed look, and still staring at her, waved a hand in the air. A square of silvered glass appeared in his hand and he held it toward her.

  "No," Lady Sutton said, "it's for you. Look in it."

  Wondering, he raised the mirror and gazed in it. He uttered a hoarse cry and peered closer. Leering back at him out of the dim night was the distorted, evil face of a gargoyle. In the small slant-set eyes, the splayed nose, the broken yellow teeth, the twisted ruin of a face he saw everything he had seen in his ugly cosmos.

  He saw the distorted cathedral of heaven and all its unholy hierarchy of ribald retainers; the spinning chaos of crashing stars and suns; the lurid landscape of his Eden; each mewling, ghastly creature he had created; every individual horror that his brain had spawned.

  Violently he hurled the mirror spinning and turned to confront Lady Sutton.

  "What?" he demanded hoarsely, "what is this?"

  "Why, you're a god, Dig," Lady Sutton laughed, "and you ought to know that a god can create only in his own image. Yes-the answer's as simple as that. It's a grand joke, ain't it?"

  "Joke?" The import of all the eons to come thundered down over his head. An eternity of living with his hideous self, upon himself, inside himself-over and over, re-repeated in every sun and star, every living and dead thing, every creature, every everlasting moment. A monstrous god feeding upon himself and slowly, inexorably going mad.

  "Joke!" he screamed.

  He flung out his hand and instantly he floated once more, suspended out of all contact with mass and matter. Once more he was utterly alone, with nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to touch. And as he pondered for another ineffable period on the inevitable futility of his next attempt, he heard quite distinctly, the deep bellow of familiar laughter.

  Of such was the Kingdom of Finchley's Heaven.

  III

  "Give me the strength! Oh, give me the strength!"

  She went through the veil sharp on Finchley's heels, that short, slender, dark woman; and she found herself in the dungeon passage of Sutton Castle. For a

  moment she was startled out of her prayer, half disappointed at not finding a land of mists and dreams. Then, with a bitter smile, she recalled the reality she wanted.

  Before her stood a suit of armor; a strong, graceful figure of polished metal edged with sweeping flutings. She went to it and stared. Dully from the gleaming steel cuirass, a slightly distorted reflection stared back. It showed the drawn, highstrung face, the coal-black eyes, the coal-black hair dipping down over the brow in a sharp widow's peak. It said: "This is Sidra Peel. This is a woman whose past has been fettered to a dull-witted creature that called itself her husband. She will break that chain this day if only she finds the strength-"

  "Break the chain!" she murmured fiercely, "and this day repay him for a life's worth of agony. God-if there be a god in my world-help me balance the account in full! Help me-"

  Sidra stared, then froze while her pulse jerked wildly. Someone had come soundlessly down the lonesome passage and stood behind her. She could feel the heat-the aura of a presence-the almost imperceptible pressure of a body against hers. Mistily in the mirror of the armor she made out a face peering over her shoulder.

  She spun around, crying: "Ahhhh!"

  "So sorry," he said. "Thought you were expecting me."

  Her eyes riveted to his face. He was smiling slightly in an affable manner, and yet the streaked blond hair, the hollows and mounds, the pulsing veins and shadows of his features were a lurid landscape of raw emotions.

  "Calm yourself," he said while she teetered crazily and fought down the screams that were tearing through her.

  "But wh-who-" she broke off and tried to swallow.

  "I thought you were expecting me," he repeated.

  "I... expecting you?"

  He nodded and took her hands. Against his, her palms felt chilled and moist. "We had an engagement."

  She opened her mouth slightly and shook her head.

  "At twelve forty-" He released one of her hands to look at his watch. "And here I am, on the dot."

  "No," she said, yanking herself away. "No, this is impossible. We have no engagement. I don't know you."

  "You don't recognize me, Sidra? Well-that's odd; but I think you'll recollect who I am before long."

  "But who are you?"

  "I shan't tell you. You'll have to remember yourself."

  A little calmer, she inspected his features closely. Suddenly, with the rush of a waterfall, a blended sensation of attraction and repulsion surged over her. This man alarmed and fascinated her. She was filled with horror at his mere presence, yet intrigued and drawn.

  At last she shook her head and said: "I still don't understand. I never called for you, Mr. Whoever-you-are, and we had no engagement."

  "You most certainly did."

  "I most certainly did not!" she flared, outraged by his insolent assurance. "I wanted my old world. The same old world I'd always known-"

  "But with one exception?"

  "Y-yes-" Her furious glance faltered and the rage drained out of her. "Yes, with one exception."

  "And you prayed for the strength to make that exception?"

  She nodded.

  He grinned and took her arm. "Well, Sidra, then you did call for me and we did have an engagement. I'm the answer to your prayer."

  She suffered herself to be led through the narrow, steep-mounting passages, unable to break free of that magnetic leash. His touch on her arm was a frightening thing. Everything in you cried out against the misery and disgust-and yet another something in you welcomed it eagerly.

  As they passed through the cloudy light of infrequent lamps, she watched him c
overtly. He was tall and magnificently built. Thick cords strained in his muscular neck at the slightest turn of his arrogant head. He was dressed in tweeds that had the texture of sandstone and gave off a pungent, peaty scent. His shirt was open at the collar, and where his chest showed it was thickly matted.

  There were no servants about on the street floor of the castle. The man escorted her quietly through the graceful rooms to the foyer where he removed her coat from the closet and placed it around her shoulders. Suddenly he pressed his hard hands against her arms.

  She tore herself away at last, one of the old rages sweeping over her. In the quiet gloom of the foyer she could see that he was still smiling, and it added fuel to her fury.

  "Ah," she cried, "what a fool I am... to take you so for granted. `I prayed for you-' you say. `I know you-' what kind of booby do you think I am? Keep your hands off me!"

  She glared at him, breathing heavily, and he made no answer. His expression remained unchanged. It's like those snakes, she thought, those snakes with the jeweled eyes. They coil in their impassive beauty and you can't escape the deadly fascination. It's like soaring towers that make you want to leap to earth-like keen, glittering razors that invite the tender flesh of your throat. You can't escape!

  "Go on!" she screamed in a last desperate effort. "Get out of here! This is my world. It's all mine to do with as I choose. I want no part of your kind of rotten, arrogant swine!"

  Swiftly, silently, he gripped her shoulders and brought her close to him. While he kissed her she struggled against the hard talons of his fingers and tried to force her mouth away from his. And yet she knew that if he had released her she could not have torn herself away from that savage kiss.

  She was sobbing when he relaxed his grip and let her head drop back. Still in the affable tones of a casual conversation he said: "You want one thing in this world of yours, Sidra, and you must have me to help you."

  "In Heaven's name, who are you?"

  "I'm that strength you prayed for. Now come along."

  Outside the night was pitch black, and after they had gotten into Sidra's roadster and started for London, the road was impossible to follow. As she edged the car cautiously along, Sidra was able at last to make out the limed white line that bisected the road, and the lighter velvet of the sky against the jet of the horizon. Overhead the Milky Way was a long smudge of powder.

  The wind on her face was good to feel. Passionate, reckless and headstrong as ever, she pressed her foot on the accelerator and sent the car roaring down the dangerous dark road, eager for more of the cool breeze against her cheeks and brow. The wind tugged at her hair and sent it streaming back. The wind gusted over the top of the glass shield and around it like a solid stream of cold water. It whipped up her courage and confidence. Best of all, it recalled her sense of humor.

  Without turning, she called: "What's you name?"

  And dimly through the chattering breeze came his answer: "Does it matter?"

  "It certainly does. Am I supposed to call you: `Hey!' or `I say there-' or `Dear sir-'

  "Very well, Sidra. Call me Ardis."

  "Ardis? That's not English, is it?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Don't be so mysterious. Of course it matters. I'm trying to place you."

  "I see.''

  "D'you know Lady Sutton?"

  Receiving no answer she glanced at him and received a slight chill. He did look mysterious with his head silhouetted against the star-filled sky. He looked out of place in an open roadster.

  "D'you know Lady Sutton?" she repeated.

  He nodded and she turned her attention back to the road. They had left the open country and were boring through the London suburbs. The little squat houses, all alike, all flat-faced and muddy-colored, whisked past with a muffled whump-whumpwhump, echoing' back the drone of the engine.

  Still gay, she asked: "Where are you stopping?"

  "In London."

  "Where, in London."

  "Chelsea Square."

  "The Square? That's odd. What number?"

  "One hundred and forty-nine."

  She burst into laughter. "Your impudence is too wonderful," she gasped, glancing at him again. "That happens to be my address."

  He nodded. "I know that, Sidra."

  Her laughter froze-not at the words, for she had hardly heard them. Barely suppressing another scream, she turned and stared through the windshield, her hands trembling violently on the wheel. For the man sat there in the midst of that howling turmoil of wind and not a hair of his head was moving.

  "Merciful Heaven!" she cried in her heart, "what kind of mess did I-Who is this monster, this-Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy-Get rid of

  him! I don't want him. If I've asked for him, consciously or not, I don't want him now. I want my world changed. Right now! I want him out of it!"

  "It's no use, Sidra," he said.

  Her lips twitched and still she prayed: "Get him out of here! Change anything-everything, only take him away. Let him vanish. Let the darkness and the void devour him. Let him dwindle, fade-"

  "Sidra," he shouted, "stop that!" He poked her violently. "You can't get rid of me that way-it's too late!"

  She stopped as a final panic overtook her and congealed her brain.

  "Once you've decided on your world," Ardis explained carefully as though to a child, "you're committed to it. There's no changing your mind and making minor alterations. Weren't you told?"

  "No," she whispered, "we weren't told."

  "Well, now you know."

  She was mute, numb and wooden. Not so much wooden as putty. She followed his directions without a word; drove carefully to the little park of trees that was behind her house, and parked there. Very carefully, Ardis explained that they would have to enter the house through the servants' door.

  "You don't," he said, "walk openly to murder. Only clever criminals in storybooks do that. We, in real life, find it best to be cautious."

  Real life! she thought hysterically as they got out of the car. Reality! That Thing in the shelter- Aloud, she said: "You sound experienced."

  "Through the park," he answered, touching her lightly on the arm. "We shan't be seen."

  The path through the trees was narrow and the grass and prickly shrubs on either side were high. Ardis stepped aside and then followed her as she passed the iron gate and entered. He strode a few paces behind her.

  "As to the experience," he said, "yes-I've had plenty. But then, you ought to know, Sidra."

  She didn't know. She didn't answer. Trees, brush and grass were thick around her, and although she had traversed this park a hundred times, they were alien and distorted. They were not alive-no, thank God for that-she was not yet imagining things; but for the first time she realized how skeletal and haunted they looked. Almost as if each had participated in some sordid murder or suicide through the years.

  Deeper into the park, a dank mist made her cough, and behind her, Ardis patted her back sympathetically. She quivered like a length of supple steel under his touch, and when she had stopped coughing and the hand still remained on her shoulder, she knew in another burst of terror what he would attempt here in the darkness.

  She quickened her stride. The hand left her shoulder and hooked at her arm. She yanked her arm free and ran crazily down the path, stumbling on her stilt heels. There was a muffled exclamation from Ardis and she heard the swift pound of his feet as he pursued her.

  The path led down a slight depression and past a marshy little pond. The earth turned moist and sucked at her feet with hollow grunts. In the warmth of the night her skin began to prickle and perspire, but the sound of his panting was close behind her.

  Her breath was coming in gasps and when the path veered and began to mount, she felt her lungs would burst. Her legs were aching and it seemed that at the next instant she would flounder to the ground. Dimly through the trees, she made out the iron gate at the other side of the park, and with the little strength left to her she
redoubled her efforts to reach it.

  But what, she wondered dizzily, what after that? He'll overtake me in the street- Perhaps before the street-I should have turned for the car-I could have driven- He clutched at her shoulder as she passed the gate and she would have surrendered at that moment. Then she heard voices and saw figures on the street across from her. She cried: "Hello, there!" and ran to them, her shoes clattering on the pavement. As she came close, still free for the moment, they turned.