Until the End Read online

  Strange how eating something that looked so harmless, just a simple plant, could have such devastating consequences.

  He closed his eyes.

  Lifted his hand to his open mouth.

  Paused. Tried not to consider the stupidity of killing himself, what could go wrong, how he could end up not being there for April’s final days, the mess he had left for Thea, how he would never get to tell his parents he wasn’t actually a failure — he ignored the rage burning inside of him, the resentment that it was always him who had to do this; the fury that, once again, he was returning to the place no human ever wished to go.

  He could die forever, never come back, and end up stuck in Hell.

  He wanted to cry and scream and hear it echo back at him. He wanted to lash out and tell Om he could go. Oscar did not want to die; he was too young.

  He wished he did not have to be the one to endure these horrific tasks.

  But he was. And he had to accept that.

  Fuck it.

  Without allowing himself to think about it anymore, he shoved the poison into his mouth and swallowed.

  He opened his eyes. Looked at Om.

  Felt nothing, at first.

  Then it hit him. The clenching of his insides. The tingle of his limbs.

  Vomit lurched through his throat and took him to his knees with the power of its hurl. He spewed lumpy bile over the ground, then was sick again.

  He tried to walk away from the sick, not wanting to die in the puddle, and made a few steps before he fell to his side.

  His mouth burned. His face tingled. His nose, his ears, they went numb. His abdomen felt on fire.

  He closed his eyes, waited for it to pass, but it felt too bad. It was awful. He was having to die in pain and there was nothing he could do but accept it and wait.

  His limbs tingled and he could no longer lift his arms. He kicked his leg, if only to show that he could, then he lost the ability.

  He lay still on the floor, spread out, staring at the clear, blue sky. His forehead perspired, and sweat trickled into this eye. He tried to breathe, but he no longer could.

  Then came the pain in his arm, and in his chest.

  His heart was failing.

  He closed his eyes and waited for death.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  27

  In just a few minutes, the faces around the house turned from a few to many. The sparse bodies hidden in the shadows had become a mass of empty figures, waiting, dormant.

  “Why are they just standing there?” asked Henry.

  Thea joined him at the living room window.

  “What would you rather they do?” Thea asked. “Try to get into the house?”

  A storm raged outside the window. Wind fought the rain, pellets of water bombarded the grass, and puddles accumulated.

  It was like the weather was at war with itself.

  “I don’t want them to attack, but I don’t understand why they aren’t.”

  “Last time they tried, we beat them.”

  “But things are different now. We didn’t have their leader tied to a bed.”

  A bump shook the ceiling.

  It sounded like two heavy feet stepping on the floor.

  Thea stared upwards. They’d heard a lot of noises. Hopefully, this was just another one of them.

  “They aren’t here to kill us,” she said absently, her focus on the ceiling. “They are here to worship.”

  A few more pounds came from above, like footsteps. Slow, weighty steps.

  “They are here to meet their leader.”

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Creak.

  “What was that?” whispered Henry.

  Thea’s wide eyes met Henry’s. She didn’t answer.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  They grew louder.

  Like they were out of the room.

  Thea edged to the door, unwillingly forcing her feet to inch forward.

  Henry did not move.

  He watched her, staying at the window.

  Thea peered forward, so she could just about see the top step.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Pause.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Pause.

  Each step was heavy, like falling then regaining balance. A quick stumble and stop.

  And each step was becoming louder.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  A shadow appeared over the top step. It was already dark, the soundtrack of a blizzard matching the flickers of darkness from the upstairs window.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Two legs appeared at the top of the steps. Bare, unshaven ankles. Flaking dead skin. Ripped pyjamas unveiling the scorned flesh.

  A foot met the next step, then the other foot met the next, the movement disjointed; robotically chaotic.

  As if whoever was walking down the stairs had never used those legs.

  Like a creature getting used to its body

  Another bump, and another, followed by a succession, and it met the bottom step.

  “April…”

  The name passed her lips without intention or meaning.

  April stood before them, but at the same time, she didn’t.

  Crotch soaked with crusty blood. Hair greasy with dried sweat. Face pale and skin cracked. Lips dry. Body stiff. Grin bigger than the face could handle.

  “Henry…” she whispered. “The crucifix…”

  “What?” he blurted out, loud and with no tact.

  Thea clenched her fist and willed herself to remain calm, not removing her eyes from the approaching body.

  “The crucifix,” she snapped, a little louder.

  “The crucifix?”

  “Yes!”

  Henry rushed to the crucifix hanging on the wall but, before he grabbed it, he stopped. Saw her. And panicked.

  “Oh my God…”

  “Hurry, Henry!”

  Henry stole the crucifix from the wall and rushed forward to Thea.

  The edge of the cross had just met her fingers when it happened.

  Lightning struck outside, coinciding with the lifting of April’s arm. Thea soared across the room, into Henry, and into the wall.

  Using April’s body as a helpless vessel, it moved forward, its breath croaking, its face full of cockiness, full of victory.

  “Thea,” it said, its voice low-pitched and booming. “You should have left when Oscar did.”

  28

  Om knelt at Oscar’s side.

  No one wishes to provide the means for someone to die. Especially not Om.

  But there was no choice.

  He could not see him, but he could already feel Lorenzo walking up the steps. He had not contacted Lorenzo, but Lorenzo would know when the shift in balance occurred, and he would know it was time to collect the body.

  For Om, death was normally a cheerful occasion, not a sad one. It would give the deceased an opportunity to enter a new life or enter Parinirvana.

  Only now, the boy was entering Hell.

  He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

  “Om ami deva hrih,” he chanted, quietly, so only he and the wind could hear it. “Om ami deva hrih, om ami deva hrih.”

  He did this until Lorenzo reached the top step, and he had to stop.

  “Well?” Lorenzo prompted, his lip upturned, his voice impatient. “Is he dead?”

  “I thought you said you’d know when he is dead.”

  “You don’t ever just give a straight answer, do you?”

  Lorenzo stepped forward and looked over the corpse.

  “I hope this works,” Lorenzo said.

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  Lorenzo sneered at Om.

  “Then we are all damned to Hell.”

  Lorenzo took out a radio and turned around. He had a mumbled conversation that didn’t last long, then turned back to the body.<
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  “The helicopter will be here soon,” he said.

  Om did not ask why Lorenzo hadn’t just arrived in the helicopter. Maybe Lorenzo had been nearby, waiting impatiently for the death of his warrior.

  He seemed annoyed that he’d had to wait so long for Oscar to die.

  “What?” Lorenzo directed at Om, and Om realised he was staring. “You think the way I’m acting is callous?”

  “You act as you wish.”

  Lorenzo snorted a laugh, grinning sarcastically.

  The sound of a helicopter grew in the distance.

  “Are you going to help me move the body?” Lorenzo asked.

  “I will not move this body.”

  “Too weak?”

  “The body must be cold before it is touched or moved. The soul doesn’t leave the body just because the body has stopped breathing. It takes longer.”

  “He is dead!” Lorenzo declared. “His soul is in Hell now, far away from his body.”

  The helicopter approached. Lorenzo stood and waved his arms.

  Om watched as Lorenzo beckoned the helicopter closer, and it landed. They strapped Oscar’s body to a transportable gurney with little care, wheeled him onto the helicopter, and fixed the gurney in place.

  Om watched. He had done his part now, or so it seemed. But a feeling told him he still had one more move to make.

  After all, he was old, and this may be the last chance he had to face the opponent he had fought so many years ago.

  Just as they were about to leave, he stepped forward.

  “I am coming with you,” he said.

  Lorenzo frowned. “Are you kidding?”

  “I wish to come.”

  “I thought you couldn’t leave this temple?”

  “I can leave, I just do so with the risk of Mara finding me.”

  “Mara? You mean The Devil?”

  “I am ready to meet him again. I am ready to do my part.”

  Lorenzo sighed. Looked over his shoulder at the pilot.

  They did have an empty seat.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Om walked to the helicopter. After taking a final glance back at his temple, he sat down and fixed the seatbelt across his waist.

  He looked at Oscar’s body, which appeared deceptively peaceful.

  “Is his soul gone now?” Lorenzo asked.

  “Oh, it’s gone,” Om said. “He is on his own now, wherever he is.”

  29

  Oscar’s feet met rock, and the heat was immediately familiar.

  His feet were barefoot. His clothes were rags. His skin was bloodied and bruised. Hell had chosen this image for him, and he quickly came to accept it.

  Lava spewed over the edges of his mound of stone, screams echoed in the distance, and demons flew above the scorched sky.

  He knew where he was.

  He had been here before.

  He wasn’t immune to the torment, but he was prepared for it. One could never get used to such conditions; to be in Hell was to be in permanent pain. Every muscle felt weak, every limb felt like a burden, and every movement was a struggle.

  He moved his leg forward, and it felt like wading through water.

  He considered shouting for The Devil to come and face him but quickly remembered:

  The Devil is not here.

  He stood strong. Straightened his back, despite how much it throbbed.

  “Well?” he shouted, his voice reverberating back to him. “Is no one coming to collect me?”

  A roar was his answer.

  A figure emerged from the grey clouds, large and ominous. It appeared to have three heads. It was riding something.

  Oscar braced himself, and tried not to be afraid.

  As it grew closer, he could finally see what this beast looked like. Three heads: one of a human, one of a bull, one of a ram. Tail of a serpent. Eyes full of flames. Riding a bear.

  This was Balam. Prince of Hell.

  So this was who The Devil must have left in charge.

  Balam paused, hovering over Oscar, casting his fiery gaze over the insolent fool who dared enter the underworld for a second time.

  “Do you know why I am here?” Oscar asked.

  Balam did not respond.

  Oscar stepped forward.

  “I’m ready,” he said, his voice determined. “Whatever you have for me, whatever you will put me through — bring it on.”

  Balam lifted his chin, leered, then grinned.

  He nodded with a slight bow as if to say, as you wish.

  He soared away into the distance, leaving Oscar alone.

  Before Oscar could question why he’d left, the faint patter of a child’s feet approached him from behind.

  The messenger.

  He wondered what form it would take. April? Julian? Thea?

  But, as he turned around, he could not have expected to see the face he saw.

  At first, he didn’t recognise the young girl. He knew that he knew her, but he couldn’t figure out where from. He thought and thought, searching his memory for her face.

  Then, in a moment of grave realisation, he knew who she was.

  And he knew that the torment was just beginning.

  “Hello,” he said. “Have you come to take me somewhere?”

  She nodded, a face of delight at the prospect of leading him to his doom.

  “You didn’t save me, you know,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t, I just think you need to know that.”

  “You aren’t really her.”

  She frowned. “Yes, I am. What, you think I’m just some figment of your imagination?”

  “I think you’re a figment of Hell.”

  “No, it’s me. Really. Even after you exorcised Ardat Lili from my body, I just kept reliving what had happened. You created a life I couldn’t bear to live. I was barely a teenager before I took my life.”

  “Just take me wherever you are taking me.”

  “How many others do you think did the same?”

  “Just hurry.”

  “How many girls and boys did you save, only to condemn them to trauma and death?”

  “This isn’t working.”

  “You think I’m the only one? You caused this.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. I needed psychiatric help, and you put me through an ancient, outdated ritual.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You haven’t even checked up on how any of us are doing, have you? No aftercare. No afterthought. We were a job, and you moved on.”

  “I saved you, dammit! I saved you!”

  Kaylee Kemple fell silent. She smiled, satisfied that she had finally found the reaction she wanted. This would evidently be easier than she’d thought.

  Oscar scalded himself. He was better than that.

  He had to be better than that.

  “Shall we?” she asked, and turned, ready to take him to his first torment.

  He followed and, almost immediately, she had disappeared, and the cells of a prison surrounded him.

  30

  Thea felt the back of her head. Its collision with the fireplace had caused it to bleed, but there wasn’t that much blood. She’d be fine.

  She looked up, groggy, waiting for her vision to readjust.

  The crucifix lay on the floor next to her. Henry was to her left, cowering against the wall.

  Above her and across the room, it stood in the hallway. Stretching its arms. Looking at its hands, its body, its legs; not so much admiring as coming to terms with it. For something so powerful, a mortal body must be like a prison cell, and Thea knew The Devil would look to release himself from it as soon as possible.

  She could not let that happen.

  It turned April’s body toward the hallway mirror. It stepped closer, fogging its reflection with her breath. He fish-hooked her cheek, lifting it up, exposing the gums that held her teeth in place.

  He mushed her face together, squishing the nose then
spreading it, watching the wrinkles on her forehead curl up then spread out.

  It looked down at her body. Felt for its arms, dug dirty nails into her flesh, grabbed her breasts as if he was trying to pull them off.

  His face turned, angry. Like he was undignified to be in a young woman’s body. That this humiliation was making him furious, and somebody needed to suffer as a result.

  He turned its sneer toward Thea, his grimace contorting April’s features into a visage of wrath that she could never have produced.

  Thea did not wait.

  She grabbed the crucifix, stood, held it toward him, and edged forward as she shouted her prayer, speaking quickly and clearly.

  “That you spare us, that you pardon us, that you bring us true penance.”

  It lifted April’s arm, clenching her fist. Thea was lifted from the ground and smacked into the wall.

  She hit her head and fell, dizzily. She ignored the concussion. She refused unconsciousness.

  She had promised Oscar.

  She was stronger than this.

  She saw Henry quivering in the corner.

  “Help me!” she said.

  Henry shook his head.

  “Help me, or what is the point of you being here?”

  He seemed to accept this and hesitantly stepped forward, each step as wary as the last.

  She turned back to The Devil.

  “That you govern and preserve your Holy Church, that you preserve our Holy Father.”

  April’s mouth opened, her jaw broken, and her chin fell to the base of her neck. Through that mouth came an almighty roar; the screams of the damned, with every ounce of suffering and pain caught in multiple shrieks.

  “Give me the answer, Henry,” she instructed. “Lord, have mercy.”

  “Lord, have mercy,” Henry answered from behind her.

  “Christ, have mercy.”

  “Christ, have mercy.”

  She pushed herself forward, but with its scream came a destructive gust of wind, catching everything in its path. The door to the living room battered against its hinges, the sofa shifted, the light above swinging back and forth.

  “Christ, hear us!” Thea persisted, shouting to be heard.

  “Christ, graciously hear us.”

  Thea knew this wouldn’t work. She knew that the rites of exorcism would not end this attack, nor would it stop their enemy from leaving the house and bringing destruction to the world.