Dead & Godless by Donald J. Amodeo Page B

out there that
wants me condemned to Hell, and they don’t particularly care about the finer
points of the afterlife justice system?”
    “If
they were to get their claws on you, well, let’s just say that it wouldn’t be
pleasant.”
    Corwin
felt like pulling his hair out. It was all just too much.
    “What
would they do? Tempt me? Torture me? Give me the Hell sneak preview?”
    “It
would be torturous, yes, but not merely in the physical sense. They’ll show you
every dirty, ugly, sinful part of yourself, everything you keep hidden below
the surface. You’ll see every person you’ve ever hurt, everyone whose life you
could have touched with love, but didn’t because you were too lazy or miserly
or vain. They’ll replay the greatest hits of your worst moments over and over
until that’s all you believe there is to yourself. And when finally you beg for
the torture, then your soul will be theirs.”
    “Yeah,
I’d say that sounds pretty unpleasant,” Corwin said dryly.
    “I
doubt they would be foolish enough to try anything while I’m by your side, but
you had best not stray too far,” the angel advised. “Be wary of doors,
archways, anything that could serve as a portal.”
    “Well
that narrows it down.”
    As Corwin
took a stride forward, an electric crackle sounded from the road. Ransom gave a
swift tug on the back of his coat.
    “Hold
up.”
    Embedded
in the cobblestones were three iron rails. They ran along the middle of the
street where the snowy carpet ceased. Tiny ropes of lightning arced between the
groove in the nearest rail, and from around the corner arose a high-pitched mechanical
squeal. Corwin followed his attorney’s example and backed away, just as a steel
carriage rolled into view, sparks leaping from its metallic wheels.
    Through
the window’s maroon curtains, an aristocrat peered out. The lens of a monocle gleamed
over his left eye, or was it an artificial eye? The oddly complex rim of the
device appeared to be a permanent fixture on the man’s face. He spared them but
a passing glance and then turned up his nose as the carriage trundled on its
course.
    “I get
the feeling that that strange fellow doesn’t like us,” said Corwin. “Of course,
he probably thinks we look rather strange as well.”
    “Speak
for yourself.”
    Ransom
was fussing with a jaunty black top hat that had somehow appeared on his head,
adjusting its brim to tilt forward ever so slightly.
    “Where
did you . . . Oh, never mind!” blustered Corwin.
    His
attorney wasn’t listening. Ransom’s attention was focused just beneath Corwin’s
collar, his gaze resting on a small cross that dangled from a golden chain.
    “I
recall giving you this cross for a reason.” He lifted the necklace briefly, letting
it drop back against Corwin’s chest. “You should have borrowed its power when
you were in need.”
    “I was
running for my life! Clutching your good luck charm wasn’t the first thought
that came to mind.”
    “No,
your first thought was probably that it was all in your mind,” groaned
Ransom, his perfectly pressed suit snapping as he strode briskly across the
rails, which now had stopped sizzling. “In any case, if the prosecution is
stepping up their pace, then so should we. It’s time we moved on to your third
hope.”
    “People
turn to religion because they hope for justice,” Corwin recited. “It’s
something that’s rarely found in our world. Good people suffer while their
oppressors grow fat and happy. Who wouldn’t want to believe that there’s an
afterlife in which everyone gets what they deserve?”
    “But
it’s not just about the afterlife.”
    “I’ll
give you that. Whether they’re real or not, gods and devils can often maintain
order better than soldiers and barbed wire.”
    “And
most humans aren’t fond of lawlessness.”
    “Aside
from a few crazy anarchists, most people prefer the comforts of a civilized
society, and any functional society requires some semblance of a