It was a while before any of them said anything. The shock was just so much.

Pel, Jules, and Rayph had been sealed in a cruelly austere place. The start white walls seemed ready to melt beneath the heat and buzz of the lights in the ceiling. The only furniture was a ratty, barren, un-soft rug in the middle of the room. The walls had ghostly outlines of dust, and dings and dents where they’d once been abutted by chairs, tables, and desks. A lone console was mounted on the wall next to the reinforced metal door.

It was the kind of place where time lost all meaning.

Pel sat on her knees with her back to the wall, trying not to hyperventilate. She clutched tightly to her icon of the Angel tightly. The Sword and the sharp wings dug into her fingers and palm, but she didn’t care about the pain.

You didn’t get this far in life if all it took to dissuade you was a little bit of pain.

She tried to pray, but she couldn’t get her lips to make the words. Even her mind was failing her. Every time she tried to collect her thoughts and turn them inward toward calming contemplation of God, evil shoved its face into her mind.

She thought of the zombies, and their broken corpses.

She thought of people like her mother, devoured by Norms in body and soul as their forms were remade into something worthy of the primeval chaos.

She even thought of me.

She couldn’t bear it.

She felt like a failure of a mother.

No, not felt. She was.

What kind of mother would lead her kids to Hell?

That was it. That was the truth. That was why she couldn’t pray anymore.

There were no prayers for the souls damned to Hell. There was no escape.

This was Hell, and she was in it, and she’d brought her children with her.

What a thing for a mother to do, she thought.

The pain of Rale’s death was shallow compared to the horror of this moment. It was one thing to lose a son. It was quite another to lie in wait at the threshold of Hell, your future soon to end in a demon’s maw.

At least Rale had a chance of getting to Paradise.

But not us, Pel thought.

They were in the belly of the beast, surrounded by demons who were going to devour them whole and lock them away in Hell’s icy torments for all eternity.

And it’s all my fault… she thought.

There was no prayer to help with this. Though the Godhead’s mercy was boundless and all-encompassing, there were some sins that not even the Angel had the power to forgive.

And so, she wept.

It was Rayph who broke the silence.

“Mom,” he said, speaking barely above a whisper, “what’s gonna happen to us?” He sounded like he was on the edge of tears, but he wasn’t crying.

Pel raised her head and looked at her son.

She shuddered.

He was too scared to cry.

“I don’t know Rayph,” she answered. “I don’t know.”

A thought rose within her. Not hope, but… consolation.

At least we won’t be alone.

The thought brought her the tiniest sliver of relief.

They’d be in Hell, but they’d be together. Together in Hell.

Maybe Genneth will be there, waiting for us.

She laughed a dead, silent laugh.

He’d probably try to convince himself it wasn’t real.

She was too broken to laugh.

“Holy Angel…” she muttered.

She wept.

She really did deserve Hell if she felt relief from the knowledge that her loved ones would be joining her in Hell. Hell was the worst possible thing. Anything would be better than Hell. Anything.

Pel clasped her hands together. “Please, Moonlight Queen,” she whispered, “spare them. Take me, instead. Take me now. Just… I beg you… let them go.”

It wasn’t a prayer. Prayers never asked for anyone to go to Hell.

“Mom?” Jules croaked.

Biting her lips, Pel shook her head, and then got up and ran over to Rayph and Jules and knelt before them and held them in her arms, so, so tightly, her head drooping in shame.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “Rayph, Jules, I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve this. It’s my fault! Sword stab me, I should have loved you more. I should have believed in you more—your father, too. Now… now…” Her voice broke. “Now it’s too late.”

“Mom,” Jules said, pushing her mother back with her hand, “what are you talking about?”

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Pel’s lips contorted. “Honey… the demons are going to take our souls.” She looked up at the solid gray ceiling. “By bringing us here… I’ve damned us all to Hell.”

“Mom… I…”

Pel shook her head. “There’s nothing you can say, Jules.”

“Yes there is,” Jules replied. “It’s not your fault. I can say that.” Sniffling, Jules grimaced. Her mouth got stuck between a laugh and a scowl. “Grandma Margaret is such a bitch,” she muttered.

Pel shook her head. She was too broken to even bother admonishing our daughter for her language. “That’s not your grandmother, sweetheart. It’s… it’s a monster that just happens to be wearing your grandmother’s skin, and only a little bit, and not for much longer, thank the Angel.”

Jules took a stand; she stepped back and looked her mother in the eye. “Mom,” she said, “I don’t know how to explain what’s happening here, but, there’s one thing I do know.” She pointed at the door “that thing out there that’s Grandma Margaret. She even said so herself.”

Pel’s expression turned cold. “They’re Norms, Jules. You can’t trust anything they say. They’re evil incarnate; Chaos in the flesh.”

Jules turned to her brother. “C’mon Rayph, back me up on this one. That was Grandma out there, right?”

Rayph hesitated. “I…” He clenched his fists. “It sure sounded like Grandma,” he said, softly.

“I mean, look at this place!” Jules said, turning to face her mother. “Did you know that Grandma built some kind of secret compound inside her dive bar, because I sure didn’t!”

“Maybe it’s doomsday prepping?” Rayph suggested.

“Why would she need so many guns, then?” Jules said. She glanced at the walls. “This place is waaay too big to be Grandma’s private safety bunker.”

“What are you saying?” Pel asked.

“I think Grandma might be a terrorist,” Jules whispered.

“Jules?” Pel said, at a loss for words. She narrowed her eyes on our daughter. “You can’t be serious.”

But Jules just glared back at her.

Pel rose up and stepped back. “What…?” She shook her head. “Julette Howle, what is wrong with you? Your Grandmother is dead! She’s been possessed by a Demon Norm, and—even if she wasn’t—it’s not like she’s going to keep her mind once she fully transforms into one of those things! If she’s not a demon now, she’ll be one soon enough!”

Jules’ expression fell. “Shit,” she mumbled, I hadn’t thought of th—”

—But Jules’ epiphany was interrupted by a knock at the door. A moment later, the shutter covering the door’s viewing port opened up, revealing the face of a man watching from the hall outside.

Rayph was the first to notice him. “Hey,” he said, pointing at the door, “is that…? It’s that guy from TV!”

Pel and Jules turned around and looked at the door at the same time, and stared in disbelief.

John Henrichy stood on the other side of the door, bow-tie and all.

Jules gently tugged at her mother’s upper arm. “Mom,” she said, in a quiet, monotone voice, “am I crazy, or is John Henrichy standing on the other side of that door?”

Pel nodded. “I see him, too.”

“I’m flattered,” Henrichy replied, with a roll of his eyes, “not that it fucking matters. The whole world’s going down the drain.”

“Why are you here?” Pel asked.

“Both in general,” Jules added, “and with us, in particular.”

It looked like she was embracing the absurdity of the moment.

“You’re… you’re Margaret’s daughter, right?” Henrichy asked.

Pel nodded wordlessly. “I’m Pelbrum… Pel, Mr. Henrichy,” she said.

“Mom, please,” Jules said, with a glare, “don’t talk to him!” She hissed through her teeth. “He’s toxic!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Henrichy groaned. “Just listen to me. I’m only going to say this once.”

“Why should we listen to you?!” Jules said. “You don’t care about the truth, you just care about yourself and your quest for power!”

Speaking as her father, of all the things Jules ever did or would ever do, I think this one is my favorite. It makes me so proud to have been her father.

“You’re right,” he said, nodding his head, “I don’t care about the truth. Why care about something that never mattered? People are going to believe what they want to believe. Life is a rat race, and confirmation bias is the motor revving us along. Truth is a bump on the road, and if it doesn’t speed you up, it’s gonna be smoothed out and paved over. It’s a dick-measuring contest, and everyone wants their dick to be the biggest dick, but there can only be one because all of us are too fucking insecure to settle for second place—I know I am.”

“Fuck you,” Jules hissed.

Henrichy nodded approvingly. “You must think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” He shook his head and chuckled. “Well, congratulations, young lady, unlike the rest of the rubes, you know how to think critically.”

“You’re not welcome,” Jules grumbled.

“You can point out hypocrisy till you’re blue in the face, it’s not going to be enough to save you. Critical thinking couldn’t save us before the world ended, and it’s certainly not going to save us now. That’s exactly why you need to listen to me. I’m a survivor; I know how things work.”

“Well then, John,” Pel said, walking up to the door, “what do you make of all this?”

Henrichy shook his head. “You don’t get it, lady. Answers don’t matter, only questions do. Frankly, I have no idea what’s going on, and I don’t care. It won’t make a difference one way or the other. But, since you asked,” he lowered his voice, “I don’t think anybody here actually knows what’s going on, least of all Verune.” He pointed down the hall and lowered his voice. “These freaks are out of their minds. They think they’re becoming part of the Hallowed Beast or something. And maybe they are, or… maybe they’re not. But, it’s like I said: the answer doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they’re turning into powerful creatures with magic powers that can stop the zombies in their tracks. Since I want to survive, I’m going to be on their side, and I’ll say whatever the Hell they want me to say to stay there, and if you have any sense, you should, too.”

“So… nothing matters to you?” Pel said, disgusted.

“I don’t care. There are two sides, one of which wants to eat me. I’m going to be on the side that doesn’t, full stop.”

Pel stared him in the eyes. “Genneth was right about you…” she muttered.

Henrichy sighed. “Listen,” he said, “just a couple of hours ago, I was where you are now. I came here because I’d heard Lassedite Verune had returned, and that he was at Margaret Revenel’s place, and since I’m on good terms with your mother, I figured I might as well ingratiate myself. If only I’d known what was waiting for me here.” He shook his head. “But, it’s too late for misgivings. Sure, it took me a little while to earn their trust, but you? You’re Margaret’s family. Just say the words and she’ll believe it. She’s not very bright.”

Jules grimaced, aghast. “You’re just playing along with them?”

“No, young lady, I’m playing along with them and staying alive because of it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got snake-ass to kiss.” He nodded. “The world is dead. Long live the world.”

And then he slid the viewport shut, leaving the family in silence.

Yet again, Pel sank to her knees, swallowing hard as she turned to face her kids. She pressed her back against the metal door.

“Maybe we’re already dead,” Jules muttered, “and this is Hell.”

“Mom,” Rayph asked, “what are we going to do?”

“I… I…” Shaking her head, Pel balled her hands into fists and pressed them down on her skirt, atop her thighs.

She really didn’t have any control at all. She felt like poorly-baked clay. One wrong move, and she’d fracture and fall to pieces.

She stared at our children.

If nothing else, she thought, I have to protect them.

Pel sighed a long, deep, ragged sigh. “He’s right,” she said.

Outraged, Jules glared and crossed her arms. “He’s insane!” she said.

But Pel shook her head. “No, not insane. Just… amoral.” She sighed quietly. “I can’t believe I ever looked up to him.”

Jules raised her eyebrows. “Told you he was an asshat,” she muttered.

“But he wasn’t wrong,” Pel said, “not about this.”

“Mom?” Rayph murmured.

She looked her son in the eyes. “We need to get out of here. We need to get out of this room; out of this building; out of this city. It’s our only chance, and to do that… Angel’s mercy… we’ll play along, and for as long as it takes. But, at the first opportunity, we’re getting the hell out of here. We’re gonna make it. We have to.”

“It’s like the Morgans’ song,” Rayph said, “Fake it till you make it.”

Pel chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah… I guess it is.”

And then, after a third and final silence, Pel stood up, reached for the console, and braced herself to tell the demons what they wanted to hear.