Golden Ticket
by Rick Danforth
Rick Danforth is an author from Yorkshire, England, where he works as a Systems Architect to fund his writing habit.
His short fiction can be found in On Spec, Metastellar, and many other places. His story The Personal Touch won the BSFA award for Audio Fiction in 2024.
He one day hopes to introduce himself as an author without feeling awkward about it.
More TTTV Stories by Rick Danforth
Few people expected to die and open their eyes to a small, plastic office with uncomfortable chairs, sat across from a man in a cheap suit. None expected there to be a table with a carafe of tepid water, a bowl of raisins, and a dated copy of NorthernLife Monthly.
Victor was used to the face of bewilderment, which the man opposite duly flashed. According to the file, Boris had died of natural causes, and it showed. He was painfully thin, with eyes sunken into his sockets. His teeth, what were left of them, could have been stolen from a donkey.
“Are you ready for your trip?”
“What trip?” asked Boris.
“To heaven!” said Victor, with a forced smile. It would be much easier for a video to show this, but this job was his penance to one day reach heaven himself and escape the tedium of limbo.
“I can’t be dead. I’m in Barbados next week.” The speaker had the angry air of a man not accustomed to the rigours of life who had just found one happening to him. “Now look here—”
Victor tuned out, letting him ramble because the alternative usually involved lengthy arguments. As Boris ran out of steam, Viktor pulled up pictures of his funeral on the computer.
“Oh.” Boris sagged, apparently accepting his death. “At least people look appropriately sad. So, what now?”
“You got into heaven. How good a life you led dictates the transport you get, and how long it will take you. Some people get a bicycle, a moped, a car. Some walk.”
Others, like Victor, worked in meaningless, mind-numbing jobs to reduce a ten-year walk to a five-year job. Although some days, the walk looked awfully tempting.
The file appeared on screen and Victor stifled a groan. “You have a ferry ticket.”
“Is that good?”
Victor pinched his leg and forced a smile. Somehow all the rich arseholes got the good stuff, while poor well-intentioned idiots like Victor got nothing. “You have a one-hour ferry trip over the River Styx. The best car option takes eight weeks.”
“Interesting. I wouldn’t usually consider a ferry.”
“It’s the last journey you’ll ever make, you may as well go in style.”
“Good point, I’ll take the car,” said Boris, looking at the brochure.
“What?” asked Victor.
“Cruises are as common as the oiks who enjoy them. Vintage Mustangs are rare.”
“This cruise gets you to heaven in an hour. The heaven, pearly white gates and ambrosia. The car takes two months.” Timings that overrode Victor thoughts so much he could barely walk at times.
“Two months of style.”
“Your ticket—” started Victor.
“I don’t want it,” said Boris calmy. “Cruises are petri dishes for airborne diseases, and the meals are like cow troughs. Now either fetch my Mustang or your manager.”
Victor took a deep breath and forced another smile. Being mean to people, even if they deserved it, would only add to his penance. Even if they were less intelligent than month-old milk, and turned down something he would guzzle an entire bath of Brussels sprouts for.
He just said, “Of course. I’ll fetch her now.”
Victor left his office swearing under his breath, walking down an institutional beige corridor before knocking at the door at the end. It opened to a tall, angular woman, with sharp features and an aquiline nose that gave the impression an axe was being thrown at you.
“Liz. Some real piece of work is demanding to speak to you. He’s got a ferry ticket, somehow. But he insists on using a car?”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Happens with the big business types. It worked in their careers, so they think they know best in the afterlife too.”
“That’s him.”
“Take your sanity break early, I’ll handle it.”
“Cheers, Liz. I appreciate it.”
Lizzy shrugged. “I’ve got centuries to work off.”
Victor smiled and scuttled down the hallway for his mandated sanity break. Technically in limbo, nobody physically needed a break, but souls struggled without them. It was the same with food. Something about being human made them crave it. Leftover human anyway.
It was never good, of course. Today’s beverage was warm, flat soda. Food was soggy sandwiches followed by a dessert of sprout crumble with lumpy custard.
Victor ate his disappointing food in the room that was somehow empty and full, dark and brilliantly lit, at the same time then ran back to work. On the way, he agreed to meet Marty for more uninspiring food later.
#
The only positive about eating the canteen food was that work felt slightly less depressing afterwards.
Victor sighed and pressed a button on his desk for the next client.
A short dumpy woman with a face like a happy raisin flashed into existence in the chair. She was wearing a broad grin and a cardigan that Victor somehow knew had hankies shoved up the sleeves.
“You’re not my nurse?” Dian gazed around the room.
“I…am… not,” said Victor, unsure of what to say.
“I guess the surgery didn’t go so well,” said Dian matter-of-factly,
“It ended your pain at least?”
Dian just nodded.
“But today is the first day of your death, and I’m here to help.”
“Do I see the clouds or the fires?”
“Clouds, the only question is how you get there and how long it takes.” Victor explained the options to a nodding and smiling recipient. “Looking at your file, you did a lot of good in your life. Sponsoring guide dogs, reading stories to orphans, water aid.” Victor paused. “Oh.”
“What?”
“You don’t qualify for the faster methods.” Victor read through her life, one of the few negatives was that she had once scolded a greedy pigeon. “I’m very sorry, you have a two-year walk ahead of you.”
“It happens, I tried my best.”
“That’s it?”
“What else should I do? I didn’t meet the standard. It’s probably those almonds. I know they’re bad environmentally, but I couldn’t resist.”
Victor’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen someone take bad news so well. The woman had devoted her life to generosity, then didn’t bat an eyelid at the walk she didn’t deserve. “Let’s get you started.”
They walked down the institutionally beige corridors to where the service station path ended and the vast featureless desert began. The sky was dark and held only one dim star, but the black sand that stretched away to the distance was nevertheless brightly lit.
“I’m supposed to give you this.” Victor handed Dian a compass and wished very dearly it was something bigger. Preferably with a seat and engine. “Good luck. I’m a little jealous.”
“Would you care to join me?” asked Dian without hesitation.
“I’ve got to work off my debt.” Victor sighed, he was also jealous of the woman’s easy-going confidence. “In any case, my walk would take longer than yours.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Chocolate.”
“The slavery?”
“Something like that,” said Victor, tactfully leaving out that he helped rob an entire delivery with a pretend gun. Admittedly the only person hurt was the shareholders, and the money was for his mother, but sin was sin.
Victor watched Dian proudly walk off into the black sand. After a while, she turned to wave him farewell.
He returned it and shook his head.
There was no way that woman should be walking alone.
#
“Liz, I don’t get it. Dian was practically a saint. She even said thank you to self-service machines.”
Lizzy shrugged. “Money provides reach. Boris donated millions to charities and bought clothes not made in sweatshops. Affordable chocolate is made by slaves. But he bought ten-dollar bars that were all fairtrade.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Victor bitterly. Minimum wage didn’t allow for ethical chocolate. The sin count for that alone needed advanced calculus. “It just seems so unfair?”
“It does.” Lizzy bit her lip. “Leave it with me. I’ll talk to the accountants.”
“Really?”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
Victor walked back down to the canteen feeling he’d finally made a difference. He paused at the window to stare at the never-ending rain and an inky black sky with no stars. He just hoped Dian was getting on alright.
#
Victor met Marty for a round of soggy salad sandwiches accompanied by cursing and moaning. Despite the complaints, they both finished their meals.
“The first thing I’ll scoff in heaven is a sandwich,” said Marty.
“Really?” asked Victor, his mouth still tasting of disappointment. “After all this, I never went to see one again.”
“I’m craving the real deal. Condiments spread right to the edge and corners of slightly toasted bread. Layered, delicious fillings and crisp lettuce. Nothing better.”
“Just give me a burrito and a beer and be done with it.” Victor sighed. “God, I miss booze.”
“As everyone knows.”
They shared a look, being caught with alcohol meant being immediately cast down to hell. But sometimes Victor would risk the fiery pits of hell to sip rotgut brewed in a shoe.
Instead, they played cards with a pack that perpetually had two cards missing. Whatever magic ran the place switched out which cards were missing each time, a feat which utterly knackered most card games.
But it was better than nothing. Just.
“It’s all the accountant’s fault, apparently,” said Victor. “Lizzy said she was going to speak to them.”
“There aren’t any accountants.”
“Eh?”
“The angels designed an automated system,” said Marty, yawning as he looked through his cards. “Does nobody listen to those puppet shows?”
“Why would Lizzie lie?”
“She’s been doing this for a century, probably just wants a hassle free never-life until her ferry trip.”
“That can’t be right. I’m going to see her now,” said Victor, taking full advantage of not playing the awful poker hand he’d been dealt. He stormed down the corridor and didn’t even knock when he got to Lizzy’s office, barging through the door to her desk.
She didn’t look up from her papers.
Victor put his knuckles on the desk and leaned forward. “Lizzy, what the hell!”
“Not bad, you?” Lizzy shuffled her papers into order, running a thin finger along each edge of the pile, then looked up.
“Not what I said!”
Lizzy looked down at Victor’s knuckles and stared fixedly until he removed them. “I was reminding you about civility in the workplace. Do you really want another demon visit?”
That stopped Victor’s anger like a dammed river. Demons delivering two-hour presentations on civil workplaces made soggy sandwiches taste like ambrosia. If anyone in the class failed the test, they all sat through it again. As many times as necessary.
Experiences like that made Victor wonder how much worse hell could possibly be. He still had nightmares of the puppet show. Wordlessly he sat down in a wooden chair opposite Lizzy’s desk and shuddered.
“Sorry to scare you into being calm, but you needed it. I’d offer you a sweet, but all we have is raisins.” Lizzy pushed a bowl of raisin boxes across the desk with an apologetic look.
Victor took one anyway, and sighed at what the box shamelessly called, ‘Nature’s Candy’. “You lied to me.”
“Look. We’re not supposed to question the reports. Your job, like mine, is to follow the instructions to the best of your ability. Is that what you’re doing now?”
“No,” admitted Victor, “But—”
“But nothing.” Lizzy held her palm to him to stop further complaints. “That is your contract. You understand the terms and conditions as well as I do. Either do the job specified, or take the long walk. How long was yours again?”
“Ten years.” Victor swallowed. He felt a lot less confident than Dian.
“So, either four more years of this, or get your shoes on. It’s your choice, but don’t expect me to risk my position for your shenanigans.”
“…” said Victor.
“If you want, call the Archangel now. But you’d better be sure as they loathe interruptions during choir practice.” Lizzy took a gold disk from her belt and put it on the table with a hefty thud. Victor recognised it immediately, the angel call that would summon an angel in emergencies.
Faced with the options, Victor bowed his head and left. He’d just tried to do the right thing. But he was probably wrong anyway. He sulked back to his own office knowing he had failed. He had only wanted to help.
Looking at the uneaten box of raisins in his hand, Victor sighed. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk to throw them in for when he got bored enough to eat them.
Instead of a thud came a soft glassy ching and a faint, seductive slosh. Victor reached down and came up with a fat bottle of Macabre Ten-Year Single Malt. The liquid inside almost crawled up the sides of the glass in anticipation. He stared at it. He’d reached down into the treat drawer and there it was. Just a sip would send him to hell.
But this was The MacAbre. He’d tried it once. He couldn’t quite remember why, his usual tipple had the subtlety of a brick to the head. Just a sniff of it had been like Christmas.
It shouldn’t be here. This meant that someone was trying to get rid of him. And worst of all someone thought he was that dumb he would just down a bottle of scotch in his desk and chug it down without a second thought.
Which was tempting, but not while he thought of Dian walking the long walk by herself. That was her reward after a lifetime of hardship and service. She had her destiny stolen from her.
He couldn’t trust Lizzy, but he had to know what she was doing. So, he needed to get into her office. He needed a distraction. And all he had was the only bottle of scotch in all of limbo.
Victor sighed. No wonder people didn’t want to be good, it was far less enjoyable. After an uncomfortably long pause, he walked down into the main atrium and hurled the bottle into the middle of the station, the amber liquid leaking all over the battered white linoleum.
There was a pause as people smelled it, realising what it was. Some rushed to drink, some rushed to smell alcohol for the first time in decades, and others rushed to the back where they could claim afterwards that they had nothing to do with it. But they stayed close enough so that they could see the maelstrom.
Part of Victor wished he could join them, it was the only interesting thing to ever happen here.
Instead, he waited for Lizzy to storm past yelling, then sidled into her office.
Looking around, he realised what a stupid plan this was. He sifted through her desk and drawers, finding old sandwiches, a stack of old calendars with the dates crossed out, and a snowglobe. What was he looking for, a ring binder marked, ‘Evil Plan’?
There was obviously no such thing.
But he did find a bottom drawer stuffed full of ferry tickets. Glowing and glinting in the dim light like golden coins in a dragon’s hoard. Victor could only open and close his mouth like a fish at them.
They just sat there, tempting him. Each little ticket forgave one sin to the level of one apple theft and get into heaven. Victor wasn’t great at maths, but there was enough there to pay his way into heaven with change.
It was just a shame they weren’t his. Each ticket had a name on it. The top one said, ‘Dian Skopje’.
Victor sighed, part of him had hoped he was wrong. That maybe Lizzy was just a jobsworth. But there must be hundreds of people wrongly walking the desert for this hoard to exist. Enough for it to not be a mistake.
Victor couldn’t help the world, he probably couldn’t get to the bottom of this problem. But he could help Dian. He grabbed her ticket and sprinted through the chaos of the main room to get to the front exit.
#
The crowd was starting to wind down and regain control as Victor headed in. Up until he shouted, “Lizzy has a crate of whisky in her office!”
The crowd surged at that, and Victor chuckled to himself as he ran straight to the garage where he saw a confused-looking Marty between rows of cars. “Can I help you?”
“I need a car.”
“Sure.” Marty stood up and smiled. “You got a chit?”
“No.”
Marty sighed, standing up to his full height. “That’s a shame because I need a chit more than you need a car. I’m not suffering those puppets about unauthorised car usage again.”
“Lizzy has got a drawer full of tickets that never got issued.”
“Are you sure they’re not waiting to be issued?”
“This one has that lady’s name.” Victor held up Dian’s file and ticket next to each other. “The one Lizzy said had to walk.”
Marty’s features softened. He dropped a wrench that Victor hadn’t noticed he was holding. “I still can’t let you have a car.”
“But—”
“I’m going for my sanity break now. Number five is fuelled up. Be a shame if it went missing before I got back.”
“Thank you.” Victor was excited, it had been a long time since he had operated a car. While he was alive it had been one of his favourite pastimes.
It was such a shame that number five was a moped in the colour of a toothpaste tube, with a matching helmet. Victor cursed, but he couldn’t complain. Although he strongly suspected that Marty was annoyed at his abandoning bad cards earlier.
But it was worth helping Dian, so he worse the dayglo helmet and kicked the hairdryer-sized engine into life. After a long year, he found himself traversing the black sands at last. The desert covered the entire horizon, reaching all the way to the sky.
He sat hunched over the handlebar, trying to ignore the people he passed. They trudged through the desert with various faces of despair. Occasionally one would raise their head and send desperate looks. All Victor could do was apologise as went by. Each desperate face made him wonder how many of them had tickets that had been stolen.
#
It took two hours to finally find the one person marching with their head held high, greeting other walkers as she passed them with an uncanny speed.
“Dian?”
“Yes, how can I help you?” Dian’s face contorted in horror. “I didn’t take a pen from your office, did I?”
“What. No. We don’t even have pens. Why don’t we have pens?” Victor paused and wondered why that was. They had cars and computers, no pens felt arbitrary. As his mind ran a marathon, he realised he was leaving Dian stood watching him like a lemon. “Not important. We made a mistake.”
“Do I need to return the compass?”
“Stop returning things. There was a mistake. You have a ferry ticket.” Victor pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her, relishing the glow on her face. “You’ll be sipping mojitos in heaven before you know it.”
“I don’t drink, but thanks.”
Victor wasn’t sure what heaven looked like without the alcohol, but he forced a smile anyway. “Just hop on the back of this legally-acquired vehicle, and you’ll be enjoying the…buffet?”
“Not really an eater to be honest.”
“Of course, you’re not.” Victor groaned, Dian was going to have a bland afterlife, but it was hers to not enjoy as she wished. “Hop on. We’ll get you a… glass of tepid water shortly.”
Dian obediently mounted the back of the moped. “Is this safe without a helmet?”
“Very. You can’t die in limbo. Worst case scenario, you wake up tomorrow.”
“Jolly good.”
Thankful that Dian hadn’t asked about pain in limbo, which very much existed, or why Victor wore a helmet, he set off towards the ferry.
A minute later he turned around, remembering that following Dian’s compass was unlikely to help.
#
Victory wasn’t sure why, but he had expected a grand, marble terminal.
Instead, it had the smooth architecture of an abandoned supermarket, with its plastic décor and sliding glass doors.
The only difference was that the greeter was a ten-foot-tall demon’s head resting over the door.
“That’s freaky,” said Victor.
“You haven’t been here before?” asked Dian.
“Why would I come here?”
“You know these ears aren’t for decoration.” The demon head sniffed. “And I have feelings.”
Victor felt the blush hitting his cheeks and strode forward. “Good morning! Are you the ferry guardian?”
“Today, yes. But I have next week off to visit a nice door in Slough.”
Victor looked at the dark, glowing orbs and couldn’t tell if the demon was joking or not. He decided to ignore it. “Dina here is meant to be on the ferry.”
“Please present her ticket.”
Dian stepped forward and displayed her ticket.
“Apologies, but that ticket has already been used. Embarkment requires another ticket.”
“But her ticket was stolen from her by Lizzy to…” Victor trailed off, he actually had no idea why. “She must have given someone a fake.”
“Ony the logistics manager can approve replacement tickets.”
Victor swore under his breath. “Don’t you do anything to stop counterfeit?”
“Of course. Anyone using a counterfeit ticket is dragged to the depths of the sea by sea monsters, then wake up in hell alongside their worst nightmares. Which are never as interesting as you’d hope.”
“What?”
“You hope for something like carrot monsters burying someone alive, but it’s always something dull like financial ruin, or the wife ran off with the dog.”
“You mean she ran off and took the dog, or she ran off with the dog?” asked Dian, radiating polite innocence.
“Well do I have—”
“Wait,” said Victor, flailing his hands for attention. “Tickets are non-transferable, and incorrect usage sends you straight to hell?”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell don’t you tell people that?”
“They don’t ask.”
Victor paused and wondered if Lizzy knew about it. Would it occur to her to ask the guardians how tickets work? “Say, you or your colleagues ever see my manager Lizzy down here?”
“We really do have nothing better to do than talk about whatever humans come down here.”
“Fine,” said Victor.
“What now?” asked Dian. “Should I go back to walking?”
“That’s not fair.” Victor chewed his lip. Making her walk would be the easier approach, and she was happy to do it.
But it really wasn’t fair. Limbo existed due to the basic premise of good behaviour being rewarded and Lizzy was the bad apple upsetting the entire apple cart.
“I don’t know how to get you a ticket. But maybe I can sort you out a ride? It’s not what you deserve, but it’s faster than walking.”
“Cheers, but is the moped better than walking?” asked Dian, sending a nervous glance.
“I’m new to it!” hissed Victor, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. “But yes, we have better vehicles available. Marty will sort something.”
Dian waved to the demon before they rode back silently as Victor contemplated his options. Marty was fair, Marty was kind. He would source a vehicle. In any case, they were too far down this road to not keep going. And only an angel could issue one without Lizzy’s permission. Such a shame that prayer wouldn’t work.
#
Oddly, Victor was relieved to see the looming service station of souls rise on the horizon of endless nothing. The first time he’d ever left it, and he had a bizarre hankering for a soggy sandwich and a flat soda. Then again, that may just be a lifetime of British cuisine taking its effect.
He jumped off the moped and Dian followed him, walking to the side of the building beside him quite unconcerned. He got the feeling she would walk into a dragon’s mouth if it had a sign declaring it totally harmless.
Victor opened the door a fraction. He’d intended the fraction to be no more than about one-sixteenth, but someone immediately pushed hard and turned it into rather more than one and three-quarters. It flipped Victor to the ground and let him stare up at an unknown assailant in a black suit holding a billy club.
Victor stared at the club. Knowing you can’t die offers little solace in the face of a painful beating. “Why?”
“Hand over the lady and her ticket, and nobody gets hurt.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
The man stepped forward, hoisting the club. “Look—”
Anything else was left unsaid as Dian brained him the moped helmet. It sounded like a steak dropped on a stone floor. “Was that alright? I didn’t want to hurt him, but he was being awfully rude. I felt he needed a…timeout.”
Victor stared at the man’s ear bleeding out onto the concrete. “Yes. Just a little timeout. It’ll do him good, I’m sure. We should be off before he wakes.”
Dian pulled him to his feet and they walked to the garage. As they entered, three more disreputable-looking men appeared from the shadows. They were all armed.
“Don’t suppose you have another helmet?”
“Afraid not.” Dian shot a look back to the door, but Lizzy walked through and closed it behind her.
“You couldn’t just do your job, could you? You had to ruin my entire afternoon.”
“Is this where you tell me how you stole tickets from innocent souls, pretended to sell them but really hoarded them for yourself?”
“No. It’s where these men find Dian alternative transportation.” Lizzy nodded to a coffin in the corner. “And you get a pleasant stay in an iron maiden.”
“You can’t kill me.”
“No, but I can torture you in that metal prison until you slowly go insane over the centuries.”
“Have a heart,” said Victor, his knees trembling at the idea.
“Haven’t for two centuries.” Lizzy laughed so hard she bent down to her knees.
Victor dove at her, knocking her arm aside as he punched and kicked. They collapsed to the floor, his body screaming as they wrestled, and threw wild punches. Victor was very much aware he didn’t know how to fight, and was hoping that if he flailed wildly enough, Lizzy wouldn’t realise.
She kicked him in the crotch and backed away gasping.
“Idiot. You remember you can’t actually kill me?”
“I just wanted this.” Victor held up the angel contact and pressed the big red button on the front of it. In tones loud enough to echo around the garage, it said, “You have no new messages at this time.”
“What?”
“You idiot.” Lizzy smirked, which made Victor sick to his stomach. So much so that he threw the device at her head.
It sailed past her and landed on the floor.
“Right, grab that idiot and—” Lizzy trailed off as blue smoke emitted from the contact.
They stood silently as vapour curled out and spiralled upward, thickening and expanding. It filled the room in a dark cloud, swirling internally.
And then it was gone.
Lizzy cackled, wiping a sweaty brow. “Probably didn’t see the point in turning up. Just an internal disciplinary matter, after all.”
“I’LL BE THE JUDGE OF THAT,” said a voice that intoned into Victor’s brain. “FACE ME.”
Victor stood and stared into the angel’s eyes. Two little stars twinkling far away in the black hollows of his skull. His face was a grin, tobacco smoke curling out between bleached teeth as lighter smoke still swirled at his feet.
“Jesus Christ,” said Lizzy.
“Close, but not quite,” said Victor.
“YOU STAND HERE, ON THE VERGE OF HEAVEN ITSELF, AND YOU TRY TO SCAM YOUR WAY THROUGH THE GATES. DESPITE KNOWING FOR CERTAIN HEAVEN EXISTS, AND BEING GIVEN EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO ENTER IT.”
“Opportunity?” said Lizzy with a hollow laugh. “Working unpaid for centuries for breaking rules I never agreed to? Where is the justice?”
“THERE IS NO JUSTICE, MERCY, OR KINDNESS. THERE IS JUST ME. THE RULE IS SIMPLE. BE GOOD. YOU WILL RECEIVE NO MORE OPPORTUNITIES ON YOUR WAY TO HELL.”
“You’re not sending me anywhere. I have a golden ticket for every one of my sins.” Lizzy tapped the briefcase. “Down to the time I stole my sister’s ice cream cone and told her the one I dropped was hers.”
“YOUR MATHS IS IMPECCABLE. EACH SIN IS ACCOUNTED FOR.”
“I’d better catch my ferry.” Lizzy exhaled slowly, clutching the briefcase tighter to her chest. “I hope they have mimosas. It’s been a long century.”
“UNFORTUNATELY, TICKETS ARE NOT TRANSFERABLE.”
“What?” Lizzy’s face went paler than an albino skeleton.
Victor grinned. “Use them and you’ll go straight to hell.”
“That’s not fair.”
“YOU ASKED FOR JUSTICE, NOT FAIRNESS.” The angel clicked their fingers and a leathery red entrail emerged from the ground to grab Lizzy by the leg. She fell to the floor with a scream, flailing and kicking uselessly at her trapped leg.
The tentacle started to pull backwards at glacial speed, dragging Lizzy with it. She kicked, and clawed, bloodying her nails and knuckles. She stopped to shoot the angel a pained look. “Please. Don’t let them do this to me. I have a century of good conduct and shining service. I—”
“NO. YOU HAVE A CENTURY OF NOT BEING FOUND OUT.”
As the tentacle got to the end and started to pull Lizzy through, she started screaming in pain. Her body continued to move slowly through the dirt with no visible hole, or mess. Just pain and agony. The scream was long and low, like the sound you might hear from a cattle yard on a nervous night, and it went on and on.
Dian rushed forward to help. A split-second later, Victor followed, despite himself. But they were both blocked by a long arm of the angel. “NO.”
“But-” started Victor, with no idea how to end the sentence.
“THIS IS WHAT SHE DESERVES.”
“It’s horrible.”
“NOBODY WANTS TO SEE THE SAUSAGE BEING MADE. I RECOMMEND CLOSING YOUR EYES.”
Victor flinched as the scream raised pitch. “Not when the sausage involves a banshee’s wail.”
“CLOSE YOUR EARS.”
And then the screams stopped so abruptly it caught the silence unawares. It was even worse than the screaming. Victor shared a look with Dian. Whilst he was trembling at the sound, he was surprised to see a steel glint behind her kind smile and warm eyes.
One of Lizzy’s assistants coughed. “Sorry, but she said the orders were from you.”
“TWO YEARS EXTRA APIECE.”
One opened their mouth in indignation but was quickly kicked into silence. “Very reasonable.”
“Angels really are fair creatures.”
They sidled out of the room like cats trying to sneak into the kitchen without their owner noticing.
“Will Dian get her ticket?” asked Victor, higher pitched than normal. It was hard to be level-headed when you had just watched a woman dragged through the floor by demons.
The angel turned to stare. “SHE COMMITTED AN ACT OF VIOLENCE, THINKING IT WAS TO SAVE A LIFE. THAT DESERVES A PASS.”
A ticket appeared in Dian’s hand. She bowed and left the room quietly.
“Now that’s settled.” Victor took a deep breath. He knew he should stay quiet, but this week, hell this year, had been ridiculous. If he didn’t speak, he would explode. “What kind of nonsense do you call all this?”
“EXCUSE ME?”
“You trust petty jobsworths with access to heaven and leave them with absolutely no oversight. I’ve seen gigs in pub backrooms with better ticket security than this.”
“ONE LIMBO WORKER GIVEN PROOF OF THE END, COULDN’T HELP BUT STEAL. ANOTHER MADE BAD CHOICES, BUT ULTIMATELY TRIED TO HELP A STRANGER FOR NO GAIN. THE SYSTEM WORKS.”
“That is not a reasonable suggestion 7for all this!”
“IS THIS?”
Another ticket appeared in Victor’s hand. The anger fled like boats before a storm. “Really?”
“YOU’VE PROVEN YOURSELF.”
“Thank you.” Victor walked outside struggling to know what to say or think. The appearance of the ticket was as disorientating as being hit by a bus. It provided so much feeling that he couldn’t feel anymore. Once outside, he saw Dian. Wordlessly, he held up the ticket.
“I had a feeling,” said Dian with a smile.
Victor stared into her beaming face and finally knew what to say. “Fancy a mimosa?”
“Just this once, why not.”
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