VII. Voices

The Big Man Upstairs talked to his creations fairly frequently. They weren't so good at listening.

According to the Nexus, Hell had confirmed the existence of at least one genuine prophet being on Earth at any given time for all but 34 non-consecutive years of recorded history. Human records were decidedly less optimistic.

The trouble was that, except under just the right conditions, a man who claimed that God spoke to him was more likely to be ostracized than followed.

When Ross Gibson was seventeen, the Big Man had started talking to him. To be more precise, it was the Metatron who actually did the talking (something about the Voice of God being so awesome it would destroy a human), but the messages were the from the Big Man. Ross had told his parents this; they'd taken him to have psychiatric examination. The examiners put him on all sorts of drugs. Since there was nothing physiologically wrong with him, the pills didn't do much, aside from make him irritable and suppress his apetite. By the time Ross was twenty, his parents had given up on him. That had been nine years ago; he'd been rotting in the NLHMI since then.

While most of humanity believed Ross was a raving lunatic, non-humans tended to have a more accurate view of the situation. He'd been discovered at nineteen. The appearance of a demon in his room had made him start to believe that maybe he was insane. Like everything else in his life, Ross had eventually come to accept it.

The nurse opened the door to Ross' room. It wasn't yet nine in the evening; Ross was still awake, sitting up on the bed that was the only furniture in the white room.

"How long do I have?" Darrus asked the nurse.

"Five minutes."

Another 20-credit note was pressed into the nurse's hand.

"As long as you want. This one's not supposed to be violent." The nurse shut the door, unlocked it, and left.

"Hello, Ross." said Darrus. "Do you remember me?"

"The name escapes me, but I don't get many visitors, so I recall your face. You're one of the demons, am I right?"

Darrus chuckled. "You know, they're recording this conversation?"

"Of course. Whether they actually listen to it is another matter." said Ross.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway. They can't hear me; you were correct, I am a demon. And you are a prophet."

"Actually..." Ross leaned over the bed and picked up the clipboard that hung there. "I'm a 'Type 2 schizophrenic.' At least, that's what they load me up with pills for being."

"I'm sure they do."

"'So often the wizdom of prophets is dismissed as the ravings of madmen.' -Neil Xavier." said Ross. Xavier had been a popular intellectual and author some hundred years earlier.

"Indeed." replied Darrus.

"So." said Ross, leaning closer to Darrus. "I know you didn't come here just to talk to me. Your kind never do."

"Making goodwill visits is rather contradictory to our nature, I'm afraid."

Ross chuckled. "Yes, I suppose so. My guess is that you're wondering about the dead angel in the Sable building, yes?"

"Word reaches you quickly."

Ross chuckled again. "Yes, that it does. Sometimes too quickly. Look, I know how this works--I scratch your back, you scratch mine. What are you going to do for me if I pass along some information?"

Darrus reached into his coat, pulling out a tube of white powder.

This time Ross let out a full laugh. "Drugs? Are you kidding me? I have all the drugs I can stand and then some!"

"This isn't a drug." said Darrus. "It's blinding powder. Smash the glass and the powder will get in the eyes of everyone around you, leaving them unable to see for a few hours."

"And how is this valuable to me?"

"I'm told you're supervised at all times. Perhaps you would like to disable that surveillance for some time?"

"To what end?" Ross seemed to be losing interest.

"I understand that you are let out for exercise three times a week. When you do so, you have only two guards to keep you from being a danger to yourself or others, and then only an eight-foot fence separating you from the outside world. It's an easily scaled fence, as well." Ross' interest was once again piqued. "Especially that part you found last week where the barb wire was damaged in that wind storm and leaves a hole large enough for a man your size to go over the top."

"You would offer me my freedom?"

"I'm a demon. We don't do freedom. But we do have a thing for insurgency. I only offer you a chance."

"I accept.

"What you want to know is that Heaven isn't going to do anything about it, aside from keep the humans uninformed. You were lucky that one of your Searchers found the body first, or you wouldn't even know about it. As it is, the corpse was forcibly taken up about 45 minutes ago--"

"What?"

"A trio of angels came down and took away their slain brother at around 8PM tonight. They had a brief scuffle with a demon waiting there, but he wasn't meant for combat and was quickly overpowered."

"Nigel." Darrus muttered under his breath. "What did they do to him?"

Ross shrugged. "Metatron seems to think I don't need to know."

"Odin, find out what happened to Nigel." said Darrus.

"On it...Nexus says he was outmatched from the start, so he ran for it. That bloody familiar o' his get away, too."

"Good."

"What?" said Ross.

"Never mind, continue."

"Because they have God up there, they know what happened, but seem content to have you do the legwork for them."

Darrus shook his head. He couldn't stand mind games, much less on this level. "Are they at least going to give me any leads?"

"Only that the one who did this doesn't call Heaven, Hell, or the Earth his home."

"Bastards." said Odin. "You'd think they'd at least tell you where to look."

"And that's it?" asked Darrus. "Nothing else?"

"Sorry, it's all Metatron's told me."

"Fair enough." Darrus tossed Ross the powder. He caught it and stuffed it into his sleeve.

"I'll be going now." said Darrus.

"Yes, I may do the same before much longer."

Darrus stepped out the door and back into Hell. He had an appointment to keep at eleven, and Cankerworm would want a full report before then.