Inferno
12/6/2000

Benito was gone, I was sure of it. I had watched him climb up toward the light. Do you think it was really a four-thousand-mile climb, Carpentier? I lay there pondering about the concept. If it really was a four-thousand-mile climb, then at least one hundred and sixty-six days passed (although time doesn’t really matter in Hell) assuming that he climbed one mile every hour. Maybe Dante was wrong? Perhaps you should ask Benito when you see him again. Only after I’m sure that others can leave Hell too. 

I lay there for a while more, just watching the light. Watching and thinking. I thought about the others that Benito had rescued. Will Benito see them? I wondered if he would, and I wondered how they’d react. How did they first react to him, and to Hell? Where they skeptical like you, Carpentier? Did they find out who Benito really was? If they did, do you think they cared? I made a good point. What if they’d never heard of Benito Mussolini? Would they have pushed him into the eighth circle too? I guess it didn’t really matter. Benito helped all of them as he helped me, now he helped himself. 

I shrugged off the thoughts I’d been thinking and closed my eyes. How will you help the others? Another good point. Would I have to walk back up to the Vestibule, or would Satan send me back? Maybe you should ask? Ask? I might as well, probably wouldn’t hurt. “Might as well go now, Allen,” I said to myself. 

I sat up and crawled back to the stream and took a long drink. It was still clear, and ever as sweet. I recalled the peace in death I had found earlier, slowly letting myself drift off. Then some noise interrupted the peace I was experiencing. A loud roar, a piercing screech, and an irritating honking sound. Perhaps a circus lion, Poe’s raven, and a goose ran into each other; Eh, Carpentier? It didn’t sound much like a bunch of animals, more like… a car. Then I thought of it. The only things that could possibly be below Satan. Cadillacs. I guess there really isn’t peace in death, at least not in Hell. I stood up to prepare myself just as they came out of the darkness of an unseen tunnel. Their headlights illuminated the area, making the gray stone glow eerily. There was no cover in the room; the only thing I could think of was climbing back up Satan’s leg. Might as well, Carpentier, you were going to anyway. I ran toward his leg in a mad rush, hoping to get there before the all the Cadillacs made it into the room. I was too late. There were three Cadillacs, red ones. They circled madly around their room, their tires leaving black skid marks around the room. I covered my ears to escape the sound of their howling tires. It didn’t help much. They were circling faster around Satan’s legs, my only escape. I heard insane howling from inside the cars. I studied their drivers as best I could; they were all male. Each one was yelling, and flailing their hands wildly. I then noticed that the Cadillacs didn’t have steering wheels, they were controlling themselves like the black cars in the Wood of the Suicides. The drivers were yelling gibberish, words that made no sense much like the cries of an insane person. Remember Carpentier, there is something about Cadillacs that rots the driver’s brain. 

“The worst sin: Owning a Cadillac in life,” I chuckled. “Their punishment? Riding around with no mind in a possessed car. Clever.” The cars didn’t really pay any attention to me, for which I was grateful. Soon after their mad rampage, they pulled their emergency brakes and came to a screeching halt. I watched them as they accelerated without going anywhere. Their tires releasing a cloud of black smoke. Suddenly they took off down their tunnel at an alarming speed, the screams of the drivers echoing down the hall. I waited for the sound of their engines to fade away before starting my assent. I reached the top and climbed out onto the ice. I could hear the flapping of the wings on the three heads. Every so often I could hear Satan munch down on the person he was presently chewing on. The rhythm of the beating wings and the people munching was not pleasant. As I was starting to leave, he spoke again in that deep bass voice of his: 

“Back so soon, Carpentier?” He grinned mockingly. Again I didn’t answer. He spoke once more: “Going back to save others? How far back? The Vestibule?” I crossed my arms and nodded. He grinned again and snapped his fingers once. The force of the snap nearly knocked me down, and I had to fight to remain balanced. A violent wind swept around me, and I was lifted away and was flung hard on the ground. I landed on my back, looking up into the uniform gray sky of the Vestibule. I stood up and brushed myself off. There I was, back at the start, standing on a dirt hill covered in the bronze jinn bottles. Might as well start here, Carpentier. With a sigh I sat down on the ground to wait. To wait for someone to help.