God's Gone AWOL

[3] BACK AGAIN!

"We need to make a decision," Said the angel, "Do we want to go 'Here', 'There', or 'Back Again'?"

"I just wanna get out of here, man. My break is supposed to start in five minutes."

Leslie was ignored.

"'Back Again'?" Bentley suggested.

"Do you think that'll take us back to the hotel lobby?" Atticus asked.

"I'm kinda curious about what's behind the other doors, though," She said.

"I'm not!" Leslie continued his wailing.

"Okay, okay. We'll go 'Back Again'!" She walked up to the third glowing door and wrenched it open.

It did not take them to the hotel lobby. It took them to an art gallery.

Except this art gallery was... weird. There was not a single person in sight, and was very dark, despite having windows and lights over all the displays. With elegant curved archways stretching out across several wide, open rooms bathing in low lights, the place looked like it could very well be a popular tourist destination. Stepping inside, Atticus looked around carefully. Some of the things on display were orthodox pieces of art: statues, traditional paintings, jewelry, all the typical mortal treasures. But some if it was more unusual: Bones, strange bottles of unknown contents, obscure musical instruments. At first glance, the place looked alright, but something about it felt wrong... Atticus couldn't quite figure it out.

"Ohoho... what is THIS place?" Bentley looked around with a delighted devilish grin.

"It's an art gallery," Atticus replied.

"An art gallery?? Since when is there an art gallery in the hotel?" Leslie once again felt the need to benefit the conversation with ignorance.

"We're not in the hotel anymore, haven't you been listening?" Said Bentley, not even looking at him.

"I'm so lost," Said Leslie, "I'm so lost. Could someone please just explain what's going on?"

'What's going on?' Who had any idea? They couldn't just tell the poor man that the three of them had mistakenly entered a pocket-realm made out of magic. And they certainly couldn't tell him they were looking for Lucifer, who was the most likely suspect behind the illusion in the first place. —Well actually, Atticus HAD promised Bentley he would wipe Leslie's memory during their brief Spanish conversation, so theoretically, they COULD go that route. However, Leslie might not have the best reaction to the truth whether or not his memory would be wiped later. So instead, Atticus just halted for a moment, and tried to come up with a decent alternative-truth to cover for them.

But Bentley beat him to it. Again.

"You're dreaming." She waved her fingers in the air.

"I'm... what?"

"You're dreaming. None of this is actually real and you're gonna wake up tomorrow in your own bed and forget about it, okay?"

"This is a dream?" Leslie asked, looking around at the gallery surrounding them, "Then why does it feel so real?"

"Haven't you ever heard of lucid dreams? Just accept it, Leslie. Play along, nothing's gonna hurt you,"

Leslie responded with a small "Okay" and then said nothing further. Once he had seemingly accepted the world around him as being a creation of his subconscious, the three split up. Bentley took the left wing of the gallery, Atticus took the right, and the human remained in the main hall, staring around at all the artefacts with a dazed expression.

They were each looking for something that could represent a door --a way out of the gallery, whether to take them out of the enchantment, or just straight to Lucifer, Atticus didn't care. This place, despite having open air and wide rooms, still felt like an enclosure. It reminded Atticus of a box that a child had fashioned for holding some unknown and abused little critter, with holes poked in the top just so it could breathe. In this case, he was the critter. And he wanted out.

Actually, it was lucky enough that the three of them hadn't run into something seriously dangerous yet. Even though this place was technically just one big spell, they could still get hurt or die if they were to butt heads with the wrong kind of monster. Enchantments were an old, and extremely difficult type of demonic magic, invented in the earlier years of the war. They were rarely used, and only ever by the most powerful demons out there. Sometimes the spell could be used for leisure purposes --like creating a fake art gallery for oneself to browse around in. But most of the time, enchantments were used as weapons. There were stories of unfortunate souls being led into snake pits, mentally tortured with visions of desire, hunted down by their own clones, drowned in oceans of lava. With Lucifer's reputation, Atticus wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if he kept all sorts of lurking horrors locked away in an enchantment like this, just for fun.

However, there was nothing in the gallery that seemed to be an immediate threat. Sure, there was lots of dangerous stuff; bones of ancient biblical monsters, cursed amulets, glass orbs filled with ominous blue smoke that reeked of evil. But no pits filled with snakes or oceans of lava.

Illusion or not, the things in this room were pretty impressive. Whether it was an object locked in a display case or an exquisite work of art hung on the wall, Atticus couldn't help but admire each individual treasure. The energy radiating from some of them certainly felt strong enough to be real. It was possible that this was even a real place somewhere in the four realms, and that the power of the enchantment was connected to it like a doorway. Such a thing was doable, but it would require a lot of energy and ability on behalf of the spellcaster. Who would go through all the trouble just for Atticus and Bentley?

Just as he was thinking about this, a light little glint caught in the corner of his eye caught his attention. And that little glint that provided an answer to the question of the gallery's reality.

"Bentley, you should come look at this!" He called, unable to disguise the excitement in his voice.

In an instant, she was already beside him.

"What is it?" She asked,

He tapped the glass on one of the display cases. Inside it was a key, but not just any key. It was small and delicate, with intricate coils of gold wrapped around a single rounded pearl at its handle. The teeth at the end were carved with such complexity that it would be impossible to duplicate. Such a little thing radiated elegance, but looked so fragile that it might melt at the lightest touch. Like something directly out of the Palace of Versailles or the Louvre Museum, it rested daintily between the silken sheets of a small wooden holding box. It was so beautiful and small, there was no way it could have been crafted by human hands.

Which it wasn't.

This particular key was one of seven designed to open the pearly gateways of heaven. Without one, no creature --except for angels-- could move freely between Earth and Heaven. Five of them were kept locked safely in Heaven for obvious reasons, but two had gone missing over the years. Such things could not be forged, and definitely couldn't be recreated just for an illusion. Atticus was an angel. He could not be mistaken, which meant that this key in front of him and Bentley had to be one of the lost two.

So they weren't in a pocket dimension after all. The enchantment had taken them to a real art gallery somewhere on Earth.

In addition to the rush of excitement, a chill ran down Atticus' spine.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bentley asked.

He nodded.

"What should we do? Are we supposed to take it?" She started searching the glass display case for some way to open it.

If this was the Atticus of the past, he would take it out of its box and directly deliver to Heaven without a second thought. But he wasn't exactly in contact with Heaven at the moment, hence the warding spell carved into his body and the demonic entity by his side. Plus, he was still thinking about the snake-pit possibility. So in the end he shook his head.

"Touching things under someone else's roof may not be a good idea," He said, "Let's look for a way out of here. That's what's important,"

After some more searching, they still hadn't found any sign of an exit. Atticus was getting increasingly claustrophobic, but Bentley didn't seem at all bothered. She was actually looking at everything with a slight gleam of excitement reflected in her deep, red eyes.

"There are a lot of obscure instruments here," She said, poking her nose around, "Look, a Glass Harmonica! And an ancient Pan flute... Atticus, what kind of person would have this kind of collection?"

He took a moment to think.

"Do you remember how Lucifer was in charge of Heaven's music before The Fall?" He asked.

Indeed. Not only was Lucifer the Archangel of Light during his time in Heaven, he was also appointed as the master of music by none other than God almighty. Stories circulated in Heaven about how the music he produced was a billion times more magnificent than all the greatest human composers put together. He could write music beautiful and heart-wrenching enough to kill. Although Atticus himself was beyond perfect in his own musical skills, he knew that wouldn't even hold up against a fraction of Lucifer's ability.

It would make sense if such a person had even the rarest types of musical instrument sitting alongside a key to the gates of Heaven. If not Lucifer, who else could it be?

"So all of this is his as well?" Bentley asked.

"We must have the same thoughts," Atticus replied.

"Well I'm impressed. Maybe when we find him, I'll ask him to show me more of his collection,"

The casual tone of her voice seemed so innocent. Did she forget who that "him" was?

"You seem awfully confident that Lucifer is going to be friendly towards us. Have you not taken his reputation at all into account?" Atticus asked.

"Hey, if we get out of here and Lucy wants to squish me into juice, he can go ahead and try," She said, "It's not like I can die anymore,"

Remembering her b****y state from the other night, Atticus couldn't help but glance down at her stomach.

"How's your stab wound from the other night?"

"It's fine." She brushed him off, "It's healed."

"Is it alright if I cross reference?" He asked, tugging lightly at the bottom of her shirt.

"Whoa, save it for the bedroom," She said.

He knew she meant it as a joke, but for some reason he felt his cheeks grow warm. The hand that was lifting her shirt was quickly pulled away and clutched behind Atticus' back, and the little white strip of stomach that was momentarily presenting itself quickly had the curtains lowered back down over it.

"I'm sorry," He said quickly.

"Trust me. It's fine. It's not like it's my first time being stabbed."

Aha...

Shortly afterwards, the two of them entered another wing of the gallery. This one was larger and more spacious than any of the previous rooms they had seen. It was much plainer as well. No glass display cases. No statues or artwork. No obscure musical instruments. The only thing sticking up out of the dark wooden floor was a singular pedestal with a sign swinging from the ceiling directly above it. It read like something out of a toy store:

TRY ME!

The thing wanting to be tried turned out to be a compass. It was settled in a large box, the same color as the wooden floor the pedestal stood on. Brass words were etched into the side, spelling out the word 'Home' with no further explanation. Atticus' love of fancy vintage stuff like this almost made him want to touch it. It was very well crafted; from the brass frame to the neat and orderly markings painted beneath the glass. But whether it was due to the enchantment spell or some other factor, the needle seemed to be a little defective. Instead of pointing north, the thing only spun slowly and steadily in a never ending circle. Like the spinning wheel of death from a loading internet page. One continuous circle. Like it was waiting for something.

Waiting to be used.

"Ayo, Bellhop Boy! Come take a look at this," Bentley called.

Leslie was still a few rooms away, so he took a little while to run over them. Especially because he had no wings, only legs.

"You've found a compass?" He said once he arrived.

Atticus was equally as confused, but for a different reason. They had looked at so many strange things already in this mysterious place. Why was Bentley so interested in this one object in particular? Was it the "Try Me!" sign or what?

"Let me ask you two something." She had read their expressions. "What do compasses do?"

"Compasses point in a specific direction?" Atticus offered.

"But this one isn't. It's not pointing at anything. Which means there's something special about this one,"

"What happens if we try using it?"

"It'll lead us... 'Home' I guess. Wherever that is."

"Back to the lobby?" Leslie wondered.

"Only one way to find out." Bentley carefully and cautiously lifted the compass from the pedestal.

There was a soft click as the compass came free of its resting place. As soon as it realized it was being held properly in someone's hand, the slowly spinning needle came to an abrupt stop. All three entities watched with great interest as the elaborate little mechanism shifted and twirled inside as though calculating something. Then, after a soft and fascinating ticking sound, the needle bobbed then moved again, pointing directly to the right. Atticus, Bentley, and Leslie all turned their heads in unison to look.

It was pointing at the open archway leading to the next room over. Without saying anything, the three of them turned and started following the needle's straightforward direction. But as soon as they entered the next room, it suddenly changed course again. This time, it pointed to the archway at the far end. So they skipped past all the exotic objects and art pieces, still letting the needle guide them.

They followed it through several rooms, each one the same as the last. When he had first taken a look at the gallery, Atticus had just assumed it was a regular sized building, but as they entered room after room, wing after wing, he realized that wasn't the case at all. He quickly started to wonder about how massive this place might be. The collection seemed to go on forever.

Finally, they came to a stop. Not because they had found whatever the compass' definition of "Home" was, but rather because they couldn't go any further. The needle was pointing directly at a solid wall. And the only thing on that wall was a piece of surrealist art that made no sense whatsoever.

"So something's on the other side of that wall, huh?"

Bentley lowered the compass and traced her fingers along the corners of the painted drywall, as though looking for a secret door or hinge hidden within. Meanwhile Atticus quickly glanced over the room surrounding them for any other kinds of clues. Both turned up emptyhanded in the end.

"Look! There in the painting!" Leslie said suddenly, "There's a golden door!"

Sure enough, buried within the colours of the painting was a little glittering door, identical to the one they had entered through. Atticus wasn't sure how neither he nor Bentley had noticed it before, it looked a little out of place and stuck out like a sore thumb as soon as Leslie pointed it out. Maybe Atticus was getting too used to seeing the big picture in every situation.

As soon as they had confirmed that it was the same kind of door, Atticus gently lifted the painting from the wall. There was no secret passageway on the other side, but there was a small black button, sticking out of the wall as though begging to be pushed. There was no writing anywhere near it, and no indication on what the consequences of pushing it would be. So Atticus glanced at Bentley to see what she would do.

Of course, she pushed it.

"Ow!" She quickly pulled back. "What the heck?"

When she had pressed it down, Atticus heard an aggressive sizzling sound as though Bentley had touched a hot pan. The button had been black before, but once Bentley pulled away, it was glowing a bright orange and steam was coiling upwards, illuminated by the dim yellow lights overhead.

"Did you push it properly?" Atticus asked.

"Of course I did." Bentley was flicking her wrist up and down, as if the heat would fly off like water. "Why the heck did it burn me?"

The glow of that red hot button was rapidly fading. Atticus raised his hand up and hovered it over for a moment or two before observing something rather strange.

"It isn't radiating any heat," He said.

"What's its deal then?"

However, before either of them could figure out what its deal was, they were interrupted by the dulcet tones of Leslie's voice, delivering the most ominous line one could deliver.

"Hey guys? Do you hear that?"

For a moment, nobody dared to breathe. Somewhere, either buried in the wall or deep beneath the floor, something was making an ominous thumping sound. Like the sound of heavy machinery, only it was muffled and seemed to be coming from every direction. It was so deep that Atticus could feel a rhythmic quake in the floorboards beneath his feet. He glanced at the button on the wall, but saw no change. Nor any change to the room around him. And yet the haunting click of machinery continued.

That... creepy continuous sound.

Atticus and Bentley exchanged looks of concern.

And then in less than a second, the entire world went completely black.