The Underworld

The Underworld worked well for William Jones since he had learned to make it his own. He had even come to like it down here. He had made friends with the dark, the cold and the lack of facilities, he had never been one for home comforts. Sometimes when he woke he felt like a rat in the sewer, keen, sharp and vicious, a King rat who was superior to all the others. He had been among the first to be condemned to this existence and he still remembered The Underworld when it was almost deserted and filled with echoes. Now it was very well populated. In the early days his sense of strength and cunning had been huge. It had been easy to knock down all the others, the yobs and hooligans, to trample them and he had had very little to compete with over the years but he was getting old now and sometimes when he woke in the mornings (or evenings, or afternoons or whenever the fuck it was he called mornings these days) he felt nothing but tired and warn like the old, unhealthy man he was. Those mornings were still rare but this was one of them.
He was one of The Underworld's genuine psychos. Everyone was afraid of him. He had killed twenty people, and that was only since he had been sent down. He had come from a normal enough family. Not rich but well off. He was an only child and his parents and teachers had noticed some peculiarities in his behaviour at a very young age. He showed great intelligence all through primary school, finishing top of all his classes, but he was withdrawn and moody and showed no signs of ever interacting in the normal way with his schoolmates. Even at that age he had a strange interest in girls and was caught on a number of occasions spying through the windows of the girls' toilets and later, in high school, the girls' showers in the P.E department. Even more disturbing were the fits he started having at the age of seven during which he would seemingly black out and start repeating the names of all the murder victims he had read about in books or seen on the news. These fits only lasted over a four-year period but his behaviour continued to grow stranger and stranger. When he left school his good grades allowed him to continue on to University where he studied virology. It was in his early twenties, when he was half way through his studies, that he had began to kill. It was children he targeted. Always girls. His killings were calculated, cold and merciless. He sometimes had up to four children at once all bound and gagged in his bathroom. It was ten years later, when he was reaching his thirties, that he had finally been captured and given life. The discovery of one of the earlier victim's bodies had been dug up from the frozen ground that winter, the rest followed, 18 in total, it was only a matter of time before the evidence led back to Jones. He was sent to a high security unit where he was kept in isolation, more for his own protection than others, but during his time there he worked out in the prison gym whenever he had the chance and over the years had built himself up from a small skinny coward of a man to a powerful beast.
He had been imprisoned for nine years when the news began to circulate among the inmates about the completion of the much-debated new criminal institute. There were discussions and fears spreading like a disease through the prison population about who would be sent there. It wasn't until eight months later that things became clear. It would only be those currently serving a life sentence for murder who would be transferred to the new institute. The rest would honour their original sentences in jail. Devastation and almost complete terror swept the population of killers but the wardens on Jones's block noticed how different his reaction was to all the others. He did not seem at all concerned about the prospect of spending the rest of his life underground. It was the opposite. It appeared he was actually looking forward to it, as if he had been told he was being granted an early release. The truth was, even then he already had the idea in his head that he was going to make the best of The Underworld. His mind craved a world with no rules where he could do what he wanted, a world he could rule, and there was no doubt in his warped mind that he would rule. By time they sent him away two months later he was like a tank and covered in ragged self made tattoos. They had no trouble getting him to go down like they did with some. He went slowly, calmly, with a haunting look of satisfaction on his grim face and his eyes which had been empty and blank for so many years had taken on a gleam like a fire had been lit inside of his head. It chilled the wardens to see him in such a way and each was secretly glad when he was buried below the earth and they could forget about him for good. He said only one sentence to his escorts as they sealed the door above him: "I've waited for this all my life, it was promised to me that I would be among the saved." It was the most he had ever said since being locked up.
Most of that was not much more than a haze now to Jones. Like an animal he didn't hold onto things for long. He could still recall with a little regret the solitude he had enjoyed in the early days but he could not remember much of his Underworld victims, the ones he had hunted with great care and lavish enjoyment. He didn't hunt much these days. His muscles had turned to flab, his hair was grey and his tattoos were faded. He knew in his head he was turning into nothing but a fat old man who got the occasional chest pains but he would be dammed if he was going to let the low-life druggies and wasters around him see that. No way. He was great. He was a superior life form. He wasn't going to become carrion for the scavengers. He knew, had known since he was very young, that he was being kept for some higher purpose, he had only to wait for his time to come.
He turned over on the stone floor, drifting in and out of a minefield of dangerous and twisted dreams, slowly coming around to wakefulness and muttering. Soon he sat up, cramped and stiff. He had claimed this hole for his own from the start. Most of the caverns in The Underworld were large chambers the size of banquette halls but there were smaller caves and hollows in the dark places at the ends of narrow runs that some had taken for places of their own to sleep. The passage leading to Jones's own private room was so narrow that he had to crawl in places to get through.
Jones looked around his rocky residence. There were words and rough pictures covering the damp walls all drawn in the red blood of the people he had killed as well as his own. They didn't mean anything. Not even to him. As he looked at the symbols and seemingly foreign words he had little recollection of why or when he had drawn any of them. He didn't care either. He was more concerned with a feeling he had. Something had changed down here in The Underworld. He didn't know what, it was just a sense like when a new wind blows from the east after its come from the north for so long. He wasn't going to search out the explanation either, that wasn't his way, usually things just came to him when the time was right. Just like when he killed the children. He never planned a day or a time, he just waited until he was told it was right. It wasn't a voice that spoke to him as such, it was something more primitive, like instinct, he never doubted it, it was never wrong. Something had changed.

The dead zone, Zack explained, was the one of the places on the edge of The Underworld. It was one of the few man made areas that had been added on to the natural cave system. There was a high rate a fatality under the ground and this was the place where the bodies were generally left for collection. Even convicted criminals did not enjoy the company of the dead and so most bodies were dragged up here at some point and every two months a company of armed guards would be sent down to remove and burn them.
"Lucky for you there was a collection three days ago or you would have liked this place even less." Zack said.
Gabe gave him a look of disgust. It was like being told you had to live in a morgue.
"Who's the woman in the picture over there?" he asked, rapidly changing the subject.
"Her? That's my old mother dear. Ha! Wasn't I a big disappointment to her. Oh yeah. Mummy's little boy all banged up in the creepy old Underworld! Oh God how she cried to see me taken away." but Zack was laughing as he spoke as if he were telling a funny story.
Gabe didn't find it amusing.
"So why are you down here anyway?" he asked, "Are you gonna tell me now?"
"Well you see Gabe, I failed my probation didn't I? Three drug offences in the two years. Life's a bitch."
"That would be dealing I'm assuming?"
"Dealing, yes, but only on the side. Man was I a regular user. Couldn't get enough of that white powder, can barely even remember my teenage years. Now that's sad." he didn't look sad, "Course I'm clean now. It's cold turkey down here."
Zack was on his feet again, pacing back and forth, and muttering to himself, that stupid grin never leaving his face for a moment. It was like watching a hyperactive boy. Gabe tried to listen to his babbling, catching only small fragments. It seemed like he was trying to work out something in his head. There was no doubting that he wasn't entirely sane. Trying to follow his muttering was tiring and his pacing was almost hypnotic. Gabe's mind, still confused and pounding, began to slip and for some reason it wandered back to the strange little boy he had dreamed about earlier. The boy was drifting away from him, growing smaller and smaller, begging him with his shadowed eyes to follow him back into the land of dreams and he followed gladly, feeling his muscles relax and hearing Zack's ramblings fading to nothing.
He found himself on the hilltop where he had said goodbye to Hannah. He knew that's where he was even though it looked different. The landscape was strangely distorted and the holding centre at the foot of the slope had been reduced to rubble. Above him the sky was a strange dark colour like it was night even though it felt like the middle of the day. It was totally silent. All around there was not a breath of wind to be heard, not a single note of birds song just the endless, heavy silence that seemed as if it were trying to stifle him. Ahead of him the boy was standing as he had been last time, his ill proportioned form a shadow in the darkness.
"Nature will find a way," he said, "Nature always finds a way."
There was now another figure behind the boy. Gabe hadn't seen him approach and he didn't think it particularly strange that the second person had simply appeared with the blink of an eye. The man dwarfed the boy. He seemed to be a huge hulking giant with the body of a bear. Gabe recognised the face with its wild hair and beard as the one he had saw in the painting on the wall, only this one had eyes, blazing angry eyes and as he grabbed the boy from behind Gabe thought of the wolf in little red riding hood. The boy did not struggle or scream though, he simply folded in two under the pressure of the man's arms like a rag doll without any stuffing.
"Nature will find a way." he heard him say again.
"I don't understand." Gabe tried to answer but a terrible wind had risen and it snatched the words from his mouth and tore them away.
As he watched the strange dark colour from the sky seemed to be caught in the wind, he could see it moving around in circles, being drawn in a whirlpool around the two figures until they were lost in the blur.
He woke with a jump and realised that he could only have been asleep for minutes. Zack had stopped pacing and was crouched down on the floor next to him. He looked afraid. His eyes were wide and the grin had gone, he looked almost sane, frightened but not deranged.
"Sorry, I was having the weirdest..."
"Shut up!" Zack hissed through clenched teeth and he leaned forward in the direction of the door.
"What is it?"
"Foot steps! Will you shut your mouth for God's sake."
Gabe listened, but whatever it was Zack could hear was beyond his own perception of sound. Minutes passed by and eventually he picked up the very faint echo of distant footfalls. They grew steadily louder and Gabe could hear the voices that accompanied them but they were too far off to make out any specific words.
"Oh shit!" Zack whispered, he was now backing away into the far corner, hastily extinguishing the candle as he went.
"Who is it? What's wrong?"
"How many times do I have to tell you?" his voice was tinged with panic, "Just shut up and they might not come this far."
Confused Gabe stood up. He could only assume that Zack had somehow recognised the voices or had caught a fragment of what they were saying and decided that they were a threat. He had not been down here long enough himself to be able to assess situations so he had no choice but to do as Zack said and trust his judgement. As the sounds grew closer he could hear a kind of scuffing noise like somebody was dragging a heavy sack along the ground.
"Good, we may be safe," Zacks voice held an edge of relief, "They're bringing a body up. If we just stay here and be quiet they might not notice us. Get over in the corner here, it's darker and further away from the door."
Obeying Zack's constant requests for quiet Gabe slipped silently along the back wall and joined him in the far corner. It was dark and gloomy without the candle and the room was filled with shadows, there was only a rectangle of flickering yellow light from the door that fell across the floor. They waited in silence as the footsteps approached, crouched like two frightened animals in a hole. Gabe could hear Zack's heavy breathing and was overcome with the urge to tell him to be quiet.
"Serves her right. Stupid bitch." two shadows had passed into the rectangle of light where they paused.
"Yeah, well, let's just dump her and go."
"Yeah."
The shadows moved again and their owners crossed in front of the door. They were two men, tall and thin with shaved heads and they were dragging the battered body of a woman along behind them, each holding one of her ankles. The woman was small but other than the cuts and bruises she didn't appear to be in ill health. She was not too thin and her skin had yet to take on the pale sickly grey colour Gabe had seen first in his attacker, then in Zack and now in the two men. She clearly hadn't spent long in the Underworld. The two men passed out of sight but the woman's head, trailing on the ground behind them, remained in view. She had long brown hair that was now clotted with blood, more blood was dried around her nose and mouth, her eyes were still open and they stared at Gabe with their glassy dead blue glaze. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. In that moment he was overwhelmed by shock and pity, it didn't seem to matter that the woman was a convicted criminal who, for all he knew, could have murdered her own family and chopped them into bits, he could only feel pity and a sense of contempt and hatred towards the two men who were dragging her so disrespectfully across the dirty floor. She too disappeared but he could still hear that heavy sound as they pulled her along and he was almost sick.
"OK, that's far enough, I'm not dragging the little slut any further."
Beside him Zack drew in a deep breath and held it as the figures passed the door again and the footfalls began to retreat. He didn't breath out again until the sound had faded away completely.
"Oh man that was close," Zack fell forward onto the floor, "I hate those guys. Scum bag little bastards both in here for serious assault and they don't like me I can tell you. They almost killed me on a number of occasions and they'd do it again if I gave them a chance."
"But how could you recognise them before they even got here?"
"I have good hearing and you never forget a voice like Parsons', especially after it's screamed at you so many times while beating the shit out of you, I heard him whooping in that way of his while you were passed out there." He stood up and struck a match to relight the candle.
"So you just hide from them all the time?"
"Yes. I hide from everyone. I find it's best this way. Live like a shadow, with the shadows and you'll be a shadow." Zack sat down and looked at him crookedly.
"That was a woman they had."
"You sound suprised."
"I guess it just seemed harsh. For some reason I've always pictured this place full of guys, stupid I suppose."
"Yeah, well there are a lot more guys than there are chicks," Zack informed him, "You don't get so many chicks involved in assault and rape and murder as you do guys. Now this part isn't pretty but nothing down here is."
Zack was leaning back against the walls, his legs crossed, looking and speaking as casually as if he were sitting on a kerb by the road discussing football with an old friend.
"You see Gabriel," he continued, "The chicks have it even worse than we do. They never last long, not among so many men. Most of them are like animals when a female's put down here. They all fight for certain privileges, they still have needs and they don't last long because those guys wear em out, so many of 'em just..."
"Yes, I get the point, I don't want all the graphic details thanks."
"Ok, ok, I hear you, don't have a fit but let me tell you this," Zack leaned close as if they were conspirators sharing dangerous secrets, "I tried to help a girl once. Her name was Katrina. I thought she was pretty cool. She was all little and frail and afraid, and she was cute. I couldn't watch a pretty little flower like her fall into the hands of brutes like Parsons without at least trying to help her. She was down here for being involved in an armed robbery, you wouldn't believe it looking at her. Her and her boyfriend tried to stick up a bank, she said she didn't want to but he made her think it would be so easy. He was a little crazy and he shot some guy, that flipped her because he'd promised no one would get hurt and she shot him, quite a mess but rather interesting don't you think? That's not the point though.
"I tried to teach her to live like me, I wanted so much for her to be a shadow with me and after a little while she got stronger, mentally I mean, but in the end all my teachings weren't enough. They smelled her out like dogs after a bitch in heat. I don't know how long she lasted 'cos I don't exactly have a calendar but it seemed like a fair while to me. Then they came for her one day when I lived in some little hole on the other side. It was Parsons and his friend there Davies and some guy I couldn't name. They beat me up first for hiding her, talking some crap about sharing and not being selfish, then I had to watch them rape her. After that they battered her to death, and that part they did just to spite me because she wasn't broken by then and they could still have gotten some use from her."
Zack was not speaking so casually now but his expression remained unreadable.
"Did you love her?" Gabe asked cautiously, he was thinking of Hannah again.
"Love her? Love?" he leapt to his feet again, it was as if a bomb had just exploded, "Shit man! Look around you, how can love grow in here? Its a rancid hell hole full of the worst criminals, there's no food, no light, no warmth and you talk about love? Fuck that, it's not possible."
"So why did you help her?"
"Many of the same reason's I'm helping you, she was the right kind," Gabe knew he had touched a nerve, "Besides, it seemed like a good challenge. I told you chicks don't live long, I liked the idea of trying to see if I could keep one going for a longer than average length of time."
"What?" Gabe exclaimed, "You used her for some kind of sport?"
"Oh come on man!" Zack shouted, he was rapidly loosing his temper, "How long have you been down here? Do you know what it's like? You haven't even tasted the Underworld yet. So I used her to relieve this mind numbing boredom. So what? She got plenty out of it, she lived longer than she would have and ultimately she suffered a quicker and less painful fate than most of them do and yes, I did like her too."
"Look, I'm sorry..."
Zack was right in his face now, his eyes blazing. He was so close that Gabe could pick out the individual flecks of green in his grey irises' and the speckly pores in his colourless skin.
"Let's talk about you for a change huh?" he snarled, "Like what you've got in this pack of yours."
Zack snatched Gabe's bag from the ground, undid the zip and turned it upside down. Gabe's chosen possessions fell out onto the floor in a pile and Zack immediately began to riffle through them like a hungry scavenger. Then he began to laugh.
"Dude, you didn't bring anything useful, how do you expect to defend yourself without even a knife?"
"I didn't think they'd allow things like that to be taken down." Gabe answered.
"What? Are you joking? They want us to stab each other to death. You are so dumb. Oh what's this?"
Zack had come across the brown envelope he had packed at the bottom of the bag under all the clothes.
"If you give it here I might think about telling you."
"All right, I was only kidding, I know personal stuff when I see it and I'm not quite that impolite as to go through it all." Zack raised an eyebrow and looked offended before handing the envelope to Gabe.
Gabe took it and held it for a few moments. This was one thing he wanted to keep a hold of if he could. It contained things to remind him of Hannah; pictures, a lock of her hair and a letter she had written for him before he left that he hadn't yet had the strength to read.
"I had a girlfriend, Hannah," he told Zack, "This is some stuff she gave me, I don't think I could bare to look at just yet."
"Understood my friend, You just put your things all away, you'll want to take them with you everywhere you go to stand any chance of holding onto them."
Gabe nodded and began to gather the jumble together.
"You didn't even bring a blanket, you'll freeze, so it's lucky you have me to provide for you." Zack opened his own pack; he brought a tightly rolled sleeping bag out of it. "You ought to sleep for a bit, you've had a lot to deal with, I'll still be here when you wake up, but when you do, we have to go and get some food, it's a risky bussiness but you can worry about that later."
"Thanks." Gabe took the sleeping bag but the though of sleep led his mind back to the little boy with the cane and the strange clothes, "Zack, are there any children down here."
"Don't be stupid, you can't get put down here til you're 18."
"But were any actually born down here?"
"You really are stupid. Don't you remember the day in the holding centre before you came down here and what happens to everyone on that day? Weren't you steralised like the rest of us?"
Gabe could remember that day all to well. He got into the sleeping bag and lay down on the floor. Before he fell asleep the last words he heard in his mind was the voice of the little boy telling him that nature always finds a way. He had no more dreams.

Darts. He had been shot with tranquillisers and woken down here. They hadn't even had the decency to let him die. How long he had sat there he couldn't tell. Stiffness had started to creep up his spine from sitting against the cold stone and his stomach was being tormented by cramps. The tunnel looked endless from where he had collapsed on the ground after being dumped off the last rusting rung of the steel ladder. He could see a sickly grey light pulsing in the distance; it crept along the scummy concrete walls, picking out the cracks in their surface with its alien glow and playing with the shadows on the arched ceiling above his head. In the unnatural gloom nothing moved and the only sound was the lonely far off echo of dripping water as it plunked hollowly on the stone floor. He could never have done anything more than imagine what it would be like down here but nothing, not the stories nor the constant speculation, could have prepared him for this brooding quiet.
What if you're the only one down here? Maybe the stories where all horribly wrong. Maybe everybody is dead.
The voice in his head took on a familiar persona and fresh grief swelled up inside of him, threatening to consume him completely. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to try and stem the tears that where threatening, feeling the hot beat of the pulse behind his lids. If he allowed himself to cry the last of his frail and over stretched strength would probably flow right out of him.
"Hannah." he whispered into dark.
It seemed a lifetime since he had last saw her and he discovered with cold panic that he could no longer picture her clearly, the images his mind summoned never seemed quite right no matter how hard he tried to rearrange them. It was probably best not to think of Hannah just now anyway.
He had been stupid, so very stupid.
He got shakily to his feet. His legs were numb and he leant against the wall, stamping his feet to try and get the feeling back in his cold limbs. There was only one way he could go. High above him, at the top of the shaft from which the steel rungs descended, the four foot thick circular iron lid was sealed better than the lock on any safe and beyond it was a second sealed room with walls so thick nothing could penetrate them. Behind him was a simple dead end. His only option was the yawning tunnel that fell ahead of him, slanting down on a gradual decline into the hillside. So he picked up his pack and began to walk.

It wasn't easy. He walked with his head down and his mind kept trying to return to his final goodbye to Hannah. It kept trying to remind him of all the things he had lost all the things he would never see again. He found himself counting footsteps out loud simply to try and block the images from his mind but they battered against his concentration like raging water behind a weak dam. They trickled slowly into his consciousness through the cracks their weight had caused.
"...Thirty-four...Thirty-five...Thirty-six..."
Hannah sleeping peacefully in his arms, a small smile on the corners of her pink lips.
"Thirty-seven...Thirty-eight...Thirty-nine..."
The twisted old birch tree outside of the cabin where they had spent their first holiday together, its leaves red and rustling in the Autumn breeze.
"Forty...Forty-one..."
A knife blade's silver flash, threatening in the dark.
"Forty-two...Forty-three..."
Hannah's frightened cry, his own arm snatching the knife, Hannah trying to pull him back.
"Forty-four..."
Blood. Blood. Blood.
He felt something rupture as he was caught in the rising tidal wave of memories that flooded his brain and for a time complete madness, anger, frustration, guilt and sorrow took control of his body. Like a man possessed by demons he ran at the wall to his left and flung himself against the concrete, heedless of the pain that rocketed down his left side. He rebounded and charged at the opposite wall trying desperately to ecscorsize the storm of agonising emotions by battering them relentlessly into submission. After a while he stopped, it seemed the assault on his frail thoughts was subsiding. He stood in the middle of the passage, panting hard, a thin line of blood sliding from one nostril, almost stupefied by his own irrational behaviour. He began to fear what he would find on his journey. He had not been down here long and already it seemed the seeds of madness that this whole experience had planted in his psyche were starting to take root. How could anybody hold onto their sanity under these conditions? He began to walk again.
He travelled on for a long time, in a dazed state of numbness, not really seeing the tunnel his feet carrying him automatically as if he were sleep walking. It seemed like no time at all before the tunnel opened out and he was startled from his stupor by the change in surroundings. He found himself in a large square chamber, about the size of sports hall and about 10 feet high. It was brighter in here; the source of the grey light he had been following was in the far corner. There was a small grate set into the concrete roof. His heart flipped and his stomach lurched excitedly at the sight of it and he covered the length of the chamber at a run, footfalls slapping like gunshots all around him. Cold air fell on his face from above; it smelled clean and fresh compared the dank air of the tunnel. He looked up through the vent, seeing a long narrow shaft that stretched way up above him to, the most amazing sight ever, a second steel grid through which he could glimpse a grey sky and it did cross his mind that Hannah might be up there but he stamped on that thought before it had a chance to develop.
His next thought went to the walls of the chamber. They were rough and uneven, scuffed in places, not impossible to climb. Heedless to the scrapes the concrete gave to his palms he began to scramble like a spider up the short distance to the vent. He curled his fingers around the bars, trying to get as close to the outside as he could.
"Don't you think we've all tried that one?"
The voice startled him and he lost his grip and went slithering back down the wall to land on his knees on the ground. There was a man standing over him, a thin man who seemed to be in very bad health. His sunken face was scarred and dirty, his eyes where strangely rattish peering from their hollow sockets, his skin looked yellow. He was like some sort of undernourished, bedraggled scarecrow from a nightmare's landscape. Yet despite the appearance of his new acquaintance Gabriel was glad to see another human being.
"I didn't expect to escapee, I was just dreaming, you know..." he trailed off, he had just caught the savage glint in the man's eyes.
"I'm hungry," his voice was nasal and thick, "There isn't always enough food. You know food is the one thing they don't allow you to pack before they send you down here."
Gabe stood up just in time to see the man pull a pocket knife from his jacket. Familiar feelings overwhelmed him. He wouldn't make the same mistake this time. The man looked half starved and ready to collapse at any moment so Gabe pushed him hard, knocking him to the ground before taking flight. He flew across the chamber and back into the tunnel where it continued on the wall to the right of the doorway he had entered through. He ran on and on through the dim passage and it was a long time before he eventually stopped, overcome by exhaustion, and realised he was not being followed.
He sunk to the floor once again, realising it would be impossible to travel any further without resting. Despite his fears that the scrawny man would come crawling up the passage and knife him in his sleep he was deeply tired and he curled up on his side and slowly began to drift away. The last thing he thought of before he fell asleep was Hannah. It was a comforting thought.
He slept fitfully on the cold stone ground gripped in a sleep that was plagued with weird dreams and images that became so confused he could barely make sense of which ones were real and which ones were all part of his imagination. At one point he thought he had woken to see a small boy strangely dressed in a dinner jacket and a bow tie standing in the tunnel. His head appeared too big for his thin body and he was clutching a small black cane with a silver handle. He had looked at Gabe and said it is God's will! Before his mind had slipped again and taken him down other roads. Of course there could be no children down here, they would never have allowed breeding to take place, but the image of the odd little boy seemed particularly real.

The bed seemed hard, the room cold. He supposed Hannah could have left the window open. He mumbled, only half awake, and reached out for Hannah. She wasn't there. He sat up quickly and felt the pains and stiffness shooting through his muscles. It was dark and the air was thick and clotted. What was going on? As he came around the terrible reality of his situation came seeping back and he remembered he would never wake in a warm bed in a sunlit room ever again. He was in the Underworld now.
The Underworld was the more commonly used name for the 'new criminal institute' that had been set up 15 years ago during extensive reforms in the justice system. There had been a growing trend in street crime, a steady increase in serious assault, gang murders, drug related crimes and rape that had escalated until most cities were not safe to walk in for the decent citizens. Children were being born into gangs, neglected and mistreated they grew to live lives that consisted of unemployment, drug and alcohol abuse and violence. It slowly became apparent that correctional behaviour programs set in place in prisons were not working. Offenders were released and simply returned to the only way of living they knew, re-offending over and over, proving time and time again that they could never be taught to be of value to society. It was finally acknowledged that throwing money into pointless schemes that never worked was not worth it and so the whole prison system was shaken up and The Underworld was built. Little was known to outsiders of what the vast cavernous world buried many feet below them was like. People could only speculate and listen to rumours because nobody who was sent to live underground ever came out. With this system in place there was no time off for good behaviour, no early release, all serious offenders were given the same sentence; life. It was a fitting punishment, In The Underworld there were no rules or regulations, residents of that strange concrete vault of a world could do whatever they pleased, kill, fight rape, the only thing they couldn't do was leave. Offences that warranted a life sentence in The Underworld were all classified under one heading: Crimes against man. Crimes against Man were the more serious offences; murder, rape, assault, armed robbery, anything were anybody was seriously hurt. Crimes such as fraud and shoplifting when no one was actually physically hurt where not considered important enough to be given an Underworld sentence. Then there was the two-year probation act. This had come into effect two years after the first people had been sent underground. Some considered this law harsh and unfair. The majority agreed it was practised with outstanding results. It worked like this. Any child born was considered the responsibility of its parents until it reached the age of 16. It was at this age a person's two-year probation started. If, during this two years, the individual was convicted of any two major youth offences (drug dealing, assault), or five or more minor youth offences (drug taking, minor assault, vandalism) they would not be granted citizenship and would be condemned to The Underworld. These two years in everyone's lives were monitored to give each person a chance to prove they could be a civilised and valuable individual, it was a safeguard set up to spot those likely to progress on to be dangerous or menacing and stop them before they could do any real harm. Nobody could deny that living had become a lot safer for everybody above ground since the creation of this Underworld. Yet sometimes the justice system wasn't entirely just.
Gabriel sat up. His stomach was knotted with hunger and his mouth dry with thirst. If he wanted to find some kind of nourishment he had no choice but to keep walking. He was close to the heart of The Underworld now, he could almost feel its pulse calling him. It took a long time before the feeling began to come back to his numb muscles and by time it had he had rounded a bend and found himself in a wide corridor. He was surprised to see a few electric lights burning on the ceiling. The walls on either side of the corridor were a wonder in themselves. They were covered in names, dates, messages and crimes all left behind by those condemned who had walked this way before him. Some were carved into the concrete with viscously straight lines like the runes left by pagans on sacred stones while others were scrawled in magic marker and some had been painted in decorative coloured spray. There was something slightly primitive about it, like the images left in caves by Stone Age men. As his eyes travelled over the walls the many signatures chilled him, they seemed to speak like endless voices, the voices of the dammed. Travis Kerr, murder, be what you are. Eric Gallagher, guilty as hell and proud. Finch, attempted suicide. Suicide????? I'll only do it again below. They went on and on like some giant visitors book. He paused, debating weather to leave his own name and eventually pulling out a blue biro he still had in his jeans pocket. The officials weren't too bothered about removing personal possessions before sending a man down. He found a blank space on the wall and scrawled his name in block capitals. He hesitated before adding GUILTY ONLY IN THE EYES OF A FUCKED UP SYSTEM. He put the pen back in his pocket and continued.
The passage was not very long, the graffiti grew older the further on he went and soon he came to a steel door. It was slightly rusted around the hinges but it looked very stable and heavy. There was a small handle at one side, he was disturbed to see the skulls of several small animals, most likely rats, strung from it. Across the front of the door, in glaring red paint that had ran like blood someone had scrawled WELCOME TO HELL CRACK HEADS.
His heart had picked up its pace now, it was like caged bird fluttering inside his ribcage. He had temporarily forgotten his hunger and thirst because here he was, about to enter The Underworld. His journey so far had just been like the final walk to of a condemned man to the electric chair, a kind of last mile, only what lay beyond this door was probably worse than death. All his life, since his Father had first told him about what happened to bad people when he was a small boy, he had wondered what The Underworld was like. He had watched various films, read books all of which presented their creators own imaginings on the subject and listened with a mixture of horror and fascination to the speculation. The only outside people who had any knowledge at all of what it was really like were those employed by the police responsible for bringing supplies to the prisoners and they were sworn to secrecy. 19 years of wondering were coming to an end. He was about to witness something only few had seen.
He pulled the handle, ignoring the rattle of the rodent skulls and the papery, fragile touch they inflicted on his skin. The door was heavy and pushed inwards. Once he had stepped through it swung noisily shut behind him, it banged loudly and he heard the latch click back into place. He turned around to confirm what he already suspected. There were no handles on this side of the door. It was smooth and plain. It would be impossible to open from this side. What he was in now was a space the size of a small cupboard. There was a vent much like the first one he had seen through which a little faint light filtered. Opposite him was a second door. It had a handle but he knew that when he passed through it, into The Underworld, like the one he had just come through it would be blank on the other side. Quite clever really. Not entirely fool proof though, someone could easily exit as another entered, but then again what would be the point, there was nothing out there and no way of escaping. He supposed it might be there as a safeguard for the armed officers when bringing in supplies, he really didn't know, nor did he care, best just to go through the next door, it would do no good standing here in this claustrophobic cupboard. With a deep breath, he took the handle and pushed it open.
It was a strange sight that greeted him on the other side. Another corridor, small doors cut out at intervals along either side, walls of white washed concrete and an arched ceiling of about 7ft at its tallest point. This stretch was not electrically lit, what appeared to candles burned lowly here and there inside glass bottles on the ground. Shadows danced endlessly, flitting and courting across the walls and hiding in the frames of the doorways. Again he was struck by how quiet it was. There was more graffiti here. Most of it had clearly been done by brainless wasters. It was the type of thoughtless, meaningless etchings you usually saw on bus shelters and in subway tunnels. Stupid nicknames and crude and vulgar statements that would have taken very little brain power to come up with. But one message caught his gaze and held it.

Down here you have no name
Run!
Run from the faceless one!
Lest you fall at his feet in shame,
And beg for the mercy of shadows.

He stared at these words, transfixed. There was something cold and harsh about them. They seemed to dominate the wall, pushing all the nicknames and swear words into insignificance. This verse seemed calculated, the product of an intelligent yet twisted mind. Probably a mind that belonged to an articulate serial killer. He had expected to be down here with the worlds scum, uneducated lowlifes, thugs but it had only just occurred to him that there would be other types living here too. Men whose acts had not been driven by gang conflict, drugs or sheer spur of the moment anger, men who premeditated murder, men who were well brought up, knowledgeable and so clever that they were insane. Below it was a painting of a man's head with wild grey hair and a tangled beard, there were no eyes in the sockets but the empty black holes seemed to watch him anyway. He felt like he had just walked head on into a new danger. He looked away from the writing and headed towards the nearest doorway. Beyond the hewn rectangular entrance lay a small square room. It was lit only by the glow of the few candles out in the corridor. Dark and foreboding it waited for him to enter like the open mouth of a sleeping beast. He stepped in cautiously, the darkness seeped in to greet him from all directions and he pulled away. When he returned he was armed with a candle. The shadows cowered back from the light of the flame, scurrying away into the corners. There was a blanket on the floor in the corner but no bed. On the back wall a square alcove had been cut into the concrete and in it a few items had been placed. An unlit candle in a bottle, wax dripping thickly like rolling tears down the glass neck, a stainless steel mug, a small wooden box and two silver tins that looked like they might contain food but were without labels. The rest of the room was empty apart from a tap on the left hand wall. Gabe knew that what he was looking at was The Underworld's equivalent of a jail cell.
A jail cell with no door, a jail cell you're free to walk out of whenever you dam well please, a jail cell where anyone can walk in whenever they feel like it, yes neighbours, even psycho killers like our new friend The Faceless One.
He walked over to the alcove. He picked up one of the tins and looked at it closely, there was no doubting that it contained food of some kind, it had a ring pull on the top. Keeping a hold of it he picked up the mug as well. It had been standing on top of a small square of glossy paper. Gabe picked it up and turned it over. It was a Polaroid shot of a woman sitting on a chair in a living room. He dropped it and pushed his fist into his mouth, biting down hard on his knuckles to try and stop himself from crying. When he felt the surge dying down again he went to the tap and sat down on the floor. He turned the handle and the tap spluttered a few times before a stream of water fell from it. He filled the cup first and drank thirstily before pulling the top off the can. Inside were slices of peach in syrup. Probably out of date left overs from a supermarket clearance but even rotten meat would have looked like a grand feast to him. He ate slowly with his fingers and as he did he couldn't help thinking of Hannah. What had she been eating since he left? Sitting down alone at their kitchen table in a quiet empty flat. They would never share a meal together again. He hoped she had the sense to forget he even existed and find someone else to be with. He realised he was crying again, even harder than he had when he had first came down here. Tears rolled endlessly down his face and he sniffed and choked, still pushing slices of fruit into his mouth, tasting their slimy sweetness mixed with mucus and salty tears. He sat there crying, not bothering to wipe the juice away that trickled down his chin and dried in a sticky film over his skin.
"Hey man, what are you doing in here?" he looked up at the sound of the voice, ready to run, but the door was blocked by the silhouette of another man.
He didn't answer, he simply watched as the figure stepped away from the door and into the light. It was a young man, probably still in his teens, tall and skinny. He was dressed in faded black jeans, a black T-shirt with holes in it which was so tight that his stark, starved ribs showed through the fabric, a scuffed leather coat and heavy looking boots. His face was grey and pasty from lack of exposure to natural light and fresh air and he had long dark hair that was now dishevelled and tangled. He was carrying a worn, dirty backpack over his shoulders.
"I asked what you're doing in here, eating my food?" said the youth.
"I...I'm..." he didn't know what to say. He realised how ridiculous he must look, cowering here in the corner, sniffing and snivelling like a cowardly child, "I'm new." he said lamely.
"Well anyone can see that." the youth laughed, some of the hostility had gone from his grey eyes.
He dropped the bag onto the floor in the corner then came to sit on the ground next to Gabe.
"My name's Zack."
"Gabriel." he said weakly.
"You know, I usually operate alone, far safer that way, but I'm not totally without heart, I have been known to lend assistance to the right people until they find their feet. Give them a few hints, answer some of their questions on how to survive down here. But only to the right people, you know?" Zack grinned, the smile wasn't entirely sane and it showed a row of yellowing teeth sticking like uneven pegs from pink gums. Gabe was reminded of some kind of goulish grinning clown.
"So am I the right kind?" he asked, dragging his palms across his eyes and face.
"You might want to clean up a bit brother." Zack laughed wildly then quickly swallowed the sound, cutting it off abruptly and looking around as if unsure of where the laugh had come from, "Sorry bout that. I don't know if you're the right type do I? I just met you, don't know anything about you other than a name. How can tell from that? I'm not a psychic, hell no!"
Zack fell quiet. He was looking down at his hands, his hair hanging over his face. Gabe waited for him to continue but he didn't, he simply sat, swaying slightly, twisting his hands in his lap.
"So, what are you down here for?"
Zack sprang to his feet so suddenly it made Gabe jump. The action was surprisingly agile for someone who looked to be in poor health.
"I think I'll do the asking don't you? My place after all. Ok?"
Gabe nodded.
"Good," he sat down again, his legs seeming to fold beneath him, "Now why don't you tell me why you're down here?"
"Murder."
"And you're innocent right? Sure, so is everyone, course you are."
"Not entirely. I did kill a man, stabbed him with his own knife, I was defending someone."
"Ooohh, nice, very nice. I like a man who can admit to his crimes. Mostly its all I'm a victim, the drugs did it, I was drunk, I was framed, so now tell me exactly how it happened." Zack leaned forward eagerly, his eyes were hungry, he was grinning again, that stretched, toothy grin.
"I'd rather not talk about that."
"Aww man, come on, stories are my bread and butter."
"No."
He was half expecting Zack to leap up again, to start shouting that he wasn't the right kind of person and then to chase him away down the corridor, but he didn't, he just looked disappointed.
"Ok, ok, all in good time. You look pretty much wrecked as it is."
"There's one thing I'd really like to know though."
"What's that?"
"I was expecting this place to be crowded. You're only the second person I've seen."
"You're right, it's pretty full. The reason why it's quiet here is that most people are sleeping. Even though we have no way of telling if its night or day it seems everybody's body falls into some kind of rhythm. There's that and, well, you're in the dead zone as we call it. Most people avoid it," he laughed softly, "You know my friend, I think I may like you."

Blessed are those persecuted in the name of righteousness, the kingdom of heaven shall be theirs…

The light was failing. Behind the cluster of buildings crouched at the foot of the hill the sky was red and the grassy expanses stretched far on to meet the horizon where they were bathed in the last blood of the days' sun. Shadows slunk blackly from beneath the chalky white walls that protectively surrounded the squat little buildings and a faint breeze ghosted its way through the whispering leaves. It would have been a perfect picture of a mid-summers evening in the country had it not been for the threatening glint of the coils of razor wire that topped the walls and the savage blast that burst suddenly from the siren on the looming watch tower.

The hard iron gates that rested in the concrete walls swung open slowly and a few startled birds took flight and sailed off into the sky on lazy wings, calling to each other. A company of burly men in uniform emerged from the compound. There were seven in total, an armed escort of six men carrying riffles and batons, in the centre of them a sixth figure walked head-bowed and cuffed with a heavy looking pack on his back and following behind them was a young woman in a light summer dress.

Gabriel saw the two startled larks now wheeling acrobatically above them and he wanted more than anything in the world for Hannah and himself to be up there with them, riding in the clean air, as free as they pleased. How had he got himself into this situation? All of that seemed nothing but a dream compared the sharp reality of what was happening now. His guards marched him out into the fields and his legs obliged seemingly of their own will to carry him along with their lead, while somewhere behind him he could hear the soft sound of someone trying to stifle sobs. It was his Hannah, who seemed to be handling things in an unspeakably brave manner, following defiantly behind the escort; faithful even at the bitter end. They took him all the way around the perimeter to the back of the compound where the ground began to slope upwards. He risked a glance over his shoulder; he caught a glimpse of Hannah through the two officers behind him but her head was bowed, he was thankful, if they had had made eye contact at the point he doubted weather he would have been able to start the climb to the summit of the hill without going mad. They walked slowly like some kind of bizarre funeral train and Gabe felt the incline of the ground pulling at the muscles in his legs. For some reason it suddenly seemed that this hill was never ending, that he wouldn't ever reach its summit but would go on walking forever, on and on up into the sky and past where the larks played always with Hannah not far behind. He had to force himself to hold back the surge of laughter that threatened to break from him. If only the hill would go on forever.

Nobody spoke as they climbed. The guards were silent and sombre and Hannah seemed to have stopped crying. He could hear the birds all around heralding the approach of dusk. His legs had begun to ache as the slope grew steeper and the pack on his back felt as if it were filled with lead. The straps dug into his shoulders and he could feel sweat running down his back. He watched his feet for a while, the heavy boots trampling the already warn green grass, and wondered how many had walked this way before him. In time he raised his head and looked between the leading officers. They were already halfway up the hill, he could see the tiny white building, no bigger than a garden shed, that sat brooding on its crest waiting patiently for him to come and suddenly he realised that the climb would not last much longer, that his time was running out with each step he took. He felt a spell of dizziness sway him and he stumbled slightly but managed to keep going by following the black dots that were swimming before his eyes. He felt the urge to run at that point. To push past the guards and make a break for it across the countryside like a rabbit running from the hunter. He knew he wouldn't get far before they shot him down with their riffles but even that thought was appealing; to die out here in the open, in the clean fresh air, in the kind warmth of the sunset surrounded by natural beauty with the sound of the larks singing still in his ears. Yet something held him back and kept him walking. Every man has a natural instinct to survive and somewhere deep inside he still clutched at a feeble straw of hope that they might see sense, use their reasoning and let him go.
The last walk of the condemned man. There was something almost biblical about the scene that played itself out on that lonely hillside. They were nearing the top now. The white building, the last building he would ever enter, was now frighteningly close. As the slope ended and the ground grew level the party stopped and the guards, now lifting their riffles and taking aim, began to retreat as he had been told they would in his briefing that morning.
He had been woken early by the rattling of his cell door being unlocked. He had slept in fits on his hard bunk; being disturbed frequently by twisted nightmares and haunting memories of the things that happened to him during the previous day. Two guards were at the door and he sat up to face them, feeling sick and cold. They had taken him to breakfast, and after that they had led him to him a small white room where he sat across a table from a balding man in glasses who went over what was going to happen that evening. The man had spoken with a detached manner, showing no emotion at all, and Gabe had felt the urge to scream at him and tell him what a heartless bastard he was and ask him how he could sit there and talk about the effective destruction of a life without so much as a flicker behind his eyes. Something stopped him though and he simply sat stupefied with his head hung and his hands laced together. He was taken back to his cell then for what they referred to as a 'quiet day of contemplation and rest'. He sat on his bunk without moving for the rest of the day, his body and mind totally numb, wondering why they couldn't have just let him spend this time with Hannah instead of alone. Later in the evening he was fed well, handed his pack which he had packed himself (having very little idea what he would be needing) and led from his cell for the final walk. Hannah had been waiting in the reception area and as their eyes locked he felt the first surge of madness, what was about to happen hit him but it seemed to big for his mind to cope with, he felt sure he was going to explode with the enormity of it. And so began his walk to the top of the hill.

He was standing on the crest now, and although he still felt the threat of the riffles that were trained on him they seemed too distant to be a worry and he felt like he might be the only person for miles. He was suddenly struck by the great beauty of his surroundings. He could now see over the west slope of the hill and there was nothing for miles in that direction but open fields of grass swaying lazily in the dyeing light. The air around him was clear and fresh and the breeze fingered his hair gently, he knew he couldn't give up all of this. It was then that he made up his mind what he was going to do.
He turned to his left and saw Hannah coming towards him across the grass. Her hair and the light material of her dress moved about her in the breeze and as she approached she seemed to be surrounded by a radiant glow that came not from the setting sun but somewhere from within her own being. She held out her hands and he reached for them, allowing her to draw him close to her. He hugged her close and rested his head on her shoulder, smelling the familiar smell of her perfume. He felt her hands in his hair and he could here the beating of her heart pounding in her chest; the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"I'm scared." he whispered.
He felt her hands under his chin as she lifted his head so she could see his face. He watched as a single tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek, catching the red rays of sun so it looked as though she was crying blood.
"I know you are, I'm scared too," she said, "But you know I'll wait forever for you, one way or another we'll be together."
"Hannah, please, I want you to be happy, I want you to find someone, get married, have babies, grow old. Please don't let them ruin your life as well as mine."
He realised he was crying too.
"I can't. I love you too much."
Her arms tightened and they held each other tight, sobbing softly. He wished time could stop and leave them standing together on that hilltop forever. But all too soon he felt Hannah pulling away, or rather being pulled away, the guards had decided their time was over.
"I love you Gabriel, I'll always love you, don't give up hope." she cried as they pulled her backwards.
"I love you too baby. I know I'll see you again somewhere."
He had to look away. He could no longer stand to watch her being hauled backwards, her feet dragging, her face twisted with grief. He had to focus on what had to be done. It was growing dark now. On the horizon the sun had disappeared and there was only a thin line of red light left above the fields. The rest of the sky was turning purple, the puffy clouds looked bruised and battered, and the larks had fallen silent, their song was replaced by the harsh cackle of a black crow that had landed in the grass not far off. The guards were starting to move in towards him again now. One of them still restrained Hannah though she was not struggling. He watched the riffle muzzles, the long black holes watching him like empty eyes and for a moment he couldn't move. But then he summoned back that image of Hannah coming towards him like an angel and the sleepy countryside that lay all around them and rekindled the feeling that he could not live without ever seeing them again. He was terrified. There was no time to wonder what it would feel like. If he allowed them to take him down Hannah might never loose the hope of seeing him again. She might never move on. She might go on and on never knowing where he was or if he was dead or alive. At least this way she could accept he was gone, grieve and then continue living. At least this way she would know.

He bolted. His legs carried him swiftly through the closing space between the advancing guards. He saw them turn, guns aimed. He ran and for a crazy moment he thought it might be possible just to keep going and leave this whole nightmare behind him forever. Then Bang! He stumbled on a few steps and then fell to the ground, skidding and smelling the grass that crumpled under him. He heard Hannah cry out and the sounds of many boots coming towards him. As he rolled over he could see the darkening sky as the first star of the evening glimmered above him. He thought there had never been a more beautiful sight.