‘Get out!’ I whispered — a mixture of shame and disgust making my whole body shake.
Mephisto narrowed his eyes at me and for a moment I could clearly see the demon there — the malice, the hatred and that dreadful cold nastiness… Then he flashed me a sudden smile and gave an easy shrug, striding towards me.
‘Oh, well, all friendships must have their final goodbyes. No hard feelings?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
I shrank back from him in instinctive revulsion. ‘I will never shake hands with a… with a-’ I began, but even as I spoke, Mephistopheles grabbed my arm with one hand and gripped my hand with the other, forcefully shaking it in a terrible charade of friendship. I flinched at the coldness of his touch but was too afraid to try and resist him as he stood there shaking my hand, gazing at me with an amused expression on his face, one eyebrow slightly raised as if in challenge.
‘Goodnight, Gabriel,’ he said suddenly, dropping my hand abruptly. ‘Merry Christmas.’
I remained where I was, rooted to the spot as Mephistopheles strode from my apartment, the door banging shut behind him. Silently, I held up my shaking hand and saw that the demon’s handshake had left glistening splinters of ice embedded in my palm, a raw frost burn outlining the shape where his long, slender fingers had touched my skin.
I should have known. I should have worked it out for myself long before this. Stephomi… Mephisto. It was right there before me, a flaunting arrogance and recklessness that was in itself astounding. And I had been too stupid to see it. Even his stolen first name, Zadkiel, was a taunting clue, for Mephistopheles is the dark twin of the archangel Zadkiel.
And the burning man… Mephistopheles had called him Michael. As in archangel Michael? Leader of the angelic armies and God’s most trusted servant? When I had prevented Mephistopheles from being beheaded by him, it had been at Michael’s church. The angel had been dispelling the demon from his own church. I’d thought that Stephomi’s wound had healed so quickly because the sword had been abnormal, not the man… Oh, God, why did I intervene? It had been the fire. That was what had thrown me. It’s surely understandable to associate fire with Hell and its devils. But now that I look more closely at the books and paintings I own, I see that angels are indeed often associated with the blazing brightness and warmth of fire, while demons are connected with cold, blistering ice. I recall too that in Dante’s Divina Commedia, the Ninth Circle of Hell — the one reserved for the most depraved and wicked of sinners — consists of a perfect sphere of ice in which these sinners are condemned to eternal, freezing agony, inwardly cowering at their hideous proximity to the Devil himself.
The Ninth Circle… I know that the Ninth Circle is responsible somehow for all my misery. After Mephistopheles left my apartment, I stood rooted to the spot for some moments until I looked up and glanced over at the mirror again to see more letters written on its surface in shining fire: CIRCLEIX. Circle. IX. Roman numerals for the number nine. Circle 9. I glared in mounting anger at the mirror and in a sudden outburst of rage, I picked up the kitchen chair and threw it into the glass, smashing it with a grim, deeply pleasing satisfaction — showers of glass exploding out towards me and skittering across the floorboards in sharp, sparkling pieces.
Right now I feel I hate all angels, whether God’s or Satan’s. They’re a bunch of bastards, the lot of them, and the terrible bitterness of it was that Mephistopheles was right. The one person to be a friend to me over these past months was one of Lucifer’s devils. No merciful angel of God had come to explain what was happening to me, to comfort me, to be a friend to me, to take away my fear. On the few occasions that Michael (if that really was the identity of the burning man) had appeared to me in dreams and visions, his appearance had served only to frighten me… He hadn’t helped me. Stephomi… that is… Mephisto had come to me like a man, speaking in clear words, coming to my world rather than exploiting the fact that I could see through to his. And now once again Michael was being cryptic, ambiguous, enigmatic, and I could not even guess what the message written in fire on the mirror meant. Surely the angel must know that I had no idea what the relevance of the Ninth Circle was? He must know that I had asked Mephistopheles about it and researched it and wracked my mind for hidden memories but to no avail. The Ninth Circle surrounded me, trapping me with lies and agendas and my own self-imposed ignorance.
But I won’t be used as a puppet. The strange message — CIRCLEIX — continued to appear as I prepared for bed. I saw it blazing above me in the bathroom mirror and scorched into the wooden footboard of my bed. But I ignored it. I didn’t understand it anyway, and I wouldn’t do anything about it if I could. I felt I hated the angels — or whoever was responsible — for tormenting me, for forsaking me and for putting some truth into Mephistopheles’ words by refusing to explain clearly to me what the hell it was they fucking wanted.
26th December (Boxing Day)
I’ve disgraced myself before God by letting Mephistopheles trick me in such a way. I hope that one day I will be forgiven. The CIRCLEIX message is still appearing around my apartment, but I am ignoring it. th December
Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles! All this time it has been Mephistopheles I was talking to! How did this happen to me? How did it happen? How did it? How? Mephistopheles — the one known as ‘He who destroys by lies’… Can I believe a word that demon said to me? Can I believe a word of it? Was he lying when he told me Nicky and Luke died in a car crash? Or was he lying when he said they never existed? They must have existed once! You can’t love a dream.
29th December
I have drawn pictures of them to stop myself from worrying. I’m carrying them around with me in the apartment. Casey has been banging on the door outside, but I’ve pretended to be out. I can’t see her right now. I can’t see anyone. I want to spend the time here with Nicky and Luke. They’re not much more than stick men, for of course I can’t remember precisely what they look like. But that doesn’t matter. When I talk to Nicky, it helps calm me down. Of course, I know that it’s not really her. I’m not losing my mind or anything distasteful like that. I know my wife is dead. I’m just talking to a crude drawing, that’s all.
It’s all right, though. Nicky herself has told me that she’s real, and she ought to know. Her death was an accident, like Stephomi said. There was nothing I could have done. I loved them. They were everything to me. I would never have hurt them. I wish this CIRCLEIX message would go away. It’s burning into the floorboards as well as the walls now.
31st December (New Year’s Eve)
My name is not Gabriel Antaeus. What a fucking surprise… At long last, I know the full disgusting truth about my past. I know why I took pains to punish myself, for if any man alive deserves punishment it is me.
I have committed the most wicked acts and they haunt me now as they did then. It is necessary that I isolate myself entirely from those around me. But now, of course, I have a problem, for Casey’s life is already quite hopelessly entangled with my own. Despite my promises I must cease all contact with her. I have made arrangements for her to have her baby in a nearby hospital in the city centre, with a private room and every comfort she might need. I have also deposited enough money in a bank account, set up under her name, to see her through for at least several years.
‘But why?’ she had asked, trying not to cry when I had told her. ‘Why aren’t you going to be there with me yourself?’
‘I can’t explain,’ I said stiffly. ‘That’s just the way it has to be.’
‘My Black Madonna’s gone,’ she said suddenly, giving me an accusing look. ‘Did you take it?’
I hesitated for a moment before replying, ‘Yes, I did.’