55. Virgil the Guide chap. 6-Eric




• We travelled for hours, with dark horses that never eat or never tire. My stomach started growling and I was about to ask Virgil to stop so we could geta bite to eat. Then I remembered I was dead.
  
  I saw an interstate sign that read Chattanooga 15 miles.
  
  The air turned warmer, wrapped in a moist blanket of humidity. Before I could ask, Virgil brandished a kerchief which I immediately took.
  
  "We're almost there."
  
  "What's it like?"
  
  "Kind of boring if you ask me. Not a lot goes on in Purgatory. People just sitting around waiting to be released."
  
  I nodded.
  
  Virgil finally snapped the reins. The horses started galloping slower as they turned on an exit ramp. We continued for some twenty minutes until we were in down town Chattanooga. They wound through the streets turning corners slowly, as if they were giving us a tour. We were coming upon the Tennessee River. The sun glinted off the silver river, almost blinding me. They stopped, snorted and huffing in front of a large docked boat. A neon sign fixed over a mast blinked, Dag's Gambling hall.
  
  "Here we are Virgil said," opening the door with the lever handle.
  
  We took some rusty steps up to the dock. It was splintered and worn, and creaked when we walked across it.
  
  We enetered the boat, which seemed much smaller from the outside. It was a vast gambling hall. It was livid with activity and alive with the buzzers and clinking of slot machine coins falling. At the far end of the hall a jazz band played.
  
  Virgil tapped me on the shoulder and said, "there's someone I would like you to meet."
  
  He led me across the hall. We weaved through Black jack tables and a group of people playing Roulette. We took some stairs up to a balcony deck. The air was fresh and the sun was starting to set over the river.
  
  An elderly sat reclined on a plastic beach chair. Tenderils of smoke rose above his head. He turned on his seat as we entered and smiled. he took off his sunglasses and stood up.
  
  "Hello, Harry, this is Justin."
  
  "How do you do," he said, hand extended.
  
  "Fine, Sir, and you?"
  
  He didn't reply, he just bowed quickly.
  
  "Can I get you a drink?" He asked.
  
  Virgil looked at me, and gave me a face.
  
  I shook my head.
  
  "No thanks."
  
  "Well sit down," he said, snapping his fingers.
  
  Two more plastic chairs materialized. We sat down.
  
  "Tell me about yourself, Justin."
  
  "Sure, I don't know where to start really."
  
  "Well, we can start at your death."
  
  I looked to Virgil who nodded, and then back to Harry.
  
  "I thought that was one of the rules, you know you're not-"
  
  He held up a hand to dismiss my notion and leaned forward.
  
  "Don't worry Justin, this is the place you actually do that. So we can decide where you belong."
  
  "Okay," I said.
  
  I propped my leg up on the wood, balcony rail and began telling my story. With each word I could feel the pressure in my chest unwinding.