”You humans have a very archaic understanding of the so-called hell. Everything is much more complicated and closer than you think. It is everywhere. Always was and always will be ”.

Night. Wall Street. In one of the residential buildings, a murder took place. Detective James Pidozra had little information on this case. Two corpses in an abandoned apartment. The house looked more like a brothel, the inhabitants were mostly homeless, prostitutes, drug addicts, and petty criminals. During his twenty years of service in the police, including the homicide department and the vice squad, James happened to come across a variety of characters. It was very difficult to surprise him with something. He was never afraid of danger, rather he was seen as a threat to most people.

He was about forty, a massive man almost two meters in height, broad shoulders, large bone structure. James had huge palms. After he had turned 17, his handshake never met a palm bigger than his. In adolescence, he used to take up boxing, but then very quickly realized that it was much more exciting to take fights outside the boxing ring. He was a cruel man, he liked to inflict physical pain and he was ready to achieve results at any cost. On that foggy night, James Pidozra was in his usual guise. He was wearing an expensive brown trench coat and a stylish hat. He was wearing a “Xellor” golden watch with sapphire crystal glass on his left hand. Premium model. Any expert who knows a thing or two about watches would immediately have a logical question — how come that an ordinary detective owns such an expensive watch. Did colleagues respect James? Unlikely. Were they afraid of him? Absolutely. James was reasonably smart and never physically assaulted his colleagues at the police station or while on duty. Instead, he tracked down the victim and roughed them up in one of the city`s dark alleys. There were several such cases, but the result was always the same —an urgent hospitalization of his opponent. Everyone who dealt with Pidozra knew that it was better not to cross him. James's head was so massive that it seemed like one could easily crack coconuts with his skull. He had solid cheekbones and a lush red beard. James Pidozra was kind of a person whom anyone wouldn’t like to meet on any occasion.

James did not remember on which floor the murders were committed. He started climbing the stairs. The elevator in the building did not work. Yellow. Brown. Gray. These are the colors that matched the interior of the building. Peeling walls, an eerie smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and debris, rats and cockroaches running around the building. He continued, step by step, to climb the stairs. Finally, James reached the floor where the door to one of the apartments was wide open. Sounds of bustle and active movement came from it. James entered the apartment.

That apartment was no good fit for a normal life. The living room was a mess, there were many empty bottles, dirty clothes, heaps of rubbish scattered on the floor. There were two bodies of dead men lying next to the overturned table against the wall. Two police officers were examining the crime scene. One of them was photographing the corpses from several angles, the other carefully examined the crime scene.

James walked through the hallway. He quickly assessed the situation, then said in his usual aggressive manner:

— Detective Pidozra! What the hell happened here!?

After taking some photos, one of the policemen got up from his haunches and, without taking his eyes off the corpse, said:

— Two corpses. But everything is somehow strange... Did they kill each other?

James sighed and, after a moment's pause, resignedly said:

— Fuck...

The detective walked over to the corpses. There was a telephone on the floor, an empty whiskey bottle, a burnt ashtray, an empty pack of cigarettes, and other garbage. The telephone was beeping non-stop. The first man was lying on his belly. He was a large bald man in a gray, expensive suit. A knife was stuck in his back. A large bloody stain spread out from the wound. There were watch marks on his left wrist. “Our dead man has traces of a watch on his hand, but you can't see a watch! Huh…! " — Pidozra said. The body of the second man was on the back. That man was below average height, dressed in an unmarked work uniform. This could be worn by an electrician, plumber, or gasman. Bloodied face with a bullet in his forehead was a cherry on top of the cake. There were no doubts about the cause of his death.

— First, they killed the big one, and then the little one!! — James said.

Suddenly one of the cops behind James exclaimed:

— Look!

James turned around. The policeman's hand pointed right at the bullet mark on the wall exactly at human height.

— What could it mean, — the policeman, who was holding the camera at the ready, interrupted the tense silence.

— Isn`t it fucking obvious!? The little one stabbed the big guy and then was shot dead by another asshole, sorry ass detectives, — Pidozra exploded.

There was bewilderment on the pale faces of the police officers. Without waiting for an answer, James shouted at them again:

— How fucking stupid you are, imbeciles! I need some air! Don`t fucking touch anything here!

James left the apartment and went down to the first floor. He left the building, then he took out a pack of "La Rombo" cigarettes and made a draw. There was a heavy downpour on the street, so the detective was standing right at the entrance. James looked around. To his left, he saw a balding middle-aged man of Arab appearance. He was sitting right on the steps at the entrance, smoking and clearly in no hurry. James spat through his teeth and said:

— Detective Pidozra. Seen anything suspicious around here today?

The man reluctantly raised his head, held his gaze on James for a few seconds, and idly turned away, taking a draw on his cigarette.

— Hey! What`s your name?! — James snapped annoyingly.

The stranger did not react to the detective at all.

— Hey you, dickhead, don`t you fucking understand English!? — James came very close to the man.

The detective was towering over the silent stranger like a huge tower. The man looked at James again. All of his movements were lazy and slow.

— Khabib.

— Hah, Khabib, my ass...

James and Khabib smoked, peering out into the distance. Due to heavy rain and fog, visibility was terrible, they could see no more than twenty meters…

— Seen anything suspicious today? — James repeated his question inquisitively.

— This area seen much suspicious things happen...

Khabib spoke calmly, with a strong accent. James began to examine him more closely and noticed Khabib wore the same work uniform as that dead guy in the apartment up the stairs.

— Where did you get your uniform? — James pointed at Khabib`s clothes.

— Not remember... Is any important?

— Here, I fucking decide what IS important! Someone smoked your buddy in this building. And you know what? He was dressed in the same uniform! Maybe this fucking information may clear your shit-ass mind?

— I not have any friends... Detective...

James did not like Khabib's attitude at all. He wanted to push him, but he didn't know how. Something was off. Usually, James’s very presence was enough to intimidate anybody. But Khabib behaved confidently. He was not in the least afraid of James and his aggressive style, at least he did not show it. Suddenly Khabib said to the detective:

— I know who involved...

— Oh yeah... Know it all my ass... Enlighten me!

— Dirty Larry.

James got confused after hearing that name. Dirty Larry was a local underworld bigshot, who bossed around most of the criminal activities, such as drug trafficking, prostitution, robbery, and protection racket. The detective was to meet Dirty Larry the next day. James handled several cases directly related to the activities of Dirty Larry`s mob. James made sure that those investigations resulted in no charges against Dirty Larry and his men in return for dirty money. This “partnership” has been lasting for more than 2 years. Naturally, the detective was very eager to dismiss Khabib`s suggestion:

— You are nuts! Dirty Larry my ass...

— He was in the building, detective...

— You know what, you`d better watch your fucking mouth, you know what might happen to the likes of you? Some tough guys will rough you up, cut your tongue, shove it right into your beautiful tiny ass and put a bullet into your head... — James threatened.

— Yah. Already, — Khabib said.

— And then I will be the one to clean up all that fucking mess. So do us both a favor. Stop talking bullcrap!

James tossed his cigarette to the side and stepped out. Behind his back, he heard Khabib's muffled and hoarse voice:

— What you think, James, which better? Terrible end or endless horror?

Already standing under the downpour, James turned around and barked:

— Better, if you wouldn`t ask dumb-ass questions!

The detective went in the direction of his house, which was only a few blocks away. For some reason, he had that strange feeling that he wanted no part of today`s murder case.

The weather that day was the worst in several years. Heavy rain, thick fog, powerful thunderclaps. On the way, the detective did not meet a single soul. Twenty minutes later, he was already standing in front of the entrance door of another typical residential building where he lived. Suddenly, a voice rang out from behind him:

— Оh! Mr. Pidozra! Long time no see, how are you doing this DAY?

James turned. A gray-haired old man was sitting on a bench near the front door. He was about seventy years old. Senile physique, wrinkled face, tanned skin, hunched back. Gray, almost colorless eyes seemed very unusual. He was wearing a tattered, half-torn navy blue shirt, old dirty beige pants, and slippers. Particular attention was drawn to the long, dirty toenails. There was not a drop of water on the old man. “Hmm... Found himself a sweet spot”, — James thought to himself. The detective did not recognize the old man, although that man talked to James as an old acquaintance.

— We've met? — James asked casually.

— Yes... You probably don't remember me, detective...

— Should I?

— My name is Ferluci and...

— Look I don`t give a shit what`s your name.

James headed inside the residential building.

— See you, detective...

The old man said the last phrase as James closed the door behind him. The elevator did not work, as in the building where the double murder took place. James went up to the fourth floor, took out a key, and opened the door to his apartment. Right behind the door on the floor, James saw a white, sealed envelope. The detective picked up the envelope. It was a letter from Eva Adams. James put the envelope on the nightstand, closed the front door, took off his coat, hung it in the closet, and walked into the back of the room. It was an ordinary spacious one-room apartment. James was attracted by a telephone on a coffee table. The answering machine red indicator was blinking. James walked up to it, pressed the machine button, and heard a familiar voice:

— Listen for a moment, don`t hang up! I know that... We are far from being friends, but you are still my partner... I'm aware of your meeting with Dirty Larry... Don't ask how... But you have to know. This is a fucking setup. The guys in our department conspired with Dirty Larry to take you out and grab all the money for themselves. Don't ask who. Knowing you, you immediately will go after those dogs to beat the shit out of them, and you are ought to blow our cover. You just have to understand — this is a trap. We will get to them later, but for now... Just don't go there…

“I knew that Barney was a soft-skinned and spineless beta male... He wants to fuck me up. Thinks that he is the smartest. Fucking moron...” — James said. He fixed his gaze on the phone again. The small red light continued to blink. James pressed the button again. He heard a female voice which was impossible to confuse with anyone else:

— James, I know that most likely you ain`t wonna hear me at all... But I... Honestly, I tried to leave everything in the past... But I can't...

The woman was clearly on the edge. She spoke lowly, sobbing and pausing between phrases. It seemed that at any moment she could break down and burst into tears:

— I miss you. So much... You have no idea... I thought for a long time about what we had ... I want to be with you, I want a child from you, James. Last time it didn't work out, but I'm ready to do anything for you, for us…

James listened attentively and looked longingly out the window, watching the downpour cover the night city. Eva continued in a more restrained manner. She calmed down, even though her voice trembled for moments:

— Do you remember that I went to my mother in Los Angeles, California. I hate the city we were in together, even though we had happy times. You are stubborn and most likely you will refuse, but... I hope... What I wonna the most is that you finally forget about your pride. I bought you a train ticket to Los Angeles. Please, James, come over. Do it... For us... I... Love you...

Single beep. The light on the phone stopped blinking. James glanced at the envelope that was on the nightstand by the front door. The detective walked over, took and opened the envelope. There was a train ticket to Los Angeles. Departure time — next morning 7:14 am. James grinned. He had an unusual sensation as if the ticket was glowing with white light. Objectively, there was nothing suspicious about the ticket. James went back to the nightstand where the telephone was. He opened the top drawer. On top of everything was a little note: “ Tomorrow. Wall Street 44, 616.7:00. Do not be late ”. James was still holding the ticket in his hand. He crumpled it up and threw it into a small wastebasket by the couch. The ticket got lost in trash inside the waste bin.

James went into the kitchen and opened a small cabinet above the sink where he kept medicines. Several years ago, he started having sleep problems, and recently they have worsened. James spent some time unsuccessfully sifting through the packs of drugs. When he realized that the sleeping pills were out, he was seized with rage. He grabbed a chair that came under his arm and smashed half of the kitchen with one sweeping motion. The neighbors would surely wake up if they could hear this rumbling. James broke half of the dishes, but he didn't care at all. He rushed out of the kitchen, stripped off his gray suit, and tossed it onto one of the chairs. Then threw himself on a large sofa in the middle of the room. This was not the first time he had run out of sleeping pills and sleepless nights were not out of the ordinary for him.

The night was a pure nightmare. James tossed and turned on the sofa. He fell asleep and woke up several times during the night. Suddenly three short knocks stopped this sleepless torture. At first, James thought he was imagining it, but after a few seconds, three knocks came again. The detective got up from the sofa and when he was already at the door, the knocks repeated one more time. James opened the door. In front of him stood a fair-haired boy of short stature, ten or twelve years old. He was wearing a neat blue postman`s uniform, blue cap, and pants tucked into leather boots. The boy was holding a small open box filled with colorful booklets in his right hand. After James fixed his gaze on him, the boy took out one of the booklets and handed it to James:

— Mister! You need to learn about the Church of Sky! The Church of Sky! Save your Soul and the Soul of your loved ones! We are all born under the Sky, but we never appreciate its power and influence! The sky sees everything! Sees our pain, our suffering, our trials! Accept the Gift of the Church of Sky and be Blessed!!

James looked at his watch indifferently. Fourteen minutes past three. In any other situation, James could easily knock out the troublemaker with the strongest hook or at least a kick in the ass. However, he was a little dumbfounded by the late arrival of the guest and did not opt for physical violence.

— Do you know what time it is? Boy, fuck you! — the detective said decisively.

— But mister! I kept coming so many times! You need to learn about the Church of Sky! If you do not learn about the Church of Sky then you will be eter...

— I said FUCK YOU, little boy!!!

James slammed the door. He walked over to the couch and sank wearily onto it. Raindrops kept drumming outside.

It was impossible to fall asleep, erratic thoughts crept into James`s head. He thought about today's events. Feelings and people, they got out of the everyday routine. But oddly enough, this did not surprise the detective in the least.

James did not sleep a wink, as he was fighting insomnia. Then he looked at his watch — six sixteen. For the first time in an entire day, the detective's spirits improved. The night passed and he had just enough time to get dressed and get to the venue with Dirty Larry. He put on his gray suit, took out his coat from the closet, and left the apartment. It was still raining cats and dogs. It was also dark as night outside. The detective headed to the meeting point - Wall Street 44, 616. 7:00. There was not a living soul on the street. Finally, James stopped in front of the building where he had an appointment with Dirty Larry...

“Funny. A meeting in a building, where those assholes were murdered yesterday,” — James thought to himself. He needed to get to the sixth floor — apartment 616. He went up the same stairs. The same walls that seemed painfully familiar to him. Finally, he reached the sixth floor. Apartment 616. The door was wide open. James stepped confidently inside. It was the same apartment where the murders took place, but it looked different... There were no dead bodies in the living room, not a single trace of blood. There was not a single hint of the events that took place in this apartment yesterday. The table which was overturned yesterday stood in its place. An old man sat in one of the chairs against the opposite wall. To his great surprise, James realized that it was the same old man he met last near his house. The old man gave the detective a little time to look around and then enthusiastically addressed him:

— James, I'm glad to see you again!

— What the fuck is going on! Where is Dirty Larry? — James asked.

— Maybe you`ll meet him sometime, but not here and not now...

— You know what, dickhead, you are telling me what`s going on, now! Or I just gonna rip off your tiny balls!

— Ha-hааааа...

The old man laughed, deliberately drawing out the last sound.

— I like your style... Sadly, you won`t do anything. As always... — the old man said ominously.

James wanted to grab him and hold him firmly by the throat, but his body refused to move in his direction. The old man continued:

— Maybe because... You respect and appreciate the older generation so much that your hand will simply not rise to harm a defenseless old man... Or because you prefer diplomatic methods to brute force... Hmmm... Or... You are not quite able to do anything to anyone?

James looked towards the table with the telephone... The table had already been knocked over, and there was the corpse of a massive man right near it. The crime scene was the same as James saw it yesterday. The only difference was the absence of the body of the second victim. James began to take a closer look at the man on the floor. He was wearing the same gray suit, the same pants, and the same shoes as the detective. The corpse was lying face down. James needed to check it to be sure, but he didn't want to, he was afraid.

— It can`t be... — James said taking a step back.

— Look out the window... — the old man advised.

James walked over to the window. Nothing changed, it was very dark, there was a heavy downpour, a thick fog covered empty streets.

— It is raining heavily outside, but you are not wet and did not even try to hide from the rain. And is it actually rain at all? Also an interesting question... — the old man reasoned.

James had no panic attack, nor the shock of revelation. He was not surprised by everything that the mysterious old man said to him. It seemed that James already knew that himself…

— Okay. Let’s say I am dead. But who the fuck finished me off?

— You don’t have to go too far to understand who took from you something that belongs to me, and it’s not that important in our discussion...

The old man's voice changed. Before that moment he spoke with insinuating voice, but his last phrase sounded extremely harsh. The voice became lower in tone and sounded unnatural. The color of the old man's eyes also changed, now they were pitch black.

— Khabib... You motherfucker... — James suddenly realized who killed him.

Every few seconds strange physiological metamorphoses occurred to the old man`s appearance. The wrinkles disappeared, the hair changed its color from white to gray, the shape of the face changed. The old man was constantly transforming during the whole conversation.

— So it was Dirty Larry who put the bullet into Khabib`s head? — the detective suggested.

— HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA...

The voice kept changing. Initially, it barely reached James, but now a supernatural voice filled the entire space of the apartment and even outside. James glanced at the scene of the murders. Now the body of the second victim has already materialized there. It was Khabib. He was lying on the floor in the same position as when James first discovered his corpse.

— Dirty Larry is fine, but not for very long! — the old man proclaimed.

— What the hell do you want from me? — the detective asked firmly.

— Now it`s time for the main course... I would be a bad... Let's say, "friend" if I never gave you a choice. Right now, you can go down the stairs to the first floor and go outside of the building. This is how your story ends.

— Am I going to hell?

James has never been a religious person. But he did not like the prospect. He was visibly nervous and uncomfortable.

— You humans have a very archaic understanding of the so-called hell. Everything is much more complicated and closer than you think. It is everywhere. Always was and always will be.

— Can I beat the shit out of Khabib`s pussy face for killing me?

— NO. IT DOESN`T WORK LIKE THIS.

The phrase sounded several times louder than usual. James decided to change the topic:

— Alright. You said something about the choice. What`s the second option?

— I can give you one more chance. To get it right. Who knows, maybe you can change something ... Ha-ha ... Follow the different path...

— Alright. What do I need to do?

— Excellent…

The old man rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The air electrified.

— Go to the phone and dial the number that comes to your mind first.

— That`s all?

The old man nodded and smiled.

James turned to the table. The corpses disappeared, the table stood in the same place with a telephone on it. James walked over and picked up the phone. He turned and looked at the old man. He kept transforming into something. The last changes were so dramatic that he no longer looked like a human, but rather a creature. James had never seen anything like this. The detective began dialing: "6 .... 1 ....." See you, detective .... " — James heard a familiar voice. 6 .......... “

*******

James did not remember on which floor the murders were committed. He started climbing the stairs. The elevator in the building did not work. Yellow. Brown. Gray. These are the colors that matched the interior of the building. Peeling walls, an eerie smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and debris, rats and cockroaches running around the building. He continued, step by step, to climb the stairs. Finally, James reached the floor where the door to one of the apartments was wide open. Sounds of bustle and active movement came from it. James entered the apartment.

That apartment was no good fit for a normal life. The living room was a mess, there were many empty bottles, dirty clothes, heaps of rubbish scattered on the floor. There were two bodies of dead men lying next to the overturned table against the wall. Two police officers were examining the crime scene. One of them was photographing the corpses from several angles, the other carefully examined the crime scene.

James walked through the hallway. He quickly assessed the situation, then said in his usual aggressive manner:

— Detective Pidozra! What the hell happened here!?