Sid, Ombudsman of Hell

[joegoda]

Originally, those people who believed in Christian virtues and the Holiness of the Trinity and lived their lives accordingly found themselves immediately in the Good Place, Heaven. Those who didn't live their lives in a state of Grace, with a capital G, and bought a one way ticket upstairs, found themselves in a place much less pleasant, suffering extreme tortures until the End of Days.

Then the changes started. As Earthly life became more complex, so did Sin. So did Grace. When people died, the amount of sin or grace in their lives became harder to judge, so the Laws of Judgment came into being. Some states of sin became less sinful than others, and some states of grace became less graceful than others.

It was no longer Divine Justice to lump everyone together. Degrees and levels of punishment or reward developed, separating those who where truly good and truly horrible from those who were merely mediocre. Bureaucracy on a cosmic scale was born. As it was on Earth, so it was Above and Below.

Before Dante created his Comedy, Order and Chaos became a hit and miss situation. Reward and Punishment, Heaven and Hell were sort of a shopping mall of pleasure and pain. Wonders and gardens sat next to pits of sulphur and tar. It was pretty ugly, especially when one spilled into the other. There was no Order, all was Chaos and both God and Satan became greatly disturbed by it all. Even though they sit on opposite sides of the fence, they still longed for a sort of balance to it all. The Good must be in Heaven, the Evil must be in Hell. Simple, really.

Then Dante wrote his little poem and the Big Guys put their heads together and said "Hmmm. This guy is on to something." And as it had been written, so it was done. Well, pretty close, anyway.

Still, sometimes people were wrongly allocated, and felt their judgments were improper for the way they had lived. Of course, those that went to Heaven rarely complained. Even the least of the rewards of Heaven were still better than least of the punishments of Hell. Regardless, the Big Guys had to do something.

The job of Ombudsman was created, to hear the arguments of those that felt that the punishment they had received was unjust, or, and much more rarely, the arguments that the level of Heaven was just not what was expected. Like the mint was missing on the pillow or something. Some people are just like that.

The Ombudsman of Hell was to stand before God or Satan, case dependant, and argue for the accused. The position required a certain amount of security, because not everyone could get into see the Big Guys. It was a position of some power, but also a position of imprisonment. Once chosen for the position, it was forever, as in always. The only time the Ombudsman escaped from his little office was to present his arguments, and that was pretty darn rare.

Judgments from Heaven are always correct as presented, because of the concept of Holy Infallibility. Judgments from Hell were listened to a bit more closely. The BBO was the prince of Lies, after all, and besides, he had already made one major mistake, hadn't he? Else, why would he be here?

How it works is like this. When a person dies, they go to Limbo, immediately. This is the sorting area. The dead don't all start out at the same place in Limbo. Some find themselves in a warehouse, some find themselves in the downtown area, and some find themselves on the outskirts of town on a road.

Eventually, all the dead find an envelope with their name on it. The envelope looks like any of the ones the living get that say 'Congratulations! You may be a winner!' on them. The letter might to them, blown by an ill wind, or dropped in front of the by a cawing crow, or a messenger might just hand it to them. The envelope always finds them, one way or another, without fail.

If they open the envelope, and they always do, they find a official message from the Laws of Judgment. If it's a bad letter then it states what their crimes were and what the judgment is and where they go to report for dispatch to which level of Hell. If it's a good letter, then it congratulates them on living a life of Grace and where they can go to find their Heavenly Escort.

At the bottom of both types of letter, there is, in very small print, the name and address of the Ombudsman. Sid is listed as the Ombudsman of Hell, because there is such a small turn out for Heavenly misjudgments there didn't seem to be any need.

Bad letters tend to meet with great drama, all sorts of gnashing of teeth and lots of curses and tears. This oddly, simply proves the point of the judgment. Good letters meet with quiet acceptance, because that's the sort of behavior that got them the letter in the first place.

Still, it was VERY rare that any judgment was ever overturned. It was so rare that it had never been done except once, and that was a case that was only rumored and whispered about. Apparently, a woman of incredible beauty had been accused of witchery, and, of course, went to Hell. It turned out that she was, in fact, a Godly woman.

Sid had argued her case, and won. Reluctantly, the BBO agreed to commute her sentence and she translated to the appropriate level of Heaven. It was one of those things that Satan never forgot, and so Sid got a tiny office in a blank warehouse in a nasty area of Limbo.

The warehouses of Limbo are huge, as large as an aircraft carrier, as large as the Empire State building lying on its side. There were thousands, and hundreds of thousands of warehouses in Limbo. The warehouses didn't hold food or clothing or automobiles or anything that a living person would need. The dead didn't need to eat, but could if they wished to. The dead didn't need to wash their clothing, or take a bath, or go to work or do any of the things they had to do when they were living.

They could, though, if they wanted to. Sometimes, once the living has ceased being the living, some souls just find it hard to believe they have passed over, so to speak, and their consciousnesses carry with them the memories of what they did back on earth. The dead can, if they so wish it to be, continue in their old ways, pretending to go to work, pretending to eat and wash, pretending to be alive.

All things desired can be provided in Limbo, simply by wishing it to be so. Of course, the colors aren't quite right and the food and drink taste just a bit off, and the automobiles get terrible gas mileage and there is never a convenient filling station nearby. As for telephones, just forget about getting a good connection. It's not life, after all. Every thing that imitates life in Limbo is going to be just not quite right.

And so, the warehouses in Limbo don't contain things that the living would use. What the warehouses contain are those souls that have simply not moved on and have given up the ghost, so to speak. The souls that got the letter and didn't show up for their appointed dispatch up or down. Or the ones who want to argue their cases and haven't a chance in hell of being heard, but are waiting for their day in court. Or the ones that never opened their letters and got tired of pretending to be alive and just stopped. Doing. Anything.

When that happens, when a soul just gives up or decides to stubbornly cross their arms and not move, they get politely packed in foam and bubble-wrap and stored in a cardboard box in one of the warehouses of Limbo. Occasionally, some of them might climb out of their box for a while, play a game of canasta or whist, but eventually the games lose their flavor and its back in the box for another couple of years.

Granted, there are those souls, adventurous and stubborn, that refuse to go into a box, refuse to go up or down, and simply continue on as if nothing had ever happened. These are the souls that make up the town of Limbo. They have opened bars and restaurants and delivery services and work around the quirky not-quite-rightness of the place. The pedicab business in Limbo is fairly booming.

Pedicabs are three wheeled taxis like rickshaws, but they use pedal power rather than simple foot power. The main advantage pedicabs have over automobiles is that they don't rely upon the gasoline which may or may not be available at any given time. In Limbo, pedicabs are the fastest way to get anywhere.

There is one catch with that sort of non-life, however. One cursive slip of the tongue, one minor event that might be construed as a sin in any way, and the perpetrator is immediately delivered to the Level of Hell the infraction deserves. No letter of Judgment, no Sid the Ombudsman. Just swift and immediate justice. The Imps show up and poof, you're outta there.

Needless to say, the gambling in Limbo is all in fun, and the bars never have to deal with angry drunks. There is no crime in Limbo. At all.

Sid's first step out of his office took him onto the gray slate floor of one of these warehouses. The not-quite daylight filtered from nowhere and everywhere, from no discernable source. It just came from... somewhere, bouncing off and reflected by the millions of motes of dust that floated in the dank and humid air.

"So," he said, looking around, "this is what's outside the door." He took a deep breath, coughed and turned to find Edra. She had slithering about a block away, near a row of boxes where a game of rummy was being played. "Where should I start?" he yelled. "How do I get to the sixth level?"

Edra stopped and loomed backward. "If not for Justin, I'd tell you to go to Hell." She paused and thought. "Because of Justin, I'll give you one piece of advice. Go find Virgil. He knows the way." She seemed about to say something else, but then just turned away and faded into the warehouse.

Justin came up to where Sid stood. "You've never been outside of your office, Mister Fishbeck?"

Sid started, not expecting anyone to be that close. Being outside of his safe little miserable office made him nervous. "No, not here, anyway." He shrugged. "When I leave the office, it's usually to go straight to see the BBO, and I haven't done that for..." He tried to calculate how long it had been. He gave up. "A very, very long time."

"Wow." Justin shook his head in wonder. "I think I've been wandering around for about three years before I decided to come find you. I've got to know just about everybody here."

Sid nodded. "Three years. And I've been in that office for about a thousand." According to the red folder, Justin had been dead just a little over three months. Ah, the joy of subjective time in a place where time doesn't matter or even exist. Three years, three months, a thousand... it's all the same here.

He looked around at all the boxes that lay stacked around him. He straightened his tie, hitched his trousers and pointed in a direction that looked promising. "Let's go this way."

"Um."

Sid turned and looked at Justin. He had to look up, since Justin was almost a full head taller. The young man stood there, looking uncertain.

"What?" he asked.

"Well," Justin said, politely, "I don't mean to tell you your business, Mister Fishbeck, but I came in from the other way. There's a door just three rows over that leads out to the street." He pointed the direction that Sid was going to go and said, "That way leads to a wall."

"Oh." Sid looked up at Justin, saw nothing to indicate he was being made fun of and shrugged. "Okay by me." He touched Justin's arm and said, "Look, kid. Since we're going to be traveling together, why don't you call me Sid? Mister Fishbeck is just kind of... I don't know... uncomfortable to me. I'm used to being yelled at and called anything but my name. To have someone actually be nice to me is not exactly inside my zone, if you know what I mean."

Justin smiled and the world seemed to brighten. "Sure, Sid. If it helps you, then it helps me, right?"

"Uh, right." Sid was having a hard time wrapping his head around the kid. Who in their right mind was really that nice? "Why don't you take the lead? I mean, you've been out here and all, and I don't even have a clue where we're going."

"Okay doke, Sid." Justin's smile just didn't want to go away. In fact, all around him the air seemed to be clearer, cleaner somehow. It was as if he was his own source of light. "Follow me." Justin gave a wave of his hand, indicating that Sid should follow.

Sid sighed. "I can't believe I'm stuck with a boy scout," he grumbled.

"Oh yes," Justin said, proudly, as he marched down the long row to the grey, windowless wall. "I made eagle scout by the time I was fifteen. I earned twelve merit badges my first year of scouts. By the time I was eighteen, I had almost a full hundred badges." A touch of sadness crossed his face. "I never did reach that hundred, though. I had to stop to help my dad when he got sick."

Of course, thought Sid. Not only a boy scout, but one who had to give up his dream to help the family homestead. I'm surprised the kid doesn't have a halo and a harp.

"It's okay, though," Justin continued. "What I learned helping my dad was more valuable than a billion merit badges."

"How did your dad get sick?" Sid had to jog just a bit to keep pace with Justin. The kid could move fast on those long legs. Good thing he didn't have any lungs anymore, or else he would be wheezing by now. Sitting in an office for eternity can take it out of you.

"Oh, he got a lump in his chest that the doctor said was cancer." Justin turned right at corner. He pointed into the dusty gloom. "See? There's the door."

Sure enough, there was a tiny spot where a slightly brighter bit of light filtered into the building.

"Cancer, huh?" Sid nodded. "Tough break."

"Not for my dad!" Justin beamed another smile. "We sat and talked about it and prayed about it, and sure enough, the next year the doctor was surprised, because the lump had gone away."

They reached the door and Justin opened it, holding it for Sid.

"Here we are, as promised!" he said. "Next stop, the outside world, Mister Fishbeck!"

"Sid, okay?" Sid looked through the doorway. "Just Sid."

The doorway led to what appeared to Sid to be more of the same. More of the not-quite dim light, more of the dusty stale air that didn't smell of anything. Across the way, another grey door could be seen. Probably another warehouse, Sid thought.

"Don't let it fool you, Mister... Sid." Justin sounded like he was headed for summer camp. "There's a whole world out there, waiting to be explored!"

"Yeah, yeah." Sid ran his finger around his collar, which suddenly felt a size to small. "I'm just a bit nervous, is all."

"Nothing to be nervous about. Heck, I'll even go first." Justin gently pushed Sid out of his way and he stepped through the door. He stood in the alley between the two warehouses and raised his arm to shoulder height. "See? Nothing to be afraid of at all."

"Who said I was afraid?" Sid grabbed the two sides of the door jamb as if he was going to either launch himself or hold himself back. "I just said I was a bit nervous."

Slowly and with great caution, he took a tentative step over the threshold. He could feel the ticket in his pocket, blazing away without heat. Instead the flames were felt as a vibration against his skin. It brought him comfort. It was something that felt right. All the rest of the world of Limbo felt so very wrong.

He drug his other foot slowly through the doorway and found himself standing in the alley outside the warehouse. "See? I made it. That wasn't so bad," he said. What he thought was, 'If I had any sweat glands, I'd be soaked.'

He looked up at the sky. No clouds, there, only the same dim and dingy light. A few black birds flew over head, cawing sadly. There would be no robins, no sparrows in Limbo. Only crows, because crows were the messenger birds. And they generally brought bad news. He felt sorry for the poor schnook who the crows might be looking for.

Looking left and right, the alley looked pretty much like he expected. Long grey walls of warehouses leading too... what? A street? It seemed to Sid that it had been eons since he stood on a street and it probably had.

"Which way?" He asked Justin.


"I came in from that way." Justin pointed to Sid's left. "There's a cantina not to far away where I got a drink. Nice fellow runs the place. Told me how to find you."

Drink? "You got a drink there?" Surely not alcohol. "And the guy there knew where to find me?"

"Oh sure! The owner's name is Harry, and he knew exactly where to find you." Justin started walking that way. "Makes a darn tasty milkshake, too."

"Oh, come on!" Sid said to Justin's back. This was getting ridiculous. "There aren't any milkshakes in Limbo!" Of course, there might be. Why not? Pretty much anything you wanted you could get. It would be a pretty crummy milkshake, though.

Justin stopped and turned, still wearing that boy scout smile of his. "All right. You got me." He shrugged and held his hands out. "I was just having a bit of fun with you. It was a beer. Just one, though, okay? And it wasn't very good. I think I could show them a thing or two about brewing down here. Must be something wrong with the water."

"A beer." Sid let his relief slide onto his face and down his body. "You had a beer, with a guy named Harry."

"Yeah. It's just down the street a bit, in a little corner cantina." Justin nodded down the alley in the direction of the street. "I've been going there pretty often since I got here. Harry seems to know everybody."

"Thank God." Sid kept walking, right past Justin. "I was starting to think I was traveling with Superman."

"Nope." Justin caught up to Sid. "I'm no where that good. I've got my flaws, just like everybody else."

Not according to the Woebie.

"I hope you're not mad at me for poking at you." Justin said, with real concern. "You just looked so scared back there. I just did it to distract you."

"Don't make a big deal of it, kid." Still, it only partially did the job. Sid wasn't terribly concerned about being outside, in the world. He could still feel the butterflies in his stomach trying to beat two to the band, but they were no longer playing the rumba beat. H was, however, a bit irritated.

Not necessarily at Justin. He was just a kid, stuck in a situation. No, Sid was irritated at the stupid system. At whoever made, or did not make a mistake in Justin's Judgment. At which S.O.B it was that might, or might not have framed him. At the stupid fact that he was going to have to walk through Hell to find evidence that might or might exist.

Sid was irritated because, no matter how boring and how useless his job may have been up to now, it didn't require him to do much more than sit and work crossword puzzles or put up with Edra, with the occasional sprinkling of whiners that he would listen to, pull the Woebie out and dismiss. Everyone was guilty. Everyone was judged correctly.

Except for this kid. This kid might actually be innocent, just like... Sid tried to remember her name, but couldn't. He just couldn't reach that back into his memory.

He was irritated because he had an actual case that he might end up caring about. He paused in his thinking. No, that wasn't a problem. He already cared about it; it was easy to care about it, about him. Justin was a good kid, and deserved justice.

He was irritated because this was a case that was causing him to do actual work.

Sid sighed, again. "Do you think this Harry might know where to find this Virgil guy?" Limbo was pretty big, but most of the walking around population was fairly small. Most of the souls that came here was either judged and moved on or were packed away in a warehouse. There were more Warehouses than anything.

Reaching the corner of the alley, Justin nodded. "I wouldn't be a surprised. Like I said, he seems to know everybody." He turned left where the alley poured into the street and started down the road. "Watch out for the pedicab, Sid."

Sure enough, as soon as Sid stepped into the roadway the dull ring of a bicycle bell warned him to watch where he was going.

"Pardon, Gov. Just making my way." A slender black man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses was sitting in the driver's seat of a red tricycle pedicab. The canopy hanging over the empty back seat was fringed in gold. The thick spokes of the rear tires were also painted red. The driver was peddling his heart out as he and the pedicab he drove zipped past the two men. "Places to go, people to pick up. Otherwise, I'd offer you a ride."

Justin waved as the pedicab passed him. "Hey George! How's business?"

"Justin!" The driver waved back. "Business is good! Hope you get that situation of yours resolved." The pedicab turned a corner and was gone.

"Situation?" Sid asked as they walked past a barbershop. The pole was a swirled red and white traditional, but it wasn't spinning. The barber stood in the door way and waved and said hello to Justin. "Does everyone know about your 'situation'?"

"Pretty much, I imagine." Justin waved at the barber. "Hey Joe." To Sid, he continued, saying, "I've talked to all sorts of folks here about what I should do. I sure as heck knew I didn't want to go to... well, you know. I didn't k... I didn't do what they're saying I did. I don't mean to cause a problem, Mister Fishbeck, but I don't think its right."

"If you didn't do, Justin, then we'll take care of it."

The two men came to the corner of the street. There was a storefront that had an open door. Happy voices were coming from the open door, a sound that surprised Sid. Happy wasn't common in his picture of Limbo. Sid looked up at a sign that was It was painted expertly with red letters over a black background. The sign read "Harry's Halfway Inn".

"We just need to find the proof," Sid said, nodding at the sign. "Is this the place?"

"This is it." Justin nodded. "Let's drop in and see if Harry knows who this Virgil fellow is."