In that moment, something inside her crumbled. A facsimile he may be, but in his eyes shimmered an echo of the Asher she had lost, and it nearly shattered her resolve. Nearly.

  "Yes," she said, her voice but a whisper. "I have to."

  Ruth gazed into his eyes—eyes that were not really his, but a cruel imitation—and found she couldn't muster the heart to be callous. She fabricated the best facsimile of a smile her lips could manage. "We shouldn’t see each other until the ceremony. I must go, Ash—"

  She severed her own sentence, refusing to bestow upon this entity the sanctity of that name. She, having been raised Jewish, had always known the weight of names. They could exalt you to celestial heights or plunge you into abject sorrow. Names had the capacity to shatter you, to leave you raw and anguished. They could elevate you, devastate you, or forever taint you.

  And she would not empower this apparition by granting it the privilege of her husband's name.

  Words faltering, she managed, "I have to leave."

  Whirling around, she hastened her pace, allowing the darkness to envelop her, leaving behind not just the eidolon of Asher but also a piece of her already fragmented soul. It was a macabre echo of their inaugural meeting, when Ruth had been the pursuer, irrationally hopeful that she'd found her real husband, unnerved only by the inexplicable reality of their hellish reunion.

  Now, it was Ruth who sprinted through the labyrinthine halls of this damned residence, frenetically seeking an exit. Her spectral spouse's cries pursued her.

  "Wait! What wrong have I committed, Ruth? I thought you were happy with me...." he beseeched.

  She paid him no further attention, took to a staircase, her thoughts frenziedly cycling around the notion that she could will her environment to change. Her bare feet slapped the stairs, each step reverberating through her like a heartbeat of hope. Finally, they touched the ground floor.

  Spinning around, her hand tightly gripping her skirt's white fabric, she issued a vehement command: "Leave!"

  The simulacrum paused at the stair's apex, as though immobilized by an invisible force. The stairs flickered, their solidity wavering. The atmosphere pulsated with an arcane energy; she could almost taste the metaphysical currents weaving, shifting, responding to her will.

  This is it! I get it now! Jeremiah was right; I'm in charge here!

  From above, the eidolon's voice trickled down, tinged with desperation. "If I've wronged you, allow me the grace to amend it! Haven't I always been good to you, Ruth? We were about to bind ourselves in matrimony for that very reason."

  Ruth shut out his words. He didn't even speak like Asher! How had she not noticed that? Her focus riveted onto the staircase, infusing her thoughts with the singular desire to cease this relentless pursuit. As his voice dwindled into an inconsequential hum, so too did the stairs commence their dissolution.

  Beginning at the top, each step lost its form, folding into the next in a chain reaction of entropy. The sounds echoed like an elegy in the halls: click, clack, click, clack. The last stair touched the ground. A single stretch of wooden platform was all that remained, severing the once-connected floors.

  Ruth exhaled, savoring the sweet, bitter victory of her newfound control, albeit in a realm far removed from the world she once knew. Yet the heavy silence that followed was a harrowing reminder—this was not a liberation from Hell, but a darker entanglement within it.

  The fantasm let out a low, almost inhuman growl, unsettlingly canine. Leah, the first head of the hellhound lounging in the living room, responded with a growl of her own, only to be reprimanded with a nip from Yael, the middle head. Adina, the third, let out a solitary bark and suffered a similar rebuke.

  “Stay!” Ruth commanded, her voice sharp and laced with intention. The order was intended for the canine, but Asher’s duplicate obediently nodded.

  “Alright,” he said, lowering himself to sit at the precipice of what was once a staircase, his legs dangling into the abyss below. The heels of his feet clunked against the wall with an eerie resonance.

  The hellhound, as if sensing her ambivalence, approached and sniffed Ruth’s hand. She offered each head a perfunctory pat, enough to acknowledge their existence but not enough to encourage them. Again she commanded, "Stay," before stepping toward the front door.

  Once outside, she found herself in the foreboding embrace of the garden. Surrounded by flora both exquisite and deadly, she reached for the key held by a particularly treacherous bloom and then ventured into the labyrinthine streets of her infernal city.

  The cityscape had started to morph, no longer mirroring the Tel Aviv she knew. Familiar places appeared, though corrupted. The edge of Ramon Crater now featured a town at its base, the ground filled with perilously sharp rocks that made even a glance uncomfortable. The skies were reflected in the rock formations, and the crater filled and drained with water twice a day, ensuring certain death for any unfortunate souls caught at the bottom.

  Gritty buildings from Neve Sha’anan littered the landscape, their facades adorned with graffiti and wafting the seductive scent of Sudanese cuisine. Ruth recognized the tattoo shop she had visited at sixteen, its interior always alive with unidentifiable shuffling and thumping. She shuddered, acknowledging the bird inked onto her arm as a sinful decision--wondering now if it had contributed to her arrival here. Opening that door could welcome unknown malevolence etching more than just ink onto her skin.

  But could that really be true? Asher was covered in dozens of tattoos, and he wasn't wasn't stuck here in Gehinom.

  The oleander path twisted through these edifices, leading her toward the amusement park. It bore a cloak of malevolent allure. It seemed the sort of place where children might vanish, where some sinister force might lurk within the labyrinthine mirrorless House of Mirrors.

  Further still, a warped semblance of Jerusalem marred the horizon. Its distorted architecture felt nauseating to behold. A sacred city, now aflame and frozen, tarred yet emanating an unholy light. Ruth discerned the movements of bestial shapes weaving through fractured buildings, a cautionary tapestry of what had been crafted from her memories and desires.

  The mysterious entities lurking in the twisted version of Jerusalem could have been products of her nightmarish menagerie or perhaps something else entirely. Ruth wasn't even sure if this distorted city was part of her realm, or merely a haunting overlay from another scape, visible through some metaphysical barrier.

  She wandered, emotionally distant, her spirit numb. She was searching for Jeremiah, who was as elusive as the water droplets currently falling in her hellscape. He wasn't at the merry-go-round, which should have disappointed her but didn't. She knew where else he liked to haunt—a café that had been consumed by fire, now a burnt husk of its former self. Yet, the ashes pirouetting in the wind lent it a stark beauty, like snowflakes drifting through the eternal gloom.

  And there he was, at an ashen table, his hand splayed open, raindrops trembling on his skin as if reluctant to roll off. He was scrutinizing them as if each was a tiny world, filled with untold secrets.

  "Jeremiah," she spoke, her voice thick with intention. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."

  He closed his palm, allowing the raindrops to vanish into his skin. A half-smile began to unfurl across his lips. "And yet, here I am. How fortuitous."

  "You're always here."

  "I've never been here before."

  "That's—what?"

  "I've never been here before." He stood, unsettling the momentary stillness.

  Confused, Ruth shook her head, strands of her dark hair falling into her face. "That’s impossible. I remembered you sitting here."

  "Did you remember, or did you see?"

  She hesitated, her fingers pulling stray hairs from her mouth. "Maybe I saw it. But how? How could I?"

  Jeremiah's gaze held a weight, a gravity. "This is your world, Ruth. If you wish to find something—or someone—all you need to do is look. Water helps to bridge that gap, whether it's near them or you."

  "So, the water on your hands—were you trying to help me find you?"

  "I was hopeful you'd try," he admitted. "I can only guide you toward what you’re already discovering."

  Frustration welled up inside her. "That’s recondite and maddening. Why?"

  "Everything has rules," he said, his forehead creased with earnestness. "Especially reapers."

  She might have questioned who governed reapers in times past, but now she was content in her own numinosity, in the realm of neither knowing nor unknowing. Yet another pressing issue eclipsed her curiosity.

  "Jeremiah, you keep telling me I can control this world, alter it, explore it. Yet, the doppelgänger of Asher remains. He's a presence I never invited and never wanted." She gestured vaguely behind her. "I don’t want excuses or secrecy. I want him gone. How do I make that happen?"

  The look Jeremiah offered her was a tapestry of conflicting emotions, interwoven threads of exasperation and compassion, grief and a modicum of fondness. His eyes, a fluid blue today, had shown flecks of gold before, and in the very beginning, they were a beguiling brown. There was something there, Ruth felt, something that anchored Jeremiah's gaze to her, but it was elusive—a flame she couldn't quite touch or understand.

  "I suppose it's here for a reason." He said the words with a mixture of resignation and annoyance. "Although, what that reason may be, I can't say."

  "Because your mysterious 'rules' forbid it?"

  He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, because I can do many things, Ruth, but I can't read minds." Reaching out, he tapped her temple lightly. "Whatever keeps that simulacrum here is nestled deep in here, in recesses I can't access."

  Swatting his hand away like one would shoo a pesky moth, Ruth sighed. "I don't want him here, Jeremiah. How can he persist when I'm so clear about my desires?"

  "Perhaps you're not as clear as you think," Jeremiah responded, his voice weighed down by a weary kind of patience. "You mentioned once wanting companionship. The mind can be a labyrinth, Ruth. Just because one thought floats to the surface doesn't mean there isn't another lurking in the shadows below it, something more potent and less conscious."

  Collapsing into the ornate metal chair with a blend of exasperation and discomposure, Ruth's shoulders drooped. "I just don't get why everything has to be so damn convoluted. This is Hell, for goodness' sake. You'd think there'd be, I don't know, a user's manual!"

  "A user's manual?" Jeremiah chuckled. "I could have used one myself when I first arrived here."

  "You mean you weren't always...this?" She gestured vaguely at his form.

  He grinned faintly, the corners of his mouth barely rising. "I was once human, though it was so long ago that only glimmers remain. I have more an understanding than a memory of human emotions."

  "But you do feel," Ruth insisted. She had seen those glimmers, the nuanced glances he gave her. They were reminiscent of the way Asher used to look at her, back when they were both among the living.

  "I do, but it's different," he admitted. "I'm not human anymore. My emotions manifest as echoes, concepts I understand but experience with a certain detachment. Joy and hate are understood, but they dwell beneath the mandates that rule my existence."

  She shook her head, laughter bubbling from her lips. "Why do we always veer off course? I came with a question, and here we are, delving into existential mazes."

  Jeremiah's eyes met hers, a soft smile gracing his lips. "I can provide only so many answers. But you seem to stick around long after I've responded to your initial question." He extended his hand across the table.

  For a moment, Ruth just looked at it. Then, her own smile widening, she took it. It was an acceptance, a momentary surrender to the complexity of their shared existence, a silent acknowledgment that some questions might remain forever unanswered.

  28

  Dark Peace

  Jeremiah found an uncanny satisfaction in watching souls adapt to their afterlife, but there was something singularly compelling about Ruth's journey toward a form of dark serenity. It was an unsettling but genuine peace. He knew the simulacrum of Asher wouldn't dissipate, not as long as Ruth harbored even a sliver of desire for her late husband's companionship. Whether this doppelganger was destined to persist through eternity was unclear, but one thing was certain: Ruth was evolving.

  The world she inhabited was also transforming, becoming not just steadier but also more intricate. Carousel horses now punctuated the cityscape, sprouting from lampposts and standing sentinel on sidewalk corners. The gargoyles, once malevolent stone sentries, now seemed to possess a subdued kind of magic. At times they would take wing, circling above like some Gothic echo of a bird in flight.

  It suggested to Jeremiah not only that he had done a passable job of guiding her but also that she might, in time, carve out a place of solace within this twisted realm.

  Currently, they were meandering side by side, accompanied by Ruth's peculiar pet—a Cerberus-like three-headed hellhound. The creature paused often to investigate the odd rats inhabiting the alleys, creatures with matted tails and patchwork fur that belied their incandescent eyes.

  "I sometimes find comfort in it, you know," Ruth admitted softly, "in having the simulacrum of Asher around."

  Jeremiah couldn't fathom her reverence for Asher. Sure, the man had treated her well in life, but saints are the inventions of human imagination, and she seemed to measure Asher against an impossible ideal. He kept these observations to himself. They would only provoke unnecessary turbulence in an already complicated situation.

  If he were still human, the feeling might have fermented into anger. As it was, it left a resonance of unease. He mustn't forget the chasm between their existences, a distance maintained by the unyielding laws that bound him. Reapers sacrificed their humanity for an endless life—a life dedicated to guiding lost souls.

  Ruth seemed lost in thought, pulling at strands of her hair caught between her lips. She tilted her head, first one way and then another, her eyes revealing a spark—a luster—that hadn't been there before. It signaled to him that her soul was finding its place, even in this convoluted existence.

  Jeremiah sensed the change; the mosaic of her soul was becoming complete, each piece shaped by her own discoveries and the quiet mysteries she was learning to embrace. Yes, she was settling in, finding her place among the shadows and light of this perplexing afterworld. And for that, at least, Jeremiah felt something akin to satisfaction.

  "I don't think it's that simple," Ruth speculated, the tension in her voice giving way to introspection. "It's more like—"

  Abruptly, Jeremiah's body jolted as if electrified, a sharp, searing pain ripping through the landscape of his mind. He bent over, clutching the sides of his skull, his fingers tangling in the dark locks of his hair.

  Ruth's hands found his arm and shoulder, gripping them with a concern that was both palpable and intimate. "Jeremiah, what's happening?"

  "Don't you sense it?" His voice quivered, straining to maintain composure. "The boundaries, they're under assault."

  "Darklings again?" Ruth's voice wavered, infused with a tremor of apprehension. "I can't face them again, Jeremiah. Last time, I nearly led you into your own undoing."

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, he shook his head, dispersing the vestiges of pain. He thought of the tranquil lake water, of the duality of the All of the All—where pain could be both an omen and a balm. In moments of agony, new forms are birthed, new lives are conceived, new chances are laid bare.

  Turning his back to her, his robes billowing like dark clouds around his legs, he advanced toward the edge of the path bordered by intoxicating oleanders. "I must go. The barriers require reinforcement."

  "Jeremiah, last time you almost—" Ruth's words trailed off, drowned by her concern.

  "If you can't fortify the barriers," he cut in, reaching out to cup her cheek with his hand, feeling the reassuring warmth of her skin. "Then it's upon me to dismantle the darklings at the threshold." His eyes softened, meeting hers, and he offered her the barest trace of a smile.

  "I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt." Her words were soaked in vulnerability.

  "Do you sense their presence? Their pressure against the barriers?" His hand still caressed her cheek.

  Ruth closed her eyes, her soul seemingly endeavoring to perceive what he felt so acutely. A delicate frown settled on her brows, making her nose scrunch up in a way he found ineffably charming.

  "I can't," she conceded.

  "Then try to see it," he coaxed, placing his other hand on the opposite cheek, cradling her face as if it were the most fragile of relics. "Visualize it, just as you did with me once."

  Ruth's eyes sealed shut once more, her facial expression rife with consternation. "I remember dozens of them—hundreds, all pushing against the line."

  His mouth curved into an involuntary smile. "In reality, there were only two, and they were harpies. Your 'memory' is an overlay, a second thought much like when you recalled our previous encounter inaccurately. Can you now see them? Describe their form."

  Her countenance grew more flustered, her mind wrestling with the complex tapestry of what was true and what was superimposed upon her reality. The tension seemed to draw lines on her face as she grappled with these contrasting truths.

  It was clear Ruth was struggling to reconcile her 'memories' with the actual, present situation. Somewhere in her layered perception lay the key to understanding their current plight, if only she could untangle it. And in that moment, Jeremiah felt something more than just concern or duty toward her; it was a deep-rooted yearning for her to unlock the potential he saw within her, to find her place in this enigmatic world they now both inhabited.

  Untangling the intricacies of spiritual sight could be a formidable task, especially when the soul's inherent gifts leaned toward other aptitudes. Ruth was a weaver of life, a conjurer of beings, evidenced by the cavalcade of animals that populated their world. Yet, the veil between this realm and the next remained opaque to her.