"No, not at all." George gulped down the last of his wine. "Quite pleasant if I may say so. Quite a change from the market and speculation and," he snorted loudly, "those damn commodities that I lost so heavily on yesterday. No, I think I'd enjoy seeing things as a demon or a ghoul or something."

"What do you see?"

"Oh you know. Graveyards, coffins and corpses...."

Henry laughed. "Oh, that's amusing. Most amusing."

George smiled tightly. "And you see the dead in Hell, the fire and brimstone, and you hear their cries of anguish and it's quite pleasant."

"Then why don't you go with the Devil and be done with it?"

"But I am going to go, Henry."

"Then go!"

"But I must do something first. It's a sort of qualification."

"Yes?"

"I must kill someone."

"But that's most naughty, old boy, isn't it?"

"Not when you have a good reason."

Henry held up the decanter and looked at the small amount of wine that was left. He shook his head sadly. "But who's going to be your victim?"

"You," answered George.

"Me?" said Henry, smiling.

"Yes, you."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

 Prev. P 2/4 next