Nightside 03 - Nightingales Lament

final door and never return. But if you're willing to try, if you're willing to give up all your remaining years in one last gamble, I promise you, we have a chance."
    "You can really do this?" I said.
    "I told you," said Dead Boy. "I know all there is to know about death."
    "Ah, hell," I said. "I never let a client down yet."
    "An attitude like that will get you killed," said Dead Boy.
    "What if the Cavendishes attack us while we're gone? Destroy our bodies, so there's nothing left to come back to?"
    "We'll be back the same moment we left. Or we won't be back at all."
    "Do it," I said.
    Dead Boy did it, and we both died.
    Powered by all the remaining years of my life, Dead Boy and I went into the dark together, and for the first time I discovered there is a darkness even darker than the Nightside. A night that never ends, that never knew stars or a moon. The coldest cell, the longest fall. It was the absence of everything, except for me and Dead Boy. I was just a presence, without form or shape, a scream without a mouth to limit it, but I calmed somewhat as I sensed Dead Boy's presence. We spoke without voices, heard though there was no sound.
    There's nothing here. Nothing ...
    Actually there is, John, but you're still too close to life to be able to appreciate it. Think yourself lucky.
    Where's Ross?
    Think of the darkness as a tunnel, leading us to a light. A way out. This way...
    Yes. . . How can there be a direction when there's nothing. . .
    Stop asking questions, John. You really wouldn't like the answers. Now follow me.
    You've been this way before.
    Part of me is always here.
    Is that supposed to make me feel better? You're a real spooky person, you know that?
    You have no idea, John. This way. . .
    And we were falling in a whole new direction. It did help to think of the darkness as a tunnel, leading somewhere. We were definitely approaching something, though with no landmarks it was impossible to judge our speed or progress. I should have been scared, terrified, but already my emotions were fading away, as though they didn't belong there. Even my thoughts were growing fuzzy round the edges. But then I began to feel there was something ahead of me, something special, calling me. A speck of light appeared, beautiful and brilliant, all the colours of the rainbow in a single sharp moment of light. It grew unhurriedly, a great and glorious incandescence, yet still warm and comforting, like the golden beam from a lighthouse, bringing ships safely home through the long lonely nights. And then there was another presence with us, and it was Rossignol.
    Are you angels?
    Hardly, Ross. I don't think they're talking to me any more. This is John, with Dead Boy. We've come to take you home.
    But I can hear music. Wonderful music. All the songs I ever wanted to sing.
    For her it was music, for me it was light. Like the warm glow from a window, the friendly light of home after a long hard journey. Or perhaps the last light of the day, when all work is over, all responsibilities put aside, and we can all rest at last. Day is done. Welcome home, at last.
    Oh John, I don't think I want to go back.
    I know, Ross. I feel it, too. It's like. . . we've been playing a game, and now the game's over, and it's time to go back where we belong . . .
    There was a sense of taking her hand in mine, and we moved towards the light and the music. But Dead Boy had been there before. Kindly, remorselessly, he took us both by the hand and pulled us away, back to life and bodies and all the worries of the world.
    I sat up sharply, dragging air deep into my lungs as though I'd been underwater for ages. The lesser light of the world crashed in around me. I'd never felt so clearly, starkly alive. My skin tingled with a hundred sensations, the world was full of sound, and Ross was right there beside me. She threw herself into my arms, and for a long moment we hugged each other like we'd never let go. But eventually we did and got to our feet again. We were back in the real world, with all its own demands and priorities. Dead Boy was standing before us, complete and intact again, resplendent in his undamaged finery. The only difference was the neat bullet hole in his forehead.
    "Told you I know all there is to know about death," he said smugly. "Oh, I used some of your life energy to repair the damage the Jonah did to my body, John. Knew you wouldn't mind. Trust me, you won't miss it."
    I glared at him. "Next time, ask."
    Dead Boy raised an eyebrow.