In the cell, Alain sat on the bed next to the younger version of himself, staring into its eyes. "He's in shock," Alain said.

Kurt sat on the floor, leaning against the wall as George paced in front of the bars. "That's what they took out of you," Kurt asked.

Alain looked at the boy. He was still amazed at the resemblance. He'd been so busy running and fighting through panic the last time... "Yeah. I guess."

"Congratulations," Kurt said, "you're a mother."

Alain didn't dignify the statement with a reply. "Bastards," George yelled, grabbing the cell bars and pulling against them.

"Sit down, George," Kurt said. "You're just wasting your time."

Alain couldn't agree more. They were at Hell's mercy. Their packs had been confiscated, the guns taken. They'd be let out when someone saw fit, though who that someone was... Alain turned back to the child on the bed as George gave up his vigil by the door and sat down against the wall opposite Kurt, brooding. "Do you know who I am," Alain asked the boy.

The child stared blankly. "What do we call him," Kurt asked.

"Alain, I guess," Alain said.

"That's too confusing," Kurt said, standing up and coming over to the bed. "You're Alain. Maybe we can call him Junior or something."

"Junior's fine."

"Hey, Junior," Kurt said, leaning over Alain's shoulder and looking at the child. "You can wake up now."

Junior didn't respond. "It's no use," Alain said. "He's put up walls to protect him from his reality here. We can't break through."

"No," Kurt said. "Let me try."

Alain scooted back on the bed, letting Kurt sit down next to the boy. "We're friends," Kurt said, looking into the boy's eyes, getting only a blank stare in response.

Kurt turned to Alain. "You still have that other Snickers?"

"Yeah," Alain said, reaching into his coat pocket. It was one of the few things that hadn't been taken. He pulled out the candy bar and handed it to Kurt. Kurt tore open the paper and turned back to the boy.

"You like candy?" Kurt asked, showing him the Snickers bar. The boy was unresponsive. "Come on," Kurt said invitingly. "Chocolate, caramel... it's packed with peanuts." Nothing.

Kurt tore off a small piece, then took a bite from the bar. "Mmmmm," he said, "this is soooo good. You try a little." He put the piece to the boy's lips. Slowly the boy's mouth opened, allowing Kurt to put the bit of candy bar inside. "That's right," Kurt coaxed. "Now chew it."

The boy sat there, unmoving. "Chew," Kurt said, pointing to his jaw. He made exaggerated chewing motions, moving his jaw up and down. Gradually the boy's jaw began to move in little increments, moving down, then stopping, then down again, then up, until a gentle, regular chewing motion had been achieved. After a while the boy's throat moved, indicating that he'd swallowed.

"Good, huh," Kurt asked, nodding. The boy nodded slowly in return. "You want more?" The boy nodded again. "Okay, but you gotta say the magic word." The boy stared at him. "Oh no," Kurt said, disbelief in his voice, "you're not gonna tell me that you don't know the magic word. What do you say when you want more candy?"

The boy's head dropped and he swallowed again. Slowly he raised it back up and opened his mouth. "Please," a tiny voice squeaked out.

Alain had never been more overjoyed to hear a single sound in his life. Leaping to his feet, he moved around Kurt and lifted the boy off the bed, sweeping him into an embrace. "Yes," he shouted.

"How sweet," a voice called from the door, destroying Alain's joy in an instant. "Figures you would have a family reunion here."

Alain set Junior back on the bed and turned to the door, placing himself between it and the boy. "Nice to see you again," Reese said. "I trust the accommodations are comfortable."

Alain seethed, glaring at Reese. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you sort of sent me here. Or is old age getting to your memory?"

"That's not what I meant," Alain snarled.

"In due time," Reese said. He pulled Kurt's pack of Kools from his pocket and drew a cigarette from it, lighting it with Kurt's lighter. He seemed to shiver as he took the first drag, a small gasp of pleasure escaping his mouth as he drew it away from his lips. "Goddamn, it's been a long time. Want one?" he asked, waving the pack at Kurt.

"I just quit," Kurt said.

"That's too bad," Reese said with a smile. "Then you wouldn't mind if I keep these?"

A strained smile crossed Kurt's face. "Knock yourself out."

"You are too kind." Reese took another drag, exhaling the smoke in a tight stream toward Alain. "Well," he said, dropping the cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot, "I just wanted to stop by and say hello."

"Why?" Alain spat, his body stiff, his hands clenched into fists.

"Besides getting to see you locked up in a cage? That's not enough," Reese asked. He paused and then shrugged. "Guess you're gonna have to wait and find out."

Alain remained tense, staring at the bars as Reese turned and walked away, his laughter echoing back to the cell.

---

They were taken to an interrogation room, looking like something out of a Hollywood set storeroom. Alain sat calmly at the table while George paced by the door. Kurt sat in a corner with Junior, talking to him. Further attempts by Alain to get through Junior's walls had made no impact. It seemed that the only one who had any rapport with the boy was Kurt, which seemed strange considering that the boy was literally a part of Alain. But he trusted Kurt. When the demons had come to collect them and take them all to the interrogation room, Junior had taken Kurt's hand, not Alain's.

Kurt knew this must be disturbing to Alain and he had some theories on why it was playing out this way, though none he could confirm. Most of his conversation with Junior was one sided, talking in consoling tones, just trying to make contact.

"Do you like baseball?" Kurt asked.

Junior sat staring at his hands.

"I do," Kurt said. "I used to love the Mets when I was your age." Kurt felt sort of silly saying when I was your age. By all accounts, the boy was over sixty years old and had been imprisoned the entire time. Forever stuck at the age of seven, with a seven-year-old's understanding of things, all alone in a prison cell with scary monsters watching over him. Kurt could only imagine the kind of experiences that had built up the walls he was trying to break through.

"It isn't fair that you're here, is it?" The boy looked up at Kurt and shook his head slowly. "I know how you feel. I was going home when these bad women dragged me to this scary place, and then there was a big fight, and then I was here. It's not fair that I'm here either."

The boy nodded his head and Kurt saw that he'd hit something. "Do you know Peter Pan?" The boy shook his head in the negative.

"Well, there are these kids who got lost in Never Never land. And they banded together to keep each other safe. They called themselves the Lost Boys. I think we're Lost Boys too."

"George," he called, "come here."

George stopped his pacing. "What," he asked, a surly note in his voice.

"Just come here."

George walked over and sat down next to Kurt, facing Junior. "Junior," Kurt said, "George is lost too. Aren't you, George?"

"Yeah," George said, annoyed. "Whatever."

Kurt put a finger under Junior's chin, lifting the boy's head so he could look in his eyes. They weren't as blank as before, he noticed as he took Junior's hand. Kurt could see that he was listening, that he was paying attention to what Kurt said. "See," Kurt said, "you're not all by yourself any more. We're a club, the three of us. We're Lost Boys."

"What a pile of horse..."

"Shut up, George," Kurt interrupted, talking out the side of his mouth as he continued to look at Junior. "You know, though," he said to Junior, "we can't be a real club until we take a club oath. You wanna take the oath with us?"

Slowly, Junior nodded. "Okay. Give me your hand, George."

Grudgingly, George gripped Kurt's hand. "Now take Junior's." George took Junior's small hand.

"A circle of three is strong," Kurt said, "but a circle of four is stronger. Alain is lost, just like us. Can we invite him to join our club?"

Junior shook his head in the negative. "Okay," Kurt said. "Maybe later. Right now we'll do our oath. Repeat after me... I, say your name..." Kurt said his own name while George said his. Kurt looked expectantly at Junior.

"I, Alain Beaudreaux," the boy said in a quiet voice.

"Do solemnly swear," Kurt continued, pausing to allow George and Junior to repeat his words, "that at all times and in all places... I will be loyal and faithful... to my Lost Boy brothers... and I will do right by them... and I will trust them to do right by me... and if I break this oath... I'll turn into a dirty bug and eat dog poop forever." Junior smiled as he repeated the last line.

"Now all we have to do is spit on it." Letting go of George and Junior's hands, Kurt spit in his palm, then rubbed his hands together and put them back out. George and Junior did the same and they linked hands again. "We're a club," Kurt said as the door opened behind them.

Kurt and George stood quickly, standing together in front of Junior while a demon, about the same size as Nybras, but standing more confidently and wearing a smartly tailored suit, walked in. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," the demon said, putting a briefcase down on the table, "my name is Mammon and I'm here to help you."

"What are you," Alain asked as he sat up in his chair, taking his arms off the table and crossing them in front of his chest, "our lawyer?"

Mammon sat down opposite Alain. "Better," he said, popping open his briefcase. "I'm your agent."

"What do we need an agent for?"

"You haven't heard," Mammon asked incredulously. "Oh," he said, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a stack of papers, "I forgot. You've been down here the whole time."

"Heard what?"

"A huge extravaganza," Mammon said, waving his hands. "The grudge match of the century. A no holds barred, tag-team fight to the death. Vinnie Rinaldi, the Hackensack Hacker, and Tommy Reese, the Michigan Mauler, versus Kurt Gray and Alain Beaudreaux, the Pillagers of Pandaemonium" Mammon shuddered with pleasure. "I love it."

"Hey," Kurt said apprehensively.

Alain put up a hand to silence him. "What's in it for us?"

Mammon flipped through his papers, stopping at one and running a finger across a few lines. "Well, since Gray didn't come here voluntarily, we can't technically keep him. But, if you win," he said, looking at George momentarily, "we let Miller go too."

"And what if we don't fight," Kurt challenged.

Mammon moved his finger lower on the page. "We let you go, Gray, but we publicly execute Beaudreaux and Miller."

"Execute?"

"Look," Mammon said, throwing up his hands as if there was nothing he could do about it, "they're demanding a show. A fight would be preferable to an execution, but..."

"What about the boy?" George asked.

Mammon leaned to the side, peering around George's legs at Junior, then sat up. "Him? Well, we're going to kill Beaudreaux anyway, win or lose. So, when he dies, the two parts of his soul will be reunited into one and he'll go to the sixth ring to burn with the heretics."

Alain had grown strangely still with that comment, but George seemed to take up the fight. "No," George protested. He turned to Kurt. "We gotta be able to do something... Ah!" He turned back to Mammon. "A side bet. They win, we go on into Purgatory and through to Heaven, with the boy, and plead our case. They lose, you get my soul."

"No," Alain said, turning in his seat. "George, you can't. I won't allow it."

"It's not your choice," George said.

Mammon pursed his lips and nodded his head, considering the proposition. Flipping through a few more pages, he ran his finger along a few lines. "Sorry," he said, "but it's a no go. Says here that Miller's soul is balanced right now; seventh ring here, third ring Purgatory. Fifty-fifty that we get it anyway. But that gives me an idea."

As Mammon scanned down the page, Kurt looked at George, recalling the clouds of smoke and gunfire on the seventh ring. He couldn't imagine George being destined for there. He didn't see George as evil. Violent, perhaps, but not maliciously so. He put a hand on George's shoulder as George's head dropped, his mouth opening in a sort of shock.

"Hold on," Mammon said. Reaching into his briefcase he pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open, and punched some numbers into it. He turned away from the group, placing a finger in his large pointed ear as he held the phone to the other, occasionally mumbling something. Less than two minutes later he flipped it closed and turned back to them. "This is interesting," he said with a chuckle. "It seems that when he first got here, Gray was balanced for the first ring, but since then his balance has changed."

"I'm going to Heaven?" Kurt asked, his hand dropping from George's shoulder.

"Well," Mammon said, shaking his hand side to side. "You've got a little fucking around and some other minor things to pay for in Purgatory first, but... yeah. With your present balance, you'll get there eventually."

"Huh," Kurt said, contemplating the implications. What had changed about him that shifted the balance? The first ring... was for non-believers. He hadn't much thought about it, but whatever doubts he'd had about the existence of God were pretty much gone. In a sense, he'd gotten religion. It didn't seem fair, though...

"And that leads us to the bet," Mammon said, clapping his hands together. "Gray puts his soul on the table too and it's a go... with the following conditions, of course. You guys lose, he goes to the sixth ring. If you win, Gray and Miller get to go with the boy while we keep Beaudreaux, but... if they make their way to Heaven and get an audience with," Mammon paused, rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissingly, "that guy... and he doesn't grant Beaudreaux a pardon, or if they fail to get their audience within seven days, you all come back here and," Mammon chuckled, "suffer the consequences."

Alain and George both looked at Kurt. The decision rested with him.

Reaching for the wall, Kurt leaned until his hand rested against it, then walked himself over and slid down it, sitting at the base. He had a lot of choices. The easiest one was not to fight, run away. That was the only option that didn't require him to risk death or damnation. But could he do it? According to Mammon, if Vinnie had killed him on that table, he'd have ended up on the first ring for the rest of eternity. But now... he had a shot at Heaven and he vividly remembered the tortures they'd seen on the sixth ring.

If he fought and won, but didn't bet, Alain would die, Junior would be reintegrated into his soul, and the amalgam of the two would spend the rest of eternity as a target for napalm balloons. The only choice that had any chance of full success was betting his soul, and that was a longshot at best.

I will be loyal and faithful to my Lost Boy brothers, and I will do right by them, and I will trust them to do right by me, and if I break this oath I'll turn into a dirty bug and eat dog poop forever. He looked at Junior. He'd just been trying to break through the walls, lessen the boy's pain. But the boy had taken the oath, had recited it and even sealed it with spit. When Alain died, Junior wouldn't exist any more. Even if Alain's soul was saved, he would be reintegrated, he guessed. Junior wasn't a real boy. He was a figment, a half-soul. But reality didn't matter, did it? The only thing that mattered was whether or not Kurt believed in the oath. And looking inside himself, he knew: if he ran out, if he compromised a single bit to save his own skin, he'd be a bug... a dirty, shit-eating bug.

Kurt brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, staring blankly into space. "Tell your boss he's got a bet."

"Wonderful," Mammon said, clapping his hands. He gathered his papers and put them back in his briefcase. "The fight's in two days and I'll negotiate you every advantage of course. First rate guest suites, soft beds to sleep on, weights if you want to work out, first rate food and drink imported from Earth so you can carbo-load or fat-load or protein-load... Whatever! Ooooh, I could just kiss you guys."

Mammon slammed his briefcase closed, picked it up and walked to the door. "Give me an hour and I'll have everything worked out."

A demon opened the door and Mammon left, stopping and giving them a smile and a victory sign before the door closed behind him. Alone together, George walked over and stood in front of Kurt, looking down at him. "You're one crazy motherfucker, you know that?"

Alain, risen from his chair, gently pushed George out of the way and sat down next to Kurt. "I want you to know, Kurt, that I really appreciate this. I really do. But when Mammon comes back, I want you to back out, tell him you've changed your mind. I can't let you go through with this."

Kurt squeezed his knees tighter, resting his chin on them and looking over at Junior. "It's not your choice."