Hades

I am born in the year 2356 on Esdoornlaan in Winschoten. I have an older brother and an older sister. At four I go to KC Beukenlijn, just near my house. At five my brother emigrates to Tagalog. Tagalog is a planet that orbits Sirius A, a white main-sequence star and more powerful than our sun. My brother strokes my head and says goodbye. It is the last time I see him alive. At twelve I go to Dollard College. After my first two years I enter the preparatory scientific education track. When I am seventeen my sister emigrates with her husband to Key Largo. Key Largo orbits Iota Cancri A, a yellow giant, together with Iota Cancri B, a white dwarf that hangs like a bright moon in Key Largo’s sky. I remain alone with my parents. Winschoten lies just behind the thirty-metre-high dike that protects it from the risen sea level. At eighteen I go to study at the capital university in Maastricht. Six years later I obtain my master’s in European Law. Then I do a three-year bachelor in police leadership. At twenty-seven I begin working for the police in the capital of our country, Maastricht. At that time I’m seeing a detective from the police in Sittard. We like each other and we have regular sex. At twenty-nine I ask her to come with me to Hades. She refuses. But I go.

I arrive at Schiphol, Amsterdam’s spaceport, a city of three million inhabitants. I am appointed at the rank of inspector and will lead a small team that investigates suspicious deaths, mainly occurring in the city’s red zone. At the spaceport I find a duty bike that I unlock with my police tag; the bike adjusts itself to my body height, I get on and cycle to the main police station on the Elandsgracht. I enter the modern office building and report to the desk. The officer greets me and asks how he can help.

I tell him who I am and what I’m here for.

“Sixth floor, inspector. When you get out of the lift turn left and it’s the third door on your right.”

“Thank you, officer.”

I go to my office and meet my six new colleagues. Hardly is the introduction over when a report comes in of a suspicious death.

“Will you come, inspector?” my detective asks.

We get in the lift and go down; he goes to the bike shed and I to the forecourt where my bike is. It’s a nice little bike and I personalize it as my private bike. We meet each other at the front of the office. “We have to go to Foppingadreef in the Bijlmer,” my detective tells me. About twenty minutes on our police fatbikes.

We arrive and are met by the neighbour, who with tearful eyes leads us to the sixth floor of the apartment block.

We enter the scene.

“How did you get inside, ma’am?” I ask her.

“We’ve known each other so long and exchanged keys,” she says. “Just in case one of us ever locks ourselves out.”

“Ah right, but why did you go in today?”

“We had agreed to have coffee, I rang the bell, but no one answered, so strange.”

“And when you decided to go inside, what did you find?”

“Exactly as you see them now,” she says. “I touched nothing.”

“But didn’t you check whether they were still alive?”

“They weren’t breathing anymore, they were dead.”

She starts to cry.

It is an enigmatic scene. A couple entwined in each other’s arms. He with a blissful face and she with a horny look in her eyes. No trace of violence anywhere. No signs of struggle. Nothing to indicate a crime. And yet these two young people are dead. Why?

I put on my gloves and pull back the duvet. The man’s penis is inside her cunt. The man must have come because his semen has moistened the duvet. It has not yet dried, so the crime could not have occurred long ago.

The forensic team will determine the exact cause and time of death as soon as they arrive.

There is little else for us to see, and we leave.

We cycle back along the broad Amsterdam avenues. There are no canals here, but if you like you can see the fifty-metre-wide green strips that intersect as green canals. We ride along the meandering bike lanes that run to the left and right of the pavement. We return to the main station. I park my bike next to my detective’s. Then we take the lift to the sixth floor and return to my office.

“Have you found accommodation yet, inspector?” my detective asks.

“Yes, an apartment on the Lijnbaansgracht.”

“Good, inspector, then you can walk to work, it’s just around the corner.”

“Good.”

"If I were you I'd go to your new house and put the place in order a bit. Are you coming tonight to Café De Twee Zwaantjes on the Prinsengracht?"

"What's happening there, detective?"

"Every Friday evening our team meets there, inspector, and you're one of us now, so we expect you."

"Okay, detective, we'll make that a rule, it's good for team building."

I walk to the Lijnbaansgracht. My police tag gives me access to the complex. I take the elevator up to the seventh floor. Apartment number 72. With my police tag I unlock the access door of my apartment.

The apartment is fully furnished. Heavy velvet curtains keep the ever-shining sun of 88 Cygni A out so that a human day-and-night pattern is possible. My apartment, however, is located deep in the red zone. The zone illuminated by 88 Cygni B, a red dwarf that casts its red glow over the city. It is to this red dwarf that Hades owes its name. Hades orbits 88 Cygni A but does not rotate on its own axis. As a result one side of the planet is always in daylight, insofar as you can speak of days compared to the bright yellow star we're used to. The sun burns mercilessly over the planet and makes life impossible. The red dwarf keeps pace with Hades in its slow course around the star, so the other side of Hades is permanently bathed in the ghostly red light of the red dwarf. The chilly plains of the planet call to mind the Greek god of death and the underworld, Hades. Along the planet's imaginary equator runs a narrow strip of land that is habitable. There are no seas on Hades but there are large lakes filled with the red water. It also rains red droplets on Hades. The water is potable, but it's a bit of a shock the first time you see it run from the tap. The coffee takes on a slightly different color and flavor. But it has something. It even tastes excellent when I pour myself a cup for the first time. In the middle of the living room stands about fifty moving boxes with my personal belongings. Mostly my clothes and my books.

There are beautiful antique bookcases in my living room. Before I left Earth I alphabetized my books and packed them in numbered boxes. I spend most of the afternoon putting them into the shelves. When I'm done the room already feels somewhat personal. I now take the other boxes of clothing to my bedroom. A beautiful low, wide bed with a gorgeous duvet dominates the bedroom. A wardrobe with a large full-length mirror stands beside the bed. Opposite the bed a gigantic 120-inch flatscreen TV hangs on the wall.

I put my clothes in the wardrobe and then switch the television on.

Immediately a porn channel fills the screen. A woman with enormous breasts is being fucked by a whole platoon of muscular men. Sexy, certainly, but not now. I zap to a news channel.

A reporter is covering the mysterious death and laments the police's laxness. After all, it's already the umpteenth suspicious death in the city and the police still haven't solved the case.

I switch the TV off. I look at my watch; it's half past six. I leave my apartment, close the door behind me and head for Café De Twee Zwaantjes on the Prinsengracht. I walk to headquarters and fetch my bike.

I arrive five minutes to seven, I walk in. My colleagues aren't there yet so I order something to eat and sit down at our team's regular table.

Two meat croquettes, fries with mayonnaise and white beans in tomato sauce are set in front of me. Not very healthy but for once quite tasty. While I'm eating my colleagues arrive one by one and sit down with me. They sit in silence until I've finished my meal.

"And ladies and gentlemen, what would you like to drink?"

"A red devil," shouts one of my detectives. His colleagues agree, so I order seven red devils for us.

When the beers are brought and placed in front of my colleagues I take the floor.

"Dear people, we are colleagues and, if all goes well, friends as well, which is why I think gathering here in this pub is important; it creates a bond. I also think it's important that we call each other by our first names; there are ranks and positions, but when it's not important I'd like to forget them. I'm Frans Venema and I'd appreciate it if you now introduce yourselves to me and tell something about yourself."

My six colleagues introduce themselves to me one by one and now we call each other by our first names.

So Gert, I saw on the news that this morning's case is part of a long series.

"Yes, Frans, there have certainly been around ten similar cases already. All in the same way. It's a complete mystery how they happen and so far we haven't a single clue that could lead to a solution."

"It is as if the victims always went happily, as if they wanted to die," says Mark.

"They are creatures of the night, from the dark side of our planet who come to take these people. All the cases always occur deep in the red zone."

"That's your perception, Crista," says Mark.

"I don't believe in supernatural things, Crista," says Hendrik.

"Yes, but you should, Hendrik."

"Oh come on."

"It always starts with drum beating, then the crying, sparkling eyes in the red night, the scratching at the doors and then a bang that makes the door creak."

"Oh Crista, what a fantasy."

"And yet it's true, Hendrik," shouts Ellen.

"There's nothing supernatural going on, this is just murder; the fact that we grope in the dark about how it works doesn't change that. There's simply a clever, ruthless serial killer at work and that's what we must focus on, Ellen."

I let my colleagues have their say and get to know them. There is clearly a difference of opinion between the women and the men.

"Maybe, men, but there are survivors, couples who survived the attack on their lives. There are at least eight couples who can tell about it and they all say the same thing," says Ellen.

"Why don't you bring them in for questioning then?"

"Because it's hearsay, Mark, we can't find those couples."

"Because they aren't there at all, girl."

"And deep in the red zone, where it gets a bit warmer again, you have Hans and Annemieke's brothel. They survived."

"That's what they claim, Ellen; I'm a policeman and I don't believe everything people say."

I find it an interesting evening seeing my teammates discuss this way; before I know it it's half past eleven.

"Guys and girls, I don't know what you're all doing but I'm going home, it's been a long day and I want to go to bed."

My colleagues nod in agreement.

I stand up and walk outside, get on my bike and ride home in the blazing sunlight of 88 Cygni A.

I close the heavy velvet curtains of my bedroom, undress, flop into bed and fall asleep like a log.

Drumbeats sound in my mind.

I see a woman in my mind.

She is breathtakingly beautiful; never before have I seen such a beautiful woman.

Graceful as she is, she comes toward me.

Her long jet-black hair strokes my skin. It gives me a tingling sensation of pleasure.

She comes so close to me that I can inhale her sweet perfume.

Then she kisses me and I taste the sweet flavour of her burgundy lipstick.

She strokes my skin and I shrink with pleasure.

The crying, the yelping that echoes across the red plains penetrates my ears. Malevolent creatures hunting across the red plain.

She sits on me and sighs; her sweet scent fills my nose.

The scratching at my door. The panting of a malevolent creature at my door.

I see again her glorious beauty, her handsome face with its full lips, her delicate little nose, her beautiful brown eyes with their jet-black lashes, her narrow waist, her wide hips, her soft large breasts, her hard nipples and then, as a final treat, her beautiful long jet-black hair.

I feel her against my body, my penis is hard. I am seized by lust, I want her.

Then a hard, creaking bang on my door.

I awake with a start and look around.

Nothing.

It is ten past five, too late to go back to sleep. I take a shower, have breakfast and at ten to six I cycle to work. I take a strong cup of coffee to my office and get to work.

At half past six Mark comes in.

"Good morning, Frans, I thought I was always the first but apparently not anymore."

"You know, Mark, I want to go to that brothel, I want to talk to Hans and Annemieke."

"So you believe what our girls say?"

"I don't know what to believe, but there's something about this case, I don't think it's a serial killer. I even wonder whether a crime has occurred at all."

"It's three thousand kilometres into the red zone. We need an off-road vehicle; there are hardly any roads and we'll have to drive by latitude and longitude. We need a car with a heating system that works well against the bitter cold that's waiting for us."

"Can you arrange that, Mark?"

"Are you sure you want to go?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll sort it."

"Do you have warm clothes and sturdy boots, Frans?"

"I'll have to arrange that, Mark."

"Do it right away, Frans. We're leaving tonight."

"How long is the drive?"

"We won't be able to do much more than fifty kilometres an hour; I think between sixty and seventy hours. We'll be there Tuesday evening. We can be back here next Saturday."

"Okay Mark, then I'll go buy clothes now."

We drive onto the red plain in a Toyota Land Cruiser. The batteries are fully charged and good for twenty thousand kilometres. Mark teaches me how to navigate. We take turns driving six hours so we can each sleep six hours.

Whenever I close my eyes to sleep she is there. In all her relentless beauty and every day she comes a little closer. I can feel her, smell her and taste her. It makes me restless and horny. Mark notices it in me.

"What's wrong, Frans?"

"There's a woman in my mind, Mark, she is so beautiful and so near."

"No, come on, have you really been gripped by this case?"

"I don't know, Mark, she was with me yesterday when I lay in my bed and it was exactly as Crista described it."

"You're just imagining that, Frans. You mustn't let yourself be carried away by Crista's stories."

I fall silent.

"This is what this planet does to people, Frans. Don't pay it any mind and be rational. This mystical nonsense has nothing to do with reality."

I remain silent and brood.

Late Tuesday afternoon we arrive at the brothel.

The brothel is like a medieval castle: it has a moat with a drawbridge and very thick walls.

Hans lets us in; it is pleasantly warm inside.

"We have geothermal heating," Hans tells us.

"Will you come to the dining room? You must be hungry?"

We are indeed.

We sit at a long dining table. Annemieke comes with a large pot of stew and fills our plates.

"A little red devil with that, boys?"

"Yes, please."

Annemieke fetches four bottles and gives me a bottle opener.

A young couple in love comes to sit at our table. They are absorbed with each other, kissing, cuddling and whispering sweet things; they pay hardly any attention to their surroundings.

"And gentlemen, what brings you here?" asks Annemieke.

"I'll introduce myself: I'm Frans Venema, a police inspector. I lead a unit investigating a whole series of mysterious deaths in the city of Amsterdam."

"And now you come to talk to us because we are survivors?"

"Yes exactly, good guess."

"But we are not survivors, Frans, we might be unlucky, but survivors—no."

"But you did survive an attack on your lives?"

"There was no attack on us at all."

"But you're still alive—what happened?"

"Nothing happened at all, that's exactly the point."

"Well Annemieke, that doesn't help me much."

"Sorry Frans, and did you sit in that car for three days for this?"

"But if nothing happened, then you're not survivors at all."

"Viewed like that, no, Frans."

"Goddammit."

"No swearing, Frans."

"Okay Annemieke, but your stew is delicious."

"Thank you, Frans. Do you need a room for the night?"

"Yes, not having to sleep in a moving car will do us good."

Annemieke takes us to our rooms.

I am tired and go straight to bed.

A little later, just as I'm about to turn the light off, Mark comes in.

"So, you're already in bed," he sits at the foot of my bed.

"Annemieke is hiding something from us, Frans."

"So you noticed that too?"

"And what now?"

"Well tomorrow morning at breakfast I'll try again, Mark."

"Okay, good night, Mark."

I fall into a deep sleep.

The beating of drums sounds in my mind.

I see my breathtakingly beautiful naked girlfriend running toward me across the dim red plain. Her gorgeous jet-black hair streams behind her.

She is chased by howling, yelping, snarling, growling malevolent creatures trying to overtake her. Their glittering eyes twinkle in the sparse light of the red dwarf.

She steps through the thick walls of the castle, enters my room and slips under my duvet. She nestles up against me. Her full breasts with their hard nipples press into my skin.

Menacing, terrifying creatures scratch at my door.

The drumbeat grows louder and louder.

I hear them panting and snarling and growling at each other behind my door.

My dazzlingly beautiful woman grabs my penis and kisses me full on the lips. I taste her, I smell her, I smell the intoxicating scent of her sweet sweat and feel my penis swell.

Then a hard bang on my door.

I wake with a start and sit bolt upright in bed.

Nothing.

From the room next to me come the sounds of a wild love-play.

I check my watch: twenty past two.

I go back to sleep.

Early in the morning I wake feeling refreshed; I take a quick shower and get dressed. I step out the door to go have breakfast.

The door of my neighbours' room is open.

Annemieke stands by their bed.

"She did," she mumbles sadly.

Annemieke looks back, "they have gone, Frans."

I step into the room and stand beside her.

The young couple lie peacefully in their bed.

I look straight into their happy but no longer living eyes.

"You too, huh."

"What do you mean, Annemieke?"

Annemieke lays her hand on my shoulder.

"Go with her, Frans," she whispers in my ear.

After breakfast we pay and get into the Land Cruiser and depart for our long journey home.

She is with me the whole trip.

I sit silently next to Mark, who is driving.

"There's something about you, Frans, come back to reality, boy."

"I'm just brooding a bit, Mark, what should I write in the report. How do I categorise that death from this morning? Those two young people were so in love. And they looked so happy when they had gone. There's no sign of a crime. It's this planet. Something takes them to a better world. After all, you could see how happy they looked. It's as if they wanted to die."

"So you're going for the supernatural, Frans?"

"Yes, that's the conclusion I've come to, Mark. But if I write that in my report they'll declare me mad."

"He's a very clever serial killer, Frans."

"Yes, I can put that suspicion in my report, then it's crime number eleven and we still haven't got anywhere. My feeling tells me it's this planet. If you're receptive, this planet takes you to a better world and you die very happily. If you can accept that, then the case is solved. I'm convinced such cases will continue to occur and I'm also convinced we'll never be able to prove a crime simply because it isn't one."

"So that's how you see it, Frans."

"Deep in my heart, yes."

Silently they drive home.

On Saturday morning they arrive and drive into the headquarters garage.

"Have a good weekend, Mark."

"You too, Frans."

I go to my office, start my laptop and begin writing my report. For me this case is closed. My conclusion is that there is no crime but that it is due to the condition of the planet Hades. My recommendation is that receptive people should not live in the red zone of the city and that these pseudo-crimes will then decrease. Probably no one in management will want to believe me. But I'm convinced time will prove me right.

On Saturday evening at eight o'clock I file my report in the dossier and shut my laptop. I go to get a red devil at Café de Twee Zwaantjes.

I take a big sip.

Someone bumps me; I feel two large heavy breasts against my back with two hard, probing nipples. She sighs, I smell her sweet scent. Startled, I look around.

Nothing.

I drink another beer and cycle home.

It's ten o'clock and I'm tired. I decide to go to bed. I take a warm shower first.

Soon I fall asleep.

In my mind I hear the menacing roll of drums. Their cadence resonates in an alarming way through my bed.

I see my beloved running across the dim plain lit by weak red light.

She is naked and her beautiful jet-black hair streams behind her as she runs toward me.

She is pursued by a pack of terrifying creatures. With their nasty glowing eyes they chase her.

She climbs into my bed and presses her large soft breasts against my chest. She kisses me and I kiss her back. I take her in my arms and penetrate her with my stiff penis.

I kiss her, kiss her and kiss her. And she kisses me back.

"Come with me, Frans," she whispers in my ear.

"Come with me, Frans, come with me."

She pulls at me and for a moment I see myself lying in my bed.

"Come, come, come..."

The scratching and panting of malevolent creatures sounds behind my door. The wailing noise of gruesome beings gnaws through my mind.

"Come, come, come..."

A hard bang on the door.

"Come, come, come..."

And then I go; I let go of my body and rise up, following her.

I look down at my body as it breathes its last breath.

But where am I going?