Page 24 of Where Light Cannot Follow

"Do you know what pappardelle is?" Dante asks.

"I do not," I whisper, not wishing to break whatever trance his memory has taken him to. His shoes clip softly against the tile beneath our feet. His watch ticks faintly.

"It's... wider than most," he says at last. "The pasta, I mean. They're long ribbons of dough. They're not elegant. Not uniform, even. They're cut broadly, almost carelessly." He pauses. "Yet this is the meal that M—“ He clears his throat. "Someone wished to share with me."

"Was the pasta served plain?”

"No." His voice has changed and lost its edge. It is quieter now, less certain, as though he is no longer dictating facts but uncovering them. "It was served in a heavy sauce, wine-reduced, tomatoes cooked down for hours, probably. There was meat that fell apart and slipped from your fork when you tried to eat it. It was a messy meal."

"Yet you loved it?" I ask, whisper-quiet.

"Yes," he replies just as softly. "We ate it hunched over the bowl, letting the pieces slip from our mouths. It tasted rich and indulgent, warm and wine-dark and fragrant with spices. The waiter grated a heap of cheese on top and poured us overfull glasses of wine to go with it. You couldn't rush through that meal if you wanted."

He is staring off into space, his steps slowed to an almost stop.

"Dante," I say quietly.

"Yes?"

"We have made it to the door."

This startles him, and he straightens again, steps back into himself.

"Thank you," I say as his hand lands on the knob. "For sharing that with me."

"Don't mention it." His voice sounds more like the certain and unyielding man I first met, but when I look at him, I cannot help but imagine his lips smeared with red sauce, eyes reflecting candlelight, fingers twisting to capture the messy, indulgent meal... smiling at whoever the someone was that led him to that table.

11

DANTE

My steps are steady and certain as we emerge onto the bog's path once more, but my mind and heart feel anything but. I’m not sure why witnessing Virgil enraptured in the loop, as he calls them, struck me so violently. He’s walked through both temptations resolutely, eyes downcast.

But something about this past one—for me it was some celebratory corporate dinner punctuated with fresh-shaved truffles and tuna sliced impossibly thin—sucked him in completely.

Watching it happen was equal parts fascinating and horrifying. His gaze had slid toward the scene around us, whatever he imagined, and then froze. His entire body stilled like a statue.

It sent such a jolt through me that if he hadn't responded the third time I yelled his name, I would have given him a bodily shake.

I take a step around a log floating just off the edge of the path. The swamp we traverse is changing, darkening. More moss hangs in shapes like stark, watching faces. More fog clouds what little gray light reaches here.

Something had shifted in Virgil after he emerged from the loop. I don't know why he continues on this path with me, and I'm not sure why I hadn't bothered to consider it before. No one does anything for free. Yet he'd nearly turned back before entering the temptations with me. He was willing to walk away until I asked him to stay.

Perhaps that's why I'd offered up that memory to him. The pappardelle pasta, the heaps of cheese. Things I hadn't shared: the feel of a cracked plastic booth beneath my legs, the removed hats and mittens that allowed bare hands to graze, the sound of laughter when I unceremoniously dropped a noodle onto the table with a splatter.

Now Virgil walks quietly. I don't know his reasoning for remaining at my side even when I eschewed his counsel, but I'm fairly certain he gains little from it. He'd mentioned being trapped here, that he enjoys experiencing things he hasn't before through others' memories. I can’t imagine that walking through his own miseries brings him any pleasure, however.

My watch ticks quietly against my wrist, and I brush hair behind my ear solely to hear the sound more clearly. More reassuringly.

Something is changing.

I'm dead.

I've accepted that.

I'm in hell.

I'm accepting that.