I collapsed to my knees as the weight of Orpheus' body vanished, the pain in my chest and deep within my skull vanished as well. The world felt hazy, and I took a few steps into the thick white fog that drifted around me. I squinted against the bright light that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Was this one of Orpheus' tricks? It didn't feel like one, the accompanying headache was absent. I called out, my voice echoing through the infinite space. "Orpheus, we aren't done here."

"Actually," a voice answered back, causing me to search for the source of the sound, "You are done, this is the afterlife Jacob." He paused for a moment, "or do you prefer Huntsman, I understand that's what you called yourself in life."

"Jacob is fine, I never really liked The Huntsman anyway, that name was Orpheus' gift." I took a few more steps into the mist, searching for any feature beyond swirling white, "Is this all the afterlife is? A swirling mist? I'd expected more."

"No, this is just a template, a blank canvas for you to paint whatever you wish onto. That is the benefit of reaching Ilera, heaven as you call it on earth."

"Ilera, huh, so where is Orpheus. I assume the sanctimonious shit made it here as well?" I thought back to our battle in Time Square, to the blade he had rammed through my chest as I had shot a hole the size of my fist in his. Orpheus healed quickly, but not nearly quickly enough for that sort of wound. He must have died with me.

"Allen did not make it to Ilera. He is in Johera, one of the minor hells, where he will remain until he learns the error of his ways." I chuckled a bit at that, Orpheus, protector of the people, was named Allen. It was such a pitifully mundane name for someone so powerful.

"That doesn't make any sense, how could he be there if I've managed to get here?" I needed to sit down, and as soon as I had the thought a chair appeared beside me. As I sat on the wonderfully comfortable leather chair I'd summoned I asked the voice, "What got him sent there? He was a good man who fought for the good of the people? It doesn't make sense that he would be there while I, the man who stole billions and never spoke an honest word in my life would end up here."

"The difference," The voice said, "is that your crimes were only crimes on earth. You stole, but only ever from those who could afford to lose it. You lied, but only to those in power. It also helps that a good deal of what you stole went to those who needed it." I forgot about that, I'd donated a few billion dollars to charity to ease my conscience about living in luxury while others starved.

The voice continued, "Allen, on the other hand committed more serious crimes though he refrained from the minor ones you committed. He protected only those who did not need it, the wealthy and powerful. He worked in the interest of their bank accounts and hurt a lot of mostly innocent people to protect their investments." The speaker must have seen the look on my face for he assured me, "Don't worry, Allen thought he was doing the right thing, and this counts toward him a great deal, in fact if he had not broken into so many minds and rewritten the memories of so many he might have made it here himself."

"How long will he be there?" I asked. I had never particularly like Orpheus, or Allen I thought with a snicker, but he didn't really deserve to be in hell, even if it were temporary. He'd done what he'd done in an effort to do the right thing, and he'd acted on the morals he'd been taught, not the ones from this strange afterlife. Though I'd managed to avoid the wrong crimes, my choices were made out of self interest, even my massive donations that had earned me such credit were to help me sleep at night. I'd never really cared about the ones who had nothing. Orpheus had cared, he'd done all he could to maintain what he thought was moral rightness, but because he used the powers he'd been born with he would suffer? That wasn't right.

"Not long," the voice said, "Just until he repents, it usually only takes a few decades, though it may take him longer since he likely doesn't understand what he did wrong."

"And you're okay with this? Punishing a man for fifty years for something he didn't even know was wrong?"

"It is the way of things, I did not decide it, and you have no control over it. Best to put it out of your mind."

"What if I switched places with him? Can I not do so?"

"It has never happened before, but it may be possible. I will have to go and ask one higher than I, if you suddenly find yourself with a terrible headache and a pressure on your chest then know that your request was granted."

"Alright, but make sure you tell the bastard it was me who saved him eh?" He'd never believe it.

A few minutes later, the scene shifted into a black deeper than the darkest night, and the headache that exploded behind my eyes was impressive. I settled in for a long, uncomfortable wait where I hoped to discover a way to make myself worthy of the heaven that awaited.

Thank you!

"Who are you?" the man asks me as he stares in awe at the many books that line the ever moving shelves. He sets his hat down on the table by the doorway, I hope he doesn't particularly care for it.

"I wouldn't set that hat there if I were you," I say in an attempt to stop the inevitable, but as the man turns back to grab it the hat is already gone. "Oh well, perhaps it'll turn up," I say as the man blinks in astonishment. "Now, you're here for something, surely you are. No one ever comes here unless they're looking for something."

"N-no," the man stutters "I just wanted to use the restroom. Who are you? What is this place?"

"If you'd wanted to use the restroom you would have gone there, instead you came here, to my home." I turn and gesture to the books, and they freeze momentarily while I add, "So what is it you are looking for?"

The man stumbles, and a chair appears to catch him as he falls backwards, "Morris must have spiked my coffee, the bastard." As he says this coffee appears on a small table at his side. The man jumps as he sees it. "What the hell is going on."

He's going to be a difficult one, the ones that think they're drugged always are. "Here," I say as I sit, a chair appearing to catch me. "Let's start a little more simply," I grab my pipe out of the air, a gentle smoke puffing off the top of the lit tobacco, "What is your name?"

"S-Sebastian, Sebastian Smith," he continues to stutter.

"Alright Sebastian, I haven't met someone with that name in almost a century, your parents must be old fashioned. Try the coffee, I promise it's not been drugged, the Morris you spoke of has never been here and likely never will be."

He sips tentatively from the coffee before asking, "Why am I here?" he puts the cup back on the table, which was starting to wander off, "Where is this place?"

"This," I take a few puffs from my pipe, " is a library, couldn't you tell from all the books?" as if in response a few of the books leap from the shelf and begin to flap around us, their pages rustling in the breeze they made. "As for why you're here I truly don't know, that's why I asked you." I take a few more puffs. "You must be looking for something, some piece of knowledge, otherwise why would you come to a library?"

The man stares in a combination of bewilderment and wonder at the books as they flapped about.

"Oh don't mind the histories, they just want someone to read them," I say, shooing away a history on St. Cuthbert as it strayed to close to my face. "Nobody is ever here for history though, now the books on the future on the other hand..." I trail off. Most of the people who come through my library are looking to understand the future, some want to know who they will marry, others how their investments will do and how they can make more money, very few sought to learn from the past.

"I guess, since there are books on the future, this isn't a normal library?" The man asks.

"Finally, a thought, I was beginning to wonder if you could have them Sebastian," he turns red with embarrassment and perhaps a subtle anger, "No this isn't a normal library, surely the furniture and the flying books gave it away, that and the fact that you apparently entered through a bathroom door. You get one question, and there will almost certainly be a book here that can answer it, so ask and leave me to my books." One does not become a master of a library beyond the veil by liking company.

"I don't know what I want, I just want to be happy," Sebastian begins, but I cut him off.

"Stop there, that's enough," Nobody had ever asked for the secret to happiness before, and I was curious how the library would answer, most of the fools that came through here already thought they knew what would make them happy.

As Sebastian falls silent a book comes flapping through the air, it is a simple one, plainly bound with cloth, but it seems to hum with importance. It lands in Sebastian's lap.

"Go on," I prompt, "Open it."

Sebastian opens the book, not at the beginning, but towards the middle, and a soft warm glow envelops him. As he reads further his face lightens, and he begins to turn transparent. The further he reads, the wider his smile gets, and the less substantial he becomes. Until at last he closes the book, and with the soft sound of the pages closing, he vanishes completely.