Paul Cornell - The Severed Streets

Silence again. The breathing had definitely slowed. Quill wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the Smiling Man speak. But he was going to keep daring him to do so. ‘I suppose some other people must have come back from Hell, or know what’s written above that gate, what the secret is. But you’ve seen that I’ve got a thing about doing my duty. You were sure I’d have to tell everyone who’d believe it. That gradually that message would sink in to them. That it’d grind them down even more than they’ve been ground down now.’ The kettle finished boiling. He poured the tea. ‘So I’m not going to do that. I’m going to find a way to heal my unit. I’m going to wait until I’m sure they’re able to cope with what I know. Then we’re going to find some way to change it.’

There was a click from the phone. He’d hung up.

Quill found that he was actually smiling. He took a slow sip from his tea. He thought about Sarah and Jessica asleep upstairs, and what the words on that sign over the gate of Hell meant for them and for everyone else he knew. The sign had read:

It’s everyone who ever lived in London