Mourning for Mortimer (Maybe)

We hope you don't enjoy your stay,

the voice continued.

The Satanic forces of this damned place remind you that the use of recording devices is prohibited on pain of eternal damnation,

it went on. Mortimer was beginning to find it annoying.

Don't forget to visit the gift shop on your way out. Of HELL.

This was getting a little ridiculous. Mortimer was happy when the voice fell silent, but was less happy to hear another voice in the corridor behind him.
"Sir," it said, "Sir!"
"Yes, Mr. Shelley?" Mortimer asked.
"You didn't actually dismiss me," said Stephen Shelly, the level III lawyer.
"You can go."
"Actually," he said, "I can't. You see, I have to be banished from the same plane I was summoned to. I followed you in here, so I can't go home until you get out of here."
"Well why didn't you have to sign a damned contract?" Mortimer asked.
"Extraplanar exclusion clause. You summoned me from the plane of legal. We have our own hell."
"The plane of law, you mean?" Mortimer had heard of this, a plane full of beings of pure law, where ethical dilemmas were nonexistant.
"No, sir, the plane of legal. Not at all the same thing, I'm afraid."
"Look, Mr. Shelley. Just, stay out of the way, ok?"
"Yes Sir. I took the liberty of requesting a copy of your contract from the receptionist, so I'll just continue studying it, shall I?"
"You go ahead."
By this time the two had reached the end of the corridor, a problematic event since the corridor ended in a sheer drop that seemed to go on forever. Agonized screams rose up from it. He looked around and was relieved to see something coming through the air towards him. It turned out to be a boat, a rowboat to be exact. A gruesome figure with a boar-like face and a gaunt, frail body was rowing.
"Visitors?" it grunted, "Climb aboard."
They climbed in and the rower turned the boat around. It looked like the ride was going to pass in silence, but it quickly became apparent that silence was too good for hell.
"Now if you'll look directly below you, you'll see what we like to call "the pit,"" the thing began, "Over 50,000 feet deep, the pit is the place where most of our residents spend their time. We're going to start circling down into the pit to give you an idea of what it's like there."
"Um, excuse me," said Mortimer "I don't remember signing up for the tour. I want to see a particular person."
The ghastly figure turned toward Mortimer and gave him a sour look, soured all the more by the various fangs and tusks at work.
"This is a tour boat. It's complimentary with your soul. You could have waited for a public barge, but now you're here I can hardly just stop the whole tour because you made a mistake."
Mortimer rolled his eyes as the creature went on, discussing the various torture implements passing on their left and the various sins that had brought them on. The pit seemed to have a sort of wide spiral walk around it so that torture was occurring all along the way.
"In order to insure quality agony that lasts, of course, very few stick with one torture. Residents are rotated down the pit so that their torture increases each century. This has the added effect of giving people the impression that at least their torture will stay interesting, which makes their stay in the room that much worse."
Mortimer was getting sick of this. He began to wonder whether one could die in hell. He supposed that one couldn't, which meant if he just jumped out of the boat he'd make it harmlessly to the bottom of the pit. Then again, even if one couldn't die, one could certianly feel pain - that was the point, after all.
He was interrupted from his speculations by an imp appearing in a poof of red smoke and whispering something in their tour guide's ear.
"This is all terribly interesting isn't it?" said Stephen Shelly. "I'm glad I came along."
"Any luck with the contract?"
"The uh... Oh yes, the contract. Well, I figure he'll show me where they keep all the lawyers, and then maybe they can help explain bits of it."
"Keep looking," Mortimer said.
The tour guide turned to the imp, and said, "Is that so?" He began to row the boat toward the center of the pit, so they were no longer close to any side, then said to Mortimer in a voice dripping with sadistic delight,
"There seems to be a problem with your bloodwork. We'd like to take a second sample, as per the contract you signed."
Mortimer turned to Shelly, who nodded embarrassedly.
Mortimer got out his knife and grabbed for the jelly with his other hand.
"We'll take this one ourselves," said the guard, producing a huge jagged blade. "Don't worry, you can't die in hell. You'll barely feel a thing," he said, gesturing toward the torture around them, "Comparatively speaking, of course."
But the demon had told Mortimer all he needed to know. Without giving the thing the second it needed to lunge at him, he leapt over the back of the boat, and began the long fall down.