Sweet Hell

by Rosanna Leo

  "I've just been in a ... bad place.” What was she supposed to say? That she'd gone to Hades, a so-called imaginary den of iniquity, in search of a woman? That she'd found her, as well as an unfeeling goddess and a former shitty boyfriend? And along the way, she'd discovered her soul mate? A man who used to be a Greek god, but was now suffering eternal torment for her?

  She could already see the question marks on the police report. The ones that recommended a psych evaluation.

  "Josie,” Petter said softly, brushing her dirty hair off her forehead. “I have to call someone. You've been missing for a week."

  A week. The same deadline Orpheus had given them. A week that had seemed like a year. Because of the horrors they'd faced, but also because it felt as if she'd known Dionysus forever. Every stolen glance had felt like a delicious hour of loving. Every touch, like a year in bed with him. And every hungry kiss as fulfilling as a long life spent in each other's company. Something she'd never really have with him.

  She'd never feel that again. He was gone, and she had no idea how to find him. If he was even still alive.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but his image continued to taunt her. She put her arms over her face, but nothing could take the picture of him away.

  And she didn't want it to go away anyway. Even though the thought of him was bruising her from the inside out. Making her bleed from a wound no doctor would ever find.

  Petter touched her hand. “Josie."

  "Please,” she begged, opening her stinging eyes. “Just give me half an hour. That's all I ask. Then you can call. Please."

  The flummoxed Norwegian nodded and moved to the couch on the opposite side of the room, perching uncomfortably on it.

  With that small measure of privacy, Josie turned into the couch, burying her face in the cushions, and wept. Letting the image of Dionysus wash over her and take her. Allowing the scream in her head to subside into painful sobs.

  There, on a male model's couch, she prayed to God, any god, to just let her die.

  The dreams began that night.

  Horrible, disjointed dreams featuring all the images she'd seen in hell. Each night as her impossibly-fatigued head hit the pillow, she relived their bizarre journey. The butterfly. David Cassidy. The lovers in The Sinners. Sean. All of it.

  And he was there though it all, as he had been in reality. Dionysus, her own Greek god. The devastating man who'd killed her with his smiles, who'd tempted her with his scent. Who'd loved her better than any other.

  The man who'd effectively died for her. She'd always known life involved a measure of sacrifice, but had never expected anyone to make the ultimate sacrifice for her.

  For her.

  But he had.

  And each night, Fate continued to torment her by including him in her nightmares. By reminding her of what his touch could do. She relived their passion every time she closed her eyes. A constant agony because she never wanted to open her eyes anyway.

  She'd blink, and he'd be there, touching her cheek. Her lashes would flutter and he'd be nuzzling at her neck, filling her room with the sweet scent of Concord grapes. Even now, she could feel the tip of his warm tongue as it teased a line from her ear to her shoulder. She'd allow herself to fall into sleep's cold embrace, and Dionysus was immediately inside her. Filling her, wrapping his strong arms around her body, spilling his seed into her needy soul.

  Every day she awoke, she prayed the dream Dionysus might have somehow impregnated her. That she could bring a little piece of him back into the world. A little boy with dark curls and even darker eyes.

  But it never happened. Instead, she always awoke with an overwhelming weight of sadness on her chest, and a throbbing in her sex she couldn't relieve. She didn't want to relieve it. As much as it tortured her to remember the effect of his kisses, she didn't ever want to forget it.

  Even though she always woke alone, rather than in his healing arms. As hours turned into days, and days into weeks, and her dreams refused to die, Josie knew full well how alone she was.

  How alone she would be for the rest of her life.

  Two months later, Josie was watching Devin, the new hire, make his first latte. The young man's hands were shaking, and she couldn't say she blamed him. Mike and Angelo were exacting bosses. They seemed to enjoy having a newbie to lord it over, and this was Devin's first real job. He was trembling so hard, even his piercings were quivering.

  "It's okay,” she said. “You're doing great."

  He offered her a grateful smile, one she didn't return. One she couldn't return. It was nothing personal. He was a nice kid and was always respectful to her.

  She just couldn't smile.

  Hadn't smiled since ... well, since him.

  As Devin worked the espresso machine, she allowed her eyes to close for just a minute. Remembering how Dionysus had touched her. Gentle, yet demanding. How he'd made love to her on the altar of a Greek temple. Recalling the delicious contrast between the cold marble surface on her back and his supernatural warmth caressing her nipples, her belly, between her legs. Allowing herself to dwell, just a moment, on the sultry image. To listen to the echoing words of love in her ear.

  "Is there too much froth on this thing?"

  Devin's question brought her back to reality. The corners of her mouth crinkled into the sham of a smile, never touching her eyes. “Maybe just a little.” An idea struck her. “For fun, let's try a different one. I'd like you to make me another coffee. Make it a tall, half-skinny, half-one percent, extra hot, two shots decaf, two shots regular latte with whip. One hundred fifty degrees exactly. Can you do that?"

  Devin paled a little, but looked determined. “Okay, boss.” He set about making the brew, and Josie felt a strange satisfaction in torturing the poor boy. She almost wanted to laugh when she thought of all the times she'd made the same beverage to Dionysus's exacting standards.

  A minute later, Devin presented her with The Drink. Looking mighty proud of himself. She took it, feeling its heat in her hands.

  For the first time since Hades, she smiled. And then she did nothing for a while.

  "Aren't you going to try it?” asked Devin.

  Her eyes grew watery. Damn! They'd never been so waterlogged. “Thanks, Devin, but I really just wanted to hold it."

  "Miss Marino,” the boy asked, nervous. “Are you okay?"

  "Sure,” she lied, feeling the nerves in her face wanting to twitch, fighting the constant tears yet again. “I'll be fine. Just a little under the weather, that's all."

  Hating herself for lying, even to spare an employee's feelings, she turned. Clutching her latte and blinking her burning eyes furiously, she escaped down into the bakery basement. There, among the bins of newly-baked cannoli shells, she sat in the darkness and didn't move for a very long time.

  Her brothers came to visit her that night, leaving Devin alone for his first trial by fire in the bakery. She was surprised to see them standing on the little landing. Mike and Angelo didn't usually come to visit her in the apartment. They'd always joked that they saw her enough in the bakery.

  Of course, no one joked with her much anymore. And that was fine by her. She wasn't done wallowing. Not by a long shot.

  She let them in. “To what do I owe the honor?"

  The two burly men jostled each other trying to get through the door. She looked at her brothers. They looked good. Not that they were dressed up. Quite the opposite. They were both wearing aprons, having just come from preparing new batches of bread. And the designer sweats they had on underneath were dusty with flour, or some sort of “bakery sludge” as Dionysus had once called it. They'd been busy. Working hard. And it was nice to see that. Angelo had even recently asked her to teach him their mother's cannoli recipe, which had just about floored her.

  They'd shocked her with their industriousness upon her return. Of course, her absence had pretty much forced them to take charge of their business. And once she'd returned, they'd discovered they actually liked working.


  Which was good, because she still felt like a lost soul, hovering somewhere near the walls. Like one of the spirits in The Oubliette.

  Dionysus's face rushed to mind, and she did everything in her power to banish the image that still called to her with such brute force. The features that swam constantly in front of her face. Those mahogany eyes, framed by eyebrows that were almost always cocked in a teasing arch. The full lips that had pressed her flesh with such hunger. That nose, so straight and patrician...

  "Did you hear what I said, Josie?” asked Mike. “We know you're not happy here and you haven't been in a long time."

  Now she felt bad. “It's not that."

  "Yeah,” Angelo chimed in. “It is. Look, Josie. Mikey and I, we've been pretty shitty to you. We took advantage. We couldn't help thinking it's why you felt you had to run away."

  Run away. Right. That was the excuse she'd given to them and to the police. Not wanting to incriminate Dionysus, a man who, for all intents and purposes, didn't exist on earth any longer. That night, after Petter called the police, she'd given them a sob story about feeling stressed and needing to escape. Told them she'd gotten on a bus and headed north to cottage country. But that somewhere along the way, she'd become confused and lost. Had wandered in the woods for a time and scratched up her arms. The arms that were still scarred from her time in Hades. And because there was no dead body on their hands, because she was otherwise safe and sound and not in any apparent danger, the cops had been inclined to believe her story.

  After all, stress made people do funny things nowadays. Look at that Japanese man who'd recently hanged himself in his work cubicle. Okay, baking cannoli wasn't investment management, but she'd made it sound stressful enough.

  But she didn't want her brothers to feel responsible. “It's okay. It wasn't you guys."

  "Then who was it?” Mike's eyes flashed like those of an amateur detective. “That son of a bitch, Dionysus Iros? Did he do something to you? He never comes for coffee anymore. Quite a coincidence."

  She reached for Mike's hand. “I swear to you on mom's grave. Dionysus did nothing bad to me.” She paused, unsure what to reveal. “Mikey, I love him. But he had to go away."

  "Why?"

  "Is he married?” Angelo asked.

  Josie laughed for the first time in a long time. The rumble in her chest felt foreign, strained. “No. Dionysus is definitely not married."

  "So, then what?” Mike inquired. “Did he go away on business or something?"

  She found she liked that idea. She could make it as vague as she wanted. “Yeah, that's it. He was called away on business. For a long time. It ... hit me harder than I expected."

  Angelo breathed in and out. “Well, onward and upward, baby sister. It's time to move on.” He presented her with a sealed envelope and both brothers’ faces burst into wide grins.

  "What's this?” She opened it when they nudged her. Inside the envelope was a huge sum of money. Even without counting it, she could tell it was thousands of dollars. “I don't understand."

  Mike smiled gently at her. “Consider it the return on your investment in the bakery, Josie. You've made your last cannoli. You should go back to school. Start that winery of yours."

  "Winery?” The men stood, and both of them dropped kisses onto her head, and she felt a need to cry for a whole different reason. Struggling, she held her head up. “Thank you."

  They headed out, but Angelo stopped at the doorway. “Josie,” he called to where she was still stuck to her place on the couch. “Dionysus. Is he ever coming back?"

  "No,” she answered, trying her best not to dissolve into a sad little puddle of tears on the floor. “He's never coming back."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 14

  Josie was on her way to work her last shift in the bakery and was plagued with bittersweet emotions. Of course, no matter what, it was a family business, and even though she was moving on, she figured she'd always have an opportunity to help her brothers with a shift here and there. Still, it felt so final, knowing it would be her last official day behind the counter.

  Of course, in her heart she knew she'd never truly leave. Her brothers had become more diligent, but they were by no means captains of the bakery industry. Just yesterday, there had been that mix-up when old Mrs. Phillips had come to collect her cake. The one which was supposed to have said “Congratulations on your graduation, Jake,” but on which Angelo had written in bright pink icing, “Happy bridal shower, Eileen.” Thanks to some fancy footwork on her part, it had all been fixed, and Mrs. Phillips had remained a happy customer.

  So yeah, she figured she'd be helping her brothers for some time to come.

  Which was nice to know because she hadn't forgotten the bakery was the place where she'd met him. Dionysus. The customer from hell who'd ended up a resident there. The man who still frequented her every dream in startling Technicolor detail. She couldn't ever leave the bakery completely because it would feel like leaving him behind too. And that, she would never do.

  She hadn't dated, hadn't even looked at other men. Petter, God love him, had actually asked her out to dinner a couple of times. In another life, she might have said, “By your sweet Norwegian ass, yes!"

  But not in this life. She knew, even if she never saw Dionysus again, she was his. Body and soul. Forever.

  And she knew she'd see him one day. She had to believe that. It was the only thing that kept her going. For her own sanity, she'd decided to cling to hope with every, last broken fingernail.

  To that end, she was making a pit stop before heading to the bakery. It was early still, and she'd made the decision to go to church. She hadn't been to church in years, having becoming more or less a lapsed Catholic. But that didn't matter. She wasn't going to her church.

  She was going to his. Or at least the closest she could get to his.

  Of course, there were no temples to the ancient god Dionysus in modern-day Toronto. There was a micro-brewery down the road, but she wasn't sure that qualified. There was, however, a Greek Orthodox church two streets over from the Marino Brothers Bakery.

  She peeked her head in the door of St. Sophia's, feeling a little foolish. But there was something comforting about the golden icons decorating the sanctuary, and there were no parishioners loitering inside. She slipped in.

  Josie took a pew near the back door. Unsure of Greek Orthodox church protocol, she kneeled down and linked her fingers in the prayer position she'd used since she was a child.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed.

  "Dionysus,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?"

  She listened as the kneeler creaked under her weight. Aside from that there was no noise, other than the muffled traffic sounds outside.

  Feeling the eyes of the Byzantine-style icons on her, she shook her head. “St. Sophia, please forgive me if what I'm doing is blasphemous, but I have to try.” She took a deep breath and proceeded. “He's everything to me. Please help me find him. If any of you ancient gods can hear me, please help me find Dionysus. He gave up everything for me and doesn't deserve to be in that place. I'll trade places with him. I'll do anything. I love him. Please let him come back to me."

  Josie heard a noise at the altar. Her head snapped up. But when she saw the origin of the noise, a little, old Greek lady entering to tidy up the church for service, her disappointment was palpable.

  She uttered a quick “Amen,” rose from her place on the kneeler, and swept out of the church.

  That evening, still fighting the deflated feeling she'd had all day, she watched as Angelo headed over to the door to flip over the “We're open” sign. What had she expected anyway? That Dionysus would rise from the ashes in St. Sophia's, just because she'd uttered her first genuine prayer in years? She knew how ridiculous it sounded, but she'd still hoped.

  Even now, she still hoped.

  Before Angelo could lock the bakery door, a customer slid in. A man she'd never seen before.

  "Do you mind?�
� he asked her brother. “I just want a quick coffee for the road."

  Angelo shrugged, closed the door behind him, and went back to doing some clean up in the back room.

  Josie approached the customer with a little grin, figuring he was her last official customer and she should make a good effort. “What can I get you?"

  He sat at her counter. He looked up. She froze.

  His eyes were the palest blue she'd ever seen in a human face. So pale, in fact, they made her wonder just how human he was. Dismissing the fanciful notion, she struggled to listen to his coffee order.

  "Nothing fancy. Just a coffee, please. Black."

  Black. Black as night. Black as everlasting night.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it of the images of shadow and death that were clinging to it. Trying to banish the voices laced with pain racing through her subconscious.

  What's wrong with me? she wondered. The poor man just wants a coffee. He'd never come back to the bakery again if she didn't get her shit together.

  Hand shaking, she poured the last of the coffee into a ceramic mug and pushed it toward him. “That'll be one twenty, please."

  The man handed her a twenty, making her shiver when she touched his pale, ice-cold hand. “Keep the change."

  She picked her jaw up off the floor. “I can't do that, sir. My coffee's good, but it's not that good."

  He peered into her eyes, white-blue piercing hazel with astonishing power. With a force that felt almost primeval. Once again, she dismissed the nonsense in her head.

  "Keep the change,” he repeated. “Josie Marino."

  The hackles rose on the back of her neck. She whispered, “How do you know my name?"

  He just laughed softly, a low rumble that was so deep it seemed to make the counter between them vibrate. She held it to steady herself and stared at the man.

  He was handsome. With those eyes, he could be nothing but arrestingly handsome. He was tall, even sitting down. And even though his dark suit camouflaged his slim frame, she could tell there were taut muscles under there. He radiated an aura of deadly strength, frightening power. His face was chiseled, slashed at the cheeks by sharp, jutting cheekbones. His hairline was peaked and his dark hair slicked back, like Bela Lugosi in the vampire movies, and his lips were so pink they were almost red. Even though he stared back at her with clear interest, there was also an air of boredom about him. As if he'd seen it all before.