The indescribable wailing of the occupants reached me before I was even close. I’d always thought medieval depictions of Hell with its twisted bodies and instruments of torture were nothing but a device designed to frighten and control an ignorant populace. But now I knew the stories were true.
It wasn’t easy to make out what was happening through the ruby glow that emanated from the pit, but there were clearly two distinct groups, the tormented and their tormentors. The tormentors wore leather harnesses and boots. Some wore hoods like executioners. The tormented were either naked or in rags. From the earthen walls hung an array of metal devices designed to inflict pain. My eyes traveled over the saws, branding irons, and rusty pliers. At ground level were vats of boiling oil, a dunking device, and hot coals. There were bodies chained to posts, hanging from rafters, and strapped into cruel devices. The souls writhed and screamed as the torturers relentlessly continued their devilish work. I watched them drag a naked man across the ground and force him into a brass coffin, bolting the lid shut. They slid the coffin into an oven and I watched as it slowly heated up, glowing orange and then red. From inside came muffled screams of agony, which seemed to amuse the demons. Another man was tied to a post with ropes, his eyes turned upward in supplication. At first I didn’t realize that the yellow sheath flapping from his thigh like washing on a line was his own skin. He was being flayed alive.
The images that flashed before me were of blood and torn flesh and festering wounds. I could watch for only a few seconds before the bile started to rise in my throat. I threw myself onto the dry, cracked ground and covered my ears. The smell and the sound were both unbearable. I began crawling away on my hands and knees, not trusting myself to walk upright without passing out.
I’d only crawled a few meters through the dust when a boot crunched down on my hand. I looked up to see myself surrounded by three whip-wielding tormentors who had noticed my arrival. There was nothing recognizably human in their pitiless faces. There was a rattling of chains when they moved but closer inspection revealed them to be no older than schoolboys. It was incongruous seeing such cruelty on their perfect faces.
“Looks like we have a visitor,” said one, prodding me with the heel of his boot. His voice was musical and laced with a Spanish accent. He moved his foot and used it to lift up the hem of my dress, exposing my legs. The tip of his boot was traveling uncomfortably high.
“She’s hot,” grunted his companion.
“Hot or not, it ain’t polite to go wandering around restricted areas without an invitation,” the third demon chimed in. “I say we teach her a lesson.” His eyes glinted like marbles. He had a pouting mouth and spoke with a lazy drawl. His shock of fair hair fell over his eyes and sharp features.
“I get her first,” the other objected. “When I’m done, you can teach her whatever you like.” He flashed me a grin. He was stockier than the others and his copper bangs were blunt. He had a sprinkling of freckles across a porcine nose.
“Forget it, Yeats,” warned the first boy who had a head full of black curls. “Not until we know who sent her.”
Yeats brought his face level with mine. His small teeth reminded me of a piranha’s. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering these parts alone?”
“I’m lost,” I said shakily. “I’m from Hotel Ambrosia and I’m Jake’s guest.” I tried to sound important but didn’t dare meet his gaze.
“Damn.” The blond one sounded annoyed. “She’s with Jake. I guess we better not mess her up too bad then.”
“I’m not buying it, Nash,” Yeats snapped. “If she was really with Jake, she wouldn’t be out here.”
Suddenly my head was reeling. I didn’t think my body could cope with much more. Yeats looked unimpressed.
“If you’re going to throw up — do it over there. I’ve just had these boots shined.” I felt my chest heave as I dry retched.
“Come on, get up!” Yeats hauled me to my feet. He looked triumphantly at the others as his arm encircled my waist. “What do you say we put you to good use? How do you feel about an audience?” His hands were rough as they struggled with the buttons on my bodice.
“If she does belongs to Jake and he finds out, who knows what he’ll do ….” The boy called Nash sounded nervous.
“Shut up,” Yeats said and turned to the first boy. “Diego, help me hold her down.”
“Get your filthy paws off her,” said a voice so menacing it could have cut through steel.
Jake materialized out of the shadows. His dark hair was unbound and, coupled with his furious expression, it gave him a look of animal-like ferocity. He appeared a good deal more dangerous than the others. In fact when they stood side by side, the three youths looked like amateurs or naughty schoolboys who’d been caught breaking the rules. In Jake’s presence they lost their cockiness and looked paralyzed with fear. He seemed to tower over them and had an air of authority that made them cower. If there were echelons of power in Hell, this trio must have occupied one of the lower orders.
“We didn’t know she was, uh … spoken for,” Diego said apologetically. “We wouldn’t have touched her otherwise.”
“I tried to tell them she was …,” Nash began, but Diego stared him into silence.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood right now,” Jake hissed. “Now, get out of my sight before I put you on the rack myself.” They scurried back to the pit from where they’d come like jackrabbits. Jake offered me his arm as he led me away. It was the first time I was actually glad of his presence.
“So … how much did you see?” he asked.
“All of it.”
“I did try to warn you,” Jake sounded genuinely sorry. “Would you like me to try and erase the memories? I’ll be careful not to touch your old ones.”
“No, thank you,” I said numbly. “It was something I needed to see.”
9
Lake of Dreams
EVERY day that passed without news of Venus Cove added to my misery.
I could think of nothing but what I was missing in the lives of those I loved. I knew they must be frantic with worry. Had they guessed where Jake had taken me or were they ready to file a missing person’s report? I knew if I were held hostage anywhere on earth, the divine powers of my siblings would track me down. But I had no idea if their radars could reach deep into the core of the earth. When I thought about my family, I remembered the simplest things; the way my brother used to experiment in the kitchen, handling food as though it were art; the way my sister used to braid my hair with a skill only she possessed. I thought of Gabriel’s hands and the way they could make any instrument bow to his will and Ivy’s river of golden hair. Mostly I thought of Xavier; the way his eyes crinkled gently at the corners whenever he smiled; the smell of his car after we’d eaten burgers and fries in the Chevy overlooking the ocean. Although I’d only been gone a few days, I grieved for every moment that passed. Worst of all was that I knew Xavier would be blaming himself and I couldn’t do anything to ease his guilt.
Time became my biggest enemy in Hades. On earth it had been so precious because I didn’t know when it would run out, but here it was drawn out and immeasurable. The tedium was the hardest to bear. Not only was I a prisoner in Jake’s soulless world, I was also an angel in Hell and treated with either scorn or morbid curiosity by its elite. Most of the time I felt like a sideshow freak. There was something about the place that seemed to eat at me from the inside like a cancer. It was easy to give into it — stop thinking, stop fighting — and I could I feel it happening to me. I was terrified by the idea of waking one day no longer caring about human suffering or whether I lived or died.
For days after stumbling across the lake of fire and its associated horrors, I fell into a deep depression. I had little appetite, but Hanna was patient with me. Jake’s assistant, Tucker, had been assigned as my personal minder and was always around though he rarely spoke to me. Together they became my constant companions.
They were in m
y room one night as usual, Hanna trying to coax me into eating a mouthful or two of the broth she’d prepared and Tucker diverting himself by crushing paper into balls and tossing them into the fireplace to watch them ignite. I pushed away Hanna’s offer of dessert and watched her face crease into a mask of stress. Tucker looked up and shook his head at her in tacit communication. Hanna let out a heavy sigh and set down the dinner tray while Tucker went back to poking the embers in the fire. I curled myself into a ball at the end of my bed. The old Bethany Church felt dead and buried. I knew I would carry the horror of what I’d seen around with me forever.
We all started when we heard the soft buzz of a key card and Jake let himself into the room. He was obviously so sure of his authority that he hadn’t felt the need to knock and was totally oblivious to having impinged on my privacy. He seemed to believe round-the-clock access to me was wholly within his rights. I saw Tucker stand up and linger self-consciously, as if he should be making himself useful, but Jake ignored him and marched over to where I lay, regarding me carefully. Unlike Tucker, I made no attempt to get up or even turn my head to face him.
“You look awful,” he observed. “I hate to say I told you so.”
“I don’t want to see you,” I said dully.
“I thought you’d understand by now that there are far worse things in this place than seeing me. Come on now, you can’t blame me for what you’ve seen. I didn’t create this place even though I may have some jurisdiction over it.”
“Do you enjoy inflicting pain and torture?” I asked in a hollow voice, looking up to meet his eyes. “Do you get off on it?”
“Steady on,” Jake sounded offended. “I personally don’t torture anyone. I have more important things to do.”
“But you know it’s happening,” I insisted. “And you do nothing about it.”
Jake shared a bemused look with Tucker, who was frowning at me as if he thought I were an idiot.
“And why on earth would I try to stop it?” he asked.
“Because they’re people,” I said weakly. It was always so exhausting talking to Jake. It left me feeling as if I were running in circles and getting nowhere.
“No, actually they’re souls of people who were very bad in life,” he explained patiently.
“Nobody deserves this — no matter what their crime.”
“Oh, really?” Jake folded his arms. “Then you have no idea what mankind is capable of. Besides, they all had the choice to repent and they chose not to. That’s how the system works.”
“Yeah, well, your system stinks. It turns good people into monsters.”
“And that,” Jake said, wagging a finger thoughtfully, “is the difference between you and me. You insist on seeing man as inherently noble even when all evidence suggests otherwise. Humans — urghh!” Jake shuddered. “What’s noble about them? They eat, they breed, they sleep, they fight — they’re nothing but basic organisms. Look what billions of them have done to the planet; their very existence is polluting the earth and you blame us for it. If humans are God’s greatest achievement, he seriously needs to review his design. Take Tucker, for instance. Why do you think I keep him around? It’s to remind me of God’s fallibility.” Tucker’s face flushed crimson but Jake seemed not to notice.
“People are much more than that,” I replied, partly to cover up Tucker’s humiliation. “They can dream and hope and love. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Those are usually worse off because they’re so delusional. Empty yourself of compassion, Bethany, it won’t serve you well here.”
“I’ll die before I become like you,” I said.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Jake breezily. “You can’t die here. Only the earth entertains such ridiculous notions as life and death. Another one of your father’s little quirks.”
I was spared the effort of challenging Jake further when we heard voices in the hall and a woman sailed into the room with all the aplomb of a celebrity.
“This is supposed to be my room,” I muttered. “Why do people think they can just barge in and …”
I stopped short when I gave the woman a closer look and remembered her instantly as the tattooed barmaid from Pride. It would have been hard to forget the annihilating look she’d given me then. She gave me a fleeting glance this time as if my presence were too immaterial to take up any more of her time. She was riled. I could see that in the fixed line of her mouth and the way she brusquely pushed past Tucker.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” she chided Jake.
“I wondered how long it’d be before you’d show up,” Jake said lazily. “You know you’re getting yourself a reputation as a stalker.”
“Shame a bad reputation don’t mean jack here,” the woman replied.
There was a derisive tone in the way he addressed her, but she seemed only amused by it. “Beth, meet Asia, my … very personal … personal assistant. She gets stressed if she doesn’t know exactly where I am at any given time.”
I sat up to get a better look at her. Asia was tall and striking like an Amazon. She was dressed provocatively in a gold halter top and a leather miniskirt. Her jet-black hair with the texture of spun wool surrounded her feline features. Her lips were exaggeratedly full, sticky with gloss, and permanently parted. The way she stood with her shoulders thrust back reminded me of a boxer, and her coffee-colored skin had a slight sheen as if it had been oiled. Her shoes were extraordinary, like works of art; fawn-colored, open-toed lace-up ankle boots with heels like ice picks.
“Jimmy Choo,” she said reading my mind. “Divine, aren’t they? Jake has them specially made for me every season.”
There was a look in her smoldering eyes I was familiar with. I’d seen girls give it to one another at school when they wanted to issue a clear warning that said, “Hands off!” Asia didn’t need to say anything to me; her look spoke volumes. As Jake’s lover she was sending me a clear message that said he was off-limits to me if I valued my life. In order to make the status of her relationship patently clear, Asia slithered around Jake like an asp at his throat, rubbing up and pressing her bare flesh against him. Jake’s hand traveled up her polished thigh, but in his eyes I was sure I could see boredom. Asia surveyed me from head to foot, decidedly unimpressed. “So, this is the little bitch everyone’s talking about? Small, isn’t she?” Jake made a clicking sound with his tongue.
“Asia — play nice.”
“I can’t see what all the fuss is about,” she said, circling me now with a panther-like grace. “If you ask me, baby, I think you’re downgradin’.”
“Well, nobody asked you.” Jake gave her a warning look. “And we talked about this; Beth is special.”
“Are you saying I’m not?” Asia put her hands on her hips and arched her eyebrows flirtatiously.
“Oh, no, you’re very special,” Jake chuckled. “But in a different way. Don’t think your talents haven’t been appreciated.”
“So what’s with the Mary Sue outfit?” Asia asked, plucking at the frilly sleeve of my dress. “You got some fetish for Southern belles? It’s very pure. That’s what this is all about, right? But did you really have to dress her like she’s twelve?”
“No one dressed me,” I snapped.
“Oh, how cute!” Asia threw me a scathing look. “It talks.”
“I was just explaining to our guest how things work down here,” Jake said, steering the conversation in a safer direction. “I was trying to explain to her how life and death have no meaning here. Would you mind assisting me in a brief demonstration?”
“With pleasure,” Asia agreed. She came to stand right in front of him and threw back her head, seductively sliding off her halter top until she stood only in a black bra, revealing the smooth milk chocolate skin of her torso. Jake’s eyes traveled appreciatively over her body for a moment, before he spun around and seized a fire poker from its hook beside the grate. I realized his intention too late and the scream caught in my throat as he plung
ed the thick tip into her chest. I expected howls of pain or spurting blood, anything but what I saw. Asia only gasped then shuddered with pleasure and closed her eyes in ecstasy. When she opened them and caught sight of my horror-stricken face she dissolved into laughter. The poker was buried inches deep in her chest without the slightest hint of a wound of any kind. It looked as if it had molded to her body, as if it had always been a part of her. When she grasped it with both hands and wrenched it free of her flesh, it made a gruesome sucking sound. Seconds later the smooth skin closed over the puncture the poker had created.
“See?” Asia said. “The Grim Reaper can’t touch us. He works for us.”
“But I’m not dead,” I blurted, unthinking.
Asia snatched up the poker from the floor where she’d tossed it. “Why don’t we test that out?” she hissed. She sprang at me with animal speed, but Jake was faster and intercepted her, whipping the weapon from her tight grasp. He threw her onto the couch and crouched over her, the tip of the poker pressed menacingly against her throat. Asia eye’s flashed with excitement. She bared and gnashed her teeth as she ran her hands along his hips.
“Bethany is not a toy,” Jake said, as if he were scolding a naughty child. “Try to think of her as your baby sister.” Asia held her hands palm up in defeat but couldn’t repress her expression of deep disappointment.
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