by Allie Gail
Even the dense fog that envelopes the area isn't so much white as it is ashen. It hangs over everything like a thick blanket, only it offers nothing in the way of warmth.
Where am I?
Hesitating, I take a few tentative steps. My visibility is limited due to the fog, but what I can make out of the landscape is a portrait of bleak desolation. I'm in something resembling a forest, though by definition only. I've never seen a place so completely devoid of life. It's like a nightmare.
The trees look more like Halloween props than living things. They are dead, barren trunks of indiscernible origin, contorted into grotesque shapes. The branches are thorny, and they twist eerily in all directions like bony fingers trying to claw out of a grave. Every last one is bare. There isn't a leaf or an evergreen needle anywhere in sight. Not even a shriveled, decaying one clinging by a stem.
Unnerved, I look down at the ground beneath my boots. There are no leaves there either, dead or otherwise. The earth is dry and hard, bereft even of snow. There isn't a single plant or so much as a blade of grass. No weeds. No pine straw. Not a sprout or a vine or a shrub of any kind.
Dirt. That's all there is. Nothing but coarse, rocky soil.
A shiver worms its way up my spine, one that has nothing to do with the climate.
What is this, some kind of hallucination? A dream? Did I pass out? No, that doesn't seem likely. This all feels too real. The cold is not my imagination, and neither is the dampness from the misty shroud of fog.
On the other hand, I'm starting to wonder if Silas slipped me some LSD or something. Maybe I'm having an adverse reaction to whatever he gave me to make me sleep. It would certainly explain a lot.
So what do I do now?
Start walking, I suppose. If nothing else, it'll help warm me up.
I scan my surroundings once more, debating which way to go. One direction seems the same as the next, and none of them are particularly encouraging.
A loud RA...RA-AAK startles me, and I look up in search of the source only to see a huge turkey vulture laughing at me from a gnarled branch barely fifteen feet away.
“Dude! You scared me half to death!” Even so, I am relieved that I can once again hear. The sound of my own voice is comforting, even if I have to talk with my teeth clenched so they won't chatter. “I'm glad you see the humor in this. I'm not finding it all that funny, myself.”
He dips his bald head, appraising me with a scowling eye.
“Hey, don't get any ideas, buddy. I don't know what you've heard, but I'm not on the menu. Try the carrion casserole. I h-hear it's great.”
I know it's ridiculous, but I can't seem to stop babbling. Maybe it's because my voice is the only familiar thing in this dismal, godforsaken place. And if I don't make jokes, I'll probably break down and cry.
“Don't suppose you could point me in the direction of the nearest town?”
The sharp talons side-step on the branch as the beady eyes watch me with interest. I wish it would quit looking at me like I'm the blue plate special. My fears aren't exactly allayed when three of his pals swoop in from the fog, all settling into the same tree to survey me hungrily.
I back away slowly. Vultures don't attack people, do they? I've never heard of such a thing, but these don't look like your average scavengers. They're freaking enormous. And the way they're sizing me up is making me nervous. Those curving beaks look razor-sharp – sharp enough to pick me apart in no time.
“Now look, guys...let's talk about this, okay? I don't know what you're thinking here, but I gotta warn you up front, I wouldn't taste very good. Trust me. Way too much MSG in my diet. Processed food, you know? All those preservatives aren't good for you.”
One of them hisses at me. Guess he doesn't want to be friends.
Welp, it's official. I've clearly lost my mind. I'm in the middle of a Mario Bava set arguing with a flock of rude buzzards. Time to move on.
“Okay, well, it's been nice meeting you but I should probably get going. Um, one more thing though...I know you're just birds and all, but seeing how I've ended up in the Silent Hill version of Wonderland, maybe one of you wouldn't mind telling me exactly where I am and how the hell I got here?”
“How the hell, indeed.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I do a stumbling one-eighty just to see the dark silhouette of a man emerging from the mist. I can't see him clearly yet, but I know it has to be a man. For one thing, the voice was a bass as deep as a foghorn. And for another, the shadow is gigantic. Broad and hulking and at least seven feet tall.
I wait, quietly holding my breath, anxious to see who – or what – will come creeping out of that ghostly gray fog.
His steps are exasperatingly slow. As if he's deliberately prolonging the anticipation to make a dramatic entrance. And I have to say, it's dramatic all right, but I still heave a sigh of relief when he comes into view.
Because it isn't Frankenstein's monster, or some deformed cannibalistic mutant. It's a man. Just a man. Burly, tall, really tall, he has chestnut hair tied back into a long ponytail and the weirdest eyes I've ever seen. They are pale blue, so light they're almost spectral in appearance. The black dots of his pupils stand out against them like a mistake.
The truly dramatic part, though, is his attire. It's conspicuously out of place.
Someone really needs to fill me in on what this guy is doing in the middle of nowhere dressed in a white-tie tux and tailcoat. He even has white gloves and a cane, for Pete's sake. A cane! All he needs is a top hat and he'll be all set to tap dance his way into a Puttin' On The Ritz video. It's bizarre.
“Hell is exactly where you are, my dear.” Leaning on the cane, the stranger smiles. But just like the rest of this place, there is no warmth in it.
Oh, shit.
Demon, I decide, my heart sinking. I should have known. Only a demon would strut around dressed like such an egotistic douchewad.
But Hell? How could I be in Hell?
“Am I dead?” I practically whisper.
“Dead?” He tosses his head back and laughs, the sound echoing through the still forest. “Certainly not! My dear child, whatever would give you such an idea?”
“Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you just told me I'm in Hell?”
“Not quite what you were expecting, is it?”
It wouldn't have been my first interpretation, no, but now that I'm here I must admit it fits the bill. I glance around the stark wasteland, what little of it looms through the haze. A cold wind stirs up to rustle the dead branches, and they scrape against one another with a dry, raspy sound that makes my skin crawl. You'd think the wind would clear the fog, but somehow it doesn't.
“Oh, it's charming,” I tell him acerbically. “I can't imagine why anyone would choose Hawaii as their vacation destination when they could come here instead.”
Without taking his eyes off me, he waves a gloved hand. The vultures screech their displeasure and stretch broad black wings, flapping noisily as they fly off into the mist. “I take it you aren't too disappointed. However, if you're more of a traditionalist, there is a burning lake of fire about eighty miles to the west of here. I wouldn't recommend it as a tourist attraction, though. The humidity can be quite intolerable. And the gift shop is terribly overpriced.”
“Um. You're kidding. Right?”
“About which part? The lake of fire or the humidity? The gift shop, obviously, was a joke. Could you imagine the souvenirs?”
Oh, for fuck's sake. Are we going to stand here and see who can come up with the wittiest banter? I'm cold, I'm scared, I'm confused, and I am far from being in the mood for this.
“Why am I here?” I ask bluntly.
“Straight to the point with this one! I do love a girl who knows her mind.” Extending an immaculate white glove, he dials up the phony charm. “So you're the illustrious Judith Sterling. What a captivating young lady! I must say, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Jesus, he really knows how to
spread it on thick.
I ignore his proffered hand. “The pleasure's all yours, I can assure you. So who are you supposed to be? Satan or Fred Astaire?”
“Ah, but you are a delight!” he chuckles gleefully. “Neither, I'm afraid, though I very much appreciate the compliment. No, my dear, my name is Leraje. I believe you're acquainted with my son?”
Oh, no.
No, no, no. This can't be happening!
Loc's father? Maybe I should have guessed, but it honestly never occurred to me. I mean, the two look nothing alike. Besides, I thought he was supposed to be some kind of warrior? One of the commanders of Hell's army, according to Loc. In charge of thirty legions of demons, blah blah blah, something like that.
“We've met,” I mumble evasively.
“Oh, but you've done more than that, haven't you?” The washed-out eyes hover over me slyly. “No worries, little one. I'm not here to judge. I do hope you won't find it in bad taste if I cut directly to the chase, but I'd rather not detain you here any longer than necessary. I apologize – I know this isn't the most conventional place to conduct a business transaction. However, the fact is, I've brought you here because I'd like to make you an offer.”
Great. This can't possibly go wrong.
“What kind of offer?” I ask suspiciously. Not because I give two shits, but because I want to get this over with so I can get out of this nightmare of a place.
“As I understand it, you were on the verge of signing over your soul when...well, let's just say there were extenuating circumstances that led to a breakdown in communication. What I'd like to do is present you with a new contract. One that I think you'll find more to your liking.”
I raise a wary brow. As far as I know, Max is off the hook, but that doesn't mean this creep doesn't have something else to hold over my head.
“Now, now...hear me out.” Leraje rests both hands on the handle of his cane, and it strikes me that he is oddly graceful for someone of such hulking stature. “Unlike my son, I'm not one to resort to extortion to get what I want. In my experience, you catch more souls with sweets. I want you to know that what I'm about to propose has never before been offered. You might even go so far as to say it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Uh-huh. And if I buy that, I'm sure he has some real nifty beachfront property overlooking the lake of fire.
“Wait a second,” I interrupt. “Not to change the subject or anything, but let me ask you something. Are you really Locryn's father? Because I have to say, you don't look much like an army commander to me.”
“Military furlough. It's been a slow month.” Raising one hand, he snaps his gloved fingers and then...
There is no glove. No tux. No ponytail. The brown hair is swinging loose around his shoulders. And instead of a cane, he is now resting on the hilt of a broadsword. “Does this suit you better?”
I blink a few times to make sure I'm actually seeing what I'm seeing. It's like he just changed the channel on a television.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, he's gone from Fred Astaire to Conan the Barbarian.
A bare-chested, leather-pants-wearing, sword-wielding World of Warcraft character come to life.
I'm starting to think Silas really did slip me some acid.
“I skipped the plate armor,” he divulges. “It's so cumbersome.”
Plate armor. Naturally.
Okay, so with the impromptu wardrobe change, I have to admit he's got the warrior image down pat. It wasn't as obvious underneath the tailored coat, but good God, his muscles are massive. If this is a replica of his earthly body, then in life he must have been popping steroids like Tic Tacs. He could snap my neck like a toothpick, with one hand and very little effort.
Nervously eyeing the double-edged sword, I mutter, “I'll take your word for it.”
“Very well. Now where were we?” Smiling, Leraje appraises me shrewdly. “Oh, yes...the little matter of your soul. What it boils down to is this. You have it. I want it. So I'll tell you what I'm willing to offer. You sign it over to me, and I'll make sure that when the time comes, you are well cared for. Under the protection of the most noble of our soldiers. You'll occupy your own quarters in the castle of Lucifer, as only the elite do. Dine at his table. Walk in his gardens. You'll govern your own fleet of servants. And whatever your heart desires will be yours. An everlasting life of privilege – I don't think you can ask for much more than that, now can you?”
I come dangerously close to bursting into laughter. Is he delusional or what? He can spin it any way he wants, it's still a fool's bargain. I am in no way about to barter my immortal soul, not for any price.
“I already have everything my heart desires, Commander. And what in God's name would make you think I'd want to cohabitate with the devil?”
He seems almost surprised by my refusal. “I'm sure you'd find him quite agreeable. In any case, the château occupies more than two hundred thousand square meters, not including the grounds themselves. If it is our master who frightens you, rest assured that you would not cross his path all too often unless you set out to.”
“Your master. Not mine.” I want to make that point abundantly clear.
“Is it Locryn that worries you? Maybe you don't understand. My son has the freedom to come and go as he pleases – you'd be able to see him whenever you wish.”
“Do you think this is about Loc?”
“Well, what is it then? I can arrange whatever you like. All you have to do is name your price.”
“There is no price. Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not for sale.”
He smirks, and in that one little gesture I distinguish the single father-and-son resemblance. “Everything has a price, my dear.”
I spread my arms out helplessly. “Why is my soul so important to you?”
“Every soul is important to us.”
“I find that a little hard to believe. Considering you just said you've never made this offer before.”
“We need you, Judith Sterling. You have a vital part to play in our resurgence.”
This is news to me. I frown, trying to think what he could possibly be referring to. I can't trace a link, other than maybe it has something to do with the murder of my parents. But even that doesn't seem feasible. “What...part?”
“There isn't time to explain. I must ask that you simply trust me.”
I give him a skeptical look. “You know, I have this thing about trusting demons. It always ends up biting me in the ass. So no offense or anything, but after careful consideration, I think I'm going to have to respectfully decline. Thanks anyway.”
“I would respectfully request that you reconsider,” he sharply retorts, before melting back into his saccharine sales pitch. “Ah, I have it! You'd like some earthly remuneration as well. I can provide that. What would you prefer? Wealth? Fame? Success? The power of revenge, perhaps, on those who have wronged you? I can give you the ability to destroy a life by sheer force of will. Imagine the fun you'd have.”
You're a sick fuck, you know that? I stand there looking at him quietly while trying to decide whether I want to voice that particular opinion out loud.
“Think it over. And please, do so quickly,” he urges. “Do you see? The fog is lifting.”
I glance around, but in spite of the rising wind, I don't see any difference. The ashen clouds are as thick as ever. “So?”
“Oh, you don't want to see the things that hide in the fog. You'd better hurry. We don't want to be outdoors when they come. All I need is a yes. A simple yes. Just say it, and we can handle the formalities later.”
“When what comes?” I ask warily.
“Shh! Listen.” He presses a finger to his lips, cocking his head to one side. “Hurry! Look, even now the fog is clearing. Say yes, and I'll send you back to your nice warm home. You'll live a full life, and when you die you'll reap all the rewards that I spoke of. All of them, and more. You have my word.”
Why do I get the feeling he's just trying to scare me?
“No,” I say automatically, though I am straining to see through the mist.
“Say yes, and I'll slay the chimera that is stalking us. Otherwise I'll be tempted to let him make a meal out of you.”
I look up at Leraje, and he is leaning casually on his broadsword, grinning evilly.
“No.”
“But, my dear! Hell is only a torment to those lacking the proper connections. You'd be treated like a pampered princess. A queen! What more could you want?”
I snort before I can even stop myself. “That's your selling point? Queen of Hell? You may as well crown me queen of the dumpster behind Taco Bell!”
His eyes narrow, and I know then that he is done playing nice. We've reached the inevitable impasse. He isn't going to take no for an answer, and I'm not going to willingly damn myself, so the most likely scenario is that I'll end up dying here. Here, in the bowels of this noxious, depressing place.
All my manufactured bravado can't hide the fact that I'm scared out of my mind. There are a thousand possible outcomes to this, none of them nice. Am I about to be torn to shreds by some unholy creature? Will I be turned over to Lucifer? Imprisoned? Tortured? If so, how will I have the strength to resist? I don't even like getting a flu shot! How am I going to react to real pain?
“I was hoping we could handle this amicably. But I can see that we'll have to do this the hard way.” Leraje sighs with a shake of his head, and then suddenly his fingers are wound tightly in my hair as he jerks my head back roughly. All pretense of civility has vanished. “I'm giving you one last chance. And one is all you're getting. Either you agree to this fucking proposition, you ornery little bitch, or I'll reach into your mouth, pull your spine out through your throat, and show it to you before you die. Now tell me, does that appeal to you better?”
I glare at him defiantly. It's all I can do – I can't break free but I will not back down.
He bends so that his face is directly in front of mine, leering at me with those weirdly pale eyes. “Or how about this? I'll slice off tiny little fillets of your flesh, very slowly, and feed them to the vultures while you watch. Cauterize your wounds with salt. Let you suffer in agony for days. Weeks. Months. And when I'm bored with that, I'll string your finger bones together and wear them around my neck. Grind down your skull and drink cheap whiskey from it. Is any of this getting through to you, Miss Sterling? Or do I really need to get nasty?”
