by Hunter Blain
“I figured ya would say that, which is why I brought ya this.” He extended his hand and I stared at the piece of metal protruding from both sides. “Open yer damn hand, boy,” he commanded.
“Oh, sorry.” I shook my head, knowing I was an idiot, and placed my hand, palm up, under his.
Val opened his fingers and a heavy piece of metal dropped into my hand. Bringing it up to my face, I looked at an old nine-inch nail. I said old, but it was more accurately described as ancient.
“Is this . . . ?”
Val nodded his head slowly, purposefully.
“Will this go with me?”
“It has Christ’s blood upon it an’ has, therefore, become one of tha most holy relics on this plane.”
“Sooooo . . . ?”
“It’ll go with ya, John,” Val said, nearing exasperation. I was almost impressed with myself at how easily I was able to do that.
“Thank you, Val. I’ll bring it back.”
“See that ya do, abomination,” he said with a wink.
“Funny,” I responded with a slight grin, “that word doesn’t seem to bother me anymore.”
“Good ta finally see ya in on tha joke.”
“Not used to being the punch line.”
“Really?”
“You’re not invited to my birthday party anymore.”
“Then I’ll take back my gift,” he joked, holding his hand out.
“No givesies backsies,” I said in a childish voice. Changing my tone, I awkwardly pocketed the long nail and said, “Thank you for helping me feel better. This . . . this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’m literally going to the one place I’ve actively spent the last several decades trying not to go,” I admitted to a sympathetic Val before I continued. “I may have the exterior of a super manly Greek god with sweet, sweet biceps, but on the inside, I’m a whimpering child scared of the dark. And if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it.”
“Noted. An’ not ta put any undue stress on ya, but tha entire universe is ridin’ on yer shoulders.”
“You mean these bad boys?” I asked, flexing my shoulders while going, Geeeeeaaaaahh.
“Ya. Those.”
“I got you, boo.”
Val smiled at me. Not because what I’d said was funny but because he understood what I was doing. Hell, even I understood why I was throwing out humor like the U.S. government threw money at Israel. Oh wait, that wasn’t as funny now that I knew the government was trying to protect the only doorway to Hell.
“Ah, crap. Am I a republican now?”
“How’s that?”
“You know. The door to hell being in Israel and, like, the republicans all wanting to support that country.”
“Yer saying ya weren’t before?”
“Well, I’m sure you can understand that I couldn’t care less about mortal politics. It’s the supernatural community — specifically the Council — that I’m concerned with.”
“Understood. Just figured with yer sense of humor an’ stance on things like firearms, that you’d identify with tha republicans.”
“Firstly, I freaking love guns. I’ve killed many a demon or naughty supe with them. And if I were to be honest, I’d identify more as a libertarian, I think. You know, ‘leave me alone and I leave you alone’ type of mentality. Unless, of course, I, ah . . . want to eat you. I don’t know. After what I learned about the church, I am even more wary of the government. I’ve always wanted to look into it to see just how far the rabbit hole goes, but after meeting Special Agent in Charge Collin Baker, I’m glad I haven’t.”
Val arched an eyebrow just as my phone went off.
“Eh, never mind,” I said absently as I looked down at my phone.
“Fifteen out,” the text message read.
“Gotta go. See you soon . . . I hope,” I said to Val. He extended his hand and I gripped his forearm, Viking style.
“May God watch o’er ya.”
“Except when I’m watching porn.”
“Damn it, John. Stop sprinkling humor on every situation like it’s garlic.”
“Hey, why’d you have to say garlic?”
Dropping my arm, he shook his head and let out a long breath.
“So-sorry. Like I said, super scared.”
“Keep yer head on straight. Now, get out of here an’ save all of creation.”
“That’s a Texas-size ten-four, good buddy.”
I finished the rest of my tasty drink in a single gulp and proceeded to step through the brand-new swinging doors to the outside world. Knowing time was of the essence, I moved at a much quicker pace to the church. I needed to talk with Father Thomes, just in case this was the last time I’d get the chance.
Within less than a minute of moderate preter-speed, I spotted the white containers. Looking up, I noted they had already replaced the window I had burst through, though it wasn’t with stained glass. Woops.
Men were working diligently on different parts of the church’s exterior. I waved to the foreman, who had a dressier appearance than his jean–clad workers and even a different colored hard hat. He did not return the wave.
A few moments later, I was entering the front doors of the church. Without thinking as to why, I made my way down the stairs without checking in his chambers first. Sure enough, there he was, using a giant red ball to stretch — at least that’s what I think he was doing.
“Should I come back another time?” I jested, pointing my thumb behind me.
Father Thomes made groans of effort as he attempted to push his way back to his feet. I stepped over to him, extended my hand, and pulled him the rest of the way up. He had on a white sweatband with a puma on it.
“Hey, your collar moved up. And when did you get a sponsorship?”
“Huh?” he asked as his hand patted up his face to the damp band. “Oh, ha-ha, John,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Attempting to exercise. I didn’t enjoy how helpless I felt earlier tonight, unable to even pick myself up off the ground.”
“Well, I don’t know if what you were doing would be construed as ‘exercise,’” I said with air quotes. “It looked more like ‘coitus.’” Once again, I used my fingers to put emphasis on the last word. “Though to be honest, I wouldn’t blame you, what with the celibacy and all.”
“Are you quite finished?” Father Thomes asked, flustered. He looked at me for a moment and his features softened. “You are making vastly inappropriate jokes at my expense. What is your humor attempting to cover up?”
“You know me so well, Papa T,” I said with a downcast face. I took in a breath and willed myself to look him in the eyes. “I need your help . . . to . . .” I struggled to say the words, “to get to Hell.”
“The scrolls?” he asked, shuffling to the table where he grabbed his reading glasses. They looked thicker than I remembered, plus he wasn’t reading. Placing them on his face, he turned blinking eyes toward me, searching my face.
“Or scroll. Not entirely sure. But apparently, I’ll know it when I see it . . . or them. Whatever.”
“What exactly do you need my help with?”
My brain reminded me that Lily was supposed to give me a vial of her enchanted blood, but she was gone now. Maybe I could use this as an excuse to go see her? Yeah, that’s what I’d do. For business reasons, not personal like you’re thinking.
“Well, I figured out how to get to the in-between, so that takes care of my physical body. SAC Baker gave me the location and is providing transportation to Gehenna in Israel. Now I just need to figure out how to get, ah, down there.”
“I might be able to help with that, though I am reluctant to do so.”
“It’s not just for the prophecy scrolls. It’s for Dawson’s soul. He doesn’t deserve to be there, Padre.”
“If I may ask a delicate question: how do you plan on pulling a soul from the depths of Hell? I’m not aware of that having ever been done. As a matter of fact, I do be
lieve that is the entire premise of Hell. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. I believe it is on a sign, which means it must be true.”
“I-I don’t know if I can. But the Archangel Gabriel let me have the impression it could be within the realm of possibility.”
“How so?” Father Thomes asked with a lifted, curious eyebrow.
“Well, he didn’t tell me it couldn’t be done.” An idea came to me and I asked, grasping for hope, “Can you forgive his sins or something? You know, posthumously.”
“John, it’s time you face a hard truth.”
“O-okay . . . ?” I answered, not liking where this was going.
“There is more to cleansing one’s soul than a man of the cloth uttering a few words in Latin and waving his hand. Though priests are a conduit for forgiveness and mercy, we are only a portion of the pie. A sinner must not only ask for forgiveness from the Almighty, but they must forgive themselves, as well. The final piece is to pay a penance and prove to the universe that they have changed for the better.”
“What are you saying, Father?” I asked softly, barely able to squeeze the words out of my tightening throat.
“Dawson asked for forgiveness and even repaid his debts by working for the church for nearly a decade. But he hadn’t forgiven himself before his time was up.”
“How can that be? He worked with you for so long. He didn’t give you the impression that something was wrong, you know, inside?”
“Not quite, but I see where you are going,” Father Thomes said as he eased himself down in his chair, wincing as he did. I took my cue and sat in my seat, plopping down hard in my frustration. Removing his thick reading glasses, he continued, “It is not for me to share what Dawson confessed in our sessions. Perhaps Joseph would be better able to fill you in on their past.”
That took me by surprise.
“What I can say is he was nearing balance within his own heart when he first disappeared.”
I gritted my teeth and barked out, “Damn you, Ludvig.”
“Do not blame the Hunter for doing his job. He has saved countless lives, and couldn’t possibly have known about the dark faeries.”
“Shadow Court,” I corrected, rubbing my cheeks with my fingers in little circles. “But I concede to your point. I-I think I just want someone to hate for making me do this.”
We sat like that for a full minute before my friend decided I had thought on the matter long enough.
“Can I ask how you plan to retrieve the scrolls once you are in Hell?” Father Thomes asked, turning his body more to face me as he changed the topic of discussion.
“Well, Gabriel gave me this,” I said, pulling out the heavy silver key. “Told me this would open the chest in Hell. So, I don’t know, I just assumed if I could bring the key down with me because it was Heaven forged, then the scrolls would come up, too. Damn, that’s a great question though, Father. I should have asked Gabriel.”
“May I see that?” he asked, gesturing to my hand.
“Sure,” I casually said as I leaned over and dropped the silver key into his palm. His hand dropped to his thigh, and he cried out in pain. I got to my feet and took a step over to where he sat, picking up the heavy metal.
“Oh, thank you, my son,” Father Thomes said, rubbing his arm. “That is surprisingly heavy.”
“Guess I didn’t notice how heavy it was. Sorry about that.”
“I think that’s how you will get to Hell,” he said, glancing at the key in my hand.
“You mean I’ll sink to Hell with it? My soul, I mean.”
“That is the feeling I am getting, yes.”
“Is, ah, Hell a big, um, place?”
“Unfathomably so.”
“Neat. So, can you, I don’t know, bless the thing to help me find Dawson and the chest?”
“I’ve never done a holy enchantment like that, but it stands to reason I would be able to help the key find its intended target. As for Dawson, I really don’t think I can aid you with that. My job is to keep souls out of Hell. Once they get there, they are out of my purview.”
I had to bite my tongue, hard, to keep myself from saying something stupid about his ability to keep Dawson’s soul from the pits of Hades.
Apparently, I wear my emotions on my sleeve because Father Thomes said, “John, I did my best with the pack. In time, we would have helped him to the path of forgiveness. I—”
I interrupted him. “It’s not your fault. I know it’s not. It’s just hard to tell my feelings that fact. But enough of the mushy stuff. You can enchant the key to help me find the chest?”
“I believe I can, yes.”
“Then that’s good enough. I’ll find Dawson first, then use the key to guide me to the finish line.”
“How will you get out?”
I looked at him and answered honestly, “I don’t know. But I know I’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t like that answer, John. What if you get stuck?”
“Well, the good news is my body won’t be dead, so you could probably just run a blood IV and keep me in your basement.”
“But your soul would be stuck in a place where it no longer belongs. Didn’t you tell me that your soul went to Heaven the last time you died?”
“Nearly died. Well, mostly died. And I freaking know!” I exclaimed, frustration making my skin crawl. “I don’t want to go, Father, but what choice do I have? I know that I don’t want to be in Hell, but what about Dawson? What about what he wants? Hmm?”
“I understand all about sacrifice, my son. I simply wanted to say it out loud so I’d feel better.”
I stared at him, feeling my anger subside as I reminded myself that the mortal before me only wanted to help.
“I-I’m sorry, Padre. I’m just scared. Like, really, really scared, man. I don’t know what I’m going to find down there, or how I’m going to get Dawson out.” I closed my eyes as I leaned back and thought about what it must be like in Hell. “Oh, Lilith. What if Satan gets his hands on me? He already told me once what he would do.”
“You’re referring to the dream you had the day before we agreed to our partnership?”
I closed my eyes, and my mind flashed to the cavern where Lucifer had shown me what it was to know true pain.
Glowing hooves left molten footprints. Muscular goat legs covered in midnight fur supported a male torso with tough leather skin the color of charred flesh. A road map of pulsing red veins bulged through thick muscle on the ten-foot-tall Lord of Hell, and he had wings that spanned twice that length. On top of shoulders that some might mistake for rounded boulders sat the head of a once beautiful man. Four ivory horns pierced through the flesh at even points around his head, starting just inside his temples on his forehead. The four horns jutted into the air a full foot above his skull, with a section of each branching off at the six-inch mark. They curved around in a circle until the horns connected to each other, forming an unholy halo that wafted heat vapor on the top portion, making the remaining six-inches that reached for the heavens look as if they were dancing in the haze. Green-and-red hellfire roared in his eye sockets as he locked his infernal gaze upon me.
I shuddered so violently that I heard the wood of the chair I was in strain and threaten to give way. I forced my eyes open and saw that I had ripped through the cushion on the armrests. I let up immediately as I looked at Father Thomes and quickly said, “I’m sorry! I—”
“No need, my son. I could see on your face the ferocity of your inner struggle. I remember, even after all these years, the story you told me.” He looked at me with comforting eyes. “You must be prepared to face your inner demons.”
“Funny choice of words there, Padre,” I fake chuckled as I thought about my Predatory Self locked away in the Puzzle Box inside my mind. An idea came to me, and I asked, “Do-do you think . . . that, ah, Baleius might break out of his prison while I’m down there?”
“That is an excellent question. Unfortunately, it is also unprecedented, so I have nothing to go on
but conjecture. I would suggest keeping a close eye on his cell while you are below. It would not be a stretch of the imagination to think that, if he were to gain control, he could imprison you while in Hell.”
“Wh-what makes you say that?” I stammered, feeling my mouth and throat dry up like a sunbaked desert.
“Let’s assume you were able to overpower him on this plane because this is your home, and he is just a visitor. In Hell, I’m afraid he will have the home field advantage, while you will be the guest,” he said somberly before quickly adding, “If he gets out, that is. Don’t let him escape, and all this worrying becomes just that.”
“Oh Lilith, you’re right. There’s no way I’d be able to stop him in his bailiwick. Oh, and I didn’t overpower him, Father. I simply got lucky.”
“Even more reason to keep a tight lock and key, if you will.” He looked at me, appraisingly, then asked, “If I may ask: does he bother you now?”
“What do you mean? Like, try and escape or anything?”
“Yes.”
I thought about the box being in a different spot on the table the last time I had entered the control room of my mind. “Not really. Then again, I imagined the most secure prison I could and locked him inside.”
My phone chimed and I looked down to see a text from Collin that read, “5 min out.”
“I need to go, Papa T. Can you do the ol’ razzle-dazzle on the key thing?”
“Well, I don’t know about razzle and/or dazzle, but I’ll certainly do my best.” I held the key out to him and he closed his eyes as he placed a hand over the silver. He chanted a few words, and I could feel the metal growing warmer. A glow illuminated the room from between our hands to the point where I had to squint to look at the blinding light.
He stopped chanting and the glow faded as the warmth in the metal dissipated. Father Thomes removed his hand and I looked down to see the key exactly as before. I just stared at it, dumbly.
“What were you expecting, my son?” Father Thomes asked, slightly out of breath.
“I don’t really know. In video games, when you, like, enchant an item, it, um, changes . . . or something.”
