"Zeke, come out now. It's over,” I call.
All activity ceases inside the camp and I walk to the door. “Zeke, come on.” I reach out a shaking hand and open the door slowly. I should have expected it, but I'm so bone-tired, I misjudged the force of which Zeke comes blasting out the door.
"I don't want to die!" He shrieks as he plows me over. He races around the side of the camp and I scamper after him, tired and sore, but no less determined to see this through.
"Zeke!" I catch up to him and tackle him. We roll down the bank to the river and land in it with a splash. The cool water rushes over my injuries and bathing myself in the waters of Eden somehow seems to lift my spirit. Things didn't work out the way I expected them to, but the more I think about it, they really did work out the way they needed to.
"You killed my brother," he screams and chokes on a mouthful of water.
"Zeke, he's alive.” I wrestle with his arms, trying to get him to calm down.
"I saw him. I saw him in the ditch when I drove by. You killed him,” he shrieks.
"Damn it, Zeke, he's still alive!" I shout again. I punch him in the nose, grimacing when I feel it crunch under my fist. I think Hell needs to offer sensitivity training and I'm going to ask Auntie J about it when I get back. He continues to struggle, but I see something that makes me stop fighting. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. Is it possible? Is it likely Zeke is capable of feeling some remorse? "Zeke, he has been saved. He's alive and he's at the Sloshed Sloth. I'm telling you the truth.”
The tension slowly leaves Zeke's body as the words sink in. I study his face, wondering where the hatred I felt for this man has gone. Is it possible to forgive someone who has committed so heinous a crime as to let their girlfriend be killed? I sit in the rushing cool water of the river and provide the same comfort I gave his brother. I hold Zeke against me, not having felt the humanity in him before now, and I let him cry for all of the things he has bottled up inside which have turned sour.
"I don't want to die,” he sobs into my shoulder.
I can't think of anything to say that could possibly make this any better so I shut my eyes and continue to rock him back and forth, like comforting a child.
It's a long while before he calms down enough to pull away. I say nothing as he wipes the tears from his cheeks. How many people do you know who can look at their day of reckoning with complete composure? Everyone, even the bad guys, have a breaking point somewhere.
We climb out of the river and walk back toward the cabin. Zeke freezes when he sees a woman standing next to Damien, talking quietly. Her silver hair shines like the top of the water on the lake. Her skin is so white it is almost translucent, and it looks so delicate, like lace draped over bones that will rip at the slightest touch. Despite the impression of vulnerability, her posture is full of assurance, like whatever she has come for, she has come prepared to stand her ground. I’d expect to see a woman of her age hunched over on a cane, as if the weight of time and responsibility has forced her body to crumple over, but her hands rest easily in her pockets and she stands straight and gazes up at Damien’s face, which is a full foot taller than her. It takes me a minute to recognize who she is, and when I do, I curse the Heavens for round three, the final bell tolling as the shock sweeps through me again. I haven’t seen her in years.
Zeke and I stop at the same time, shocked and awed by her presence, knowing the polar opposite fate of Zeke and myself how is she going to receive us. I’m a demon and she’s always been so much more than I could ever become. My stomach feels heavy, like I’ve accepted the weight of time that should have been hunching her shoulders over. Maybe it’s the way fate works. Going to Hell gives the soul an eternally sick feeling, compared to where she has just come from. Light, airy, without a care in the world. Except if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be here, and I know she wouldn’t have come all this way for me. It’s apparent when she looks our way.
Gigi looks at Zeke with only the look a grandmother can give a wayward grandchild. Most grandmothers I know, or at least I like to think, are the doting kind. Gigi was no exception. So there's this unwritten rule in my book when you piss off Nana, you know you've really stepped in it. Zeke seems to agree with my unwritten rule because the look on his face is a cross between terrified and sheepish. As we approach, I see Damien's lips twitch, but he says nothing and I give him the stink eye. I don't know how many more surprises my psyche can take and if he knows what's going down, he better let on quick.
"You've been up to it haven't you, Zeke?" Gigi's aura glows a little brighter with her irritation and I have to squint and look away. She's like a firefly when her ire is lit up.
"Gigi, I--"
"Not another word, young man. I've just been conferring with Damien here and he's told me all about it.” Gigi is wearing her usual comfortable holiday sweater and stretch pants. I think it might be a grandmother thing, to start wearing holiday sweaters in August. At least, I like to think they do. I never knew a grandma except her.
"Catriona, dear. You've been up to it as well, haven't you?"
She smiles at me and I wonder if a Hellcat is permitted to hug an angel. She seems to think so and it revises my theory about crazy cat ladies because I think reaching level-saber tooth cat lover must be some kind of record.
“They aren't feeding you enough down there.” She looks me over and of all the things to comment on, my skinny-ass is the least she should be worried about. Bloodstains and torn clothing would be on any normal person's list of concerns, but Gigi has never been normal, which is why I love her.
"I'm sorry, Gigi," I whisper in her ear. “I tried.”
She pats my shoulder and leans back, but the twinkle in her eye suggests whatever tricks she has up her sleeve are about to impress.
"It has been brought to our attention," she gestures to Dante who looks at her with reverie, "there has been some soul swapping and marking is most unprecedented.”
I shrug. Where to even begin explaining? She seems to think an explanation isn't warranted though. “In light of recent events, and the knowledge Phil has sacrificed his Grace, we find ourselves disturbed such a sacrifice has been made without a consultation.”
"That was done before--" Gigi holds up her hands before I can finish.
"Damien explained. We were just discussing recompense for it. Heaven was punishing the boy, but we weren't ready to give up on him. We thought a timeout would suffice for his actions, but even that seems to not get through to everyone.” She gave Zeke a glare and he had the wherewithal to look abashed.
"What is the proposal to make it right?" I ask, knowing only Damien and I know the system needs fixing to stall the apocalypse.
"It appears as if Hell took three other souls today. Souls that had Hell not interfered with, would have survived a few more months to a few more years.” I frown. Three other souls? What souls? Then it dawns on me.
"Mr. Threads and the buffoons?" I slap my thigh. That's right, they’d been caught in the crossfire so to speak. Dick and Doug did their part to ensure they didn't walk away from the bar, but they hadn't even been marked yet. “What does it mean?" I wonder if she is going to reclaim Phil and I hope she does.
"We are prepared to ask Hell to exchange those three for the soul of Zeke.”
All eyes turn to Zeke.
“Gigi?" His lips tremble.
How had I not seen the insecurity? Probably because I hadn't been able to see past the despicable creature he built himself up to be.
"I didn't have the opportunity to discuss this with my father," Damien says.
"He's my grandson,” Gigi turns on him. Her eyes are fierce and Damien's eyebrows raise.
"Grandson or not, he has no redeemable qualities about him. We saved Lowell, Phil saw to it. Take Phil back if you must.”
"That deal is above me, Damien," Gigi tells him. “It’s between those two.” By those two, I assume Damien's father and grandfather. Which just leaves us standing here haggling over the cost o
f justice.
Damien looks out over the river and sees the lush greens meet the burnt oranges of the horizon. The river is crystal clear and matches the sky where not a cloud mars the sky. If there is any day where consideration for redemption might be possible, this is the perfect day to do it. Eden is more beautiful than even the Bible suggests. It might seem like just another river with grassy banks and floral horizons, but it's the picture of freedom making it so breathtaking. An apple tree sits at the corner of the lot, the red and green fruit hang from luscious branches, beckoning and calling to those who see it to pick them.
I can see why Gigi picked Eden to build her camp. The camp itself is a simple log cabin like out of a standard mediocre painting, but the simplicity of it is what makes it so charming. I suddenly wonder if Gigi’s camp here is intentional. To ensure no one picks the fruit. I’m brought out of my musings by Damien’s voice.
"What about Marty?" he asks, but Gigi is already shaking her head.
"You marked him already and he can't face salvation while he's still evolving from what he was to a Hound. He can be considered for atonement after he completes the shift.”
Damien nods and sighs and I see on his face the price of haggling over souls is a job he never wanted to do. I never expected to get thrown into this position either. I always assumed I'd bag and tag and be on my merry way. It's strange to think I now have to consider the weight of the soul I am collecting or bargaining for.
"Alright. We will agree to change the books and give Zeke a reprieve, but he needs to prove he is worthy of this redemption. One year to prove he will work to earn it, then we will reassess.”
"Five years,” Gigi counter offers. “And the Sloshed Sloth becomes neutral territory for Heaven and Hell to meet and converse when necessary.”
"Agreed about the bar being a rendezvous point, but one year for Zeke," I say firmly. I figure getting used to ruling Hell comes with the cost of agreeing with my co-ruler sometimes. We might as well find common ground here. “Gigi, he doesn't get any more free passes after this. He has to want to change. It's a choice.” I stare at him and he looks away. I wonder if he's capable of it.
Gigi nods and sighs, pulling him into a hug. When she lets go, her eyes are misty as she agrees. "One year. You hear that, boy? If I have to come back down here and haggle for you, you're in for a whooping."
Zeke nods and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dante grow brighter before Lowell appears beside him. He has changed and isn't covered in blood, which is probably good for Gigi's mental state, but I trust she and Zeke will fill Lowell in on the bar being used as a neutral ground.
Zeke's lips tremble again and I nudge Damien, pointing to the bank of the river. We walk off and give them a few moments to let Zeke collect himself. It's not going to be easy and I have every intention of checking up on him like a parole officer on the case of a wayward parolee. After a few moments, Gigi pats his cheek, and I close my eyes as she begins to fade around the edges and glows from within. The light moves Heavenward and we are left standing with Zeke, Lowell, and Dante.
"Are you alright? What about James?" I ask Lowell. He’s lost Marty. I can’t imagine the pain he must be in. I only take comfort in the fact he might have found solace in seeing Gigi one more time.
"As alright as I can be given the circumstances.”
I give him my best smile and then he does something unexpected. He starts laughing. I can't really blame him. I found the funny at the most inappropriate times this past week too. I chuckle with him and see the sparkle in Dante's eyes.
"Well, it's been quite an adventure. I think I have plenty of material for my next novel.” Dante looks between us gleefully and I can't help but widen my grin. “Is there anything else you need before I return and sequester myself?" he asks.
I hold out my hand. "As a matter of fact, there is.”
The mountainside stinks to high Heaven and I wonder if they will intervene to remove the odorous remains. I guess its Lucifer's mess and he should clean it, but I'm just happy Sugar wasn't harmed in the making of this madness.
There're a few rain stains on the leather of her seat along with some pollen and leaves that have stuck to the chrome, but it's nothing a good washing next to the river Styx won't take care of. I slide my leg across the seat and turn the key in the ignition. She purrs to life and I look over my shoulder. Marty is panting happily in the sidecar and Fae is glaring at the line of drool from his jowls down onto the floor. Tabby pops some bubble gum and I'm happy to see Tora has stopped twitching from nerves. She's been given her own bike too. The hearse has been detached and left to grow over like some macabre antique featured in the travel and history magazines. I'll be happy to be back on the highway and breathing in the fresh air as we ride down the road.
Tora took Phil's smaller bike because physically it is easier to handle and Phil pets the new ride under him as he revs it to life.
Leo pulls up beside me on the right and Damien on the left. “Where to, boss?" she shouts over the roar of the engines.
Dick and Doug move in behind Damien while my girls wait for my cue.
I point them in the direction of the highway, and shout, "We're heading home!"
I hear Damien laugh as we pull out onto the highway about an hour later. I direct us to the next portal and we ride biker gang style back on the highway to Hell.
Author’s Note
Greetings Hellions! I’ve been thinking about the crafting of Highway to Hell and what writing this book means to me, as well as the message I am hoping to impart to you. Highway to Hell initially stemmed from a passion for motorcycle riding due to being a part of a family who are biker enthusiasts. I remember many conversations with my parents and my brothers about the different kinds of bikes, riding habits, the freedom that taking a trip brings to the rider. I think that is where the initial theme developed. Freedom.
Highway to Hell is a story about atonement and redemption, and one she-demon’s endeavor to rectify the sins she committed as a human so she can go to Heaven. I think that as humans, we often focus on the idea that after a loved one dies, we cling to the notion they move on to a better place.
What really made me think about the dichotomy between sinners and saints was the fact that, so rarely do we discuss what might happen to someone who isn’t the epitome of saintly. In Sunday school, I remember being told that good people go to Heaven, and bad people go to Hell. The purpose of this book isn’t to promote rhetoric for one denomination or another, but I had to wonder why so much emphasis was placed on the rewards of Heaven, but no one ever talked about what happened to the souls who went to Hell? What about them? Is it possible I could be one of them? I’m not perfect, no one is. I had to ask myself, how then do we rectify ourselves from the sins we have committed, the atrocities we have stood by and witnessed, and the evil we have seen?
Don’t get me wrong, this book is about hope and freedom. Freedom is the key to freeing our souls from that which weighs them down. Highway to Hell is a testament that even with a damaged soul, one can redeem themselves and right their wrongs. I like the idea of second chances. I love the notion that people, en masse, are beautiful. I’ve been accused of being naïve because of these ideals, but it is quite the opposite. I have made my mistakes. I have witnessed the wrongs of this world and yet, I still have to maintain that there is the possibility of redemption to bring about peace. I think what this then boils down to is that humanity, as a whole, is beautifully flawed and maybe that’s the point.
I don’t deny there are evils in this world that cannot be rectified or redeemed. But I can believe that even with the mistakes we make, the darkness we occasionally find within ourselves, is one that good people find unacceptable, and endeavor to reject it from our souls.
Catriona is a character who embodies these flaws. She stood by and did nothing when she could have done the right thing and now, she faces the hard work of atonement and redemption to free herself from accepting the darkness within. I think we all have
this capability and my work is to demonstrate that we all have this capability. Perhaps we recognize it before the inevitable happens and we endeavor to change. Or perhaps it answers the questions we’ve held since we were children and the message provides comfort that even if we make mistakes, there is still the hope and positive outlook that freedom of that which tethers our soul to darkness, can be overcome.
As I always like to end my messages, rock on with your badass selves in the name of madness, mayhem, and mischief! Take my words and let them be that which helps you feel your fire in order to feed your soul. Refuse to accept the darkness, reject it, and use the force of hope and freedom that comes with this action and let it carry you through life to live to be all that you are supposed to be! Don’t forget to create a little Hellish antics on life’s journey. It’s a little more fun that way!
Love and Hugs,
Lydia
About the Author
Lydia Stevens is a full-time author and freelance writer having written over 75 novels for clients with two series having become Amazon Bestsellers. She is an active member of the Maine Romance Writers Association, The Horror Writers of Maine, The Fantasy Writers of Maine, The Maine Women Authors, The Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance, Sigma Alpha Pi’s, National Society of Leadership and Success, and Sigma Tau Delta’s, International English Honor Society. Lydia graduated from the University of Southern New Hampshire with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing and English on May 12th, of 2018 and she graduated with a Master of Arts in Creative Writing and English on May 11th, 2019. She’s the author of a paranormal/humor trilogy, The Ginger Davenport Escapades and is contracted with a six-book series, The Hell Fire Series with Dragon Soul Press. Lydia worked as an internist within a literary agency and plans to pursue a PhD in Creative Writing. Lydia lives in Maine where she enjoys living life with an active eight-year-old and a black cat, Sirius Black, who is equally competitive for her attention. In her spare time, Lydia loves knitting, reading, coaching soccer, completing fantasy-themed jigsaw puzzles for inspiration, traveling and having a laugh with her best friends.
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