Not this time.
When I turned around, Zombie and Wolf were on each side of me and they both wrapped their mouths around my wrists. I was their prisoner now, but I didn’t struggle. There was no reason to. I knew where we were going.
A portal hole with red and yellow fire spitting from the mouth of the passage opened a few feet away. The gust of intense heat reminded me why I hated everything about downstairs. I was ready to face him and plead with him to release me from his suffocating, strong grip. I wanted to seek my own destiny. No, I wanted to make my own destiny. It was time.
I glanced over my shoulder as I allowed the hounds to lead me into the mouth of the portal. They could have taken off my hands at the wrists, but their mission was to retrieve me, not maim me. In a twisted way, I trusted them not to spill my blood. I knew that I was more valuable to my father alive than dead. No matter what Zombie had said—dead or alive—I knew that Father was not through with meddling…in my life.
As the passage closed, the hellhounds and me inside of it, I looked up. Damien stood with his fists at his sides, his veins pulsating in his neck. There was so much love in his eyes—love for me.
Chapter Two
I stood alone in my bedroom, anxiously waiting behind a locked door. There would be no escape from my imprisonment. I might as well have been locked in a bank vault. I knew my father would make me wait a substantial amount of time before he paid me a visit and addressed my rebellious behavior in one of his terrifying tirades that never failed to shake my courage and make me knuckle under to his demands. Once Father had me trapped in my bedroom, he was never in a hurry to unlock my door.
Thankfully, my room, although dull, had a bed, a dresser, a desk and a laptop. My internet connection came from the house upstairs, just above my bedroom. Of course, upstairs was what we called Earth. There were levels to everywhere, though I had never ventured above upstairs. It would have been unthinkable to explore there, especially for me.
I spent very little time downstairs in Hell, in fact, as little time as possible. My father was a tyrant, and I could not stand the smell or the screams when souls were tortured. Oddly, one wouldn’t think there’d be a smell, but the human portion of my senses was delicate to my surroundings. My greatest fight against my father was the fact that he wanted me to work in the acid pit.
He denied me the right to work in the torture pit, which was the easiest of the three. Souls that killed to protect loved ones spent eternity there.
Nor would he let me work in the oil pit, which he used for souls who disobeyed the Halo Man’s rules. Another job would have been a vacation spot compared to the acid pit.
No, if Father had anything to say about it—and he would—the worst of the three pits was to be my lot in life. Instead of the torture pit or the oil pit, Father wanted me to handle the acid pit. This was the worst of the three and only souls who had committed the most heinous of crimes ended up there. For some reason, my father wanted me to work in that pit.
Why me?
My father’s expectations that I would work in the acid pit had been a good reason for me to run away from downstairs. Not that there weren’t other good reasons, but the acid pit, filled with the most hardened and unremorseful criminals of all time—including Jack the Ripper and those of his ilk—terrified me beyond belief. Even though I was the daughter of Satan, it was beyond my youthful understanding how a human could be that evil. Half human and half…demon…for lack of a better word, I had always believed that my human DNA was the softer side of my existence. Looking at the occupants of the acid pit convinced me that some humans were worse than most of the demons I knew, including my father.
With my back against the wall and my legs stretched out on my bed, I contemplated how I would approach my father about my fate. I would be lectured and expected, when I became an adult, to take up important duties in the family business—duties that Father would decide.
There just had to be a way to explain to him that I was not the kind of girl who thrived on the torture thing. Although I was his daughter that didn’t mean that I wanted to take on the family business of administering torture or even overseeing it done by lesser demons. After all, my mother was a human witch, and that made me part human. Though Father had always downplayed my half-humanity, it rose up in me like a Santa Ana wind whose job it was to whisk away toxins in a polluted environment.
I dreaded the upcoming confrontation with my father and began twisting my hair over the side of my right shoulder because I was nervous. I’d run away from our home in Hell for three months, and for that three months of absence, I had no doubt that he would impound me for an equal three-month punishment for no other reason than for his own personal satisfaction and to even the score. Three months for three months. Satan wasn’t just good at his job, he reveled in it and applied his own sense of justice to all proceedings of Hell as if he was running a corporation.
Rules, rules, rules. He was made of them.
It was the stench of rotted flesh, from his dealings in the pit, which indicated my father’s arrival. That, and the way that he broke my door when he slammed it open, making the hinges and the deadbolts fly. Father liked to make a dramatic entrance. It was a given. I was probably on my tenth bedroom door.
His smell was going to make me gag and the force of the broken door slamming into the wall made my metal desk vibrate. His break-in pierced my ears with so many decibels that my eardrums thrummed.
He was fuming, literally, with acrid sulfurous smoke rising from the top of his head. I was scared. More than scared, I was completely terrified. When my seven-foot-tall father stood in my doorway, fully transformed into the malevolent red Lucifer, acid dripping from his pores and burning holes in my carpet, I thought twice about pissing him off any further.
I sat on my bed with my back against my headboard and swallowed, loudly. Even if I wanted to move, there was no way that I could. I was petrified.
My father had his long arms crossed over his chest. He clicked his nails against the metal around his biceps, while his horns, which were now erect, were thick and strong. I had only seen my father’s horns twice since my birth, and each time, they frightened me senseless.
Father stepped into my bedroom with Wolf and Zombie in tow. I didn’t like the smirks on the mutts’ gnarly faces, but they were the least of my concerns.
Mustering up all my bravery, I slowly maneuvered to the edge of my bed and put both feet on the floor—my mute metaphor that I was going to stand my ground. It took everything in me to rise up off that bed and stand in front of my father. No doubt, he’d expect such obedience, even from me. My long legs trembled like an ostrich on a tightrope.
His voice bellowed with a roar that shook my room. “You are forbidden to leave this room. You are forbidden to go upstairs and conspire with humans, and you are now forbidden to have that piece of junk on your desk.”
My eyes flew to where he had glanced. He was referring to my laptop. My heart dropped and dread crept over me. “You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever I want. I am the king of the underworld, and you are my servant,” his voice roared, blowing my hair off my face. Drops of acid spittle burned my cheek and it took all that I had in me not to wipe away the drops and react compulsively. Not that I could beat Lucifer at anything.
I stood my ground and remembered my secret personal motto: Keep calm and don’t upset Father.
“I am not your servant, I am your daughter. Your flesh-and-blood daughter, and an important member of your royal dynasty.” I wanted that to be as powerful as his voice, but those last words came out more like a helpless cry, a last-ditch effort to stand my ground. I cringed at my own words.
“I can’t believe you pulled that royal dynasty card. I suppose you think you are clever.” An evil chuckle sent his spittle onto my comforter. The acid-like saliva burned pinholes where it landed. “A daughter would respect her role as my daughter. But you mock me with the naked trickery of your half-breed humanity!�
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“I like humans. They treat me with respect.”
He glared at me. His eyes were literally singeing my skin. I moved out of his direct glare, but his eyes followed me. His fingers played with the greasy goatee at his pointed chin. “You have developed a love for those rodents upstairs. Even, I noticed, your compassion for them.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. I had found my human friends full of mystery and intrigue. They were part of my family tree and although I didn’t know any one human that well, I enjoyed watching them from afar.
“You are not my daughter. You are a rebellious replica of your mother. You will spend your life in the pits with all the other souls.”
I stepped back and tilted my head, horrified at the seriousness of those words. “Daddy?!”
I called him that for the first time since I was a little girl—before I knew he was Satan—and before I knew his personification of evil.
“I am not ‘Daddy.’ I am your lord and master. What do your humans call it? Tough love? Apparently, you only understand the human way of doing things, so, as of today, you are no longer my daughter. You are nothing to me. Less than nothing.” He turned to leave.
Out of nowhere, Damien appeared in front of me, fully transformed into the demonic creature of mystic greatness. His voice was loud, deep and authoritative. “Father, you will not discard my sister.”
My heart skipped a beat when I saw my father stop dead in his tracks. I would never want to cause my brother any harm. If he thought he could take on Lucifer, he was sadly mistaken. Even I knew that.
Father turned and faced us. “How dare you tell me what I won’t do? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“No, sir, I have not.” Damien bowed. “You are rightfully upset with Dhellia, but there is a way to fix this that will benefit us all.”
Father took a casual step toward us and gracefully swiped his hand in the air, throwing Damien’s body across the room. He slammed into the wall, fell on top of my desk and then landed against the concrete floor, the breath knocked out of him. Father turned to leave.
Damien jumped to his feet, cocked his hands back and threw a fireball at Father’s head. The impact pushed Father across the room and just outside my bedroom doorway.
Wolf and Zombie growled.
Father’s head twisted around before his body did. Blue smoke flared from his ears and nose. “YOU DEFY ME?!”
Damien pushed me further behind him. He growled, “Father, you are being unreasonable. I think you should listen to my proposal.”
“I’m the ruler of the underworld, I don’t negotiate.”
“You’re our father; I’m asking you to try.”
With all the tension circulating the room, Zombie and Wolf paced back and forth, waiting to fulfill my father’s commands. I could tell that they could think of nothing better than to sink their teeth into our human flesh.
Father’s clawed toenails clicked on the concrete floor while he paced in front of us. Finally, he spoke. “Make your point. If you don’t convince me, then you’ll spend the rest of your life in the pits as well.”
“I’m a soul catcher! You wouldn’t dare,” my brother whispered.
“I’m fucking Hell! Of course I would.”
I could tell that my brother was contemplating his duty to protect me. He loved his way of life and the freedom to navigate both worlds—the world of tormented souls in hell and the world of confused souls on Earth.
I whispered at his back, “You don’t have to protect me, Damien. I’m not afraid of the pits.” I was a terrible liar. I was shaking with fear.
“Shut up. Let me handle this.”
I watched my brother get into the right frame of mind and use his negotiating skills. “Father, you are the king of evil.”
I inwardly laughed at the way he opened his first line. Brilliant! Praise Father first. That always does the trick to calm him down.
Then I listened as Damien continued, “And because you’re the king, I’ve no doubt that you will make the right decision. With that said, Dhellia has a way with humans. They flock to her in the way . . . well, let us say in the way that Wolf and Zombie flock to you. They have befriended her, listened to her, and they like her.”
“I’m listening.”
“She is a valuable asset to us, Father.”
“Go on.”
“You know how you and”—Damien pointed upward because Father forbid us to use the Halo Man’s name in our home—“fight over souls? He usually gets mad at you because a pure soul sometimes will end up here with us.”
Father nodded.
“Why don’t we use Dhellia’s abilities to fit in with humans to our benefit? We can have her decipher souls before they die.”
“Wait!” I belted out, but Damien’s foot came down hard on mine and the pain stopped me from opening my mouth again.
Satan didn’t say a word, so Damien continued, “It’s brilliant. She can live on Earth with them and check in with me. I’ll report to you once a month. Then she’s actually contributing to the family business and staying out of your horns.”
“Or, I could ban her from leaving here and throw her in the oil pit and watch her burn for a few centuries.”
I gasped and gripped my brother’s arm.
“Yes, Father, you could do that,” Damien said. “It is within your power, but her torment would serve no purpose except for your amusement. With her on Earth, among the souls, she would be able to infiltrate them and discern which souls warrant enough of your attention to eventually come downstairs.”
“No. I need her here. I can’t take a chance of anything happening to her on Earth.” Father turned but stopped before he left my room. “I will consider all options before I make my final decision. If I use your scenario, I will release Dhellia from punishment. If I don’t, then you will both suffer the same fate.”
“His bark is worse than his bite,” I whispered in my brother’s ear.
Damien’s foot pounced on my foot again. “Fair enough, Father.”
My bedroom door slammed shut, hanging on one hinge. Father used his powers to bolt my door closed once again. Damien and I stood in my bedroom alone. He turned around to face me. “If this doesn’t work, and I have to pay for your righteous behavior, I will make you suffer,” he growled.
“It’ll work. You’re exceptionally skilled at negotiating with Father.”
“No, I’d be skilled if I kept my mouth shut and let you serve your punishments. But somehow, I’m a sucker for my rebellious, red-headed, smart-mouthed sister.”
I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow morning how smart you actually are.”
Damien finally grinned. “Get some sleep. Father will confront us at his will, and when he does, we’ll want to be rested.”
I gave him the thumbs up and watched him leave my room.
Chapter Three
I paced back and forth in my small, drab bedroom, waiting for Father or Damien to arrive. Morning had come and gone, night had passed me by, and now it was morning again. This was not a good sign. I wondered if Damien had successfully convinced our father to give me my freedom, the freedom to live among humans upstairs. I was hopeful. Always hopeful.
One thing that my father had said kept replaying in my mind: I need her here. I can’t take a chance of anything happening to her.
What did he mean? He hadn’t said those words in the loving way in which a father might talk about his daughter. He’d said it in a possessive way. Perhaps, if he had me trapped in Hell, he’d benefit from that in some way.
My father’s agenda had always included what was best for him. He was a selfish business guru with every intention of challenging others, both morally and spiritually.
When Damien and I were children, Father would have long talks with us, reminding us that we were his offspring. In being his offspring, we had a duty to uphold in order to make him proud. When I’d beg my father to release a petrified soul from the grips of Hell,
he’d lock me away in my room and forget about me for months on end. I couldn’t bear the family business. That was something that I couldn’t even tell Damien.
It was Damien who would find the key to my room, come inside and comfort me or dry my tears and then sneak back out when my guard—whomever that might have been—wasn’t looking. Balance always came easy to Damien. He knew how to make our father proud, yet maintain compassion when needed. I, on the other hand, infuriated my father and he reminded me often that I was a complete and utter disappointment to him.
I grabbed my long hair and pulled it over to one side, twisting the thick mane nervously as I paced and waited for someone to share with me what my fate was going to be.
Standing alone in the dark, uncertain how drastically my life was going to change always left a bitter taste in my mouth. I’d been in this situation before. I’d fought against my father in order to have what little freedom I had—a bedroom, a desk, a bed, and a computer with a line to the upstairs world—but this time was different. This time, the outcome of my request of Father was taking longer than it had in the past. I needed my answer and I hoped it would be the answer that I desperately wanted: to be out of Hell.
I paced and twisted my hair.
I paced and wrung my hands.
I paced in fear of my future and for the future of my brother.
I stopped, inhaled deeply, exasperated, and released the breath slowly as I closed my eyes and cleared my thoughts. I needed to find my inner peace and harness what was left of my patience.
When I sat down at my desk to turn on my laptop, Damien cleared his throat. My frustration was at the surface of my facial features. I sighed a moment of relief, just to know that my brother had come back for me and without turning around I asked, “What is my fate?”
He didn’t respond.
I knew the news was bad.
“Damien?” I pleaded for an answer.
I heard him sigh. “It doesn’t look good, Dhell.”
My body released a discouraged moan. I dropped my chin to my chest and mustered the strength to turn around and search his eyes for some glint of hope—something that would set the uptight nerves in my stomach at ease.
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