The Department of Hate - A Love Story

by Anthony O'connor

  ‘It’s a little late for that.’ But even as he said it he wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by it. The elderly lady just sat there sad and scared. All of them were staring at the door at the other end of the carriage.

  Another long ten minutes went by before the door was thrown open again. The three large demons strode purposefully down the aisle again sneering malevolently at their intended victims. They each grabbed two of the passengers and dragged them away. No one resisted. The children screamed piteously. The mother was pleading for them to be left alone – but to no effect. The priest continued trying to pray. The demons ignored all of it and simply hauled their victims through the door and slammed it shut behind them. Jarrod and Cassandra – being in the furthest seat – had not been grabbed. They were now in the carriage alone. They looked at each other – without saying anything. Then Jarrod said, calmly but despondently

  “I guess we’re next.” Cassandra didn’t reply. She had overcome her initial shock. She was no longer surprised. She reflected with some bitterness on the undeniable fact that the demons had been coming for her since she was a child.

  After a short time the door opened again and this time only two of the demons emerged. They approached quickly down the aisle. Cassandra was trying to put on a brave face but she was visibly shaking. Jarrod stood in front of her looking at their approaching assailants aggressively – though with no clear idea what he could possibly do. Defiance did seem to be futile. He struggled when he was grabbed. His attacker was much larger and much stronger – he was pushed back onto his seat and held there – but not struck. Meanwhile the other demon had grabbed Cassandra by her hair and pulled her to her feet. Then it turned about and began to move back down the aisle taking her with it. She looked back at Jarrod, terrified, pleading

  “Jarrod, please, help me.” Jarrod pushed and struggled but with no effect. Surprisingly his attacker didn’t seem to want to hurt him - but was able to hold him down with very little effort. Jarrod watched Cassandra being dragged away but could do nothing. He stared into the eyes of his assailant, memorising his face, thick with anger, thinking darkly

  ‘You are so going to pay for this!’ The demon seemed to pick up on his rage. It released him, turned quickly and moved back down the carriage. The door was again slammed shut. Jarrod jumped to his feet, blinked a few times, and looked about slowly, trying to understand what had just happened - strange hints, vague half-formed recollections, something familiar, somehow. But he couldn’t quite grasp any of it. He focused on the only thing that mattered. Cassandra had been taken.

  Time passed, the demons did not return. Jarrod paced up and down the carriage many times, trying the doors at each end, to no effect. He also tried each of the windows but none of them would open. The view from outside was getting gloomier - it was now a barren lifeless wasteland. He could catch occasional glimpses of a sickly pale half-moon through rolling layers of dark and savage clouds. The train itself was now moving even more distinctly downwards. Jarrod, normally the most patient of men, was almost shaking in frustration. He had to do something – he had to rescue Cassandra, somehow. The situation was absurd. He couldn’t fail but think of the evil little gnome back at the station smiling at him with such malice, and such anticipation. Was it somehow responsible for all of this? With a great effort of will Jarrod sat back in his seat, calming himself as much as possible, waiting for whatever was coming next. He stared at the door, willing it to open - eager for something, anything to come through.

  He waited like this for at least an hour before noticing that the train was now moving through the outskirts of a city. Of course, it wasn’t Brighton. He scanned for any signs of life – but there didn’t seem to be any. It was now quite dark outside and he could make out very little. Then he saw that the train was approaching a station. It was slowing down rapidly. It moved into the station itself and stopped abruptly. He walked quickly to the door and pushed at it as hard as he could. He was surprised when it opened easily and he stumbled through the doorway into the carriage entrance area. The external door was already open. He stepped through it and out onto the platform – looking about carefully. It was dark, gloomy and completely deserted. Even with no lights he managed to find his way up a broken escalator, down a long corridor, through the vast empty main foyer and finally out onto the street outside the station. He looked around at what should have been a busy major city street. But it was also dark and deserted – there were street lights but they’d been smashed. He listened carefully but he could hear nothing – at first. He couldn’t begin to guess where she might be. Nothing made any sense. The emptiness of the city was disturbing – some might have found it terrifying – but Jarrod could only think of how to find Cassandra. She must be here somewhere. Where else would she be? But why had she and the others been taken from the train? And why was he left alone?

  He walked around for some time - first down one street and then down another more or less randomly. He slowly began to realise that he wasn’t alone after all. He was being followed by one or more unknown antagonists. He looked around from side to side trying to detect them – but could never quite catch a glimpse – nothing but fleeting shadows of evil intent on the periphery of awareness, harsh muted whispering. It was all thoroughly demonic. Jarrod was not fearful but was certainly on edge. He continued to look around carefully, trying to make sense of the puzzle. Was this place at all like the city in his long recurring dream? It did seem like a dream in many ways. Was there a Concert Hall just around the next corner? Was the beautiful unknown girl in the long red dress waiting there for him? As always he struggled to see her face, this time he almost did - Cassandra, surely? He looked around. No. This was somewhere else – something entirely different. And he knew it wasn’t a dream.

  Suddenly, in the distance, he heard someone scream for help. He ran towards the sound, covering several blocks. He ran around the last corner and out onto a small city park. In the middle of the open space he saw two of the demons attacking a young woman. It was Cassandra. They had already ripped off her blouse and as he watched one of them struck her knocking her to the ground. Their intentions were obvious. Without thinking Jarrod rushed forward yelling out

  “Stop!” Both of the demons turned towards him smirking. He stopped in front of them. It occurred to him that he couldn’t possibly defeat them and wasn’t going to be saving anyone. But he stood his ground. What other course of action was even conceivable. He glanced anxiously at Cassandra. She looked back at him. He glared at the demons defiantly. They moved towards him, reaching for him – eyes ablaze with violent murderous intent. Then they stopped suddenly. Their expression changed abruptly to one of absolute terror. They cringed, eyes downcast, jabbering madly

  “Sorry Boss, sorry Boss, sorry, sorry, sorry Boss.” Then they turned and fled. Jarrod saw them run off – his eyes wide with surprise. Then he quickly went to Cassandra – helping her to her feet. She put her blouse back on as best she could, straightened her hair and wiped her face. Jarrod watched her, concerned. He asked

  “Are you all right?” She replied quietly

  “Yes. Thank you.” She didn’t say anything else at first but then asked

  “Why are they frightened of you?” Jarrod shrugged

  “I don’t know. Something is going on here. I have no idea what.” Cassandra spoke slowly

  “I escaped from the ones on the train. Somehow I ended up here. I don’t know how. I ran around for a while looking for ... well, for anything that made sense. Then I got caught by those two. Where are we?” Jarrod looked around again, shrugged and replied simply

  “Not a clue.”

  Just then there was a loud cough behind them. They both turned and saw another of the demons standing only a few metres away. He seemed better dressed than the other two – more civilised and more self assured. He was respectful, even deferential. Addressing Jarrod he said, very politely

  “Welcome back to Hell, my Lord Beelzebub. How did you find your life on Eart
h?” Jarrod and Cassandra looked at each other and then back at him. Then both of them at the same time exclaimed out loud

  “What the fuck!”

  Chapter 2 – First Holy Communion

  The children of St Anne’s Church in Brighton were making their first Holy Communion. The Church was full to capacity – parents, relatives, friends and the youngsters themselves. It was a good day, almost everyone was happy. The excited children were lined up in the aisle, boys on the left, girls on the right – each of them dressed in their Sunday finest. Some of the girls were giggling; some of the boys were pushing at each other. Sisters Bernadette and Francis fussed over them keeping them in line. The parents looked at their children proudly and smiled at the nuns. Father Menzies stood at the altar, waiting for the new communicants. He held the ciborium and the chalice and inside them the body and blood of Jesus Christ, God Almighty. He knew that most of them – the children, and their parents too for that matter - were ignorant of and would remain ignorant of the sublime mystery they were about to partake in – a glimpse of Eternity, God made flesh. His tortured soul wept.

  The hymn was Amazing Grace. When it was finished the children started moving forward. Father Menzies was stone faced. He looked out over the children. He’d had improper relations with some of their older brothers and sisters – and no doubt would do likewise with some of them. He preferred boys. He hated himself beyond all measure. If any of the parents knew of his predilections they would no doubt slaughter him with their bare hands. He wished they would. He would beg them to do it. And yet the children were so beautiful and so innocent. He knew he would never be able to stop. One of the boys caught his eye – only seven years old but with such amazing presence. His eyes were shining brightly his expression was quiet and serious. He clearly did have some understanding of the solemnity of the event. Father Menzies tried to recall his name. The Bennett family! Young Jarrod! How could he have not noticed him before today?

  Jarrod was lost in thought and in mystery. The priest had just turned bread and wine into God and now they were going to eat Him. He didn’t understand. How was this possible? He’d tried to talk to Sister Francis about it – she was his second grade teacher. She had insisted that it was literally true, not just a symbol or a metaphor. It was a mystery of faith. He should embrace it. But he had persisted in his questions. It would still look like bread and wine in every way so how could it then magically be something else, and not just anything else but God Himself? She had seemed disturbed by his questions, even defensive. They were all a little bit disturbed by young Jarrod Bennet – so astonishingly precocious, so full of questions, and with no respect for authority at all. The nuns had started to make enquiries about getting him into a special school for gifted children as much for their own benefit as for his. Sister Francis had started mumbling something about essence and accidents, transubstantiation – a jumble of meaningless words. It had occurred to him that she didn’t understand it either, not in the slightest. He’d sighed, thinking ‘Oh well, she was only a teacher’. He knew he was already much smarter than her and getting smarter all the time. By the time he was grown up her tiny little thoughts would surely be of no significance to him at all. He focused back on the present – walking down the aisle, the other children beside him, the watching parents. The thought occurred to him that maybe it was all just rubbish, everyone was playing make believe, each for their own reason or just because they were too lazy or simply didn’t know any better. But if this was true why did the thought of consuming the host fill him with absolute terror?

  He continued to move forward, along with the other children, and Father Menzies continued to go through the motions, saying to each

  “The body and blood of Christ” as he dipped the wafer in the wine and placed it onto their open palm. They each replied

  ”Amen” as they raised it to their mouths and then moved to the side and then back along the outer aisle. But as Father Menzies did all of this he couldn’t take his eyes off Jarrod. There was something very special about the boy. Father Menzies wasn’t feeling any kind of sexual attraction – that wasn’t it at all. There was growing inside him a terrible fear which increased rapidly as Jarrod approached. Father Menzies was certain Jarrod was looking straight at him. He was sure Jarrod could see into the depths of his soul. He was suddenly sure that Jarrod was something horribly evil. He didn’t know how or why. He continued with the delivery of communion but his hands started to shake. He wanted only to run away screaming.

  Finally Jarrod was kneeling before him, palms crossed, looking up at him, waiting, quiet and serious. Father Menzies reached for the wafer, he paused. He didn’t know what to do. He was terrified. A deep dark rasping voice came from the boy

  “What’s the matter father – not your type?” Suddenly the Church was gone and he was one of untold billions in a vast and bottomless pit. He was naked – covered in blood and muck. All around him there was a multitude of other naked bodies kicking and clawing at each other wretchedly in a hopeless and never-ending attempt to gain a slightly better position or just the next breathe of hot fetid air - a raging furnace of pain and despair. Then just as suddenly he was back in the Church. The same rasping voice continued

  “A little glimpse of the future father, we all know where you’re going” He looked about frantically. No-one else had heard or seen any of this. He looked down at Jarrod who didn’t seem aware of what he’d just said. Jarrod looked back at him calmly. Father Menzies gasped – he knew who Jarrod was. He let out a stifled scream, dropped the ciborium and the chalice and fled from the Church.

  He ran across the field and into the Presbytery behind the church. This was where he lived. He ran up the stairs along the corridor and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He was gasping for breathe, looking about wildly. He screamed. A large demon was lying on his bed. It was Asmodeous! Father Menzies recognised him from some old and forbidden books he’d studied when he was much younger. Asmodeous leered at him and then patted the bed beside him beckoning the priest to join him, his intentions quite clear. Father Menzies stepped back shaking his head. Asmodeous sighed theatrically then exclaimed

  “Oh come now Father, we’re beyond all that. Time’s up for you, you know”. Father Menzies screamed again, turned and ran from the room. Asmodeous watched him run off, amused and bored at the same time. He called after him

  “There’s no use running you worthless piece of shit.”

  Father Menzies ran out of the church grounds and out onto the road – the world around him just a blur. He ran down the road towards the main intersection – thinking only ‘run, escape’, not looking. A truck smashed into him from the right slamming him into the ground. He lay there broken and bleeding and in terrible pain. Someone from the side of the road rushed to his aid. Cars around them had stopped. He heard someone yelling for an ambulance. He just wanted to die, he craved the emptiness of death and a final release from the terrible and unrelenting guilt and shame which had long since eaten him away. As the stranger bent over him Father Menzies tried to say as best he could

  “Please let me be, let me die.” The stranger tried to reassure him. Father Menzies just moaned over and over again

  “I want to die, I just want to die.” And then ... he did. The world continued on but he was no longer in it. However, in his pain and his panic he hadn’t really thought it through. For him the true horror was only just beginning. Twenty six years later he would meet Jarrod again, though only briefly. And the twenty six years which to him seemed more like a million was less than a moment in the eternity of suffering he now faced.

  Chapter 3 – Inferno

  Jarrod stared at the stranger. There was something oddly familiar about him. He thought about it for a few moments.

  “Who did you call me?” The stranger stared back at him, amused.

  “Beelzebub, my Lord.” Jarrod responded sharply

  “And how is that possible?” The stranger was not put off by his scepticism an
d continued patiently

  “You incarnated as a human my Lord. All of the senior demons do it. This was your ninth incarnation.” Jarrod was not at all amused.

  “You must be joking.” But the stranger replied

  “No, my Lord.” Jarrod could tell he was being quite sincere. But he could hardly let such an extraordinary claim go unchallenged.

  “Why don’t I remember?” The stranger continued, still carefully, patiently

  “Don’t be concerned my Lord. Sometimes it takes a while, but you are who you are. You’ll remember before long.” Jarrod wasn’t particularly happy with this. He needed to know more. He asked

  “So, who are you?” The stranger replied

  “Your assistant my Lord, Abaddon. I’ve been running the department in your absence. Busy time it’s been too, my Lord.” Jarrod asked him

  “And which Department is that?” Abaddon replied

  “Your department, my Lord, the Department of Hate.” Jarrod looked quite astonished.

  “Department of Hate?” Abaddon explained

  “Yes my Lord, there are seven departments in Hell each one of them run by one of the major Lords: Pride, Envy, Hate, Greed, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust.” Jarrod was listening carefully

  “Oh I see, the seven deadly sins – but the third one should be Anger or Wrath not Hate.” Abaddon replied to this quickly

  “Yes my Lord, but you renamed your department several centuries ago – and changed our mission statement. You decided that Hate was the real quality we wanted to focus on whereas Anger was just one of its precursors.” Jarrod was surprised by that. He replied uncertainly