Hellbound (Hellbound Trilogy Book 1)

by Tim Hawken

“You should know this,” he said in an apocalyptic tone. “You should take heed, Michael. Never underestimate what I say. Never sell me short. You forget who you’re talking to. I am Satan. The guilt that you will feel down here is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It is the guilt of the condemned, the guilt of those deformed by desire and greed. You will feel it more acutely than you could ever imagine, and you will feel it thrust upon you six times each day. When the sky burns from horizon to horizon and black smoke swells out of the gutters.” Satan’s voice grew louder and louder as he spoke, fire dancing in his eyes as he ranted like a deranged priest in the pulpit. “When Hell’s fire shatters the minds of every soul in Damnation, you will know where you are and why you are here. When the weight of every misdeed and sin is thrust down upon you like a crushing burden of menacing responsibility, you will know what you have done. You will feel the guilt. You will feel the haunting. It is enough to drive the most evil soul insane. It is unrelenting and it is absolute. Don’t underestimate the power of a guilty mind. Never underestimate self-shame and self-destruction.”

  The Devil raised his clawed finger and pointed to the horizon. It began to flare and burst into a bloody vortex of flame, before blasting over the heavens of Hell. I collapsed as sharp agony shattered through my skull.

  three

  Sweat beaded lightly on my bare chest. I was only just getting started with this bum. Dancing around him on my toes, I sized him up. My muscles were full of energy, the thrill of the fight coursing through my veins. He looked tired already and we were only a minute in. He had a trickle of blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth, where I’d just clipped him with a quick left jab. A tight ring of jeering spectators stood around us, jostling to get a view of the action. They’d paid good money to watch us battle it out with bare fists.

  The fight was in a dusty, disused warehouse on the outskirts of Las Vegas. The high roof absorbed the sounds of our shuffling feet. It was a blustery night outside, the wind rattling the tin walls of the structure with each howling gust. Large, fluorescent lights buzzed above us, sending harsh light through the interior. The warehouse was void of furniture except for a makeshift grandstand for the V.I.P.s in the center and a single table shoved in the far corner where the punters could place their bets. It was a lo-fi set up. It was also completely illegal, but that just added to the excitement. Plus the money was better.

  My opponent moved in and popped me in the ribs with a lightning-fast right rip. I wheezed as the air went out of my lungs, but managed to jump back before he could capitalize on his hit. A roar went up from the crowd at the burst of action. Maybe he’s not such a bum after all, I thought. We danced around a bit more, playing with each other. It’s best to give these blood thirsty dogs their money’s worth, that way I’d get paid better next time. Create a demand to see me. “He’s hungry,” they’d say, “a bit green, but he’s got the look of the devil in his eye.”

  Stepping back to avoid a straight right, I surged in and unleashed four, quick jabs into his stomach. I leapt back out of range. Wear him down, make him hurt.

  There were no rounds with this fight, no bells to be saved by. Just one long, punishing bout. I liked to pace myself when fighting like this. Tire the other guy out. “A tired opponent is a slow target,” I kept telling myself as I circled him. We traded some light hits, nothing major. The crowd enjoyed it though, egging us on. “Kill him! Get him!” A fat businessman drooled from the front row, clutching a bundle of betting stubs in his right hand.

  My opponent moved in, feinting to his right to put me off. I saw it coming. Stepping to the side, I thundered a heavy left hook right into the high part of his cheekbone. I could feel the bones crack under the weight of my fist. Blood poured from his nose but he didn’t go down, he just stumbled back into the crowd. They held him up and then pushed him back, lurching into the ring. “Get back in there,” they yelled. “Finish him!” I heard someone cry from the side of me.

  I watched as he rocked on his feet, eyes clouded with splattered blood from his nose. I took my chance, swinging hard and crushing my fist into his nose again. He dropped back, limp. The sound of flesh slapping on the concrete was drowned out by yells from the crowd, some of triumph and others of desperate loss. Hard earned money had been dropped on a dog that had ‘only lasted five minutes’. In reality, that was a fairly long fight. I’d been in some that lasted seconds.

  Trainers rushed in to pick their fighter off the floor. I raised my fist, but wasn’t smiling. The excitement was over for me. I felt a stab of guilt from causing a fighter unnecessary pain by hitting him in an open wound. I could have just pushed the guy over and he would have been out for the count. Oh well, I thought, he’ll recover. I’ve earned my money and he earned his.

  I walked over to my corner where my coach slapped me on the back and threw a towel at me.

  “Good work, son.” I felt a surge of pride from making him happy. He was the only father I’d known.

  I wiped myself down as Coach soaked my swollen hands in a bucket of icy water. I thought about the first time I’d ever met him. He had pulled me off the streets and taken me into his home when I was just sixteen. I’d been living in and out of shelters most of my young life. My parents had abandoned me at an orphanage run by the Catholic Church when I was just a baby. I’d lived there until I thought I was old enough to go out on my own. Coach had been passing by as I was brawling with another homeless teen in an alley over some food. He had just stood back and watched as I got beaten to the ground.

  “You’ve got heart, kid,” he had said, when he picked me out of the dirt and dusted me off, wiping the blood from my face. “You’ve got skills too. You just need to learn not to pull back on the killing blow. When you show mercy you show weakness. Only the strong survive.”

  When he trained me, he’d yell it out in between sit-ups. “Only the strong survive. Pain is weakness leaving your body.”

  He made me continue my studies from the orphanage as well, constantly making me read books like The Art of War and The Alchemist. “No use in having a strong body if you have a weak mind,” he said. He was full of sayings.

  I sat down on a stool and started to unlace my boots, watching as the other fighter’s trainer called out for a doctor. Something was wrong. I got to my feet and ran over.

  “Hey,” coach yelled from behind me, but I barely heard. By now a crowd had formed around the fighter’s body, which still lay limp on the ground where I’d knocked him down. I squeezed through just in time to see the Doctor look up at me.

  “He’s dead,” he said.-, “You’d better get out of here.”

  Dead? I thought, as my whole body went numb. I had killed him. It wasn’t meant to happen like that. I was bundled out of the building and into a car. Dead bodies weren’t a good thing at illegal boxing matches. Guilt overcame me. I started to cry. I felt sick. I needed air. Coach opened a window. I leaned my head outside, letting the icy night wind numb my face.

  “Forget it, kid,” Coach said from the back seat. “He knew what he was getting into. He knew the risks.”

  I wasn’t listening. All I could think of were my opponent’s blurring eyes, just before I had murdered him. I vomited down the side of the car as the wind buffeted my sagging head.

  four

  I AWOKE ON THE GROUND in a huge glass room, at the feet of a smiling man dressed in black. It only took a moment for me to remember where I was.

  “I hope that wasn’t too painful.” The Devil sighed as he helped me to my feet. “It’s much easier for me to show you things rather than try to explain them.”

  “You mean that was real?” I asked. “That happened? That was really me?”

  “It was.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, that was just a small sample of what it feels like to experience the haunting of guilt you will receive in Hell. The first day you’ll simply remember your life. You will have visions of the biggest turning points in your existence. Some of these will be your darkest sins. Some may be of your
greatest redemptions, if you’re lucky. After the first six visions you will know who you were in life, and therefore who you are right now. Every day after today, the visions will become the most hideous moments of culpability you could ever imagine. The Guilt: it’s every terrible moment of your life visited upon you at once; every disappointed voice whispering in your ear; every victim of your sins eating at your soul. For some, it’s completely unbearable. It’s a horrible tool to use, but it is my most powerful in reforming the filth that inhabit this place.”

  “You don’t sound like you enjoy having this kingdom of yours just as it is,” I snapped, unsure how to react. I still felt the lingering sense of pain at what I’d just relived, but the feeling was fading quickly.

  “Oh, come now,” The Devil retorted. “Of course I enjoy it. This is my home, I rule here! If I sound bitter, it’s because I didn’t choose to live here. I was exiled to Hell by God against my will. I’m forced to do this, to cleanse these souls. If some didn’t pass over to Heaven, then Hell would very quickly become choked with God’s rotting souls of filth. Hell is not eternal like Heaven, we are finite. We cannot hold a constant migration of sinners to our shores. I cannot stand by or laze about, watching wave upon wave of souls come screaming into my home and do nothing. Then Hell would be eternal damnation for all!” Satan glossed over his outburst with a laugh. “At least it keeps me out of trouble. No rest for the wicked, ha ha!” He elbowed me in the ribs like it was the best joke in the world.

  I became uneasy. I was in Hell and I was with The Devil. I’d just witnessed myself murder another man. It was my time for punishment. I accepted that it was deserved. I’d destroyed a life with my own hands.

  “So,” The Devil interrupted my thoughts again. “Is that really why you think you’re here? For killing that other man who willingly stepped into a fight with you?” he laughed.

  “Of course!” I spluttered. “Isn’t that the greatest sin? Murder.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” he said and turned his back to me, walking away to the elevator where we’d entered the room.

  “Wait a second!” I shouted, running after him. “I have murdered someone! Surely, this is why I’m in Hell. What is my punishment? Is that not why I am here?” I repeated.

  Satan pushed the button for the elevator and turned to me.

  “You have already punished yourself for that, Michael. It is a sin to kill, yes, but it’s only a sin to kill without remorse, without a sense of responsibility. You are here to confront your sins, not suffer for them. Haven’t you listened to me at all? All you need to do to get a ticket to Heaven is to face your sins, accept your responsibility for them, repent and promise never to do it again. But, if you so much as think about sinning again, you’ll come plummeting back down to Hell with all the other lost souls, like a heroin addict relapsing into a cycle of fear and self loathing that could destroy your soul forever. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen to you though, eh?”

  Bing! Satan’s sentence was punctuated by the elevator doors opening. I stepped inside without even thinking. The doors closed as he moved in next to me.

  “It’s time to see the rest of Hell, Michael. It’s time to confront your life. We’re going to see all the nasty things you’ve done and hopefully some of your saving graces, if you had any. At the end of this, your first day in Hell, you’ll be able to make the choice of whether you should be here or not.”

  “It can’t be that simple,” I said, more of a thought than anything.

  “It is if you want it to be. However, it must be a choice with the utmost conviction. We don’t like fence sitters here. There are no maybes at the end of the day, just I will or I will not.”

  five

  BING. The doors opened out into a huge foyer. Smokey grey floors extended up into walls. It looked like the building was made out of one massive piece of marble. There were no seams or cracks anywhere to be seen. Even the windows seemed to be made out of marble, wafer thin and clouded with white swirls, like souls trying to escape a mineral prison. There were no paintings or pictures on the walls and no carpet. The room was bare, sterile except for a reception desk near the main entrance. A beautiful woman sat on a stool behind the counter. She was wearing a silky, black dress, as if ready to go to a ball, or possibly a funeral. She had a headset on, raven hair pulled back tight and wrapped in a bun, with a curved knife stabbed through as the lynch pin. She looked up and smiled at Satan as we exited the elevator. Two rows of white, razor-point teeth framed with black gums. A phone rang on the desk and she answered.

  “Hello, you’ve reached the office of The Prince of Darkness, how may I help you?” she said in an abnormally low-pitched voice, gravelly but still feminine. “I’m sorry, he’s with an important client right now. Can I take a message?” She wrote a note on a pad in front of her as she nodded.

  “This is Clytemnestra.” Satan introduced me as she hung up the phone.

  “Pleased to meet you, Michael,” she smiled, exposing her murderous teeth again. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m sorry?” I stammered.

  Satan cleared his throat behind me and she shrank back behind her desk.

  “Oh, you know, I mean, I read everyone’s file that comes into Mr. Asmodeus’ office. So I know who you are. No one can see Satan without my approval.”

  “I see,” I said, somewhat irritated that this woman should know more about me than myself.

  “Don’t worry,” The Devil chirped behind me. “That’s what we’re here for, Michael, to find out who you are. Let’s take a ride and start your journey.” He ushered me towards the front doors.

  “Mr. Asmodeus!” Clytemnestra called after us as. “Joseph Stalin wants to know if you’re still having brunch tomorrow.”

  The Devil opened the doors of the building, and we stepped out onto the streets of Hell.

  six

  THE HEAT HIT ME LIKE A SOLID WALL. It crushed me from all around and burned my throat with each breath, sending ripples of pain though my neck and into my lungs. My eyes watered and sweat began to weep from every pore in my body. I hadn’t moved and I was already exhausted. I turned to face the street. Cars whizzed past at breakneck speed. Ferraris, Hummers and Monster Trucks, vehicles of every shape and size streamed past constantly. It seemed these souls didn’t rest once they were dead. The grey-red light from the boiling sky above washed over the city. Concrete surrounded us. The buildings looked like they had grown from the soil beneath, rather than been constructed from the ground up. Graffiti covered some of the buildings; others were immaculately clean. There was no consistency. It added to my sense of disorientation. I would have collapsed if Satan hadn’t have held my arm to steady me. He guided me off the curb and into an open limousine. The door shut behind me of its own volition.

  I sat on black leather seats, letting the cool air-conditioning wash over me. I panted, covered in sweat.

  “Warm, isn’t it?” Satan laughed as he wriggled back into his seat. The tinted divider-window in front of us slid down, exposing a humanoid shark’s ugly head. Its sharp teeth were caked in dried blood. The thing’s lips moved but the teeth stayed firmly clenched together as it spoke.

  “Where to, Sir?” it asked politely.

  I noticed it was even wearing a chauffeur’s cap and suit.

  “The Sloth’s Lounge,” Satan said.

  “Very good, Sir,” the shark-demon said. The divider window rolled up as the car accelerated out into the chaos of Hell’s traffic.

  Black Sabbath played loudly through the stereo. It’s true what they say, I thought to myself, The Devil really does have the best tunes.

  “Damn right I do,” Satan smiled at me.

  The Devil sat with his eyes closed, humming to the music on the radio, tapping his knee as we lurched around a tight corner and down a busy road. Unsure what to do, I lapsed into silence. To be honest, I was frightened. I’d already seen myself kill a man today and I felt the most terrible regret. I knew that even though my victim p
ut himself in that situation, I could’ve easily prevented his death by simply holding myself back from striking when I didn’t need to. Now I was heading off with Satan himself to confront my other sins. The worst part was not knowing exactly what they were, or how I was to see them. I tried my hardest to push any thoughts from my mind as we raced through the streets of Hell, but the sense of foreboding ran thick through my skin, into my churning stomach.

  I watched the city as it sped by. A concrete jungle wrapped up around me, high above to the bloody sky, which boiled with endless black storm clouds. Every few seconds, purple forks of lightening split the scene. We slowed to a halt at some traffic lights. A group of demons fought on the street corner. A giant, bug-like creature with an ant’s head and scorpion tail was firing a gun into a pack of darting pygmies. The pygmies were throwing knives at him, in between dodging bullets. One of the knives caught the bug in the throat. He fell backwards howling as the pygmies swarmed over and tore him to pieces. A thought struck me.

  “Can you die in Hell?” I asked, watching the carnage in front of us.

  “No, you cannot,” Satan answered. “You’re already dead. However, the body you inhabit acts a lot like your body on earth. It’s a casing for your soul, a vessel that needs to be maintained and looked after. It’s very hard to separate body, mind and soul. They are the holy trinity of being. Separate any of the three and consciousness becomes incredibly hard to maintain, for any meaningful period of time. Take our bug friend,” he said, indicating the bloody mess on the pavement. “Because his body has been so severely damaged, he has lost the ability of conscious thought for now. However, unlike a body on earth, his parts will link and heal as one after some time. I like to think of it as an ethereal body; substantial enough to be pulled apart, but malleable enough to withstand total destruction. Unfortunately for him, those pygmies made off with his head. He’ll now be suspended in a permanent state of unknowing until it is reunited with his body. So, I guess he is dead in a sense.”