Awake in Hell

by Downing, Helen

  “Yes, you can. And in fact, you will.” Deedy has calmed a bit, seems nice again. Yet, he’s obviously done asking. He is officially telling me what to do.

  Well, I can dig in my heels too, buddy! “Maybe, you think I can. But, I won’t!” I say, with new tears streaming down my face.

  Deedy doesn’t dig his heels in, he just sits back down behind his desk and states his case in a remarkable way. “Louise, I have never faulted you for ripping out of here with a sense of confidence. Well, let’s be honest, with a sense of over-confidence in each and every job I’ve handed over to you. Nor, have I ever held it against you, when you came back again and again feeling defeated or like a failure. In fact, I’ve actually encouraged you to seek out the positives in every one of these attempts, despite the futility of the job itself. Finally, my darling girl, I do not and never would fault you for being afraid. Show trepidation, question me as to why I send you somewhere, sit and wallow for a minute or two if you must in your own fear of things that have not happened yet. But, then go, Louise. Go where I ask you to, because if you deny me, as heartbreaking it would be for both of us, it would signify the end of our relationship for now and the end of your relationship with the agency, permanently. Do you understand?”

  I am now openly sobbing. My fear is wrestling with my sense of duty to this incredible man who has offered me so many chances, all of which I’ve come up wanting. I nod my head at him. Of course, I will go, not because I think I deserve this punishment, and it is a punishment to be sent to such a wretched place. Even though it scares me shitless, I will go because Deedy is asking me to, and he is right.

  I look at Deedy, with a pleading and pitiable look and say through my still flowing tears, “Will it be dangerous?”

  “Perhaps.” he answers frankly. “But that’s where you have to trust that I would never send you somewhere hopeless. Follow my directions and you will come out fine.”

  “Then, that’s enough for me.” I say with a trembling voice that does not portray any of the assuredness my statement tries to convey.

  “Go home, darling girl, and get some sleep. Tomorrow, everything will seem brighter,” Deedy says, with a sense of finality that actually rouses me out of my chair.

  Out in sweltering heat of the streets of Hell, I cannot imagine that is true. In reality, I cannot imagine anything regarding tomorrow. Every time my thoughts turn to tomorrow and the events that will, or may occur, I have to stop and shove them out before I start screaming in the street.

  Because tomorrow, I start the hardest job ever. The one job I would have thought would always be saved for someone so much worse than I. A job only the truly damned could do.

  Tomorrow, I start at a Day Care Center.

  Tonight, sleep is an escape fraught with images, all very disjointed, yet pleasant. None seem to gel into a story. It’s like a montage of all my favorite things and faces. Mom leaning over my bed with her eyes full of love as I am dying; dad throwing his head back in laughter; Bobby smiling at me and grabbing my hand; Linda and I driving down the highway singing at the top of our lungs to the radio; a bouncing red ball against the sidewalk; the feel of rain on my face. You would not believe how much you miss rain in Hell.

  Suddenly, my alarm goes off. It feels sooner than it usually does, entirely too soon. I’m not ready for this day to begin. I have a small argument with myself. What if I just don’t go? Really? Are you ready to say goodbye to Deedy and any chance of redemption? C’mon, Lou. Just get up and face it. The sooner the day starts, the sooner it ends and hopefully it ends with a termination slip. Just go, do something fabulous, and wait to get fired.

  In the meantime, I have to wrap my head around these children. These demonesque creatures, the scariest of the scary in the entire Hellverse, becoming my charges. The thought of it drives me into my small bathroom retching with dread and terror. I emerge a few minutes later trying to wipe the taste of bile out of my mouth. I make my way over to the closet and open it without the same apprehension that normally goes with it. Today, I have bigger fish to fear. As soon as I open the door, I burst into laughter. This is the true genius of the closet in Hell, to make me laugh on the single most terrifying morning of my entire afterlife. For hanging in said closet, is my bridesmaid dress. The dress I told Deedy about yesterday. Is that a coincidence or is it more? I don’t know, but I am actually comfortable with the familiarity of it, and of course, with the memories it brings fresh to my battle-worn mind. I close my eyes and imagine Linda standing in front of me and with tears in her eyes she looks at me and says, “Thank you for this.”

  I look at her with my mind’s eye and say out loud, “Thank you, for everything.”

  As I start my walk to the address on the sticky note, I’m totally unaware of the others around me. My legs are getting heavier and my gait is lumbered and slow. I am thinking I may be sick again, when I see the center looming, just ahead. Looking around, I realize that other than the center, the street is empty. No other business, no homes. But, of course, who would want to live next to this? Even in Hell, it is probably important to keep these demons out of the general population, as much as possible. However, it does seem like a bit of a kindness to the rest of us, considering where we are. We are all Hellions. None of us have a different future than any of these poor, small creatures. So, out of logical thought or perhaps avoidance of my immediate future, I also ponder my own fate. Why am I here, standing on an empty street, in the boondocks of Hell? Why am I being punished so harshly? Was it that over-confidence, Deedy spoke of? Is this the end of the line, when you are fired from every other temp job, or are the sins of my life to be paid for in death? But, if I’ve learned anything about anything in Deedy’s little job corps, it is that my life was filled with some good, too. Why make me remember the good, if this is my only option, to play babysitter for horror personified?

  This makes me angry. Which is good. It is what I finally need to drive me through the front door and enter the day care center. As I swing open the door, I catch a reflection in the shiny glass that takes my breath away and makes me feel a bit faint. Will, attempting to be clandestine, is about a half a block behind me. He really is terrible at the whole hiding thing. But I’m so glad that he’s here! First, it means that Deedy isn’t so mad at me to throw me out here without any protection and second, it may be the only friendly face I get to see here today. It’s with that small comfort that I enter the center.

  It is incredibly quiet inside. Like, this is what folks mean when they say, ‘It was too quiet’. I had never really understood that phrase before. Primarily, due to the fact that I abhor quiet and will do anything (talk to myself, put Buffy reruns on a loop) to never have to abide it. Now, would it be better if the place was filled with howling or screaming or the sounds of torture? I don’t know. But this is fucking unbearable. It feels like any noise that I may make will just evaporate before it even hits the atmosphere — like I’m in space.

  I was just about to give it the old college try and start shouting out when suddenly my ears, and my mind, are filled with a cacophony of noise. I cannot tell how many voices are growling, yelling, or squealing at once but, it’s so overwhelming that I put my hands over my ears to block it. Then, suddenly, the silence is back. Only now it’s accompanied by an older black woman standing in front of me. She looks just a few years older than me, maybe 50. Her hair is disheveled and her clothes more so. There are some tears in the fabric and I see some stains, that I hope against hope, are not blood on her shirt. Her shirt is man-sized and styled straight from baby gap. It’s bright orange with a lime green flower on the front. In the plus column, it looks comfortable.

  She looks at me and says, “Louise?” I respond affirmatively and she must have sensed my next question by my face because she answers before I ask. “Oh, we have the little monsters behind the strongest, thickest, most soundproof substance in the Hellverse. It saves everyone else from the torment. Unfortunately, it does nothing for you. I’d offer you earplugs, but,
well, look where we are. None are available.” She gives me a weary smile.

  “That’s okay. Is it going to make a bad impression if I say that I just want to get this day over with?” I ask.

  “Nope. Welcome to Child Care in Hell,” she sticks out her hand and I take it. “I’m Dani. Nice to know you.”

  She takes me back and we stand in front of the heavy doors. “Once they open, you have to get in before anything gets out. So no dilly dallying. And make sure they know who’s boss right away or else you’ll get creamed. Try not to look them in the eye. The eyes are old, even though the body is young. It can be a little disconcerting. Remember, these kids were once the most influential, albeit most evil adults on earth. Watch out for flying objects and never, ever turn your back on any of them. We try to do everything here on a buddy system. I’ll be your buddy today, I will try and cover you and I’d appreciate it if you do the same. However, if things get real in there, then it may be every man for himself for a minute. Got it?” she recites all this like I’m heading into a war zone. I feel a new prick of fear up my spine as I realize that I probably am heading into just that.

  I take a deep breath, swallow a few times to make sure I’m not going to puke again, and steady myself. “Okay, I think I’m ready,” I say in a voice that sounds about half as unsure as I actually feel.

  “Then come on in,” she says. “Oh, and by the way, nice dress,” she says with a laugh. I laugh too, until the door opens.

  I jump in quickly as instructed and see a frenzy of big and little people running around. Mainly, the big people are chasing after the little people, although there is some evidence that occasionally the big people are running away from the little ones. There are mainly soft toys. There’s nothing in here that could be fashioned into a weapon. Unless you count the guy in corner with his juice box aimed like a machine gun and spraying everyone who comes near him with red liquid. ‘Good,’ I think to myself, ‘That’s what was on Dani’s shirt, not blood.’ I realize, I’ve just taken my first breath since I entered this room.

  The room itself looks quite typical. Like any other day care center, brightly colored carpeting and small tables and chairs. There are giant crayon-colored totes filled with stuffed animals and quilted wall hangings featuring happy children at play or letters of the alphabet. In the corner, there’s a play kitchen with a plastic stove and refrigerator filled with plastic food. There are some things that are conspicuously missing, like games with small pieces or any game that creates a sense of competition. These kids probably take the whole ‘doesn’t play well with others’ thing to an art form. There are also no army men or anything that resembles a weapon. I don’t know if that is to keep them from getting any ideas or to stave off any memories of life. But, it’s probably a good idea. Also are no outdoor toys such as trikes or toy cars. Most likely because these kids are rarely let out of the boundaries of these walls.

  While it’s loud and crazed and a bit like the “before” footage on one of those nanny programs on television, I feel a bit of relief. I think I can handle this. There’s no ritual sacrifice or other illicit activity, as far as I can see. I take a few more deep breaths and begin to get my bearings. I see a bookshelf in the corner. I go and sit in one of the only chairs they have, which are chairs made for children. So with my knees practically touching my chin, I begin to peruse the titles of the books. They are all quite virtuous. They are geared toward older readers than the age of the average child here. But, considering that these kids have brains much more advanced, it makes sense. I look over the titles and see one that is dear to me. “Little Women,” by Louisa May Alcott. I remember the summer between sixth and seventh grade when I broke my leg and couldn’t go outside to play. That summer promised to be a bereft season filled with loneliness, until I met Jo, Beth, Amy, Meg, and of course Laurie, the young trust fund boy who lived next door. Each girl, including myself, kind of fell of love with him during the course of the story. I can do this, I think to myself. I can share this wonderful story with these poor demented children and show them how self-sacrifice and helping one another can bring great reward. That should accomplish two things, it might make it a bit quiet and more manageable in here for a while, and it just might get me fired! So, with great gusto I announce, as loud as I can, “Story Time! Anyone who wants to hear a lovely tale, come sit down!” Three or four children immediately come and plop down in front of me with faces full of expectation.

  ‘Hey,’ I think, ‘this is easier than I thought!’ Now I’m dreaming about Deedy’s face when he hears that it turns out that this, the one job where I had no confidence, is the one where I excel. I open up the book and start to read “Chapter One, Playing Pilgrims...”

  Dani comes over and says “Are you okay, because I have a situation in the nap room that I have to handle.”

  “Sure,” I answer, “I’ve got this!” My mood is now practically soaring. I go back to the book and start this lovely tale of Christmas in the March household, with beloved Marmee and her girls. I barely even hear Dani as she says “Okay, but don’t let this get out of hand, only three or four kids at a time, okay?” I brush off her comment and continue to read. She thinks I’m still afraid, or unsure. She doesn’t realize that I’m in my element.

  A few minutes into the book more children wander over. I see them in my peripheral vision, looking at one another before taking a seat in what I’m now calling ‘the story circle.’ I’ve read this book so many times the words are coming easily and I am able to get lost for a few moments in my own thoughts while I continue. Who knew? All these kids need is a little structure, something to get lost in and look forward to! Now, I am in an even grander fantasy. I am going to be the hero of the day care center! Everyone will be so grateful that I came here and gave them a few minutes of peace and quiet. Dani, will write a letter of recommendation for my redemption, telling everyone at the Second Chance Temp Agency that I revolutionized how they approach their kids, now. They might even put up a plaque or something to give other employees motivation! I see Deedy standing there with pride on his face as I stand in front of the new symbol of Child Care Excellence that hangs on the wall. I can’t wait to tell him, he was right. He finally sent me to the right spot.

  I see the more children coming over and sitting down. Some of them are standing just outside the circle listening but, haven’t yet committed. I feel a wave of pride. I am sitting here surrounded by Hell children listening to me read.

  Surrounded by Hell children.

  Surrounded.

  Damn, Damn, Damn it all!

  Suddenly, I remember where I am. These are not normal children. These are the demonic souls of serial killers, dictators, tyrants, and psychopaths. I look around quickly for back up. Dani is nowhere to be found. What did she say? She had a situation. I remember that. Fuck! That’s why she said no more than three or four kids at a time. Why don’t I listen when other people tell me things? I get lost in my own ego and think they are underestimating me, instead of trying to help. Which of course, was what they are almost always doing. The other adults that are employed here are all around the room with their “buddies” doing exactly what they should do, paying attention to their own sets of devil charges, and to each other. No one has noticed that I’ve gotten myself into a shitstorm of trouble.

  I start to rise out of my chair. “Okay, break time.” I say with overt cheerfulness. But, there’s no escaping now. They have formed a strategic circle and three of them are standing guard while the rest descend on me. Fear wraps around my heart as little hands wrap around my body. I hear a growl in my left ear and turn to face it. I find myself looking into a pair of wretched, horrific eyes. His gaze seizes mine and holds me just as each child finds purchase on my dress or body and pulls me down. I feel the scream starting in my abdomen and by the time it reaches my throat, so does he. His little hands wrapped around my neck and his pale blue eyes are filled with hatred, but also longing. He wants to strangle me to death. But I am already dead. I feel
his frustration in my gut. So, he will do the next best thing and inflict as much pain on me as possible. They are all standing around me, cheering him on and holding me down. My head is spinning with the words ‘why’ and ‘no.’ My brain is reverting to its most primal urge, to survive. I’m prying at him and slapping at the dozens of hands and knees now all over me. I feel a stab of pain in my legs. One of them has bit me, another on my arm and another on my shoulder. I begin to sob as I keep trying to fight them off. There is a ringing in my ears and I think I hear Dani yelling, “get her out of there!” Mentally, I thank Dani, but, all that is escaping my throat now is a ragged kind of wail, like a cat who caterwauls before he dies. The room is getting dark. In the gray behind my many attackers, I see her, the little girl with the bouncy ball. What is she doing here? Why would she come into this horrible place! Can anyone else see her?

  “Linda!” I say and she looks at me. There doesn’t seem to be any reaction to the fact that I am under attack. She just looks at me as if to say “What?” My cognizant mind is slipping. Perhaps I’m hallucinating, but I can’t risk her really being here. “You have to get out of here,” I say, barely whispering my words, yet she seems to be able to hear me just fine.

  “Stop helping!” she answers in her usual petulant way.

  “But I have to. That’s my job.” I say now, barely conscious.

  “What job!” she says to me teasingly.

  “The most important job ever,” I say, not even sure that I’m speaking aloud anymore. “My Darling Girl, the job of being your Mommy.”

  And everything goes black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I am sitting with Mom and Dad in the living room watching yet another episode of ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ when the phone rings. I leap over the back of the sofa, run and stand over it breathlessly, to see the number on the caller id. Mom says something about me acting like a teenager and I stick my tongue out at her to prove her point. I look at my Dad and say, “I’m actually a little nervous.”