What the Hell

by Hunter Blain

  “I did protest the senseless war in Vietnam. It just so happens that I had another purpose in mind at the same instance. I believe the American saying is, ‘Two birds, one rock’?”

  “Stone. But yeah, I get ya.” I thought for a moment before asking, “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

  “I will help you find the white wolf before He finds you. For if He finds you first, you will never leave. They already know you are coming and are preparing a trap as we speak. What they did not count on, however, was your ability to get to Gehenna so quickly.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Just long enough,” he answered with another smile.

  “You aren’t a liar-liar, um, everything on fire, are you?”

  “I assume you are asking whether or not I am a demon sent to lure you? That, perhaps, you are already standing in the trap?”

  “Yeah, that thing,” I said, keeping my eyes on the monk but checking out my peripherals for anything out of the ordinary.

  “Very reasonable question, John. If I answer, ‘No,’ will you believe me? I could be a demon and would, of course, provide the most appropriate answer to throw you off my true objective.”

  “I suppose not. But a friend once told me that the best way to see if you can trust someone . . . is to trust them.”

  “A wise man, indeed,” Quảng Đức said with an appreciative nod. “Come. We do not have long.”

  He approached me and I took a tentative step backward as a flaming hand reached out to rest on my chest. I could feel the warmth of the flame waft across my skin, making me squint.

  Without warning, I was shoved backward hard enough to land on my back in a sprawl. I shuffled to my feet and looked around to see I was back in the hallway of the obsidian jail. My shadow danced on the floor in front of me, and I jerked around to see the monk looking at me with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Whoa! What the—!” I yelped in surprise as I shot my eyes back and forth between the now empty cell and the man on fire standing beside me.

  “Come along quickly, John,” my guide instructed as he turned and began a steady pace down the aisle.

  I struggled to catch up, as he was deceptively fast. Though he appeared to be casually walking, I had to power walk to keep up with him.

  “How did you get out of your cell?”

  “This is the prison of those who wish to be punished. They have committed unspeakable crimes against their fellow man or themselves,” he said as he turned to poignantly regard me as he spoke the last part. “Most here cannot forgive themselves for the pain they have caused, and seek out their karmic atonement.”

  “So, they can leave at any time?” I asked as I unconsciously rubbed at my tender wrist, picturing the woman as she was pulled under the water.

  “Yes and no,” he stated. “To wind up in this place, one must have desired to do so, like a moth to a flame.” He turned down the first separation of blocks we came to, which created a narrow pathway perpendicular to the main route I had first taken.

  “Meaning they could get out of here . . . but they don’t want to?” I asked, horrified at the implication.

  “Precisely.”

  “Is . . . is Dawson in one of these? Is that why you’re here?”

  He stopped moving and turned to regard me as if for the first time.

  “Yes, John. Your friend is here.”

  A fragment of hope attempted to bloom in my chest. “So I can get him out of here, right? That’s good!”

  Quảng Đức looked at me, a tired smile forming that told me there was much more to it than I could possibly fathom.

  He turned and continued down the path, a little faster this time. I had to start jogging to keep up.

  “He is just up ahead.”

  Something bothered me, and I had to ask, “If you are out of your cell — your own personal Hell, if you will — why are you still on fire?”

  My eyes kept looking ahead and behind us for fear that this flaming man would be like a beacon in the night.

  “Do not worry, John. The guards are preparing their trap. We will not be interrupted just yet.”

  “Yet? Oh, I don’t like yet,” I grumbled.

  “Everything is happening precisely as it should,” he said as he turned down another pathway. “Here we are.”

  I stopped beside him and looked into the cell directly in front of me.

  “No. There,” Quảng Đức said as he pointed up.

  My neck craned and I looked toward the ceiling, which all of a sudden seemed considerably further away than when I’d first looked up.

  “Let me guess, top one?”

  “It would seem the universe has a sense of humor, too,” Burning Man chuckled.

  “Yeah, um, I like the universe’s sense of humor much, much less than I like yours.”

  “I know you do. Perhaps, one day, we can trade our most favorite jokes.”

  “I don’t know, man. I really feel like you wouldn’t dig my material.”

  “Only one way to know for sure. But first,” he said, pointing upward.

  To look all the way up, I had to lean so far back that I could have won first place in a limbo contest. Straightening, I turned to ask Quảng Đức a question, and noticed he was gone.

  I looked all around in several full circles, searching for the man.

  A single butterfly landed on my shoulder, and I arched my neck to get a good look with one eye. It flapped a few times and then flew into the air, straight up toward the ceiling.

  I stared as it became a speck in my vision, appreciating the man who had waited in Hell for me for several decades.

  “Oh, Lilith! That means . . .” I said to myself as I remembered the time dilation in Hell. He might have been here the equivalent of several millennia! I let out a long whistle before my thoughts landed on how long Dawson had been here, suffering. “I’m coming, buddy,” I said aloud as I began climbing up the jagged rock of the cellblocks. I was careful not to touch the bars.

  After what felt like hours, I reached the topmost cell. There were no sulfur clouds or green lightning in this room, as I assumed those were for dramatic effect for the new souls.

  I peered through the bars and saw Dawson lying in a fetal position in the middle of the cell. He was spasming at random intervals.

  Taking in a deep breath, I stepped onto the edge of the cell where a lip of stone a few inches wide barely supported my big feet. I let go of the obsidian wall and gripped the iron bars.

  Chapter 6

  Iwas transported to the familiar cavern, but this time, the entire back portion was missing. A hotel lay directly ahead with the name “Dupont Plaza San Juan.”

  I stepped through the cavern and onto a sunlit road, blinking as I shielded my eyes. The sun didn’t burn as I stood directly in its light, though I could distinctly feel its warmth.

  Pivoting in all directions, I saw that the cavern was gone, leaving only the pull of the hotel that was the center of Dawson’s personal Hell. At that moment, I felt trapped. Running my hand down my mouth and tugging at my beard, I turned back to the hotel, determined to move forward.

  As I looked up, I could see the building was by itself in front of beautiful green waters. It stole my breath, as I had never seen ocean water that color in person before.

  I wanted to stop and gaze at everything that was bathed in the light of the sun, but I knew I was here for a reason.

  Without telling my feet to do so, I began walking toward the main entrance where people bustled in and out. A sign read, “Happy New Year from Dupont Plaza! Ring in 1986 in Style!”

  Walking through the front entrance, I was both delighted and dismayed to see a teenage Dawson tussling with his twin brother, Joey, at the front desk.

  “Cut it out, you two,” their father half called over his shoulder as he took his identification back from the front desk clerk.

  “He started it,” Dawson accused.

  “No, I didn’t! You did!” Joey retorted. I
almost wanted to go over there and spank them both.

  I blinked, and the scene cut to me standing on a beach with Dawson, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen at the time, digging in the sand. At a glance, I recognized that he was building some sort of trench, a collection of hand-sized rocks stacked in a pile close by.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see sand being thrown into a similar pile twenty or so feet away. I looked up to see Joey building his own trench.

  “You’re gonna get it, punk!” Dawson cried out between heaving breaths.

  “You’re the punk, punk!” Joey retorted as he exerted himself in a digging race against his twin.

  “Ow!” Dawson cried out, bringing his finger to his mouth. “Shit!”

  “I’m telling Mom!” Joey yelled triumphantly.

  “No, dweeb! I really hurt myself.”

  At that, Joey dropped the sibling rivalry to attend to his best friend’s injury. Rushing over, he saw a stream of blood originating from Dawson’s fingertip running down his arm and dripping into the sand from his elbow.

  As Joey looked down, I followed his eyes until we both landed on a fragment of bone that stuck out from the sand.

  Grabbing a stick, Joey crouched down and stuck the wood underneath the bone and pried it from the sand. It was a jawbone, complete with a full set of fangs.

  “Ah, man,” I exhaled as I removed my metaphysical beanie and ran my fingers through my long black hair, knowing full well what I was witnessing.

  “Wicked!” Joey exclaimed as he looked at it.

  “No, it isn’t. It cut me!” Dawson chastised his brother, angry that Joey seemed to be enjoying the bone that had drawn blood.

  “If you weren’t such a girl, it wouldn’t have cut you.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Dawson’s a giiiiirl. Dawson’s a giiiiirl,” Joey sang as he waved the bone around like he had found a buried treasure.

  I could see in Dawson’s narrowing eyes what was about to happen.

  In a flash, Dawson snatched the bone out of his clueless twin’s hand and then slashed at his arm with it. It cut a deep gash that began spilling blood instantly.

  Both boys gasped at the same time as Joey grabbed his arm. Dawson dropped the jawbone into the sand, where it got covered by scrambling feet as Dawson tried to get closer to his brother. He reached for Joey’s arm, as if in doing so it might magically seal the skin back together.

  “Oh no, I’m gonna ralph. Ge-get Dad,” Joey said, starting to hyperventilate as his eyes grew a tad unfocused.

  “No! Not Dad! Yo-you can hit me back. Like hard! Ju-ju-just don’t tell Dad! He’ll go mental!”

  Joey fell onto his butt on the mound of sand Dawson had made, his head bobbing back and forth like a buoy in the ocean.

  “You’re okay! You’re okay!” Dawson repeated in an attempt to trick the universe into thinking Joey’s arm hadn’t been torn open to the muscle.

  “G-get me . . . get me a towel,” Joey asked as blood seeped from his loosening grip.

  “Okay! Stay here,” Dawson said as he ran to the nearest beach chair and snagged a white towel before doing a complete one-eighty and sprinting back to his brother, kicking up sand with each step.

  “Here!”

  Joey took the towel and ungracefully began trying to wrap his arm.

  “He-help,” Joey asked, his eyes beginning to flutter from shock.

  Dawson knelt down and secured the towel in place before wheezing in horror as crimson began staining through the white cotton.

  “Dad’s gonna see it for sure!”

  “Good,” Joey said as he scowled at his brother.

  “We’re both gonna get in trouble, and you know it, spaz.”

  At that, Joey seemed to nod as Dawson helped him to his feet.

  “I think it stopped bleeding,” Dawson said, though it might have been an attempt to steady his brother’s nerves. “Let’s grab some grub at the buffet and I bet you’ll feel better.”

  Joey nodded again, this time with a little more enthusiasm, and the twins started making their way to the outside food line. I noticed Dawson stood on the side of the injury, blocking the view of his brother’s hastily bandaged arm.

  I blinked and it was night. Standing in a hotel room, I could see out the window that it was a full moon. The water was eerily calm, and it looked like two moons were staring at me like a pair of pale eyes. I felt like I was on display for the stars’ entertainment, completely helpless to save my friends from what was about to happen.

  There was a groan of pain and I looked over to a set of beds where the twins tossed and turned, their skin glistening with copious amounts of sweat. I couldn’t tell who was who in the darkness, but two sets of arms revealed unmarred skin, the deep gash having already healed.

  I took in a deep breath, lifted my chin, and buckled my seat belt for the ride I wasn’t going to be able to stop.

  Joints popped as limbs grew. Fur sprouted on every square inch of skin I could see. Moans became haunting cries of pain as two sets of yellow eyes opened at almost the exact same second while faces elongated into snouts. Teeth sharpened into fangs as a man rushed into the room of the screaming brothers.

  With the flick of a light, the last thing the man half-dressed in a tuxedo would ever see was illuminated. As if connected, the twins leaped through the air in unison, tackling the man who gasped in shock as fangs pierced his exposed flesh.

  I could feel my brow furrowing deeper and deeper as I watched the boys tear their father to shreds, eating the meat from his limbs like it was a delicacy. Even chunks of the tux were swallowed with abandon.

  A woman’s shriek pierced the din of sloshing meat down hungry throats, snapping the twins’ attention to a room just out of my sight. I was thankful for the reprieve and covered my face with the palm of my hand.

  The high-pitched scream was replaced with the thud of meat on thin carpet, and I lowered my hand to see I was standing right by the carnage. A white, pearly dress was being flooded with scarlet as the wolves did what wolves must.

  “Oh, Lilith!” I cried out and turned my head and shut my eyes as if I were being attacked with pepper spray. I lifted my hands in front of me, trying to shield my closed eyes from the sight of the flesh being freed from bone.

  After a full minute of agonizing tearing and chewing, one of the boys howled, which prompted the other to follow suit.

  After their cry of victory was complete, they oriented on the door leading to the hallway.

  The black wolf ran at, and burst through, the hotel door, sending out an explosion of splinters and wood. The white wolf was right behind him, ready for the hunt.

  “May-maybe they don’t hurt anyone else,” I wished to the universe. The universe, it seemed, didn’t share my sentiment.

  A quick glance at the clock on the wall revealed it was eleven forty-five at night . . . on New Year’s Eve.

  “Oh . . . shit . . .” I drawled.

  With a blink, I was standing in a ballroom filled to capacity with fancy-dressed patrons, all ready to have a good time.

  “Okay. Enough of this,” I said to myself, already beyond agitated with the scenario, but it was to no avail. Instead of blessed silence, screams rose in a wave, growing in intensity and sheer volume as the wolves began their frenzied slaughter.

  I strode up to the white wolf, who was now covered in crimson, and waved my hands in the air.

  “Hey, Dawson! It’s me! Time to get you outta here, little buddy.”

  The wolf paused for only a brief second before leaping at me. His body passed through mine and into a small group of people who had been standing just behind.

  “Lilith damn it, Dawson! Cut the crap! It’s time to go, NOW!”

  Through the cries of pain and terror, I heard a whimpering from somewhere not far. Instinct took over and I followed where I thought the sound was coming from to a man huddled in the corner.

  “Dawson?” I asked, tilting my head and squinting.

 
Dawson looked up at me and then lowered his head back to his knees. His arms were wrapped around his legs.

  I made my way over to him just as a table was overturned, the decorative candle that had rested in the middle tumbling underneath another table.

  Kneeling, I rested a hand on Dawson’s shoulder. He jerked away from me with a terrified yelp. His whole body was trembling.

  Oh, Lilith . . . how long had Dawson been living his nightmare over and over again? Time was relative. One full second of having the Spear of Destiny piercing my foot put me in Hell for hours. Dawson had died just over six months ago by my recollection, but that’s because I had been in Faerie. On Earth, it had been three years. Dawson could have been in his own personal Hell for centuries.

  Softening my tone, I gingerly placed my hand on his head and said, “Hey, buddy. It’s me, John. I’ve come to take you home.”

  Red-rimmed, exhausted eyes looked up at me with black circles etched into a gaunt face.

  “J-John?” Dawson wheezed out. Snot was running down his nose and into his mouth, intermixing with the streaming tears from his eyes.

  “Yeah, buddy. It’s me.”

  My shadow started dancing on the wall in front of me, and I looked over my shoulder to see that a tablecloth had caught fire. The flames were being fed by the spilled alcohol, ribbons, streamers, and other decorations that were apparently made of extremely flammable materials.

  Looking around, I could see that the ballroom was still full of people.

  “Why don’t they just leave?” I asked, waving my free hand around.

  “Be-because we . . . we came through the only entrance.”

  I looked around to see that there was, in fact, only one set of doors that lead inside.

  “No emergency exits? Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “Yeah. The hotel got in big trouble after ninety-five people died . . . because of us.” Dawson lowered his head back to his knees and resumed sobbing from the unimaginable mountain of guilt that pressed on his heart.

  “Hey. It’s not your fault, man. Believe me, I know a thing or two about this stuff.” I stroked his hair as I spoke while the screams of dying people behind me countered my act of kindness.