by Hunter Blain
Knowing we were running out of time before Satan sprang his trap, I grabbed Dawson by his shoulders and shook him.
“Dude, it’s time to man the fuck up so we can get out of here. You have to forgive yourself, like, now.”
“How can I forgive myself?” Dawson asked, looking up from his wet knees. “I killed my parents, dude. I killed my own mom and dad.” As if on cue, a woman’s cries were abruptly silenced as if the airway from her lungs to her mouth had been crimped closed. “I’m responsible for almost a hundred innocent people’s deaths! I-I deserve to be punished!”
Remembering what Father Thomes had told me, and fearing he was right, I grew angry.
“Listen to me, Dawson. The only reason you are here is because you can’t forgive yourself. Father Thomes absolved you of your sins and you had been working for nearly a decade to cleanse your soul. You only need to forgive yourself!”
“How?” Dawson asked, rubbing his drenched face with the back of one arm. There was a desperation in his eyes that begged me to help him climb the mountain of sorrow and self-loathing, and if there was anyone who was good at doing just that, it was me.
The flames had become a roaring fire, and black smoke was making it hard to see my friend. The cries of people began dying down as the two wolves ran through the only exit while the fire transformed into a funeral pyre. The remaining forty or fifty people that hadn’t been eaten or mauled collapsed to the ground holding their throats as the hungry flames stole the oxygen and replaced the air with superheated, toxic black smoke.
I looked at Dawson, who was on the verge of crying again.
“How do I forgive myself for all of this?!” Dawson yelled, tears and snot flying from his mouth to land on my face. I didn’t care. Time was short and I was determined to save someone who didn’t deserve to be in Hell.
“You have to‒” I began as I blinked the smoke from my eyes. The scene changed, and I was standing outside the hotel in the middle of the day.
“Ah, crap!” I cried out, understanding what had happened. I began jogging to the entrance with a scowl of determination.
Inside, I saw Joey and Dawson tussling again, and their father telling them to stop. I knew the young boy wasn’t the real Dawson, so I scanned the room. In the corner by a big potted plant, was my frail friend. I strode over to him.
“You just forgive yourself! I-I don’t freaking know what to say!” I harshly admitted while throwing my hands up in the air and letting them drop again.
Dawson looked up at me and yelped as he pulled away, trying to scoot behind the plant.
“What the hell, man?”
“Wh-who are you?!” he cried out as I knelt and tried to get closer.
“Dawson, it’s me. John.”
“J-John?”
“Oh, Lilith. You already forgot,” I said as much to him as to myself.
“Damn you, Satan!” I yelled before slapping my mouth shut with both hands. I shot to my feet and looked all around with frantic eyes. After making sure the coast was clear, I knelt down again and whispered, “Dawson, we don’t have long. I’m here to take you home, okay? You didn’t mean to hurt these people. Father Thomes forgave you. Now you have to forgive yourself.”
“How?” he asked with eyes that flooded while locked onto his smiling parents.
“You have to let go, Dawson. It was not you that hurt your parents or these people—”
A surprisingly loud car horn sounded from close by, causing me to pivot around to look outside, and was dismayed to see I was standing on a beach.
“FUCK! FUCK-FUCK-FUCK!” I shouted to the universe with clenched fists.
Stomping toward the brothers, I let my eyes feverishly search all around. Once again, I found the real Dawson. He was by a portion of the long white picket fence that ran the length of the property. He was huddling under a growth of plants.
With a bark of anger, I strode over to him, my boots pushing into the sand like it was fresh snow.
“Dawson, it’s me, John.”
“I know. We were just talking. You were telling me to forgive myself.”
“I . . . ah, yeah. Okay, weird. Um, where was I?”
Dawson looked up at me with his gaunt, wet face, cocked his head, and repeated, “Yo-you were telling me to forgive myself.”
“Ah, right. Yeah, I need you to go ahead and do that so I can get you out of Hell.”
“I’m in Hell?”
“Shit,” I barked as I mentally slapped myself. No choice now. “Yeah, buddy. But, Father Thomes told me it’s only because you didn’t forgive yourself. That’s it! No other reason.”
“I don’t want to forgive myself. I deserve this.”
“Fucking shit, Dawson. No, you freaking don’t! Stop being a Lilith-damned bitch and man the hell up.”
A finger made of ice slid up my spine, making me shudder uncontrollably.
I turned my head and scanned the scene from side to side, not knowing what I was searching for, but knowing I’d know once I saw it.
“What?” Dawson asked, sensing my change in demeanor.
“Nothing,” I said, aggressively rubbing the back of my neck with the palm of my hand. I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. “Give me your hand and let’s get out of here. Your brother needs you.”
At the mention of Joey, Dawson straightened almost imperceptibly.
“Where is he?” he asked with a small injection of determination in his tone.
“Back on Earth. And man, he isn’t doing good without ya. Think you can help me out and—”
The scene changed to the hotel room at night.
“WHAT THE HELL!” I shouted as my arms cartwheeled around my torso in rage.
I looked around in the darkness, searching for my friend. When I couldn’t see him, an idea came to me and I reached into my pocket for the nail. When my hand felt nothing but fabric, I inhaled sharply and began patting all my pockets.
As the boys began their transformation on the beds, I got down on my hands and knees, searching in the darkness, hoping I had just dropped the holy relics. The nail and key were my only guide and defense in Hell.
I decided the relics hadn’t followed me into the cell and they were with the part of me that was standing in front of the Dawson’s prison. My mind wanted to try and make sense of the situation, offering that maybe it was some sort of mental projection, but I didn’t have time for that.
The light came on as the man half-dressed in a tuxedo flipped the switch. Looking all around, I decided Dawson wasn’t in here and made my way into the next room, where their mother was slowly making her way toward the bedroom, worry for her children evident in her stance.
There, on the other side of the couch, was Dawson.
“Dude, we don’t have time for this. We need to get you out of here, NOW!”
A shriek came from behind, and Dawson began shuddering and sobbing again.
“MOMMY! DADDY!” he wailed like a child. It was unnerving because his cry sounded like one of longing and torture at the same time.
Shit! I thought to myself, all too familiar with the emotions he was feeling in regard to watching his mother die.
“Dawson,” I said steadily as I sat on the couch next to him, “Joey will end up here, too, if you can’t help me save him.”
Dawson shot his head in my direction and stopped weeping as if a button had been pressed. Grabbing the couch, he yanked himself to his feet.
“Joey?! No! No, he can’t! It wasn’t his fault!” Dawson pleaded, grabbing my arm and shaking it. “I cut him! It was me! Not him!”
“It wasn’t your fault, either,” I countered. Dawson stared into my eyes, blinking rapidly as if trying to assimilate what I was saying.
I blinked — damn it, that was a habit that was costing me right now — and we were in the ballroom. This time, Dawson was standing next to me, eyes still fixated on mine. His face looked fuller, and the black under his eyes had diminished noticeably.
“He can’t come down h
ere. It’s not his fault.”
“Are you ready to help me save your brother’s soul, then?”
Dawson thought for a fraction of a second, and then nodded.
“Good. Now then, Dawson, do you forgive yourself for what happened here in 1986?”
Slowly, he nodded his head just as the wolves burst into the ballroom.
“Neat. Now hold on. This might be a bumpy ride,” I warned as I brought him into my arms and let myself fall backward.
Chapter 7
Ifell through the air with Dawson clutching at my chest. Row after row of cells flew past at an alarming speed as we raced toward the ground.
“Ah shit,” I said to myself, “Didn’t really think this one thr‒” The ground hurried up to greet me like a puppy rushing to its owner after a day at work. The air shot out of me as Dawson slammed into my torso, his elbows slamming directly into my stomach. If my soul had insides, they would have squeezed out of my mouth like a Play-Doh toy.
“Ow,” I wheezed with a weak, inward breath.
Dawson pushed off of me and looked all around with wide eyes at the rows after rows of cells that extended to the impossibly high ceiling.
“Where are we?” he asked, breathing heavily in his shock.
“I done did told you that, boy. Hell. Hades. The Underworld.”
“Home,” a confident, strong voice proclaimed from somewhere nearby.
In a scramble, I rushed like a newborn deer on ice to get to my feet. My head was on a swivel as I looked all around for the source of the voice.
“Hello again, John Cook,” the voice which belonged at the head of a corporation said.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered, fearing I already knew the answer.
From the shadows emerged the visage of the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His eyes were made of pure gold and sat below a mane of hair the same color. The wheat-colored curls that seemed to glow as if perpetually cast in sunlight went down to his shoulders, and had impossible fluff and volume. I was instantly jealous.
His skin was perfect, as was his square jawline. A white custom suit, complete with a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down, sat atop white leather loafers without socks. Damn it, he was fashionable as fuck.
“I’ll ask again, Fifty Shades of White, who the hell are you?”
“Amusing choice of words, actually,” the beautiful man said as he took a step closer. Then, in dramatic fashion, he raised one hand in front of him to the sky while the other went behind him, and he bent over in a bow. “Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.”
“Shit . . .” I mouthed, angry at myself for using his name while in Dawson’s cell.
“Don’t worry, John. I come in peace,” the Devil said as he straightened and held up two fingers in an ironic gesture of peace. “And please, call me Samael.”
“Whatcha want, Sam?” I called out, lifting my chin and shuffling on my feet. I felt a trap coming.
“All I ask is for one thing, John, and one thing only.”
“Yeah? And what’s that . . . p-peepee head.”
I could see Dawson’s face, which had been transfixed on the Devil, slowly turning to face me.
“Yeah, I know! It was the first thing that came to mind. Shut up,” I said under my breath to my friend.
“I only ask that you listen. After that, you are free to go.”
“With Dawson,” I added.
“We can address that after our discussion.”
“Either he gets let out or no deal.”
“Forgive me, but you are not in much of a position to make such outlandish demands. Wouldn’t you agree?” On cue, countless sets of hellfire eyes glowed in the darkness all around us. I turned around and saw the same scenario behind. They were at seemingly random heights, with some twenty feet in the air and others only twenty inches off the ground, and everything in between.
Finishing my three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, I stood fast in front of the Lord of Hell.
Without telling my hand to do so and without knowing why, I reached into my pocket, removed the nail, and shouted, “You are forgiven!” to Dawson as I slammed the tip of the nail into his chest. A white light exploded from the point of impact and began growing in intensity as his skin became transparent. I yanked the nail back and watched in awe at what I had done.
The light was blinding, and I had to take a step back as I shielded my eyes. There was a murmur of growls from the demonic audience. Only Samael remained unmoving.
“Wha-what’s happening?” Dawson asked as he began to rise off the ground and float upward.
“I think you’re going home,” I said with brimming pride. He had forgiven himself and freed his soul from the burden of the past.
“What about Joey?”
The fact that he thought of his brother at a time like this truly showed how much love he had for his twin.
“I’ll watch over him.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I said with a chest bursting with joy like a field of blooming flowers.
“Mom? Dad?” Dawson asked as he looked upward with arms that extended toward the ceiling. A smile stretched across his face from ear to ear as he continued floating higher.
“That’s right, buddy. Your mom and dad are waiting for you,” I whispered victoriously, remembering my own parents waiting for m—
An obsidian spear pierced Dawson’s chest as he floated in the air, ripping out a sickeningly large chunk of his soul. The only sound that escaped his lips was a groan, as if he had only jumped into bed a little too hard.
“NOOOOO!” I shrieked in a high-pitched cry as I watched Dawson’s pure white, glowing skin fade to an opaque blueish gray.
His arms, which had been reaching toward his mother and father, began falling one at a time, unable to hold themselves up any longer.
Quivering eyes dropped to his chest as he drifted toward the ground like a leaf in autumn, dying.
“John?” he asked with confusion across his face as I rushed to cradle him in my arms.
“No-no-no-no-no. Please no. Pl-he-he-hease,” I sobbed, losing control over my emotions as my mouth hung agape. The joy that had bloomed in my chest had now turned rancid and decayed, leaving behind a barren field of death.
My fingers ran through his hair as his gaze steadily went unfocused while trying to look at me. He smiled, then, before saying, “I saw them, John. I saw my mommy. I saw m-m-my d-daddy,” he coughed while trying to continue. “Th-they forgave me.” His skin continued to grow darker as he reached up to grab my hand, which was stroking his hair.
“John?” he asked, looking right at me but no longer able to see.
“Yeah, buddy. I-I’m here. I won’t leave you, okay?” I tried to comfort him between stifling sobs.
“Where will I go?” he asked in a whisper, no longer strong enough to put air into his words.
“I-I don’t know,” my mouth answered before my brain could tell it to shut the hell up and say anything else.
“I’m scared.”
My heart snapped in two as I looked down at the unfocused face of my friend while I mouthed, “No,” in a long, weak whine. I didn’t know what else to say.
Dawson was gone. His body melted into a mist before disappearing into the ground beneath where I knelt, my tears leaving droplets on the stone floor.
My palms rested on the floor where he had just been, as if I could reach through and somehow stop him from descending. I noticed the nail was still in one of my hands, and my fist slowly wrapped tighter around it.
The tears in my eyes evaporated as white plumes of heavenflame spilled from my sockets. My fists shook and my jaw popped from how hard I was gritting my teeth. Nostrils flared while lips were pulled back in a snarl, exposing elongated canines. A flaming gladius burst to life, spurting blue, white, and red flames along its length as I got to my feet.
Free me, and together we can kill them all, an all too familiar voice whispered as if standing just behind me
.
In that moment, the words made perfect sense to me.
I pulled back from my eyes to stare with a deadpan expression at the Puzzle Box that sat upon a stand on the table. I reached for it, feeling empty and not caring about the consequences of freeing Baleius from his prison.
A shriek pulled me out of my mind, and I lifted my face to see Samael slowly tearing the head off of one of his subjects. The terrified demon fought uselessly against his master as the muscles of his neck separated with audible twangs and his voice stretched and gurgled from the shredding vocal cords.
I was frozen in surprise as the other demons took large steps away from their master, who lifted the grisly head up for all to see. The eyes were still blinking while the mouth appeared to be trying to scream.
The flames spilling from my eyes ceased as the roiling sword extinguished. It was as if my mind were trying to reboot after crashing.
Samael walked over to me, holding the head up for all to see as dripping, viscous blood oozed from the dangling and tattered flesh.
“He acted without my approval. And for that, you have my sincerest apology,” he spoke while staring into the eyes of the demon as it went still, no longer twitching or blinking. Samael tightened his lips while closing his eyes and lifting his brows while slightly shrugging in a gesture that clearly read, “What a waste, but so be it.”
“I‒” I started, at a complete loss for words. His surprising action against his own kind — his own brother — threw a lake of water on my conflagration of fury.
“Walk with me,” he said warmly while dropping the head with a wet plop. Numb with indecision, I did as requested. My body on autopilot, I placed the nail in my pocket.
Countless eyes followed us, making me feel exposed and vulnerable, prompting Samael to wave a hand smoothly through the air. We were now in a reading room, free from the glaring red eyes.
Looking all around, I could see it wasn’t just a room but a warehouse with countless shelves that were filled with all manner of books. As I neared the rebooting process for my brain, something else seemed to pop up and throw me back down.