Hell Hath No Fury, page 12
You should keep thinking about Gabby. The thought came to her like a lilted whisper, and a smile formed again. So, thinking about Gabby was exactly what she did.
As images of this incredible woman, who she had been lucky enough to meet, filled her mind, she felt a joy grow inside of her.
In this moment, walking past the wading death that cried out for her blade, Delilah found herself capable of joy, even here in Hell. That was, until her sword met with the fingers of a man who had made it to the edge of the path. In an instant, with the sound of those fingers falling at her heels, the joy she’d found was taken from her. She wondered how few people made it into Heaven?
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. How many people could possibly live up to the rules God had set, and if you died suddenly, what then? There is really no way to repent for your sins. Worse still, the idea that the unbaptized wind up in this terrible place as well? How many children? How many innocents?
What a bullshit system.
By the time she reached the opposite end of the fiery lakes, the colossus that had been nearest the exit had moved well away from the slow approaching Delilah. Her thoughts settled on the idea that none of this mattered. She’d get Momo, she’d go home, she’d love as many as she could as best as she could, and she would be damned in the end knowing, at least, she had made a few people's lives better for it.
“Damned if you do,” she said looking back at the lakes of fire filled with burning people. Then she looked forward through the dark tunnel of rock. “Damned if you don't.”
She hoisted the sword up and over her shoulder and walked onward, into the tunnel. The air inside was thick with a shimmer of purple, and it burned her throat before soothing it.
She ventured deeper.
She tried to put her depressing thoughts behind her, back with the lakes of fire to burn alongside the damned. She replaced them with thoughts of Gabby once more. The joy she had felt did not come to her as easily as it had before. This time, along with the pleasant image of Gabby’s soft smile, there came the fear of losing her. The fear she might end up down here for eternity.
She walked deeper into the rocky tunnel until she came to a door, and said with an almost vacant voice, “That’s strange.”
It was strange, seeing a very normal door here, but it was also a familiar door, though she couldn’t quite place it. Her heavy heart and sullen mind opened it anyway, with little regard for what might lay behind it. Inside, she set her sword down in the bin that held the umbrella she hardly ever used, then she walked with heavy feet to her couch and let her body fall into its inviting cushions. She was relieved to finally rest her aching body and exhausted mind.
“What a fucking day,” she sighed.
“Yeah, a real son of a bitch,” her husband, Rich, echoed her sentiment from the chair beside the couch, and hung his head.
23
“Momo the Wretched,” the Dark Lord mused, His face deep in thought and careful consideration. “No, no, I don’t like that one at all. How about, Momo the Terrible? Momo the Destroyer?”
The Imp just stood there, hunched over, and hypnotized into a state of complete disbelief.
What is even happening right now? Is this it? Did he just want a pet?
The thought ate away at him as he watched his Dark Lord come up with new names, each more undeserving than the last, for this horrid cat. The pride in serving his master, the fear of his terrible wrath, they began to chip away, closer to nothing, with each utterance. The Imp’s silent objections worked into a scream in his head, I don’t even have a name! I deserve a name! This is bullshit!
“Imp!” the Dark Lord shouted, “are you listening?”
“Yes, my Lord, what is it?” The Imp tried his best to hide the contempt in his voice. He eyed the cat with hatred and wanted nothing more than to devour that stupid fucking bag of worthless fur.
The Dark Lord rolled his eyes then asked again, “Have you any names, Imp? Momo certainly captures the deceptively cute nature of the beast but not the plans I have for it, and it’s nowhere close to describing its hideous potential. What about Momo the Fowl?”
The Imp grew weary of his Dark Lord’s inexplicable infatuation with the creature. “Anything you choose would be perfect, my lord.”
“Ugh,” the Dark Lord groaned, causing the rocky walls of the Pit to tremble, and his voice began to rise into a growl. “I want your ideas, not your pandering. For all that is unholy. I’ve got enough ‘yes my lords’ to fill the entirety of Hell!”
“Sorry, my lord,” The Imp groveled. His Dark Lord simply glared at him, waiting.
“Uhhh,” the Imp thought for a moment. The fear of his Dark Lord had been bolstered, if only for the moment. “Momo, Heaven’s Bane?”
“No, no.” The Dark Lord dismissed the Imp’s idea and lamented, “That’s not even close to what I’m going for. After all these millennia, you just don’t understand me or my grand designs. No one does.”
It was at that moment a rather panicked eyeball came fluttering into the Pit, its slack jaw clicking. It landed beside the Imp, and it’s juicy, blood-soaked eye of a body made a squishing sound as it came to a rest. Its jaw flapped about as it spoke., “My Lord, I have news from the Necropolis.”
“Yes?” the Dark lord said, lovingly petting Momo with the topside of his fingernail. Momo rubbed her head against the nail but didn’t stir from the spot she lay. “What is it? Has the Overseer finished off the woman?”
“Uh.” The eyeball froze for a moment, “Not exactly, my most foul.”
The Dark Lord stopped what he was doing and gave the eyeball His full attention. “Not exactly? What exactly does that mean?”
“She, uh…” The eye hesitated, not wishing to upset its master. “She sort of killed him.”
The Dark Lord leaned back and set his hand, the one holding Momo, in his lap, then patiently asked, “Sort of? She either did or she didn’t. Which is it?”
The Imp shrunk back and put some distance between himself and the eye. He knew this patient tone. The Dark Lord was only patient when punishment was to follow.
“She killed him.” The eye winced as the words rushed out.
“How did she manage that?”
“Well, you know that sword the Soul Smiths were forging for you, Most Vile?”
“The Billion Soul Blade,” He replied. “The sword forged specifically for me? The sword that would be far too large for her to wield? The sword I was told wasn’t yet finished? That sword? I’m familiar.”
“Right, right,” the eye said. “They hadn’t forged the billion souls in yet, just nine hundred ninety-nine thousand four hundred forty-two, last I heard. It’s still quite powerful, though it wasn’t all the way full.”
The Dark Lord’s patience started to show cracks. “And how did she wield it?”
“Well, that’s really a question for the Soul Smiths, as I’m not really sure of the mechanics behind it, buuuut…” The eye searched for an explanation that might satisfy its master. “Maybe since she had a human soul, and human souls power the blade, they just kind of bonded with her?”
“Bonded, you say.” The Dark Lord leaned closer. “As if she formed friendships with these souls? Did she introduce herself to them, and they all just sort of hit it off?”
“Again, my lord, it’s just a guess.”
“Well, then summon a Soul Smith to explain this to me at once. The sword was meant for my hand and my hand only.”
“I can’t summon any, my Dark Lord.”
“You dare to defy me?” The Imp heard the patience return to his master’s voice, and a sly smile again graced his Dark Master’s lips. The Imp knew pain was coming.
“No, master. It’s just, she’s killed them all.”
“WHAT?!” the Dark Lord bellowed as he shot out of this throne, Momo still in His hand and now on her feet looking panicked. He leaned down, close to the eye, who looked to the Imp for comfort as the Dark Lord’s face towered before it. The Imp took another slow step away from the eye in the hope he might remain invisible. The Dark Lord continued in a voice that burned with a violent rage, “AND YOU DID FUCK ALL TO STOP HER! DO I HAVE THAT RIGHT?!”
It had been a long time since the Imp had seen the Dark Lord so angry. The eye shrunk back as flat as it could against the hard step. It tried to hide behind its own wings as it eked out, “I’m sorry, my Lord.”
The Imp was prepared for swift and destructive punishment. He only hoped he was far enough away to not have to suffer alongside the eye. To his complete surprise, the punishment didn’t come.
“Don’t apologize to me.” The Dark Lord’s tone and expression shifted suddenly. It was almost forgiving as he moved his hand toward the eye, the hand holding the cat, who had calmed back down and was slowly pacing back and forth. “Apologize to Momo, Eater of Souls.”
The Eye didn’t hesitate for a moment, and its clacking voice shook the words loose clumsily. “I’m sorry, Momo, Eater of Souls.”
“What say you, Momo?” The Dark Lord lifted Momo to his ear where she meowed coolly then purred.
The Dark Lord lowered Momo and watched the eye squirm on the ground before him. The silence was only broken by the sound of Momo meowing in low, drawn out sounds before nearly collapsing in the Dark Lord’s palm.
“Momo has chosen to spare you,” the Dark Lord relayed.
The eye looked up excitedly and flapped its wings. “Oh, thank you Momo, Eater of Souls. Your wisdom is most gracious. I can never repay…”
“But I have not,” the Dark Lord interrupted before snapping his fingers, causing the eyeball to burst into a furious flame. “So you shall burn for eternity.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the eye wailed as it struggled to flap its way back out of the Pit. Embers fell and a trail of smoke rose behind the eye as its burning wings struggled to keep it afloat.
Silently, the Imp sat watching, terror flooding through his heart as the eye flew off and out of the Pit.
“Momo,” the Dark Lord said. “Momo, you are too kind. We need to work on that. I was told your kind was vicious and cruel, a force capable of bringing the Heaven’s to their knees. All my Hell spawn seem to be revolted and terrified by your very presence. Now act like it, for Hell’s sake.”
Momo did not respond. She didn’t even react. She closed her eyes and growled. The Dark Lord furrowed his brow as he sat back down upon his throne of blood and bones. He studied Momo for a moment, and the Imp stood motionless, watching.
“Momo.” The Dark Lord nudged Momo with the tip of his nail. Momo didn’t move. She didn’t even open her eyes.
“Imp,” the Dark Lord called without so much as a glance. “Go fetch me some flesh. Make it quick.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Imp hobbled up the massive steps and back into the Hall. He didn’t bother to talk to Legion or any of the dominatrices. He simply scurried over to the nearest body, jumped up on its shoulders, and dug his nails into their flesh. It was a woman, and she wailed as the Imp ripped clean a chunk of her bicep.
He jumped back onto the floor and rushed into the Pit. A trail of red followed him as the blood from the flesh fell upon the otherwise pristine floor.
He returned to his Dark Lord and offered up the meat. “Flesh for you, my lord.”
The Dark Lord held out a fingernail, and the Imp dropped the meat onto it, which the Dark Lord brought up to Momo. He placed it on his palm just in front of Momo’s nose. Momo didn’t move, though she did open her eyes for a moment before closing them again. Her breathing had become labored.
“I fear she is dying,” the Dark Lord mused. “Hell is no place for the living.”
The Imp watched excitedly. He couldn’t wait for that damned cat to die. The excitement was short-lived as, without another word, his Dark Lord reached into his massive chalice of purified souls and plucked one free. Much to the Imp’s surprise, his Dark Lord held the soul before Momo. Without Momo lifting a claw or the Dark Lord forcing it, the soul pulled itself into Momo, who then popped right up from her lethargic slumber and began to feast upon the flesh the Imp had gathered.
“Now it is clear.” The Dark Lord sounded pleased as he stroked the feasting Momo and smiled. “I shall make you my most powerful weapon. You shall lead my armies and usher in the complete and total conquest of Hell. Momo, Eater of Souls indeed!”
He turned his attention back to the Imp. “Go, inform Legion. Make sure They are ready for the mortal’s arrival.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Imp said with a bow. He scampered off, up and out of the Pit, to deliver the news to Legion.
First, that stupid cat gets a name, then it gets to eat the good souls, and now he takes my job? This is fucked.
24
“You did what you thought was right,” Rich added, though his voice seemed less than sure. “I mean, it was you or them. I know who I would have chosen.”
Delilah lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling. She had never felt smaller or weaker than she did in that moment. A tear began to roll down her cheek. “He was still just a kid. He didn’t know any better. I did.”
The silence hung between them. He searched for the words to comfort her, and she looked for the blame in every thought that raced through her mind.
“Yeah, well from the way you tell it, it sounds like he was a racist kid, with a racist ass, abusive father.” The frustration in his voice grew more evident with each word. “You, on the other hand, are a good person and a fine officer. If I had to guess, you probably would have ended up arresting that kid one day for abusing his own wife.”
Delilah said nothing. She just lay there, trying to ignore her husband’s two cents. She knew he meant well, that he only wanted to ease her mind, but her mind wasn’t in need of easing as far as she was concerned. No, it needed to grapple with what she had done. It deserved all the guilt and regret swelling up inside of it. More than that, it needed silence to process everything that had happened that morning.
“I need some air,” was all she said before standing up, grabbing her keys off the coffee table, and walking out the door. She heard Rich protest, but she ignored him. It wasn’t his mistake to live with, it was hers.
She got into her Jeep and took off down the road. The late afternoon sun was still as hot as ever in the Nevada dessert, and the air shimmered along the road ahead of her. Though her street was crammed full of the same stucco houses, one after the other, she might as well have been in the middle of nowhere. At that moment, to her, the world was as empty as she was.
The day melted into night after only a few minutes of driving. She was in her police cruiser, which she parked in front of a house just off Las Vegas Boulevard. This part of town wasn’t the nicest. The homes were mobile, or they had been at one time. They looked to have been permanently attached to the plots they sat on. The real problem wasn’t the homes—Delilah knew better than that from her years on the force—rather, it was their proximity to the strip that brought with it the overabundant dreams of easy money coupled with the rampant flow of drugs and alcohol. A dangerous mixture made more volatile by a severe lack of opportunity. knew she should have called for back up, but she had dealt with more than enough domestic abuse calls in neighborhoods just like this.
At this hour, no one wanted to deal with the police, and she suspected the shouting couple would tone it down, get some sleep, then get on with their angry lives in the morning.
She turned off the cruiser and sat for a moment to listen for any sound coming from within the small home. Sure enough, she could hear a man yelling. She took a deep breath, touched her firearm to assure herself it was indeed right at her side, then got out of the car.
When she shut the door, the arguing stopped. Two men standing at the end of the street took off, and Delilah eyed the home in front of her cautiously.
Here we go, she thought as she walked toward the front door. Off to the shit show.
When she opened the door, she stumbled in and fell to the floor. The walls were spinning, but it was a sensation that Delilah had grown accustomed to over the past few months. She laughed it off and climbed to her feet.
“You’re fucking drunk again.” Her husband threw his arms up and walked over to her. “Don’t tell me you drove like this.”
Delilah studied his face, and the look Rich gave her made her want nothing more than another drink. “Fuck off, okay? I don’t need a lecture from you.”
She swayed slightly as she walked away from him and into the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Leave me alone.”
The refrigerator popped open and the cool air hitting her skin was a welcome sensation in the heat of the summer. As she scanned the food and let the cold wash over her, her appetite faded and she closed her eyes, the door still open, her skin rolling with goosebumps. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“So, is this going to be it?” Rich asked from the archway leading into the kitchen. “It’s been months since it happened, and you refuse to talk to anyone about it. Are you just going to drink yourself to death? If so, let me know, because I can’t watch.”
She turned away from the fridge with one sharp motion, the anger she’d been trying to drown swam right back up. It wasn’t meant for Rich, but he was the one standing there, calling it back to the surface. The face before her however, it wasn’t her husbands.
“What do you want?” The man demanded an answer when he swung the door open.
“We’ve had some complaints about shouting coming from this address.” Delilah looked past the man as she spoke. She saw a woman on the couch with her head down and a boy peering out from behind a cracked door who couldn’t have been more than twelve. “Is everything alright?”
The man smiled, then looked back over his shoulder, following Delilah’s eyeline. When he turned back around, his smile had disappeared.
“We’re fine. Just a little argument, that’s all.”
Delilah looked him up and down and saw the gun on his hip. She stepped back and put her hand on her holster instinctively. The man smiled again. It was a smile she’d seen before. The smile of a man hoping someone would give him a reason. He opened the door wide so Delilah could see all of him, then he squared his stance with hers. “It isn’t against the law to carry a gun, last I checked. You know that, right? Or is that not allowed anymore for us real Americans?”
