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Chapter Seven

D ahlia

I’m dead. Am I in Hell? I’m conscious. And blind.

Okay, Dahlia, what do you know about Hell? You listened to a thousand lectures from the nuns, you should remember something.

I close my eyes to pay better attention, which is ridiculous because I’m blind.

I sit up from where I’m sprawled. My fingers trace along the floor where I’m sitting. It feels like stones, cool to the touch. Reaching out along the floor, I explore farther, several feet in every direction —nothing.

Smells. Focus on smells . I don’t smell smoke or fire or brimstone. I smell dampness, like a basement. And musty, like fine, old powder that invades your nostrils.

Moaning drifts in from the distance. It echoes so I can’t tell whether it’s one person or many.

This is such a desperate situation that I’m shocked when a flash of memory flies into my mind: Keith Russell quipping in catechism class one day that his idea of Hell is the song “It’s a Small World After All” playing on a never-ending loop.

Get serious Dahlia .

I always hoped I’d go to Heaven, but this isn’t it, that’s for certain. It’s not the Hell described in Catholic school, either. It’s certainly a lot cooler than I expected.

I rise to my feet and take baby steps in one direction, feeling along the floor with the soles of my bare feet. I notice I’m still wearing the filmy creation I was killed in. My right breast is exposed to the dank, chilly air.

I stretch my arms in front of me so I don’t bump into anything. My feet test for safety —I want to avoid hurtling into a deep fiery pit.

I bang into metal bars, first one palm and then the other. One foot bumps into a metal strip on the floor. I’m in a cell. The bars are cool to the touch and the metal feels old and scabby.

Nothing fits exactly into my Catholic-school construct, but the tight squeeze in my chest and the trembling in my lips attests to the horror of this place.

A piercing scream echoes toward me. Now this, this sounds like what I imagined I’d hear in Hell.

Pressing my fingertips into the flat space between my breasts, I examine but don’t feel a stab wound. I’m confused and terrified and decide I need to ignore my pounding pulse and advance cautiously along the bars.

Bumping into a corner where the bars make a ninety-degree angle, I keep hugging the metal enclosure, searching for an exit.

Finding an opening in the bars, I take a deep breath and move out of my cell. Wordless screaming thunders toward me. I bump into another set of bars. It’s like a maze in here, but I keep moving.

Something slithers over my foot.

I was always the one on the trip to the petting zoo who wouldn’t touch snakes or lizards or the fuzzy tarantulas they always tell you are cute and harmless. But deep in my soul, I’m certain that had to be a snake. I can’t control the shriek that erupts from my throat.

Dax

I wake to pitch darkness and a pounding head. I can see nothing. Feeling cool stone blocks under my back, my thoughts fly to Dahlia. Then I shake my head, trying to remember what just happened. Asher of Galgon stabbed me. Why am I here and what’s become of my female?

I hear a panicked scream.

“Dahlia? Dahlia!” As bizarre and disorienting as this place is, I’d know Dahlia’s voice anywhere.

“Dax? Is that you?”

“Dahlia. Can you get to me?”

“Keep talking, I’ll try.”

I keep up an inane stream of chatter all the while trying to determine what’s going on. My head is pounding. I just woke up on the stone floor. My fingers examine my breastbone and don’t find a puncture wound.

“Keep following the sound of my voice. I can’t see. Promise me you won’t jump over anything or do something dangerous.”

I have no idea what pitfalls lie between her and me.

“Promise Dahlia,” I put steel in my voice. I don’t want her harmed any more than she already is.

“Eek!”

“What’s happening?”

Drack , she isn’t responding. My heart pounds while I assess the situation. “Are you okay?”

“Umm,” is all she says.

“Dahlia, explain what’s going on.” I put calm command in my voice in the hope she’ll tune into that rather than whatever is terrifying her right now. Maybe I can help.

“Snakes. Hundreds of them.”

“Describe where you are.”“There are cells, a long row of them. I’ve been walking in a corridor toward your voice, but there are at least a thousand snakes writhing on the floor in front of me. One slid over my foot and I can hear them hissing in a pile.”

“Okay, can you get back to where you came from?”

“I’ve made too many turns. I think I’m lost.”

Examining my cell, I encounter ancient cool metal bars about five inces apart that surround me on four sides. The bars anchor into a flat metal strip on the bottom and rise as far as I can reach —about ten fierto s. There are horizontal stabilizing bars a fierto and a half above the floor.

“Do the cells near you have a horizontal bar holding them together about a fierto off the floor? Step onto it.”

“Yes. Okay, I’m off the floor.”

I hear the relief in her voice.

“Can you hold on to the bars and make your way toward me, never having to step on the ground?”

“So far, so good.”

I picture her in my mind’s eye, cautiously resting her feet between the vertical bars, moving toward me.

“You doing okay?”

“It’s working. Slow going. I’m not sure how I’ll know when there aren’t any more snakes and I can get back on the floor.”

“The bars near me are peeling. Are yours?”

“Yes.”

“Can you pull off a piece and toss it on the floor? They’ll thrash and you can hear them.”

“It seems like there are at least two thousand snakes right next to me Dax. I’m so scared my hands are sweating and shaking. It’s so gross.”

“Keep coming toward my voice, Dahl.”

Dahlia

Snakes skeeve me out. In the worst way. I think the nuns totally knew what they were talking about when they described Hell as a pit of writhing fucking snakes. Oh, I just cursed. No wonder I’m in Hell. I belong here.

I keep making my way toward what I think is Dax’s voice. Oh my God, what if it’s the devil, just fucking with me?

“Dax, recite that poem from the talent show.” I feel so clever. The devil would never know the words to that poem. Or would he? Did I just trip up the devil, or confuse myself? Crap.

“Really, Dahlia? Recite that poem? Now?”

“Prove you’re not the devil. I’m risking life and limb…” How is that possible, I wonder, if I’m already dead. Okay, limb, just limb. “I’m braving a million fucking snakes to get to you. I want you to prove you’re really Dax.”

“Why don’t you think I’m Dax? Why do you think I’m the devil?”

“Why are you answering a question with a question? That’s a bad sign.”

“‘I love you more than life itself’,” he begins. “‘I cannot count the depth and breadth of my devotion, nor your appeal’.”

I wouldn’t know the words to that poem if my life depended on it. Which is a moot point because I’m already dead.

It mortified me when he recited it to me in front of all my friends on the ship. I figured they were all judging me for not being as nice to him as I should be. He was declaring his undying love, and I was spurning him. I’m such a shit, no wonder I’m in Hell.

I'd feel completely different if he did it now. It would be thrilling and I’d be proud to have such a great guy proclaim to everyone he thinks I’m terrific. But that ship has sailed —I’m in Hell.

I keep listening to the poem and moving toward his voice. I pay attention to its soothing tone and not the fact that I’m maybe eighteen inches above a wriggling mass of snakes. Snakes that could be poisonous. Snakes that my mind knows can lift their ugly little heads higher than eighteen inches and bite the shit out of me even though I’m walking on these bars like they’re stilts.

These bars are ancient and rusty. They’re sharp and probably giving tetanus to the unprotected soles of my feet even as we speak.

I keep making my way toward his voice as I calculate when I had my last tetanus shot. Was it when I picked up that cute stray cat and it scratched the crap out of me? When was that? Ninth grade? And does it matter? I can’t remember how long a tetanus shot lasts, anyway.

“How long does a tetanus shot last?”

“‘I love you freely and purely and’… what?”

“A tetanus shot, how long does it last?”

“What’s a tetanus shot?”

“Keep reciting the poem!”

“...by daylight and moonlight. I love the curve of your…”

My palms are bleeding, but I keep moving. I pull off another hand-sized piece of old metal and toss it behind me. Perhaps I’m hallucinating, but I don’t detect as much moving and wiggling. Maybe I’ve almost passed this heinous, squirming ball of snakes.

A few minutes later I sense no more snakes nearby. I toss metal behind me and hear it clank onto the stone corridor floor. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

“How are you doing, Dahlia?”

“I think I’m out of snake canyon. How far away do you think I am?”

“Hard to tell, Dahl. Just keep coming.”“Do you know where we are?”

“No idea.”

“I thought Hell would be different.”

“Hell?”

“We’re dead and in Hell, Dax, certainly you’ve figured that out.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“Just because you don’t believe in it doesn’t mean we’re not there.”

Now probably isn’t the time for a philosophical discussion. Or maybe it’s just what the doctor ordered to keep my mind off snakes and devils and… Hell.

My foot steps off into nothingness and I shriek until I realize I’ve reached the end of the bars. Okay, back on the stone floor. That’s probably good.

Standing on solid ground, I just breathe while I allow my trembling muscles to relax.

“I’m back on dry land, Dax.” He must hear the relief in my tone. I’m not stepping on any reptiles.

I move toward Dax’s disembodied voice, hoping a) it’s really Dax and not Satan, and b) I’m going in the right direction.

I hear snakes hissing behind me and shriek.

“Dahlia, what’s going on?”

I’m running now. I don’t care how many snakes there are. I’ll get to Dax right this minute or die trying.“I’m certain we’re in Hell. Keep talking!”

I’m running almost at full blast, my hands straight out in front of me to avoid crashing into iron bars. Dax’s voice is louder. A moment later, I’m outside his cell.

“Dax, is it really you?”

“There are no such things as hell and devils, Dahl. It’s me.” He reaches his strong arm through the bars and pulls me close. It’s definitely him, it smells like Dax.

I’ve loved his smell since they forced us to share a cell on the ship. It’s warm and pleasant and somehow reassuring.

I hear a click and the cell door opens inward

“Dax,” I whisper. “Your cell is open. Come out and —” I’m pushed inside from behind and the door slams shut. Dax and I are in this pitch-black cell together.

He crushes me to him, one hand lodged in the small of my back, one hand cradling my head. “It’s a miracle,” he breathes.

“A miracle that we’re dead and in Hell?”

“A miracle that whether we’re dead or alive, we’re together.”“I saw Asher of Galgon kill you. He pushed a blade into your heart, then he did the same to me.”

He slides his hand down the remnants of my dress and explores between my breasts. “I don’t feel a puncture. I don’t have one either. It’s a miracle. How else would you explain it?” Dax says.

“There are other explanations,” an unctuous male voice intrudes over a loudspeaker.

I tuck myself closer to Dax.

“Who is that?” Dax asks.

“Guess,” the voice is smug, taunting.

Dax clutches me tightly and sets his chin on my head. “Asher of Galgon.”

“You win the prize. I’ll have to decide on a good one. The snakes were fun, don’t you think? You should have seen the look on your face, Dahlia. Here.”

Superimposed over the ancient stone wall he projects vids of me clinging to the bars, stepping my way toward Dax. He shot the movie from in front of me; it shows my eyes wide in fright and my mouth tight in concentration. Over my shoulder, there are thousands of squirming black snakes. I can’t suppress a shudder.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I refuse to give this asshole the satisfaction of asking.

“And that love poem, gladiator. I can’t wait to show that vid to my friends at our monthly klempto game. It will amuse everyone —seeing a heavily muscled primate reciting the sublime words of that venerated poem.

“To hear a male such as you mouthing such transcendent words made me want to punish you even more than what I’ve already planned. But I’m a patient male. We’ve got all the time in the galaxy for such acts of retribution.”

The vid flickers out leaving Dax and me in darkness.

“We’re not dead?” I have no idea what’s going on. Is this Hell? Is Asher the devil?

“I think our deaths were a trick. I believe being stabbed was an illusion —they rigged a fake knife to administer a drug that made us unconscious.

Clapping reverberates around us.

“Dax scores a point,” Asher crows.

When the vid was playing, I had time to inspect the cell. It’s maybe twelve by twelve with a bucket for waste, a pail of water, and a mattress on a stone platform. All the comforts of home.

After pulling Dax over to the bed, I take a seat at his side.

“We can get out of this, Dax. We’ve been through worse.”

“I’m not sure of that.”

Another round of applause.

“Dax scores another point. You’re beginning to see the picture. I must say, I’m disappointed in you, Dahlia. I mean, look at the big idiot. My money was on you to figure this out first.”

“Motherfucker,” I say. It’s neither a shout nor a whisper.

“Tsk tsk. What would your merciful God think of such language?”

“Watch out asshole. When we get out, we’ll make you pay.”

“Now I'm truly distressed. Let me give you a little advice, Dahlia. When someone holds your lover’s life in their hands, in fact, when they hold your very life in their hands, it is not wise to anger them. Let me give you a visual demonstration that will make an impression on even your feeble brain.”

He dimly illuminates the cell, then Dax grunts and clutches both hands to his throat, grabbing at his pain/kill collar. His eyelids flicker, and his body spasms in reaction to the harsh jolt of current coursing through his body.

His knees come down hard on the stone floor as he continues to struggle. Then the current stops and he gasps for air.

My hand slips to my throat in sympathy, and I realize I now wear a collar, too.

I slide next to Dax and caress his back. “I’m sorry Dax. Me and my big mouth got you punished.”

He crosses his legs on the stone floor and drags me onto his lap, then rocks us both as he clutches me to his chest.

Pressing his lips to my ear, he whispers, “This is how torturers drack with your mind. There are books, there are entire encyclopedias written on how to do this: divide and conquer, punish one to punish the other, at some point he’ll try to make you hate me, just as he’s trying to make me blame you for the pain he just inflicted.”

He kisses my earlobe, then continues, “Stay strong, Dahl. Never forget we’re a team. You and I. He’s the enemy.”

“Oh, how very touching, Dax from Thrace. Keep deluding yourself you big ignorant gladiator. Do you really think this lovely Earther is attracted to you for anything other than a good dracking ?

"She has what’s considered a good education on her planet, she had a respectable job, her form is pleasing —if you’re attracted to such things. You’re nothing more than a huge, classless male who doesn’t know the correct utensil to use at a meal.”

Stifling the ‘fuck off’ that’s on the tip of my tongue, I wait to see what he’ll throw at us next, but he’s left us alone, at least for a while.

Dax and I cuddle together. Now that my adrenaline from the snakes is fading, I’m tired enough to fall asleep even though I’m wondering what new level of Hell awaits us next.