Hell’s Hills
They thought I would forget.
But I remembered.
Everything.
I woke to pitch blackness and my ever present pain. Memories of my death haunted me each time I closed my eyes. I had thought that death would free me. I was wrong. I had thought that hell would be my final stop. I was horrifically wrong. I had thought that my end would be the end. I was catastrophically wrong.
I did not hear what I had expected. In fact Hell was quiet. Surely, after the life I lived Hell was to be my final destination. The lights came up slowly giving my eyes time to adjust.
The woman who entered, her eyes fixed to a clipboard was stunning. The brightening lights revealed a sterile hospital-like room. She was attired in a beautiful cotton dress beneath a white lab coat. Hospital rooms and doctors, this was definitely Hell.
“Are you a demon come to torture me for my sins?” I recall my voice being more raspy than intended, as if I had been quite some time without water.
She shook her head. “People always get that wrong.”
I smirked a bit at what I thought was some sort of mind game. “Then perhaps some Angel come to free me from my pain?”
She shook her head and frowned. “I pray you never take a breath without remembering the breaths you took away.”
She hung the clipboard at the end of my bed like a medical chart and a shiver went up my spine. It took all I had to suppress it, to not let her see the environment get to me.
“Then what?” I demanded my voice soft with suppressed anger.
“This level of Hell exists to give you what you never gave your victims.” She paused and I quirked my brow at the obvious attempt to get me to engage. I do not play guessing games. “A second chance.” She continued and stopped as if expecting some sort of exclamation on my part.
I inhaled slowly through my nose to ride out the burning pain through my body. “They did not deserve a second chance. It would only give them time to hurt more people.”
“Which is why you are here Julian and they are not. My name is Laura I have the dubious honor of being your case manager.” She sat a bag on the table next to my bed. “Look over those, call to me when you are ready to begin. If you need anything, that button summons a nurse. Welcome to Hell Hills Asylum. Your new home until Heaven calls.”
“My victims…” I was unable to finish my question before she interrupted. That would have to change…I do not tolerate such disrespect for long.
“Lower levels depending upon their crimes. If you do not complete the program, we already have a place waiting for you.” The smug tone of her voice gave it away. This woman hoped I failed.
“You obviously want me to fail.” This time when she looked as though she were going to interrupt I put one finger to her lips and shook my head, letting my mask slip and the monster within show a bit. “What is to prevent you from causing it.”
She waited until she knew I was done before she spoke. The woman can be taught. “I was assigned to you as punishment. It is believed I did not work hard enough on my prior case. The consequences I suffer are bad enough. The consequences I would suffer for repeating my crime are unthinkable.”
“What, may I ask, did I do to you?” I was genuinely perplexed, you would not think someone who worked in Hell would be bothered by a little serial killing.
She locked those beautifully clear green eyes on mine for a moment before she shook her head. “Not yet, you will understand at some point, but not yet.” With that she walked from the room her heels clicking on the floor.
I took a casual glance around the room. It was small and gray altogether a dismal place. With its cheap, peeling linoleum and its anemic yellowed lighting, it made the black leather bag on the table seem a thing alive. I do not recall how long I looked at the bag, waiting for it to breathe as it seemed to suck in the light around it.
I do remember how warm and comforting it felt beneath my fingers. The caress of the leather bringing back memories of home. Mother and father when they were still alive, watching the older boys enjoy their time with the family. Knowing for certain they were all safe. The leather smelled just slightly of absinthe a faint tingle in my nose as I breathed. It brought back memories of laughter and warmth. Of the time before. My last happy memory with my brothers. A gift they gave me that saw me through the many nights that followed. I wondered briefly if Abaddon had kept his accord.
I opened the bag to find my equipment gone. Not that I should have been surprised about that. What would I need with a kill bag? In its place lay two tiny blankets, one pink, one blue with names painstakingly embroidered on them.
Emily and Aiden the blankets named. I clutched them to me a moment and eyes closed said my first prayer in…let us just say years. “Please I do not know if you can hear me, or if you ever cared. Please just let them have made it through.” The twins, my reason for breathing. The twins, precocious from sun up to sun down. Mine. I only wished at that point for their survival.
I turned to the rest of the items in the bag. Within the bag was some clothes and a journal I’ve never seen. I opened the journal and thumbed through the pages. All of them were blank and the paper was extremely high quality. I admired the fine tooled leather cover before turning to the note on the inside.
I know you have always found fulfillment in journaling your journey. If any needed to be journaled it’s this one.
Signed, A.
A beautiful black fountain pen was nestled inside the cover. I picked it up and admired its weight. The heavy pen was perfectly balanced and perfectly sized. I will be honest I have ordered custom pens that did not fit my hand as well. But, I am certain that your interest lies elsewhere. So back to how I found myself in this position.
When I put pen to paper the ink flowed smoothly, like a river guided by some omniscient hand. The ink the deepest red, like blood from a deep wound. A color I am familiar with.
I would love to say that my troubles started in the war, but sadly that is wrong. Unfortunately my problems started years before that. I am the youngest of five brothers and lucky enough that I grew up surrounded by loving family. I first noticed how different I was when my parents were killed. I was 10 years old when they died. My brothers all suffered greatly. I watched their pain without comprehending it myself. They were inconsolable while I stood without pain, missing them but I was numb more than anything else.
From that point my eldest brother began to raise the rest of us.
He was a great caregiver none of this was his fault. I was not abused by Him, I was not teased or tormented. I was and am simply not like other people. The darkness started to haunt my dreams not long after he moved back in. At first I dismissed it as strange dreams. He dismissed it as the effect of my witnessing our parents murder.
Neither of those illusions lasted long. The darkness continued to grow and fill me and as the dreams got worse I began to sleep less. This sleepless state is what drew her to me. My dark Angel. My mistress of the night. Cloaked in stars she whispered in my ear. How much better the world could be. How much I could help.
At that time I had one friend. A beautiful girl named Leah. My more pleasant dreams saw us together, for a brief moment a mere drop in the rainstorm of time she was mine. Long enough to bear me a beautiful pair of twins. But that moment of bliss and her betrayal is a story for later on.
One week she simply stopped coming to class. At first I did not worry, everyone stayed home on occasion. Then my angel whispered, her voice audible only to me.
“This is not normal. Something is wrong. You owe it to her to find her.” The urgency in her voice caused the words to run together.
I started by taking my concern to the teacher, who told me in no uncertain terms that it was none of my business. The lack of concern in her voice lit a fire within me. A flame that burns to this day.
I had to set the pen down and rub the burning out of my arms in order to be able to continue to grip the heavy writing implement. Despite the pain Abaddon was right. This needed to be told.
I took another moment to take in my dreary accommodations. The deep gray of the walls climbed to a lighter gray ceiling and the floor was such a deep black it seemed to absorb the light. I found myself drawn to it. Feeling a kinship with the depths I spent an unknown amount of time communing with the darkness, feeling it wrap around me like a soft silk. I breathed in its cool aura allowing it to slide around and into me. The burning pain in my skin lessened a bit as I focused on the darkness.
Again I let the nib kiss the page and my tale continued.
That evening certain something was wrong and even more certain that only I cared I, an 11-year-old boy, packed what was necessary to save my only friend.
It was then and ever remained the darkest night I have ever known. Her home was not far though I only knew the way due to the path that took me to school. So unbeknownst to myself I walked a half hour out of my way. The bag was quickly growing heavy in my hands, though later those who know the story would call it guilt. I called that weight responsibility.
That half hour is what saved her. We lived in a small town. One of those places that even today would not have bothered to lock their doors. My hand seemed so very small on that knob and I almost turned back. Frightened I almost ran. A crash inside changed my mind and while the chaos of the crash still lingered in the air I stepped inside.
At 11 I was still small for my age so the raging drunk appeared a giant to me and even the crumpled body of my best friend felt like it dwarfed me.
Ice flowed through my veins and time stood still as the towering hulk turned towards me. I saw recognition flash in his eyes, I thought to pull the knife from my bag. I do not recall moving but the next thing I knew was the feel of something warm and wet like hot water flowing over my hands. The blade was buried to its hilt and the hulk was gurgling and disoriented. There was a heavy pressure over my body that made it difficult to breathe.
‘Move! Hide! She cannot know!’ My dark angel screamed at my shock numbed brain.
I wiggled my way out from under the brute as he struggled to get back up, the knife still protruding obscenely from his belly.
From there my memory jumps, though I have struggled to do so I never have remembered what happened between that moment and walking back into the house. My eldest brother sat at the kitchen table. The whole room smelled of a soft herbal tea. He looked me over and with a gentle hand took my jaw. He scrutinized me with unblinking eyes before nodding to himself as if he had made a decision.
“Go change, bring me those clothes, shower and sleep. In that order. I’ll call the school and let them know you aren’t feeling well.” His voice held no anger and no fear. It was a tone that expected obedience so I made note of my questions and started towards the stairs. “One last thing Julian. After the others are out of the house we need to talk about this.”
I found out the next day that the night before I had made my first kill. As clumsy and awkward as it was I had ended the life of another.
The next day was full of talk about the why of my actions. Somehow he never passed judgement. He just calmly informed me we would work together to keep it from happening again. I remember relief when I told him why I had done it. I expected him to scream, yell, get angry something somehow more than the calm acceptance that I got.
That night I was called to father’s den before my four older brothers. I could tell from the way they watched me that they had already been told. Where I expected to see anger I found concern and even fear. Dylan 14-years-old and at that stage in his life where the last thing he wanted was his little brother around wrapped his arms around me. That was when I first felt the pain.
It hurt. Just that simple touch hurt. I could not help it, I pulled away rather violently. No one moved. Dylan remained where he fell when I shoved away and it was so quiet you could hear the wind whisper past our clothes.
“I told everyone about our conversation. We’re worried about you.” He need not have mentioned it. I could see the concern in his eyes mirrored by the others.