Hell's Detective

Chapter Thirty-three- You Again

Floorboards creaked under Ingleseid's feet. Light crept through the grimy windows and spilled onto the floor, bouncing off the broken chandelier above him.

A house. They were in a house.

As far as Hell's horrendous torture devices went, a house wasn't exactly high up on the list. It wasn't even a particularly evil looking house. There were no distant screams or floating objects or mysteriously slamming doors. All there was was dust. Lots of dust. It was a dusty house. A dusty, non-torturous, non-evil house.

Holly peeked her head into an empty room save for a few deteriorating lounge chairs.

"There's no one here," she said.

Ingleseid sniffed. Beneath the dust and the dirt was a smell. A good smell. A soft, sweet smell that warmed his body to the core.

"Do you smell that?" he asked her.

"Oh my God," she said. "It's amazing."

Samael frowned and tugged Holly's hand. He pointed to a door at the end of the narrow corridor.

Ingleseid wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do here. The kid was the Antichrist, so a decent amount of distrust when it came to him was a given. But on the other hand, this was his home, and he wanted to find the Devil as much as they did.

Holly reluctantly let Samael lead her, and Ingleseid trailed behind them. She stopped at the door, looked at him.

"You first."

Ingleseid pressed his palm to the handle. Unimaginable horrors lay outside that door. Demons, monsters, man-eating beasts, he didn't know. He just knew one thing.

It was going to be bad.

He pushed the door open, and they fell into a tiny lounge room filled with ceramic kittens.

The walls were a noxious shade of pink and a little sign that read, 'Home is where the heart is,' hung above the rocking chair.

"This is...my house," Holly whispered. "I mean, my old house. When I was a kid." She started to laugh. A bright, bubbly laugh. Ingleseid frowned. He didn't think he'd ever heard her laugh like that.

"I remember this! That's dad's chair!" She pointed at the rocking chair. "And that's the window I broke playing footy."

"Holly?" someone called from the other room. "Is that you?"

Holly stopped dead. "Mum?" she whispered.

"Don't," Ingleseid warned. This wasn't good. Hell was trying to get an emotional reaction out of her, lead her into a false sense of security. If she got too deep in the illusion, she might never want to leave.

And that was not an option.

A plump little woman bustled in. She had rosy cheeks and a worn face, crinkled from what looked like excessive smiling.

"There you are," she said. "Dinner's almost ready. I was getting worried about you."

Holly ran and wrapped her arms around her. Mrs Fawkes wobbled a bit, like a Matryoshka doll about to topple over.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked as Holly sobbed into her shoulder. Samael watched the two of them with mild interest.

"I'm sorry," she said into Mrs Fawkes's blouse. "I'm so sorry. I never should have left you."

Mrs. Fawkes laughed, her whole body shaking slightly. "You were out for an afternoon. I think my heart can take it. Come on, love. Dry those eyes. I'll just dish yours up, okay? Sit down, watch some telly." Without even a glance at Ingleseid and Samael, she hurried back into the kitchen.