Chapter One
“Wake up, sleepy head.” The gravelly voice, thick with a New York accent, sounded much harsher in tone than the greeting warranted.
I couldn’t open my eyes. My head ached. Well, shit. My whole body hurt. I smacked my mouth open a couple of times. My tongue felt swollen and it seemed like all of the moisture had been sucked out of my head.
The bed shook as something jarred it. I opened one pasty, gritty eye, just a tiny bit. Boots. I saw a pair of scarred, black Harley Davidson boots. Whoever sat there must have kicked the foot of my bed.
“Grant! Wake up, damn it!”
I sat straight up when I realized I didn’t recognize where I was. Looking back at me with sickly yellow eyes was the greasiest, nastiest dude I’d ever seen. And he smelled of piss. At least I think it was him.
I was in some kind of cell. The walls looked like they were carved out of black rock, and the air felt thick and stifling hot. My clothes were drenched in sweat. I reeked of filth and body odor.
“Where the hell am I?”
The stranger threw his head back and bellowed a throaty laugh. “Funny you should put it that way.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“My name is Angelo, and I’m your new caseworker.”
“Caseworker? Am I in jail?”
“Not exactly. You don’t remember what happened last night?”
I wracked my brain, trying to make sense of this, but I was so disoriented nothing came to mind. Looking down at my hands, I noticed my blackened sleeves. Charred holes pocked my shirt. My jeans were speckled with burn marks too, and I detected the faintest scent of gasoline.
It all came rushing back. Misery’s gone. I put my head in my hands, gasping for air as the night’s details raced through my brain. A red gas can. Shouting. Windows breaking. Gunfire. A lit match. Flames engulfing me. Explosion. Blistering skin. Pain. Blackout.
Misery was my younger sister by a year. She was given her name by my delusional mother who thought it would provide her with a charmed life. My mother’s name was Joy, and aside from a very few exceptions, she lived a life full of truly miserable days. Convinced the fortunes of the world hinged on mostly luck, she believed giving my sister the name Misery ensured she would live the life Mom always dreamed of for herself.
“I made it through? I’m okay?” I asked, snapping back to reality.
“You made it through something...” Angelo grinned. His dingy, gray teeth looked slightly pointed. “Let’s call it a downward spiraling vortex, shall we?”
“Where am I?”
“Dude. You’re in Hell. Welcome to our humble abode,” he cackled enthusiastically, as if this was the first time he’d delivered this joyous bit of news.
“Hell?” Oh. Oh… A glimmer of hope piqued my interest, now understanding there actually is an afterlife. “Is Misery here?” That would be the only thing I could want. The only thing I’d ever wanted since my sister’s death – to see her again.
