Paine's Guide to Hell

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

   “Trial?” he repeated apprehensively, mind slow to process the implications that one statement held. “And…did you say Hell?”

   “That is correct.”

   “Then that means I…” Paine trailed off, stunned by the sudden news.

   “Died, yes,” the figure finished briskly, releasing the gavel in favor of drumming a few fingers on the desk impatiently as it continued. “I realize that this news must come as a great shock and all, but business is business, and I’ve got another client coming in less than an hour. So if you could just accept this quickly, that would-”

    “Okay,” he interrupted bluntly, face at last relaxing back into its usual impassive smile. In the few seconds of tense silence that followed – no doubt as the judge registered the sudden answer – Paine took the opportunity to make one last perusal of the room, in the off chance that he had missed something important during his first look. His searching gaze caught sight of his own hand out the corner of his eye, and the sight of it made him pause momentarily.

    Dried blood covered the tan skin, extending all the way up his arm to his shoulder. Not only that, his entire right side appeared to have fared the same fate. His black shirt and jeans were torn in several places, and when he reached up to brush a hand across his face in curiosity, he found the brittle, hardened liquid caked there as well, particularly around his right eye.

    “What happened to me?” he murmured, more out of amazement at his current appearance than concern. “I look like I was run over by a car.”

    “A truck.”

    He blinked in surprise at the unexpected response – having assumed the other could not hear him – and slowly turned to face the source. “Excuse me?”

    “You were hit by a truck,” his companion repeated, finger moving to trace a line along the open page of the book on the stand. “Paine Moore: nineteen years of age at death. On February 7, 2010, you were hit by a speeding truck while crossing the street. The ribs on your left side were shattered upon impact, puncturing your lungs in several places. Also, the force sent you flying back onto the sidewalk, where you scrapped much of your right side and hit your head hard enough to crack the skull. You were dead before the ambulance even arrived.”

    The grin froze on his face at the graphic depiction of his death, and at length, a few shaky chuckles escaped. “Wow,” he breathed, smile shrinking a bit. “You guys really don’t spare any details, do you?”

    “There are pictures as well.” Upon closer inspection, the figure on the dais appeared to be female, if the red lipstick and painted nails were any indication. Her voice was deep, with a certain mechanic quality to it that put him on edge.

   “Even better,” he said without much conviction. The silence that followed was tense and heavy, and once again, the boy felt himself speak up in order to push back the oppressive feeling. “So…” he began. “What now?”

   The woman smirked. “Impatient, are we?” she teased.

   “Not really,” Paine beamed in response. “I just hate awkward silences. You know, those ones where someone finishes explaining the reason for your death, and you’re expecting them to continue, but they never do.”

    “You seem remarkably calm about this,” she observed amusedly. “Has the shock not yet lifted?”

    “More like it was never there to begin with,” he replied softly, eyes hardening at his next words. “I know what I’ve done; my being here doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I may not remember the exact moment of my death, but from my appearance, it’s not so hard to believe.”