MARIEL

8~ Hell ~

If God had truly loved her, she would not be in Hell. He would have saved her from Hell. Instead of eternal damnation of fire and brimstone, the Lord had placed her in a torture chamber far worse than that... back with her husband, Phil Jameson.

Carolyn had pissed herself, shit herself, vomited on herself. For a while, the demon who portrayed Phil would clean it for her, shaking his head, telling her that it was not ladylike. Eventually, he would make Carolyn clean it, even while chained. A bucket of water and soap would be provided for her, and she would weakly scrub the floor until the demon was content. He would pat her on the head, look at her with smug pity, and then take the bucket and leave her again.

Yes, if God had truly loved her, she would not be in Hell. But, perhaps, this was her fault. Carolyn had, indeed, sinned. Perhaps, if she had submitted to her husband, if she had not committed the grave sin of suicide, she might not be here, in Hell.

It was cold in the basement. The Demon had been courteous enough to give her a blanket before he left to 'discuss things with Fr. Jerome'. This was a strange Hell, unlike anything she would have assumed it to be. Why, of all people, would Fr. Jerome be in Hell?

Ah, yes. Because he was a homosexual. Homosexuals did not go to Heaven... at least, that is what Phil had believed when she was alive. The poor priest. Despite the things Phil had said about him, she had always liked Fr. Jerome.

Her thin, bony body shook, causing the chains to rattle with each tremor. Hearing only the sound of her quick, nostril inhalation, her eyes shifted around the dark basement. She looked at the old, empty paint can by the wall, next to the stairs.

'The Best Resistance, Guaranteed!'

Carolyn remembered it from her life on Earth, for Phil had touched up the walls in the basement a couple weeks before she had died. She remembered because he had slapped her before he had stormed away to touch up the walls in the basement.

The Demon had left her nearly an hour ago, if time existed in Hell, and he had left her a bowl of water and a small plate of dry, canned tuna. He had taken the tape from her mouth, leaving her red, burning, raw skin exposed. He rarely allowed this when he left, and he would usually chain her hands behind her back.

Carolyn was thirsty. Her pale body inched forward, and the chains rattled as her knees scraped against the floor. With ragged breaths, she bent to lift the bowl. Her hands shook. The water sloshed. She returned it to the floor.

She had no more strength. Always, her body felt numb. Her muscles had atrophied, and she could see her ribs as they, grotesquely, protruded through her skin. Throughout her body, the blue veins pulsed through skin that almost appeared translucent. She had lost some of her hair. Her teeth, however, were in fine shape.

The Demon brushed her teeth twice a day, if morning and evening existed in Hell.

He would sit behind her, wrap his legs around her, and massage her teeth with the brush. The Demon would whisper in her ear, telling her that she had always exhibited a healthy, beautiful smile, and that he wanted to keep her mouth at its healthiest.

Then, after the second brushing of the teeth, he would have intercourse with her. She assumed it was the 'nighttime' ritual. It was not pleasurable. She hated it. But, it was truthful of the Demon. When she was alive, Phil had rarely allowed her to experience pleasure. Earlier in their relationship, she had once proclaimed God's name in vain during sex, and he had beaten her. After that, sex had only been for him.

'Women should never use the Lord's name in vain for the sake of pleasure,' he had proclaimed. 'That was your last time.'

After his 'nighttime' ritual, he would pray with her... just like Phil used to do when she was alive. It was a strange Hell, a Hell where a Demon prayed, but nevertheless... Hell.