Page 33 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

The thought is sobering and a good reminder I will always need to save myself.

“Let me go,” I snarl. Stay angry. It might literally be life or death to keep holding on to something that keeps me rooted. Even if it’s the worst part of me.

“I’d be doing you a favor,” she purrs. Her finger comes up to touch my face. I jerk back before she can make contact, remembering how when her hands touched mine, I lost all thought. Whatever power she has feels like the tide trying to drag me out to sea. I fist my hands at my sides, my nails biting into my palms to give my head clarity.

“Word on the street is that your favors have a price.”

The compassionate smile on her face doesn’t shift, but her eyes harden, flickering from brown to black. “That man that was with you. He convinced you I’m a liar, didn’t he? I can assure you, he’s the liar you should beware of. Just like your pain, I can see his. And it’s the pain of someone hiding something disastrous.”

Her words unsettle me. I know nothing about Luke, and I’ve rationalized that by not letting him know much about me. I thought it was protecting me, but maybe I’m hurting myself.

“If you don’t let me pass, I’ll have no choice but to stab you,” I warn, wrapping my fingers around the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh.

She reaches for my face again. “I’m your friend, sad one. Not your ene—”

When the warm tips of her fingers brush my chin, I whip the knife out and plunge it into her stomach. She gasps, eyes wide. I gasp, too. I’ve never stabbed anyone before. I expected more resistance, more time for thought. But the dagger slides in to the hilt, a sound a little too close to squelching filling the air.

“Unfortunately,” I say, twisting the knife, “I have to assume everyone’s my enemy here.”

I rip it out, stumbling back as black and purple shadows race up her body, wrapping around her. Only her face has yet to be consumed. The face of my mother. Me. But that shifts, too. Her eyes shine with a visceral hatred, purely black again.

“You are going to die here, mortal!” she screams, her voice too loud for the tin can surrounding us. “Mark! My! Words!”

The end of “words” sounds like steam, held out in a boiling hiss as the shadows climb inside her open mouth. And then, just like with Beliar in my apartment, she’s gone. Nothing but wisps of dissipating smoke in her place.

A breath shakes out of me as I clutch the back of the nearest seat to stop my legs from crumbling beneath me. I just killed someone. Maybe a demon—obviously a demon—but that doesn’t thwart my horror. Nor the self-loathing at the realization that I don’t regret it at all. I don’t feel bad, or conflicted, or scared. None of that. It feels good.

What did Luke say about being here? The longer we stay, the more our beings will adapt. Is this me adapting? Losing my humanity piece by piece? Or is this just me being grateful to be alive? Reassuring myself I did the right thing?

“Oh my devil, she killed Melinda.”

I spin to take in the passengers blinking back at me. Passengers who are very obviously not mortal. And not souls, either. These passengers are of all shapes and sizes and skin colors that include shades of cornflower blue, grass green, and brick red. Some have horns and others have pointed teeth like Flannel and Denim. A few peer at me with eyes that are eerily human, while others are so not I can’t even guess what they might resemble.

Demon isn’t the word to describe everyone who stares back at me, though I’m sure a few must be. These are monsters. The kinds children fear lurk under their beds. The kinds that low-budget horror movies are made about. The kinds that shouldn’t be real.

“And did Melinda say…mortal?” a second voice asks, an edge of what I can only pin as delight in it. I frantically search the faces before coming upon one of the green-skinned beings. He has a large, crooked nose and larger ears that come to points behind him. He’s huge, and his growing grin shows a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. “What are you doing on this train?”

His question is punctuated by a type of glee that unsettles me all the more as a black tongue darts out to lick his lips. Is everyone in hell a cannibal?

The train’s whistle blows as if in a resounding yes.

“I have a ticket.” I pat my pockets. I have no clue where the ticket even is. It’s gone. “But actually, I’m on my way off. Here’s my stop.”

I break for it, sprinting down the aisle and catapulting myself toward the door at the end. A stampede of footsteps follows me as I burst into the car Luke and I were sitting in. It’s quieter, full of souls still saying their prayers. No monsters, but that doesn’t stop the ones on my tail. I’m only halfway to my seat when the door opens behind me, a clamor of voices disturbing the peace.

“Stop her!”

They rumble after me, but are slowed by pushing and shoving each other to make it down the narrow aisle. I finally reach our row just as the train whistle goes off again. Hauling my duffel from the luggage rack Luke slung it on, I turn toward the doors to the next car as the green-skinned monster reaches a spindly finger toward me.

And gets flung back.

The train screeches along the track as it brakes, hurling us to the floor. I fall on my duffel, softening the impact. The monsters lurch backward, tumbling over each other.

“Brie!”

I jerk up at Luke’s voice. He stands in the open doorway I was nearly through, but the force of the fall has thrown me back several rows. His eyes are bright with panic as he reaches for his dagger.

Mine is still in my hand. I leap to my feet and spin, coming face-to-face with a wall of monsters rushing me full bull-at-red-flag style. My dagger might take out one, maybe two, but there’s no way I can destroy them all. Luke’s panicked expression is entirely warranted.