Day 2

Soren Meets with Senator Lotus

Soren leaned his shoulder in the doorway just outside of Haero's office so two mail clerks could get into the room and deliver Haero's mail. He glanced down the hall and saw Cyvarian had finally taken Snowy inside his office. Hopefully, Cy knew what the hell was going on with her, and hopefully, she wouldn't be Soren's problem after the meeting.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t sympathetic to her plight. He was. He simply wanted to sleep peacefully again and not wake up with her big, thick big-toe lodged in his thigh.

The two guys exited Haero's office and as they walked off one said, “I heard Captain Reed got demoted.”

“Yeah, I know,” the friend said, “for zangin’ a celestial.”

“Whaat? No way! Cosmic!”

From inside his office Haero said, “You're a legend. Only the Big Guys and their ilk have the arrogance to break the rules and sleep with Celestials.”

Soren snorted and shook his head. The Big Guys and their elitist ethics could shove it. “Who's the guy Lyris is badgering?” Soren asked in an attempt to get far away from any topic that pointed to his demotion.

“Probably a new hire.” Haero's cell phone chimed an incoming text. “I heard they're looking for a lab tech for the restaurants…” his voice dwindled as he read the message. He shook his head. “I've got to go,” he said as he keyed a quick response on his phone. He gathered his belongings and a few seconds later he met Soren at the door and pulled it closed. “I'm going AWOL for a bit. Keep Cy in the dark, yeah?”

“You in some kind of trouble?”

“Me? No.”

“Dangerous mission?”

“You could say that.”

“I'll do what I can. Call me if you need backup.”

“Will do. Thanks, man.”

Soren ambled down the hall, greeted Lyris, and sat on the sofa outside of Cy's office. He picked up a Hell tourism brochure and marveled at the fact that Hell’s Museum of Classic Arts was free to the public on his day off. His ex-girlfriend had taken him there years ago when they’d first started dating. He’d liked it. It had been soothing.

When Snowy eventually exited she sat next to him. “Who is that guy?” She asked with a haunted look to Cyvarian's door.

“The best Commander and Chief that ESF has ever had,” Soren said with a swell of pride.

“What's ESF again?”

He sighed and stepped off his high. “Eternity Special Forces. We work with the vryko threat and more recently the plague.” At her blank stare he muttered, “never mind,” and hid behind more printed media.

“Soren, the Senator is ready for you,” Lyris said.

Soren kept the updated Hell tourism brochure and ambled into Cy's office. “I thought you vetoed this?" He said as he entered. " It’s nice, but do we really need MORE tourists in Hell? And are we really sure print is the way to go?”

Instead of answering Cy’s dry iced voice rolled, “You were told to go to customs.”

Soren winced at the truth and dropped himself into the large leather chair in front of the gargantuan desk and the brochure onto a well placed side table. He considered pleading or whimpering because the suffocating tedium of customs lurked, and he'd do damn near anything to stave it off. A combination of begging and whining won out. “Can't I work in the Waiting Room? At least they do something more than process an endless line of incoming.”

“Soren, you are hanging on by a thread. Do you not understand that? It's an election year and I cannot protect you much longer.”

Soren snorted. That was rich. “Protect me? I'm partnered and working in customs with Pine as my boss. For nothing! How is that protecting me?”

“Three months in the Pit.”

He stilled. “They were sending me to the Pit?” Soren couldn't believe it.

“The Big Guys are willing to sacrifice whomever they need to achieve results.”

If they'd been willing to give him three months in the fiery Tartarus Pit for merely sleeping with a celestial, how long was the demotion? “When can I work as a handler again?” He didn't want to do anything else.

“As soon as I can get you back, Soren. I need you on the force, not as a Customs tour guide. That means make friends with Pine and keep your partner out of Earth.”

“My partner? You mean the woman I towed around yesterday. She’s the wrong person.”

“We have been made aware of the change in hire. She is not Anastasia Bay. Her name is Harlow Emerson Snow-Sheridan. She is a last-minute employment substitution with specific needed talents.”

“I need a partner in customs?”

“No.” Cy crossed his giant arms over his giant chest. “You need a babysitter.”

“Nice, Cy, real nice.” Damn the man for maybe being right. “Why doesn't she have any knowledge of Eternity or how she got here? Who is Evangeline Bay?”

“Ms. Snow-Sheridan is a newbie recruited through unconventional means. Bay is none of your concern.”

“That's all I get?”

“The nature of both Ms. Snow-Sheridan's and Ms. Bay's employment with ESF are, I repeat, none of your concern. Your only concern is your new job. Go do it.”

Soren knew when he was beat so he made for the exit. When he reached the door Cyvarian called, “One more thing. Until clerical catches up with the change Ms. Snow-Sheridan has neither a file nor a valid form of identification.”

Soren shrugged. “That's my business?”

“She has no residence or means of procuring one.”

Soren blinked. “Damn it, Cy.”

A Walk Through Hell

Outside of the ESF offices, the bright mid morning sun reflected off the windows of a neighboring highrise, and Harlow inhaled sunny day while pigeons scurried out of the way of hurrying feet. Meanwhile, Soren adjusted his sunglasses and maneuvered around a flower vendor's cart and a jogger. Harlow shook her head at her new environs. Hell was nowhere near what she'd been led to believe. Where was all the fire and brimstone? The pitchfork wielding devils? She been force fed certain expectations while alive and now, truth be told, she felt rather cheated.

As they crossed a giant piazza Soren asked, “What did Cyvarian tell you?”

“He said I arrived in Hell via surrogate, I'm a last-minute employment substitution, and then he outlined my job responsibilities.” Harlow had sat there in depressed and confused silence because she didn't care what anyone in Hell said; she didn't feel dead. And to be dead, and not feel dead, felt weird.

Not to mention that she had no money, no ID, and no place to live except at her partner's apartment. Senator Lotus assured her everything would be made right as soon as possible. In political-ease she figured she be stuck on Soren's couch for the next several thousand years. “I'm not happy to be dead. There were a lot of things in life I still wanted to do.” She'd had a great to-be-read shelf and she hadn't personally told her dad to suck it.

They paused as Soren bought coffee from a coffee cart near a fountain of Poseidon and leaping dolphins. A busker playing for passersby sat on the opposite side of the fountain, his instrument case open in front of him and filling with iridescent red coins and blue bills.

She accepted the itty-bitty coffee Soren handed her and they continued walking. “So, those guys from yesterday in the house where the guy tried to kill me, why were you arresting them?”

“They are vryko. Or more accurately vrykoLakas.” He returned a smile and a “hey, Bob,” to a passing guy. “They're Lakas who illegally steal souls from humans living on Earth. Hence their arrests.”

“Lakas?”

“Humans in Earth call them gods. In Eternity they're the ones who were here countless eons before human souls were crafted, and the ones who will be here countless eons after human souls shift to other.”

Harlow ended a cavernous yawn with, “profound. Do you know how long the jet-lag last?”

“Read the book,” he pointed toward her hand where she held the manual Senator Lotus had given her. She was pretty sure he'd called it the Eternity Guide to Life After Death. “It'll explain everything, so I don't have to.”

“I will,” she fibbed behind a sip of coffee. “First though, you're saying vampires are real?”

“Vampires?” He barked a laughed. “The blood sucking counts from Earth myth?” He laughed harder. “No,” he said while giving her an “aren’t you adorable” smirk. “VrykoLakas do not suck blood. They consume human souls for the euphoric high they produce.” He held his belly and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “Blood sucking vampires, god, that’s funny.”

Harlow rolled her eyes and continued on as though he weren’t laughing at her. Apparently, she had to play the adult in this conversation. “You’re saying they're gods using human souls as recreational drugs?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“That's f'd.”

“Sure is. Which is why it's illegal. In Eternity proper the human souls are protected and monitored. Earth is still a relatively new territory and human safeguards aren’t as secure as elsewhere. It’s easier for human souls to be harvested.”

Everyone said she was dead, but she wasn't, she was nuts. Cray-Z. It was the only logical explanation for the cracked shit in her current experience. After all, it wasn't a psychotic episode without a few soul sucking gods thrown in for a good time, right?

“If a vladco–”

“Vryko. Read. The. Book.”

Harlow proudly kept her irritation under control and lied, “I will,” with a straight face and every intention of weaseling the information from a different source.

Soren silently walked the rest of the way to a two city-block spanning pagoda with what looked like a college job fair on the massive front lawn. The pagoda rose so high into the blue sky that the top eventually disappeared from sight and Soren scowled at it. “Customs.”

People passed them on the walk carrying free gifts from the multitude of canopied booths on the front lawn. “Over there,” she pointed to a booth. “That is really nice travel mug,” Harlow said. “What do I have to sign up for?”

“Looks like either Eternity Today or The Times in Hell.”

“Fantastic, come on.”

Many, many minutes later, travel mug in hand, Harlow had a shiny new subscription to Eternity Today and she'd joined a newbies' social club. And, bonus!, scored coupons for buy one get one souvlaki. The booths closest to the building entrance displayed political candidates and propaganda and Harlow came away with everything from pens to stickers to notepads from a dizzying number of political factions. She shoved it all into her radio station promoting tote. 106.5 WRU-Hot. Hell.

Classy.

“Which one of these yahoos is incumbent?” Harlow asked around a mouthful of kettle corn.

Soren pointed to a tacky poster prominently hanging on a booth canopy.

“Nice toga. Are you kidding me with this place?”

Soren took the last sip of his coffee, tossed the cup, and then buried his hand into the popcorn bag. “Trust me, his majesty and his toga will not win this year's election.”

“Why is that?”

“He'd have to magically become, I don't know, likable is too much to hope for, so I'd try for not such a complete ass. His approval rating is somewhere around 15%, with only a handful of days to the polls.”

“He wouldn't have to become a different person; the voters would only have to think he had. It's classic marketing.”

“It's called a miracle and he doesn't have one to spare. The Mesopotamians will get voted in and it'll be eons of sub par coffee in the break room. That's if they don't clean house and I still have a job.” Soren finished his paw full of popped yumminess and stared pensively at the front door. “And I’m spending possibly my last days in ESF in Customs.” He wiped his hands and prepped to enter. “I hate customs.”

First Day in Customs

Harlow stifled a yawn and waited for the tour guide stepping up to her kiosk to place his ID card into the slot on the platform. When the system accepted his information, she pressed the flashing green button on her computery screeny thingy and waited. Then a bunch of boxes popped up on the screen and Harlow pressed one of the boxes at random, because even though her supervisor explained how the long list of scrolling writing was a list of names of human souls arriving from Earth, Harlow couldn't read them. The computery thingy bleeped and began printing. After a moment the comuptery thingy bleeped again and the tour guide took his ID card and the printed soul retrieval order from the kiosk printer and left.

She stifled another yawn and waited for the next tour guide. She peeked over the top of the monitor at the endless, revolving lines of tour guides waiting for an endless list of retrieval orders. Dear god. She was in hell.

Her head thumped with exhaustion, yet there was nothing she could think to do to relieve the mind numb overtaking her brain. That stupid book hadn't helped because it read like Greek stereo instructions, written in Burmese, translated to an Elvish-Klingon pidgin, and spit out as something that presented itself as elegant garble. It hurt.

A loooong hour later she lurched to the staff break room, stumbled into the closest empty chair, and thuncked her forehead onto the table top. She couldn't go back. She couldn't. The tedium would kill her. She wanted her life back. Her exciting life of excitement and…life. Oh god.

She whimpered.

“First day?” A man across from her asked.

Harlow nodded.

“Take some deep breaths,” he said. “You've got monotony sickness. It will pass in a bit.”

She took his advice and after a few lung filling inhalations lifted her head enough to see through her hair. “It's so endless. So depressing and endless.” She propped her head on her upraised fist. “I don't know if I can do this,” she managed despite her mind being the consistency of mush.

“Don't have much choice, seeing as you have to put in 2000 years before applying for a transfer.”

2,000 years stuck pressing the same button? Hell was the worst.

“The trick is to occupy yourself. I play fantasy foos ball and research peanut butter,” the guy said. “Did you know, generally speaking, peanut butter comes in two types: crunchy and smooth.”

Harlow blinked. He reached over the table. “Ormyton Steiv. I'm kiosk number one,” he said with pride.

She sat up and shook his hand. “Harlow Snow-Sheridan.”

“Hey!” Soren barked his arrival from the cafeteria door.

Harlow jumped at the sudden change from monotone and spun to face a clearly disgruntled man.

“Do you know what that asshat has me doing?” Soren marched in carrying a mop and a scowl. “Cleaning welcoming rooms! I'm up to my arm pits in soul mucus.” He wore dark blue coveralls with green stripes down the sides, and his shoes were covered in protective booties. “It's disgusting! I hate Pine. I hate Cy. I hate the Big Guys. I hate customs. I especially hate curvy celestials with their mouths and their legs and their tight sexy bodies!”

Harlow shook off the remaining fog and gaped at him. She'd kill for the mental capacity to even have a tantrum right now, the lucky bastard. “Try an endless dreariness of repetitive button pushing. It's the most ridiculous job ever created. I do nothing. The tour guide can push the stupid buttons himself. I'm superfluous and I'm ready to scratch the skin off my face just for some kind of stimulation!” Huh, maybe she could throw a tantrum after all. That was promising.

Soren listened and nodded and looked thoughtful and caring about her plight. Then he opened his mouth. “Does your job, in any way, shape, or form, involve human soul secretions?”

Harlow shook her head. He held out his mop. “I'll upgrade the couch if you trade jobs with me.”

Harlow paused. “You want to trade your job for my job?”

“More than anything.”

“You'll clear it with Pine?”

“Sure.”

“Couch upgrade and no more Snowy.”

“Agreed. What's your name again?”

“You are an ass.”

“Oh God! Listen, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that I don’t care.”

“Noted,” Harlow glared at the jerk and demanded, “call me Lo and you supply me with real coffee. Not that frou-frou tall venti caramel mocha latte low-fat soy goat's milk crap you gave me earlier; it was bitter and had grounds at the bottom.”

“It's called Greek coffee, you melodramatic heathen, it’s supposed to have grounds at the bottom! You’re meant to slowly savor it, not slam it like a frat boy at a kegger,” Soren ranted with more melodrama than a queen at the Glam Awards.

Oh, like now she cared! “I want an immediate caffeine fix, not a leisurely stroll through Coffee Town.”

“Fine!” He took a moment to visibly compose himself. “Lo,” he stressed, “ I will happily provide you with a large morning travel mug of weak American joe, hold the cream and sugar, and upgrade the couch if you would trade jobs with me.”

“Thank you.” she nodded her acquiescence. “My kiosk is 7265.”

He pulled a folded list from his uniform pocket and gave it to her. “Your room schedule. The cleaning cart is outside the door. Here are the keys to all the janitorial closets in your section.” When she took it he said, “Godspeed,” and headed for the door.

“Don't you want lunch?” Harlow called.

He gagged. “No!” His shiver was palpable. “I want to scrub birth fluid off my hands and wipe the last hours from my memory.” He shook his head as he walked away, unzipping his janitorial coveralls as he went.

“Was that Captain Reed?” Ormyton asked with something akin to awe.

Harlow looked at the mop and wanted to hug it. She answered Ormyton instead. “Yes.”

“I heard he got demoted for sleeping with a celestial.”

“He did.” It might sound odd, coming from a dead woman, but she felt as though she had a new lease on life. “I'm his partner.” She meant to take advantage of it.

The Infamous Celestial

“I sold your secrets in customs,” Harlow told Soren as they walked home from Customs.

“You did what?” Soren asked and handed her some sort of succulent smelling sandwich from a street vendor. So far, she wasn't complaining about the food in Hell.

Harlow gratefully accepted the sandwich and a paper soup cup filled with what looked like yogurt and came clean. “I told people in customs why you were demoted.”

He tore off a bite of his own sandwich and asked, “Why,” around it. Then he handed her a napkin.

“To make friends and influence people. Fortunately for me you're a notorious man.”

“I'm outstanding and I know it worked.”

Surprisingly, “it did.”

He performed a slight bow. “You're welcome, I'm glad you can benefit from my public fall from grace.”

“Come on, don't be bitter. I feel great about it.”

They joined the pedestrian traffic on a mammoth footbridge over a plodding black river.

“What’s that plaque say?” she asked.

He frowned at her but read. “Hell-on-the-Styx; established 5 e.s.”

“5 e.s.?” she asked.

“Eternity standard. Hell-on-the-Styx is an ancient trading settlement. It was recognized 5 eons after the political establishment of Eternity. The District of Hell wasn't officially recognized until 210 e.s, after the Titan Wars, but before the Peace Treaty of Oslem. The treaty stipulated–”

“As much as I appreciate a good history lecture, professor, only about 10% of what you've said made any sense. I'm mainly getting babble and a strange buzzing sound.” A flock of birds V'ed across the deepening sunset and Harlow marveled with spiritual wonder at the aliveness of it before demanding, “I thought a ferry crossed the river Styx!”

“There are five ferry crossings, none of which is close to my apartment.”

She shook her head in disgust. Everything in her ancient civilizations class had been crap, and she'd blown off a rafting trip in Denali to ace that stupid final.

“How was cleaning detail?” Soren asked a few minutes later as he led the way up the flight of stairs to his apartment.

“A joy,” she responded.

“Liar.”

“Nope, I loved it. I'm grungy and I smell, but I feel alive. I need to be physically active or mentally stimulated or I get irritated. What about dispatch? Are you ready to slam your head against a wall?”

“I found it peaceful.”

“That's crazy talk.”

“It might be cramped in there, but silent tour guides and inane button pushing wins out over human soul secretions any day.”

Harlow cringed. “It's all you, cupcake. I'd rather scrub soul mucus.”

Soren chuckled and walked into his apartment. Instantly, the laugh stopped, and he growled, “No. You get out.”

Harlow stumbled to a halt; partly because Soren did the same right in front of her, and partly because the woman standing in Soren's apartment causing the holdup was unbelievably, overwhelmingly, insanely gorgeous. Creamy caramel skin and long, luxurious chocolaty hair she was a divine Dove bar in fantastic golden gladiator sandals.

Holy Batman, Robin, there was a toga wearing goddess in the living room.

“I didn't know,” la goddess breathed all breathlessly breathless, her chandelier earrings casting sparkles of lights with each animated shake of her passionate denial.

Soren muttered, “I need a drink,” and bee lined for the kitchen. “How could you not have known, Rehan? And why do you still have a key?”

Rehan followed him with her two miles of leg, shown to perfection when her gold embroidered toga parted down the thigh to accommodate her strides. “I'd only been invited. I didn't know my attending the introductory meeting automatically conferred junior status!”

Harlow struggled to take her eyes from the woman. Curse the gods. Did every Lakas woman have to be wildly stunning? Harlow, for the first time since her teens, felt minimal. Skinny and gawky, with those damn braces that colored all of her high school memories in sharp steel gray.

Rehan gave up before reaching the kitchen and raised her voice. “I thought it was merely informational and, if you recall,” she said pointedly, “we did not speak much that night.”

The vision turned to Harlow. “I'd just gotten my hair done,” she explained with a flattering fluff and sexy shake of the silky threads that just brushed the woman's perfect rump. The subtle essence of jasmine blessed the air around her.

“Great hair can make a night.”

Rehan smiled her relief at the support. “Hi, I'm Rehan. Soren's girlfriend.”

And, just like her silver-toothed high school self who'd stood, holding a freshly scooped double cone out to the smiling cool guy from history class while the super-hot school president hugged his arm, Harlow wore navy blue polyester with matching green stripes.

Oh God.

She was in Hell.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Soren called from the kitchen. “Who still hasn’t explained why she has a key.”

Happily, the current cool guy could have the super-hot girl because this was getting interesting. Besides, the braces had paid off. She now had a straight smile any goddess would envy. Harlow tossed away the cloak of past teenage angst and said, “A pleasure to meet you. I'm Harlow, Soren's new partner.”

The news, apparently, didn't sit well with his ex. “Oh, Soren,” Rehan said. “I'm so sorry.”

Here they were, off to a great start. Harlow slid onto the couch while Rehan took a facing chair. After the past couple of days she'd had, watching someone else's drama sounded better than dealing with her own. Also, it might be considered rude, but knowing it was Soren's emotional upheaval made it all the juicier.

“It doesn't make any sense,” Rehan continued speaking towards the kitchen. “Would it have made a difference had we still been together? I don't understand how they would have known of our involvement.”

“We were together for five years, our relationship wasn't a secret, Re. ” Soren said as he came out of the kitchen with a demitasse of his pretentious coffee. “They put me in customs.”

Rehan's body wilted, “Oh no. They've put you with Nathaniel. Poor Nathaniel.”

“Poor Nathaniel?” he groused. “What about poor me?”

“What's Pine got against you anyway?” Harlow asked Soren.

He gestured toward Rehan who twisted her hands together as her face twisted into something resembling guilt. “My family wanted me to marry Nathaniel. I chose to date Soren instead.”

Soren's face glowed smug.

“Wait!” Harlow just made a startling connection. “You're a Lakas?” She never would have guessed. Yeah, he was just as good looking as every other Lakas with his thick brown hair and classic statuary bone structure, but there wasn’t anything else godlike about him.

He gave her a look of disappointed scorn before asking, “how else could I fade to and from Earth?” He shook his head. “My human father is currently back in Earth. My Lakas mother is currently not speaking to me. She's mad I haven’t gone into politics.”

Harlow could not hold back her wince. How to put this nicely? “You'd make an awful politician.”

“That's what I said. And, for future reference: I prefer demi-god.”

“Of course you do.”

He blew on his coffee. “You know, it's that sort of attitude that will keep you in middle management.”

“As opposed to sleeping with celestials?”

“What's with the continued malice?”

“What's my name,” she challenged.

He met her eyes dead on. “Becky.”

Harlow frowned and said, "We made a deal."

Soren shrugged and sat down next to her. “Still no reason to be hateful.”

Rehan asked, “Will it be horrible for you, Soren?”

Harlow expected him to answer in the affirmative, instead he responded with, “Everything will be fine, Re. Cyvarian is working to get me back as a handler and Pine might be a humorless prick, but I'll play nice.”

Harlow couldn't help but interject, “That's decent since it sounds like you stole his girlfriend.” Let's keep it honest, shall we?

“Oh, Nathaniel and I were never officially together. Our families wanted the match,” Rehan said.

“Let's not talk about Pine or customs.” Soren grumbled before sniffing and pulling back. “You really do smell,” he lobbed directly to Harlow. “I mean I knew you smelled, but the closed confines of the room are making it more apparent.”

Harlow knew how much she smelled and she didn't need him pointing it out, especially in front of company. “Now who's being rude?”

“Duly noted, but you can't deny the extreme honesty of my statement.”

With all the dignity she could muster, which, sadly, wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted at the moment, Harlow rose and said, “I can, and I will, and I'm only going to shower now because that's what I do after a hard day at work.” She skirted around the couch and said, “Rehan, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“You too. Have a lovely evening.”

“Thank you.” Halfway down the hall Harlow called, “Soren, I'm using all the hot water because you're a jerk.”

“You're using all the hot water because you're mean.”

“Semantics.”

Much, much later, when Harlow finally exited the bathroom, smelling fresh and clean, Rehan was gone. Soren was watching a movie and Harlow sat on the opposite side of the very small, very uncomfortable couch. “What's this?”

“Titans Unleashed. A great action by the Obsidian brothers about a future Titan uprising,” he said without taking his eyes from an explosion.

As far as Harlow could tell, there were a whole lot of weird looking monsters growling threats and insults and blowing up things. Boring. After another fifteen minutes of the same she was pleased to see an even bigger explosion, then some positive handshaking and jocular back slapping, and the ending credits.

“Great movie,” Soren said, with what she considered a bemusing amount of admiration, before he yawned, stood, and stretched. “I ordered a pull-out couch with the deluxe mattress and easy grip handle features for smooth operation. You're welcome. It'll be delivered tomorrow. So you can sleep in the bed again tonight.”

“It's okay,” Harlow said. “I'll make do here.”

He looked at the couch, then at her. “Yeah.” He shook his head and walked down the hall. “Same bedroom rules as last night apply.”

Harlow lifted her feet to the other side and tried getting comfy. When that failed she got up and went to go sleep with her partner.