CH 11 - Tell Me about Hell

Some hours later, muffled sounds and slow movement indicated that the woman had begun to wake. Logan let her be, focusing on cooking dinner and taking inventory of the loot acquired from “Dead Red” as he had named the demon that Beauty had defeated. It was, he was pleased to note, a good haul.

A leather pouch of coins jingled nice and heavy in his hand. Combined with the other coins, it felt like they had gathered a significant amount of money in total. That would come in handy soon enough to buy supplies.

There was the short sword made out of the same dark metal as his dagger. It vaguely resembled a Roman gladius with a single-edged and top-heavy, equally suited to chopping or stabbing. Logan was certainly not a swordsman but another blade could not hurt at all.

Beyond that, Dead Red had worn a jeweled ring and a golden armband that would surely fetch a good price in any thriving market, and gladiator-style leather armor plates across the shoulder and down one arm. A design was stamped into the leather, a snake coiled to strike. Regarding the armor, he would have preferred something that protected his bare abs rather than shows them off but armor of any kind was still far better than being naked from the waist up. After running around bare-chested for so long, he had almost forgotten how it felt to wear a shirt.

Finally, there was a leather bladder filled with some kind of eye-watering alcohol. It smelled like peppermint flavored paint thinner, judging by the scent stinging his nostrils. Still, as desperate for supplies, any supplies, as they were, even this had value. It might do for disinfecting wounds, or stripping paint if there was any paint to strip in Hell. Regardless, he had no interest in a taste test.

Hearing movement behind him, he turned to see that she was sitting up and looking around in obvious confusion. There was clarity in her dark eyes, but also caution as she looked at Logan. Her expression was tense and wary, only a short step away from fear.

Logan offered what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Hello. How do you feel?”

“I...” She shook her head. “What happened? Where am I?”

He gestured around his head. “Both very good questions. This is our ... well, “home” is a bit overly optimistic. You were attacked by a big, horny demon. We helped you. Don’t you remember?”

She was a long time answering. Confusion passed across her face like a shadow, then dawning fear. “Your Master tricked me! You are hunters!”

The word “master” struck much too close to home, given his recent suspicions. Logan made an effort to keep his own frustration in check, cautioning himself to tread carefully. Reminding himself that this woman’s fears were very real and justified.

“I don’t know what a “hunter” is, at least how you mean it, but I do know that you are a guest,” he replied in a gentle voice. “No one is holding you against your will. You are safe here.”

“Safe.” She spoke the word as if uncertain what it meant.

“Yep,” Logan replied, keeping his focus on turning the meat over the fire, making no eye contact or sudden moves. “Hungry?”

“I ... remember food.”

He made an effort not to wince at the plaintive tone of loss in her voice. “That’s an ... interesting response. Do you not eat? Out there?”

“When I can. I found some berries once but they made me sick.”

“I see.” Logan tried not to dwell on the horrific implications of the word “once”. “Well, there is more than enough for two. If you want.”

“Why am I here? What do you want?”

Tension thrummed in her voice. Logan feared she might bolt for the exit at any moment. He pointed at the meat cooking on a spit and dripping sizzling fat into the flames. “My name is Logan and I want to eat dinner. Would you like to come sit by the fire and join me?”

She looked around, peering into the shadows. “Where is your Master?”

“That would be Beauty,” he replied as casually as possible. “And for the record, I call no one Master. Never have. Never will. I am a free man. Beauty is my ... she is ... a friend.”

“Your friend,” she repeated. “A demon is your ... friend.”

Logan could hear the disbelief in her voice. Her doubt was understandable and mirrored his own concerns. “It’s complicated,” he shrugged in response. “What’s your name?”

“Karen.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Karen. More than you know. You are the first human I have had the chance to speak to since waking up in this nightmare.”

“Waking up?” she muttered. “I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us,” Logan sighed. “But I want to understand, and I’m really hoping you can help me do that.” Logan smiled at her to lighten the mood. “But not on an empty stomach.”

Logan heard the sound of slow, uncertain footsteps approaching. By the time he had the meat off the spit and cooling on a rock, she had come close enough to stand in his peripheral vision. He pretended as if he was unaware of her presence, afraid to move too swiftly and accidentally startle her into flight.

One small step at a time, she drew closer, drawn to the warmth and light of the fire. Logan cut a bit of meat off, placed it on a smaller rock, and set it off to one side before tucking into his own meal. Eventually, she mustered the courage to sit by the fire. It was longer still before she reached for the food.

Karen held the small strip of meat as if struggling to remember what to do with it. She sniffed at it, then took a small bite. As she chewed, her lips trembled and a tear spilled from her eye, as if it were the finest cut of steak and not half-burnt bristle pig.

“This is meat,” she whispered.

“It is, yes,” Logan nodded but inside he fought to keep the astonishment off of his face at her over-the-top reaction to food. Did she not even remember the taste of meat? What kind of terrible zombie-like condition had she been suffering before now?

“I remember this now.” Karen offered a faint smile of gratitude and took another small bite, slowly savoring each greasy, half-burnt morsel. “So good!”

They ate in peaceful silence. After a time, he could feel her eyes on him and looked up. Confusion painted a shadow across her pretty features and in her dark, liquid eyes.

“You look like you want to ask a question,” he prodded ever so gently. “It’s ok. Feel free to ask.”

Karen chewed at her lower lip, obviously struggling to summon the courage to speak up. “I don’t understand any of this. You look human, wear the clothes and insignia of a Master, but have declared that you are free. You claim friendship ... to a demon. You have carried me to this place but have not had your way with me yet or taken me prisoner. Instead, you show kindness. And you speak as if you are a new soul and yet you look as strong as any old soul I have ever met and have food and even fire! None of this makes any sense!”