A/N: This first chapter is a tad short, but when you read it, I think you'll understand why. I hope you enjoy it, as long as you're over 18. If you're under 18 then my stories probably aren't something you should be reading.

The only thing that I knew was that I was dead. I knew that I should have listened to my Momma and Daddy and the preacher better. They were right; hell was no place to joke about.

Hell hurt.

Hell burned.

Knowing that I was dead and accepting it were two completely different things. Like I said, I already knew I was dead as a door nail, but I couldn't understand why or how it had happened. Death was turning out to be a very confusing thing.

"What the fuck Peter? How in the ever lovin'…I swear you are worse than a newborn half the time."

Hell was weird and whoever said that sounds mighty put out.

I could smell the wet dirt of the farm just as good as I could when I was alive. And I could hear what I thought sounded like my Daddy calling my name, but it was so far away sounding. Maybe I was just imagining that. For all of his faults, my Daddy would be crushed when they found my body. I wonder if it was the coyotes that got me?

I'd had an older brother once, or so Momma would say. He didn't listen and the coyotes got him one morning when he tried to get out of working in the fields. At least that was the story I heard every time I tried to get out of work.

"Charlotte Annabelle Dansby! The good book says, idle hands are the devil's playground. You don't want to end up like Richard and get drug off by the coyotes, do you?"

I would always sigh and roll my eyes at Momma, after she'd turned around of course, whenever she said that because I'd asked my Grandma about it once when she visited and she just laughed. Her and Daddy meant well, and I knew that. The small homestead farm we had needed all of us working from sunup until sun down every day. The war had taken its toll on the land, and on our family. We were still recovering. My parents still talked about it like it had just happened last week and not forty-eight years ago. I guess that was fair enough since they both lost older brothers.

Apparently, not much changed out here in rural Texas. Listening to Momma and Daddy talk about when they were growing up sounded a lot like how things were around here when I was growing up. Everything was a million miles away and we only had the wagon to get there.

"I…I had to."

See? Hell is really weird. That voice sounded like it wanted to cry. I wanted to cry hearing it, and not just because my body was filling up with the fire and brimstone that the preacher always swore was gonna get me. There was just something about the sadness in it that touched me.

"Had to, my ass. I GAVE YOU AN ORDER. Get her back now. It's too late for anything else. I'll deal with you when I get back."

That sounded like something my Daddy would say to me if I didn't act like he thought a young lady should be acting. One of the deacon's wives caught me skinny dipping in the creek when I was supposed to be at school one time, and she marched me straight out in the field to Daddy, dripping wet and all. He sent me to the house with those same words. I got a whippin' when he came in from the fields that night but nobody bothered to wonder just what she was doing out at the creek in the middle of the day. I got in more trouble when I brought it up.

Speaking of fire and brimstone, I really want to scream. This shit hurts! I can feel the heat lapping at every inch of my body, consuming me, but not really consuming, because hell never ends.

God the burning. It's too much and I can't not be sucked under the waves as they scorch me. I go through the motions of screaming and I can almost hear it. The pain filled cry sounds a million miles away from my searing body. I can't stop. It doesn't help relieve me, but I can't stop screaming. I don't listen for it anymore; I can't do anything but burn and scream. I try to tear at the dress I was wearing when I died; the calico fabric keeps scrubbing against my skin setting the heat higher and higher. I have no idea if my body is responding or if I even have a body anymore. Suddenly, the burning pain eases slightly, it still is excruciating but I can think again a little.

"Charlotte Dansby! That is no way for a young lady to behave," the teacher said to me as I loomed over Silas Wells with my hand balled up into a fist, ready to strike him again.

I'd just punched him in the nose for pulling my hair. I was 10, and this was another example of why I should've listened better in church. Maybe I should have just said to him, "Silas, I do not eat boogers and my hair does not look like a broom," instead of calling him a sissy boy coward and punching him. Maybe.

Maybe I should have married that boy that Daddy told me to instead of calling him a pimple faced dirt farmer, but I was only 17 at the time and my Daddy should have known me well enough to know that the match was a bad one. I just couldn't see myself being happy being married to someone that I knew had always been a bully. I wasn't a bad person, just a little headstrong.

Momma told me that more than once. There was that time that I came home from the grocer crying my eyes out and Momma sat there on the edge of my bed, running her fingers through my hair as I told her about being cornered by a nasty girl that I'd gone to school with. She'd said the whole community was talking about me. They were saying that I was hateful and thought I was better than them. They said I was already an old maid for it and that I'd always be alone because no man would have me. Momma was having none of that. She stroked my head and sang quietly to me until my sobs quieted then she told me that they didn't understand me; that I was a good person and that when the right man found me he'd never let me go. She didn't leave until my eyes got heavy, and even then I felt her lean to kiss my forehead before she did. That was last week.

"What the fuck are you doing here? You're supposed to be training the new ones and getting them fed."

Angry man was back, and he must be the devil. He sounds kinda like I imagined the devil would sound, growly and wild with a deep voice that you couldn't argue with.

"I just came to check, Major. I'm leaving now."

There was the sad voice again. No clue who that was, but he didn't really sound like he belonged here in hell with the rest of us. His voice was like music, really, and I would listen to it more if I could. But this was hell so I knew I wouldn't be able to.

Being dead was exhausting.

They never told you about that in church, but I was here and I was on fire and screaming again and my life kept flickering before me and it was exhausting. I could hear the screams of the other dead people now. It didn't sound like as many people as I thought hell would have, but I'm new here.

The burning sensation grew once more, heaving waves of fire and pain over me and I tried to scream louder. The pain was so intense that I couldn't even remember to pray to the good lord anymore. I guess by being in hell I didn't really have to worry with that. I just wanted the pain to stop. Wave after wave, with no end in sight, washed over me.

It seemed to go on forever and I guess it really would. There was no more passing of time here, just the ever constant burn and the howling screams of the other souls that had been condemned to hell for eternity. From time to time, the devil would speak.

I tried not to listen to him; his voice was always harsh and so full of hate. This place was bad enough without it. Whenever he spoke it was always barked commands that didn't seem to make any sense. Maybe I was the only one without a body though.

I didn't hear the sad voice again. I guess he got into enough trouble the last time I heard him that he wasn't up for borrowing anymore trouble. I just couldn't understand why he was even here to begin with. Nothing else that I heard suggested that there was anything but this burning fire that enveloped us. I knew that I wasn't the only one; the screaming around me had gotten louder now. I could also now hear what sounded like heartbeats. When one of the heartbeats would race wildly out of control, the devil would bark out his commands and it would fade away from the rest of us.

I couldn't help but think about my Momma and my sister. They were like two peas in a pod. They looked so much alike and their temperaments were the same. They were so sweet and kind to everyone. I guess I was just too much like Daddy because there were some folks that really just rubbed me the wrong way and I didn't have a problem spitting in their eye if they did. I tried not to think about my parents or my little sister too much and it wasn't a very hard feat to accomplish. The pain was so intense that it was easy to give in to it and let it course through me with wild abandon. In some ways, it was easier to deal with the burning pain that to think about the fact that I would never see my family again. Well, I'd never see my Momma and my sister again, but my Daddy could be a real son of a bitch sometimes and he might wind up right here in hell with me, but I doubted it.

My own heartbeat, just another echo like those of the people that surrounded me, suddenly began to race. The liquid fire that coursed through me surged, and I was suddenly terrified of what was going to happen when the devil showed up. It wasn't helping with the pounding of my heart, this terror. I swear, if I wasn't already dead this would kill me.

"Move her NOW, don't just stand there!"

I felt hands on what would have been my body if it had been more than just molten lava right now, and I tensed slightly. My heart continued to beat harder and faster, and the heat surged through me. The hands left me, but the spikes of heat that they caused didn't end. I wasn't screaming anymore because I was too damn scared. I couldn't hear the others' heartbeats anymore, just my own.

"Try not to fuck this up Peter. You know what to do if she ain't gonna work."

My wildly pounding heart just…stopped. What the ever lovin' hell was going on? I was already dead, right? I mean, wait, there was no burning anymore. There was a burning in my throat, but it was nothing compared to what I had been experiencing before.

I heard quiet footsteps approaching me, and then the rustle of fabric. I sat up quickly at the sounds and slowly opened my eyes to see a pair of red eyes looking back at me. I leaned forward slightly and studied the man sitting before me with the red eyes. Who was he? Did I know him? Should I know him? There was something about the gorgeous blond sitting next to me with the deep red eyes and I don't know what came over me. My eyes widened a little and he smirked at me. That's when I pounced on him.

E/N: I hope you're not too discouraged already. Trust me, the next chapter will explain more.