Through me you go to the grief wracked city; Through me you go to everlasting pain; Through me you go a pass among lost souls. Justice inspired my exalted Creator: I am a creature of the Holiest Power, of Wisdom in the Highest and of Primal Love. Nothing till I was made was made, only eternal beings. And I endure eternally. Abandon all hope — Ye Who Enter Here
"Inferno: Canto III: The Gate to Hell" – Dante Alighieri
She cracked her fingers and stared at the door to the casino. Around her, drunks milled around, people dressed in fancy suits laughed at some snob-ass joke, and security guards stood on the side, making sure everything stayed in order.
And here she was…Twenty-five years old and not even able to enjoy the beauty of Las Vegas.
The flashing lights couldn't beckon her, the music crawling out of strip clubs couldn't even entice her to look. All she knew was that this casino was, right now, the most important thing in the world.
She braced herself and stepped inside, putting on her game face.
Game on.
The lights inside were bright, almost blinding. She suddenly felt underdressed as she watched everyone around her walk around in hip-hugging dresses, nine-inch heels and black tailor-made tuxedos. She looked down at her outfit. A pair of red jeans and black Converse, a black trench coat, a canvas bag on her shoulders, a black bandana tied securely around her neck bandito-style, and an ash grey shirt. That was all she had going for her.
She looked at the security guard and rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't doing anything wrong. He waved her along and she nodded, feeling her hair sweep around her head. She felt self-conscious, as if there was some sort of sign above her head that said 'DESPERATE'.
She swiveled through the people, looking into each and every one of their faces. Handsome men, pretty young women, nicely dressed spinsters, pervy old drunks, they were all there.
And then she saw him.
Standing at the head of the blackjack table, grinning madly, stood a black-haired man of about thirty, although she knew that that was nowhere near his real age. He was dressed in a beautiful black suit she would have fawned over before, and rocked the unshaven look.
She sidled next to him and pulled on the fabric on his elbow. He turned to her, a smile adorning her face, before he caught her eyes.
She saw his eyes suddenly turn from blue to red to black and then back to blue in a matter of a second, and he frowned. She knew what he was doing. She knew everything about him.
"Charon."
"Shush!" he almost yelled, putting a hand over her mouth. She grinned underneath it. He was sweating. He was scared.
This was good.
"What do you want?" he asked her, removing his hand and leading her away from the table. Shouts of protest followed him, he didn't seem to care. "How did you find me?"
"Las Vegas is the most sinful place on earth."
He gave her one quick look before he turned his eyes back to the street as he led her away and into a small empty side street.
"Who are you?"
"I believe you already know that," she shrugged, leaning against the wall. Everything in this place was so fucking clean, she couldn't even…
"Right, right," he murmured, pulling at his collar, opening a button and showing off his chest. "Santana Lopez, twenty five, lesbian, I got all that. What else is there, though? Why'd you find me?"
"You can't be serious, Lopez."
"It worked for Dante, Puck. It can work for me."
"It never happened!"
"That's what you think…"
"Dante."
Charon stopped fidgeting with his clothes and stared at her, his eyes growing wider by the second.
"Dante?"
"Yes. You see…" she pushed off the wall and walked towards him, watching his body as it stiffened. He was scared of her. This was new. Why would the Ferryman to the Underworld be scared of her? "I lost my Beatrice about 8 years ago. She was everything to me, just like Beatrice was everything to Dante. She was my life, my soul, my lover. And then somebody killed her. Sure, it was an accident. But she died. And I took to reading. A lot. And what I found out was that Dante travelled to hell once. And it was all to get his Beatrice back." She pushed her bag off her back and reached down to it. "I have the book with me, it's all I've been reading. And I knew that I had to look for you, and you'd take me to the doors of hell. But for a price."
Charon narrowed his eyes, crossing her arms over his chest.
"You've done your research, mortal."
"I wanted to be prepared. Only problem is, I can't find any drachmas, seeing as I'm not exactly dead. But I do know that you'll take other forms of payment. So," she spread her arms and smiled her shit-eating smirk at him. "What's it gonna be, Mr Ferryman?"
He didn't answer, just stared at her for what felt like an eternity of hours that danced by. She gulped as she lowered her tiring arms and slung her bag over her shoulder. He was tapping his foot, expecting more.
"Look," she began again, "I know I'm coming on strong but…"
"She's what?"
"Mrs Lopez, calm down-"
"She's not dead!" she cried out, falling into Quinn's arms, gulping back air, feeling her chest collapse. "She can't be dead, she just can't…"
"Mrs Lopez, I'm so sorry."
"Who did it? What happened? How? Why her? Why not me?"
"But I need her back in my life. I miss her so much. And I know, OK? I know what's coming at me down there. I know that there are nine levels, that if I don't survive I'm stuck there forever. But…I can't live my life knowing I could have had a chance to get her back and I was too much of a coward to go for it! I love her, please let me…just…"
Charon reached out to her, his hands looking suspiciously like skeleton's hands.
"Blood."
"Excuse-"
"You have to pay me with blood."
"How?"
"I don't know. Get your period or something, I don't give a fuck!" He growled, his voice suddenly transforming into something similar to dead leaves racking across a cold pavement. "But I need your blood or you can't get through."
She nodded and brought her hand up to her mouth, giving him a sly wink as she bit into the pad of skin between her thumb and index finger.
"Santana, what are you doing?"
"I heard that if you bite hard enough," she said through muffled bites, "you can draw blood from here-Ow!" she cried out as a piece of skin fell off in her mouth, revealing a dark red, gradually growing patch on her palm.
"Shit."
"You asked for it, silly!" Brittany smiled, leaning forward and bringing the hand to her lips, kissing it. "You'll be fine."
"But it hurts, Britt…"
"You won't die!"
"Shit!" she cried out as her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. She spat it out and held her hand to Charon, who brushed one long, cold finger against her skin. They both shivered at the contact, and then suddenly a bright red light emitted from the wall behind her.
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," he shot at her as he turned around and made to walk away. He stopped at the entrance of the street though, and turned to look at her again.
"Good luck, kid. I hope you find your Beatrice."
Santana nodded at him and turned to the hole. A staircase met her at the entrance, descending into nothing as it twisted down into darkness. She heard what sounded like the slosh of water, and she turned to make a quip about it to Charon, but he was already gone.
"I can't do this without her, Quinn."
"San, you need to move on."
"I love her Quinn, I just can't…"
"It's been two years, Santana!"
Santana turned her haunted eyes to Quinn and shook her head. "It's been so much longer…"
Squaring her shoulders, she set foot on the first step.
