Hellmouth
A Hellraiser Fanfiction
By BG-57
Chapter 1
"Ward B, code twenty-one."
A man looked up from his solitaire game and sighed. His ginger hair was in a crew cut and he wore dark green scrubs. The room he sat in was nondescript, with windowless gray cinderblock walls. A row of lockers sat across the far walls while there were a few tables and chairs scattered across the concrete floor. He rose and crossed through a metal door that was propped open.
"Hey Tom, you're up," he called out.
Beyond the door was a dark courtyard that was open to the skies, where a torrent of rain was pouring down. A single scraggly gray tree grew in the center of the muddy rectangle of earth. In the darkness, he could make out a single smoldering point of orange light. A silhouette of a man was sitting on a picnic table under the overhang of the roof, smoking a cigarette.
"Yo Tom, you deaf?" tried the man a second time. The shadow stirred to life and came into the light. Even in power blue scrubs, Thomas Rathburn looked like a feral rat. He had long greasy black hair that almost hid his beady brown eyes and a pencil moustache decorated his upper lip. He was tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones that looked like they had been chiseled from stone.
"I heard you," said Tom in a soft raspy voice.
"It's a code twenty-one," explained the man as Tom passed him into the break room.
"Suicide watch," muttered Tom as he stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray that sat on a stand next to the door, "Thanks Steven."
"Anytime," said Steve, who shook his head sadly as he watched Tom leave.
Tom walked down the mostly deserted corridors painted a peculiar shade of lime green, illuminated by fluorescent lighting. He crossed past the entrance to the cafeteria, where a janitor peered up at him suspiciously from mopping the floor. The light in a nearby snack machine began to flicker ominously. Tom paused and watched the light fade in and out and then return to normal. He reached into his pocket and dropped a few coins into the slot and pushed a button. A spiral wire spun, dropping a candy bar into a dispensing slot.
A sign overhead read 'Ward B' as he crossed past the elevators to the nurse's station. A kindly middle aged woman with glasses was manning the desk, talking on the phone. She held up a finger and finished her conversation.
"Oh good," she said as she hung up the phone, "It's room sixteen."
"Room sixteen," echoed Tom distantly, "I'm on my way."
He walked down the dimmed corridor to find the last room on the right. An orderly stood from a chair that was halfway in the corridor.
"There you are Tom," said the orderly, "You sure took your time."
"Sorry Michael," said Tom quietly as he peered past him into the room, "What have we got?"
"Burn trauma, she tried to slit her wrists when she first came to," explained Mike, "She's heavily sedated." Tom nodded thoughtfully.
The room beyond had two beds separated by a curtain mounted to the ceiling, but the bed by the window was empty. The second bed had what appeared to be a young woman. What was visible of her face was dark, with black hair. The rest was swathed in bandages that concealed one eye and her forehead. Her upper chest was also covered, and two smaller bandages were wrapped around her wrists. An intravenous bag hung by a nearby stand, connected to the crook of her left elbow by a fine needle taped down. Under the faint hiss of an oxygen mask her slow steady breathing indicated drug induced slumber.
"I've got it covered," he said after a long pause.
"Want anything from the cafeteria before I go?" offered Mike. Tom took the candy bar from his shirt pocket and held it up. Mike chuckled and walked down the corridor, his footsteps slowly fading.
Tom walked into the room and noticed a shiny black purse resting on a small end table, next to a telephone and a glass of water. He pumped some hand sanitizer from wall-mounted dispenser and rubbed his hands together vigorously. He pulled on a pair of disposable plastic gloves and picked up the purse. A few moments of rummaging through the purse and he found a billfold. He pulled out the driver's license and held it up to the light in the hallway. The woman's name was Amanda Black, but it was her picture that caused him to gasp faintly. Despite the bad lighting at the registry she was clearly a lovely woman with emerald green eyes and her hair brushed back behind her ears, with twin golden hoop earrings. He had seen her face before, but it was impossible that this could be the same….
"Uhh," murmured the woman in her sleep. Feeling guilty for snooping, Tom gingerly returned her picture to the purse. It was then that something caught his eye.
Sitting in the purse was a box.
It looked like a Chinese puzzle box, with delicate brass designs etched into the six faces. Almost hypnotized, he picked it up in his hands. It was lighter than he expected; it must be hollow, he thought. Turning it over, he noticed that each pair of opposite faces had identical designs. Two sides were painted black with brass sunbursts radiating sixteen rays to the corners. The other faces were natural wood grain, another two of which had diamonds pinned by four quarter circles from the corners. The last faces had single dots surround by eight others merged into borders around the rim. Even through the gloves it strangely felt both warm and cold to the touch at the same time.
Tom set the box down on the table and crossed to the door and shut it. He then reached to his belt and flipped open a cell phone. Using the built in camera he focused the image of the box in the viewfinder. He covered Amy's free eye with a gloved hand as he snapped a flash photograph in the darkness. He then turned the box over and took a second picture. Once he got pictures of three of the sides, he carefully replaced the box back into the purse, then pulled off his gloves and threw them into the nearby trash. He knew from experience that the Doctor would be pleased with his handiwork; and Tom didn't want to disappoint him.
The rain slacked off around three in the morning and by five-thirty, cold light began to faintly seep in through the shuttered window. Tom unwrapped the candy bar and began munching.
"What…are you…eating?" Tom froze, stopped in mid-chew and glanced over to the bed. The woman's eye was open and regarding him groggily. He quickly swallowed and crossed over to her.
"Are you in any pain?" he asked, "I can get the nurse to bring some more morphine."
"What…are you eating?" she repeated. Self-consciously, he glanced down at the candy still in his grasp.
"It's got chocolate and nuts," he explained, "Do you want some?" She nodded faintly and he broke off a piece. After lifting up her oxygen mask he held it close to her lips. Amy chewed on it feebly, feeling vaguely like an infant. The thought infuriated her.
"Are you an angel or devil?" she asked weakly.
"Devil," replied Tom gravely. He bore no illusions about his sins.
"So I'm in Hell?" asked Amy as a tear gathered in the corner of her eye. Tom shook his head.
"You're still alive Miss Black," he explained, "You are badly hurt though." She help up right arm and inspected the bandage and name bracelet on her wrist. The memories of the fire and the cutting scissors came flooding back into her.
"Oh God," she prayed as her body began to convulse with sobs, "Why didn't I die?"
"Miss Black, please calm down," said Tom and he took her hand, "You'll be fine."
"How would you know, you freak?" she screamed as she pulled her hand away, "There are worse things than death!" Stung, Tom stood there paralyzed for a moment before hitting the page button on the wall.
"Room sixteen, code fifty-five," he intoned. A minute later the nurse arrived with a syringe.
"Why can't you let me die?" demanded Amy angrily, "They'll come after me!"
Tom held Amy's left arm steady as the nurse injected a sedative into the intravenous port. Within a minute Amy began to drift off again.
"The box," she muttered, "They want…."
"Are you okay?" asked the nurse as she placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. He shook his head slowly and slumped back into the chair.
A few hours later Tom stood in an office in a different wing of the hospital. It had crimson carpeting and a large oak desk in the middle of the room with a green blotter and desk lamp. A nameplate set prominently on the desk said Karl Wentworth M.D. in raised gilded lettering. Bookcases lined two of the opposite walls filled with medical books, while a computer stood in an alcove by the far wall. A printer underneath was finishing its job and a man retrieved the printout and placed in on the desk.
The man behind the desk was in his fifties, with his gray hair slicked back. He wore a dark suit and red tie underneath the lab coat and a stethoscope was draped around his neck. The gold cufflinks and tie pin attested to his obvious prosperity. Doctor Wentworth put on a pair of bifocals and stared at the three pictures of the box on the same printout.
"Mm, very interesting," he murmured in a well-modulated voice, "Where did you see this again?"
"Amanda Black," said Tom eagerly, "Ward B, room sixteen."
"The one with burn trauma?" he ventured glancing up with icy blue eyes. Tom nodded.
"Anything else?" asked the Doctor, picking up something from his troubled expression.
"She said someone was after her," stated Tom finally.
"You did a good thing Thomas," explained Wentworth soothingly, "You are helping others just as I have helped you." He knew how Tom hated rummaging through the patients' belongings, but he needed someone to do it for him.
"I can't save them all," he replied in quiet despair.
"That is not within our power," stated the Doctor, "We can only assist them as best we can."
"Yes Doctor," said Tom automatically.
"I'll look into this matter for you," said Wentworth brightly, "I feel this may be the key for helping Amanda." Tom nodded, feeling a little better.
"Thank you," he said gratefully.
"Fine, now go get some sleep," said the Doctor, "I'll fill you in on my progress."
He walked out of the office and down the hall to the elevators. The car took him down to a sub-basement that was ill-lit and the walls and ceiling lined with white insulated pipes out of which steam hissed at some of the junctions. He walked down to the far end past the sounds of rumbling machinery and unlocked a metal door and slid it open. The room was used for storing boxes, but in one corner he had set up a makeshift bed using some mattresses piled onto a pallet. He pulled off his shirt, exposing a thin bony body. A tattoo of a leering demon with its mouth wide open and flames pouring out decorated his upper left arm. He opened a small box by the wall and pulled out a votive candle and a wrinkled photograph. He lit the candle with his cigarette lighter and placed in on top of a dusty table, with the picture propped up next to it. The young girl with the sad smile looked about twelve. It could have been a childhood photograph of Amanda Black, except this girl had died ten years earlier.
"Forgive me Martha," he said as he lay on the bed and closed his eyes.
Half a day later, Michael the orderly was sitting in room sixteen working on a crossword when a shadow fell over him. He looked up and nearly jumped.
"Tom!" he gasped, "You nearly scared me half to death!"
"Sorry about that," said Tom, now dressed in green scrubs.
"You're ten minutes early," said Mike getting up, "Something wrong?" Tom shook his head.
"Go home early," he suggested. Mike smiled faintly.
"Sure thing," he said, "Oh, and she's been real quiet today."
"Good," said Tom taking the chair, "Has the Doctor been to see her?"
"Wentworth came by a couple of hours ago," explained Mike, "He said she won't need a sedative if we keep the wrist restraints on her."
After Mike left Tom looked over to Amy, who looked the same, except what looked like padded handcuffs that bound her wrists loosely to the bed railings. A canula tube under her nose had replaced the oxygen mask and she looked fast asleep.
"Please don't die," he said earnestly. Her eye opened and she fixed him with a gaze. He was too mortified for words; had she heard him?
"I'm sorry Tom," she said simply, "You're not a freak." He blinked back surprise.
"How did you…?" he began.
"I can read," she replied with a faint smirk, nodding to his nametag.
"I…I am a freak though," he managed to stammer. She sighed and shook her head.
"I wasn't mad at you," she said finally looking at the ceiling, "I was really angrier at myself."
"Oh," he replied uncertainly. After a few minutes of silence she spoke again.
"I'm glad I saw you again Tom," she said, "I felt bad about what I said." Tom waved his hand.
"Don't worry about it," he said evenly.
"I can be a real bitch sometimes," she added frowning slightly, "Say what kind of tattoo is that?" He followed her gaze down to his arm. He pulled up the sleeve to expose the whole tattoo.
"It's a Hellmouth," he explained, "The entrance to Hell."
"Do you believe in Hell?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said gravely, "I may go there one day."
"Or sooner," she added darkly.
"What do you mean?" he inquired.
"Does this hospital have a furnace?" she asked evasively.
"Yes," he replied, looking lost.
"Go over to my purse and look inside," she instructed, pointing with one of her restrained hands. Reluctantly he walked over to her purse and opened it up.
"What am I looking for?" he asked.
"A puzzle box," she said. Tom pulled out the box and saw it for a second time. In his bare hands it felt like it was both there and not there.
"Do you want it?" he asked holding it out to her. She paled and began to shudder. He instantly regretted asking and set the box down.
"Just burn it," she said, "They'll be coming for it."
"Who are they?" he asked.
"You said you believe in Hell, Tom," said Amy, "This will take you there." A cold sweat broke out on Tom's forehead.
"Really?" he asked in amazement, "They want your soul?" Amy nodded in grief.
"Promise me you'll destroy it," she begged.
"I-I promise," he said. Thomas decided that he would bring the box to Doctor Wentworth. Maybe with his help he could save Amanda's soul from damnation.