DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way own any part of the movies House of 1000 Corpses or The Devil's Rejects. I do not own most of these characters. They are the property of Rob Zombie, Liongate films, and whoever else holds a commercial or property license over them. This is fan fiction, intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. No one has been paid to write or host this story. No one is paid or will have to pay to read it.

Paving The Road
By Darqstar

Chapter Two
Deliver Us To Evil

All that could be seen was white. Bright, brilliant, all encompassing white. No, this was even whiter than white. If white itself was capable of creating its own form of white, this is what it would look like. White so bright and brilliant that it burned your eyes, burned into your soul. White so powerful you not only saw it, you smelled it and tasted it too. You could even hear it. White so damned white you would either want to cry at the sheer white beauty of it, or find out what in the hell was making all this white and beat the everlovin' shit out of it.

Otis fell in the second group.

"What the fuck?" he muttered, trying to figure out what was going on. One minute it was the smell of gunpowder, the metallic taste of blood, the sound of gunfire, the red of pain, anger, and determination filling his vision. All that good stuff. Now every single sense was been bombarded by this beautiful, puke inducing white.

"A-are we in a hospital?" Baby spoke, her voice softly hushed almost as if in awe.

"Nah," Otis squinted and raised his to his forehead as further protection against the on slaughter of white. He hadn't even realized his half sister was next to him until she spoke. "Hospitals aren't this white."

"Not to mention, we ain't feeling any pain," Spaulding said. "At least I'm not. Ain't no drugs out there that are this powerful, considering what we've been through."

Otis didn't even try to look over to see either Baby or Spaulding. He had this feeling in the pit of his gut, if he did, they'd be all glowing with this white crap, it would be pouring out of their noses, their mouths, their ears, and every other orifice, including their assholes, just bleeding out all this glowing whiter than white shit. And, even though he couldn't see it, he had a feeling he'd look the same way to them. "Nah, we ain't in the hospital," he repeated. "Not only ain't hospitals this white, but they also ain't this quiet."

"We're standing too," Baby murmured quietly, more as if making observations out loud rather than trying to have a conversation. "After that, if we did live, we sure as hell wouldn't be standing."

"So, this is death," Spaulding muttered. "Not quite what I thought it would be."

Otis rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "It's the tunnel."

"The what?" both Spaulding and Baby asked in unison.

"The tunnel," Otis repeated.

"What tunnel?" Spaulding asked, sounding slightly exasperated as if it was a real itch on his ass to have to ask Otis for further clarification.

Well, if Spaulding could play the pissy game, so could he. In a voice that sounded equally annoyed, Otis spoke. "The tunnel you jackass. The. Fucking. White. Motherfucking Tunnel. The crap people talk 'bout when they're dying. C'mon Cutter you ain't that slow. You've killed enough people to have had at least one or two of 'em start babbling 'bout the tunnel with all the white light and all that happy horse shit."

"Oh yeah," Spaulding said. While the man had a body count to his name as high, if not higher than Otis', he was more likely to bring death to his victims swiftly. Otis on the other hand, got a big kick out of making death a slow, painful thing when he had the time. "The tunnel of light. Ain't that only supposed to happen if you're going to heaven?"

"Who the fuck knows?" Otis said. "It wasn't my job to chose a destination for the rabbits, just to send them on their merry fucking way."

Baby sighed, clearly expressing her weariness with the constant bickering that seemed to go on with her half brother and her father. "Well, aren't we supposed to follow this and see where it goes?"

"Well..." Otis's voice trailed off as he looked behind him. If all the bullshit he'd heard was correct, if he saw black behind them, that would mean they were alive and could maybe go back to their bodies. All he could see was more of the white. He had a feeling that if they walked backwards, forwards, or sideways, they'd end up in the same place, wherever that was. "Yeah, I guess we're supposed to walk."

"Then let's get started," Baby headed forward, not even looking to see if she were being followed.

She was indeed all covered and glowing with the white shit, just as Otis had expected. The only thing was that it wasn't coming out of specific areas, it was all surrounding, all encompassing, as if it was leaking out of every single pore. She wasn't even wearing the same clothing she had been when they'd been killed either. Now she had some huge, white, luminous gown that flowed around her, like Mama Cass' satin bathrobe. Otis looked down at himself and was not completely unsurprised to discover he was wearing a similar outfit. Shit-fuck-shit, I am not wearing this fucking shit for all eternity. I refuse to let death turn me into a fucking pansy-ass motherfucker.

How long the three of them walked, none of them would be able to say. In the tunnel of the white, time seemed almost to bend upon itself. They might have walked for mere seconds or for entire days. Everything surrounding them was the same, just the brilliant whiteness. They grew neither tired nor bored when they walked, yet at times it seemed as if they'd been walking forever, and other times it would feel like only seconds had passed. Then, almost instantly, the brilliant whiteness they'd been wallowing in, seemed to fade out. They became aware that there were apparently, walls on either side of them, a floor under their feet. The tunnel was had become white hallway and at the end of this hallway there was a door.

Without saying a word to each other, the three of them hurried towards the door. It was a tall, double door, with a bar that needed to be pushed to open it. The doors were white and the push bar to open them was white. In the center of the doors, in bright gold flowing letters was written:

T'was grace that brought me safe thus far

And grace shall lead me home

Below, in smaller, less fancy, silver letters was printed:

All who believe and deserve are welcome

A horrible idea slithered its way into Otis' mind: Maybe Hell wasn't the place of fire, brimstone, endless suffering and horror the preachers claimed it to be. Maybe instead, Hell was what you'd hate it to be the most. In his case then, his version Hell could very likely be what most people would consider Heaven. He had this really bad feeling that he was going to open those doors and enter a room full of sunshine, blue skies, flowers, bunnies, kittens, and happy people running around saying things like, "I wuve you!" and calling each other by pet names like "Lamb chop" and "Snugglebutt." And to really drive the point home, all of these fuckers would be immortal. Otis could try to fuck them up till the cows came home, but they'd just bleed cherry pie filling and as their skin peeled away, underneath would be cotton candy and bubble gum. Shoot them in the head and as their cherry pie blood splattered on the ground, flowers would instantly spring up. Everyone would be wearing white fucking socks with Donald Duck on one side and Mickey Mouse on the other.

The vision of this place of wretched glee and happiness for everyone but him, caused Otis to hesitate. Maybe an eternity spent surrounded by possibly radioactive white shit wasn't so bad after all.

"Wow," Baby sounded merely surprised as she read the words on the door. "This seems an awful lot like Heaven. Never thought we'd end up here. Maybe God isn't the pussy I always thought he was."

"Or the devil is a god damned clown, having one over on us," Otis muttered.

"Oh that's right, don't ever let a chance pass to toss around a few insults about clowns, ass wad" Spaulding complained.

"Don't make me regret I gave you the shotgun instead of shooting you in the fucking head with it, Daisy," Otis growled. Now he knew of one eternity that would be worse than the cherry pie people with the fucked up socks, and that was an eternity spent in this hallway with Spaulding harping on him all the time. With that mental image firmly planted in his head, Otis found that the door in front of him didn't look very threatening anymore. He put his hands firmly on the bar and pushed it down. There was a clicking noise and he was able to push both doors open.

As the doors swung open, the previous brilliant white they'd been surrounded in, seemed to slam out in full force. Behind the brilliant white were the sounds of the most angelic voices anyone had ever heard singing "All Things Bright And Beautiful" to the accompaniment of harps. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted out.

"Oh, what the fuck?" Otis snapped as he stomped through the door. If indeed this was rabbit heaven, might as well find out as soon as possible.

The moment all three of them had cross the threshold the white disappeared, taking with it the sweet smell of cinnamon and the heavenly choir, harps and all. Instead, they found themselves in a small room. The walls were a fading, industrial green and the floor was made of alternating pink and white tiles that had been washed and waxed so often that instead of looking clean, they looked dull and worn. No trace of the scent of cinnamon rolls remained, instead the air smelled of cheap disinfectant. The luminous white robes they'd all been wearing disappeared as well, and they were instead all wearing brilliant orange jumpsuits that Otis thought were tacky as hell, but at least better than the robes.

They weren't alone in this room though. To the right of them was a rather ordinary metal desk. Standing behind this desk, looking at them with an expression of minor disappointment, was the devil.

Much to Otis' surprise, the devil was female and breathtakingly beautiful. The sharp, quick, whistle of appreciation from Spaulding let Otis know he wasn't the only one who was impressed with the devil's physical attributes.

Her skin was the color of really high quality milk chocolate, her hair the color of black licorices and just as shiny. Her eyes were golden cats eyes. Her teeth were as white as marshmallow fluff, small, but dangerously pointed. Otis was aware he was comparing her a lot to food, but then again, with a woman like this, it was only natural you'd think of food. She certainly looked good enough to eat in more ways than one. Even the shiny black horns that sprouted from her forehead looked sexy on her. The rest of her was just as delightful as her face, large, curvy breasts, narrow waist, swelling hips and probably a perfectly rounded ass, if she decided to turn and show it to them. Though part of her legs were hidden by the desk, the parts that did show were sensational, the type of legs that you were meant to be wrapped tightly around a man's waist or neck.

Otis looked her over slowly, enjoying the view immensely Perhaps it was disrespectful to the devil, but he couldn't help but to picture her dead, tied to his bed, and his to do with whatever he pleased.

He'd had plenty of women in his life, both alive and dead and he found he liked them dead better. Live women could such a bitch. All they did was scream and cry annoying things like, "Please don't rape me!" "Help!" "Stop, you're hurting me!" and his least favorite, "If I give you what you want, will you let me live?" Like it was some fucking pussy version of "Let's Make A Deal," where they could stop him. If he found himself a willing partner, they were just as vocal, but instead of the pleading, he'd end up having someone giving him fucking instructions. "Harder, harder, fuck me harder!" or, "A little lower and to the left... No, more to the left.. MY left, not YOUR left," like they were some fucking drill Sargent and this was calisthenics time. Dead women didn't struggle or talk. They just did what a good fuck toy was supposed to do, be quiet and take it.

Although, to give the devil her due, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave her alive for a few days. Anyone who looked as delicious as her might well end up being worth the tears or the demands.

"Well," the devil said, staring at them, a look of disappointment flashing in her eyes. "Aren't you the daily spoilsports."

She had a deep, sexy, whiskey and Winston's voice that made even her negative remark sound complimentary and sexy as hell.

The sexy voice seemed to only work on men, because Baby not only wasn't charmed, but was actually annoyed, as Otis could tell by the way she snapped back. "What the hell that supposed to mean?"

"Now darlin'," Spaulding put his hand on Baby's shoulder, not taking his eyes off the devil as if he were a weasel staring at the last hen in the chicken coop. "Maybe you should be a little nicer."

"Fuck that!" Baby snapped. "Dumb bitch just insulted us, she'd better explain herself!"

The devil laughed, waving her hand making it clear that in her mind, Baby was no more than an annoying fly she was forced to deal with. "Most people freak out when they come through the door and realize they aren't in Heaven; it's the most fun I have working the desk." She sat down in the chair and heaved a sigh. "This job really sucks."

"Then do something else," Spaulding suggested. "Damn it, woman, you're the devil, can't you do whatever the hell you want?"

She laughed again, shaking her head. "I'm not the devil. I'm not even in the upper echelon. I'm just a minor demon, assigned to this dreary post, because I pissed off Azazel." She leaned forward, over the desk, giving all of them a terrific shot of her cleavage, which was beautifully displayed under her body hugging red dress. "My name is Naamah and messing with the latest victims is the only way I get to have a little fun and the three of you had to wreck it. You're supposed to be all sad and weepy now that you realize that no, you will not be going to Heaven." She sighed, allowing a very pretty pout to play across her lips.

Standing beside her, Otis could feel Baby tensing up, getting ready to strike out at Naamah. He put his hand on her shoulder, and hurried to speak before she took matters in her own hands and gave Naamah more than a small piece of her mind. Otis loved to watch her fuck with people, but he had a feeling that this demoness might have a few tricks up her sleeve that none of them had ever seen before. No sense in tipping the apple cart before they knew where the god damed orchard was. "This is Hell? Ain't quite what I was expecting."

"No, of course not." Naamah both shook her head and rolled her eyes indicating that Otis was being stupid and sat down in the chair. "This is just processing."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?" Otis snapped. "Never been to hell before."

"Well, if this is processing, let's get started," Spaulding suggested, still gaping at Naamah as if he might actually stand a ghost of a chance with her. "What do you need to know?"

"Absolutely nothing, Jackass." Naamah leaned back in her chair and began to examine one of her long, red, perfectly manicured nail. "I'm just the information girl. Processing starts by standing in line Q."

"Line Q?" Otis looked around and saw nothing that might even remotely resemble any line, never mind a line Q. The room was exactly as it had been when they walked in. "Don't see no god damned line Q."

Naamah continued to study her nail for another three seconds as if she hadn't heard him. When Otis was just about to repeat himself, she raise the hand with the inspected nail and snapped her fingers once, with a sharp flick of the wrist.

The wall behind Naamah disappeared and suddenly the room they were in was much larger and extremely crowded room. Along the far back wall were counters with clerks behind them, as you might find in a bank. Each window was labeled with a letter or group of letters, from A to ZZZZ.

Massive numbers of people were waiting in line at each window. On the sides of the rooms there were counters bolted to the walls, complete with pens bolted to the counters. Other people were lined up at the counters and appeared to be filling out page after page of forms.

Spaulding stared at the new addition to their room, a look of shock on his face. "Holy mother of Christ, it looks like the fucking DMV!"

Naamah frowned. "You mean the DMV looks like this." She had pulled a small bottle of nail polish out from her desk and was painting her nails with slow, deliberate strokes. "Our processing center was here long before the DVM ever existed. And the boss would really like to know who it was that told the breathers about it."

"Breathers?" Otis asked.

"Breathers." Naamah repeated. "People who are still alive, and need to breathe to survive. Get it?" She licked her lips with a red, snake like tongue as she put the finishing strokes on the nail of her pinkie. "You think the DVM came to be by accident? Of course not, it was planned to be a huge pain in the ass. Someone thought it would be a brilliant idea to give people a taste of Hell before they got here. Either way, what's done is done and can't be undone, as my great grandfather to the power of ten or something used to tell me." She alternated between waving her freshly painted nails back and forth, and blowing on them. A few times of this, and she looked over at them. "Go on with you now, get along to processing. Sooner you start, sooner you'll be over and all that stuff."

Otis glared at her. Beautiful or not, she didn't have the right to continue to treat them all like they were stupid scum. They weren't ordinary sinners, not the three of them, they'd been doing the devil's work for a long time, and doing it with enthusiasm that would be hard for anyone else to match. Surely, the devil must have heard of them by now. And if the devil had heard of them, then Naamah most likely had too. "Listen, bitch, do you know who I am?"

Naamah rolled her eyes. "That's not the question here. The question is, do I give a flying fuck in a rolling donut who you are? And the answer to that is the same as to your question. No." Her eyes stopped their sarcastic rolling and fixed onto him. Instead of the golden cat eyes she'd been sporting, now they were literally twin pits of fire. "Now, why don't you get into line Q and leave me the hell alone, 'kay?"

Unable to stop himself, Otis started to lunge forward, but was stopped by Spaulding's hand on his shoulder. "She ain't worth you going off half cocked, boy. Give it a rest!"

Otis knew he was right, but was loathed to admit it. He pushed Spaulding's hand off his shoulder and redirected his anger to him, as a way of saving face. "Don't touch me again, Jackass." With that, he stormed off towards the processing center.

Baby and Spaulding looked at each other, shrugged and followed behind him.