DISCLAIMER: This fanfic is NOT reflective of any views the author personally has of others, nor to attack anyone with similar or contrary beliefs. This whole thing is literally just some stupid fun to take a nice fun break from my usual stuff.
Also, some details are going to be wrong because I can't really spend too much time on the wiki, so forgive me if details don't exactly line up 1 to 1, but you're also free to point these mistakes out as chapters come out.
I DO UPDATE MY CHAPTERS EVERY SO-OFTEN, SO IF YOU SEE THIS HAS BEEN UPDATED, BUT HAS NO CHAPTERS ADDED, IT MEANS I'VE MADE ADJUSTMENTS.
Thank you for your time. Have fun!
Prologue
"Hello potential customer! Are you in hell? Are you suffering? Are you a having an existential crisis? Do you just want to get ABSOLUTELY WASTED?
"Or maybe you've literally just fallen here, fresh from heaven and have zero idea how to start your new life in hell?
"Maybe you're just burned out from all the extreme stuff and need something tame to break the pace and slow things down?"
"GOOD NEWS! HIT IT, GUYS!"
"Welcome to the Godforsaken! We're a bar (and trying to get a grill)!
"From where you've fallen, we're not so very far, so come and get your fill!
(Finding us might be a bitch, still.)
"We have drinks from all around! Come and take your pick.
"Looking for something unusual?
"Don't worry! We'll work with what maybe stick!"
"Don't let our cathedral and uncomfortably familiar aesthetics deter you.
"(Don't tell the cloth, but we serve trans, gays, and witches too!)"
"We got tables! We got pews!
"(Perhaps you're shy? Come drink in our confession booths!)
"We don't judge! We don't care!
"(We're in hell cuz we weren't fair!)
"We're all sinners. We're all in hell.
"Just like you, we've also fell!
"We're God forsaken! That's our name!
(Despite that the things we've done were questionably tame)"
"… Uh, ANYWAY!"
"First round is on the house for free!
"COME HERE TO DRINK AWAY YOUR SUFFERING!"
The weird, nu-metal baseline cut out.
"And now, back to our regularly scheduled program!"
Chapter 01 – The Godforsaken (Bar & yet-to-get Grill)
. . .
The door opened. A short, nervous wreck of a sinner walked in. A recent addition to hell by the looks of her. She wore a red beanie and a matching zip-up hoodie with a black shirt and pants.
The bar was to the side, tended to by a jet-white hellhound with patches of grey and silver mixed into his coat and tail. His physique resembled someone you'd occasionally bump into at the gym once in a while.
"The place kinda looks like Confession back in downtown LA. It's fine, I guess." She passively complimented.
"Hey, uh… I saw your advertisement? I'm new here, and I wanted to- uh…" She approached the bar and took a seat.
"One moment, miss. Can I get your name?" The bartender pulled out a big-ass book and opened up.
"Uh, what's with the book?"
"Oh this?" The hellhound smiled.
"It's has an ancient legend about it: It says that if your name's written in it, you were damned by mistake!" He pointed to it and gestured.
"Wait, really?"
"No. This is just to keep track of our tabs."
"Oh." The sinner nodded.
"Yep. You're new here! What can I get you?" The hellhound bartender nodded, chuckling as he set a glass down on the bar with his spare hand.
"How do you know?"
"One, you don't reek of too much debauchery from the circles - at least not yet. Two, you stutter, which either means you're uncomfortable, shy, or both, which isn't something I've seen in someone trying to scam the bar for free drinks - yet. Three, you genuinely look like you bought my bullshit about the mystical book with names of people that don't belong in hell, which means you're not good at spotting it - yet." He concluded.
"He's... Observant." She scratched her head.
"Now, about your free drink. What can I get you?"
"Yes. I'll have-…" The sinner took a moment.
"Do you have brandy on ice?"
"Our ice is out at the moment, but we got brandy." The hellhound nodded.
"Can I get that mixed with soda?"
"No problem." He reached for the bottle and poured.
The hellhound was dressed in a black, short-sleeve dress shirt, with a blood-red article of clothing around the shirt's collar.
Evelyn couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a necktie or some sort of choker.
"So, uh… Leaning fully into the whole "fallen church" aesthetic?" She waited for her drink.
"I've never been to an actual church building other than this place. I get tons of different stories, depending on who I'm asking." He chuckled.
"Wait, what do mean? Did you just never visit a church, or… what?"
"I was born here. All hellhounds are." He handed the drink over.
Her jaw dropped.
"… Wow. Okay. I-… I didn't know that. New info for- oh god, people are BORN here?! There's CHILDREN down here?!"
"I guess you could say that."
"I honestly don't know what I was expecting." She stirred her drink, smelling it.
"So, what exactly is the thing around your neck?"
"Oh, this? It's my Roman Collar. How do I look?" He brandished the blood red band beneath his black shirt.
"Wait, THAT'S what that neck-thing that isn't a necktie is called?"
"I dunno. That's just what my boss calls it."
"… Huh. Interesting." She looked at her drink, stirring it again.
"To think that my parents would've killed me if they saw me in a place like this."
"How old were you when you died?"
"Twenty-one." She took a sip.
"Damn, girl. My condolence-"
"*COUGH*" She scrunched her face after swallowing, setting the cup down.
"That's really strong!"
The hellhound smiled, drinking in her reaction.
"First time?"
"Whoa-Ho! That's strong!"
The hellhound waited until the sinner was back in talking condition.
"I completely forgot. My name's Timothy." He introduced himself.
"Evelyn. Evelyn Brooks!" She offered her hand in greetings.
"Oh? No hidden taser? No buzzer? No pranks?" Timothy was almost surprised when he was offered a suspiciously normal handshake.
"Is that normal here?"
"Miss Brooks, we're in hell. I was fully expecting you to be a returning client with a disguise, a different name, and trying to hide your scent with the worst perfume available." He took the book and signed her name.
Evelyn blinked.
"Is… is honesty a rare thing here?"
"HA!" Timothy returned the book to get back to washing shot glasses.
"You could say that. Yeah!" He accidentally spilled some liquid trying to wash the dish.
Quiet pause. The nu-metal music played in the background.
"So, Evelyn, forgive me for asking, but how long have you been here?"
"In Hell?"
"Yeah."
"I died roughly an hour ago."
The hellhound froze, blankly staring at her, processing.
"… Oh. Oh damn, you're thAT-" Timothy lost his balance and tripped.
*THUD* He slammed his arm down on the bar before he could hit the floor.
"Shit!" The glass he was washing wasn't so lucky.
"You okay?!"
"Yea. Just surprised." He pulled himself back up.
"I wasn't expecting that!" Timothy left the washcloth in the sink.
"I'll be right back. I gotta clean up my mess." He left the bar, heading over to the janitor's closet.
Evelyn took another sip, again, almost coughing at how strong the brandy was.
"Wish I asked for some extra soda." She tried taking another sip.
She looked over and saw Timothy standing in the middle of the sanctuary.
"… Uh, everything-"
He snapped around and motioned Evelyn to shush before returning to glare at the confession booth.
"What is he even doing?" Evelyn stared at him, dumbfounded.
Timothy slowly approached the black confession box, slowly placing his hand on the doorhandle…
Then flung the door open and lunged inside.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"
Sure enough, Timothy exited the confession booth, dragging out a terrified, kicking and screaming occupant, throwing him to the floor and preforming an arrest.
"SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!"
"What the hell are you on about, you himbo?" Timothy brought out the cuffs.
"HIMBO?!" Evelyn was quite surprised there was someone in there to begin with.
"PLEASE! WAIT! I DON'T BELONG HERE! I WAS SENT TO HELL BY MISTAKE!"
"Oh, really?"
"YES! YES! MY NAME IS CHURCH! CHURCH TIERNAN! MY SISTER IS OLGA GRIMHILDR TIERNAN! WE WERE ON OUR WAY HOME FROM HIGHSCHOOL GRADUATION, AND WE WERE KILLED IN A-"
"News flash, pal! I don't give a shit about your life story." Timothy started putting the cuffs on him.
"PLEASE, I AND MY FAMILY DID NOT DIE IN A CAR ACCIDENT!"
"Then why do you reek of gasoline then?" He hoisted the sinner up.
"My pocket! In my pocket is a business card and a list of names! It's a business card of a company, and a list of names of everyone that died in the explosion!"
"What explosion?"
Something in Evelyn's recent memory went off. She went through her stuff looking for what made it tick.
"A GAS explosion! A gas station explosion! Can you please take these cuffs off? I'm willing to cooperate. They're freaking me out!"
"Oh really?" Timothy scoffed, before zipping them tighter.
Church yelped in a very suspicious way.
Awkward pause.
"Excuse me. Mind explaining what the hell that was?!" Timothy seemed just as surprised about the sound effect as Church was shocked he let it slip.
"NO! Please, no! Can you please listen to me?! There's been a mistake!"
Timothy chuckled.
"There's been a mistake alright, and I'm-"
"Timothy, wait! I think I know what he's talking about!" Evelyn pulled out a red-top magazine she had in her pocket.
"Was this the explosion you were killed in?" She held it up to Church's face.
"I can't tell with you shoving it in my face like that!"
"Sorry!" Evelyn adjusted.
Both Timothy and Church read the mag.
THIRTEEN KILLED IN A CAR ACCIDENT. LOCAL GAS STATION IS MADE OF EXPLODIUM.
The picture on the front depicted a semi-truck, with a flattened car tangled into its grill. The whole scene took place within the burning ruins of a gas station.
"Shit. That you in the inferno, kid?"
"I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! Now, can you please take the cuffs-"
Timothy re-tightened them.
Much to his own displeasure, Church made the weird noise, AGAIN.
"I'M the one asking the questions, kid. This is my bar. You're the trespasser. Once I get done cleaning up and shut down for the day, I'll get back to you. Until then, don't you dare moan another damn time or I'll pitch you outside to laminate in the blood-rain! Got it?"
Church sheepishly nodded his head.
"Good!" Timothy hauled him over his shoulder, walked over to one of the corner booths and set him down.
"Tim, wait."
Evelyn rushed over.
"How'd you even know he was in there?"
"For one…-" Timothy returned to the confession booth to assess damages.
"He utterly reeks of gasoline. Damn, I hope that didn't seep into the leather! That ain't gonna come out with just a washrag and spray. I might need the bleach for this!"
He got up and started walking back over to the bar.
"Two, when I paused trying to remember where I placed the broom to clean the glass, he started chanting or something, which is really, REALLY STUPID when trying to hide from a goddamn HELLHOUND of all things!" Timothy reached down and took the cloth, still aware of the glass that still needed to be picked up.
"Shit. I still need to get the broom! Sorry about the mess, Evelyn."
Evelyn blinked.
"What? No, no! It's fine. I'm sure this is just a freak accident or something. I don't know."
"Well, one of us is at least." Evelyn looked over to Church, who, despite being handcuffed and looking extremely uncomfortable, had fortified himself deeper into the corner booth.
She walked over.
As she approached, Church started whispering to himself in repetitive phrases - just as Timothy said.
"Walk-through-valley-of-shadow-of-death-I-fear-no-evil! Rod-and-staff-comfort-me!" Church whispered.
"Walk-through-valley-of-shadow-of-death-I-fear-no-evil!" He repeated the phrase, over and over again like a crazy person.
As Evelyn got closer, Church shut his eyes and flinched as if he was bracing for something to strike him, still repeating the phrases.
She leaned in and smelled, eager to get out of Church's hair as much as he was to get away from them.
It took a couple seconds, but extremely faintly was indeed the smell of Gasoline, just as Timothy pointed out.
"Huh! Interesting." She nodded, backing off and taking a seat across from the suspicious trespasser at the table.
"So… Church, right?" She tried to lighten the mood.
No response. Just more whisper-chanting of the same phrase over and over again.
"I was, uh… I was listening to you while you were talking. You died last week, you said?"
Church ceased his chanting, but still refused to make eye-contact.
"… So, what's it like?"
Pause.
"EXCUSE ME?!" Church answered, wide-eyed and shocked.
"What? What did I do?!"
"YOU DON'T JUST ASK SOMEONE WHAT DYING IS LIKE!"
Evelyn's eyes widened, realizing what she just asked.
"Shit! No, I meant living in-… God, you didn't-… Shit! That's not what I meant!"
"What DID you mean then?!"
Pause.
"I-, Uh… I meant Hell. I meant living in Hell." Evelyn awkwardly clarified.
"Holy SHIT this conversation went to hell in a handbasket!" She got up from her seat.
"I can see that you're a little stressed-out. I'm going to give you some space. I'm going to check out more of the bar in the meantime. So, uh… I guess we'll talk later?" She shrugged.
"It wasn't a car accident."
Evelyn paused.
Church was looking her in the eye.
"What makes you say that?" She asked.
Pause.
"Because the list of people that died in the explosion only has TWELVE names!"
Evelyn blinked.
"Thirteen people died in that explosion, but there's only twelve names on the list! My name is absent, but I died in that flaming wreck!" Church clarified.
Evelyn looked over to Timothy, who had found his broom and had cleaned up the glass.
"Please, I just want to find out who ordered the hit! What do you know about IMP?" Church whispered.
*CRASH*
Timothy dropped the garbage bag against the cathedral floor, shattering the glass in it further.
He slowly turned around and looked at Church, dead in the eyes.
"Imp?!"
"Yeah! Immediate Murder Professionals!" Church answered.
"I found their business card next to the list of names! They're both in my pocket!"
Awkward silence.
"Uhm…" Evelyn was confused.
"I don't know anything. I just died like an hour ago. Do you know anything about what he's talking about, Timothy?"
"Depends." The hellhound paused.
"Please, man! You gotta listen to me. I and my family didn't die in a car accident! There's no way it was a car accident! You don't drive a semi-truck, LOADED WITH EXPLOSIVES, into a gas station BY. FUCKING. ACCIDENT."
"Wait, what are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is that some asshole ordered a hit on some shmuck, and the whole car accident bullshit is a cover up! Now can you PLEASE let me out of these weird, creepy BDSM handcuffs for fuck's sake?!"
"Alright fine! But only if you tell me why the FUCK you were hiding in my confession booth!"
"WITH PLEASURE!" Church really, really wanted out of those cuffs.