3

Vox's gate was hard to keep up with and Isobel had to practically trot to keep pace. As they moved through other rooms and more halls, everything became a little brighter, more orderly, more like an office building than a porn studio. Though, Isobel had to admit she had never been to a porn studio before, so she had no real basis of comparison.

As they walked/trotted, occasionally another person would approach Vox with some paper to sign, or appointment to confirm. One had him take a call to which Vox listened for ten seconds and then laughed and simply said "no" before he hung up. He reminded Isobel of the character of Gordon Gekko from the movie Wall Street. They even dressed similarly. Isobel half expected him to suddenly turn to her and explain how greed was good.

"So you're new, huh?" He asked, obviously trying to make small talk.

"Yeah, I guess. Not really sure."

"Ha, bet you didn't expect to come here, did you? No one ever does. It's always scary at first, but you get used to it. And someone like you will do fine."

"Someone like me?"

"You know with your look. It's unique."

"Is it?" Isobel's looks had never been considered anything other than normal before. She looked like every other woman she knew. Long dark hair, braided at most times. She had an average build, not skinny or thick, or even athletic. By all measures she had always felt very average. Pleasant to look at on a good day. Maybe even pretty if she put in the effort. But never unique.

"Well, you know, here in Hell it's unique. You look practically alive."

Isobel's boots squeaked loudly as she stopped dead in her tracks. She had to pause to replay the conversation in her head. She must have heard him wrong. Must have.

Realizing she had stopped, Vox looked back over his shoulder, "What?"

"Wait," she sputtered. "Back up. Where am I?"

He looked around like it was all obvious. "Hell?"

Isobel's face contorted in a way that made it very clear that none of this was obvious to her. She almost retched. Vox could only laugh.

"Oooooh," he chuckled at her. "You didn't realize, huh? Oh, man, that's rich. I mean I've seen sinners not know why they're here, but I've never met anyone who just didn't get it at all."

He laughed again, the whole thing was very amusing.

"How am I in Hell? Does this mean I'm dead? How did I die? When did I die?"

"Sorry, babe, not my department."

"But I don't look like I'm dead? What does that even mean?" She looked around herself. A bank of decorative mirrors hung along the wall. She went to it and immediately studied her face. There must be a sign of her unexpected departure from Earth. However, the face staring back was the same she had always known. No change, not even a freckle out of place. She looked down at her arms and legs, all the same as well.

Suddenly the room began to spin and she suddenly woozy.

"I've got to sit down."

She sank down on a convenient bench, her head in her hands, trying to count out her breaths.

One, two.

This could not be actually happening.

Three, four.

She was crazy.

Five.

She was hallucinating, and at any moment the anti-psychotic drugs would kick in. Right?

Six…

"Hey, listen," Vox offered, placing a hand on her shoulder. Isobel jumped back at the touch. "It's not so bad." He was trying his best to sound sympathetic, but came off more like a used car salesman trying to unload a junker. "We can take care of you. Get you a job, place to live. You just sign some paperwork and you will have nothing to worry about. Trust Us."

"What are you talking about? Paperwork? I'm in the afterlife and I have to work a job and sign paperwork? This really is Hell."

"It's just a little contract." He tried to wave it off.

Isobel balked. She may have spent most of her adult life as a non-believer, but she had not forgotten the teachings of her Catholic classes, lessons drilled into her by large, formidable nuns. One of the big lessons was you never sign a deal with a devil. Isobel learned as she got older this also applied to humans.

"I'm not signing shit," she said standing. "In fact, I gotta get out of here."

"I wouldn't recommend that," Vox said blocking her way. "You never know what's out there on the streets."

"You going to stop me?" It came out like a warning and Vox paused to consider. He knew Valentino would be upset if he let his new acquisition escape without unwittingly signing over her soul, but he would get over it. Vox didn't want to make a scene, and it would be better for her to come to the conclusion on her own. She would eventually realize she needed friends, people to lend some assistance in this shit hole. She would eventually come back looking for help.

"No, I won't stop you. I'll even show you the door," he answered, large placating smile covering his screen.

True to his word, Vox led Isobel to a side door. Before opening it, he tried again to convince her that her best option would be to stay, repeating what seemed to be his catch phrase. 'Trust us." Isobel refused as politely as she could muster, which was not particularly polite at all. And with that, he shoved her out onto the street, the door slamming behind her.

She could hear the lock click.

How could she not have realized where she was? Looking around now, it seemed obvious. The heat, the red tinge over everything, the smell. The God-damned pentagram covered, black sun that was shining down from the sky that she just noticed now for some reason. Sometimes when you don't believe in something, you don't see the signs.

Tears suddenly threatened at the corner of her eyes. She placed her hands against the nearest wall, propping herself up as she stared down at her feet, willing her tears to go away. She glanced up and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. In between the bricks harsh, red eyes looked back at her. Eyes without bodies. Eyes that were part of the architecture, part or the very mortar that held this wretched place together.

Her knees buckled and she sank, sitting back against the wall, and her tears came. She pulled her knees up and buried her face trying to quietly sob to herself.

Isobel didn't know how long she had been there in that pathetic state before she felt a touch on her shoulder. She jumped, banging the back of her head against the bricks. But as she looked up, she didn't see a threat, just a kind smile and blonde hair. It was a tall thin woman in a red, tailored suit. Another woman, shorter with long silver hair, stood just behind her looking around as if on some perceived guard duty. The blonde woman spoke to Isobel in a sweet, almost childlike voice.

"Hi, my name's Charlie and this is Vaggie." She pointed over her shoulder at the other woman. "My friend, Angel, told me that there was someone here that might need some help. I can take you somewhere safe. Somewhere we can sort out all that you're going through. What do you say?"

Isobel said nothing. She didn't know what to believe or who to trust.

Charlie tried again.

"What's your name?" she asked, holding a hand out.

She didn't know what compelled her, but Isobel took the offered hand and allowed herself to be pulled up off the ground.

"My name is Isobel," She sniffed.

"Ok, good." Charlie smiled, still holding her hand. "I'll show you my hotel. You'll love it there."