Renee, flighty and fickle as ever, had gone through many phases in her life. One of them had been Catholicism, so much so that they had attended services and classes every week for two months, against Bella's many protests.

There had been some pleasant aspects; she had made a couple of friends, and Bella's mind had been opened to deeper topics than she was accustomed to. There had been some fun outings and potlucks, as well as seeing Renee's attempts at spiritual betterment. There had been many unpleasant times, as well.

One unpleasant aspect had been a certain nun, Sister Martha. Sister Martha had taken it upon herself to describe in great detail what awaited sinners in hell. She had regaled her class with stories of fire and brimstone and suffering so much so that a startled Renee had put an end to their phase of devoutness.

But Sister Martha, with all her details about lakes of fire and gnashing of teeth, had been so fucking wrong.

Hell was worse. So much worse.

Because Bella was certain she was there now. It was a pain so unfathomable, Sister Martha had no hope of finding words that would be its equal.

She screamed so violently, she was sure she was choking up blood. She thrashed and flailed so viciously, she felt her bones break when they collided with her unknown surroundings. She begged the wordless voices around her to kill her, to end it, but they did not comply.

Which, Bella concluded, must mean she was already dead.

What sins she had committed to deserve this, Bella wasn't sure. Perhaps she hadn't paid enough attention to Sister Martha's lessons. Perhaps she had acted selfishly at times. Perhaps there was no heaven after all, and this fiery existence was what awaited everyone.

She didn't know and she didn't care. All she could focus on was the burning, the torture; inescapable, unbearable, and possibly eternal fire.

She gave up screaming at times, too fatigued. She begged at others, but to whom and for what, she was not sure. She tried to drift off into unconsciousness, but found there was no hope of that.

The voices became clear sometimes, but she did not have the energy to discern their words. All she could do was scream and cry and beg and whimper.

After what could've been a thousand days or a thousand years, there were infinitesimal changes. Despite not wanting to hear what the voice had to say, she could not help comprehending the words and realized, with surprise, that they were addressed to her.

"Lovely girl, it won't be long now. A small price to pay for immortality, though it may not feel that way at the moment."

Lovely girl.

Those words…she had been called that before, hadn't she? But the other information was more pressing.

It won't be long now.

Her heart leaped with hope; was there an end to this? She had little time to contemplate before another wave of flames engulfed her and she heard herself keen in pain and exhaustion.

The voice spoke again. "The bloodlust will be all-encompassing, but you are already taking to this life exquisitely."

Bloodlust? What the hell?

And then the inferno took over again.

Finally, there was a sensation other than excruciating pain. It was just in her fingertips and toes, an unbelievable coolness. Bella wiggled the tips of her fingers, testing. Were they still there? Or was she just a pile of ash now? No, they were there.

The coolness spread up, agonizingly slow, but spreading all the same. Bella let out a groan of relief. She wiggled her hands now.

All the way up her arms, her shoulders, her thighs, her hips - the most exquisite relief.

And then she screamed in surprise, her back arching up off the hard surface. Her heart had taken off at an impossible speed, the fire concentrating there, strangling her, suffocating her.

Bella choked in surprise and pain, she felt her eyebrows pull together in confusion. She screamed, but it cut off in surprise. Was that her voice? Was she making that bell-like sound? It was still laced with agony, but was a lovely, sweet ringing.

This was it. If she wasn't already dead and burning in hell, this was going to be her death. She was sure of it.

Her heart stuttered, unable to fight anymore. Bella found herself hoping that it would all just end; she hoped that death would descend into nothingness, with no fire and no thought, simply because it would mean that it was over.

With two more beats, her heart halted to a final stop.

So this is death.

But then something brushed the back of her hand. Dead people couldn't feel touch, right? Dead people didn't feel that spike of fear, did they?

She realized with surprise that she was able to both consider these philosophical questions and react with instinct to that touch. Her body arched off the surface and she flung herself to the side, away from the surprise contact, and to the opposite corner.

Her eyes had opened at the same time, and the clarity of the room startled her.

She took in her surroundings in half a second, noting that she was in a small, poorly lit room. A long wooden table, worn and smooth, took up most of the space, where she had just spent her eternity in hell.

The walls, too, were wooden, and in one corner of Bella's newly-expansive mind, she wondered how the entire place hadn't burned to the ground.

The primary focus, however, was on the two other occupants in the room.

I've seen those faces before, haven't I?

But despite her increased thought space, she couldn't seem to draw up clear recollections. The fire had burned them all away.

Both were young; in fact, one looked like he barely warranted being called a "man." Both were beautiful.

The older one was exquisite, with sandy hair and a well-built figure. Handsome face with perfect symmetry. He looked like an old-time movie star, like he should have a cigarette casually hanging out of his mouth and a turned up collar.

But with red eyes.

A memory suddenly assaulted her, one of a dingy gas station and terror for–

"My mother." The words came out as a hiss. She surprised herself slightly, but it felt natural, right, to be hissing and sitting in a defensive crouch.

The younger man with dark features quirked a grin, and Bella hissed again.

"I'm sorry, love, but your mother is no longer with us," the older one answered, his voice almost tinted with something like regret. He was watching her hungrily, moving closer with slow, deliberate movements.

Bella let out a menacing snarl, both in grief and in warning.

No longer with us? As in, not in this world or not in this room? Maybe she continued on to Jacksonville without me.

But the hope was small, futile, and, Bella knew, misplaced.

She lunged, reason and thought going out the window as she screeched. She wanted to tear, to kill, to rip these men apart.

A loud sound echoed off the walls, and it took Bella a second to realize it was the sound of the two men colliding with her, tackling her to the ground.

"Calm down, girl," the man-child hissed, a sinister note in his voice.

She struggled, and was surprised with herself when she nearly fought them off.

They had grips like iron, though. When her fight was clearly futile, she relaxed, sinking into her despair and grief, sure that she had never felt pain so acute. She would willingly burn for a thousand more years if it meant she could wake up with her mother here again. A low keening sounded in the room, and she noticed it was coming from her.

So this was hell. The burning had simply been the gate.

A/N:

Would love to hear what you think!

No offense meant to Catholicism here, Sister Martha was just a vehicle to painting a picture.

I also need to mention my second beta, Monica03, for cleaning up the mess I made when I wrote this in a creative frenzy years ago!