46. Virgil the Guide (chap. 2)-Eric




• There was nothing unusual about the passengers. They looked like your average demographic makeup of bus riders. They didn't appear scared or confused either. That's why I still couldn't believe I was dead. I told myself I was in a strange dream that I couldn't wake out of.
  
  Eventually we hit a ramp to the interstate. The sign above the ramp read: I-35 South. The Imp was snapping those reins hard like a whip. I saw the large, hind legs of two horses through the front window. They began galloping feverishly, faster and faster. Everything blurred past outside the window.
  
  About ten minutes later the Imp squalled. The bus brakes squeeked to a halt. We were in the middle of a corn field. The sun was setting, creating one of those brief interludes in which even the very air seems golden.
  
  "Well, what are you waiting for? Get out. Welcome to Hell." Said the Imp.
  
  "Hell is in southern Indiana?" I muttered to myself.
  
  An old, bald man with a tan like an orange basketball tapped me on the shoulder. As if he were reading my thoughts he said, "Wait til you see where Heaven is."
  
  I shrugged and shuffled out of the bus with the rest of the passengers.
  
  Virgil, who I had entirely forgotten about, appeared as if from nowhere and pulled me aside. He was giving me that uncomfortable smirk again. He pointed to the endless rows of corn and to some trees. I flinched, startled because everything looked like the negative of a photo.
  
  He chuckled. I looked around myself, feeling that I was missing something.
  
  And as if he read my very thoughts, he said, "No luggage here. Hell isn't a place that needs anymore baggage. You're here because of your baggage."
  
  "I just want to go home. Please make me wake up."
  
  He ignored me. We continued walking through what seemed like endless miles of corn field, stretching on for eternity. The rest of the crowd scattered and roamed through the field, finding their own paths. After several hours my legs felt like jelly.
  
  I finally collapsed. Sweat trickled down my forehead and found its was to my eyes. They burned like the devil. I heard Virgil digging through a pocket and sensed him holding something in front of me. With closed eyes, I grapped the kerchief from his hand and wiped my eyes.
  
  "We're not far. Just a few more minutes." He said.
  
  He hoisted me up and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. After a few minutes we came to a clearing. A massive, wood panneled ranch stood defiant, blocking our path. The others scurried out of the cornfield like tiny ants. They slowly walked up to the ranch. One by one they disappeared through the door.
  
  Virgil and I finally made our way to the door. I looked at the knob, and stood there. Nothing looked unusual about the place. Just a solid wood door and a brass knob. Virgil chuckled and opened the door for me.
  
  I figured Hell would at least have a butler, but no one stood there to usher us in. A strong scent of cedar engulfed my nose. My eyes scanned the room. A white fur rug lay over the criss-cross of versaille-style parquet. A large, wood, ornate mirror hung on the far wall. I slowly walked forward and took a closer look.
  
  At first, I saw my own reflection. But a moment later it morphed into some kind of demonic me. Little horns poked from the sides of my head. My incisors grew a few inches. I looked into the reflection of my eyes and I saw myself refelcted in them. The room sped past me and I became dizzy. I was looking at the reflection of the reflection of my eye and it trailed on to infinity. I gasped and was starled out of my trance. Virgil had pulled me away from the mirror.
  
  "You're not ready for the mirror of Osiris." He said.
  
  I thought about that a few seconds and said, "Wait, why does hell have an artifact from an Egyptian god?"
  
  "You sure ask a lot of questions."
  
  We ignored each other and continued walking down a long corridor. Wall mounted candles lit the hallway. There were doors on either side of the long hallway. Some entered them but we walked past. After about five minutes Virgil tugged my shoulder. I spun around to a door with my name etched in gold above the knocker: Justin Price.
  
  I opened the door. Loud, primitive music flooded out of the room. There were a dozen or more people sitting in a circle around a man. He looked like an actor from some 50's romance classic. His dark hair was slicked back. His forehead was strong, and perfect, creating an arch over a thin nose. He was holding a drink. In the corner of the room was a large bar.
  
  As I entered he stood up and gave me a warm smile. His eyes seemed to welcome me, and everything disappeared. The heavy tension in my chest slowly flowed down to my knees and then disappeared from my feet. His warm eyes and smile pulled me in, as if I were the only one in the world that mattered. He extended his hand.
  
  "Hello Justin, I'm Nathaniel."