We're Almost There

19. No Beer? I Guess Things Can Get Worse.

Nineteen

Tristan

He was doomed.

Utterly, totally, completely doomed.

Thinking back, Tristan knew he shouldn't have helped Erin again. He couldn't describe it, but when she looked at him all teary and shit, he broke.

Tristan remembered when his little sister would wear that same look and he would do whatever possible just to make her smile.

Maybe that's why.

No matter, Tristan was too afraid to go to sleep, because he knew Satan wouldn't be happy with him.

I punch two of my best friends in the face to avoid what was going to happen anyway because I was stupid. He sighed.

When Erin and Kyle started talking about taking Kenzie to the hospital, he knew he couldn't stick around any longer.

So he went downtown for a walk. His boots crunched on the snow that crowded the asphalt.

Tristan knew that being confronted by the Devil himself was unavoidable. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Satan sitting unhappily on his throne in his kingdom.

For over a century, Tristan had lied to himself thinking Hell was a comfortable place. In reality, it was this endless landscape of terror. It was the embodiment of panic and anger. And for some reason, Satan had taken a liking to Tristan - even though he treated him like shit - resulting in special treatment and his own room in the palace.

He remembered when he first saw his father there.

It was just after he died, after he was swallowed up by eternal darkness, that he opened his eyes to the underworld.

Shakily, he stood, confused as transparent people bustled around him. Most of them seemed headed to a tall, looming structure in the distance, so he followed.

Tristan tried to think of the last thing he remembered as it slowly came back to him. Then it hit him all at once. He brought his hand to his head where he had been shot and looked at it to reveal a horrifying amount of his own blood.

"He killed me," Tristan muttered to himself. "He killed mother."

Rage and worry boiled inside of Tristan as desperately ran forward. The people around in grumbled their annoyance but he didn't care. He had to find her.

No matter how hard he looked, she seemed impossible to find. He started asking strangers if they'd seen her and he would describe what she looked like. Every time someone would either shake their head or yell at him.

Finally he ran into someone who was apparently some painter. The man listened to his whole story without interruption as they all walked forward.

When Tristan was done, the man put a hand to his chin. "Hmm, I don't believe I've seen her," he said in a European accent. "But your mother, she seems like a nice lady. She wouldn't be here."

Tristan sighed. "Where is here? Where are we?"

The man laughed, as if he thought Tristan was joking. When he realized he wasn't, he cleared his throat and told him the truth. "We-we are in Hell."

Tristan would've thrown up if he had a real body. Instead, he backed away from the man and just ran. He ran and ran and ran until he realized he wasn't really going anywhere.

Then he saw him. Up ahead. Eliot had the same mop of black hair and was wearing the clothes he wore when he shot them. It occurred to Tristan that Eliot must've shot himself as well.