Chapter 1
Dearest Aurelia, I have done this deed in your golden name.
As a word is to a moment, a sentence to a day, a letter to a year—one bright day I shall hand you a lifetime’s worth of words— but like all time and stories, there must be a beginning.
When Edgar Allan Poe began the first draft of what he intended to be an autobiography, he began with a lie—a mere shaving off two years of his age to seem more successful in a frankly ageist society.
If I may take a brief pause to argue, I counter that greatness comes with years of consideration and devotion to a craft, and those two years may have been the very key to getting the revolutionary writing we still idolize today— though with neglect to the idolization, or perhaps favor of the creator. This tangent grounds me back to my very point, as in starting with a lie, Edgar invertedly granted himself a sort of cosmic karma. We now know him as a brooder from a young age, a sort of sulking, black-clothed whiner whose rattle was a skull and whose bottle was foaming with ale.
This, however, was a much later version of him, neglecting years of being a bright-eyed product of actors— an innocent boy who enjoyed wearing dapper clothing, who once swam a tremendous distance in blazing, ailing heat to get the admiration of his friends, and rather enjoyed the social circles he had built, having friends he loved and memories he adored in the light of innocence.
My point, in these ramblings, is to remind myself not to begin my story with a lie— as I cannot afford to dance one more song of the spells of misfortune. Although I suppose a secondary point is my convenient excuses. Excuses, this is what I seek. Plentiful excuses that tune my pitiable music and make the steps stiffer. An excuse to write about someone I admire but never get to dote upon, as well as delay the eventual declaration of my truth.
An excuse to offer you, Aurelia, more words, more moments, more time.
As promised, I held Sammy’s hand tight during our journey. She festered and wailed, begging to be carried but I made sure we were connected— not to be parted for even a moment, in fear your spell would break, and leave us vulnerable.
What we needed next was shelter, and shelter I sought with ease— what proved rather difficult was being welcomed inside. I felt somewhat gothic knocking on Kai’s door, begging to enter like a vampire with a ravenous hunger. I am merely a man— though not quite not undead, I suppose— with a ravenous desire to rest after a long and arduous journey.
When the red door finally swung open, I was greeted not by Kai, my old companion from centuries ago, but by a young woman with dark hair and deep black eyes. She introduced herself as Thomas. I apologized for mistakenly addressing her as a woman, but she laughed and informed me that it was her surname. Before I could ask more, I heard a woman call down the stairs, her voice prideful yet tinged with a childish whim. Even in a shroud of darkness, she shone— her hair as platinum as her jewelry, which cascaded all over her body.
“Kai’s been expecting you. Thomas, he’s one of ours,” she winked and motioned for me to come upstairs, her hand stiff as it graced my air, but softened when she noticed Sammy.
I lightly ushered Sammy to go ahead of me, then turned to Thomas, “Thank you,” I said with a firm nod.
She nodded back.
Kai’s home, located atop the stairs behind a chipped green door, was unassumingly assuming. Upon your entrance, there is a small piano, and across from it, a square television on a wooden stand— a spotted green couch and various colorful pillows curling around it. To the left of this small gathering room was an alcove with no door but rather sheer black curtains. I could peer inside to see an improvised master bedroom— a large queen bed peeking through. The platinum woman led me to the right— through a skinny hallway full of skinnier doors, a short walk that ended with a small kitchen.
There, on one of the smallest seats I have ever seen, sat Kai. Not much has changed about them since the last I saw them— their hair is still dark and sharp, their clothing still dim and pretentious.
“Hello Que,” Kai said, crossing their legs to position them atop the table, “I see you’ve met my assistant—”
“Amanda,” she finished, extending her hand. I shook it politely. Sammy also tried to shake her hand but ended up just shaking her whole body, jumping exhaustedly before giggling to the floor.
Kai, with a squeamish tone and a sour expression, prompted Amanda to turn on something for Sammy to watch on television. Sammy, in her youthful unworldliness, asked me what a television was. I’ll admit— I felt a sinful pride as I explained it to her— but I suppose when all you do is converse with every person in Hell and log every possible nugget of information, you learn quite a bit about the current events of the living
For a brief moment, Amanda began showing signs of discontent regarding the task, telling Kai she had plans for the night. I observed intently as Kai ran their fingers through their hair in frustration— their tattoos resembling spider webs woven into each strand.
“Settle her in, and then go, I want to talk to my old friend.” their voice was so cold.
She stomped away, but as I watched her walk down the hall, I noticed her whole demeanor changed when she spoke to Sammy— it was sweet and gentle; I appreciated this.
“That is Sammy,” I commenced, fully aware that Kai possessed the knowledge. They are aware of all matters. As the Prince of the Present and Lord of Time, they embody all the complexities of balance. They confided in me long ago their embarrassment regarding it, expressing that the present held little significance compared to their brothers; it merely existed. Yet, here we find ourselves, intertwined in this moment— this tangible barrier of the present— that feels like everything.
Kai looked up at me, those sunken black eyes, and smiled, “I know what you’re about to say. I know why you’re here— why it was wiser to run, than waste time trying to stop it.”
The words that have pounded in my head for years were perfectly summarized atop their harsh lips. The fear I felt leaving my very position of logging every threat to Hell, every soul transaction, every day, every word— to become that very threat, to break Sammy’s soul transaction, to burn all those words from all those days. That guilt that has tarnished my writing hand as I plotted against my very way of life— my very purpose. Those six years, praying to write a future for Sammy, one where her soul is not promised upon her seventh year— only to run. The time, the words wasted.
“To everyone, I am a coward now, but I am not ashamed; don’t make me ashamed,” I begged.
Kai nodded, grazing their hand along mine but not daring to touch it, “You are ashamed, you cannot lie to me.”
“I cannot lie to you,” I agreed, “So I need you to trust me.”
Another moment. Another feeling of the entire world clawing at my throat, eager to discover the treasure of the right thing to say.
“Why me? You are centuries old; I know you have connections in high and low places. Why, Quinn, did you come to me to hide out from Hell?” they asked, studying me, “The last time you saw me, you said that Hell and time could not intertwine. That it… that we were unnatural. Is that really what you want to protect her?”
Another moment, another tear at my breath— if I let it go, then too goes our moment— our peace. I needed Kai’s help, I needed them— and yet, where my lips could not release, my eyes did— falling upon the kitchen table.
Kai’s eyes followed mine, staring at a chip in the short white table. I wondered if they imagined the checkered tiles atop as a map of a small village— each tile a home. In the home Kai’s eyes were lost in, that chip was a broken foundation, a chance to rupture the entire community built so perfectly— at least that’s what I imagined.
“I trust you,” they whispered, standing up with urgency, “I’m going to bed. In the morning, we can figure out the sleeping situation, but for now, take my bed, I will sleep on the couch.”
I followed Kai into the living room where I heard a light gasp, and my eyes perked to find Sammy cuddled on the couch with a large stuffed snake. She smiled as she slept.
“One of Amanda’s pillows,” Kai whispered in my ear, “I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”
I offered to sleep on the floor, but Kai was immediately insistent that we share the bed. A lifetime ago, I would’ve been eager for such an experience, a daring evening of our love knotted in impossible ways. Centuries ago, I would have been hesitant, uncertain if love should be so tight and conforming. Decades ago, I would have told Kai no, certain that we could not risk all the tedious work we had done to untangle and free ourselves. But nowmy eyes went to Sammy, her snake coiled around her. It does not suppress her, nor consume her comparably small, unknowing body, but rather secures her, holding her steady, holding her together. I did not need to be held, but I liked knowing that everything I’d need to hold me together after decades, centuries, lifetimes of revelation was so close.
But with caution of such privileges, I placed a pillow between us. And whilst I dozed off into hopeful thoughtless slumber, I thought. I thought of what my purpose would be tomorrow— when I had to begin my story.
When I planned to escape being the devil’s scribe, when I planned to escape eons of writing and logging stories not my own, and consequently living lives not my own, I vowed that the first moment I smelled air that was not corrupted with blood and hellfire, I would never write again. I, with rather disgusting privilege, thought that with my freedom would come the freedom of my mind and hand— freeing me from proper verbiage and cramped knuckles as I rabidly spat up ink upon feasting pages. But alas, only my physical body remains free; my responsibilities are still trapped in chains of promises and pity. But for you, Aurelia, I would sell the freedom of each inch of my body, corroding it until I become the ash she could smoke for warmth— but first, I must pave a worthy path to bring you to me. Even now, my head fills with burden, lost on the proper words to write to explain how my beginning concludes— but I must obtain the burden of living my own life upon my own words.
____
That first morning since my escape found myself in a state of disillusionment, a fatigue that carried from not only my new abode and my pressing guilt of leaving the place I had called home for centuries, but also the face of Kai— their sharp eyes studying my face.
Clutching my blanket, I jumped upwards, kicking them away from me, with all the energy I could muster in such a state of panic. From the floor, Kai called to me, their cigarette-poisoned voice gruffer in the morning, “I must admit, it is nice to see you in my bedroom again, Que.”
I despise being called Que.
With an eagerness to escape such revolting assumptions, I gently swung my legs across the bed, placing my feet on the black shag carpet. This bedroom was certainly not my taste. From the ceiling hangs a rather hostile chandelier that somehow still blinks light upon my face and fizzles bursts of smoke despite how many times I have fiddled with the switch. Covering the walls is not a tasteful wallpaper or even a proper coat of paint, but rather a series of vintage to modern guitars— each labeled indecently with what looked like a heavy-inked marker and a non-dominant hand.
And the smell! Oh, the smell is a putrid mix of cheap cologne and smoke, which I suppose made sense as to why I found myself in a rather unpleasant coughing fit as I desperately tried to make the bed.
“I like seeing you domestic,” Kai remarked, leaning like a giddy schoolgirl on the bed. They held their head in their hands— their excessive amount of silver rings pressing into their face.
I thanked Kai for their hospitality, then remarked it was time for me to get dressed, and though Kai seemed to want to argue their virtue to stay, I succumbed to Kai’s level and used some vulgar language to inform them to promptly leave.
During my centuries as a resident of Hell, I was confined to wearing the same outfit daily—the attire I had died in. I truly enjoyed this outfit: my brown tweed pants, white button-down, and argyle sweater vest. Though it felt rather hot under the scorching temperatures of Hell, I also found comfort in the routine— each pool of sweat I woke up in felt like a baptism for a new day.
But now, as I stared into this closet, I had the option to pick out my outfit for the very first time in centuries— and it was all Kai’s unrefined rockstar-wannabe clothes. Clothing of cheap leather and loose silk, belts of spikes, and shoes of unnecessary lift.
Lost in the hypnotic shock and disappointment of such an achievement, I was startled to hear a knock on the wall and a light wisp of the black curtains. Yelling once more for Kai to go away, I found myself mistaken when I heard a female voice respond.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “Kai’s still in their morning shower stage where they obsess over their body.”
Amanda was certainly a surprise to find upon my arrival— but one I have not decided yet to be a disappointment.
Seeing her in light for the first time, I found Amanda to have a timeless beauty— ivory skin, freckles hidden beneath a soft pink blush, and pale blonde hair. She could easily be a painting, a Renaissance design, but unfortunately, that beauty has met the expressive influences of Kai. But, admittedly, none of that seemed so remarking when she offered me a smile. It was only for a moment, but it seemed so genuine— as if it had been gently prying at her marble exterior for years, ready to crumble into a beautiful sculpture.
I pulled open the curtains to face those wild green eyes.
“Good morning,” she said, shoving a few large paper bags into my chest. More bags swung violently on her arms as she pushed past me and tossed them on the bed. Rather excitedly, she began to pull out a small collection of clothing from each bag— sorting through each piece, excitedly showing me, and explaining the fabric, purpose, and potential execution of each one.
Staring at her for a supposed uncomfortable amount of time, she crossed her legs and leaned on the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry,” she said, clicking her plastic shoes together, “Am I overwhelming you?”
“No,” I said without hesitation, “No. I’m just wondering why you did all of this.”
“Kai told me to,” she shrugged, “Sometimes being a prince of time’s assistant means scouring the seven seas for the missing grain of sand needed to ensure a Tsunami doesn’t happen. Sometimes it’s making a stylebook and shopping for a nerdy demon.”
I tried to explain to her I was not technically a demon, but she just laughed, “So you admit you’re a nerd?”
I smiled, “How’d you end up as Kai’s assistant? Knowing them…”
“You’d want to kill yourself a minute in?” she suggested, pulling out another piece of clothing.
I shrugged, helping sort the clothing by pieces, “Or kill them.”
She laughed harder now, folding the bags into a neat pile, mimicking a gruff voice (assumably her boss’), she said, “To maintain the present, you have to keep an eye on certain anomalies,” returning her voice to normal, she pointed to herself, “I give you exhibit ‘A’. As a potential major disturbance, Kai likes to keep me close. I figured if they’re gonna stalk me anyway, I could use a job.”
As simple as the present seems- the unchangeable now- there is much effort involved in ensuring such a constant. Kai sees all that is happening, like radio channels flipping through their mind. Anything that could upset their brothers— whether past or future- they act upon to ensure the ‘now’ has been properly prepped. With such small scraps of knowledge, sometimes Kai’s brothers will assist them— warning Kai of anomalies they should watch for and respond to quickly. However, for it to be a human … I’ve never heard of anything like that. Humans are so unpredictable and unforgiving...
But Amanda does not seem so bad to me.
To conclude her presentation, she held up a brown vest I took rather admiration to, which consequently ceased when she added, “We could match!”
I noticed now her outfit— a white, tight t-shirt, which was so thin it showed her lacy green bra straps, and over it, sure enough, was a brown vest, though hers was more fitted around her chest.
“Turns out it comes in men’s too,” she said with a smirk.
“Thank you, Amanda.”
She shrugged, “Kai says we can trust you, and you’re giving me jobs that actually let me leave this stupid house, unlike Kai’s housewife kink.”
The vile cue produced endearment as our ears tuned to the small footsteps trickling their way down the hall before bursting into the room. Sammy. Her wide-toothed grin a gasp and her bright blue eyes lit up... and a stuffed snake coiled around her neck. (Oh, Aurelia, how I fear raising Sammy in Hell may have seriously tainted her mind.)
“Quinn!” she cheers, doing a light spin, “I have a snake!” she hisses, dancing around the bedroom.
Before she gets too close to the closet, I scoop her up, placing her on my shoulders. She dangles the snake in front of my eyes as I fight to meet Amanda’s.
“Besides the whole nanny thing,” Amanda adds with a quick wink.
As I write of these events, it is well into the evening. As I look at Sammy now, I find her eyes whisked away to a peaceful slumber I cannot fathom. I cannot believe how much she has grown during our journey. When she was first presented to me, with the looming threat of sacrifice hanging over her head, she was just a baby. We had seven years of life’s promise— even if it was a vow upon the grounds of Hell. I was to raise her, prepare her soul for our Lord, to fill her with hate and anger and other tantalizing tastes that would sit easily in my Lord’s throat— but it did not take more than a moment to feel immediate pity, immediate care for the child. It took one soft smile accompanied by a light giggle. Her joyful cry for a place no such feeling had ever been dictated in all my centuries of writing. She aged just as rewarding as that moment, her eyes keen to find soft ember beauty, where others find ash.
As beautiful as it was to see her smile in Hell, I must admit it has been magnificent to see it in the light of the plane of living.
“I also got Sammy some clothes,” Amanda said, pointing along her fingers, “And some toys, books, and age-appropriate food, and a small bed for her should be delivered by the end of the day. I’m gonna set up a room for you two in the dining room. It’s actually supposed to be a storage closet, but we don’t use it… as a closet or dining room really.”
“How can I help?” I offered. But Amanda just shook her head, “Kai has requested you take a shower, then get dressed. I’m going to watch Sammy and set up the room.”
“But after I get clean—”
“You can give me some space. Kai has asked to take you on a tour of the town, and I think Sammy and I could use some girl time.”
I lowered Sammy to the ground, guiding her to run around the living room, “I’ve never left her before.”
“She’ll be safe with me, I promise.”
Sammy has always been my everything, my reason. If I were to properly record and write for you, Aurelia, I needed just a moment where my life felt like my own— worthy to be written.
“Don’t promise me,” I said, grabbing the vest that would make us match, “If you promise me, then you perceive too vast. There are no such things as promises, just small moments of repeated actions.”
“Then I will act to keep her safe,” Amanda corrected, finding me a matching pair of pants, an undershirt, and plain white boxers.
“That’s all I ask.”
____
Kai and I left for town an hour later. A single word pattered on my brain, sympathizing for the lack of melancholy rain that this town seemed to cry for— haunted. The streets are not bare but rather echoed by ghosts— people pleading like whispers in the ravenous wind, whilst others are merely still, lost in observation of others or the preciseness of their own paths, like unfinished business. I asked Kai how they had found themselves in a town like this. The Kai I knew long ago would ache with boredom in such a desireless town. They would hail their spiked chains and long leather coats and lead people to dance in the streets.
Kai shrugged in response, “It’s where Amanda wanted to stay.”
“Amanda.”
I’ll admit, even I picked up on the vacillation in my voice.
“Amanda is a friend, Que,” they said nudging me lightly in the shoulder, “I didn’t think you the jealous type.”
With my pride to consider, I responded promptly, “Kai, I hold not jealousy nor judgment. Your relationship is not what unsettles me.”
“Then what is it?”
“What will she do?”
Kai stopped, steering their direction towards a blue park bench. As they sat down, they folded their legs in, spreading along the already rather short seat. I sat upon the armrest closest to their head, crossing my legs politely. Kai looked up at the sky— a disappointed shade of blue as if visibly longing to see the sun again, “I do not know what Amanda will do,” they said, “But I know who she is. Unlike anyone or anything I know or ever will, even you, I’m certain of her past, present, and future.”
“I’d like to be a clean slate with you, Kai.”
“That is harder than words, Que, you know better than the rest that words are a foolish thing to play with.”
I laughed lightly, watching a young girl share a snack with her mom under a glossy pink umbrella. Despite the designed shade that surrounded them, there was such a light, an innocence to them. For reasons I have yet to process, this image has stayed frontal in my mind. It has been my solace every time I try and ground myself in the reality of my situation.
“Is it supposed to rain?” I ask, watching as Kai pulls out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.
“Not in this very moment, no,” they wink, then with a careless nod, drop their sunglasses down from atop their head, landing them perfectly on the sharp brim of their nose.
For a moment, we are trapped in the smoke of our design— our own personal umbrella we huff and wheeze. It blurs our senses— masking our sight and drowning out our smell until there is little recollection of the consequences to touch, hear, to taste each other.
But Kai’s lips knew exactly what to do— they parted, “There’s one more stop on my tour.”
Our last stop was practically next door to Kai’s home. A large red building, one that offered no label. What Kai explained to me was that this was the town’s rehabilitation center. It used to be a wing in the hospital up the road, but the amount of mentally ill patients slowly began to exceed the town’s need for a standard hospital.
Inside, there was a rather uncannily pristine of whiteness. A white ceiling, white floors, white walls, even white flowers placed in white vases upon a white desk. Sitting at the desk, angrily chatting away on the phone was the very same woman who opened the door for me last night, a welcoming darkness surrounding her— Thomas.
Through extensive inquiries and ambiguous responses, I came to realize Thomas’ pivotal role transcends her literal position— swiveled in a stiff chair greeting the unfathomable. She has been employed here since her youth, since the hospital’s initial inception of a simple Hospital corner— an effect of her mother’s long-term residency. Initially starting as a janitor, she gradually ascended to her current position over the course of twenty years, managing phone calls and patient admissions. Presently, she attends medical school in the evenings, striving to establish her credentials as a physician.
Regarding our shared interests, Aurelia, I discovered something particularly fascinating concerning a recent surge of patients. This insight emerged from a patient, transported in from what her nurse referred to as ‘nature time.’ As Thomas began to process badges and clearances, I observed my patient— a young woman, likely in her early twenties, yet her demeanor was muted and aged. Her hair had streaks of white and there was a notably distant gaze in her eyes. Her lips, a soft pink, moved frantically as if in vibration— despite being incomprehensible. It was the markings of a vampire— one who was starving and calling out to her pack.
I turned to Kai, who shook their head. They thanked Thomas for her time and reminded her about Uno night on Thursday (note: I now understand the origin of the ‘draw-four’ Hell resident who was sentenced to build the tallest card tower).
Outside, Kai sat me down on a bench. They told me that the reason that the center had to expand was likely because of themself. Ever since they had come to town a few years ago, things have changed. More influxes of magic activity, more possessions, trances, and trauma. Their silver spikes seemed to soften as they turned to face me.
“Quinn, I’m not saying this to scare you. I’m saying this because I was mad at you for so long. After what you said, after how we left us. But I realized you were right. Time and Hellfire are tricky substances on their own… when you mix them…”
“There is a chemical reaction.”
“If I have learned anything as the present it is that moments are always fleeting, Quinn. We cannot trap them or control them— they come and go. We have all come and gone at some point. Amanda ran away from home at twelve years old. I departed from living a life trapped at my brothers’ sides. You and Sammy left Hell. We can change, we can adapt, but we cannot cease. Promise me you are here to watch the moments bridge. Promise me you are not here for a beginning, middle, and end. Promise me, this is just an open-ended beginning.”
“Words are powerful, Kai. Some argue I hold too much. I can’t promise I’m not here to tell stories. But I can promise I’m here to tell stories for the righteous, not the damned.”
_____
Thanks to Amanda, I return home to private quarters. My walls are lined with shelves of stories and empty journals, my ears tuned by jazz playing from my new radio, my back cushioned among pillows of softness I have never felt— and yet, I do not take such faintness to heart. I keep one eye on Sammy, watching her sleep her first sound night in a long time, and the other envisions a dream, not of slumber but of vengeance.
I have found myself a home, a beginning, so I may carry forward and begin my plan to free you of your golden cage— one word at a time.
This moment is not fleeting— it is only beginning.
