XXIII
Lucky and Charlie rode the elevator to the very top of Hell HQ’s tower.
The door opened and the prince urged the priest to step outside.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, he gazed across the grey, quiet space.
Unlike the circles below, with their ever expanding cityscapes and architecture, this level felt like Heaven.
It was serene, soundless, and slow moving.
Limbo.
“Where are we?” Charlie whispered.
“The first circle, Limbo. All souls first come here to be processed before being sent off to their permanent residences,” Lucky replied.
He set a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and urged him to walk toward the bridge in the distance.
It curved over part of the River Styx, the water moved with painfully slow pacing.
They headed through the thick fog that billowed around their legs and strolled along the grey-hued river.
Not grey in a way that looked sickly or wrong, but grey as in an unfinished painting.
Without hue or dimension, much like everything else in Limbo.
It was a monochromatic place filled with hues of white and black and the few colorless shades between, and Lucky always likened walking along its shores to taking a walk through a picture book that someone forgot to add more hues to.
The trees seemed flat, cardboard-like, and everything held the essence of a stage play facade.
Something resembling normal in the midst of life being snuffed out.
“It’s so quiet,” Charlie noted.
“Yeah, it is. The shock of death does that to people, and back when their souls weren’t weighed until they’d arrived, throwing them into the chaos of Hell caused a lot of issues and chaos.
This was, technically, the first stop for all souls unless one of the two realms had their eye on a particular person for one reason or another.
We partnered with Heaven to help with traffic for a long time.
We had to make sure every facet of a soul was weighed so they ended up in the right spot. ”
“Why the past tense?”
“Automation on Heaven’s part, better planning, early tracking.
The average life expectancy started growing with modern medicine so we didn’t have massive plagues and bodies dropping in droves like we do now.
Instead of having every soul standing around waiting for every damn second of their life to be recounted, we started using better surveillance methods and creating files from the first breath—well, as soon as humans start to understand the difference between good and evil, anyway.
We also stopped taking everything into account.
We’d be screwed with how long people live nowadays, on top of how overpopulated Earth is.
Hell, the U.S. has like seven or eight thousand deaths a day, could you imagine how busy we’d be? How long the lines would be?
“All psychopomps, myself included, have to swing by the office here to get our death files certified before we take them back to our offices for processing and filing. That’s what makes the death official.
It takes forever, and I truly wish we had a better system.
We try to keep up with the changing times just like Earth does—as much as my old man will let us, that is—but back in the day this place was flooded with the recently deceased waiting to have their sentences handed out.
Now it’s mostly a waiting room while we process files, double check details, and figure out where to put them.
That’s one reason I like it, it’s different.
Peaceful,” Lucky explained. “Or, it was until Mammon’s River Styx cruise liner business took off after I inherited Greed. ”
“You don’t like noise, do you?”
“Not really. I don’t like much when it comes to the things I’m supposed to like. Sex isn’t overly appealing but it numbs the loneliness, so I do it more often than I should but it’s… boring. Drinking numbs the loneliness. The clubs… numb the loneliness.”
“But you’re royalty. Everyone in Hell loves you.”
“They fear me, Charlie. They respect and fear me. No one… loves me.”
Lucky exhaled. A soft plume of smoke left his lips.
He watched as Charlie leaned on the railing of the bridge.
He looked up at him with those sad eyes again, so Lucky followed his lead and set his hands on the metal bar.
His eyes shifted down as his tail started to snake its way back around his leg until he forced his focus elsewhere.
“I know how you feel,” Charlie admitted.
“I’m not sure you do, but enlighten me.”
“Orphaned, friendless, closeted weirdo in the Catholic Church, remember?” Charlie pointed at himself with a soft smile, one of understanding and empathy.
“The only person who truly loved me my whole life was God, and even though that should have been enough, it wasn’t.
” He let out a soft laugh, a nervous one.
“Look at us, two friendless weirdos standing on the literal precipice of death having deep conversations about love and life.”
“Ain’t that something?”
Charlie did something unexpected and leaned into Lucky.
Lucky looked at him for a second before he slipped his arm around Charlie and pulled him close, both out of a need to feel something and a need to hide the priest with his massive frame.
This was a private moment just for them, and though no souls were in the vicinity, he wanted it to feel more intimate.
He wanted Charlie to know he understood. That he was thankful to be seen.
“This is silly but… can we take a selfie? Something to remember you by when you go?” Lucky asked.
“S-sure, I look like a mess, though,” Charlie noted.
“No, you don’t. I promise.”
Lucky lifted Charlie onto the railing and posed so he could take a photo. With the black and white imagery behind them, their features stood out, and Lucky knew he’d spend eternity looking at those freckles and blushing cheeks and never grow tired of it.
The priest set his head on Lucky’s body. Charlie was so short he hardly hit the prince’s chest when they were standing side by side, and it wasn’t much better with him elevated by the railing. Lucky wanted to bundle him up and put him in his pocket.
He set his hand on Charlie’s head and tangled his fingers in his golden curls. The Heavenly glow against Lucky’s skin made the human’s locks look like they were aflame. Charlie tilted his head, his pale blue eyes stood out against the dreary stillness.
“Lucky?” Charlie asked quietly.
“You’re something else, you know that?” Lucky asked.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, not at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Taking time away from your work by trying to get me home. You don’t have to—”
Lucky slid his hands down and smooshed Charlie’s face so his lips pursed to stop him from continuing. He shook his head.
“If it means you get out of here I’d happily lose my job, Charlie. Hurting you was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you home,” Lucky swore.
“Then what happens to you?” Charlie asked.
Lucky didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it, but knowing that someone was worried about him felt nice.
And it felt genuine, unlike the concern from Lucius that seemed obligatory due to familial ties, or Gabe and Bub’s that felt as if it was a necessity from long lives lived together.
With Charlie, the concern seemed truthful.
He hoped the priest would think of him from time to time once he left this place, but only as a vague memory.
A bad dream that he could move on from but reminisce about somewhat fondly when he ate a sandwich or heard a dog bark.
“I’ll do what I always have, Chuck. Keep pushing forward,” Lucky said as his hand gently cupped Charlie’s cheek. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Someone should.”
“Then I’ll consider it an honor if you do.” Lucky took Charlie’s hand and leaned down to give it a soft kiss. “Do you want to keep walking?”
“Yeah, I think I do. For a little bit, then we really need to get back to work.”
“We’ll head back down once our pizza gets here.”
“Deal.”
Lucky hoped the pizza wouldn’t get there too soon.