Chapter 20 #2
I admit it’s a little pathetic. Under normal circumstances, I’d be mortified. Me, a so-called badass who can’t handle a skeleton with a boat.
But not right now. In this very moment, my pride doesn’t even make the top ten list of things I’m concerned about.
“I know this is a lot,” Hayes says, crouching beside me. “Just hold on a little longer. I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”
Gently, he pulls my hands away from my face, his forehead brushing against mine. Steady and grounding. A quiet anchor in the middle of the chaos.
“Do I really have to?”
I can’t stop my hands from trembling, my brain a muddled blend of fear and disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Alligator.”
“But I don’t know where it’s going.” I shake my head frantically, using the first excuse that comes to mind, no matter how lame. “And I have class tomorrow. I can’t just skip it.” I’m rambling now, but unable to stop. “What about my academic record? What about NYU?”
Hayes stares at me like I’ve lost it. And honestly? I probably have.
“Your academic record?” he repeats, flatly. “Are you serious?”
“If I miss too many lectures, my GPA tanks, and NYU goes up in smoke. And my YouTube is finally gaining traction.” My voice cracks. “I have momentum, Hayes.”
I know I’m not making any sense. I just fell through a literal hole in the earth, and I’m clinging to college credits and my social media stats. But it’s like if I just keep talking about something normal, something rational, maybe I’ll stay tethered to the world I understand.
Hayes exhales, sadness softening the edges of his face. “You’re not going back, Al.”
My breath stills.
“What?”
“Not right now, at least,” he says. “Maybe not ever.”
“Not ever?”
A tidal wave of emotion crashes over me as I picture my mother, pacing the house, checking her phone obsessively, unraveling with worry. She would be inconsolable if I just… disappeared. She would never stop looking for me. Never stop believing I was out there somewhere.
“Enough talking. We have to move—now.” Hayes grabs my hand, urgency snapping tight in his grip. “If we don’t get on that ferry soon, we’re in serious trouble.”
The fight drains out of me, and I let him pull me forward like a broken marionette, my limbs heavy and reluctant. Because what’s the point? I don’t know anything anymore. Don’t know what’s happening. Don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.
As we near the shoreline, bones crack and splinter beneath my shoes like brittle twigs.
My lip curls with disgust. I’ve always liked bones when they’re cute little graphics on my clothes or glittering enamel pins.
But stepping on them? Crushing skulls underfoot like seashells? That’s something else entirely.
Finally, we reach the dock. Black, brackish water lashes against the ferry’s hull, spraying a foul mist into the air. I gag and swipe it from my cheeks, grateful none of it got in my eyes, or worse, my mouth. It smells like sulfur and rot, like a thousand years of death trying to claw its way free.
God only knows what’s actually inside it.
Hayes tightens his grip on me just as a monstrous wave crashes into the side of the ship. The rickety boat groans and lurches like it’s seconds from splintering apart. Mr. Skeleton Face—Charon—raises one bony hand and waves, welcoming us aboard.
“Do we really have to get on that?” I ask, hating how pathetic I sound.
“Just follow my lead,” Hayes says. “And whatever you do—don’t look Charon directly in the eyes.”
“Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”
I keep my gaze down as we approach the ferry, watching each step carefully. The ground beneath glows scorched red-orange, like a Martian wasteland or one of my mom’s more unhinged oil paintings. Bizarrely beautiful, but in a way that makes your insides twist.
Eventually, the cracked, alien earth gives way to splintered planks as we step onto a creaky gangway. Dark water below slaps hungrily against the belly of the ferry. Thick, restless, alive. My feet hit a pale, weather-worn deck, and then, finally, we’re onboard.
The engine roars to life as the ferry lumbers forward. Another wave crashes, and I lose my footing, my feet skidding dangerously close to the edge. My heart lurches as Hayes grabs me, one arm snapping around my waist and locking me against his chest.
“You okay?” he asks, steadying me.
“Not even remotely.”
I exhale a shaky breath as he guides me toward the back of the boat, and we collapse onto a cold, rusted bench.
As the ferry pulls away from the shore, I grip his arm, my eyes squeezed shut like that will somehow protect me from whatever’s coming next.
The vessel creeps down the black river, and I try not to think about the ghosts swarming around us. Try not to feel the cold, pulsing shapes brushing past. But even with my eyes closed, I can sense them pressing in close. Thick and wet and pulsing with energy. Unrelenting.
This can’t be real…
Red sky.
Black river.
Ghost ship, steered by a skeleton man in a realm of shadows.
And then it hits me like a punch to the gut.
Oh God.
This is it.
I’ve finally snapped, just like my mother. Seeing things that aren’t there. Blurring the line between real and not. Falling into made-up worlds no one else can see.
Is this what it was like for her?
Is this how it feels to lose your mind?
Or worse—what if—
“Wait—are we in Hell?” I jolt upright, dread coiling in my throat. “Did that fall actually kill us? Is this… it?” I let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I mean, I always thought I’d end up in Heaven. But sure. Plot twist.”
Hayes snorts.
“You’re not dead.”
“How do you know?” I shoot back. “Dead people probably say that all the time. Remember the movie The Sixth Sense?”
“Trust me. You’re very much alive,” he says. “And this isn’t Hell.”
I crack one eye open and glance around. Yep, sky’s still red. Ghosts are still swarming. And creepy-ass Charon is still manning the ship like some judgment-day crypt keeper.
“Sure looks like Hell…”
“It’s Hades.”
“And there’s a difference?”
“Yeah. A big one.” He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Hell’s just one realm inside Hades. Right now, we’re at the border.
This is the River Acheron, where souls cross over.
” He nods toward the churning black water.
“Charon ferries them to the gates to be judged and sorted: Elysium, Tartarus, or the Fields of Asphodel.” He gives me a wry, lopsided grin.
“But don’t worry. You’re not here for that. ”
“Oh goodie. Then why am I here?”
He hesitates.
“I’m taking you to the Royal Palace.”
I stare at him. “I’m sorry—the what now?”
“I’ll explain more when we get there,” he says, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Just try to relax. Enjoy the ride.”
I cross my arms and shut my eyes again.
Enjoy the ride? Sure. Just a casual river cruise through the land of the dead on a barge run by a literal skeleton. Totally normal.
After what feels like forever, the ferry finally slows. The sound of the gangplank lowering cuts through the silence like a drawn-out sigh. Hayes nudges my shoulder.
“We’re here.”
I open my eyes—and gasp.
Rising up before us is a castle that looks like it was conjured from some Gothic-soaked fever dream.
A fortress carved from obsidian-black stone, its walls shot through with veins of molten copper and liquid platinum that seem to shift and ripple beneath the surface.
Towering spires pierce the sky, crowned with sculpted flames of hammered gold.
Facets of ruby, emerald, sapphire, and even diamond are set directly into the stone, catching the firelight, making the entire structure glitter like a treasure hoard dragged up from the earth’s core.
The place seems to breathe with shadow and fire, an eerie light pulsing from deep within the walls like it’s alive—and watching.
Encircling the castle are groves of pomegranate trees, their branches heavy with luminous crimson fruit, each orb faintly pulsing like a heartbeat, casting ghostly light.
It’s all so breathtaking. Opulent and overwhelming. So beautiful it almost hurts to look at, like something taken too far, pushed just past the line of reason into something unreal.
And then there are the Palace gates. They’re colossal in scale, forged from interlocked iron etched with unfamiliar markings like runes.
Set into the center above the entrance is a sculpted figure of a three-headed dog, each snarling muzzle bared, ruby eyes glowing as if they’re tracking us.
Coiled around the dog’s base is a black serpent, its sleek body wrapped tight, tongue flicking like it’s tasting the air.
The image is like a nightmare version of a “Bad Dog, Keep Out” sign, but a thousand times more terrifying.
The formidable gates alone feel like a sufficient warning. Like something terrible might happen if you tried to breach those walls uninvited. Guards should be unnecessary. And yet, they’re here anyway.
Dozens of them stand silent and unyielding before the entrance. They’re clad head-to-toe in black leather armor, each one carrying a spear trimmed with glinting gold. Broad-shouldered. Intimidating. Their faces are expressionless, their stances rigid. They look more like statues than men.
Several guards near the front nod at Hayes as the ferry pulls into the landing square. The vessel shudders to a final stop, chains clanking into place.
Hayes rises and offers me his hand.
“Welcome to the Underworld,” he says. “My home.”