Going Thru Hell

Going Thru Hell

T.J. Loveless

Dedication

To my family and friends, whose love, encouragement, and
the occasional stern lecture, kept me moving forward, reaching for my dreams.

I love you all. You are my heart and soul, and fill the void to overflowing.

If you are going through hell, keep going.

-Winston Churchill 

Chapter One

I wanted to bang my head on the desk
, but the boss would charge for damages.

Glancing
around the tiny cubicle, I tried to find anything heavy to throw at the gabby and arrogant immortal. He'd only laugh at any pathetic attempt to shut him up with pencil holders and files. The PC tower might work. I shook my head, the paycheck didn’t need a hit.

The gray padded walls and built in desk didn’t allow for much, and I regretted not keeping at least a picture frame or two. The edges might cause him to give a funny yelp.
He might not like it, but I’d be entertained.

To make matters
worse, the immortal in question couldn't be seen by anyone else. By staying in the fourth dimension, beyond mortal senses, Amun pestered me while normal humans remained ignorant of the truth.

I’d give almost anything to be normal.

I pulled my purse from under the desk, rummaging for objects to use as missiles. I gave up. Co-workers would have great stories of me throwing various objects at thin air. Last Christmas party notwithstanding, I didn't need more rumors circulating.

“Go. Away.” I narrowed my eyes.
Tall, muscular and handsome, Amun was built like other male immortals I'd had the displeasure of meeting. The only difference seen in the bronze skin, beautiful mahogany colored eyes, and straight black hair. He always wore a stupid St. Louis Rams t-shirt, both wrists encircled by badly inked ram tats. Perfect picture of an idiot.

“Why should I endeavor to please you?” His voice silky smooth, making promises I knew he would never keep.

“Did it ever occur to your ego-filled, arrogant mind to be nice?”

“No. I am a god. You should do as you are bid.”

“You lose. Get out. No deal.”

I pulled up the latest Excel spreadsheet,
inserted ear buds, and cranked the MP3 player to drown his ranting. A deep breath, and I concentrated on the computer. Four accounts to reconcile today, I didn't need the constant distractions of immortals. Despite the job’s monotony, I needed to pay bills. Eat, buy chocolate and a daily triple shot mocha latte, essentials to my sanity.

Amun wasn’t the only
one pestering me, various immortals visited through the day. All wanted the same thing they’ve demanded since puberty hit fifteen years ago. To use the rare, inherited genetic mutation giving an ability no human, or immortal, should possess under any circumstance.

Anger bubbled below my skin, the need to lash
out bringing several bright threads of various timelines to the forefront of the inner boob tube. Instinct pushed hard, to
get
rid them with a
floor show. Logic reminded me of the cost. I swallowed and concentrated. Far greater stakes sat on the table.

I sent several silent thank yous to Sony for a great MP3 player with wonderful battery life. The little device proved worth every penny.

I watched the clock, smiling. Friday, and twenty minutes to quittin' time. A vacation waited with my name written in the skies above. Four years since the last vacation, four long, lonely, overworked years. Stretching before me: three weeks to do as I pleased.

I straightened the desk,
letting the new playlist soothe. Plans in place for the evening, tomorrow I would decide what to do with the long vacation. Tonight involved the Frog and Toad Pub.

The elevator doors slid open and Lance smiled.
The office Lothario, I remained the unconquered. I'd seen where he put his key. My lock didn't need that kind of oil.

“Kylie! Going with me to The Frog and Toad?”
He graced me with a charming smile, and eyed me like a cut of beef on display.

“I'm going. Not with you.” I pointed at him. I'd had my fill of dominant males for the day.

“Tell him you can get much better than some wanna-be lover.” Amun’s size filled the elevator almost to capacity, gracefully moving behind me as I flinched. I moved to the other side, in a vain attempt for distance. For the first time, I wanted another human to see the idiot, tired of appearing to do things without reason.

“Feeling bad
about turning me down?” Lance grinned.

“More like wincing at the thought of going on a date with you.”

I faced the doors, not wanting to look at either male, similar in arrogance. I shifted, the elevator in a controlled drop to the first floor. Arms crossed, I tried not to pout. What was it with some men who thought only to wear a woman down until she did exactly as he wanted?

The bell dinged, the doors slid open and I marched to my
four wheeled baby, a Dodge Ram 1500 4x4. I dug around the purse slung over my shoulder, seeking the keys. The key fob was big and easily identifiable by touch, yet found a way to hide. Giving up, I looked in the bag and rearranged the contents several times before pulling out the keys, holding them aloft in triumph. Realizing I stood with an arm in the air, and looking a bit moronic, I opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

Denver rush hour traffic will make or break a driver. Hundreds of thousands of souls rushing as far from work as possible, ready for the weekend. Every highway, by-pass, and interstate filled with
lead footed drivers. NASCAR had nothing on Denver.

Unlike the pictures of Los Angeles during rush hour, Denver drivers pushed their vehicles to eighty plus, swerving around each other in a deadly, metallic dance of colors and steering wheel creativity.
Asphalt filled with the all guts, no glory mentality.

I love rush hour. Adrenaline flooded my system as I maneuvered a
two-ton killing machine around tiny sports cars and jalopies better suited for the junkyard. My big ass truck purred at the demands, music blaring to a favored rock band, stress and worries in the back seat as I navigated home.

The house felt empty
and too big. But I owned it outright, no mortgage or liens, thanks to Grandmother’s parting gift. Originally bought with thoughts of raising a family, it remained unfilled, only four rooms in use. Considering I rarely went on dates, four years passed and the goal remained elusive.

At
least three hours before I headed to the popular English style pub, I opted for a hot shower, change of clothes and some TV time with my favorite eye candy recorded on the DVR.

The
Friday night routine grew old a year ago, but I needed girl time and a large pint of good, microbrewed beer. Plus a heaping plate of their famous chili fries. I'd lick the fat off my arms the next day, but I craved those fries all week.

In jeans and a t-shirt won in a blogger’s contest, I settled on the leather futon. A small, handmade coffee table in the shape of the
Starship Enterprise completed the ensemble. The living room was painted a light taupe, but nothing decorated the walls. A small, cheap desk stood against the far wall, holding a rarely used computer. A big picture window looked over a yard in need of landscaping, with an old oak tree shading the front of the house. The hardwood floors appeared too large, lacking rugs to break up the room.

P
ropping my bare feet on the table’s glass top, I grabbed the remote and searched for the latest recording. I settled in happily, a Dr. Pepper in one hand and a sexy actor on the screen.

“You should spend your days helping us,” Amun's deep voice echoed in the sparsely furnished living room.

My head fell backwards, trying not to bang my head on the back of the futon. “No, I need to get a good buzz, chili fries and forget the lot of you exist.”

“We will not leave you alone. You must do as we bid.”

I contemplated doing the requested tasks if it guaranteed he'd permanently go away. But they would only return and demand more.
Give a mouse a cookie.
They didn't give a damn about the price I paid. Mortals equated disposable.

Power trickled along my skin,
causing a shiver. The incident at the age of thirteen flitted across my mind.

“Get out,
I mean it. Nothing you say will convince me to help.”

With
immortal arrogance, he ignored the dismissal and sat next to me. I facepalmed, wishing I could simply pick up the hefty ass and toss him out. Realistically, I'd create a few painful hernias.

“Our lives depend upon your help.” He grabbed my bottled water and took a swig.

Ewww
. “I don't care about your survival.”

“
Shall I threaten your race then?”

Heat
exploded in my chest, filling every inch of skin, lighting me on fire. Par the usual, immortals threatened humans, mortals of every age, all genders. Not the first time.

“Do not threaten my world. I'm pretty sure you remember what happened last time?”

He growled low in his throat. I'd won for the short term.

Immortals suffered defeat thousands of years ago, and their memory was long.
Wars between mortals and immortals carried a large premium, often paid in human lives. My ancestors paved the way, braiding strings of destiny and time to save lives. Paying the cost for our safety with their very souls.

“Get the hell out of my house, or I'll do a nice little parlor trick and cost be damned.”

He disappeared. Flooded with adrenaline, I needed to find a relief valve. Maybe hit the gym. Anything to get rid of the stress and keep them from knowing the truth: I preferred to run, not fight.

I decided on the gym.
Last year I'd decided to lose weight, get in shape. Round is a shape, just not the one I wanted. The exercise not only left me a fit size eight, it helped to calm the explosive temper inherited from Dad's side of the family.

The next four hours were spent running and swimming.
Exhausted, calm, I left the gym and took another long hot shower.

Home past midnight, muscles exhausted and mind blissfully calm, I dressed in
SpongeBob pajama bottoms with a matching yellow camisole. Fuzzy bunny slippers and a beer from the fridge, I settled on the couch. I pulled up my favorite show, set in the post-Civil War west as they built the railroad. A tough warrior, dealing with a painful past and hiding a soft heart. The crusty bad boy with a soft gooey middle.

I
sensed a gentle swell of power, the smell of desert wind preceding the appearance of a favored goddess, the Persian, Anahita - the ultimate female immortal. Goddess of water and fertility, patroness of all women, and
the
goddess of war.

“Hey, Annie. How are you doing?”
I smiled.

“Hello, young one. I smell Amun.
Visiting you again?”

“Yes, ma'a
m. Wants a few strings pulled.” I set the beer on the coffee table and rubbed my face.

“You do not sleep often enough, young Kylie. I am here to watch over you. Things have happened, Braider, which will have direct bearing on your world.”

My nerves bristled. “What do you mean, Annie?”

“Others are trying to change the
past. Gods want their previous lives returned, and are willing to kill for it. You still have time. Rest, my young one, and I shall watch over as I did all those years ago.” She brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, the touch light and tender.

I nodded and went to bed. Too bad she didn't explain what the hell she meant by changing
the past.

Chapter Two

I woke tangled in the duvet, sweating and breathing
hard. Unraveling frustrated my fuzzy brain, but I slid out of the mess, landing face first. The hardwood floor was cool, and I decided to stay until lucid. My breathing slowed, and, with several grunts, managed to find my feet. Coffee was the first business of the day. Like a drunk on Friday night, the world tilting at crazy angles, I stumbled into the kitchen. Bless Annie. The smell of rich, dark, strong brew perked my senses. The goddess knew her coffee. I grabbed heavy cream from the fridge, a favorite mug and poured a steaming, lovely, blessed jolt of cafe au lait. I sat on the counter next to the coffee pot, three mug minimum to jump start the gray matter.

I recently remodeled the kitchen, including new honey oak cabinets,
cobalt blue quartz countertops and tiled floor. It appeared empty, a coffee pot the lone appliance. Despite the gleaming, stainless steel commercial stove and fridge, nothing decorated the space. Loneliness bounced off newly painted walls, echoing against the high emotional walls I fought to maintain. With a sigh, I shook off the melancholy, rinsed the cup and carafe before heading to dress for a lovely Saturday morning.

Dressed, hair in a ponytail, I sat in front of the computer,
searching. Denver offered many options, G rated to Las Vegas style secrets. I rarely left home, but maybe it was time to explore beyond my personal Bat Cave. I scanned uncounted websites, killing the ideas one by one for various reasons.

After a few hours, I gave up and decided
to go for a drive. No direction, no itinerary, only the truck and me, music and no plans. I packed a bag, grabbed the keys, locked up and called a friend to house sit.

The bright summer sun glinted off the windshield as
I sat at a light before the I-25 on-ramp. I decided to head south and east. The MP3 player plugged into the stereo, volume cranked and the cell phone off.

I watched the
majestic Rockies disappear in the rearview mirror, driving through the high plains and into Kansas. The landscape changed slowly to endless fields of grass over softly rolling earth. I turned south and drove into Oklahoma. The cities were few and far between, open plains filled with cattle, horses and barbed wire fencing.

I didn't stop until
reaching Oklahoma City. Raised in the mountains, the open landscape and enormous city complete with tall buildings and spatial neighborhoods, surprised me. Denver felt frantic and crowded at times, but OKC promised open air and a laid-back lifestyle.

I chose the Sheraton,
built on the east side of town. Three stories and constructed to blend with the landscape, it offered the rest and calm I desperately wanted. My room was on the second floor, decorated in muted shades of blue, heavy drapes over the picture window, a small loveseat and big fifty inch HDTV mounted to the wall. In the corner, a small stainless steel sink, black granite countertop and light stained cabinets. The only appliance a small four cup coffee pot.

The bathroom echoed the
room decor, helping to ease chaotic thoughts. I took a shower, pulled on Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, matching black camisole and climbed into bed. My hair dried in long curls, in the morning I would resemble Bozo the Clown. Tired, I shrugged and rolled over, snuggling under the covers.

“No matter where you travel, I can find you.”

At least it wasn't Amun. The immortal was Norse in flavor, worshiped in ancient times for his strength, and definitely his father's son.

“Magni, you should know better.” I sat up, keeping my legs covered. Hell, I kept the duvet
under my armpits, the sons of Thor were known womanizers. I checked the urge to slap the crap out of him.

“Why are you not helpi
ng the gods of your ancestors?” Like Amun, Magni was tall and powerfully built. I had yet to meet a male god under six foot six. Magni's eyes as green as the leaves in spring, champagne blond hair, with perfect pale skin stretched over bulging muscles. Most mortal females, and a few immortal ones, would give their left ovary for a night with any of them. I knew better.

“The gods of my ancestors? Really? Which ones
? Hmm, let's see. I'm also Native Alaskan and English. Oh, wait, you want me to only serve you, right?”

“You carry mo
re of our blood than any other. You understood I meant your Norwegian and German ancestors.” He stepped closer, one hand reaching for me.

“No. I'm not serving any of you. Get
out.” An electrical charge danced along my skin. Crap, he was going to try and force a reaction by tugging on the power.

I stood, feet shoulder width apart, arms at my side, palms facing Magni.
Curls blew around my face as the ability slowly bubbled to the surface, a secondary power shimmering over me. “I am tired of telling you to get out. Would you like a taste of what you are pulling on?” I choked on the strings appearing in my head, could see and understand the consequences of every action. The bright colors tempting to braid into something more beautiful.

“No, wait, Kylie, wait, I shall go. We wil
l leave you alone for one week. You must decide by then.” He disappeared.

Something needed to be done
. If I'd completed the little show, I might have had peace for longer than a week. They wanted me to use it for them, not against them.

I climbed the stairs to the roof, the electrical charge
of power marching up and down my skin, hair blowing in an unseen wind. I knew where I was going and why. Anahita the Persian equaled maternal protection, but the ancient Mesopotamian goddess took the pain.

Grateful
a few remained on my side, I opened the last door, barely remembering to lodge something in the doorjamb to keep from being locked out. Every step calculated and robotic. My mind held the strings in a gentle grip, whispering in a long dead language, pushing to be braided into something different. I yearned to make changes, and hated myself for it.

I stood still, waiting.
Fire surrounded me, sharp talons gripped my waist, and an insistent purr filled the air. Tiamat, ancient Mesopotamian goddess currently in the middle of a theoretical firestorm among anthropologists, historians and archaeologists.

Her dragon form
endured as my favorite, fierce and beautiful in its fatal attraction. When standing, she stood ten feet high at the shoulders, twenty feet long from nose to butt, with buttery soft, black leather skin. A long nose, her mouth filled with serrated teeth, and an almost constant wisp of smoke curling from the large, rounded nostrils. From each side of her head sprouted three horns sweeping back and protecting the vulnerable area between her head and neck. Her barrel chest vibrated with purrs. Her legs were as thick as ten year old oak trees, ending in claws tipped with razor sharp talons. Tiamat’s back arched, smooth and utterly graceful, flowing into a long tail and ended with an arrow like rudder for flying, or defending herself. Enormous black wings grew behind each shoulder blade, often held tightly to her back and unnoticeable until unfurled. Her best feature were big, round, black eyes sparking various colors depending on her mood.

She wrapped around my body and with a whisper, let the power engulf us. The big body shuddered. She
sacrificed taking the pain for me. If unused, the power caused great misery. Tiamat absorbed it with a hug and a purr.

She cooled the needs, calmed the power,
taking its anger and returning it to the place hidden by my soul. She pulled me closer, the loud thudding of the giant heart lulling me to sleep.

The sunlight filtered through my eyelids, sending shards of glass through my
fog soaked brain. Aftermath, the ability's version of a hangover. Bringing the power to the surface and not using it showed a bit of stupidity on my part. Yet, if I hadn’t, more than likely Magni would have been relentless.

I sat up in bed, unsure how I got there. The last thing I remembered was falling to sleep cuddled next to Tiamat.
With slow, cautious movements I lurched into the bathroom for a hot shower. I stood under the powerful spray, the heat and steam helping ease symptoms. Leaning against the tiled walls, I wondered if life would ever allow a sense of normalcy. The evidence shouted a resounding negative.

Dressed, hair gently pulled into an octopus clip, sunglasses in place, I left OKC,
and continued east. The thought,
One week, just one bloody week,
circled in my head. In the past week, immortals showed frequently, more so than the last fifteen years. Annie'd said the other night something was happening. History said it wouldn’t be long before their plans were revealed and I faced reality.

Only the brave
st ones, those with the most to lose, hounded me. One day they might come together as a group. I was stuck in a catch twenty two. Damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

The landscape changed
again, from flowing plains and wide open spaces to large forests of tall pine trees, hills growing higher by the mile, lush green grass in open fields. The heat and humidity pressed against the windows of the truck, the air conditioning full blast and barely winning.

Oklahoma gave way to Arkansas, eventually turning into Memphis and Tennessee. By the time I rolled into Nashville, the drive left me ready for food and sleep. I pulled into another Sheraton, the architecture different than Oklahoma.
The building carried a more southern façade, with extravagant landscaping. I smiled, enjoying the subtle differences. The anthropologist in me knew it was done with an eye towards customers and their expectation of a region. I liked the clean lines, variation of plants in the well-manicured gardens, the open spaces inviting as much of the abundant sunlight.

Opening the door into the suite,
I noticed the same basic set up, but the colors ran to deep greens, light tans, and off white. The tiny kitchenette consisted of dark stained cabinets, light colored granite, the same stainless steel sink and matching coffee pot. The doors and trim were painted black, with nickel brushed hardware. The overall feeling more grand estate and less mental comfort.

As I unpacked,
knowledge cruelly bitch slapped me. I wouldn't be leaving Nashville for a long time. Instincts raised red flags, whispering, speaking of battles, blood and death. I understood. I’d make a stand, and fight to keep secrets, in a city I knew nothing about.