Disenchantment 42

*****

 

 

 

 

Touching the River Styx had almost felt orgasmic, yet it was much more than some insignificant physical pleasure. The fear that Floyd had felt after the run-in with Epiales, was wiped away, his confidence restored, his doubts were chased off, and his destiny seemed to be soon at hand. He had told the others to partake as well but only Hornblende had done so.

 

The very supernatural-appearing Charon, only increased his confidence, his excitement for what was to come. He was beginning to believe that he may not need his mortal life, as there was obviously an immortal soul or there would be no land of the dead. If there really was an immortal soul, then life continued, in some form, forever. If he lost his life, he could still continue his journey.

 

“Thanatos said to bring coinage,” said Oren.

 

Charon only repeated his earlier statement: “When they living wish to cross, they must pay with a life.”

 

Oren looked at Floyd and he merely shrugged. He didn’t know what to say about that. Technically, the living weren’t allowed to enter the Underworld, from everything he had ever read. There would be Cerebrus ahead soon if all the mythology of the place was indeed true, guarding against such a thing. Floyd was wondering how they would get around that particular problem. The three-headed dog takes no bribes. The living stay out and the dead stay inside the world of Hades.

 

“So, I guess we just get on the ferry, guys.”

 

“Let’s go,” said Hornblende. He seemed confident. Floyd made an assumption that the man’s confidence level was on par with his own, as he had also touched the living goddess Styx and was probably feeling similar to the way he felt.

 

Mark and Oren did look nervously at one another, but they seemed ready to get on board. Mark did say, “Which of us is giving up his life?” No one answered him.

 

Hornblende taking the lead, they all climbed aboard the raft. Floyd looked over the edge, into the essence of Acheron. The soft red glow reminded Floyd of lava, or would it be magma since they were technically underground? Were they actually underground, or in an entirely different universe or different plane of existence? Floyd was highly interested in learning the secrets of the place, and learning the mysteries of everything.

 

Charon stayed near the center of the ferry, leaning on his oar. The vessel moved forward without the tool dipping into Acheron at all. Oren stood at the front of the boat, looking forward. Mark seemed to want to stay away from the edges so as not to fall into Acheron, yet also keep away from Charon, awkwardly halfway between the daimon and the edge on an area that was only ten square feet. Hornblende walked around a little, seemingly investigating things, which Floyd also did to an extent. It seemed that the trip only took about ten minutes or so, and they hit the other side of the river.

 

As the small group disembarked from the boat, Charon spoke again: “The living must pay with a life.”

 

“Now?” asked Oren.

 

“Soon.” With that final word hanging in the air, Charon turned around, and the raft started heading back out into the River Acheron. Floyd found himself wondering where he was going. He wasn’t waiting on the opposite side of the river when they arrived. Did he just hang out in the middle of the river?

 

“I’ll do it,” said Mark. “I’ll be the price.”

 

“You won’t do anything right now,” said Oren. Then he looked at both Hornblende and then Floyd. It was as if to say that he would much prefer it were one of them and not his precious friend.

 

“He didn’t actually try to take a life,” said Hornblende. “Maybe it will just happen. If you are still interested in giving up your own life, Nicastro, maybe keep reminding this place, and it might give you your wish.”

 

That was advice that Floyd was thinking before Hornblende stated it aloud.

 

“There’s a trail here,” said Oren. There was.

 

Without discussing it the group began to follow it. There was a vast shape in the distance that the trail seemed to wind its way toward. It was perhaps a large mountain, but it seemed to glow from within. Within a few minutes, Hornblende had turned on his flashlight again, but told Mark to save his own batteries.

 

“So, this is the official underworld we’re in now?” asked Hornblende.

 

No one else answered, probably because they expected Floyd to do so. He couldn’t know everything about the place. He didn’t know that Acheron was red and Styx was black. He had never heard of any marble bridge that allowed mortals to cross the River Styx. It was really a lot of conjecture.

 

“I don’t know. We have crossed Acheron and Styx, but we haven’t met Cerebrus yet.”

 

“Cerebrus?” asked Hornblende.

 

“Hades’s dog,” said Oren.

 

“He’s got a dog?”

 

“A three-headed hellhound.”

 

“Damn, this place is evil.” Hornblende actually looked disgusted.

 

“It’s not evil,” said Oren. “Why can’t you guys understand that? This is not Christianity where the one God is good and the others are all evil. This is more complex. You keep calling this place Hell. It’s not.”

 

“What is it then?” asked Hornblende. “It seems like what many would describe Hell as. If not Hell, what?”

 

“It’s the place all souls go upon death, not just bad or evil people, or whatever Christians consider to be sinners because they masturbated or committed adultery. The wrong are punished, but the righteous are rewarded. Don’t you understand? Everyone comes here when they die.

 

“Hades is not Satan, not Lucifer. He oversees the good and the bad. He’s not some wicked devil hellbent on torturing souls. He places the souls in an eternal life of sorts, based on how they lived their actual, physical lives. The ancient Greeks didn’t consider a lot of things bad that contemporary Christians do, so you won’t be punished according to the Bible. You will be treated with a judgment, based on how you lived your mortal life.”

 

“What?” asked Mark, but his tone was odd, almost as if he were speaking to someone outside of the group. He certainly wasn’t looking at anyone in the group and was facing off to the left.

 

“You okay, Mark?” asked Oren.

 

“Mattie?” asked Mark.

 

“Who’s Mattie?” asked Hornblende, then realization dawned on him. It seemed he already knew the answer to that as he had been on the case.

 

They all knew who Mattie was.

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

Mark Nicastro really felt like he was losing it. The encounter with Epiales was bad, but by the time that they had reached Charon, everything was becoming very overwhelming. He felt his sanity slowly draining away. He was stunned. He tried to joke it off at first, a defense mechanism, he guessed. While waiting at the River Styx he had made some jokes equating the mythological river to the band, The Styx.

 

Just the sight of Charon, so unnatural sent him into fits of almost shaking. The ride across the river itself was all too unreal. Too horrible. Too crazy. This stuff couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t the real world, it consisted of psychotic delusions.

 

He wasn’t feeling right. A dark depression crept over him, darker than any he had ever experienced before while living his mortal life on Earth, and he had experienced significant depressive episodes with all the loss he had endured. When someone mentioned the price they had to pay he volunteered to pay it, to give his life, to stop what was happening to his mind.

 

As they left Acheron and Charon behind them, he barely noticed the others speaking any longer. There were other voices, whispers coming out of the darkness. At first they were mumbled and incoherent, but he soon started picking up different phrases, far off at first, then progressively louder. They seemed to be involved in conversations that didn’t concern him at all, initially.

 

Until they didn’t, until it became relevant to him, directed at him.

 

Daddy?

 

“Mattie?”

 

Daddy, have you come to see me? It was Mattie’s voice, but it wasn’t exactly. It had the same caliber, but was darker, different, not alive. The voice of something that could no longer play in the sunshine, enjoy cartoons, breathe.

 

“Mattie, where are you? Yes, I have come to see you.” He could still see the other three looking at him with worried expressions, but he could no longer seem to hear them, just the voices of the damned with one of particular interest to him. All three of the living were looking at him worriedly, their mouths moving but no audible sound reached Mark’s ears. Mark could now only hear the dead.

 

Daddy, I have missed you. Can you stay with me?

 

“Yes, Mattie. That’s why I came.”

 

Can you stay with me forever?

 

“Yes, yes I can.” Mark looked around and tiny iridescent forms of light began to appear, growing slowly bigger and bigger, starting to take shape.

 

Other voices came to him, slowly starting to make their way into his mind, ripping away from the cacophony of all the lost souls.

 

Mark, is that you dear? So wonderful to see you.

 

“Grandma?”

 

A rough, guttural sound came next. Snoring sneezing, grunting, and a small little yip, heavy breathing of a dog with respiratory issues.

 

“Eddie!”

 

Daddy, come with us.

 

“Yes, I will, of course.”

 

The shapes of light began to form more, become more human. He clearly recognized the shape of Mattie beginning to form. Dozens of shapes began to appear, the tiny Eddie, the features of his grandmother’s face began to take on definition and meaning. All those he lost over the years.

 

Please Mark, not yet. Wait a little longer. There is something else you have to do. The newest voice was sweet and seductive, but still dark and lifeless. There was empathy there and sorrow, but no life.

 

“Who...”

 

Not yet, but soon. Soon you can be my Doctor Jones.