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I looked up at him, nodded, and then squeezed his hand as an affirmation.
“Ready,” I whispered.
As if sensing that it was time, the iron gates swung open easily without an eerie screech or a rusty hinge. It was silent, but it was not welcoming. Gabe squeezed my hand once more for reassurance, and then, together, we walked through the gates, leaving the river and the desolate landscape behind us.
Together, we walked into Hell.
10
MARNIE
I’d never made enough money to travel, but I watched a lot of TV shows and movies, and I lived vicariously through those and books. Specifically, Anne Rice had gotten me through high school, and I’d also had a brief love affair with True Blood. All of this is just to say that as soon as I stepped into the city center, I recognized New Orleans immediately. There was such a specific look and atmosphere to everything, and the world surged with sounds and colors. When I thought about it, the Big Easy seemed like the perfect representation of gluttony. It was a feast for the senses, a Mardi Gras parade gone wild at every turn.
The buildings were tall and crowded the street in a variety of styles that I recognized from the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. Ornate wrought-iron balconies dripped with beads and fabrics. Old-fashioned gaslights and a variety of neons lit up the entire place. The buildings were painted in vibrant hues, from a deep purple to pastel pinks, blues, and yellows. I kept close to Gabe as we walked by vendors and clusters of street performers. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet, sugary beignets emanated from several cafés. I smelled floral notes from bouquets and flower stalls, which contrasted with the riper smells of spilled alcohol and spicy Cajun food.
“This place is…” I said, not sure of how to describe the assault of color, sound, and smell. Jazz music crescendoed from somewhere, and the scream of a trumpet nearly drowned out my voice entirely.
Gabe pulled me between two buildings, giving us a brief reprieve from the bustling street. It was thankfully a little quieter, muffled between the two brick walls.
“This place is a lot,” he said. “It seems like a never-ending party, but look closer. Look at the street performers, what’s sold in the stalls… it’s not a dream, Marnie.” He looked at me sharply. “And it’s not a shared delusion. You’re in Hell. Everything you see, everything you touch… it’s not meant to help you in any way.”
I ducked my head out of the alley, and Gabe gently grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back in a little.
“Careful, you’ve already gotten a few looks,” he warned. “Look, but be discreet.”
A little less obvious this time, and still mostly in the shadow of the alley, I turned my focus to the showgirls and exotic dancers who were dancing in front of a building lit up by red and hot-pink neons. They were enchanting at first, and the way they writhed and rolled their hips was distracting for me, and I wasn’t even attracted to women. Their costumes were more than a little revealing, made of barely-there feathers and wisps of flame or smoke. Their bodies were perfect, their hair was long and flowing… but then I looked closer. One dancer had chicken feet, and another dancer had scales. One dancer even had the strange, odd feet of an elephant, complete with curved toenails like plates on the front of her feet. All of them had glowing red eyes. I’d just been too distracted by their beauty at first, or at least how perfect they seemed.
I turned my attention to the crowd itself. When I’d walked through, I’d thought they were all enjoying the never-ending party, but now it seemed less charming. The excess and the debauchery looked painful. People doused their faces in what seemed like never-ending goblets of wine. Their garments were stained red like blood. The street was lined with more bars than I could count, and even though I heard some raucous laughter and the clink of glasses, I also heard crying and the sounds of vomiting. Nearby, more street performers cackled gleefully as they pickpocketed and watched the people drink more than they ever wanted to. A contortionist in a ratty Harlequin costume was particularly unsettling as it scuttled through the crowd. A fire breather danced sensuously, then belched flame on a whiskey-soaked man. He fell to the street in a blaze, and she laughed deeply.
“It’s…” I whispered. “It’s… this is Hell.”
“Endless consumption,” Gabe said from behind me. “Gluttonous souls are compelled to devour food and drink in ceaseless quantities. Their hunger and their thirst are never quenched.”
He pointed to a man farther down the street who was sitting in the middle of the road. He was the largest person I’d ever seen, engorged and contorted to nightmarish proportions. “Sometimes, their bodies are distorted, bloated, and in pain beyond all earthly measure. Sometimes, they are meant to only look at the food and drink but never actually consume it, like just being close to it is punishment enough.”
“Over there,” he said, pointing toward a large wooden vat almost like a wine tub. It had a cover over it. “Inside there, someone might be drowning in wine or chocolate, whatever their poison was. The worst are those who are doomed to feed upon themselves. Someone told me once it was meant to be ‘a grotesque cycle of self-indulgence and self-destruction.’”
“Don’t point that out,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see that.”
My eyes swept over the market stalls and street vendors, finding more evidence of what Gabe was saying. Even though I smelled the savory meats, it sort of made my stomach turn. The stalls were piled high with chocolate truffles, baked goods, kebabs, cuts of meat, fried fish po’ boys—but all of it was sickening. The greedy patrons nearby snuffled and snorted as they gorged themselves, their eyes dead and devoid of any control.
“We have to go farther,” Gabe said. “I’m sorry.”
I felt like all the life and energy had been sucked entirely from me. I vacillated between anger, sadness, and absolutely giving up. The demons by the gate had clued me in that something wasn’t right, but the level of depravity I was currently witnessing only meant I must have been in Hell. The reality of it was almost too much to bear. I should have been screaming or crying, but the fact of the matter was… I just couldn’t. I felt like shutting down.
“I have to go home,” I said, my voice breaking a little. “I don’t… I have to go home!” The second time, I was louder, and Gabe’s eyes widened with a touch of panic.
“I promise I’ll get you home,” he hissed. “We have to go maybe another block. But you have to be discreet. We need to get through this city center to the next gate.”
Suddenly, he flicked open his switchblade with a nice, juicy snick. I blinked, not comprehending the mean-looking blade for a moment. Was he threatening me? Then, without warning, Gabe grabbed the bottom of my too-large shirt and sawed off the bottom of it roughly. I nearly fell on my face as he tugged me forward and cut, hacking away almost up to the middle of my rib cage. My skin broke out into goosebumps as soon as the air hit my bare skin.
“What are you doing?” I said, my ire rising and my blood boiling as he rudely fussed with me. I felt like a little kid being poked and prodded by a disapproving adult, though the sudden emotion also felt good. I felt human again. “Get… get your hands off of me.”
“Lower your voice,” he hissed. Normally, if a man told me to keep quiet, I’d be more of a bother, but fear lapped at the edges of my anger. Again, it was better than the numbness that had almost taken hold of me only moments ago, so I welcomed the emotion.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But what are you doing?”
Gentler now, he draped the fabric over my head like a cloak, then tucked my hair gently behind my ears. I felt a bit like the Virgin Mary, which was fucked up on so many levels considering I was neither a virgin, a Mary, or in any kind of heavenly position. But the veil he’d made begged the comparison.
