Welcome to the Borderlands
- Chapter 27 -
We'll Hide Out in the Upper Level of Hell
It was after midnight when Larry and I rode into the parking lot of Spanky’s Café a.k.a. Kate’s Café a.k.a. a crossover point to and from the Borderlands to parts unknown. Surrounding the café were all kinds of vehicles. Parked to the right of an ‘Old School’ chopper was a Yamaha R-1, to its left a Suzuki GXS-R 1000. Behind a classic 32 Ford Deuce coupe was a Ferrari.
“We must’ve arrived at an after hours Happy Hour,” said Larry as we pulled in next to a familiar looking 40 Ford sedan decorated with blue and white flames.
“The Yamaha Raider parked behind it could be the bike Hilts and Kate got out of Middleton on,” I said. “Kate’s partial to the Yamaha Raider and Hilts is partial to Kate so I wouldn’t be surprised if he conjured one.”
“I’ve a strong feeling it’s their bike,” replied Larry.
“And yet I didn’t see them pass us on the road…but we’ve been surprised by Hilts before.”
Hilts’ ability to surprise was a given, almost an expectation. An enigmatic figure to say the least, Hilts was in many ways more of a mystery than Ma n’ Pa. Always to our rescue Hilts, actually a combination of two characters, would often appear when we needed him most. Charon as well as Ma n’ Pa had delivered us from some dangerous situations but Hilts’ interventions in our adventures were timed as if he were somehow watching over us like a guardian angel…amend that to guardian. Hilts was no angel.
I looked again at the 40 Ford, “You’re right, it is Charon’s car and yet how can he leave the River Styx?”
“If he’s here he’s inside having a beer,” Larry laughed. “With his size make that a pitcher of beer. Maybe he’ll tell us his secret for leaving sight of the river?”
Charon was, if nothing, creative. Maybe he’d really found a way to leave the Styx and hang out at Spanky’s? Speaking of Spanky’s, it was standing room only. Kate, Hilts and Charon (so much for Charon finding a way) had cornered a corner table and were motioning for us to join them. No one was asking to borrow the two empty chairs Charon was saving for us.
“We must’ve arrived at an after hours Happy Hour,” said Larry as we pulled in next to a familiar looking 40 Ford sedan decorated with blue and white flames.
“The Yamaha Raider parked behind it could be the bike Hilts and Kate got out of Middleton on,” I said. “Kate’s partial to the Yamaha Raider and Hilts is partial to Kate so I wouldn’t be surprised if he conjured one.”
“I’ve a strong feeling it’s their bike,” replied Larry.
“And yet I didn’t see them pass us on the road…but we’ve been surprised by Hilts before.”
Hilts’ ability to surprise was a given, almost an expectation. An enigmatic figure to say the least, Hilts was in many ways more of a mystery than Ma n’ Pa. Always to our rescue Hilts, actually a combination of two characters, would often appear when we needed him most. Charon as well as Ma n’ Pa had delivered us from some dangerous situations but Hilts’ interventions in our adventures were timed as if he were somehow watching over us like a guardian angel…amend that to guardian. Hilts was no angel.
I looked again at the 40 Ford, “You’re right, it is Charon’s car and yet how can he leave the River Styx?”
“If he’s here he’s inside having a beer,” Larry laughed. “With his size make that a pitcher of beer. Maybe he’ll tell us his secret for leaving sight of the river?”
Charon was, if nothing, creative. Maybe he’d really found a way to leave the Styx and hang out at Spanky’s? Speaking of Spanky’s, it was standing room only. Kate, Hilts and Charon (so much for Charon finding a way) had cornered a corner table and were motioning for us to join them. No one was asking to borrow the two empty chairs Charon was saving for us.
Larry and I parked next to Charon’s familiar blue and white flame painted 40 Ford.
“How are you able to stay away,” I asked at the same time Charon stood up and gave me a big hug, “from the River Styx?”
“While you’re thinking of an answer,” said Larry turning to look at Hilts and Kate, “how did you two characters get here ahead of us?”
“Our route on the Raider wasn’t as roundabout as yours,” said Hilts. “Sit down and we’ll answer all your questions.”
Charon was sipping from a tube from a water pack the same size as a hot water bottle. I’d seen the same pack used by bicyclists. He’d follow sips of water with swigs of beer.
“I’ve more packs of Styx water in my car but a couple of packs is usually all I need to chase a couple of beers,” said Charon holding up a pitcher which I assumed translated into one of his couple of beers. His huge hand wrapped around the pitcher’s handle proportionately the same way my hand fit around my mug.
We’re being hunted,” said Larry.
“Who,” ask Charon at the same time looking at the door Larry and I had entered, “would want to hunt you?”
“I think they’re from outside the Borderlands.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because we checked their identification and their…”
“And,” interrupted Kate, “their what?”
“And their dental work,” I answered feeling a bit nauseous.
Larry went on to tell what had happened to us from when we left the town of Middleton to when we were shot at by the man in the truck to when we were attacked by the three men in the car. He left out none of the gruesome details.
“They’re somehow,” I added, “able to track us…maybe something on our bikes, maybe something on our clothing…somehow they’re able to track us.”
“If that’s the case then you two need to drop off the grid for awhile. You two need to literally go underground until I can take care of the problem,” said Hilts.
“I had to ask, “What do you mean by literally?”
“Charon will explain. He’s the only one that can get you safely there and back.”
“Get to where…where’s there?”
“If ‘there’ is where I think ‘there’ is and literally means what I think it means;” said Larry, “and I hope I’m wrong…you don’t want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Their ‘there’ is the upper level of Hell;” Larry answered, “Charon and Hilts are thinking no one will follow us.”
Fourteenth century Italian writer Dante Alighieri visited Hell and survived to write the book INFERNO. The upper level was for Virtuous Pagans and was said to have villas and rolling hills.
“Don’t look so glum,” said Charon. “You’ll think you’re riding through Silicon Valley or Beverly Hills California.”
“Not,” I had to ask, “the slums?”
“On the contrary the upper level of Hell looks more like the upscale suburbs of the upper class,” continued Charon. “Virtually all Virtuous Pagans come from the upper class. They’ve done whatever it takes to get whatever they want; they’ve no regrets and since they believe only in themselves they’ve no need for faith. Conversely faith is an integral part of a poor man’s life, it’s the glue that holds them together; it’s what gives them hope. Hey, don’t worry, I’ll be with you. Except for one errand I have to do alone we’ll be hanging out and taking in the sights.”
“What’s,” I had to ask, “the errand?”
“I need to visit the River Styx and refill my water bottles. You’ll be in the upper level for just a short while and you’ll be watched over by a very close friend of mine. Relax.”
“Relax…you’ve got to be kidding? Isn’t the upper level,” I had to ask the obvious, “connected to the lower levels of Hell?”
“So what you’re saying,” said Larry, “is we’re getting off the grid by going underground…literally down into Hell?”
“Just to the upper level of Hell,” Charon amended, “and only until Hilts can take care of the folks that are hunting you. I’ll be with you ninety percent of the time.”
Speaking of Hilts, while we were talking he’d excused himself, gone outside and had just come back to our table carrying our giant sunglasses, more beer and wearing a smile.
“I think I know,” said Hilts, “how they’re tracking you. They’ve found a way to detect the wake, the residual trail, your giant green sunglasses leave and are using it to follow the same route you’re following.”
“Which will lead them,” I said, “directly to this café.”
“Bring ‘em on,” Charon said, turning again to face the room. “A straight up fight would end this quick. I’ve never liked having to look over my shoulder.”
Hilts didn’t respond but instead placed both of the giant green sunglasses on our table, “So the question is: how are they able to track you guys?”
Charon picked up the glasses with one hand, then looking from one to another, “These glasses are giving off some type of vibe, call it energy, which means they’re leaving some sort of trail. If I’m tracking something in the Styx I’m able to sense the disturbance in the water from its passage and follow it.”
“Which means,” added Hilts, “these sunglasses are leaving an echo, a wake…whatever. The folks hunting you are able to track it; which means we’ll keep both pair for bait…one inside the building out back and another outside of it on one of your bikes.”
“Which means,” I said looking around the room, “they’ve most likely already tracked us here and are inside Spanky’s Café.”
“Most likely…but they won’t attack,” said Hilts, “until they’ve gotten a larger force, which gives Charon time to get you underground and for me to set up the ambush. You’ll need to leave one of your bikes around back as bait.”
I’d grown to like the little Yamaha XSR 900, “Let’s flip to see which one of us gives up their bike.”
Kate flipped a coin and I lost of course.
“We need it parked outside the building in the back if we’re going to convince the folks hunting you that you’re inside.”
“While you’re thinking of an answer,” said Larry turning to look at Hilts and Kate, “how did you two characters get here ahead of us?”
“Our route on the Raider wasn’t as roundabout as yours,” said Hilts. “Sit down and we’ll answer all your questions.”
Charon was sipping from a tube from a water pack the same size as a hot water bottle. I’d seen the same pack used by bicyclists. He’d follow sips of water with swigs of beer.
“I’ve more packs of Styx water in my car but a couple of packs is usually all I need to chase a couple of beers,” said Charon holding up a pitcher which I assumed translated into one of his couple of beers. His huge hand wrapped around the pitcher’s handle proportionately the same way my hand fit around my mug.
We’re being hunted,” said Larry.
“Who,” ask Charon at the same time looking at the door Larry and I had entered, “would want to hunt you?”
“I think they’re from outside the Borderlands.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because we checked their identification and their…”
“And,” interrupted Kate, “their what?”
“And their dental work,” I answered feeling a bit nauseous.
Larry went on to tell what had happened to us from when we left the town of Middleton to when we were shot at by the man in the truck to when we were attacked by the three men in the car. He left out none of the gruesome details.
“They’re somehow,” I added, “able to track us…maybe something on our bikes, maybe something on our clothing…somehow they’re able to track us.”
“If that’s the case then you two need to drop off the grid for awhile. You two need to literally go underground until I can take care of the problem,” said Hilts.
“I had to ask, “What do you mean by literally?”
“Charon will explain. He’s the only one that can get you safely there and back.”
“Get to where…where’s there?”
“If ‘there’ is where I think ‘there’ is and literally means what I think it means;” said Larry, “and I hope I’m wrong…you don’t want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Their ‘there’ is the upper level of Hell;” Larry answered, “Charon and Hilts are thinking no one will follow us.”
Fourteenth century Italian writer Dante Alighieri visited Hell and survived to write the book INFERNO. The upper level was for Virtuous Pagans and was said to have villas and rolling hills.
“Don’t look so glum,” said Charon. “You’ll think you’re riding through Silicon Valley or Beverly Hills California.”
“Not,” I had to ask, “the slums?”
“On the contrary the upper level of Hell looks more like the upscale suburbs of the upper class,” continued Charon. “Virtually all Virtuous Pagans come from the upper class. They’ve done whatever it takes to get whatever they want; they’ve no regrets and since they believe only in themselves they’ve no need for faith. Conversely faith is an integral part of a poor man’s life, it’s the glue that holds them together; it’s what gives them hope. Hey, don’t worry, I’ll be with you. Except for one errand I have to do alone we’ll be hanging out and taking in the sights.”
“What’s,” I had to ask, “the errand?”
“I need to visit the River Styx and refill my water bottles. You’ll be in the upper level for just a short while and you’ll be watched over by a very close friend of mine. Relax.”
“Relax…you’ve got to be kidding? Isn’t the upper level,” I had to ask the obvious, “connected to the lower levels of Hell?”
“So what you’re saying,” said Larry, “is we’re getting off the grid by going underground…literally down into Hell?”
“Just to the upper level of Hell,” Charon amended, “and only until Hilts can take care of the folks that are hunting you. I’ll be with you ninety percent of the time.”
Speaking of Hilts, while we were talking he’d excused himself, gone outside and had just come back to our table carrying our giant sunglasses, more beer and wearing a smile.
“I think I know,” said Hilts, “how they’re tracking you. They’ve found a way to detect the wake, the residual trail, your giant green sunglasses leave and are using it to follow the same route you’re following.”
“Which will lead them,” I said, “directly to this café.”
“Bring ‘em on,” Charon said, turning again to face the room. “A straight up fight would end this quick. I’ve never liked having to look over my shoulder.”
Hilts didn’t respond but instead placed both of the giant green sunglasses on our table, “So the question is: how are they able to track you guys?”
Charon picked up the glasses with one hand, then looking from one to another, “These glasses are giving off some type of vibe, call it energy, which means they’re leaving some sort of trail. If I’m tracking something in the Styx I’m able to sense the disturbance in the water from its passage and follow it.”
“Which means,” added Hilts, “these sunglasses are leaving an echo, a wake…whatever. The folks hunting you are able to track it; which means we’ll keep both pair for bait…one inside the building out back and another outside of it on one of your bikes.”
“Which means,” I said looking around the room, “they’ve most likely already tracked us here and are inside Spanky’s Café.”
“Most likely…but they won’t attack,” said Hilts, “until they’ve gotten a larger force, which gives Charon time to get you underground and for me to set up the ambush. You’ll need to leave one of your bikes around back as bait.”
I’d grown to like the little Yamaha XSR 900, “Let’s flip to see which one of us gives up their bike.”
Kate flipped a coin and I lost of course.
“We need it parked outside the building in the back if we’re going to convince the folks hunting you that you’re inside.”
I’d lost the coin toss and must trade the Yamaha XSR 900 with its giant green sunglasses for the Yamaha Raider
“So what,” asked Larry looking both relieved he’d been able to keep the Vegas 8-Ball and at me, “is he going to ride into Hell?”
“He’ll take,” answered Hilts making a point to also look at me, “the Yamaha Raider I conjured for Kate and me to get here from Middleton.”
I’d always liked the Yamaha Raider. Tons of torque, relatively high top speed for a cruiser, better than average cornering ability for a six foot wheelbase; it was the perfect bike. I’d gone from apples to oranges. If the small but quick Yamaha XSR 900 was an apple then the Yamaha Raider was a large, make that a giant orange. What I’d really miss were the pair of directional finding green sunglasses Hilts was keeping.
“While I was outside,” said Hilts, “I moved the Raider and the Vegas 8-Ball around to the far side of the building in back. They’re parked near the backdoor and out of sight. Charon will leave now and meet you there. Larry will go with him.”
“So much for the fair coin toss,” I mumbled to myself.
Charon got up from his chair, glowered again at the Spanky’s Café crowd then walked out the front door.
“I need you in five minutes,” continued Hilts pointing directly at me, “to casually walk out to where the XSR 900 is parked, get on it and ride it around back and park it front of the building’s front door…remember to do everything casually.”
Casually getting up five minutes later then walking out of Spanky’s Café felt like every eye was upon me. Casually riding the XSR 900 around back then parking it in front of the building where Hilts was to set the ambush confirmed that at least five people in the room did have eyes on me. Five were following. Casually entering the front door of the building left me with no more casualness. I ran directly to its backdoor. It was already open. Charon and Larry, Larry was already on the Vegas 8-Ball, were waiting just outside motioning for me to hurry.
Charon said, “Are we ready?” then walked over to where a storm cellar door on the side of a small hill was closed and lifted it open as effortlessly as if the door had been made of cardboard.
“He’ll take,” answered Hilts making a point to also look at me, “the Yamaha Raider I conjured for Kate and me to get here from Middleton.”
I’d always liked the Yamaha Raider. Tons of torque, relatively high top speed for a cruiser, better than average cornering ability for a six foot wheelbase; it was the perfect bike. I’d gone from apples to oranges. If the small but quick Yamaha XSR 900 was an apple then the Yamaha Raider was a large, make that a giant orange. What I’d really miss were the pair of directional finding green sunglasses Hilts was keeping.
“While I was outside,” said Hilts, “I moved the Raider and the Vegas 8-Ball around to the far side of the building in back. They’re parked near the backdoor and out of sight. Charon will leave now and meet you there. Larry will go with him.”
“So much for the fair coin toss,” I mumbled to myself.
Charon got up from his chair, glowered again at the Spanky’s Café crowd then walked out the front door.
“I need you in five minutes,” continued Hilts pointing directly at me, “to casually walk out to where the XSR 900 is parked, get on it and ride it around back and park it front of the building’s front door…remember to do everything casually.”
Casually getting up five minutes later then walking out of Spanky’s Café felt like every eye was upon me. Casually riding the XSR 900 around back then parking it in front of the building where Hilts was to set the ambush confirmed that at least five people in the room did have eyes on me. Five were following. Casually entering the front door of the building left me with no more casualness. I ran directly to its backdoor. It was already open. Charon and Larry, Larry was already on the Vegas 8-Ball, were waiting just outside motioning for me to hurry.
Charon said, “Are we ready?” then walked over to where a storm cellar door on the side of a small hill was closed and lifted it open as effortlessly as if the door had been made of cardboard.
I’d gone from apples to oranges. If the small but very quick Yamaha XSR 900 was an apple then the tons of torque Yamaha Raider was a large, make that a very large orange
Follow the ramp down,” Charon instructed, “I’ll close the door once we’re all inside.”
Larry and I did as we were told and rode our bikes down the ramp and onto the beginning of a narrow road. Charon followed closing the storm cellar door behind us.
There was no lighting but we could see as clearly as if we were in full moonlight. An eerie pinkish blue luminescence lighted the tunnel leading downward. It reminded me of the descent scene in the movie JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH when actors Arlene Dahl and Pat Boone were told by lead actor James Mason they didn’t have to use their carbon lamps any longer. Could author Jules Verne have had a similar experience?
“Won’t the people hunting us,” I had to ask the obvious, “discover the cellar door and follow us?
Charon had taken the lead after finding a rusty but quite sturdy balloon tire bicycle parked along the tunnel wall when he shouted back, “The storm cellar door is already blending into the hillside as we speak. I’d be surprised if they could find it let alone open it. Worry more about keeping up with me. We’ve a ways to go before we reach the Ninth Level and with all these tunnels it’s easy to get lost.”
Our descent was fast for being such a narrow road and I found myself paying attention to keeping Charon in sight. We were navigating a labyrinth of tunnels. Charon knew which ones to follow and I gave up trying to remember our route after the first ten minutes. Ten minutes after the first ten minutes Charon abruptly stopped. We were where four tunnels intersected. One was blocked with rubble from a recent collapse.
“That’s the one,” said Charon pointing at the tunnel with its entrance blocked, “we should take. We’re not lost but let’s take a break while I get my bearings.”
There’s a scene near the end of Tolkien’s book FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING when Gandalf the Wizard, after leading the Fellowship down into the Mines of Moria, stops to get his bearings. Our situation reminded me of it.
Thinking we’d probably not get a chance to eat or drink anything anytime soon I began rummaging through my backpack. In a few seconds I found what I was looking for.
“Kate, God bless her,” I said in somewhat of a loud voice, “packed some of her sandwiches and coffee into my backpack for us to eat. Who wants roast beef?”
There followed an immediate rolling rumbling and shaking. It felt as if the tunnel was gagging…almost trying to vomit us out of itself.
Charon ran to where I was standing, “You must NEVER say the ‘G’ word in Hell…even in the upper level.”
“Oops,” I said in my best oops voice and at the same time handing Charon a roast beef sandwich.
There followed a much smaller rumble.
“Or think of the ‘G’ word,” He added.
“Hey, it’s water under the bridge,” Charon laughed. “You didn’t know and thanks for the sandwich. Speaking of water I see you also have some of Kate’s special coffee…I could use a cup.”
Before I could think of a reason not to give Charon a cup of Kate’s coffee I’d given him a cup. He swallowed it in two gulps…one gulp for each half of his roast beef sandwich.
Kate’s coffee had a history of doing damage to things or persons of evil. Charon was technically a demon and yet there he was munching down Kate’s sandwich and drinking Kate’s coffee.
Larry finally got up the courage to ask, “How do you feel?”
“If you’re asking,” Charon answered, “why Kate’s coffee doesn’t harm me…I don’t know. I have a theory about it having to do something with my redemption…but it’s just a theory?”
“Hey, I’m just glad everything’s ok,” I had to express my genuine relief Charon was unharmed.
“The even better news is,” Charon was pointing at the tunnel on the far left, “I now know which of the tunnels will take us on down to the Ninth Level.”
Climbing aboard the Raider to follow Larry who was following Charon I wondered if it really was better news.
Ten minutes later we exited the tunnel behind a small knoll. Glancing back to where we had exited the tunnel the road now seemed to be just a sharp turn near the knoll. And considering we were supposed to be underground just a heavy overcast could be seen overhead…which begged the question: was Hell really underground or the ‘Muther’ of all Borderlands? Charon led us onto a wider road that led to a small town that soon led to an outdoor café on a street with cars parked near the curb. There was an open space in front.
“Guess which car’s mine,” Charon said at the same time he parked his bicycle and walked over to a Hot Rod Model T Roadster with a supercharged engine.
Expensive upscale hillside homes surrounded the small town which could’ve passed for any of the small Silicon Valley towns south of San Francisco. The people seemed unaware of us; just a dismissive response followed by indifference. Charon because of his size garnered a bit more of a stare. It posed no problem for me that Larry and I were being dismissed as if we were background noise. It would make it easier for us to hide in plain sight.
“Can you two,” asked Charon at the same time he was squeezing into the (I’d guessed correctly) Model T Roadster with a supercharged engine, “stay out of trouble for awhile? Time passes differently in Hell so when I return I’ll have heard from Hilts.”
“What if they,” I asked pointing to the people around us, “ask questions?”
“They won’t. Ninth Level Virtuous Pagans are too self absorbed to be curious about you. Most don’t even know or have accepted the fact they’re in Hell. Some know but don’t care as long as the bottom line stays in their favor. Hey, lighten up; my close friend owns the café and knows you’re with me.”
Any other questions I had to ask Charon would have to wait. He’d with one motion started his car and headed down the street; the operative word being ‘down’ as in toward the lower levels.
“He’ll be awhile,” said a voice from behind us that sounded like a more mature version of Kate’s voice.
Larry and I did as we were told and rode our bikes down the ramp and onto the beginning of a narrow road. Charon followed closing the storm cellar door behind us.
There was no lighting but we could see as clearly as if we were in full moonlight. An eerie pinkish blue luminescence lighted the tunnel leading downward. It reminded me of the descent scene in the movie JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH when actors Arlene Dahl and Pat Boone were told by lead actor James Mason they didn’t have to use their carbon lamps any longer. Could author Jules Verne have had a similar experience?
“Won’t the people hunting us,” I had to ask the obvious, “discover the cellar door and follow us?
Charon had taken the lead after finding a rusty but quite sturdy balloon tire bicycle parked along the tunnel wall when he shouted back, “The storm cellar door is already blending into the hillside as we speak. I’d be surprised if they could find it let alone open it. Worry more about keeping up with me. We’ve a ways to go before we reach the Ninth Level and with all these tunnels it’s easy to get lost.”
Our descent was fast for being such a narrow road and I found myself paying attention to keeping Charon in sight. We were navigating a labyrinth of tunnels. Charon knew which ones to follow and I gave up trying to remember our route after the first ten minutes. Ten minutes after the first ten minutes Charon abruptly stopped. We were where four tunnels intersected. One was blocked with rubble from a recent collapse.
“That’s the one,” said Charon pointing at the tunnel with its entrance blocked, “we should take. We’re not lost but let’s take a break while I get my bearings.”
There’s a scene near the end of Tolkien’s book FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING when Gandalf the Wizard, after leading the Fellowship down into the Mines of Moria, stops to get his bearings. Our situation reminded me of it.
Thinking we’d probably not get a chance to eat or drink anything anytime soon I began rummaging through my backpack. In a few seconds I found what I was looking for.
“Kate, God bless her,” I said in somewhat of a loud voice, “packed some of her sandwiches and coffee into my backpack for us to eat. Who wants roast beef?”
There followed an immediate rolling rumbling and shaking. It felt as if the tunnel was gagging…almost trying to vomit us out of itself.
Charon ran to where I was standing, “You must NEVER say the ‘G’ word in Hell…even in the upper level.”
“Oops,” I said in my best oops voice and at the same time handing Charon a roast beef sandwich.
There followed a much smaller rumble.
“Or think of the ‘G’ word,” He added.
“Hey, it’s water under the bridge,” Charon laughed. “You didn’t know and thanks for the sandwich. Speaking of water I see you also have some of Kate’s special coffee…I could use a cup.”
Before I could think of a reason not to give Charon a cup of Kate’s coffee I’d given him a cup. He swallowed it in two gulps…one gulp for each half of his roast beef sandwich.
Kate’s coffee had a history of doing damage to things or persons of evil. Charon was technically a demon and yet there he was munching down Kate’s sandwich and drinking Kate’s coffee.
Larry finally got up the courage to ask, “How do you feel?”
“If you’re asking,” Charon answered, “why Kate’s coffee doesn’t harm me…I don’t know. I have a theory about it having to do something with my redemption…but it’s just a theory?”
“Hey, I’m just glad everything’s ok,” I had to express my genuine relief Charon was unharmed.
“The even better news is,” Charon was pointing at the tunnel on the far left, “I now know which of the tunnels will take us on down to the Ninth Level.”
Climbing aboard the Raider to follow Larry who was following Charon I wondered if it really was better news.
Ten minutes later we exited the tunnel behind a small knoll. Glancing back to where we had exited the tunnel the road now seemed to be just a sharp turn near the knoll. And considering we were supposed to be underground just a heavy overcast could be seen overhead…which begged the question: was Hell really underground or the ‘Muther’ of all Borderlands? Charon led us onto a wider road that led to a small town that soon led to an outdoor café on a street with cars parked near the curb. There was an open space in front.
“Guess which car’s mine,” Charon said at the same time he parked his bicycle and walked over to a Hot Rod Model T Roadster with a supercharged engine.
Expensive upscale hillside homes surrounded the small town which could’ve passed for any of the small Silicon Valley towns south of San Francisco. The people seemed unaware of us; just a dismissive response followed by indifference. Charon because of his size garnered a bit more of a stare. It posed no problem for me that Larry and I were being dismissed as if we were background noise. It would make it easier for us to hide in plain sight.
“Can you two,” asked Charon at the same time he was squeezing into the (I’d guessed correctly) Model T Roadster with a supercharged engine, “stay out of trouble for awhile? Time passes differently in Hell so when I return I’ll have heard from Hilts.”
“What if they,” I asked pointing to the people around us, “ask questions?”
“They won’t. Ninth Level Virtuous Pagans are too self absorbed to be curious about you. Most don’t even know or have accepted the fact they’re in Hell. Some know but don’t care as long as the bottom line stays in their favor. Hey, lighten up; my close friend owns the café and knows you’re with me.”
Any other questions I had to ask Charon would have to wait. He’d with one motion started his car and headed down the street; the operative word being ‘down’ as in toward the lower levels.
“He’ll be awhile,” said a voice from behind us that sounded like a more mature version of Kate’s voice.
“Can you two,” asked Charon at the same time he was squeezing into a Model T Roadster with a supercharged engine, “stay out of trouble for awhile?”
The café was a more Victorian version of Spanky’s Café with more outdoor tables. Speaking of which, our hostess was an older taller raven hair version of Kate. Replicas so perfect they looked real of Greek artifacts were scattered throughout the café’s courtyard. There was even one of some Minoan tile work depicting a younger bare breasted version of our hostess doing a handspring over the back of a larger than life charging bull.
“I’m Medea, your hostess, the owner. All is on the house and if you’re wondering,” Medea laughed noticing I kept glancing from her to the topless bull jumper “if everything in my café is real…the answer is yes…no replicas, no enhancements.”
Medea was easily six feet in height and beautiful and she was motioning for us to sit at a reserved table where she had set out two glasses and a pitcher of ice tea.
Larry and I sat down. My first sip of tea made me feel as if I had taken a hundred pounds off my back. My second sip left me wondering why I’d ever chosen to carry a hundred pounds. By my third sip I’d forgotten the hundred pounds.
Men and women in high powered suits ignored us as they flowed around our table. I watched as Medea would glide amongst them taking orders. Larry and I knew if we drank anymore tea we’d forget why we were here. But there was no chance of that…
“Someone you do NOT want to meet,” Medea was suddenly beside us, “has awakened; you’ve got to go! Charon will meet you at the entrance into the Borderlands.”
“We’ll never,” I said, “find our way through the tunnels.”
“Charon said to use the glasses 19th century French lighthouse lens inventor Augustin Fresnel gave you. Charon said the route he’s using will glow in rosy blue neon colors when seen through those glasses. You’ll catch sight of it at the highway ramp at the upper end of town…but you’ve got to go now!”
“What,” said Larry as he jumped aboard the Vegas 8-Ball and started its engine, “will you do when this ‘Someone’ arrives?”
“I’ll stall him,” answered Medea. “I’ve fooled him before maybe I can do it again.”
“I’m Medea, your hostess, the owner. All is on the house and if you’re wondering,” Medea laughed noticing I kept glancing from her to the topless bull jumper “if everything in my café is real…the answer is yes…no replicas, no enhancements.”
Medea was easily six feet in height and beautiful and she was motioning for us to sit at a reserved table where she had set out two glasses and a pitcher of ice tea.
Larry and I sat down. My first sip of tea made me feel as if I had taken a hundred pounds off my back. My second sip left me wondering why I’d ever chosen to carry a hundred pounds. By my third sip I’d forgotten the hundred pounds.
Men and women in high powered suits ignored us as they flowed around our table. I watched as Medea would glide amongst them taking orders. Larry and I knew if we drank anymore tea we’d forget why we were here. But there was no chance of that…
“Someone you do NOT want to meet,” Medea was suddenly beside us, “has awakened; you’ve got to go! Charon will meet you at the entrance into the Borderlands.”
“We’ll never,” I said, “find our way through the tunnels.”
“Charon said to use the glasses 19th century French lighthouse lens inventor Augustin Fresnel gave you. Charon said the route he’s using will glow in rosy blue neon colors when seen through those glasses. You’ll catch sight of it at the highway ramp at the upper end of town…but you’ve got to go now!”
“What,” said Larry as he jumped aboard the Vegas 8-Ball and started its engine, “will you do when this ‘Someone’ arrives?”
“I’ll stall him,” answered Medea. “I’ve fooled him before maybe I can do it again.”
“Climb on the back,” I’d already put on the glasses Augustin Fresnel had given me and that made Charon’s route glow in a rosy blue color.
“Climb on the back,” I’d already put on the glasses Augustin Fresnel had given me and pulled the Raider out into the street. “Why risk it? Charon would not want you sacrificing yourself.”
Medea looked wistfully back at her café then climbed on behind me. There was some type of disturbance at the far end of the street in the opposite direction we needed to go. It was heading towards us.
I took the lead but at a reasonable speed. Larry followed. True to what Medea had told us the on-ramp leading onto the highway glowed; seen through my Fresnel glasses it glowed in neon red and blue. For better or worse we were now following the path Charon had taken. I eased into the slow lane of traffic and didn’t look back.
Medea looked wistfully back at her café then climbed on behind me. There was some type of disturbance at the far end of the street in the opposite direction we needed to go. It was heading towards us.
I took the lead but at a reasonable speed. Larry followed. True to what Medea had told us the on-ramp leading onto the highway glowed; seen through my Fresnel glasses it glowed in neon red and blue. For better or worse we were now following the path Charon had taken. I eased into the slow lane of traffic and didn’t look back.
The highway we were on could’ve been most anywhere in the U.S.A. The cars flowing around us could’ve been driven by most anybody. Our best plan would be to blend in with them. I would pass off-ramps but turn onto the ones that glowed. They in turn would lead to another on-ramp then the process would repeat itself. This went on for nearly a half hour. Suddenly the road continued on but the neon glow ended. Charon was standing beside his Hot Rod Model T Roadster on the side that was clear. I pulled to a stop a few yards before the glow ended.
Larry had gotten off his bike and was helping Medea get off the back of mine when he said, “You can’t cross over can you?”
“No,” Medea looked longingly at Charon, “I can’t.”
Charon ran to Medea. They embraced, “we’ll face him together.”
Him turned out to be a middle-aged man of average height driving a worn out Plymouth sedan. The sedan could’ve passed for any worn out county car seen parked next to any worn out county building. There had been no screeching of tires just a simple slow opening of the driver’s door followed by a stretch and a yawn.
“My, my;” said the middle-age man, “why the dramatic exit?
“This,” said Larry, “is the definitely the ‘someone’ we should NOT have awakened.”
“Medea, if you’re that intent on being with Charon;” continued the middle-age man driving the worn out Plymouth sedan, “I’ll make you a deal. Visit the Borderlands as many times as you want and in return…”
“Charon interrupted, “…and in return for what?”
“Oh that;” laughed the middle-age man, “she must return and stay with me for a short time…sort of like the deal I made with Persephone. Think it over…I’ll give you both a minute.”
“This shit ends now,” said Larry as we both walked over to where Charon and Medea were standing.
“This is none of your concern Brooklyn biker;” said the middle-age man to Larry, “so far you two have been flying under the radar but that can quickly change.”
Larry didn’t reply but when he got to where Charon and Medea were he reached out and gathered all four of us together.
Larry then looked directly at the middle-age man and said, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them…”
“ENOUGH! There’s no need to call upon him… Charon and Medea can visit the Borderlands as long as they want and with no conditions.”
The middle-age man got back in his car. He looked tired, his car looked tired. Even his U-turn to drive back looked tired.
Charon and Medea were still holding hands and had started walking to the Model T Roadster when Charon shouted back, “Spanky’s up the road about two miles. We’ll meet you there.”
When they’d driven out of sight I asked, “Who were you about to call for help? It frightened the guy in the Plymouth into letting Charon and Medea go free and with no conditions.”
“I was about to call for help from the same one that came down here over two thousand years ago and stayed for three days.”
“You called upon him, the one in the ‘G’ word?”
“Yup,” said Larry as he pulled out onto the road, “the same one that tells us in Matthew 18: verse 20 and in the 23rd Psalm to trust in him, not seek vengeance and not be afraid.”
Larry had gotten off his bike and was helping Medea get off the back of mine when he said, “You can’t cross over can you?”
“No,” Medea looked longingly at Charon, “I can’t.”
Charon ran to Medea. They embraced, “we’ll face him together.”
Him turned out to be a middle-aged man of average height driving a worn out Plymouth sedan. The sedan could’ve passed for any worn out county car seen parked next to any worn out county building. There had been no screeching of tires just a simple slow opening of the driver’s door followed by a stretch and a yawn.
“My, my;” said the middle-age man, “why the dramatic exit?
“This,” said Larry, “is the definitely the ‘someone’ we should NOT have awakened.”
“Medea, if you’re that intent on being with Charon;” continued the middle-age man driving the worn out Plymouth sedan, “I’ll make you a deal. Visit the Borderlands as many times as you want and in return…”
“Charon interrupted, “…and in return for what?”
“Oh that;” laughed the middle-age man, “she must return and stay with me for a short time…sort of like the deal I made with Persephone. Think it over…I’ll give you both a minute.”
“This shit ends now,” said Larry as we both walked over to where Charon and Medea were standing.
“This is none of your concern Brooklyn biker;” said the middle-age man to Larry, “so far you two have been flying under the radar but that can quickly change.”
Larry didn’t reply but when he got to where Charon and Medea were he reached out and gathered all four of us together.
Larry then looked directly at the middle-age man and said, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them…”
“ENOUGH! There’s no need to call upon him… Charon and Medea can visit the Borderlands as long as they want and with no conditions.”
The middle-age man got back in his car. He looked tired, his car looked tired. Even his U-turn to drive back looked tired.
Charon and Medea were still holding hands and had started walking to the Model T Roadster when Charon shouted back, “Spanky’s up the road about two miles. We’ll meet you there.”
When they’d driven out of sight I asked, “Who were you about to call for help? It frightened the guy in the Plymouth into letting Charon and Medea go free and with no conditions.”
“I was about to call for help from the same one that came down here over two thousand years ago and stayed for three days.”
“You called upon him, the one in the ‘G’ word?”
“Yup,” said Larry as he pulled out onto the road, “the same one that tells us in Matthew 18: verse 20 and in the 23rd Psalm to trust in him, not seek vengeance and not be afraid.”