Page 37 of Going to Hell
With her head tipped forward, the woman hung limply from the thick bands of metal encircling her raw wrists. Her long, matted hair hid her face and covered a good portion of her bare upper torso from view. Filth coated her from the waist down. That was it. And it was more than enough.
My nose burned at the sewage smell, and I covered it along with my mouth. While blinking away tears, I glanced at the steaming tub of water and multiple rinse buckets in the middle of the room. This truly was Hell. Why else keep someone from bathing when they so desperately needed it?
“Please,” the woman whimpered. “Free me. I’ll pay the price to bathe.”
After trying to help the starving man, I knew the dangers. But I drew closer anyway. I couldn’t simply walk away. Dark flakes of stuff I didn’t want to name clung to her legs. No one should live or die like that. Ever.
She obviously wanted to wash in the steaming tub, but I didn’t think sitting in shit-water would be healthy. So, I picked up a rinse bucket and tossed the contents at her without warning.
She gasped, and her head fell back. This time, I was smart enough to not look up.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Keeping my gaze carefully averted, I watched the brown streams snake down her legs. When it stopped, I exchanged the empty bucket for another full one. Eager for another go, she twisted in the chains so her backside was mostly to me. Pity didn’t begin to describe what I felt for her as I doused her again from the waist down.
I waited a minute for the caked filth to soften before tossing a third bucket of water at her. That one cleaned most of the nastiness away. She leaned her forehead against the wall, in a move reminiscent of what I’d done many times since appearing here, and sighed.
“This relief is worth the price I will pay,” she said softly.
Paying a price seemed to be a common theme here. C’adon mumbled about it constantly. I’d thought it simply crazy talk, but what if there really was some sort of price to pay for receiving kindness. Or worse, showing kindness. I hesitated only a moment before fishing the key out from my cleavage.
She didn’t move from her position when I approached or when I released her first wrist. The second one was a different story, though. As soon as she was free, she ran to the tub. Water spilled over the sides in her rush to get in. She immediately went under and stayed there for a long while. Worried, I crept closer, trying to see her from the edge of my vision.
Water erupted as she suddenly emerged, wiping at her face.
“Clean, clean, clean. I’m filthy and will never be clean again,” she said with a savage note in her voice. She reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed a brush I hadn’t noticed. Then she proceeded to attack her skin with vigor. I couldn’t really blame her. I would have wanted to scrub myself after that, too.
Heck, even without all the gunk stuck to me, I wouldn’t have minded a bath. I’d been running around Hell, sans underwear, and using chamber pots for days. My feet were filthy, and my skin itched with dry sweat.
My gaze shifted to one of the cool water buckets, and I wondered if the woman would notice if I started giving myself a sponge bath. I glanced at her, saw how rabidly she focused on her red and raw arm, and doubted it.
The door banged open, and I flinched ever so slightly at the sound then cursed myself for reacting at all.
“Am I never enough?” C’adon said, storming in. “I offer you everything, and you reject me at each turn. Cruel mistress. Hateful goddess. Why am I never enough?”
If I’d had a voice, I would have made a noise of disbelief then. Why was he acting like this was on me? He’d been the one yelling at me to leave when I’d been on the verge of doing a lot less rejecting.
He strode past me and grabbed the woman’s upper arm, plucking her from the tub with little effort. Without breaking his stride, he pressed her against the wall, holding her there with a hand planted in the middle of her chest while she screeched and flailed in her desperation to get back into the tub.
My heart broke for her.
C’adon locked the first manacle around her wrist, and she sobbed.
“I will pay the price, Father. I care not. Let me feel clean. I beg you.”
Father?My gaze shifted to his dark head of hair, unmarked by any hint of grey.Just how old was he?
Frowning, I turned away from the pair.
From the glimpses I’d managed of his face, he’d seemed a few years older than me, at best. And while I hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, based on what I’d seen of her body, she’d appeared older than he was.
“This isn’t real,” he said softly.
The woman was quiet for a moment before answering in a tone laced with confusion.
“The water felt real. I feel cleaner. Look at my legs, Father. Look.”
Worried she would convince him that I was actually there, I hurried to the door and let myself out. The torchlight danced over the stone as I stood in the hallway and fought the need to run. I’d stupidly done that before, and it hadn’t ended well.
