Voyage to the Ninth Circle

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the Ninth Circle of Hell was the punishment locale of those treacherous individuals who had betrayed benefactors, family members or friends. Dante found Judas there. The Ninth Circle is attended to by Lucifer himself.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Welcome To The Ninth Circle

Chapter 1. As The Twig Is Bent

Chapter 2. By The Company You Keep

Chapter 3. Fun In The Sun

Chapter 4. We’re Here To Help You

Chapter 5. Until Death or Something Else do us Part

Chapter 6. Not In My Wildest Dreams

Chapter 7. So The Tree Grows

Chapter 8. Wondering In The Desert

Chapter 9. We’re Still Here To Help You

Chapter 10. What Does It Profit a Man?

Epilogue

The Voyage To The Ninth Circle: Bon Voyage!

PROLOGUE

WELCOME TO THE NINTH CIRCLE

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Pravus forced himself to blink to keep his eyes open as long as he could, so that his frozen eyelashes wouldn’t seal off his vision. It had been a constant struggle against the unrelenting frozen wind that kept buffeting his head and face. He realized that once his eyes were frozen shut, his chance to open his eyes again would be more than difficult, since his arms were pinned against his sides, immobile in the ice with the rest of his body.

He had come to realize over an immeasurable amount of time just how bad his predicament was. Pravus was able to move his head freely, but the rest of him was stuck. This, he admitted to himself, was a little better than the situation for those miserable creatures in the next lake who couldn’t move their heads at all. But it got even worse. All of the prisoners in both lakes had a direct line of vision to where the next set of transgressors were totally immobilized in the ice. And there were even more unspeakable horrors ahead.

Over what seemed like aeons, he was able to recall, dimly at first, and then more clearly just how he came to such a terrible fate. He had returned home one night after a banquet given in his honor by his friends, or more accurately, his business associates. Pravus had looked around the banquet table as he listened to his colleagues lavish him with praise. He was, to many of them, a benefactor who let them in for a piece of his deals. For a price, of course.

Pravus had learned the ins and outs of trading in his youth from his own benefactor, a master tradesman named Malus. As a young merchant, Pravus relied on short-cuts in his dealings with other merchants and was tagged by them as someone who could not be trusted. Liking how deftly the younger man worked, Malus took him under his tutelage to improve his game. Look and act like the soul of honesty. Then, you can get away with much more. It’s hard to take advantage of people if they don’t trust you. Trust breeds the opening that you need.

Pravus learned his lessons well, even ultimately swindling the master, Malus, in a transaction that left his mentor penniless. Pravus, at his compassionate best, could not stand to see him suffer, so he had him poisoned. But as he continued his glance around the banquet hall, he was warmed by the toasts of his associates and carried the feeling home with him and soon went to bed.

During the night, Pravus had an unsettling dream about a woman whom he had murdered because her continued existence was a threat to his, and also about the psychopath he had hired to do the deed. His nightmare was accompanied by a severe burning somewhere in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He grew panicky, not aware if he was still dreaming or not. Blinding  lights suddenly filled his head. In the back of those lights, Pravus could see a faceless man steering a gondola closer and closer.

He was abruptly dragged from his bed by some people that he couldn’t see and thrown into the gondola. They were foul-smelling and beastly in the way they manhandled him. He could see that they were entering a large cave, and as they moved toward the middle of it, he was ejected from the gondola and pulled by his hair downward into the cavern.

Pravus lost his breath at the ghastly sights and sounds before him as he was led deeper into a pit. The air was suffocating and burned his mouth and nostrils as they slid slowly and clumsily through the filthy shadow-land before them. Ear-splitting screams and howling came to him from all sides, and the blurred sights of people clawing at each other terrified him. As his escorts rushed him through these horror-filled caverns, he was sickened by the depravity all around him. His reality exceeded the most horrible nightmare he could have imagined.

The ghoulish figures who had dragged him through hell suddenly stopped and began to turn their attention to him. One slid his hideous face up against his while the other took his head into his slimy hands. They began to squawk and squeal, anticipating the pleasure of totally enjoying him. The ground shook and out of the corner of his eye, he could see a monstrous, gigantic figure lumbering toward them. The giant pulled his tormentors off and flung them against a distant wall. They screeched at the giant as they moved away as rapidly as they could.

The giant was not a rescuer. He grabbed Pravus by the neck and threw him into a frozen lake. When he floated to the surface, he was able to move only his head just slightly. Icy winds took his breath away. It was then that he saw for the first time the master of this pit of horror, Lucifer himself.

Any images Pravus had of the ugliness, grief and terror of hell paled next to the appearance of the Fallen Angel. His enormous bulk was trapped waist-high in a frozen lake. His three sets of wings sent wave after wave of icy air throughout the area, which rapidly caked Pravus’ eyes, causing him to constantly blink. Lucifer was toying with the remnants of three ravaged bodies all at the same time with his multiple mouths. Pravus was revolted at the sight, but he could not risk closing his eyes for fear of having the ice seal them over. 

How long will this last? When will it end? he screamed into the shadows. Then the hollow laughter was joined by curses from all sides. He glanced quickly at Lucifer again, whose eyes continued in their hateful gaze and whose wings kept flapping, drowning out the groans and shrieks of the frozen in front of him. When will this end? When will this end?

CHAPTER ONE

AS THE TWIG IS BENT

-KIM-

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The mud-splattered school bus pulled over to the side of the narrow road that was known to the locals as Rooster Hollow Road. The bus driver, without taking her vacuous eyes from the windshield, languidly opened the door to discharge a single passenger.

A tall, young blond, carrying a backpack and assorted loose items in her arms, paused at the open door for a moment and then stepped down onto the slush-encrusted mud and cinders of the narrow shoulder, and without looking back, headed down the sloppy gravel driveway toward her mother’s trailer. Kymberleigh Johnson was home from school.

Although the cold, humid, Tennessee air made her shiver slightly, Kim was in no hurry to enter the stale, smoke-filled environs of her mother’s trailer, which stood indistinguishable from dozens of other painted aluminum boxes that lined the back roads of this corner of Appalachia. Discarded pieces of old furniture, broken toys, rusted car parts and cinder blocks dotted what might have passed for a front yard. Skinny black trees cluttered the small lot, offering no beauty and little shelter.

Kim waited a few seconds to gather herself before turning the wobbly metal doorknob. The daily homecoming just added another level of aggravation to her already angry day.

The seventeen-year-old had grown up in a hurry. With the insecurity that her shaky home life had pushed on her, she tended to be wary of others’ promises, and was colored by the type of disappointment that had painted some older women who had become jaded by life’s unfulfilled hopes.

She felt alone, and took it for granted that everyone felt that way. But Kim had taught herself to use her sense of isolation as an opportunity to act independently. Very early on, she knew that she would have to pick her way carefully to get to where she wanted to go. She did not want to wind up like her mother.

Her mother looked like a poster child for disillusionment. More often than not, when Kim had worked her way through the ruts leading to their trailer after school, she would find Wanda Jean curled up on the sagging couch, watching daytime television. Today was no different.

Traces of a prettier youth pushed through the lines on Wanda Jean’s face. Her hair was slightly disheveled and bore witness to futile attempts to find a complimentary color. Tinted glasses did little to hide her world-weary eyes.

Completing the portrait, a lipstick-smudged cigarette, burning in an overloaded ashtray, sat alongside a kitchen tumbler that had been refreshed more than once today with Wanda Jean’s signature drink of bourbon and Dr. Pepper. The television volume was turned so low that Kim wondered how her mother could even hear it. The thick air of the trailer trapped the stale odors of tobacco, bacon grease and coffee grounds.

Is he in the back, Mama?

Who?

Who? The moron, that’s who.

Well, look who’s here. It’s the sweet young thing. A lanky man, not much older than Kim, with a scraggly beard and tousled hair came out of the bathroom, zipping up his dungarees as he approached Kim.

Oh, don’t start on her now, Harland, Wanda Jean said without emotion. She just got in from school.

Yeah, Harland, I don’t need none of your shit.

Hey, Queenie. Who asked you what you need and don’t need? Tell you what I need. Why don’t you make yourself useful and run down to the mini-mart and get me a pack of Marlboros?

And how am I supposed to get there? Walk?

Take the pick-up.

Why don’t you take the pick-up and just keep on going?

Baby, don’t talk to Harland that way. He was just trying to help, is all.

Help? He don’t help nobody but himself, Mama.

"Yeah? And just who do you help, Queenie?’ Harland asked.

Kim grew more agitated with the thought of even having to talk to someone that she despised while her quisling mother sat there apathetically. Why don’t you just kiss my ass, Harland!

Harland smiled, warming to the argument. Well, if I did, I’d have to line up behind the whole goddamn marching band, just to take my turn, Queenie. From what I hear, maybe even the whole football team.

You bastard, Harland. Why don’t you go screw yourself?

I don’t have to, Queenie, long as I got y’all’s mama right here.

As Harland laughed, he turned and walked a few steps to the small kitchen. Kim looked at her mother who continued to sit there complacently on her grimy throne staring at the television. Kim bristled with the realization that, once again, she had let her anger dictate the terms of her verbal sparring with Harland. She made a mental note that the key to getting what she wanted was to stay cool. Getting frazzled would make her vulnerable.

Although Kim didn’t know all the details, she knew that her mother depended on losers like Harland. Wanda Jean hadn’t worked for a while. She’d left her last job as an aide at a nursing home, claiming that she had hurt her back. She talked of going on disability but hadn’t taken the first step to establish her claim. It was easier to let men like Harland hang around and help with the bills as she clung to the walls of her cocoon.

Kim would not let this happen to herself. No way. She had plans, - plans that would take her far away from this dump and the people who inhabited it. The first step in her grand plan was to become the head cheerleader at the large consolidated high school that she attended just outside of Perkinsville.

A secondary motive for attaining the cheerleading post was the unspoken compulsion to block her arch rival, Marilu Snowe, from capturing the post. Both girls were attractive by any standard, but only one could be in charge of the hive, and it was even money on either girl in a fair competition.

But Kymberleigh Johnson was not one to risk her future on fair competition.  Kim realized that she would not be rescued by her fairy godmother and also knew that her handsome prince would not drop in from the sky. These things would need a little help.

Kim’s grades were passable. Somehow, she had to go to college. That would be her ticket out of this life. Maybe she could work and attend the local community college and then go on from there. She would have to plan it all carefully. But first, there was this matter of the head cheerleader position that had to be taken care of. With her eyes now set squarely on the head cheerleading post, it had now become only a matter of tactics.

Kim knew that the final selection would be up to Mrs. Vickie Morris, the wife of Billy Morris, who worked as the guidance counselor for the district high school. Vickie, her skin leathery from too many sessions in a tanning booth, had turned into one of those sad women who could not let go of her past, when she had experienced her glory years as head cheerleader at old Perkinsville High, a school that had been gobbled up in the recent consolidation.

Vickie Morris coordinated not only the cheerleading squad, but organized beauty pageants, talent contests and other similar local attractions. Kim knew that Vickie Morris would be a hard sell. To her, the integrity of cheerleading competition was sacrosanct, and tampering in any way with the crowning of the top cheerer was beyond contemplation.

Billy Morris, however, was another story. Kim reasoned that Billy Morris could, in some manner or other, affect his wife’s choice. What the particular manner might be, Kim would leave up to him. Her job, as she saw it, was to get to Mr. Billy Morris. And she had a plan to move herself closer to her goal.

Kim knew that Morris’ position as guidance counselor gave her the perfect opportunity to visit him privately with no questions asked. This would not be the first time she had gone to Morris for help. When she was only a sophomore, her nemesis, Marilu,  reported her to the principal for having a pint of Jack Daniels in her gym locker. A couple of Marilu’s friends piled on with stories of how they had seen Kim secretly helping herself to a quick drink on campus.

Kim was suspended, but it could have been worse if Morris hadn’t interceded for her. He convinced the principal that Kim was undergoing severe stress brought on by her mother’s health and employment problems. He assured the principal that he would personally see that Kim got the appropriate counseling in alcohol abuse if the principal would let her return to classes after a short suspension. What he didn’t tell the principal was that he would pay for sessions over and above what the school system provided. Kim returned to her classes without further incident.

She had set an appointment for late in the afternoon the very next day. At the designated hour, she showed herself into Morris’ tiny office.

* * * *

Morris’ office was situated in the same hallway as the principal’s and other administrative offices. The office, when the Venetian blinds were open, was visible from the hallway. Stacks of papers and manila folders covered his desk. Behind his chair, oak bookcases were filled with textbooks and publications from colleges, as well as a handful of trophies, plaques and photographs. Motivational posters featuring seascapes, birds and mountaintops adorned his walls. A large carving with his name on it, with For God and Country scrolled beneath his name, reassured visitors that they were in the right place.

Billy Morris had been born with a smile on his face. He had a big, square head topped by neatly combed blond hair, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that seemed to cover half of his large face. He smiled as Kim came in for her appointment and offered her the chair across from him.

Many of the young girls in Morris’ charge were quite grown up and some, like Kim, were very stunning. Her makeup looked like it was freshly applied and she wore a sleeveless sweater over tightly-fitted jeans. Girls had not looked like this back when he was in high school.

Miss Johnson, Miss Kymberleigh Johnson, he said, opening her file. What can I do for you? he asked pleasantly.

Kim just sat silently for a few seconds before she replied. Mr. Morris, I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused. She stared at her hands, folded demurely in her lap.

Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? Maybe I can help.

Oh, Mr. Morris, if only you could. It’s so complicated and so embarrassing. But I know that if anyone can help me, it’s you. Kim started to fidget without removing her gaze from her hands.

I’ll certainly try. If I can’t help, we’ll find someone who can.

Everybody says that you’re the very best person in the school to go to with a problem. Everybody says that you’ll understand.

Kim could tell that her blandishments were hitting their mark. Morris cocked his head to one side and his facial expression conveyed that his sense of self-importance had spiked sharply upward. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? he asked with his most reassuring demeanor.

It’s so embarrassing. My mom has been working hard and saving up for me to go to college. But it’s so hard for her. I don’t know how she can keep up with everything. With that, she stopped, never taking her eyes off of her hands still folded in her lap.

Her life’s dream is for her only daughter to have a better life than she’s had. And she’s worked so hard. With that, Kim started to cry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry to come here like this.

Morris didn’t pay too much attention when Kim got up and rolled the blinds shut. She gambled that Morris would figure that she would feel humiliated to let anybody see her crying in the school counselor’s office. Kim then stood next to his desk and was crying harder. After what seemed like several minutes, Morris got up from his chair slowly and put his hands on her shoulders, as if to comfort her. In a few seconds, Kim was up against him, still sobbing.

She suddenly pulled his right hand onto her breast and kissed him. Morris was stunned, but his sudden stupor did not include resistance. 

Kim could tell that his brain was telling him to unlock himself, reassume the role of counselor and restore the proper relationship with this minor who had come to him for help, but that his body was telling his brain that things like this happen all the time and that it was okay.

Morris was jolted from Kim’s embrace by a knock on the door that seemed to suddenly come out of nowhere. Wait! What? Just a minute! Morris shot back. He gathered himself quickly together, wiped the lipstick from his mouth with his sleeve, and partially opened the door so that Kim could not be seen from the hallway.

Mr. Morris, did I leave my notebook here this morning?

The question was put to the startled counselor by a girl who had been in his office earlier in the day. Kim had set it up to let Morris know that the unexpected visitor could be an additional source of discomfort to him if she had witnessed anything strange in his behavior.

What? Wait, I’ll take a quick look.

As she eased the door open after Morris stepped away, she said, Hi, Kim.

Oh, hi, Patti Sue.

She waited while Morris took a quick, distracted look around his office. No, no, I don’t see it anywhere.

Oh, ok, Mr. Morris. Thanks for looking. It’s got to be somewhere around here. I’ll find it. Bye, Kim.

Bye, Patti Sue. She pulled the door closed and left.

Morris turned to Kim. The moment was over. He looked like he had just been doused with a bucket of ice water.

Look, look, Kymberleigh. God, there’s no need to tell anybody about this. I’m... Morris acted as if his brain had shut off.  What on earth were we thinking? The color rose in his face. I don’t know what to say. This didn’t happen. Nothing happened, okay? Let’s forget about this. Oh Lord!

I’m thinking that nobody would want to hear about how a young girl came to you for help and was fondled and kissed by someone she had a right to trust, and...

What?

Nobody would want to hear...

Yes, I got that part. What are you trying to do? Is this some kind of a prank? What’s going on here?

No, it’s not a prank. This is very serious. A counselor and a student. Just imagine what people would say, especially the school board.

What? Morris’ response was reflexive. And who do you think would believe you?

"Just about everyone. Especially if there was