When We Join Jesus in Hell by Lee Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

even thought about, Fate has carved the remaining moments of his life in stone.
    He says to Karen, “Please. Be quiet.”
    Don’t do this to yourself .
    A hand brushes his shoulder. There is love, more than he ever thought existed, in her touch. He sobs, wondering why they couldn’t have loved each other so purely just days ago.
    The creatures move closer and part from the murk and he can see by their dirty and torn clothes that they are men, but when he looks in their eyes he still sees something else. Something base and primal, filled with need and hunger. He smiles at them. They clench their fists tighter. One of them squeezes a lead pipe. The other holds a two-by-four. The one on the left is a few feet closer than the one on the right. Everyone is holding their breath.
    Bethany says, Protect us, Daddy …
    Bianca stirs on Fist’s shoulder and he can’t risk hurting her. He steps back. The men close the distance, the darkness like crescent wings whipping from their backs paints the ceiling and hall behind them black.
    The clock ticks…
    Fist clutches a pistol, his father’s he believes, before he even realizes it. He points it at the closest one and pulls the trigger and the man’s head snaps back and he crumples, sweat stinging Fist’s eyes and red staining the wall and everybody’s pulses crackling like kindling tossed on a dying fire. The remaining man throws his two-by-four on the floor in surrender. Fist smiles a little wider and shows him the end of the muzzle, a welcome to the final and greatest darkness, and says, “It’s too late for that,” though he can’t hear his words over the ringing in his ears or the cries breaking free of the cart behind him.
    He squeezes the trigger.
    Fire lights his way.
    He’s so hungry he almost forgets his family.
    Fist says, “I’m sorry,” as he tucks the pistol in his pants and grabs the cart.
    Karen squeezes his hand. No matter how this ends you’ve done your best, Fist .
    Bianca shivers on his shoulder. He wishes he could knit her a little jacket. He wishes he could believe his wife really means that but knows he’s nothing, this life he’s lived is nothing, a pile of dog shit that didn’t bring one bit of good into the world in thirty-odd years.
    Bethany’s eyes glow in the gloom as they move down the hallway. She whispers, What about me?
    Fist cries. When he stops, he screams, “You were our whole world.”
    His voice echoes throughout the building, off walls he can’t see, and it lingers in nooks and crannies, a faint broken cry, You were our whole world …

Seven

    And nearing the end of the corridor, he thinks that’s what matters. That Bethany was their whole world and now all he has left is a pet that no one else gives a shit about. But he does. And he cares about the weight of the pistol in his hand, the blowing wind of regret in his mind, and the quiet appreciation for everything he’s had in his life up to this point, and he hasn’t felt this grateful since he was a small child.
    The gray walls end and spill Fist and his family out onto the main floor. Half of it really. The maze crouches behind him and the end of the building looms ahead. The walls are crumbling and water trickles to the floor.
    Jesus isn’t in sight, but he didn’t expect him to be.
    His neck itches.
    Fist scans old machinery as bats flicker in and out of sight.
    He thinks the little gang banger is close by, maybe with a gun too, that he has it trained on Fist and if so there’s not much he can do about it. He believes that coming here has brought him full circle, closer to the beginning and the love he’d once had for his family before unmet expectations and failure after failure weighed them down. He knows how much of it was his fault. How ungrateful he’d been, because he can remember all the good things that Karen had done—not out of obligation but because she wanted to. And he can feel her so close, better than he deserves down in this dungeon, and he looks up