past six days. You are a good man. I know that you yearn desperately for a second chance. We knew that when Abaddon and the others decided to rescue you. It would not have happened otherwise. You want a second chance? Well, here it is. Do you want to help change an entire world?”
Tom nodded. He wouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth again. He was here; he had escaped the torments of the altar. Surely whatever awaited him here beat the alternative by a wide margin.
“But I guess I haven’t answered your question,” continued Bedillia.
“It’s OK, you don’t have to,” said Tom.
“No, I want to tell you. Maybe you’ll learn from my experience. Unlike you, Satan gave me more than a passing glance at my sentencing, though I wish he hadn’t. He spoke of my being a poison to my family, of how I abused my own children. I couldn’t deny it. It was true. I had my daughter committed to a mental hospital when she was 13, not to help her, but out of revenge. She was a difficult child. I wanted her to know just who the boss in our family was and what could happen to her if she stepped out of line. Yes, Tom, that was the kind of person I was on Earth. I made my home a livinghell for my husband and my children. I knew about Christ’s gift of salvation, but I ignored it. I knew how I should live, but chose another path. I served myself and made no apologies for doing so. For this, Satan sentenced me to my own personal hell, a place where I would exist in isolation forever. It was a place where I couldn’t hurt anyone else, but I could be hurt plenty.”
Bedillia’s tone of voice had changed. She was far more intense now, even agitated. Already Tom found himself wishing he hadn’t asked this question.
“It was Satan himself, along with two demon escorts who led me from his audience chambers and into some sort of mystical portal…you’ve seen it; we call it a gate. It led right into a hot, misty tunnel. It must have been well over a hundred degrees in that corridor. I could smell the sulfur and hear the muffled roar of the flames. Then there were the screams; I can still hear the screams at night when I sleep. Along both walls of that tunnel were heavy iron doors, each with a small circular window just about eye level. Through most of those small thick windows I could see the glow of the fires that roared through the chamber on the other side. It provided the only light in that corridor. Each chamber was a furnace, a crematorium, for some damned soul, a victim of Satan’s wrath. They forced me to gaze into one of the windows, to see the horror that awaited me. At first I didn’t see anything, it was just too bright.
“Then I saw it … a figure writhing in the flames. It was a woman, though it was difficult to tell. She was hanging from the ceiling by shackles around her wrists that were so hot that they were actually glowing. Her skin was a charring mass of flesh, bubbling and seething. Her body was like a broiling, overcooked steak. No, it was even worse than that because it was a living, breathing human being. It was an awful sight. I think Satan showed me another woman in torment to put into clear perspective what was about to happen to me.”
The mental picture that Bedillia was painting was horrendous. Tom wasn’t sure what to say, if anything. This had to be far worse than the fate he had been sentenced to. “What did you do?” he asked.
“What did I do?” repeated Bedillia. “I freaked out, that’s what I did. I cried and struggled, even as the demons led me to my chamber that even had my name inscribed on a crude plaque on the door. The turn of a large wheel caused the door to slide to one side. It must have weighed a ton. It was so thick. The room beyond the door was about eight foot on a side, with a bit higher ceiling. It was like a huge brick furnace. Near the back wall, a pair of heavy shackles hung from the ceiling, and on the floor beneath it was a big metal grate, upon which
Tom nodded. He wouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth again. He was here; he had escaped the torments of the altar. Surely whatever awaited him here beat the alternative by a wide margin.
“But I guess I haven’t answered your question,” continued Bedillia.
“It’s OK, you don’t have to,” said Tom.
“No, I want to tell you. Maybe you’ll learn from my experience. Unlike you, Satan gave me more than a passing glance at my sentencing, though I wish he hadn’t. He spoke of my being a poison to my family, of how I abused my own children. I couldn’t deny it. It was true. I had my daughter committed to a mental hospital when she was 13, not to help her, but out of revenge. She was a difficult child. I wanted her to know just who the boss in our family was and what could happen to her if she stepped out of line. Yes, Tom, that was the kind of person I was on Earth. I made my home a livinghell for my husband and my children. I knew about Christ’s gift of salvation, but I ignored it. I knew how I should live, but chose another path. I served myself and made no apologies for doing so. For this, Satan sentenced me to my own personal hell, a place where I would exist in isolation forever. It was a place where I couldn’t hurt anyone else, but I could be hurt plenty.”
Bedillia’s tone of voice had changed. She was far more intense now, even agitated. Already Tom found himself wishing he hadn’t asked this question.
“It was Satan himself, along with two demon escorts who led me from his audience chambers and into some sort of mystical portal…you’ve seen it; we call it a gate. It led right into a hot, misty tunnel. It must have been well over a hundred degrees in that corridor. I could smell the sulfur and hear the muffled roar of the flames. Then there were the screams; I can still hear the screams at night when I sleep. Along both walls of that tunnel were heavy iron doors, each with a small circular window just about eye level. Through most of those small thick windows I could see the glow of the fires that roared through the chamber on the other side. It provided the only light in that corridor. Each chamber was a furnace, a crematorium, for some damned soul, a victim of Satan’s wrath. They forced me to gaze into one of the windows, to see the horror that awaited me. At first I didn’t see anything, it was just too bright.
“Then I saw it … a figure writhing in the flames. It was a woman, though it was difficult to tell. She was hanging from the ceiling by shackles around her wrists that were so hot that they were actually glowing. Her skin was a charring mass of flesh, bubbling and seething. Her body was like a broiling, overcooked steak. No, it was even worse than that because it was a living, breathing human being. It was an awful sight. I think Satan showed me another woman in torment to put into clear perspective what was about to happen to me.”
The mental picture that Bedillia was painting was horrendous. Tom wasn’t sure what to say, if anything. This had to be far worse than the fate he had been sentenced to. “What did you do?” he asked.
“What did I do?” repeated Bedillia. “I freaked out, that’s what I did. I cried and struggled, even as the demons led me to my chamber that even had my name inscribed on a crude plaque on the door. The turn of a large wheel caused the door to slide to one side. It must have weighed a ton. It was so thick. The room beyond the door was about eight foot on a side, with a bit higher ceiling. It was like a huge brick furnace. Near the back wall, a pair of heavy shackles hung from the ceiling, and on the floor beneath it was a big metal grate, upon which
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