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I must admit was foolish of me to believe a gun constructed by benevolent angels would be an effective suicide weapon. No, I’ll need to construct one myself if I intend to send myself back to Hell, just like the first time.
And thus begins Plan “Return to Hell” Version No. 3!
*Ding-Dong*
Oh, come on! I’m not in the mood for another song where I’m constantly reminded how different I am from everyone surrounding me!
I open the door and blink and surprise when I see it’s not Emily. It’s an angel with four legs and a white & pink color scheme.
“Hi! I’m Molly.” She happily waves. “Sir Pentious, right?”
I nod. It’s best to proceed with caution until I can ascertain who I can trust up here.
“Can I… help you?”
“I saw Emily givin’ you the tour yesterday and you didn’t look too happy,” she says. “Trust me, I know what it’s like. I figured you’d like someone to talk to. Can I come in?”
“Alright,” I say. She appears harmless enough. “But please don’t touch my machinery!”
I let her inside and she takes in the scenery. To my surprise, she ignores my mechanical equipment entirely and stares at the mural Emily painted over my new bed. She appears almost melancholic seeing it. Interesting…
“Those are my friends,” I tell her. “Emily wanted to cheer me up, but it’s only a reminder of what I’ve lost.”
Molly sighs. “Yeah. I know Emily means well. She’s a great friend! But she don’t understand bein’ human.”
“At least in Hell you’re allowed to be upset,” I mutter.
“Yeah, I bet,” she says. “This is a Twilight Zone kind of Heaven sometimes.”
I haven’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about but I suppose that as long as she knows, it’s fine.
“Is that the only reason you stopped by?”
“Not exactly,” she admits. “There was a big kerfuffle with the trial a couple of months ago. Long story short, I know about the princess and the hotel and all that and wanted to talk with you because you know my brother Anthony. You’re his friend, and I wanna be your friend too.”
Anthony? I don’t know anyone named Anthony.
Then again, plenty of folks no longer go by their real name in Hell. I certainly didn’t. But who could her brother be? I suppose she looks somewhat like Angel Dust--
Oh.
Oh, it seems so obvious.
It looks like she noticed the exact moment I realized because she’s suddenly smiling even brighter.
“Tell me about him,” she says.
“He stars in pornographic films!” :)
Ooh, she looks quite troubled. Perhaps I shouldn’t have started with that. What’s something less risqué about Angel Dust? Hmm…
“He has an adorable pet pig named Fat Nuggets!”
She’s laughing! Nailed it.
“That was what we called our gerbil growing up,” she says. “Before Pops had him put down for bein’ a waste of mob money.”
What?
“Don’t worry, I ain’t mad about that anymore. Now keep goin’. Has he got a boyfriend?”
“Not when I last saw him, but it’s been a month,” I say. “Maybe he and the bartender finally committed to a proper situationship.”
And so we continue trading stories. She talks more about her childhood with Angel and an older brother whom I’ve encountered once or twice in Hell. I tell her about my beloved Egg Boiz (the real ones) and my battles with Miss Cherri Bomb.
It’s a pleasant conversation.
Perhaps I’m not so alone, after all.