Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ A Better Hell ❯ The End ( Chapter 1 )

So, this was how he was going to die. Locked in the the basement of one of the country's most feared crime bosses. Lying in a pool of blood that flowed out of his body from wounds in places he didn't care to think about. Alone and hungry in a frozen hell.

***

Sometimes, he wondered if the others were still looking for him.

He knew the chief wouldn't give up without a body, but the force had neither the money nor the man power to keep searching for long. Rai might still be holding on to the idea that her husband was alive, but she had the kids to think about. Girard was his partner and wouldn't quit any more than the chief would, but by now he probably had some new hotshot partner to keep out of trouble.

So sometimes he wondered, but really he already knew.

***

He glanced briefly at the boy who stepped in with his day's ration. The boy looked away immediately, afraid as always of meeting his gaze, and Aidan would have snorted if it didn't hurt - he was hardly a threat. He whispered a barely audible `thank you' and did his best to smile. It was a small thanks, but it was all he could do.

***

Sometimes, he wondered how he was going to die.

Blood loss often seemed most likely, but then, he was still alive. There was a good chance that his captor would tire of wasting resources to supply food and water. If he did, would he just stop? Or would a more gruesome fate await him? With “Gimmick's” habitual theatricality, he didn't expect anything quick or easy.

So sometimes he wondered, but he didn't really want to know.

***

Today, when the boy had come with his food, he had responded to Aidan's gratitude with an anxious nod and a nervous smile of his own. Aiden felt better knowing he wasn't so terrified even if the boy wouldn't help him. He was going to die, but at least he'd die a good guy.

***

Sometimes, he wondered how he would be remembered.

To the guys on the force he was Aidan Cinaed, tough guy and borderline nut. They would think of him and remember blood, streets, smokes, and bad guys going to prison. To his family he was a stranger that tried to be part of their lives anyway. They'd remember barbeques and fishing, and weeks on end without seeing him while he worked a case. To everyone else. . . well, they just wouldn't remember him at all.

So sometimes he wondered, but he didn't really need to know.

***

The pain that burned through his body kept Aidan awake and put him to sleep all at once, turning him into little more than a zombie. He didn't struggle anymore. He didn't shout profanities or spit in the faces of the people who came to gloat. He sat and wondered about things he already knew or didn't care about. He lay and felt his own blood soak into his clothing and hair. He shivered and waited for the boy to come with his stale bread and gritty water so that he could survive another painful, pitiful day.

***

Sometimes, he wondered what would happen when he died.

Aidan had never been religious, but he found himself thinking about the concepts of heaven and hell often. He wondered which he would go to, and whether they existed at all. Heaven was hard, he couldn't picture anything that made him happy besides family and friends. Hell, on the other hand, was a simpler thing to imagine. In his mind, there were no flames there; hell was exactly where he was. On some days, the thought would cross his mind that he was already dead and in his sad pit of torment. On other days he believed that when he died he would simply slip into oblivion and there would be nothing. Most days, though, he merely wondered how long it would take to find out.

So sometimes he wondered, but he knew he'd soon know for sure.

***

“He plans to kill you today.”

Levelling a resigned look at the boy, he nodded. Now he'd know what was happening when they came, maybe salvage some dignity.

“Thank you.”

Aidan felt surprisingly little as the boy walked away. He thought he'd be sorry to see the kid go, but all he felt was the chilling calm of one who knows that their fate is in different hands. He ate his stale bread and drank his gritty water and sat against the wall. He was going to die and there was no stopping it, but all the world be damned if he let his captors arrive to see him lying on the floor like a thing long broken. He was beaten, but would meet death with pride.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and he raised his chin as they stopped outside the door.

Kill me, then, and take me to a better hell.

XxxxX

Phew. So there's the prologue. Hope y'all like it, and please review!