Fan Fiction ❯ Devil May Cry: Damned Souls ❯ Unexpected Visit ( Chapter 2 )

Quietly and trying desperately to keep his dinner inside his stomach, the bald man looks at the distorted arm on Dante's table. The clock nearby ticks out loud during this silence, as if waiting for the bald man to vomit. From behind, Trish wants to laugh, but a hard glance from her partner on the other side of the room forces her not too. Instead, she glances over at all the trophy heads on the wall Dante has collected before her arrival here at Devil Never Cry. There's no way to know how old they are but some of the creatures were ones she once fought alongside with, where she once worked to plot to kill the son of Sparda. Again, she wants to laugh but for another reason this time around.

Oh, the irony of it all, she thinks. Just a couple weeks ago, she nearly died after her former `employer' struck her down at full force, a hit tended to kill Dante. But call it her human side, she took the hit for him so that he could live and consequently, she died for it. As to why or how she came back to life she may never know. About the only thing she actually remembers is seeing Sparda's sword by her side as well as a very special amulet necklace Dante wore, a necklace given by his mother. A mother, if she can recall, whom she greatly resembles.

Trish looks down at the floor, thinking about that. Wondering. Her employer, Mundus, an evil devil prince, created her in a scheme to lure Dante to him so that he could be killed. After all, about two thousands years ago, Mundus was imprisoned by Dante's father, Sparda. Mundus had planned to be resurrected at an island called Mallet Island. While Sparda, his slayer, died, Mundus still feared that the Sparda blood would be his undoing. As a result, he decided to make copies of Dante's mother and brother in a plot to gain his trust. The product was she and another figure called Nelo Angelo.

She doesn't know what happened. While Nelo Angelo, a clone of Dante's brother called Vergil, played his part well, she slowly began to… change. Maybe it was Dante's power that convinced her that playing on the right field was best. Maybe it was Dante's cockiness and his ability to not fear the obstacles that he was forced to face. Or maybe, just maybe, it was his compassionate heart that made her choose him and humanity over Mundus. Yeah. Maybe.

But since that time they first met, neither of them knows how to react to each other. She still looks like his mother. So how EXACTLY does Dante see her? Sure, he'll call her `babe' or `honey' or `doll' or all those other words. But they seemed to be forced from him. It's as if he's trying so hard to address her as an individual than the woman on his bedroom's picture frame, his mother. She's never confronted this to him and somehow, gets the impression that he doesn't want to talk about it. Still, she could be just overacting. The important thing is, after all, is that they care for each other. It could be in a mother-and-son way, or a man-and-woman way, or whatever the case. They're on the same page, that's all that should matter.

"So you hid the body right after you killed her, right?" the bald man replies after a long time, "And… she won't be coming back to life, right?"

Sitting comfortably behind his desk, Dante simply nods, causing a strand of silver hair to fall over his right eye. He looks a bit bored and impatient.

"So…" the bald man continues slowly, relieved more than disgusted by the arm on the desk now, "It's over? No future problems?"

"When I do a job I'm VERY thorough," Dante replies smoothly.

The bald just stares at the arm. Thinking. Dante blows a loud puff of air and crosses his hands behind his head, wanting to get rid of this guy already, hoping that by puffing out loud he'll take the hint. Just looking at him makes him want to Devil-Trigger his ass out of here. Unfortunately, the devil hunter realizes that the bald man is still here.

"Go home," Dante goes straight to the point, trying to be calm, "You won't be getting visits from her again. And if you do, and that's a very big IF, you know where to call."

"Are you saying that demons can resurrect?" the bald man jumps in, panicked.

"No. Once they're dead, they're dead," Trish puts in.

"But…" the man begins, pointing at Dante, "He just said…"

"Dead," Trish replies, feeling annoyed herself, "As in, no longer among us. Got it?"

"Um, yeah. Um, good… Good… All right…"

Another long moment of silence as the bald man resumes looking at the arm. The minutes pass and the clock keeps ticking. Trish sucks on her lower lip while Dante taps his fingers on the desk. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Waiting until…

"Are you leaving anytime this century, man?" Dante says, finally fed up. "What? You want the arm? That why you're taking so damn long? Here. Be my guest."

Dante grabs the arm, preparing to literally throw it at him.

"No!" the bald man squeals, covering his face with his hands, "No, heaven, no! I don't want that disgusting thing anywhere NEAR me!"

"Then make like a tree and leave, amigo. This ain't a museum. You paid me to get rid of the demon chick, I did. Now get lost."

The bald man slowly nods as he grabs his hat near the coat racket and heads for the door, "Okay… okay. Good, good, very good."

"Have a nice day," Trish says very dully nearby, "And remember that the next job has a half price discount."

Dante can't help but to grin, seeing that Trish is finally picking up a sense of humor. Or at least he hopes so.

"Is that really true?" the bald man says a bit excitedly.

"No, dimwit," the white-haired devil hunter impatiently stands up to aid the bald man out of DNC faster, "Now get loss or I'll have your arm on this desk too."

Quickly and scared, the bald man scurries to his Ferrari and speeds away as fast as he can, muttering something too fast to make any sense. Dante mutters a curse word as he slams the door closed, soon strolling over to the back of DNC. Trish follows him.

"Jeez, I thought he'd never leave," Trish says.

"Yeah. Even Mundus sounds better to deal with than that idiot," he replies crisply as he enters, what looks like, a kitchen area.

"Good joke, by the way, doll. Seems like the School of Dante Humor is finally kicking in some." He opens the fridge near the counter and takes a beer bottle from it. He opens the metal cap with his bare teeth, spitting the cap at a nearby trashcan.

"I'm working on it," Trish smiles as she fetches out bread, cheese, lettuce, and ham to make herself a sandwich. She gestures at the bread. "Do you want one too?"

"Naw," he drinks a large dose of his beer, "I've gotta take a quick shower and get ready."

"Ready?" Trish scoffs as she prepares her sandwich, "Ready for what?"

"The show," he answers simply and leaves his bottle of beer on the counter, already entering another room with stairs leading upward.

Completely confused, Trish stops to follow him. By the time she arrives at the next room, he's already up the staircase and heading for his room. The man's fast.

"Show?" she calls out from where she stands. "What show?"

"Didn't you know?" he answers with a smile as he takes off his coat before disappearing behind a hallway. He continues but the walls muffle his voice. "I play in a band every Friday. Where do you think I was LAST Friday?"

"On a date," Trish replies and goes up the stairs for a better explanation.

In his bedroom, Dante removes his vest and then black shirt, soon throwing both on the floor. He unbuckles his belt and is about to unzip the zipper. He stops when he notices Trish at the doorway.

"A little privacy would be nice, babe," he goes to close the door.

"Not until you tell me more about this," her hand blocks the door. "I want to know where my partner is in case I get a call about a demon portal opening."

Dante sighs, standing near the doorway with his hand on the door too.

"I play at Vertigo, a club a few blocks away from here. Okay? I'm the drummer there."

"Drummer?" Trish realizes, "I guess that explains the drum sets downstairs and why you're continuously playing that annoying racket in the middle of the night."

"First off, it ain't racket. It's music. Second, you already know that freelance demon hunting for a living doesn't always put food on the table. And third, with you on board, I've seriously gotta take this job."

"You make it sound like you don't want me here…" Trish replies softly and drops her hand to her side, preparing to leave his sight.

Before she can turn away, Dante reaches for her shoulder and turns her to face him.

"No," he shakes his head. He pauses, trying to find the right words. "Look… I like your company. You're the only person in this entire planet to see and understand what I go through. It's nice to talk over some things that I need to get out. But most importantly, I owe you my life. That's why I've got to do this gig. I owe you."

"Yeah?" Trish responds, unconvinced, "Then why don't you tell me what was going through your head a few hours ago. Why didn't you take out that demon woman? I'm not saying that it was wrong but… You didn't seem like yourself."

Dante stops, hesitating before answering that. Later, he slumps against the door and glances downward.

"I… really don't know myself," he tells Trish very slowly, "One minute I was ready to kick her to the next underworld and then the next… I… I really don't know what exactly happened to me back there."

He looks up, staring straight at Trish's face.

"Can we leave it alone, Trish? I mean…"

"No, you don't need to explain anymore, Dante," she smiles, understanding even though she really doesn't understand, "That's okay. We'll leave it alone. Maybe you froze or something. In any case, I'm here if you ever decide to want to talk about it in the future."

"Thanks… It means lot."

Trish simply smiles before going back downstairs to fix up her sandwich. Dante remains slumped against the bedroom's door. He curses to himself for just lying straight out at Trish's face because the truth of the reality is, he knows EXACTLY why he didn't want to kill the demon woman. And it scares him.

He's so nervous deep down, nervous that everything around him is changing. His life. His ideals. His values. His views. Everything. And it scares the living hell out of him. Slaying devils is a part of his job, but these days, it's like he's hacking up on his own brother.

Ever since the Mallet incident he's been thinking of devils in a different sort of way. Up until then, he never knew how it was to be killed for what you are. He hunted demons and that was the end of the story. And then… he transformed. He transformed into one of THEM. He felt what they felt, felt the passion of killing flow freely through his inhuman veins. He craved for it, understanding why the kill was so… inspiring in some wicked way. Shit, is he like them after all? Has he been fighting for the wrong reasons? And have the demons he's slain previously felt the same way as he does?

The reason why he didn't kill the demon woman was because she did nothing wrong, except steal another woman's man. All that demon wanted was love. She loved that bald idiot so much that she risked exposing her true nature to him. She thought the human would accept her, only to be betrayed in the end and be hunted by a man who's faced that… prejudice… too.

Is it right then? Is it right to kill all of them, not knowing that the demons might want what humans want? Love? Comfort? Acceptance? His own father fought his demon side and chose humanity! How many Spardas did he kill for the sake of revenge? HOW MANY? Yet, here he is. Slumping against this crumbling wall and feeling just as uncertain as he was the day when his mom told him about what he really was. Hacking away at any demon that comes his way or for any one willing to pay him a good price. Jesus. Is he just as sick as creeps like Mundus? How can he tell Trish this? How can he? She sacrificed her own life to save his. Later, she followed him here and joined him in the quest to destroy all demons. And now… She might not realize it right now, but she may have joined another Mundus character, just with a different face and name.

Disgusted at himself, Dante finally closes the door and heads for the bathroom to take his shower, hoping that by the end of it he'll feel a little better. If that doesn't help, he'll just drink bottle after bottle after the band act until he passes out. Maybe it'll make him forget who he is for a short while. Yeah.

Heat from the sweat of moving bodies makes the club misty. Humid. Ecstatic. The different colored flashing lights from the ceiling turn on and off fast, moving over the crowd of young men and women looking for a good time. Women scream at the top of their lungs, waving their hands up in the air to move to the beat of heavy rock and roll music that fills their souls. Some of them, either underage or college students enjoying their vacation, sit on the shoulders of their men, exposing themselves and laughing. Many men stock up on booze. Drinking. Laughing. Cursing. Making out. Causing bloody fights. Meanwhile, the bartenders run frantically at their station, trying to supply drinks to the next person in line. It's one o' clock in the morning but the crowd is huge. No surprise since tonight's band ALWAYS summons the wild and fury.

Behind a large metal cage, Dante plays his heart out, hitting beat after beat with his drumsticks. A neon green light from the ceiling showers over him. Sweat drips from the bangs of his silver hair, moving down to his naked glistening chest where an exposed skeleton tattoo is. The gold piercing on his right nipple shines. He bobs his head back and forth, moving his hands brilliantly fast across his drum set as he keeps up with the band's tempo. In a way, it's relaxing playing here. Each pound equals a punch to all his frustrations. Even if it doesn't last long, he can just… forget his life. Forget who and what he is.

Mac, the lead singer of the band who plays his electric guitar as if he's making love to it, shifts his attention to Dante. The drummer grins, knowing that he's about to go solo after a few words from Mac. Mac resumes looking over the crowd behind the cage. He smiles and finishes his last notes, consequently shifting to Dante's small solo. Once Dante gets started on it the crowd silences and awes as they watch their favorite drummer pound his drumsticks faster and faster across his drum set. It's nearly at lightening speed, loud and hard, as they all like it to be. The crowd screams when Dante reaches his peak, seeing only a blur as his hands move about. They applaud with mass numbers once Dante is finished, even when the other band members join in to wrap up the song. Dante ends it with a few more strokes. Once again, the crowd goes wild.

"Bloody thank you, mates!" the lead singer, revealing his Australian accent, shouts out loud to the audience. He gives a hand gesture towards Dante's direction. "Now you tell me, don't we have the most bitching drummer in the universe!"

The crowd screams, agreeing. Dante chuckles, seeing several of the college women near the metal cage pull up their shirts, pouring beer on their chests. Damn, it feels good being here, he thinks and smiles. The singer laughs and orders the guards to open the cage. The moment they do, the singer jumps into the mass of people, being carried off by them.

"Dante!" his lead singer yells out to him, "Join the fun, baby! You haven't enjoyed life to the max until you've been carried away by your angels, mate!"

Dante stands up from his station, seeing his other band members jump into "the pit" too. He's been doing this band act for a while but with all the stuff he's been up, hacking up the devils and closing demon portals, he's hardly had the time to be at the end of the show. This is his first time. Weird. He usually leaves early after a call, letting his tentative replacement fill in the gap. Today, however, he's got some serious R&R time.

With that, Dante jumps down from the now open cage and into his audience. He laughs and howls like a wolf as he feels the hands of his fans touch him from all over, carrying him, not letting him drop. Jesus! It's just like Mac said! He feels like he's in ecstasy, being carried off by angels!

Eventually, his `angels' let him down to the ground. Still guffawing, he strolls over to the bar area to order a beer. It's difficult ordering it, though, since men and women surround him, praising him for his talents. Even the bartender joins in.

"Fuck, man, you kick some serious ass!" a shaved headed rocker yells from Dante's right, obviously high on something. "Maybe you should go pro or something!"

"Yeah," adds another admirer, a woman, "You can earn the big dough there! Hey, can you give me your autograph? Your phone number, maybe?"

The rest of the comments are all the same. Dante really doesn't care, though. Just being here and having NORMAL folks talking to him about heavy rock music helps him cope with his unusual life. He drinks a large dose of his beverage, wiping some of his chin's sweat with the back of his hand. Man, it's hot here.

"Here," a woman says, offering a clean towel to his left.

"Thanks, honey," he replies without looking at the woman.

"You're really good," the same woman continues.

"Thanks," he drinks his beer, still not looking.

"…You really move fast."

"Sure. Whatever, babe." Obviously, he has no interest since his eyes are glued to his beer.

"…You really enjoy it, right?"

"Yeah."

"…You must've practiced a lot."

"Yeah."

"… I mean, playing that good needs time and patience."

"Whatever."

"… It's hard to believe that you can play drums like that while you hunt demons for a living, hoping to avenge your mother's and brother's death."

This makes Dante sit rigid on the bar's stool. He slowly turns around, finally viewing the woman. Her hair is the blackest of night and her eyes have a somewhat reddish brown color. She wears a black t-shirt displaying one of Dante's personal favorite heavy rock bands, having faded and torn blue jeans fitted against her toned and slender body. She looks around her early twenties, extremely attractive in a natural way. Confident.

"What did you say?" Dante slowly asks. NOW she has his full attention.

"I said that you're very good," she replies as if she said nothing wrong and takes a seat near him, ordering a shot of whiskey.

"No, I want to know what you told me right now."

"Maybe if you paid attention the first time around, you wouldn't ask me to repeat myself."

"Don't fuck with me," he tries to keep his cool, "Tell me what you just said."

"I don't remember," she playfully inserts, "You tell me. What do you think I said?"

"Stop playing mind games, woman."

"But don't you like your girls like that? Mysterious? Beautiful? Plays a lot?"

"Stop it. And how did you know that I like…?" he stops, becomes silent. He looks at the woman VERY hard. Who IS she? At first, a possibility of her being a demon crossed his mind, but he doesn't sense anything demonic about her. Well, except that attitude of hers…

"What? What did I say?" she asks innocently, noticing him looking at her very hostile. She takes her drink from the bartender and smiles.

"It's what you're NOT saying that's pissing me off, honey. You know about my personal business, I want to know why. And how."

"Personal business?" she shrugs, "What's that mean?"

"You KNOW what I mean!" Jesus, this girl's causing his blood pressure to jump up a notch! If only she were a demon he'd axe her this very second!

"No, I don't. How would `I' know about your personal business? We've never met."

"You just told me that you know about my mother's and brother's death! That's personal business according to my dictionary!"

"I said that?" she asks playfully.

"YES! In fact, that's what I wanted to hear from you in the first place!"

"Then, if you heard me right, why are you asking me to repeat myself?"

Red-faced, Dante grabs the woman's arm and with her, prepares to storm out of the club to have `a talk' with her. Mac, who's got two young women on both of his sides, grins.

"Hey, Dante," Mac shouts from where he stands, noticing the brunette Dante has with him. "Nice catch! She's a beauty, mate!"

Dante ignores him and heads out with the mysterious woman through the rear exit of the club. They arrive at an old, trashed-up alleyway. Dante pushes the woman against the brick wall.

"Talk!" he demands, pinning her shoulders down with both hands.

"Talk?" she begins. This time, surprisingly, she's serious. "Talk about what? Do you want me to talk about your career in a band? Or your vengeance?"

Dante slowly removes his hands from her shoulders. "My vengeance."

"I know everything there is to know about you, Dante," the woman starts, "Your birthplace… your age… your height… your flavors… I know everything there is to know about you, Dante. Dante… the son of Sparda."

"How?"

"I think the real question should be `why'."

"Okay, then, WHY?"

"Because I want to help you, Dante."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"By helping you save the souls of your brother and mother."

Dante becomes mute, disturbed. "What do you mean?"

"They're in hell," she replies, "They're trapped there by the Lord of the Underworld himself… Satan."

"Satan?" laughs Dante, skeptical, "I always thought he was just a made up character made up by religious folks. Mundus, now he's the guy who runs the joint."

"Mundus was only a prince," the woman responds, "He wanted to conquer Earth to prove he was superior to all dark creatures. The Mallet Island, the place where he was to resurrect himself, was to be his palace. Unfortunately, his own ego was his undoing. He overestimated the son of the man that defeated him two thousand years ago. If he was only a dark prince, Dante, you have to wonder who the King of the Underworld REALLY is."

"I've been around the world, lady," Dante starts, shaking his head in disbelief, "I've tracked demons who can morph into humans, to witch-like creatures who carry large scythes, and believe me, I've never, at any time, even heard of this Satan guy actually being real."

"The greatest trick Satan has achieved, Dante, is by making people think that he doesn't exist at all."

Dante chuckles. "Look, I really don't know how you know me or my personal business, but you know what? I don't care anymore. You go on saying that Satan really exists, meanwhile, I'll hack away at the evil that really DOES exist. Okay?"

He opens the exit door of the club, preparing to collect his belongings from his dresser room and head home. Shit, he thought coming here would make him forget about everything. He was wrong.

"You can't run away from this, Dante!" the woman yells after him, "It doesn't matter whether or not you believe in Satan, because the truth of the matter is, your brother's and mother's souls are there in hell. Their souls are trapped there and only you can save them!"

Dante stops, his back facing her.

"That's right, Dante," she continues, "If you don't help them in three days from now, they'll be no hope in releasing them. You only have these three days to help them."

Dante faces her again, slowly walking towards her. "Provided that I DID believe, lady… Provided that I THOUGHT this Satan guy was real… How EXACTLY could I help my brother and mother?"

"With the help of the Book of the Dead."

Again, Dante laughs.

"This is serious!" the woman commands, seeing that he doesn't believe in that either. "The Book of the Dead is real!"

"First Satan, and now the Book of the Dead…" Dante scratches the back of his head. "Jeez, I wonder what's next. Santa Claus? Or, no, let me guess, the TOOTH FAIRY?"

"But…"

"I've had enough of you, darling," he spits and opens the door, "I'm out of here. Today, you were lucky since I'm working as the drummer of the band, not hunter of demons. But the next time I see you, even if it's here, you'll most likely end up on the `Have you seen me' picture at the back of a milk carton. Adios."

Dante leaves the woman behind, really trying not to care about what she just said. Satan… Book of the Dead… Like HELL he'll believe any of that bullshit.

Yawning and trying hard not to dose off, Trish checks the clock that ticks loudly in her awfully silent bedroom. It's the same clock that's in the shape of a devil's head. It's even got the cute little horns sticking out. Trish looks away from it, sleepy. Instead, she shifts her attention to the images provided by the small television across her bed. It's currently broadcasting a late night matinee featuring `A Nightmare on Elm Street' followed by `Friday the Thirteen'. The television, though, is on mute. She's only keeping it on so that she won't fall entirely asleep. After all, what was that old saying again? Oh yeah. Keep one eye open and keep the other closed.

Trish grabs the remote control, tired of the gruesome image showing on her television. Like she hasn't seen enough blood and torture as it is? Lord, what was Dante thinking when he signed up for the sci-fi and horror station? Then again, this comes from the same guy who orders that dirty pay-per-view show every night of the week too.

She glances back at the ticking clock. It's two o' clock in the morning. Dark outside. The air is chilly. She knows the moment she gets up from her bed she'll be consumed with Goosebumps caused by the cold night weather. Sometimes she wished that DNC was located somewhere else, somewhere where the weather was cozy and not either too hot or too cold.

The phone on the nightstand by her side remains quiet. She glances at it, as if anticipating for it to ring. Nope. No call. She looks at it again, still weary to let her guard done. Trish sighs. Still… No calls. It's been like this since Dante left. This could be looked as a good sign, but also a bad one too. It's quiet. Too damn quiet. Even as she woke up this morning (no, excuse her, YESTERDAY morning), she's felt something sour about to turn up. At first, she thought it was the latest assignment given by that bald fellow. But everything went smoothly, with the exception of Dante not carrying out the death sentence. Still, nothing really bad happened as she first thought. No shocking events. Not even a feeling of it. Maybe it's all in her head? Maybe she's just being paranoid or something?

And yet, the horrible sensation that loomed over her yesterday morning remains deep in the core of her soul, hidden for a while only to resurrect at this very moment. She feels it, feels some undefined horror about to happen which is why she doesn't want to go to sleep. Why can't she shake it off? Mother of mercy, she can literally think of it as a physical entity right now, sitting right here in this room with her. Waiting. Anxiously waiting… What's happening here?

Her thoughts become distracted once she hears the door of the entrance to DNC open. She already knows who it is. She may not figure him out entirely, but Dante can stick out like a thorn when it comes to his moves. Walking. Standing still. Running. It's all the same with her. She can literally smell what he feels at any given moment and it surprises her each time that never, since she's been here that is, has she picked up the scent of fear from him. The guy has balls. She'll give him that.

She hears him close the door softly, trying not to disturb his already-awaken partner from her slumber. Lord, bless him, Trish thinks. He may be an ass sometimes, filling her with his I'm-Rambo-attitude bullshit, but he really has a heart of gold.

Trish remains motionless in her bed; carefully hearing the sound of Dante's feet creep about the lower level of DNC. He's drunk, she can tell. His moves… they're so familiar. The sound of something falling is heard and she thinks of getting up. She rejects the idea, soon hearing Dante go up the stairs… towards his room, maybe? No… he seems to be heading for her direction. He stops, stops near her door's entrance.

Trish blinks, wondering. What's up with Dante? Below the small slit hole underneath her door, she can see his shadow outside. But he isn't moving. He's just standing outside her door. Suddenly, the doorknob turns and the door slowly opens wide. Trish sits up, seeing Dante there. The smell of liquor (whiskey, his favorite drink) invades her room. Trish looks at him, noticing the gloomy face he wears. Usually, he's `upbeat' when he's drunk. However, this time it is different, somewhat uncomforting.

"I thought you'd be awake," he finally says, voice heavy with sleep and liquor.

"What's the matter? You look like you just took a blow from Mundus."

"Trish…" he enters further into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, "We need to talk. It's really important."

Trish nods and moves towards the ledge of her bed.

"Go on," she says. "Tell me what's going on."

Dante's mouth is about to open but he stops, quickly grinning foolishly. Uncertain.

"I can't BELIEVE I'm gonna ask you this," he mutters rapidly and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying really hard to summon up his strength. "Trish, I want to ask you… Does… Satan really exist? I mean… is he really real? Or is he make-believe?"

Trish abruptly frowns. Jeez, it's two o' clock in the morning and Dante asks this question out of the blue. Strange…

"Why are you asking me this?" she responds quietly.

"Because you were once with Mundus. Surely, he told you SOMETHING about… this guy." He stops, looking unconvinced at even himself. "I don't know, maybe it's all just bullshit. Maybe I shouldn't be so damn gullible with mysterious chicks."

"Dante?" Trish asks very worried. "What's going on?"

Dante sighs, shaking his head slowly in dissatisfaction.

"After the band act, a woman came by and told me that my brother's and mother's souls were stuck in hell somewhere," he explains, "With Satan. Can you believe that bullshit?"

Trish doesn't say anything. Thinking.

"Trish… please," Dante starts, "Talk to me. Is there anything in this that is… true?"

Trish blinks. "They're in hell?"

"That's what the woman said."

"What woman?"

"Some woman at the club, no one I knew. It was kind of funny that she knew everything about me too. My favorite drink, band… she knew everything. Even when Mundus sent you, you didn't know half as much as that chick I met did. This girl seriously did her homework."

Trish wraps herself with her covers.

"I'm sorry, Dante," Trish begins, "but I have no idea if he exists. I only served Mundus and he always left his servants out in the dark."

"Then… there's a chance that it's all… made-up?"

"I don't know, Dante. You've had your share of the unexpected. Maybe he really is real. And maybe he isn't. Who's to know for sure?"

"I sure don't know. But… the thought of my brother's and mother's soul there, in hell… I can't shake that ugly feeling."

"I understand. But I doubt we'll be able to think straight right this moment. How's about we look into this after we get some sleep?"

Dante hesitates, first thinking of the three-day time limit that starts today since it's already tomorrow morning. He also thinks of telling her about the Book of the Dead. No… he finally decides. He'll leave it alone for now. He needs rest and he can't think straight right now anyway, not with him feeling like dirt. And once the hangover is through, he's seriously going into this subject. Seriously.