Page 12 of Hell Gate

Today I’m getting some damn answers to put it all behind me. I need reassurance to confirm my past troubles aren’t returning to haunt me.

The main street in town is just as desolate and depressing when I arrive as it was my first day here. At least the early October crispness in the air feels good against my flushed skin. I haven’t quite cooled down from my crack of dawn self care cleaning session, despite showering. My body has always run hot and once it warms up, it’s difficult to regulate my temperature. One of my foster placements told me it must be a redhead thing, because no one else she knew would go around in shorts in the middle of an upstate New York winter.

Crossing the road at the movie theater with more empty display posters than filled, I enter the library. It’s a cramped, single-floor establishment that has a stale scent hanging in the air. One librarian sits at the counter by the door, though I’m not sure if he’s a real person or a gargoyle statue. The temptation to wave a hand in front of his face for a reaction makes me pause.

I scan the shelves, wondering if they stock any manga. In a backwater place like this, I doubt it. If I’m lucky, maybe they carry Naruto. It’s not my style, but since I’m stuck here I’ll take anything. Pressing on my toes, I frown when I find the stacks only go three deep. Sighing, I go to the computer cubicles in the back corner, missing the city’s bigger libraries.

There are three ancient desktops that look older than I am. I’m talking birth of the Internet-era hardware. I take the middle one, considering that it could be worse. At least they have computers.

Booting up takes forever. Once I’m logged into a guest account, I open a search engine and type inBrim Hills Cemetery. Results bombard me—news stories for disappearances that span decades, the graveyard being condemned, even a paranormal activity study. The link near the bottom of the page claims to be a full detailed history of the town.

I skim over the article’s introduction explaining the town was founded by Quaker settlers and the boring details about the small, close-knit population. It goes on to describe the town’s notoriety centering on the urban legend that gained attention and earned its spot on the list of death dares like the legends of Bloody Mary and the Candy Man popular amongst teens.

Those said to disturb the gate to Hell in Brim Hills Cemetery will suffer fiery visions and psychological torment. Several deaths and disappearances are claimed to be linked to the condemned site.

“Yeah right,” I mumble, reading on.

Brim Hills was originally named for the smell of brimstone early settlers claimed blanketed the town. They marked it as a bad omen, but remained in the area. In 1929, a sulfur pocket was discovered in the nearby hills. This underground pocket connects to the coal mine system.

Backing out, I pick another article that talks about local fires spreading across central Pennsylvania. This one talks about Centralia, a town not far from here.

The mine fire in Centralia is situated on a coal seam and has been burning underneath the borough since 1962. The fire’s original cause is still debated. Many mines and roads have been closed due to the dangers of deterioration. This seam runs at least an 8 mile stretch and connects to the now closed mines of Brim Hills.

Well, that explains a lot. I haven’t noticed the sulfur smell, but I did pick up a smoky scent in the graveyard. These coal mine fires could be what inspired all of the stories about the Hell gate legend.

Getting an idea, I typegates to Hellin the search bar. Jackpot. At least ten other so-called Hell gates pop up and tout themselves asthedoorway to the Devil. There’s another version of the legend in Alabama, Colorado, Indiana, New York, and Washington. They’re all over.

Some of the stories are way more fascinating and complex than the ritual I did. I get sucked into reading about the debate between the Devil picking one supposed spot because of witch hangings or because the graves of his children are there.

“Visitors are greeted by a ghost, then pushed down and left with the mark of the Devil? People are so imaginative.”

I jump at the cool accented voice behind me. Angling my head, I find Valerian towering over me, tattooed hands braced on either side of my cubicle, looking very gothic prince standing in the middle of the small town library in dark clothes with his textbook bad boy trench coat sweeping the ground. His dark hair falls across his angular face, lips twisted in a mercurial frown.

“Do you mind? It’s rude to look over people’s shoulders,” I snap.

He lifts a brow. “I do mind. You’re wasting my time.”

I match my expression to his. When he doesn’t move, I shoo him, growing agitated that he has the nerve to stroll up to me after what he did. “Then leave me alone. I don’t want to see you or your asshole friends again.”

I press my lips together. What is it about them that makes me unable to control my tongue or hold back my true thoughts and reactions?

He shakes his head. “I told you the consequence for opening the gate. You’ve sealed your own fate, just as others have before you. It’s your price to pay.”

His grip flexes on the cubicle walls and he leans over me to cage me in further. His handsome features shift from annoyance to something intense and hungry. God, those impossibly blue eyes are striking. In the light of day I can tell they aren’t trick contacts, they’re simply that brilliant, unique color. The raspy sound that catches in his throat makes my insides coil tightly. I hold my breath, pressing my thighs together against the flood of liquid heat.

This is different from the odd, instinctive sensations that teased my body the other night, less primal and wild. I’m in control. Yet I still don’t want to feel any attraction towards this pompous bastard.

Shoulders tensing, Valerian moves one tattooed hand as if he’s going to touch my hair, then drops it, his expression shuttering with precise control. “The sooner I’m rid of you, the better.”

Damn him for being a total jerk because his British accent is like a smooth caress, even when he’s irritated.

“The feeling’s mutual,” I grumble.

At least whatever weird Stockholm Syndrome I experienced at the cemetery isn’t happening now. The heat from a moment ago fades as my anger at him returns. I’m glad. Out of everything, that was the strangest part of the night. I might not have any clue what I’m doing when it comes to guys, but I never expected to practically melt the first time one touched me. Seriously, yikes at myself for—for—I won’t even name my reaction while faced with the precarious situation I was in.

“If you want to get rid of me, you can start by backing off. I’m leaving.” I lift my chin, giving in to the urge to speak my mind instead of keeping my thoughts chained in place as usual. “In fact, just wait until Halloween in a few weeks. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m leaving Brim Hills in the dust.”

A dark, amused huff leaves him. “You think I’ll let you escape? Go ahead. Run. Wherever you go, we’ll find you.”

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