Vox

When your husband died due to killing himself in a room full of water and TVs. You were happy that you don’t have to see him until your story of living is on the last page. But you didn’t realize how close you met your end in 3 or 2 years later. But then you woke up in hell, you knew Vincent was in hell and he was the last person you want to see in hell. “As the person on everyone’s minds right now, I just want to say it’s a pleasure to be Hell’s most trustworthy source of entertainment!”

Your neck nearly snapped clean off your head as you jerked up. When your eyes met the store window, it felt as though you had been sucker punched in the gut. You swayed unsteadily as your breathing grew laboured.

On every single one of the screens sat a vaguely humanoid man with a television set for a head. He was sitting on a sleek armchair, smiling charmingly into the camera, though his digital eyes were cold and hungry. Just like they had been when he was alive.

It was Vincent.

You stifled a horrified scream with the heel of your palm. Tears pooled in your eyes and promptly spilled onto your cheeks as you kept your gaze trained on the screens in front of you. He was hosting some kind of talk show, though the content was nothing more than white noise. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

A few of the demonic creatures (that you now realised were likely other deceased humans) threw jeers your way as they passed.

“Get off the sidewalk, bitch!”

“You new around here, pretty girl? Wanna make some easy cash?”

“Fucking crybaby…”

You didn’t even spare them a glance.

You should have realised sooner… obviously that bastard was down here.

And now you were too.

You would never be free.

Vincent looked directly into the camera, and you felt your skin crawl. It was as if he was gazing right at you, dissecting you piece by piece until you were completely hollowed out.

Then, he let out a smarmy chuckle.

“Let’s just say, I can’t wait for you to see what I have in store.”

65 years later

*You hid and kept your identity safe so you be found by none of the Vees a specially Vincent or Vox whatever he want to call himself. you kept yourself company by making (Put what you love to do or whatever you make art or songs).

Vox was pissed. That wasn’t a particularly new development – Vox was often pissed. He was pissed when his employees opened their worthless mouths to question him, he was pissed when Velvette tuned him out in favour of scrolling on her phone, and he was pissed when Valentino threw one of his tantrums. He was certainly pissed whenever a certain radio demon crossed his mind for more than two seconds. Good thing that prick had been gone for years. Hopefully dead.

But the thing that set him apart from the rest of Hell’s angry residents was that he knew how to use his rage to his advantage. Well… most of the time.

Today was different.

It was tedious. It was frustrating. But at this point, it was one of the only things keeping him sane. The thought that he could someday find you.

Vox reclined in his chair as a hungry smile tugged at his virtual lips, his eyes trained on the wall of screens in front of him.

Unfamiliar sinners flitted on and off each of them, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. Vox sank his claws into the arms of his chair, tearing through the leather like butter. He wanted nothing more than to obliterate each of them until only you filled his screen. You had to have died by now. And Vox was almost 100% confident you wouldn’t pass the background check for Heaven.

Don’t get him wrong – Vox knew you were sweet and loving. You were perfect because you were his. But he also knew better than anyone the sins you committed in life; the sins that kept you awake at night.

For a second, he wondered what new sins you may have committed after his premature departure, but the thought alone made his head glitch. The idea that you had lived on without him filled him with so much blood-boiling fury that he wanted to tear someone apart.

You should have killed yourself the second he died. He always told you that – warned you that you were not permitted to exist in the world if he wasn’t there to cherish you.

But unfortunately, you decided to disobey him one last time. Vox decided that he would need to punish you accordingly once you were back where you belonged. Safe in his arms, looking at him alone.

“Well, dearest, looks like it's time to raise the stakes in our little game of hide-and-seek,” Vox muttered, flicking off the screens and plunging his office into darkness. “Your darling husband is nothing if not persistent.”

Vox could feel a headache brewing inside his screen.

His fingertips rapped the surface of his desk, slow and methodical, while his face darkened with each second. The sinner in front of him, a woman who looked like a walking lizard, scales and all, was too busy stammering her way through an excuse to notice his glare.

Over ten years ago, he had tasked a group of souls under his command with the goal of tracking you down. Though, as expected, they had proven themselves to be entirely useless.

“Val, please tell me that whatever caused that-“ Vox gestured to the splatter of blood adorning his partner’s shirt, “isn’t the result of you making another mess for me to clean up.”

“Ah, papi, in my defence, that cheap-ass had it coming. Thinking he could go balls deep on one of my best sluts and not pay. The nerve!” Valentino sighed dramatically.

Vox counted back from ten, and then forward twice more, as his digital brow twitched. Val was lucky he had a pretty face. “I hope you were at least discreet.” He emphasised, casting his annoyed gaze back to the tank where Shock.Wav was circling.

“Of course, I was. I even let him keep all his limbs,” Valentino huffed, walking over and throwing his arms over Vox’s shoulders, “the only witness was some broke la puta trying to make a pass at Angel Dust. She actually thought some shitty candle would win that whore over.”

“A (Item) ?” He parroted, bemused. The thought of someone paying for a (Item) was nearly amusing enough to loosen the knot of tension in his chest.

“Embarrassing, right? But it does smell pretty good. I thought maybe we could use it while we… have some fun tonight.” Valentino giggled, nipping Vox’s shoulder teasingly, before pressing the (Item), into his hand.

Vox chuckled, his irritation fading as he felt a familiar warmth flood to his groin. Well… he could certainly use a distraction. He looked down at the (Item) in his palm, wholly uninterested.

But then he looked a little closer.

Instantly, the room seemed to freeze around him. Every object, every detail, other than the cylindrical clump of wax, faded into nothing. The handwriting stared up at him like a long-lost lover.

It was the same handwriting that had sat right next to his on their marriage certificate; the same handwriting that was used to scrawl out little love notes in his lunch.

‘Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow’

“Val, let’s put a raincheck on this meeting.” Vox whispered breathlessly, a crazed glint lighting up his screen, “It seems like my wife just made things a whole lot easier.”