For all around him, all he could hear were the bitter cries and the screams of pain and agony. There was no release as his eyes wondered to see the things that no other sense could see. There was a distant pain in those eyes, those sad grey eyes that took in his fiery surroundings to store forever in his memory.

Shifting to get a better grip on his recording device, and the object that would translate what the souls wanted to say for him to hear, he looked across the thin bridge to the other side. Millions of shadowy shapes, all wandering about and around each other, all of them too much in a daze to care where they were.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He looked down to see his daughter, his guide. She was looking at him with those grey eyes so like his, as if pleading for him not to go. She was but a small child, with eyes too old for her age.

"It's my job, princess." he said to her, giving her a gentle smile. "I volunteered for this job, and I will keep it. There were people who were able to escape Hell before, dear. If I'm not correct, there will be an increase in that number if I'm sucessful."

She nodded from his side, closing her eyes to shut out the haunting looks before her. Yet nothing could shut out the mournful wails that came from the souls themselves.

"I believe you can do this, Daddy." She said quietly, not moving from his side. "If anyone can survive this, you can." Opening her eyes, she turned to face her father, and tugged on his sleeve. "But please," she said, voice tearful, "Be careful, okay?"

Seeing the hurt look on her face, her father could do none other than set his devices carefully on the ground and bend over to give her a hug. "Don't worry. I can't get hurt on this job. I won't change from this, okay, sweetie? Go back home and go play with your friends. I'll be back before you know it."

They stayed like that for a while, until the little girl finally pulled away, a sad smile dominating her face. "Okay." she said shyly, then leaned in to kiss her father on the nose. "I'll tell Mommy you're okay."

With that statement, she released her embrace and bounded away, not giving the hellish scene another look.

Her father sighed, and then gave a longing look to the light path that his daughter had taken to get home, back turned to the thin bridge that would guide him to Hell. It was his job. It was something that he had wanted to do. His entire life, and after it, was about helping people. He believed that everyone had the strength to be redeemed- they were only to scared of the pain to go through with it.

Bending down slowly to pick up his devices again, the man winced as he straightened up his back. Back sores... he had to talk to some Angels about it. He wasn't supposed to get back sores in the afterlife.

Again he looked back, taking in the happiness and joy that he would be leaving behind for the day. There was something that he loved, yet there was something there that was missing. Something that would be found in where he was going now.

Taking one last breath, he stepped onto the thin, swaying bridge.

"Mr. Ruda?" A young, sad looking man came up to greet him with a fakish smile. "We've been waiting for you. You've been granted your first audiance today. I... do hope that you can help him. He's one of the easier ones to ease, yet we've still been having some trouble with him."

Ruda nodded, his black hair falling in slicks down his forehead in the heat. An audiance... he would need some information first. Looking up at the young man, he asked in a thick voice, "What was his name?"

"Corran Muse, sir. He was seventeen when he died of an overdose."

The older man nodded. Overdose. That seemed to be happening with a lot of kids lately. But it was all the information he needed. He didn't want anymore information, actually. He wanted his patient himself to tell him.

"Please," Ruda spoke. "Take me to him."

The young man's eyes got a bit sadder, but he nodded, and turned to walk in a direction. Ruda followed him silently, unable to block out the sounds of screams in terror and pain. Eternal damnation had nothing to do with demons. It had to do with what you did in your life and how you accepted it. If you could accept whatever you did in your life, anything and everything, then you would be allowed to live a peaceful life, be allowed to choose whatever you wanted to do with that life.

There were those who chose to work to try and help these tortured souls, souls who would not accept themselves. Those who helped them grew sad in the making, seeing the miserable existance continue from day to day. Yet they kept strong, and always came back for more.

Ruda followed the young man quietly, making not a sound as his feet slapped the rough ground. It was strange, really, how he had been helped before- his own soul saved long before he died. He had not been able to find the man who helped him in the afterlife- although he had heard of Immortals living on Earth only to tend to those in need.

He remembered, when he had been pain and doubt. His girlfriend had bore him a daughter, a daughter that he had not needed. He had run away, stolen away to a place where he hoped that all his troubles and responsiblity would not be able to follow him. It had been at that time when he had been in his greatest hour of need. Someone had responded to his distress, an old man of perhaps seventy that went to comfort the distraught teenager. It was then when he learned to face his problems with determination to see it through.

"Sir," the young man said after many minutes.

Ruda looked up, distracted from his flashback of his life.

The young man looked apologetic. "We're here, sir."

Giving a quiet thank you, Ruda watched as the soul drifted back down the hallways, back to the crying and the grieving. Taking a second to prepare himself for the worst, Ruda studied the rich, wooden door for a spare second before opening it silently.

In there, huddled in the shadowy corner of the room, sat a young boy, looking tall and skinny. His skin was pale and his eyes were wide open in fear, frantic as to who was there. The boy had dark colored hair that could not be made out in the shadows, and eyes a dark green color.

"Hello," Ruda spoke carefully, trying to ignore the other's distress. "You must be Corran. I do hope that we can be friends." He walked stridely in, stopping only to close the door behind him. Taking but two steps towards a chair which was settled near Corran, he paused when he heard the boy hiss.

"Get the fuck away from me," Corran stated, his voice deep with fear. "I don't want your fucking help. All you shitty 'do-gooders'... you're all the same. You sons of bitches always like nosing into other people situations. I don't fucking need your help."

Ruda only frowned, and continued his steps towards the chair. "I'm sorry, Mr. Muse, but you'll have to come up with something better than that to keep me away. That's something rude to say to someone who wants to help you for nothing in return."

"Fuck you," Corran muttered, but didn't stop Ruda from settling in the chair.

Seeing that his patient was a bit more calm, Ruda nodded. "Now. We can't be friends without introducing ourselves. My name is Benedict Ruda. Your name is Corran Muse."

Corran glared at Ruda sharply. "I know my name."

"Yes, and I know it too," Ruda said, sounding amused. "I guess that's the first thing that we have in common." He sat back in the stiff chair, and pulled out his recording devices.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, faggot?" Corran sneered, shifting to keep himself in the shadows. Ruda caught but a glimpse of old scars on his hands, and wondered if there were more on his sleeve covered arms.

"Nothing." Ruda assured. "I'm here to listen to you. To whatever you have to say. Anything that you state about yourself right now can either be counted or not- whatever you decide. If you don't want anyone to know your story, I'll let you trash this device after your done telling your tale."

"Won't you know my tale then?" Corran asked, sounding uncomfortable.

Ruda shook his head. "I don't count right now. I can swear to you by anything you want that I won't tell anyone you don't want me to tell."

"That's a fucking loophole right there," Corran said.

"No loopholes. I won't tell anyone."

Corran shifted again, this time in uncertainty. Ruda's strange power in the afterlife was his calming presense. Nothing too big compared to what a lot of other people had, but it was something that he was glad for. Especially at a time like this.

"Please." Ruda added, "I'm like the others. I'm already dead, so I can't do anything to harm you or anyone that you care about. All I want to do is listen. If you want, I won't try to help."

There was a silence in the room. Seconds grew to minutes as Ruda waited for the boy to make his decision. If Corran didn't talk, then Ruda would try another day. It wasn't as if he was going to give up.

"They say," Corran said after about five minutes. He stopped, and looked up Ruda, who looked right back at him with ernest eyes. "They say that I'm a lost soul. Someone destined to be on the end of the rope. I'm not stupid enough to question them to know that they're right. They say that I will never win, that all my loved ones will die before me. That I will never have a fate to look to."

Ruda nodded, not having to ask who 'they' were. He knew that Corran was talking about the representatives for Fate and Destiny. To have people in such high positions tell you things like that... well, it would be pretty hard to deal with.

"And they're right, of course." Corran's voice cracked a bit there, and all of a sudden it seemed that a little boy had broken throught the self-imposed wall of attitude. All of a sudden to Ruda, Corran didn't seem like a rough going street teenager, but a little boy who's never had anyone to guide him.

Corran huddled there, arms wrapped around his knees with his chin drawn when he looked up at Ruda and said in a surprisingly strong voice. "I don't want this shit in the records. Any of it."

Ruda only studied the boy, watching him as he saw the dark green eyes doing the same to him. Finally, after a few seconds in thought, he gave a small nod.

Corran seemed to sigh in relief. "Those shitty do-gooders out there trying to help me... they're all conviced that I can be redeemed, that my life was nothing more than a drawback to me... seventeen years of real Hell. This doesn't even count."

Ruda stayed silent, not wanting to break the tension and not saying that he also believed that Corran could be redeemed.

Corran ignored the fact that Ruda hadn't said anything. He was sitting there, thinking. Then, after a maniactic laugh, he said, "Now.. where to start? I suppose I could say that my birth nearly killed my mother. She never recovered from giving birth to me. Or I could just start when my little sister was born, killing my mother. Maybe when dad decided that he should make his children work to get him drugs. Where do you want me to start?"

Ruda took a deep breath. "Wherever you feel like you want someone to know about it, Corran."

Corran looked at Ruda, then gave another demented laugh. "Aright, then. I'll start from the beginning.

"My mother was an orphan, who fell in love with my father when she was fifteen. She had been out with some of her friends when she first met him." Corran gave a smile. "Of course, when father found out that mother was in love with him, he took advantage of her in every way possible. Before long, she was bankrupt, unwanted, and pregnant.

"Of course, when my father found out, he tried to get out of any sort of union with her. To him, she was just another girl who had fallen to his charms- she was paying for the price. But to my mother, she was still in love with him and wanted to help him learn better ways, and to raise their child together. She managed to bind him into marriage... how, I'll never know."

He paused for a moment, his hands going up to rub his shrunken eyes. There was a air of sadness about the teenager now, and Ruda wondered at what kind of terrible life that he led.

"When mother gave birth to me, I somehow came out wrong. She nearly bleed to death over me, and father didn't help matters at all. In fact, if I'm not wrong, then he refused to help her at all. Mother had to nurse both me and herself into health.

"I still remember her... she was a small woman, not very old at all. She had run away from the orphanage to get married to father- and she only got married to him when I was two years old. Before that, they had been nothing but engaged. Mother was always strong mentally... she could go up against any challenge and come back out with a smile. But physically, she always got sick and was weak all the time.

"Father never helped the household. What could he do? He was married, so didn't have to give up money for child support. It was mother who worked in a bardello- something she never wanted to do."

Corran stopped. It wasn't a pause or anything of the sort. It was a true stop, as if everything from there was too painful to tell. But Ruda wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what happened. There were too many cases like that on Earth. Way too many cases for him to mistake it.

Mother worked as a hooker and didn't want to. Child beaten at home. Father not working. Mother always sick.

"Did your mother fall out of love?" Ruda asked gently, hoping that he wasn't going too far with the question, even if it was the simplest and most non-revealing that he could think of.

Corran sat in the shadows with his elbows on his knees, forehead rested on the thin hands. "Fuck, yes. No one could actually really love that basterd. It was just that she found out his true nature too late. She-" his voice was choked off, and he took a deep breath to try and regain his voice.

"Wait, Corran." Ruda said gently. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to." He leaned forward in his chair, concerned for the broken boy before him.

There was no sound from Corran for a long time. Then, after a minute or so, a sob escaped from the throat of the young man, and Ruda stood up. He knew from experiance that Corran would probably want to be alone at the moment, so that he could claim no one saw his weaknesses.

Taking but a step towards the door, Ruda hesistated. He turned around slowly, eyes levelled with Corran. "If you want to talk to me about this more, all you have to do is ask any of the attendents around here. They'll know where to catch me. If not... I'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing."

Corran's sobs continued, an overwhelming dam that hadn't been released for too long. He looked up, eyes red and puffy but flashing in the darkness. "Be sure you do that, you little fucker. I wouldn't want to have told this shitty tale for nothing."

Ruda bowed his head... and left the room.

Chapter 1: The Adminent Soul

Corran looked up as the door opened, quickly rolling his sleeves back down. He had been doing the dishes... but they had so little to eat anyway that it really didn't matter. Besides... he had homework to do later. But if it was his mother coming home... he could always do the homework later or turn it in late.

The rotting, wooden door creaked and groaned with the slow levelling, and in walked a tiny figure that was barely any taller than eight year old Corran. The figure was a young woman dressed in too-revealing street clothes, stumbling inside the kitchen.

"Mom!" Corran exclaimed and rushed over to steady his mother, who had nearly fainted with exhertion. "Mother..." Corran pleaded, his voice soft and gentle. "I'll take you to bed, mom. You go take a nap and I'll prepare you a hot bath. You shouldn't be standing around right now."

His mother shook her head. "No, dear," Her voice was slurred, as if she had consumed alcohal, which Corran knew was not the case. "I need to get some medicine... couldn't find work, they say was sick...."

Corran bit his lip to keep from crying as he led his mother to his parents' bedroom. "Yes, mom. I'll get some medicine for you... but you have to rest too in order to get better." His mother was always sick, and sometimes, Corran thought that it was a good thing if it would only take her away from that stinking bardello.

His mother shook her head weakly. "Can't... house need money..."

Corran just nodded along with whatever mother was saying. Although he did the housework, it was his mother who did the read dirty work. Father didn't care what she and his son did as long as they paid the bills and he got some cash to be able to go out.

His eyes watered at the thought of his father. How he wanted a normal family, with a normal father who would help him with his homework and play games with him. His father just tried to ignore him, and beat him whenever he asked a question. Corran had learned not to talk while in was in the house alone with father, but that didn't always stop the beatings... it just lessoned it.

"Just relax, mom," he soothed, helping her to her bed as her hair fell in dark tangles. "Everything will be fine." He closed his eyes to shut off the tears for a moment as he remembered how she had kept saying that to him when he was a babe, and how he tried to keep returning the favor. "Everything will be fine."

Only seconds after he opened his eyes again, he saw that his mother was sound asleep on her bed, clothes in a heap and looking uncomfortable.

Corran sighed as he pulled the blanket over her. She would be uncomfortable when she woke, but he would draw a bath for her so that she'd be comfortable later.

"Corran..."

Corran startled as he heard his mother's weak voice from the bed. Turning back, he gave a smile. "Yeah, mom?"

His mother's hand appeared from the covers and cupped his cheek. She didn't say anything for a long while, just examining his features. Corran stood still, letting her do as she wanted. Unlike the other kids, Corran loved spending time with his mom, no matter in what form and what she wanted to do. He didn't get enough time with her- his school and her work.

His mother smiled a sad smile. "My baby boy..." she breathed, and Corran closed his eyes again. At the age of nine, he was a lot taller than everything else in school. He didn't know why... he didn't eat good food and didn't get enough exercise. Mother had told him that it was something in his genes, but Corran didn't want to believe it. With mother so short, and father so tall- well, he refused to acknowledge that father had also borne him.

He heard her sigh, her hand dropping from her cheek. It was always like that, at least once a week. Mother would come home sick, and she'd just look at him, and try to praise him for all the work he had taken up. But she never needed to say a word. Corran knew. It was why he kept helping the household.

Corran got up quietly, and went to draw the bath that he had promised his mother.

Ruda watched as the small lights on the recording device flashed. He took a few seconds to let all emotions slip from his being as his grey eyes found their way back to Corran, who was now sitting on a chair on the other side of the room. He wasn't in the shadows anymore, and was wearing a dark, blood-stained red shirt and a jacket that covered even his hands. His jeans were fives sizes too big for him and well-worn, as if he had to wear them for years already.

The lights in the room were dimmed by reflecting candles, out of respect for Corran's dark tale. There was nothing in the room other than two chairs, and a desk which seperated the chairs. The candles were all floating about in the room with no memory of gravity.

Corran had stopped in his tale, sitting slumped in a stiff chair.

"I-It was the last time that she was well." Corran continued, his voice barely audible. The shadows on his face seemed to increase as the young man looked up. But there was a haunted look in the eyes that could not have been caused by the shadows alone. "She was always sick after that. I had actually conviced her to go to the doctors once. They said... they said that it was nothing but a simple cold. Nothing to worry about as long as she got enough rest."

"Was it because you thought that she was too stressed?" Ruda asked.

Corran gave a small laugh. "Stressed?" His voice rose dangerously. "Stressed is NOT the word. She lives in a shack that couldn't support more than rats, has a husband who doesn't give a shit about her, and a son who she can't help?!"

Ruda held up his hands, a pen inbetween his fingers. "Nevermind I asked. She had to be very stressed. My mistake. I'm sorry, I'm a basterd for not knowing the real hardships of life."

Corran only glared at him for a minute.

"But still," he admitted. "She managed to be the very best that a mother could be."

The man stumbled into the house wearily, unsure if he would be welcomed or not. He had dark blond hair, with eyes hidden by narrow glasses. He was extremely handsome, with an air of superiority about him, a caution. It was as if he was sneaking into a house he wasn't supposed to be in.

Of course, it could always be thought of that way. He never liked going home. That bitch of a wife that he had would always be there, waiting to scold him for going out. It was just like his fucking parents all over again. But of course, the boy... the boy wouldn't say anything.

The man scowled as he creaped his way to his bedroom. Even if the boy wasn't much, he was the reason the man was tied to this life to begin with. With meant that the boy had to be taught a lesson. He wasn't supposed to be on this Earth. That meant the man could do anything he wanted with him.

Slow, approaching footsteps made him halt in mid-step, eyes widening. It was that bitch of his again. She who had been pretty when she was younger, and who was now being so unfaithful and going out with a business as a slut. Well, he would teach her. He would go out too. He would pile his numbers up before her and make sure that she knew he could score more than she ever did.

As his eyes turned to his right, a tired-looking woman appeared, no more than 5'3. She looked small and pale, too thin as well as sickly. He couldn't believe that he had married a slut like her. Without her makeup, she was but an average girl- looking like she would stay forever fifteen.

But even with her fragile appearance, her face was grim and her eyes furious. She looked like she was about to fall over, but had steadied herself with her small hands, leaning against the wall in a most prideful position, looking like a revenging Goddess out on a rampage.

"Y-you," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked furious, and the man wondered what had happened. Sure, he had learned to care about her just a little- he knew that she had never been fully angry with him going out before. She had always been too tired to be angry. Had the boy woken her up fully so that now she had the strength to be angry with him? That boy deserved a beating.

The woman steadied herself more as she began to sway, her eyes snapping with a burning so deep that the man wondered where she got it all from. "You dared whip our son?" Her words were slow, diliberate. "You dared to beat him, to hurt and harm him... you DARED to threaten to kill him if he said anything to me?"

Her words were disjointed, from lack of education. But her meaning was clear. She was angry that he had beat the boy. But why should she be angry by that little thing?

"Clarissa," he said, not a trace of emotion in his voice, "You have no proof of such things."

Her eyes narrowed at him, but the rest of her did not move. They stood there, doing nothing but glaring at each other until the man thought that his feet was going to ache the next day. They still to what seemed to be forever, with her fury and his calm.

"No proof." The words were loud, a statement. All of a sudden she pulled the boy from out behind her. "No proof, you say. You bastard! I saw his arms! He was preparing a bath for me... his sleeves were rolled up! What the HELL do you have to say to this, you little fuck?!"

The boy besides her looked terrified, looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. The man's eyes travelled from the boy to his mother, and a smirk found his way up to his face.

Discontinued

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