All That's Hidden

Chapter Six: Welcome to Hell-I Mean, Perdition

AN: Talk of religion, death mention near the very end
Updates are going to be a bit sporadic now, I'd recommend following this story if you haven't already!

The dust cleared, Samara's coughing cutting through the silent, sultry air. She blinked harshly, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She could hear a faint crunching from beneath her; sand, perhaps? Or maybe gravel, like the kind sold at the local pet store in their near-bursting five-pound bags, shelved underneath large aquariums with glow-in-the-dark fish and tiny goldfish swimming around inside.

"Oh! Oh, God!" Samara turned her head to see Basil spitting rust-colored sand out of her mouth as she pushed herself to her knees—so her first assumption was correct. "Oh, son of a—"

"You okay, Basil?" she questioned, a concerned look crossing over her face. "That was a pretty nasty fall back there..."

"Well, nothing's broken, so I'd think so. At least, aside from the sand in my mouth." Basil brought herself to her feet, brushing the dirt off of her clothes as she turned towards her friend. "You need help getting up?"

"I'd appreciate it, yeah."

Basil pulled Samara to her feet, the latter shaking her head to get rid of any debris in her hair. The brunette couldn't help but notice how nice Basil's hands felt—her skin smooth and soft, the heat seeping into Samara's fingers. And the grip—it was the perfect balance of firmness and relaxation, almost as if it were a long, comforting embrace.

Samara's face grew warm as she stared at their intertwined fingers, a hot tickle echoing through her chest. She just wanted to stay like this forever—standing still as time slipped away from them, fingers turning into chains as they held on tight.

"Oh, sorry!" Samara was harshly dragged back to reality, a red-faced Basil moving to pull her hands away. "I didn't realize that—"

"No, don't!" Samara cried out, squeezing Basil's hands gently, in an attempt to stop the former. "I...want to stay like this for a while, if that's okay."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It feels nice. And safe."

"Hm." Basil coughed softly, turning her gaze to the horizon to hide her reddening cheeks. "Do you recognize this place?"

"Recognize?" Samara echoed, a confused tone in her voice. "What do you mean?"

"Well—just look."

Samara turned her head to take a look for herself, to see what Basil was talking about. It didn't take her long, her dark brown eyes broadening with a mixture of shock and wonder. "O-Oh my God."

The girls were standing on a tall, crumbly mesa, its rocky base doing its best in shielding them from the wrath of the torrid heat. A cluster of tall towers and smaller structures laid hundreds of feet below, built from clay and sandstone in varying reds, yellows, and oranges. A siren-like screech erupted from one of the tallest buildings and rang in Samara's ears, nearly replicating a church's bell. As Samara took a closer look, she almost had the impression that—nope, some of the buildings were definitely on fire.

"This is hell," Basil blurted out. "This is literally hell. Holy Christ..."

"Is that appropriate to say, in this context?"

"I don't fucking know!" Basil threw her hands up in the air, gesturing towards the small civilization down below. "This is all—why does your family have a literal door to Hell under their house?!"

"Hey, don't get upset with me!" Samara replied defensively. "I didn't even know about any of this until

tonight! How am I supposed to know why my uncle hides a bunch of hell-doors behind a fake bookshelf in his study?"