Whoever said you can’t take your belongings with you when you die must’ve never died before. Everyone goes to hell. They’ve even got a fucking waitlist. I wasn’t a bad person—rich, greedy, and maybe over obsessed with the finer things in life, no worse than the next guy. If you talk to the big man upstairs, he’ll tell you I have a laundry list of sins that would make a pimp blush.
You’d think hell would be covered with demons prodding seas of sinners with their pitchforks while they laugh and flick their forked tongues, but you’d be wrong. Hell is divorce court with your ex-wife, the same ex-wife that snuck a few ounces of sulfuric acid into your morning joe, burning a hole right through you. I can’t even have a drink without shitting a puddle and wetting my britches. One thing is for sure—that bitch got it worse.
It all started over an argument about furniture. The lawyers asked us to go into our home and tag the belongings we wished to take, and whatever items we couldn’t agree on would be sorted in court. She took the French vanity, the fridge, the accent mirrors, and even the fucking dog, not that I could give a shit. I was already up to my neck in debt, so the way I figured it, this would be the perfect way to downsize, and I could have my attorney forge some paperwork to make the whole thing look like a donation to the less fortunate.
All I wanted was my watch, my collectable baseball cards, and the fucking cloud couch. That couch was my throne—it was like sitting on perfection. But the thing about women is you can never truly satisfy them. I bought that bitch bolt-on tits, enough lip filler to drown a fish, and gave her a little fuck around money whenever she asked, and you know what I got in return? Alimony. When I told her I wasn’t budging on the sofa, that it was mine, and my money paid for it, she said she’d see me in court.
That rubbed me the wrong way if you catch my drift. The good thing about women like Sofija is that they come in pairs. Her sister was hotter and younger. I flashed her a couple of bills, and the next thing you know, that sweet Lithuanian mouth was hugging my knob. The ex didn’t like that, so she got the bright idea to kill me, and with my last breaths, I turned her face into a crimson mudpie with a meat tenderizer. That’s how I found myself in hell, sitting before a judge.
“Mr. Caparelli,” the judge said, wiping the creases of the ram horns jutting from his forehead. “Last session, we talked about your past sins and the sins of your ex-wife, Ms. Sofija Ajauskas. Do you remember the terms of the court?”
“Yeah, yeah. I figure out who whacked me, and I get a one-way ticket to reincarnation, and little Miss Cheater ova’ there gets to burn for eternity.”
“Correct, and do you remember what happens if the lovely lady comes to the conclusion before you?”
“Then it’s me who burns, ya’ honor. Is that what you want me to call yous’, ya’ honor? Or do yous’ demons have somethin’ else yous’ wanna’ be called? Ya’ darkness, ya’ evilness?”
The judge’s face pinched with amusement as he let out a sharp laugh.
“Your evilness, that’s rich. Personally, I don’t give a damn what you call me. In the end, you’re here for my amusement. With Hell’s overpopulation problem, we figured we’d make it interesting, like those court shows your kind loves so much. It’s not often that we have contestants murdered by the same culprit, so this has been truly entertaining. Shall we recap?”
Sofija nodded with what was left of her head—several pieces of clumped tissue plopping on the ground as her lawyer bent over to scoop the mess into his palm. The lower portion of her jaw was split in two, and her once-perfect veneers poked out like tiny white tiles from her obliterated gum line. Air bubbles fizzed around her trachea, followed by gurgles.
“My client would like to recap; her memory isn’t the same since the incident.”
“Very well. Mr. Caparelli, your guesses included Ms. Sofija’s former tennis coach, Jean-Phillip, and her sister, Justina. Both guesses were wrong. Ms. Sofija, you placed the blame on Mr. Caparelli’s former assistant, whom he forced to have an abortion after becoming pregnant during their affair, and the head of your HOA. Again, wrong on both accounts. Today, I will allow you each one final guess. Guess right and you’ll have another chance at redemption, being born into a new body. If you guess wrong, then both of you will be damned to a punishment of my choosing. Understand?”
“Understood, now can we get the fuck on with it?”
“Mind your manners. You don’t want to have to do another night in the temple of Sodom, do you?”
Just the mention of the temple gave me the chills. Despite having a melted asshole, the freaks in that joint really knew how to make a man scream. I nodded and closed my eyes, running through my options. If someone wanted us dead, they would have had to know our habits. Every morning, I start the day with a cup of coffee and a splash of whiskey. I like to chug that shit before it cools—it doesn’t taste as good once it loses its heat. They must’ve known I’d lose my temper when I thought the bitch tried to pull one over on me, leaving the meat hammer out on the counter. Sofija doesn’t eat meat, so why it was out is still a mystery to me.
“We’re waiting, Mr. Caparelli.”
“Just give me a second, will ya’?”
“How about we come back to you? Ms. Sofija, any guesses?”
“Glug, glug, glug.”
“My client believes the murderer to be Mr. Caparelli’s mother. The estate was deeded to her in the event of his passing, and she had the most to gain from their deaths.”
The mention of my mother boiled my blood. She was a fucking saint, crippled by a massive stroke a decade prior. I paid a fortune to keep her comfortable at a high-class nursing home called Penny Gardens. She was the only broad I could ever trust.
“Ah, the mother. That would be a sick and twisted turn of events, but that guess is incorrect, madam,” the Judge said, pulling out a small pair of spectacles from his robe pocket. “The court of Satan sentences you to an eternity in retail, where every day is black Friday. You really should have been nicer to those poor women working in those boutiques, Ms. Sofija, but I digress; the order is final. Oh, and to make matters worse, there is a BOGO sale that isn’t ringing up, so you’ll have to enter the sale manually. Good luck and goodbye.”
The floor opened up beneath Sofija’s feet, dropping her into a pit of retail hell. I’d be lying if I said the sight didn’t bring me a little joy.
“Your turn, Mr. Caparelli, don’t make me wait.”
“The maid, Esther or whatever her name was. She’s the only one who was constantly in the house, that ungrateful bitch. It had to be her.”
“Now, come on, Mr. Caparelli, that’s just lazy writing. What is this, a game of Clue? No, no, that guess won’t do. Come on, the answer is closer to you than you think.”
I gritted my teeth, every brain cell firing as I tried to come up with an answer. Closer to me than I think. Who in my life was close to me? Close, like family.
“Yous’ saying it was my fucking lawyer? I loved that son-of-a-bitch. Would he really do that to me?”
The Judge sighed, working his bright red thumbs into his leathery temples.
“It was your son, Mr. Caparelli. You neglected him, choosing loose women and drugs over your duties as a parent. His mother took her own life after you financially crippled her, before you remarried and sent him abroad.”
“Brendan did this?”
“His name is Brayden, Mr. Caparelli, not Brendan. He came back to confront you, and instead, you mistook him for a dog walker. He’d stop by several times a week, waiting for you to recognize him, acknowledge him, but you failed to make the connection. The boy studied your habits, your mannerisms, and then put his plan into motion. I can’t say I blame the lad. After you died, he finished off your ex-wife before she succumbed to her wounds. True artistry. Anyway, moving on, since you enjoyed your time in Sodom, I think we’ll go ahead and book you an extended stay. How would you like that?”
“Fuck you.”
“Poor choice of words, Mr. Caparelli, I believe it is you who will be getting fucked.”
Author’s Note: This was a fun one, as a part of my beef with the amazing
. The prompt was based on genre, location, and an action. They gave me Mystery, Divorce Court, and an argument about a cloud couch. Divorce has been described as hell, so I thought, why not take it to Hell itself? I hoped you enjoyed the story. Check out theirs below!
“Brendan did this?”
“His name is Brayden, Mr. Caparelli, not Brendan."
Ha! Sounds like someone got exactly what they deserved.
This was hilarious. Could hear all the voices and sounds and see all the sights. (Also my brother is named Braden which added to the hilarity). I tip my hat to you, sir. 🙇🏻