Liars Truth

By Dorian Scott Cole

A corrupt governor dies in a fit of stupidity. He is uncertain of his life standing, so finds himself journeying in Hell, where he feels like he doesn't belong. He is given a second chance, and is assigned to find damaged and lost, but wonderfully colorful souls in Hell, from any time period, who might redeem themselves through a second chance, and bring them into situations to better themselves in a new town in Asphedolus.

This high fantasy novel is set in Ancient Greek mythology. The main character faces the challenge of forming a rogues gallery into a community, deals with demons who would destroy him, and beautiful angels who help him. They must find something to live for in Asphedolus, or their situation is no better than in Hell and a final ending in ashes or the Lake Of Fire.

Characters include William Shakespeare, an real executioner from history, a pirate, women wrongly killed, and present day deaths, to bring seven subplots together at the end. The story is heavily driven by theme and character.

This may appeal to people who like zombies and vampires, 1000 Ways to Die, Lost, Dead Like Me, Final Destination, What Dreams May Come, Deconstructing Hell, The Devil’s Advocate, Mister Destiny, Scrooged, and Groundhog Day.

Illustrated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorian Scott Cole
• Release date: Jun 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310069215

Dorian Scott Cole

Dorian Scott Cole is a professional communicator, with education and experience in writing, engineering technology, psychology, religion, radio announcing, acting, and movie and TV production, having had full careers in several fields. He worked as a senior development analyst for Writers Workshop, L.A. He teaches writing and acting in independent settings, and has written VisualWriter.com since 1996.He is the author of several Web sites, and produces entertainment videos through his company, Movie Stream Productions. His production series, STL Comedy, included 22 professional actors, and 10 writers.Dorian lives near St. Louis.

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Acknowledgements

Grateful appreciation to my wife, Sheila, who sacrifices so that I can write, and who is my first beta reader and strictest critic. And to Rachel Talbot, for editing. And to a few in writers groups who critique and beta read some things for me.

Disclaimer

This is an original work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, living or dead in the 18th. Century to present, or any organization, or any other literary work, are strictly coincidental.

Images

Image of Franz Schmidt: wikipedia.org (Wikimedia Commons)

Image of William Shakespeare: wikipedia.org (Wikimedia Commons)

Cover: Cave picture from morguefile.com

Cover text flames: static.pexels.com

Cover: Original design by Dorian Scott Cole

Cover: Original art by Dorian Scott Cole

Jerry image: oc_character_demon_mask_by_nicoy-d32vzox.png, Microsoft Clipart

Persiphus image, Mahratta soldier: By James Forbes - James Forbes' Oriental Memoirs. Forbes (1749- 1819) http://www.bl.uk/onlinegallery/onlineex/apac/other/019xzz0000455c8u00046000.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11967641

Case 435 Tractor image: By Spars - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4180447

Quotes: Many of the quotes were found on GoodReads.com

Part 1: Welcome to Hell

A Very Strange Journey

Chapter 1

Bon Voyage

Fire and ash. The image of his Governor's mansion engulfed in flames that seemed to reach to space, was all John could see. Fire takes everything. He was lucky to get out alive. Everything he owned was gone. His wife, not so lucky. Badly burned, she lay in a coma, 3 months now, from which she might never recover. Life was crumbling around him, up in smoke. The fiery vision of his past home faded, replaced by his new one, cold, barren, under construction.

Can’t anyone ever stay on schedule?! John screamed at his construction foreman. All he could see of his new house was an empty cement hole. Without a word, the foreman folded his plans and headed for his car.

John chased after him like a hound on a fox. You’re going to be building my house all winter. I’m the Governor of this State, and I can’t get anyone to do anything on time. How does this look!? The foreman continued walking and John continued shouting. I shoved a thousand in your pocket – that gets me this crap?! The house has to be ready for the campaign!

The foreman didn’t turn around. It will be done in time, he said as he climbed into his pickup. He drove off, clearing the way for a dump truck to start backing in, while the steam rolled from John’s ears.

John threw his hard hat on the ground and watched him leave. He wiped his palms, blue with ink from the house plans, on his jeans – his $100 jeans, and straightened the now ruffled collar on his blue pull-over shirt. Damned people promise you anything, and then when they have you hooked…. He looked around the construction site. He had a hole in the ground with cement walls. Three months, and that’s all he had. A kid with a toy crane and dump truck could have accomplished more. Would he ever get his life back?

Six flaming arrows, apparently from six angry people who had never been caught, well placed around his home, had given the mansion no chance of survival. What would make them do this? He might never know the answer. Anger with politicians was high in the country. People expected too much.

The dump truck began backing toward the excavation, backup beeper blaring. John’s cell phone rang. John, he answered curtly. The voice on the other end was weak and broken up. John cursed under his breath, and tried to talk without his irritation showing, but failed. I have to get somewhere quiet so I can hear. Hold on, he growled.

John took one look at the truck. It was just sitting there, backup beeper blaring loudly. The driver's assistant walked back from the basement and began to wave the truck backward. The basement – it should be quiet down there. But how? He spotted a rickety ladder, and climbed down.

Sorry for the delay. What can I help you with? The voice on the other end seemed confused and powerless. Pathetic. He listened. He finally figured out it was a nervous contractor that he was trying to shove a contract to, greasing a palm to get his own palm greased. How dead in the head were these people? Look, I give you the job, you give me a ten percent kickback. Easy-peasy.

The backup warning was getting louder. Couldn’t the guy just dump his load and go?! John climbed over piles of gravel to reach a corner of the basement. The truck stopped, but the motor noise still didn’t permit conversation. Exasperated, he swore and stepped out of the corner toward a quieter wall. I don’t care about that other company!

The motor noise picked up again. John pressed his hand to his ear to shut out the noise. He stooped down to try and shut out more noise. I’ll dump on his entire – He felt a few stones hit his shoulder, and then darkness.

QQQQQ

John could see a light. Far off in the distance, a round circle of light. What happened? Had he been knocked unconscious? Was he in a hospital? He moved toward the light. He was walking? Nothing seemed right, but he felt peaceful. The circle of light grew larger.

Mother! Was that her standing in an idyllic meadow? He knew it was. But she was dead. Five years ago, cancer. She smiled and opened her arms for him in a wide embrace.

Johnnnnnn! His Mother exclaimed in delight. John ran into her open arms. His mother kissed him ecstatically. With unbounded delight, he hugged her, and basked in her embrace.

Mom! I’ve missed you so much, he said. The moment seemed to last for hours.

Everyone will be so glad to see you! John held her hand and gazed at her.

Is everyone here? he asked.

Why, yes. Even poor Uncle Al, who spent all that time in prison is here.

This was wonderful news. And even Uncle Ernie?

His Mother looked away, sadly. That lying, cheating, womanizing Senator? We don’t know. John began to feel uneasy. He looked around nervously. What is it, John?

If Uncle Ernie didn't make it, would he? Doubt flooded his face and his entire being. He began to shrink away from his Mother. Maybe…. He looked around and realized the surroundings were beginning to lose their luster and fade. He looked down at himself. He was dirty… filthy. His clothes were moth eaten, his hands looked old, yellow, and rotten. He looked around and saw piles of barren rocks and dirt nearby. He angled toward them.

This is a place of unconditional love. You’re here! Come.

Mom, I just got dumped on by a gravel truck. I’m not feeling the love just now. I think I’ll just wait right over here until things cool off.

His Mother faded away, arms still outstretched.

Chapter 2

The People We Sometimes Wish Were In Hell

Lightning flashed. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, Uuunk!

John arrived on a lightning bolt, and landed in a smoking heap. What the hell was that?! he yelled. That hurt! He looked around, dazed. I’m too busy to be dealing with this stuff. Did somebody give me a bad drug?! Where’s my assistant?!

John’s vision began to clear. He could see greyness. Just dark grey and dark red light. Did the doctors paddle me? The place was full of ashes, seemingly devoid of sunshine and happiness.

He stood. Lava pits boiled everywhere, belching smoke and horrible gases. He coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve. The horizon was red with fire. Burning embers fell and glowed all around. He ducked, but none hit him. Crematory?! Oh, God! This place is frightening.

As his vision cleared, he could see people glumly sitting around. Some lay around moaning, some were tearing at their hair and flesh. Each brushed glowing embers off of themselves, which were immediately replaced, like being attacked by a cloud of mosquitoes. This is not good.

John could just make out a path. He scanned the landscape to get his bearings, in case he wanted to come back here. There were no significant points to identify the place, unless you counted misery. He began to walk down the path.

He walked for what seemed like hours. Maybe days. There was no sense of time. Maybe he should have just sat still so someone could find him, but he knew it was pointless. Somehow he was getting his just deserts.

The misery all around him made him think of the people he had failed. He could have focused his career as Governor on easing misery and making people’s lives better. But there were so many other really important things to do. All of those campaign promises… well to be honest, they were just tools for getting into office – he hadn’t really intended to work hard on any of them – not that he didn’t care. He simply never had time… or the inclination, to be honest.

Yeah, he would give a beggar a dime… if he could prove he wasn’t just on the take and had actually tried to work. Everyone could get a job if they really wanted. Besides, he flew in different circles. What could he have done for any of them anyway? Useless slobs – way too many of them. Too many to even count… except during election results. They mattered then.

What was that? If he strained, he could see someone ahead on the path. He could hear them shouting. Maybe he could find out something about where he was. Coming toward him was a man, nude, trying to stay ahead of a terrible monster. The monster was three feet taller than the man, and huge, with 3 feet long pointy horns like a ram. Her mouth looked big enough to eat his head. She was covered in scales, had furious red eyes, and her hands ended in long pointed claws that gripped a whip she repeatedly stung him with..

Cower, you sack of crap! Cower before me. Kiss my feet. Get up off your lazy ass and do something before I knock you into Hell. Oh, you are in Hell. Lucky you! Move, you SOB, move! the monster screamed at him.

They paused in front of John, and he shrank away. The man continued trying to run, as if on a treadmill, but couldn’t get anywhere.

Don’t let me stop you. John grimaced and backed out of the path.

The man wailed, Just let me rest a moment!

What did you do to deserve this? John stammered.

The monster morphed into a middle age woman. This monster beat me, raped me, and shouted at me, day after day. Now I’m his monster!

Please, help me! Throw me into the Lake Of Fire so I’ll be gone. Anything is better than this!

The woman morphed back into a monster, then swung at the man with her claws and connected, leaving a long bloody scar. He went down, then from a crawl tried to move ahead.

Did I say you could rest?! Move your lazy ass before I rip your balls off again! Suddenly the man was released and tore out of there, the monster right on his tale.

Rip them off again? John shuddered and continued walking, a fresh perspective on suffering now firmly planted in his head. I never did anything like that to my wife. I hope. Suddenly his head flooded with memories of times he wanted sex and she didn’t, and he pressed on. Times he shouted at her for not wanting the same things he did. Times he forced her to campaign for him, even though she hated it. He looked around at the people sitting and moaning. Was that to be his fate? Would someday he just stop walking, sit down, and let himself mourn? Surely not. He didn’t deserve this fate. Maybe he was just in a coma and this was just a bad, guilt ridden dream.

He walked on, contemplating the things he had done to his wife. Badly burned and in a coma, her chance at life was probably gone. Had he been a good husband? On balance, maybe he hadn’t been nice. Maybe the good wouldn’t have outweighed the bad. What about the jewelry he gave her? And the vacation trips. And the spas – hadn’t he treated her right? A large presence at