23 Minutes In Hell Book Novels & Stories

Gran extended her hand and I hesitantly took it. I looked at Seth, he smiled when he noticed. He also offered his hand and the scared me of course took it. In a snap, we are surrounded by a tornado made of fire. It only lasted for a good minute, before it slowly distinguished and we are in hell. “Welcome to Hell.” Seth said in a low voice. I look around. So this is hell.

Date = 21 January How many emotions can fit in a day? Place = San Francisco (UCSF Mission Bay Medical) (Uncle John’s house) POV - Damion Boring. Soul-sucking. Mind-numbing. If hell had a waiting room, it would look exactly like this — beige walls, recycled air, and the slow torture of being herded from one test to the next like a well-behaved lab rat. At least I’m almost done. Just a brain scan left. Except, of course, they slid an emergency in ahead of us.

Vanessa replied almost instantly, as if she had finally completed some routine obligation. "Have you eaten? Food at rest stops gets cold. Don't eat anything random." I was about to type when Caleb updated his video again. He posted a photo of coffee from a rest stop. The caption read: "Warm. It feels good when you're here." Beside the rim of the cup, I could see the Patek Philippe watch Vanessa always wore. Something clogged my chest, nausea churning hard. I shut off my phone and kept driving. Halfway there, my mother's attending doctor called.

PHOEBE The human mind, when subjected to extreme duress, does not process time in linear increments. It fragments. It stretches minutes into agonizing, hollow epochs, filling the silence with every worst-case scenario your imagination can assemble from the dark. For exactly twenty-three minutes, I was a prisoner inside my own sanctuary.

“Stop! Don’t hit me. Mrs. Foster, I’m not the mistress… Miss Foster, you’ve been deceived. I’m the real one who saved you–” A baton slammed hard into my back, and a metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “Still lying, huh? Hit her again. Don’t stop until she can’t get up.” At Mrs. Foster’s vicious order, the beating intensified again. My vision blurred, and the pool of blood beneath me grew larger. Was I going to die here again today? I clenched my lips and quickly took the chance to send Elijah a distress message through my smartwatch. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, Elijah arrived with the police.

Not the terrifying intensity underneath every joke that made my chest tighten whenever he got too quiet. But acknowledging it would mean acknowledging myself too. And I wasn't ready for that. So instead, I grabbed another tray of drinks and pretended my life wasn't slowly turning into a terrible decision wrapped in tension and stolen midnight fucks with a much younger man. "Lilith." I froze slightly. Oh fuck.

Third-Person POV Once Sebastian arrived at the manor, he gazed at the smoldering embers of the fire and the sharp scent of burning wood that permeated the air. His heart seemed to stop as he dashed through the smoke and dust into the master bedroom. Panicking, he looked around frantically, eyes widening in shock. There was no body on the floor. "Where is she?" He turned around, lowering his voice. The Capo in charge of security knelt at the door. "Don Quinn, the funeral home... has no records of receiving the body. That ambulance disappeared after entering the surveillance cameras' blind spot, and the license plate is fake."

BOOK 3: Chapter 21: A Dangerous Addiction She returns back to her room with a guilt-ridden heart. Her steps are uneven, unsteady, her breath shallow and trembling. The door clicks shut behind her, and she leans her full weight against it, exhaling like she's just escaped something lethal. Her eyes drift closed. Inhale. Exhale. Again. Her chest rises and falls in uneven waves as she tries to cool the fire scorching through her veins.

"I don't want to, because… "Luther Spencer, you disgust me," Callista spat. Luther jolted awake in panic, and he rushed into the bathroom. He scrubbed his body over and over again. He nearly peeled his skin off. His eyes were bloodshot, and he mumbled unconsciously, "Honey, I'm clean now. I'm not dirty anymore. I've cleaned everything off. Please don't think I'm disgusting. "I even threw up what I ate. Please, don't hate me. I'll make sure no one else ever comes here again."

The face was all scratched up, and anything on her body that could prove her identity was taken away, so we suspect it's an intentional murder. Hearing that the body was salvaged from Salakole, Winston paused for a moment, then he put on his sterile gloves with a poker face. I floated in mid-air, staring at the man in front of me. Three years... It had been three years since I died. After I died, my soul was trapped in Salakole, suffering in the fierce wind and freezing weather all day. Until someone found me, they brought me back. But I didn't expect that Winston was the person who would personally dissect me.