By Robert McKenzie
“Welcome”, the concierge said, greeting his guests. “This place is Heaven on Earth”.
It was Casa De Hades, a legendary, exclusive resort. Many questioned if it even existed or was just a myth, like the Lost City of Gold.
Situated three miles off Bermuda, it was famous for its pink sandy beaches and turquoise waters. The journalist had never been, but after his accident he decided to wait no longer.
A shy, bookish man in his 30s, John wore a grey suit and horn-rimmed glasses. He was a brilliant correspondent, and occasionally dabbled in poetry but had never shown anyone his work.
He also possessed a natural curiosity and sense of adventure. When he heard about a secret island paradise, he had to experience it for himself.
So, after his spell in hospital following a collision with a drunk driver and subsequent recovery, he booked passage on the first available cruise.
They sailed from Florida onboard the SS Trident, a luxury yacht able to carry up to 6,000 passengers, who were all full of anticipation for their vacation. Most seemed friendly, but there were exceptions.
“More champagne”, she shrieked in a loud, shrill voice. Tammy Newton, formerly Guthrie, 25 and undeniably gorgeous, with big, blonde hair and Liz Taylor sunglasses. She was with her new boyfriend,
Jack Fisher, a tanned, muscular man with flowing hair that failed to mask a rather boorish personality. He ordered the poor steward around, and on slurping the champagne, spat it out, exclaiming: “what is this filth?”, before the two giggled like hyenas.
They disturbed John at the bar as he quietly scribbled in his notebook.
Fisher got up from his table. “What are you looking at?”
“I beg your pardon”, John said, taken aback, as he had been minding his own business.
“I saw you staring at us”, Fisher barked. “Do you want to step outside?”
“Do you mean out on deck?”, John retorted, “or out in the ocean?”
“Who do you think you are talking to?”, Fisher shouted. “Do you know who I am?”
The whole cruise ship had heard about them, especially what they were suspected of.
It was known Fisher and Tammy had suffered a near-death experience while jet skiing when they collided with another ski.
They’d had a narrow escape, but some believed they should not have been riding jet skis at all, but languishing in jail.
You wouldn’t know from looking at her, but Tammy was in mourning. Her rich husband, an older businessman called Guthrie, had just died. She had given him the best two weeks of her life before he was shot by a mugger, and some suspected her boyfriend of pulling the trigger. There was no proof, so now they were off spending the old man’s money.
“What are you writing about me anyway?”, Fisher exclaimed, grabbing for John’s notebook.
“How dare you?”, John shot back. “Leave me alone”.
“Hit him Jack”, Tammy called out excitedly, egging him on.
Suddenly, a man with a broad Texan drawl interceded, saying “Do we have a problem here?”
The man was dressed like a golfer in chinos and a tweed sweater that bore an emblem saying LSFD, the Lone Star Fire Department, as well as a badge marked AA.
His name tag said Mike.
Mike had a friend with him who was about six foot and wearing a blue tracksuit, and obviously a musician as he carried a trumpet case. His name was Gabe, and he also had an AA badge.
“Is there something the matter?”, he asked.
Fisher realised he was outnumbered.
“Oh no,” he squirmed, “Everything’s cool”,
backing away.
Once he was gone, John introduced himself. Mike, it turned out, was from Dallas, and had just retired from the fire department. Gabe was a cop from New Orleans who had also just turned in his papers.
“Where are you heading to in Bermuda?” Gabe asked. “Hamilton? Horseshoe Bay?”
“No, I was actually planning on an excursion to an island called Casa De Hades”, John replied.
Gabe and Mike both looked at each other.
“If you are travelling to this island, be careful”, Gabe said. “Watch out for Brandon Bubb, the owner”, Gabe said. “We go way back”.
For a moment John wondered if he had made the right decision, maybe he should cancel his trip.
As for Fisher, it wasn’t even a question. An island resort with no rules? Eat the finest foods and never gain weight. Drink like a fish and have no hangover. Stay up and party all night. Do what you want and live like a king. Who could refuse?
They caught the ferry early the next morning, travelling three miles before they spotted land, when the weather suddenly changed. There had been perfect blue skies, but clouds rolled in, cloaking the island.
When the guests reached the resort, they were driven along a steep twisting road lined with palm trees. Pink beaches and clear blue waters could be seen in the distance.
The hotel was more like an opulent mansion, complete with pillars and stained glass windows. They was even a red carpet that led up to the massive front door.
“My God”, Tammy wowed. “It’s even more beautiful than I thought”.
“It looks like it costs a fortune”, Fisher remarked. “Are you sure we are staying here for free?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, young man” a melodic Mediterranean voice sounded. “Money has no meaning here, so act as if it has no object. All that matters is pleasure. That is our mantra at the Casa”.
The man in the red velvet suit was the concierge. His name was Senor De Mon, and he showed them into the dazzling marble lobby and
took his place behind the large front desk. Placing a leather-bound book in front of them, Fisher and Tammy wrote their names with an antique quill-like pen.
As John did the same, he noted the oil painting above the desk, a portrait of a refined-looking gentleman in his 50s, with long white hair tied back in a ponytail and a goatee. Smartly dressed in a white suit like the lord of the manor, which he undoubtedly was.
“This is the proprietor”, Senor De Mon said proudly.
“Brandon Bubb”, John said. “The billionaire”.
‘He is a very busy man who leaves the day to day running to yours truly”, De Mon said. “But he does occasionally grace us with his presence”.
“That is quite a title” John said, reading the name plate. “Brandon Lionel Zachery Bubb”.
“He is an extraordinary man”, De Mon said. “All he wants is for his guests to enjoy themselves”.
John knew how to have a good time, but was still curious, and observed what was going on and took notes.
Fisher, on the other hand, symbolised the party animal. Both he and Tammy were determined to enjoy this pleasure island to the full. They spent the whole week like kids in a theme park, staying up all night drinking and dancing in the Grand Ballroom. Having a massive breakfast in the all you can eat buffet. They would sunbathe on the pink beach and swim in the ocean or Olympic-sized pool, before eating a meal in the five-star restaurant, and then hit the disco. They were having the time of their lives.
All the while, John met with the other guests, all vulgarly rich. One turned out to be the CEO of a company that had stolen from investors. John recognised another from TV that was a notorious drug baron. Not to mention the lady suspected of murdering her husband.
He had a bad feeling, but when he tried to warn Fisher, of course he would not listen.
Still, he joined Fisher and Tammy in reception when it was time to check out. But there was much excitement that morning.
“He is here”, De Mon said, almost beside himself. “The owner has arrived!”.
The doors were suddenly thrown open, and the owner entered with the pomp and ceremony of a visiting monarch. Looking just like his portrait, walked up to the front desk, and in an oily voice, asked the concierge: “Dante, have we had a good season?”
“The best ever Mr Bubb”, he beamed. “And here are three of our guests. This is Mr. Fisher”.
“I had a great time, man”, he extended his hand, which was ignored.
“And Miss Newton”, De Mon said, “formerly Mrs Guthrie”.
“Charming”, Bubb said, then turned to De Mon and asked. “Have you prepared their bill?”
“What do you mean bill?”, Fisher snapped. “I thought we were staying here for nuthin’”.
“Oh no”, Bubb stated. “Everyone has to pay”.
De Mon handed Fisher an itemised bill, with a space at the bottom marked ‘To pay’.
“What is this?”, Fisher barked, “some kind of joke?”.
“If it is a comedy, dear boy”, Bubb replied, “It’s a divine one”. He then glared at the couple and said, “Did you really think we did not know you killed her husband? And now you have to pay for it”.
Bemused, Fisher looked closer at the bill where it said ‘To pay’, and noticed it had changed. It now read ‘Your soul’.
“Oh my God!”, John exclaimed with terrifying realisation. Looking up at the nameplate under the portrait, he suddenly put it together. What the initials spelt.
Brandon Lionel Zachery Bubb
B L Zee Bubb
“Now you are checking out”, Bubb smiled. He violently clapped his hands together, creating a raging ball of fire, which he hurled at Fisher and Tammy. They screamed in terror as they were consumed by flames.
Just then, a familiar Texan accent called out: “Brandon Bubb”.
There they were. Mike, the ex-firefighter, wheeling his golf clubs in his bag behind him, and Gabe, the ex-cop, carrying his trumpet.
“Michael”, Bubb said. “It’s been a long time, and you have not come alone. How are you, Gabriel?”
“All the worse for seeing you again”.
“I threw you out once before Brandon”, Mike said. “I can do it again”. He then said “Gabe…”
The second man took out a beautiful golden trumpet, before performing the most lyrical melody, which seemed painful to Bubb, who fell to his knees as if struck by a poisoned dart.
When Gabe stopped playing, Mike reached for his golf bag, taking out a club with a woollen cover that was then revealed to be not a golf club but a massive sword, emblazened in gold and fire, which Mike brought down on Bubb’s head. There was a brilliant flash, and in an instant he was gone, taking his minion De Mon with him.
When it was over, as John stood with his two friends, it all came together. He had thought the emblems stood for Alcoholics Anonymous, that they were in recovery, but actually “AA” meant
“Arch Angel”, he realised.
“Michael was a firefighter who perished saving a woman from a burning building”, the angel said. ”I assumed his form”.
“Gabriel was a police officer killed in the line of duty”, the second angel said.
“Am I dead?”, a frightened John asked.
“You are a pure soul”, Michael replied. “Not like the others”.
“Jack and Tammy were killed in their jet ski accident”, Gabe explained. “But you didn’t die in your collision”.
“Don’t be afraid”, Michael said. “You are in a coma, in a hospital in Florida. But you shall awaken soon”.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because we needed somebody to report on what occurred here”, Michael said. “To tell the world that evil does indeed exist but can be defeated. You will be our messenger, John. You will write in fiction and verse what you witnessed here, so everyone will know”.
“I won’t let you down”, John said, as he extended his hand. “Goodbye Gabe”.
“Good bye John. Good luck to you”.
He then shook the other angel’s hand, saying “Goodbye Michael, and thank you”.
To which he replied, “Just don’t forget about us, Mr. Milton”.