She opens her eyes to a heavy gray sky, and it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. She inhales deeply, so deeply she chokes, so deeply her lungs ache with the strain of it, but she couldn’t care less. There is no sulfur tang in the air, no acrid smoke to burn her eyes. She can not hear the pleas of the tortured, only the wind playing in the nearby pine trees.
She’s free. Hell has no claim on her anymore. Her soul -she moans and cries, and every sob is a liberation - Her soul is back where it belongs. Her pathetic, broken soul.
She closes her eyes, but all she can remember is light. Burning, blinding light. Red hair flying in the wind. A soft voice, whispering words she couldn’t understand.
She dreams of being back there, but surprisingly, she isn’t the one torturing or being tortured. She’s just a silent onlooker as a faceless demon slices through pale skin. The woman on the rack doesn’t yell, doesn’t beg. She is limp and unresponsive, and for a moment, Bela thinks that it is too late, that she’s broken beyond salvation. But then, the woman raises her head, and looks her straight in the eye.
"Run," the woman booms, and Bela wakes up with a gasp, coated in cold sweat.
She takes her bag, and leaves her seedy motel room without looking back.
Bela Talbot has never liked being in debt. She thinks of the woman with the fierce gaze, and smiles. Hell hasn’t seen the last of her. This time, it’s her turn to make them pay.