Dante's Infanzia

Chapter 4
Of Heaven, Hell, and here

Chapter Description: Ok, so maybe Dante is a little living impaired. If this is the afterlife, where and what is it?

Chapter 4: Of Heaven, Hell, and here.

Okay…. So maybe there was more to this situation than it being a dream, or some convoluted fetish porn filming site. (Dante felt a little sick of himself for that- who would even conceive of such a thing?) It certainly hurt too much to be a dream. The hand kissing thing was DEFINITELY not normal. This was definitely out of the realm of any kind of normal. Physics and modern medicine had just taken a back alley beating at the hands of a kiss.

"So," Lysa spoke up while Dante continued to stare at his renewed hand, "the real question is, how did you die?" The obvious answer would have been "murder". He hadn’t been doing anything terribly dangerous, just throwing the biggest birthday bash ever with him and about 100 of his closest friends. Maybe someone had had a grudge against him and poisoned him, or killed him in his sleep.

"I can see that look in your eyes, Dante," Lysa interrupted Dante’s train of thought. "You’re over thinking this. You’re making up a story to fill in the blanks. What REALLY happened?" Bitch had a point. If he was dead, it probably wasn’t murder. Probably some kind of accident. A lot of people were drinking last night, maybe somebody got drunk and accidentally crushed his head in by knocking over a stereo or something. Then again, Dante couldn’t remember how drunk everyone else had gotten, since he had gotten so hammered himself. Wait a minute….

"Wait for iiiiit…" Lysa said, staring intently into Dante’s face. Dante had gotten REALLY drunk last night. So drunk that some people had carried him over to the couch. There had been some stupid argument about whether or not to take his shoes off and let him sleep, or keep them on and draw on his face. Some kind of dumb party rule or whatever.

Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. When Dante had woken up today, he hadn’t remembered wearing any shoes. What if the party guests had left him alone? He had fallen asleep on his back. What if everyone left him alone, and he had gotten alcohol poisoning? What if he had threw up and choked on his own vomit and nobody noticed till it was too late? SHIT!

"Aaaand we’re there." , Lysa commented sarcastically. "Congratulations. I thought you were going to try and beat Midori’s record for denial. Thanks for the pleasant surprise and proving me wrong."

Dante shifted his weight to all fours. It felt oddly comfortable on the padded playpen floor. No wait. Something about that was wrong. The fact that it felt right was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t dead, just going crazy. Maybe this was all his hallucination? Like the padded playpen was really a padded cell, and his deranged mind was substituting in babyish images.

He felt a pair of hands shove him onto his side. Dante landed with a bit of a grunt, but was unhurt. He looked up and saw Lysa’s disapproving glare, her arms crossed with her standing on her knees. She had a very stern look on her face, despite being dressed like a one-year-old at the oldest.

"Stop it," Lysa warned, "you’re already over the hardest part, now. Don’t regress."

Dante’s mother had once told him that when people had multiple traumatic experiences occur in rapid succession to them, they often coped with it by putting one dilemma off to the side while coping with the other. Dante’s two traumas were that he might be dead, and that he was in a place full of crazies that insisted on treating him like a baby. If Dante was dead, then there might be nothing he could do to help that. There might be a way out of this infantilized situation if he knew more about it. Dante decided that he could accept being dead- at least temporarily. Time to find out more about here, wherever that was.

He laid back and avoided eye contact. Looking at Lysa wouldn’t help much. The contrast between her tone and her garments was too much right now. For someone dressed like a baby, this girl had no shortage of attitude.

"Are we in Hell?" he asked. This felt a little like Hell.

"Don’t be silly," she told him. "Hell is much worse than this. Hell is the worst torture your mind can imagine. I’d hardly call playpens and pacifiers for all eternity the worst torture imaginable."

"Then is this-?" Dante started

"Heaven?" Lysa interrupted. "You’re joking, right?" she laughed. "Welcome to Heaven! Your reward for a lifetime of piety and Godly devotion is an endless supply of milk and mush!" She sighed. "Besides, I don’t know about you, but I probably didn’t deserve to go to Heaven, the way my life was going."

"Then where else is there?" Dante was starting to get worried.

"Limbo," Lysa said with resignation, "where Catholics say un-baptized babies go when they die."

"But… I’m not Catholic." Dante said indignantly.

"Neither am I." Lysa retorted, her hands on her hips. "Guess that doesn’t matter to the Big Guy, huh?" Dante was pretty sure he’d never been baptized. His family never went to Church. Not that they were militant atheists, or anything; religion was just something that wasn’t discussed. Something still didn’t add up, though.

"I’m not a baby, either…obviously," Dante replied.

"A lot of the people here aren’t either…obviously." Lysa answered. In a moment, the fire went out of her voice. "But we’re treated like babies all the same. I think the Judys figure that if they treat us like babies, then it doesn’t matter." She motioned over to the Judy in the nursery scrubs, and Dante followed her gaze. Midori had apparently served her time on the naughty stool and was now cradled in the Judy’s arms being tickled and nuzzled while the Asian girl giggled and squirmed in pure delight.

"Sad part is, they’re not wrong," she continued. "Eventually, everyone in here snaps and starts playing the part for real. I think it might be something about Limbo itself; something in the air that makes you want to act like a baby. Some only take a few months. Most make it a year or two before the constant treatment breaks them. A few make it longer than that, ten…maybe twenty years; but I don’t know of anyone who’s made it more than a hundred years. Eventually, you get broken down, and you become a true innocent again." She kept staring at Midori- completely wrapped up in the strange woman’s attentions. "Midori made it about a year and half before the change became permanent. Poor thing."

Dante looked at Midori and started to wonder. Had she been just a regular teenager at one point? Someone who died young and was sentenced here because a dude in a robe hadn’t poured water over her head? Forced to be a baby for all eternity?

Part of him envied her stupidity. This place might not be so bad if you didn’t know any better. No responsibilities, pretty women taking care of you and being nice to you. He wouldn’t have to feed himself. Heck, if even half of this was true, he wouldn’t even have to dress himself. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to wipe- NO! DON’T THINK LIKE THAT! FIGHT IT! Dante sat up, his eyes hardened.

"How do I fight it?" he asked, staring at Lysa, his eyes burning with hatred- not for her- but for what he had almost thought. There was a spark there for a moment, between the two of them. A connection made, however brief.

Lysa nodded her approval; she had felt it too, then. "For starters, you have to be honest with yourself. Denial and hope are poisons in this place. Know in your heart that there are forces bigger than you keeping you here, and that means you’re not leaving. If you try and escape, you’ll be more likely to crack when they catch you. That hope will turn into despair and that’s when you’ll give in."

Dante nodded. He wasn’t going to try to escape. Yet. He needed more information first, and some time to formulate a plan. Lysa gave him an odd look. Goddamn it, he needed to get a poker face.

"Also," she went on, building up steam, "you’re going to be forced into doing things that you won’t be proud of. Get over it. Dignity has no place here." Dante could almost imagine a general’s helmet on her head, and riding crop in her hand. He imagined the American flag in the background of the playpen. "You will pee and poop yourself. You will drink from bottles and eat in a highchair. We will probably see each other naked by the end of the day. Just let whatever humiliating thing happen, accept that it happened, that it’ll definitely happen again, and move on with your day.

"If there’s a way a small way to keep your dignity-like expecting jackasses who are still smart enough to understand you face the other way when you’re pooping," Dante felt his face grow a little red from embarrassment. "Do it, but otherwise give up on embarrassment, dignity, shame, yada yada yada."

"Those whiners who scream to the ceiling ’I’m a big girl! I’m a big boy! Waaaaah!’" Lysa threw her hands up in mock distress. "Are the ones closest to cracking. And the angry kids who curse, and hit, and play rebel, get spanked every five minutes?….they’re next in line. Cynicism is your friend".

Dante had to admit, this made some sense. It would be harder to break someone who didn’t feel hope. Harder to change an aspect of someone who didn’t emotionally invest a lot in that aspect. Don’t give your tormentors much to torment. Speaking of which:

"What’s the deal with the- um- Judy’s?" Dante inquired.

"They’re angels…sort of.", Lysa answered. "Created to be the perfect mommies, nannies, babysitters, caretakers…whatever." Lysa started listing off on her fingers, "They don’t eat, drink, sleep, use the potty, (heh…weird vocabulary choice there), or do anything that doesn’t immediately relate to treating us like we’re rugrats. I mean, they don’t even get dirty."

The image of the first Judy and her immaculate outfit despite being pushed into a puddle of vomit came to mind, as did the blood refusing to stain the Judy’s hand after she kissed Dante’s boo-boo….injury….injury…his mutilated hand.

Lysa shrugged, "I don’t know if they literally think we’re babies, or just treat us that way, but the result’s the same. All but the most basic stuff that we say, they treat like baby talk anyways. Watch…"

Lysa turned and called out , "Hey Judy! Judy! I bet I could really improve your face by running my dad’s lawn mower over it!" The Judy in the nursery scrubs walked over, Midori resting on her hip.

"Well someone sure sounds excited!" she cooed to them. "What is it, Lysa? What is it?"

Lysa turned her head back to Dante, "Now watch this." She started waving frantically and calling out in an excited and high pitched voice. "Dori! Dori! It’s me! Lysa! Look at you, whoah! You’re so high up there on that nice lady’s hip! Hi Dori! Hi!" Midori waved back enthusiastically, enjoying all the attention from her playmate.

"Well it sure looks like someone missed their little friend.", mused the Judy. The angel turned her head to the baby-teen on her hip. "Are you ready to go back and play? Are you? Are you?" she didn’t bother to wait for an answer. "Well, okaaaay. But no more biting." Midori gave a solemn wide-eyed nod.

The playpen gate opened again, and Midori was plopped down among them. She immediately crawled over and gave Lysa a sloppy hug, the two girls almost falling over themselves. Lysa, gently nudged Midori away, "Thank you, Dori," she said, "now Dante and I need to keep talking, otay?" Midori nodded and babbled something before crawling off.

Lysa turned back to Dante, "See? They only hear what they want to hear." Interesting. So in theory, Dante could talk to some of the others, maybe make a few allies, and form an escape plan or rebellion right under his captors noses. He got that look from Lysa again. Was she psychic or something? Damn!

"What happens if they’re not needed?" Dante asked, trying to take the feeling of suspicion off of him. "Like what do they do when we’re sleeping or just playing….(don’t say playing nice don’t say playing nice)..nice?" FUCK!

"Depends," Lysa said. "They seem to keep a certain ratio of Judy to baby. If we’re with more babies, and there’s nothing for them to do, they usually talk to each other. Sometimes, they tell stories about us- like the things we did that they thought were cute or funny. Other times it’s water-cooler talk and gossip." she shrugged. "Y’know, the kind of stuff that grown-ups talk about when they’re sure the kids are distracted or are too young to understand. They don’t even care if you listen in. It’s how I found out about a lot of this stuff." Her eyes darted to the side…an afterthought. "That and I was lucky enough to find someone to show me the ropes of this place."

"Oh yeah? Who was it?", Dante asked, genuinely interested. If Lysa knew more people who were like them around here, maybe he could make friends with them and use it to his advantage later.

"Next question." Lysa said.

"I already asked it," Dante pressed, "I said who showed you the ropes when you first got here?"

"And I said…NEXT. QUESTION." Yikes! Backpedal backpedal backpedal!

"Ok," Dante said, wisely changing the subject, "what’s the deal with the milk?" Safe choice. Definitely a safe choice. Besides, something was up with that milk.

"That," Lysa sighed, "is Angel milk, if you know what I mean." She rolled over onto her back, her diaper on plain display and her legs idly kicking the air. Oddly familiar. "They call it the milk of human kindness." her voice mellowed out as if she were daydreaming. "It takes away all ambition, and all inhibitions. Without those things, you’re innocent, free from any aggressive or shameful thoughts. It basically makes you a baby for a little while. The Judy’s love to force it down our throats. The buzz makes the idea of going full baby seem more appealing to a lot of people."

"You can’t get away from it, entirely.", she went on. "They serve it at least twice a day. Don’t expect to do any heavy thinking right after breakfast or dinner, or if you can’t sleep through the night. Still, if you can avoid coming off as too cranky, or fussy most of the time, they won’t give you any extra.

"Don’t worry," she said, sitting back up and crossing her legs, "it’s delicious AND habit forming, but it’s not permanent- I think the stuff they give to us in the bottles is cut with something." Her tone went back to normal. "But even after it wears off, it has lingering side effects."

"What kind of side effects?" Dante asked.

"If a baby can’t do it, we probably can’t do it either. For starters," Lysa pointed to the ground, "Have either you or I stood up on our own two feet since this conversation started?" Nope, that they hadn’t. Dante had barely noticed, it felt so natural to be crawling around. The last time he had stood up was when he was running away…before the milk.

"What else?" he asked.

"Look down at your crotch. Any idea how to get that onesie off?" Dante stared down at the crotch-snaps. Did he know how to get undressed? Nope. Getting the blue onesie off seemed about as out there as quantum physics right then.

"What else?" Dante repeated.

"We’re not potty-trained anymore." she responded flatly.

"Seriously?" he questioned in disbelief. To be trapped in diapers was one thing. To not possess the alternative skill-set, thus needing diapers sounded far fetched, even here. Dante suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"Can you even tell me how to use a potty?" Lysa questioned. "Bet you can’t." It was true. Dante could remember what a potty looked like- a funny chair with a hole in it. It made a funny sound when you pulled the handle down. He could even remember having used a potty before. But for the life (after-life?) of him, he couldn’t list the steps in how to use one, anymore. His discomfort grew.

"Can you even think of another word for potty?" Lysa pressed. God help him, he couldn’t. He felt a horrible need growing inside of him. Dante was about to explode, a dam about to burst.

"I’m about to pee!" he shrieked. He didn’t even finish the sentence before his bladder let loose. Lysa quickly turned around. Relief, sweet relief flooded his every synapse as he flooded the diaper. His diaper. He shuddered at both of those thoughts.

"Okay, done." Dante hung his head in shame, quickly before correcting himself. Mustn’t let himself fall too deeply into pity. "So," he admitted to himself, as Lysa shimmied back around, "I just pissed my pants."

"No you didn’t." Lysa told him. "You wet your diaper. It didn’t even leak through to your other clothes. Besides, you’re not wearing pants " she smiled. Was she actually making a joke?

"Seriously," she chuckled dryly, "none of the babies get dressed in pants here. Closest things they have are shortalls. It’s like they really want to hammer the baby thing home; I guess pants are too grown-up or something" She shrugged and gestured to herself. "Same thing goes for dresses and skirts that actually cover your underwear. I think it’s another form of control."

"So let me get this straight," Dante summarized, "These Stepford Wives dope us up on soma and control every part of our lives like Big Brother till we lose it?"

"Uh…yeah…" Lysa said, for the first time sounding uncertain. "I guess so." Heh. Blondes.

"Not much of a reader?" Dante asked, feeling like he had the upper hand for once in this conversation. Thank you Mrs. Applegate.

"No," Lysa said, her eyebrow cocked, in curiosity. "I read a lot back when I was alive. I was actually planning on being the first girl in my family to go to college. I caught the Brave New World and 1984 references. I just don’t get what you were talking about with the Stepford Wives. Must be after my time." Seriously? She hadn’t seen the movie? Either the good one or the remake?

"How old are you?" Dante asked. Lysa got that smug look on her face.

"You know those old fashioned cloth diapers, with the safety pins and everything?" she asked. Dante nodded. Like the kind worn in the old cartoons. "When I first got here," Lysa said, "they were just called diapers. Disposables hadn’t really become popular yet."

Seriously?! This chick was THAT old? She must’ve been old enough that if she were still alive, she’d be back in diapers again anyways.

"Yeah," she went on by way of explanation, "this place sort of changes to keep up with the times and the latest baby fads. I’ve been able to keep up on the slang and lingo by talking with other new fish, like you. So don’t be so surprised that I don’t talk like some old biddie!" Ironically enough, being prideful that she didn’t sound old had the opposite effect. She was starting to reek of "I’m old, but I’m hip…so not really that hip."

"Thing is though," Lysa said, changing the subject back, "I’ve worn cloth, and I’ve worn disposables. I say if you’re gonna be stuck in diapers forever, go with the disposables.’

She was right, now that Dante thought about it. Compared to his wet cloth underwear, (though hardly a fair comparison), his wet disposable felt far better. The damp warmth felt good, and the diaper swelled slightly, creating a mushy feeling around his genitals, almost as if a warm sponge was massaging him down there.

Whoah! All of a sudden, Dante’s diaper felt a little bit tighter. Something else, besides the diaper had started swelling. He looked down at his padded crotch. He could feel the erection, but couldn’t see it. (Take that khakis!)

"Um…Lysa," Dante blushed, "I thought you said if a baby couldn’t do it, we couldn’t do it." He gestured to his crotch and gyrated slightly to get the point across. "I think I might be at risk of having a very un-childlike accident here." Lysa just smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Dumb ass," she said. "You got a stiffie from your first wet diaper, didn’t you? Baby boys get erections all the time. Heck, it’s probably why they’re harder to potty train." Hmmm, maybe. That made some sense.

"Baby girls can get wet in more ways than one if you know what I mean. " she winked. "But as far as our plumbing goes, your seed shooter just got demoted to a squirt gun, and I’ll never lactate, have a bun in my oven, or get a visit from my aunt flow again." Did that mean he could potentially have sex here? Apparently death was no cure for a male teenage libido.

Lysa started giving him that "don’t even think about it look" again. Time to change the subject and distract himself again.

"So," Dante looked around nervously, "is there any cut off age for entrance into Limbo?" It was the best he could do. He couldn’t think of any better questions.

Lysa shrugged. "There’d have to be. Even with a lucky break like Limbo, there’d have to be a point where God says ’You’re old enough to go to Hell.’ "

Memories from earlier crashed into Dante’s brain.

"JUDY, HE WAS HERE AT ONE MINUTE BEFORE MIDNIGHT. HE WAS ONLY ONE MINUTE AWAY FROM BEING DECLARED LOST. IF I FUDGE ANY OF THE PAPER WORK, EVEN BY A MINUTE, HE DOESN’T GO INTO ANOTHER NURSERY!"

Eighteen. Eighteen-years-old was the cut off. If Dante Willis had died one minute later, he would have died a man. He would have been condemned to Hell for all eternity.

To Be Continued…