I wanted her to say it, or at least not be able to deny. Otherwise, she could sprinkle a little dust and make everything good again. For a while. Maybe she snorted it to keep her high going, I don’t know. But I couldn’t stop seeing it.
He was a demon.
Not that he didn’t have his charming side. It’s what sucked me in in the first place. He was magnetic when he wanted to be. Generous. Friendly. Funny as hell. Ribald and reflective at the same time.
She and he were great hosts. Parties that never seemed to end, laughter, music, and good friendship at the end of a long night, with the sun just rising.
“I want something, Greg,” he said to me at one such a moment, as we sat on their porch. Somehow everyone else had disappeared.
“Hey, man, you’ve got it all.” I lifted an empty bottle as a toast and put it down.
“Not everything,” he said.
“I don’t know, man. So many friends, the time to have parties like this, an awesome girlfriend, and I gotta assume you have money, too. What do you need?”
He leaned forward on his chair. “You, Greg.”
“I’m right here.” I didn’t get it, but I thought maybe this was a sexual thing. I figured I could let him down easily enough.
“No, I need something from you.”
“Look, Terry, I don’t question and I don’t care, but I’m not into that.”
“The thing I want is right in front of me,” he said. “Your big bright soul. I really want it.”
“My soul? I’m not really a very soulful guy. I try to be open, but I don’t talk about myself much.”
“It’s not about talking. It’s something I can reach out and touch. It would mean the world to me, Greg. And I can give you the world, too. Just name your price.”
“Price for what? Is this some kind of Internet challenge?”
“No challenge. Just feel this.” He reached out with one hand and grabbed hold of the air. Pulled a bit.
I could feel something inside myself. Something akilter. Something sinister. Like I was about to disappear.
He opened his hand. Inside was a beetle-sized, bright blue crystal. “Accept this as a token of our agreement, and I can get you anything you want. You’re between girlfriends? Name anyone. You can have Beck, if you want. A new job? Want to start a new company and see it fly? Inherit millions? Write a bestseller? Become famous? Anything you want.”
“And how would you do that?” I said, thinking I must have imagined that sudden constriction. Power of suggestion.
“I have a direct line to hell,” he said. “We can pull lots of strings.”
“Right,” I said. “Not really funny, man.”
“Think about it,” he said and flipped me the crystal. It was cold to the touch, like it was sucking the warmth out of the morning. I held it up. There was something in the middle, but I couldn’t figure out what. Half glowing, seeming to shapeshift.
I tried to get Terry’s attention and see what was in his eyes, but he had turned to the sunrise. I waited to see his skin turn scaly or red, but nothing changed. We were in those poses when Becky came out. I closed my fingers around the stone.
She leaned over Terry and whispered. Then she turned to me, opened my hand and took the crystal out. She tossed it into Terry’s lap. I was going to say something, but she flexed her hand and released a cloud of dust that ignited into tiny sparkles. Next thing I knew I was in my apartment, and couldn’t remember how I had left their place, driven home and gotten into bed. It was nighttime.
It took a couple days to remember this much. When I heard about a dinner party at their place, I invited myself, hoping for some answers. Becky met me at the door. “You shouldn’t come back for a while,” she said with a friendly, if apologetic smile. She lifted her hand and whoosh, I’m back home in front of the TV.
It was weeks before I got an invitation. This party was bigger than most, celebrating the lottery win of one of Terry’s friends. I watched Becky operate from across the room, saw the little gestures, momentary sparkles, and how little annoyances or boredom turned into excitement and connection. The hostess with the mostest.
Terry ignored me, even after I greeted him. Late that evening, he popped up in front of me and grabbed my shoulders, and turned us both and pointed at his lucky friend. “That could have been you, Greg. Think about it. Still can be.”
“How does that work,” I found myself saying. “Do you have his soul?”
“No, not yet,” he said, switching to a legalistic monotone. “It’s tied up with his crystal. When he dies, I get the stone and his soul. Exchange complete.”
“So – you could kill him tomorrow?”
“No,” he replied dutifully. “No intervening in lifespan. If he does something stupid, that’s on him. Our deal is strictly wishes against soul.”
“How many wishes?”
“There’s not a count, but all in the spirit of his primary. Wealth, in this case. You can’t wish for magical powers or eternal life, yaddy yadda.”
“Fame? Love? Power – all those could be the wish?”
“Sure.”
“Could you make me a demon?” I asked.
“Now that’s a new one, Greg.” He smiled and slapped me on the back. “Sure, buds forever?”
“Can you show me what you look like, really?”
“This is me.” He did a model turn. “No hidden form. As long as I’m here.”
“What’s up with Becky?” I asked. “She’s not like you, is she.”
“Little miss pixie dust? I’ve seen you watching her. She could still be part of the deal.”
“But what is she?”
“What do you think? A pixie?”
“For real?”
“You’ll have to ask her. I don’t box her in,” he said. “I’m pro-feminist.”
“Becky,” I said a few times, trying to get her attention from the couple she was talking to. They were enthralled while she told them about something in her day. Dust could be addicting both ways, it seemed.
She finally acknowledged me with a guilty little look. “Hey, Brendon, Amy, I’m going to talk to Greg for a minute. Thanks for listening.” She got up and signaled for me to follow. It must have included the pixie stuff because the next thing I knew we were in Terry’s den, sitting next to each other on the couch.
“So, what is it you wanted to tell me?” she asked, a bit flirtatiously, but from a distance.
I had to focus. “Look, I’ve been watching you with the sparkle dust. I know what you are.”
“You do?” she said with ironic wide eyes. “What am I?”
“I know what Terry is, too,” I said. “He’s an effing demon, gathering souls.”
“He’s a demon?” she repeated with ambiguous emphasis.
“I know you know it, too.” She didn’t react to that, so I kept going: “What I don’t understand is why you stay with him.”
She skooched forward and put her hand on my knee. “Greg, that’s why we love you so much. Always be who you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“What makes you think I’m staying with him?” she asked with a devil’s grin.
I don’t know about you, but if I see someone’s face contort into a grin of unnaturally sharp teeth and outsized canines, narrow slit predator eyes, and skin stretched over bumps and extrusions, I’m going to jump back.
Becky’s face returned to normal. I watched for her hand and the dust that would whisk me away from this reality.
When that didn’t happen, I asked: “What are you? Terry said he’s just what we see.”
“So am I, Greg,” she said in her pleasant, upbeat voice. That soft, apologetic smile, too. “You just needed to understand the pecking order.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you collect souls, too?”
She put on an expression that said, I have people for that.
I looked away while processing all this. When I glanced back, it seemed like she had just sat down. I didn’t have a watch, but I bet I lost some time there.
“We want you to be happy, Greg. You can make your own decisions. Empowerment.”
“Can I ask a couple questions?”
“Of course.” She flipped a leg under the other and straightened her back a little.
I wasn’t sure of my questions, but one won out: “Why are you doing this?”
“This is what I do. I always have.” No hint of how long that meant.
“But – the parties, the joy, the trust people give you. I gave you. Is that just a game to you all?”
“No, not a game. We’re trying to make this life, this world, a better place. One party at a time. One wish at a time.”
“At the price of a soul?”
She gave me a gotcha smile. “You already asked two questions.” But she relented. “Yes, at the price of a soul. What is a soul? Most people give theirs away anyway. They don’t want the responsibility. We provide a painless alternative.”
“But the afterlife? Eternal damnation?”
“I’m eternally damned, and I’m still enjoying life.”
“What is hell like, though? Isn’t that the worst trade imaginable? Eighty years for eternity?”
“I will admit something to you, something I don’t tell everyone.” Sure, I thought. “I don’t remember hell. I only know this world. There was a generation that knew, but they’ve all gone home. We’re stuck here like you, making it up as we go. The difference is that if we do this soul thing, we can live like we want. We can help people in this life. We’ll all go home eventually. I can tell you what I believe about hell, but everyone has to decide for themselves. For me, hell isn’t at all what the bible thumpers say, and neither is heaven. Living our best life is the best we can do.”
She waited for me to speak or let her go back. I asked: “You want my soul, don’t you?”
“Terry does. Oh, definitely. I don’t watch the bottom line as closely as he does. I want you to be happy.” She stood up, so I did, too. She extended her arms to give me a friend’s hug, and I responded.
What do you do once you know a devil? Do you rekindle your faith? Do you try to alert as many people as you can? Maybe post a story on the Internet? Or do you double-down on your friends and social circle, and just try to forget it? Okay, I’ve tried that. I’ve also tried hinting to Terry’s and Becky’s friends that they need to be careful around them. I’ve read up on demonology and devils making deals for your immortal soul.
I asked a minister, former college roommate, if he believed in devils and demons. “Sure I do,” he said, “but they’re a result of what happens to us, not the cause. If we work on equality and support and love, we’re doing all we can to defeat darkness.”
“What if I know a devil, and she’s not darkness at all?”
“What makes you think she’s a devil? Are you referring to mental health issues? They can be treated, the symptoms can be reduced or eliminated. There’s nothing inherent about evil.”
“But what if? She was born in hell and lives here and harvests souls for the Devil himself.”
“You’ve seen her?”
And here’s where I made my big mistake. “I can introduce you to her.”
“Well, then, let’s meet this spawn of Satan.”
Fast forward because I really don’t want to relive those days. I eventually ran into Minister Lawrence Naughton as a regular guest. He and Becky were all handsy with each other, but Terry didn’t seem to mind. I tried to talk to Lawrence, to remind him of himself. That’s when he showed me his blue crystal, no words necessary. So I destroyed a minister’s faith and his lifepath, great.
Or maybe, I thought, it’s not so bad. Sure, Becky and Terry bulldoze over people’s lives, but the victims don’t seem to regret the deal. I knew how I could prove it to myself, too, but for the longest time I resisted. Finally, seeing Lawrence too many times, I took Terry aside.
“We’re not making a deal today, are we?” he asked with exaggerated disappointment.
“No, we’re not. But this is related. I want to meet some people who have been living with this deal. Do they regret it later in life? Can you show me some people with crystals, people I can talk to?”
“Ah, okay. Consumer Reports. Sure. Do we get buyer’s remorse or no. There’s a retirement home not far from here, Shady Palms, just ask around. You’ll hear all sorts of opinions, so be sure to get a sample.”
“I will,” I said.
Terry produced a crystal, presumably mine, and held it up to the light. It sparkled like a tiny disco ball. “We’ll be ready.”
I had to make up some story about wanting to be a volunteer, maybe read or otherwise interact with the residents, to get in. It took a couple weeks, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Terry smoothed that out for me. My first day I was reading to a group of folks, half asleep. When I finished, I asked, “I’m a fan of the blue crystals they sell around here. Who’s bought one?”
Most were going deeper into sleep, but one very elderly woman perked up. “Blue crystal?”
“Yes. You don’t happen to have one?”
She shook her head. “I lost mine years ago. I don’t care. Someone told me I could get it back anytime. Keep asking for things. I said, what would I do with that? My world is a couple hundred square feet and a TV.”
“Do you regret buying it?” I asked and literally held my breath.
“I don’t do regrets. It’s helped me with that. You’re asking the wrong question, though.”
“Okay,” I said, surprised by the tone, “tell me the right one.”
“Would I do it again?”
That was like a lightbulb for me. “Okay, you’re right. Would you?”
Before she could answer, though, her face became all concern and consternation. “What was I saying? It’s slipped away.”
“Would you buy the crystal again?”
“What?” she asked.
That felt like a slap across my face. Was someone squeezing her memory to manipulate me? Now there was a sign of evil.
“I just can’t remember a thing any more. I suppose it’s for the best. Will you read to us?”
I found some others who would admit to crystals, but there were no revelations. Regrets, sure. Fear, yes. A life well lived, for one or two. Another tried a turn to God and was hoping to get released from the agreement. Mostly the damned looked to the future and wondered how any deal that ended in death could be a good one. I tried to take leave of that first woman with the question, but she was never available.
So, no, selling your soul wasn’t a way to make your last days cheery. It didn’t completely tank the ratings. I had to acknowledge a second, more important question. Did I really know what people were buying into? Were Becky and Terry just covering over the evil inherent in this marketing scheme from hell?
I had to find out. The guilt over Lawrence and my strange relationship to Terry and Becky wouldn’t leave me. The only sure way was to dig into the Devil’s MLM underworld myself. Once I committed to that mentally, I knew the way forward. I would flip the narrative on Terry: “You want my soul in exchange for a wish, but what I want is my own franchise.”
Terry listened to me earnestly, nodding, until he was sure I had finished. Then he laughed from the belly and grabbed my shoulders. “You’ve lost your mind, bud. What an idea. Insane.” The chuckles bubbled out of him while he tried to tell me the utter nonsense of trying to horn in on the Devil’s market.
“Let me see if I got it. You want to live forever, so you want to collect souls on your own. Your own business? On your own terms? Like the Devil is an angel investor or something? Let’s see how wrong that is. First and foremost, the Devil doesn’t deal outside his clan. Me, I’m Becky’s creation, man. She took me at the end of my life and let me live again. Remade me as her companion, accountant and dealmaker. She sits there and acts like this is a free-love commune. But it’s a business. Her business. I’m just a lousy employee. And for all she ignores the marketplace, I know if she gets shut down I do, too. So I keep scrambling.”
“What, is there some kind of quota?”
“Worse, man. Auditors. Know-better nitwits who evaluate everyone who crosses our path. If we don’t sign people they deem sign-ready, well, then we’re in the negative column. Too much there and we’re disbanded to the wind.”
“So, what do they think of your methods?”
“I don’t know, man. I guess as long as we’re successful they’re happy to put up with Becky’s approach.”
“What do they prefer? Demonic possession? Death threats? Pixie dust convincing people to sign?”
“No, things have to be on the up-and-up. Every contract is evaluated somewhere else, part of some original deal with who knows who. Inviolable. Fraud, well, that brings the shit down like you wouldn’t believe. The fiery pit opens up and everything.”
“So hell is like that. Becky wanted me to believe it’s not so bad.”
“I don’t know. I just know that it’s quite a show and there’s a lot of teeth gnashing when it happens. For all I know it’s over when they disappear.”
“Are you afraid of hell? Eternal damnation?”
“Afraid? Naw. I may regret it, but it’s me now. Everyone I’ve sent there, well, I deserve it too if I’ve condemned them to eternal torture. I’m just trying to maximize my time here.”
“Is it so much better here? Is that what drives Becky?”
“No, man, it’s just that we’re here. Suck in all the joy and engagement and surprises and emotional explosions. Who would choose not to keep experiencing life, especially when we have so much control over it?”
“Isn’t that kind of cheating? Not really living?”
“All I know is that the Devil doesn’t mind a shortcut or two.” He smiled with quite a bit of self-satisfaction, gave a half salute and went about his business.
My next thought was to get Lawrence on my side and the both of us would go to Becky to see if she would sponsor us – or at least make us her satellite operation. If everything is ‘on the up-and-up,’ I figured I wasn’t in too deep. Just refuse to sign when the contract is drawn up. What could go wrong with crossing the Devil?
“You’re insane,” he muttered.
“That’s what Terry said.” The overlap wasn’t making me more confident.
“You told Terry? Well, then, Becky knows. You should run. Don’t stop running.”
“Come on, Lawrence, wouldn’t it be nice to live forever?”
“I sold my soul, Greg, but I’m not gathering others’. Ever.”
“Can you at least come and put in a good word for me? Lend moral support? I’m not sure what I’ll do if she shows me her devil face again.”
“That’s just an act. No, what you should worry about is mixing in the Devil’s affairs. You’ve crossed a bright line that protects us.” He looked at me solemnly, like he had just pronounced my last rights.
That scared me not a little. I stuttered out, “Can you help me make this right?”
His expression said, I don’t know how. But he told me: “I can try.”
Lawrence arranged a tete-a-tete with Becky, just the three of us. I felt that rumbling guilt that I was about to ruin his life further, but I couldn’t stop myself from letting him. She hadn’t asked why we were meeting. I was a mess when I showed up; I’d barely slept in the prior two days. Lawrence looked like he was ready for his funeral viewing, with a peaceful expression and a series of barely lipped prayers. Becky was dressed casually and hardly coiffed, like she wasn’t planning to do anything beyond lounge around the house. She took a house cat onto her lap. Of course all black. I imagined its transformation into a panther, or maybe she let me understand that it could.
“Becky,” I said, “I’ve learned how badly I screwed up. I want to fix things. First an apology.”
“An apology?”
“I thought,” I began before I realized this was like confessing on the steps to the gallows, giving up on any last-minute stay. Except through commutation.
“You thought?”
After a painful pause I took the step. There never was a real chance to go back. “I wanted to live forever. I thought I could bargain for it. By doing the same as you. Or Terry. But on my own. Or partly. I just wasn’t thinking.” I stopped and tried to read her face. Immutable.
“You weren’t thinking?” she repeated, to help me continue.
“No,” I replied, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. “No, I just wanted to control my fate. The way you do.”
“The way Satan did?” she asked, ambiguously.
I had to think about that. The whole point was that he didn’t, right? He wanted to but he couldn’t. And all this messy business since Eden was because we were dragged into his rebellion. In the midst of the chaos, though, joy and compassion were possible. Was that controlling one’s fate?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You weren’t trying to go behind my back and undermine me, were you? Maybe do an expose of what you learned?”
“No, of course not.” He doth protest too much, I thought. Or not enough. “What are you even talking about?”
She smiled, and let everything sink in. She looked at Lawrence. “You’re looking nice today, babe. Are you celebrating something?”
“No,” he said.
“Then mourning? Your cat die?”
“No,” he said, as he searched her face with regret and affection.
Becky took me on a short walk. It felt, I swear, like the world stopped. No birds, no wind, not a single sign of human existence except the path we were on, and for all I knew it was a deer path.
This is where I get swallowed up whole, I thought. Becky led the way so I couldn’t see her expression. Anticipation?
“You know,” she said finally, “I admire your entrepreneurial spirit.” She paused for me to say something.
“You do?” I said, for want of anything else.
“Yes, it’s just like you, the way you’ve been all along. Too smart for your own good and too stupid to realize it. With a good soul you would fritter away in an instant.” Emphasis on “instant.”
“Becky, I realize now how much I’ve screwed up. Can we talk about how to make things better?”
“We are,” she said.
“So what can I do?”
“I’m getting to that,” she replied. “I want you to understand that this isn’t personal.”
I knew then that this was the end. “I understand.”
“We all have a job to do in this world. There are no free rides. If you think it’s free it’s because it’s already bought and paid for. You following?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. That said, I think we can work together.”
I thought about what she could possibly mean. “You do?”
“Yes. But there’s a price. There is always a price, get it?”
“Yes, I get that.”
“Good. As a first step, I want you to slay Terry. You’ll be his replacement.”
I didn’t understand, and after I did I couldn’t speak.
“You can sell your soul to me when he’s gone. Then we’ll see about getting you the extended warranty on life.” She turned back toward me, still very much casual and relaxed. “Sound good?”
My vocal cords failed me. I just huffed.
“Not what you were expecting?” she asked with a considerate smile.
I shook my head.
As the pixie dust started sparkling, I heard her say: “Welcome to the cut-throat world of soul snatching.”
I was in bed looking at shadows on my ceiling – they seemed to dance these days, just like the cliché – when I heard monstrous steps and a thud against my front door. No sounds of departure. After a long while, I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I looked through the peephole. No one was there. I could see something on the mat. I unlocked, then waited a full minute before opening. I peeked out, and picked up the object. Door shut and locked.
It was a stone-hewn knife, with a heart insignia on the blade portion. Its purpose was clear. Stab Terry in the heart, take his place. The last thing in the world I wanted, but likely the only thing to keep me alive at this point.
I had already reasoned myself into this pit, so it seemed like trying to reason with Becky was pointless. Warning Terry was tantamount to refusing, so again no point to it. If I told Lawrence about this, I was sure what he would say: ‘I’ve sold my soul, but there’s no way I’d be a soul snatcher.’ And he’d pray for me, maybe, despite the contradiction.
I could try to rationalize it. Terry was, after all, a demon – or at least a lost soul feeding on other souls. Killing him and running for my life might be my best option. But I feared – if I was ready to kill him, then when it came to it and Becky held my crystal in her hand, I’d make that deal and seal my fate.
A few nights later, the signal came to me in a dream. Or rather, I became vaguely aware of a dream, and it was immediately washed away by the sight of devil Becky saying, “It’s time, Greg. It’s time. It’s time.” To stop the iterations, I forced myself awake. After clearing my mind, I got dressed. I did not leave the blade, as I knew I should. When I stopped the car in front of their place, I saw Terry sitting on the porch, neatly served up for my job.
He was higher than a kit. A mercy to both of us, I thought. I sat down next to him. It took some minutes before he noticed me.
“Greg, you’re here. You are here, right?”
“I am.”
“So quiet. Everything is beautiful, so luminescent… so quiet.” He began to examine me, leaned over and stared at me with his better eye. “So that’s what it’s going to be, eh.” Said with no emotion, no surprise or disappointment or anger.
He relaxed back into his chair. “You know,” he said, “I can die happy tonight. I suppose that’s why you’re here.”
“This,” I began. “Becky…” I didn’t know how to finish that, either.
He said: “Hey, man, a bit of advice. Don’t ever fall in love with a devil. She’ll cut your heart out.” He chuckled, and then guffawed. “Literally.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Here, let me show you.” He scooched his chair closer. “Do you have it?”
I pulled it out. He took it from me, and pointed the sharp end at his chest. “Now, give me your hand.” He signaled for my left hand. I had to stand up and lean over to get it to him. He put it on the end of the handle. “Now whack down on it with your other hand, as hard as you can.”
I looked at him still torn, still at a loss, still thinking there was a way out. “Do it!” he shouted.
So I did. It penetrated easily. Nothing spurted out. No gurgle from his throat. “And that,” he whispered, “is how you kill a demon.” His smile decayed into a death grin as his corpse aged and desiccated, and then it all collapsed into dust.
I had the feeling that Becky was watching from the house. I knew I should go inside now. The deal needed sealing, she needed her demon. I got back in my car and started driving. I found myself way out in the country, at an unmarked intersection of roads I didn’t know.
Yes, and there she was, waiting. She signaled that I should stay in the car, and she got in next to me.
“That was hard, wasn’t it,” she said, in her warm and engaged voice.
“He let me.”
“I know. I thought it would be best that way. You have fewer regrets and he keeps his sense of dignity.”
“Did you force him?”
“Not at all. He was always so relaxed by that formula. We should all go out so happy. Right?”
“I guess.”
“Now about our business.” She produced the blue crystal. I could feel the existential tug inside me, like when it was created. “This symbolizes your soul and its fate. If you accept the crystal, then we have a deal. Because you are a demon slayer, I can make you a demon after that. No limit to your lifespan.”
“Except for my usefulness to you,” I spat out.
“To the business,” she corrected me. “It’s all just business. Except when it isn’t.” She smiled in a way that communicated we could have a lot of fun together, leaving that friendship stuff behind.
“And if I don’t want to make the deal?”
“There’s Greg, always testing the boundaries. Let’s see. If you, demon slayer, refuse my offer then you should have your skin flayed from your body and your limbs gnawed off by demon rats.” I must have blanched because she threw in directly after: “Just kidding. Jeez. You should see yourself. But yes. You will be killed.”
I looked straight ahead.
“It’s just business, you know,” she reiterated. “For instance, I know you have the stone blade with you, and you’re thinking, ‘Am I fast enough to kill her?’ Well, punk,” she said in a Clint Eastwood voice, “are you fast enough?”
“No,” I said.
“No, you’re not. I know you’re getting tied up in knots by all of this. There is one more thing... To become a demon – you’re going to have to die. Once your soul belongs to me, you end your life and I bring you back. That’s how we get around the lifespan rule.” She changed gears. “Maybe you want to take a few days and get your affairs in order, say your goodbyes. For now, I’d like a ride home. And by the way, if you decide you’re ready to join me, any of these roadside trees can do the job nicely.”
My life was over, one way or another. The only question was whether I wanted another, very different life. A life of evil. I reached out to Lawrence, but he didn’t pick up. Didn’t see him online, either. I knew he may have paid the full price for helping me, which bottomed out my stomach again.
I held the blade in my hands. She left it with me for a reason. Was this the quickest way out of my entanglement? Aim at my chest and whack? Or was it just an ongoing test – do you think you’re fast enough? Clearly not, I thought.
Too smart and too stupid. I thought about how I could turn that around: Too stupid for my own good and too smart to realize it. Did that mean anything? Was ignorance a way out of this? Unthinking? Just reacting? I’m not fast enough, but if she isn’t expecting it… Kill without concept?
In the end, I decided to call family, with some lame excuse, then have a few nights out with friends. Just no one who knew Terry.
I stopped reaching out when it just felt like stalling. Then I went offline – no phone calls, no texts. That wouldn’t hide me from Becky, but I had to try cocooning and to see how it felt. Could I hide? Did I have the fortitude? I didn’t. It drove me crazy. That, and the feeling that only Becky’s schedule kept her from surprising me at the next corner.
I tried to find Lawrence. At one point I reached out to a mutual friend, who had not heard from him in a long while. I asked: “Have you met his girlfriend, Becky?” “Becky?” they said. “I thought his girlfriend was Sienna.” I got her last name and gave her a call. She wouldn’t talk to me; she said, “You know why – you know exactly why.” I wanted to apologize, but the magnitude kept me from it.
I texted Becky. “I am ready to come see you.”
She texted back: “Not a good time for talking. Ready for the contract?”
“Ready,” I sent back.
Her place had changed since Terry’s demise. Definitely less tidy, less warm and friendly. New symbols of the underworld: lava-themed art, black-and-white geometric pieces, sallow portraits in gray, shadowy rooms behind half open doors. The living room sported a wall collection of blades from the ages. No stone knives, though. Becky said she was on a call and asked me to wait there. I was calm until I saw the stain on the carpet. Cleaned, but a color change still marked a round pool in the fibers. It was most likely wine or coffee, but someone’s lifeblood could do the same.
The moment I was ready to get out of there she reappeared. “Well?” she said.
I exhaled and said: “Okay, give it to me.”
She produced the crystal. I felt the tug, the feeling of dread. She tossed it at me. My hand flew up as if reeled in, and caught it. I looked at the thing. The pulsating center was more active, almost made the stone jump.
“If you accept this crystal, you are pledging your soul to me for all eternity, effective at the end of your natural life. In exchange, you can make a wish. What will it be? As you know there is no wishing for extending life, no magic. No gimmicks in general.”
I had to say: “The house always wins.”
“This is no casino, Greg.” A hint of distaste and impatience creeping in. I knew well this was just the beginning.
“But it’s like a casino. I can win small, as long as the house wins in the end. Anything I try to do to change those odds is not allowed.”
I had the stone knife and brought it out.
“That again!” She was flabbergasted. “Didn’t we discuss this? Don’t tell me you’re thinking like a punk now.”
“Nope,” I said. “But I am thinking that I want my soul fully free before I die.” I plunged the knife into the crystal.
She stared at me and a smug grin emerged.
I was sure that the blade hit the crystal, but there was no question it penetrated my hand. Its tip was out the other side. Pain was delayed by something, but now the cut burned white-hot, like nothing I’d ever felt before.
“That was your plan? The whole reason for wasting my time? Well, we can cut this short. So to speak.” As I cradled my hand and tried not to look at what I’d done, she went to the wall and selected a sword. She came up to me and said, “Hold still. It’ll be better for you in the end.”
When I opened my eyes, I thought my head lay by itself on the ground. In fact, I still had my body. I didn’t know why; I had closed them as Becky prepared to strike.
I took an inventory. My hand was split by the stone knife, and hurt like a sonofabitch. I couldn’t see the crystal. I was on the floor behind the couch, which was tipped over. I could not see Becky. I could move but had hit my head and felt dizzy. It took a couple minutes to stand without using my injured hand. The attached shoulder was sprained or pulled, too.
I went to the bathroom. There was something wrong with the face in the mirror, like my skin had been in a steam bath too long, half boiled and half wrinkled. I decided the knife had to come out of my hand; blood was already dropping everywhere. A yank moved the blade a little, and incidentally doubled the pain. I positioned my forearm under the faucet and pulled up with all my might. A splash of blood, and I fell backward. The knife clanked on the tile floor. I hit my head on the doorframe and lay there for who knows how long.
When I was able to stand again, I wrapped a towel around the hand. My thumb kept a modicum of pressure on it. I was barely able to stoop and pick up the knife. I went back to the living room and looked for the crystal from my wobbly upright position. I tried to focus. I didn’t see it so I figured Becky had it. Now was my chance. Maybe I didn’t have the element of surprise, but I did have the sheer animalistic desire to bury that blade in her heart.
I went from door to door, flipped on the light and surveyed each room. Nothing on the ground floor, so I went up the stairs. They creaked too much for my taste. If she was listening, she knew exactly where I was. In one room I could hear a deep, indistinct chanting. I twisted the doorknob; locked. I moved back and rushed the door to force my way in. Now the other shoulder hurt as well, but the door held. I looked at the blade. Maybe it was magical and could force the door. I tried plunging it into the keylock. Nothing. So I used it as a fulcrum at the seam of door and frame. After jimmying and smashing wood for several minutes I freed the latch bolt. The door popped back, then continued to open with a creak.
The chanting did not stop. I flipped the switch but nothing happened. I realized I still had my phone – a call to 911 was long overdue – and I took it out. The flashlight mode illuminated a bed with a nearly naked Lawrence, looking half-starved and tortured. I approached and found him unresponsive, though his eyes were open. I didn’t recognize a word he said, didn’t know if he was chanting in a human language, or some devil’s tongue.
I looked around for his crystal. Was he still alive?
Eventually I saw a weak glow around his thin pillow and found the crystal underneath. I collapsed onto the floor next to the bed. I put the stone down, aimed the blade, and brought it down with as much force as I could muster. The sharp tip hit the floor and stuck in. The crystal disappeared.
I didn’t know if a demon’s hand was about to reach down and snap my neck, but I was too tired to move. The chanting petered out. I dialed emergency and asked for police and an ambulance. “I found my friend here. He was kidnapped. He is unconscious and bruised all over,” I said. “I’m injured, too, but I guess that’s my own damn fault.”
We were both admitted to the hospital, but I didn’t see Lawrence for a few weeks. He was put in an induced coma to reduce swelling in his cranium. My hand needed urgent surgery, and they wanted to put blood and fluids in me. The police were unimpressed with my story about a satanic cult that had sucked Lawrence in and then decided he needed punishment. The investigators responded: “Just tell us where the home owners are.” When I shrugged, I became their number one suspect. Becky was nowhere to be found. I knew where Terry was, but of course kept that to myself.
They wouldn’t let me visit Lawrence in the hospital, but when he was released to a rehabilitation center I was encouraged to come. I tried my best to be supportive as he relearned some daily tasks. The medical staff was encouraging, thought he would regain all function, including mental.
When he was ready to talk about it, Lawrence filled me in on details. He had spiraled down in a state of remorse, chemically enhanced by Becky, and finally run himself headlong into a wall or two, and then out a window. Reduced to a semi-conscious state of chanting, he still knew what had happened: Becky was snatched back to hell. Once I refused the sale, cutting my life short would violate a variety of clauses and conditions in the devil’s soul-signing policy. That I had slain her demon was secondary; the original terms trumped.
An unexpected bonus of demon killing was my ability to use the stone blade to undo contracts. I’ve asked for the knife back, but it’s locked away as evidence in an unsolved – and unsolvable – disappearance. It's probably for the best. The devil’s SOP won’t protect me next time.
After rehabilitation, Lawrence and I were able to get back to our lives. Worse for wear and tear? All you have to do is look at us.