Satan Loves You (11 page)

“But they’ve got credit unions? And banks?”

“And did you see those high interest rates? We used to have a special part of Hell reserved for usurers, but the Heavenly Host redrafted those rules a long time ago. It’s all about money up there. You can’t take it with you, but those who do find it a lot easier.”

“But
‘
Blessed are the Meek’,” Sister Mary said. “‘Store you up not treasures on Earth.’ The poor are welcome in Heaven. Aren’t they?”

“Sure they’re welcome,” Satan said. “Someone’s got to vacuum all those carpets and wash all those windows. There’s a Work-Stay Program. Those who do store up treasures on Earth have all their desires catered to in a tiered set of memberships, while the meek get to clean their houses, polish their silver, and feed their sex unicorns. Anyone you see in Heaven wearing a brown tunic is there on Work-Stay: the meek, the poor, the ugly, the short-range planners, the children who didn't make it to Sunday School every week. They should have said,
‘
Blessed are the meek, for they shall be the janitors of eternity.’ I’d say about seventy percent of the people in Heaven are on Work-Stay. Do you have any gum.”

“Please,” Sister Mary said. “I’m having a moment.”

“Oh, sure,” Satan said. “Don’t let me bother you.”

And the elevator descended.

Down.

Down.

Down.

When the doors dinged open at the bottom they could hear a phone ringing in Quiznos. They emerged into the fast food franchise and Team Member Carson was waiting for them with the receiver in one hand.

“It’s for you,” she mumbled in a voice that said: “I know it’s not for me. I never expected it to be for me. All my life, the phone has never been for me. It’s always ringing for my sister, or my boyfriend, or my son, or my mom. I’ve long since given up on thinking that one day the phone will ring and the person on the other end will actually have any interest whatsoever in talking to me, because all my life it’s been other people who are more interesting, or smarter, or funnier, or better looking and they’re the ones people want to talk to. All I’ve got to show for my time on Earth is my tiny life, and my pathetic savings, and the few things that I actually still enjoy, like pizza. And this, today, is just one more time when the phone is ringing and it’s not ringing for me.”

It was completely wasted on Satan. He was oblivious to things like tone.

“Hello,” he said.

“You need to come to Heaven right away,” Gabriel said on the other end of the line. “It’s not even a little bit funny how fast you need to get up here.”

“I was just there.”

“I don’t care. You didn’t do what I told you to do and now there are repercussions.”

“You mean the nun? Why are you guys so bent out of shape about the nun?” Satan asked.

“Yours is not to question the will of God,” Gabriel said. “It is enough that He wants it done. So you do it. Or you should have done it. But it’s too late now. Now you have to come up here and we have to sit down and have A Very Serious Talk.”

“But – ” Satan started.

“Get up here,” Gabriel said. “Now.”

And he hung up.

“Come on,” Satan said to Mary. “That was Gabriel. We’ve got to go back to Heaven.”

Carson leapt at the opportunity.

“Would you like one of our toasty subs for the ride.”

But Satan and Sister Mary were already gone. Neither of them heard a word she said.

The ride back up to Heaven felt even longer than the ride down, but that was just an illusion. It was actually exactly the same length: interminable. Satan and Sister Mary stood on opposite sides of the car and ignored each other. Finally, Sister Mary spoke.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Okay.”

“You keep telling me all these things about Heaven, the House of My Lord God, my strength and my redeemer, but you are the crooked serpent. The Enemy of Mankind.”

“Whatever you say,” Satan said.

“You long to lead His people away from the love of God.”

“Not really,” Satan said.

“You think your honeyed words will poison my heart.”

“I don’t care,” Satan said.

“Of course that’s what you want me to think so that I will lower my guard and you can claim my soul as your own, Antichrist.”

“I’m really not that interested in your soul,” Satan said. “You know what a soul represents to me? A bunch of paperwork. I can’t do anything with a soul. I can’t trade it in for prizes, I can’t burn it for fuel, they’re not pretty to look at, and they’re not that interesting.”

“Your whisperings will not sway me.”

“I’m not trying to sway you.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Satan said.

“It’s okay,” Sister Mary said. “It’s in your nature to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

Sister Mary gave a knowing chuckle.

“Cut that out,” Satan said. “It’s creepy.”

“Old Serpent, I am deaf to your murmurings. Your evil words fall on stony ground. I am strong in Christ and nothing you do can claim me for your own.”

“You know what?” Satan said. “Let’s just not talk to each other for the rest of the ride.

And they didn’t.

In Heaven’s Lobby, Satan speed walked to one of Saint Peter’s desks. It didn’t matter which one. Saint Peter was at all the desks at once in this room. It was a kind of limited omnipresence. The air smelt of freshly washed babies.

“Finally!” Saint Peter said. “What did you do? Stop off at Dillard’s to buy uglier clothes.”

He buzzed open the security gate.

“Quick, quick, quick. As fast as your fat little legs can carry you.”

Satan pulled Sister Mary through. She jerked her arm out of his grasp but followed him to an electric cart parked near the exit.

“Primum Mobile Wing,” Saint Peter said, and Satan sat down. Mary took a seat far enough away that her habit wouldn’t touch his cursed flesh and the cart zipped off through the forgettable halls, mile after mile of gray carpet unrolling beneath its bouncy rubber wheels. Sister Mary couldn’t help but notice that the soul who drove the cart wore a shapeless brown tunic.

“Of course,” she thought to herself. “A pinch of truth makes the Prince of Hell’s lies easier to swallow.”

But as the electric cart surged down the unending corridors of Heaven she noticed that souls wearing brown tunics were everywhere: emptying trashcans, polishing doorknobs, dusting picture frames, changing light bulbs. As the electric cart hummed past she studied their postures and facial expressions and tried to determine if they were joyful here in the house of their Lord, if their steps were lighter and their burdens less burdensome here in the presence of their Heavenly Father. They were doing janitorial work, but perhaps in Heaven their labor was a form of joyful worship?

She tried to see joy in the way they pushed their dust mops, in the way they emptied garbage cans, and if she squinted she could imagine that they were on the verge of breaking into hymns of praise. But if she didn’t squint they looked like any other minimum wage workers, cleaning up other people’s messes and dusting someone else’s house. John 14:2 sounded in her mind:

“In my Father’s house there are many rooms,” she thought to herself.

And then, unbidden, a cynical addition, “And all of them need to be vacuumed.”

The corridor smelt like toasted coconut, but Sister Mary’s heart was uneasy. Was Heaven just an endless minimum wage job? Were there people here telling you what to do and how to act? Could you still be fired? Disposed of? Rejected the same way the Church had rejected her? Did they have Red Roof Inns in Heaven?

She tried to silence her doubts, but they gnawed at her brain like worms. She had always assumed that once she died she would ascend into Heaven and sit on the right hand of God the Father Almighty and the uncertainties of the world would be wiped away. But what if the doubts and uncertainties of the world were wiped away only to be replaced by another set of doubts and uncertainties? What if doubts and uncertainties were eternal? When would she finally be allowed certainty? When would the struggle cease? Because if it didn’t stop when she reached Heaven, then when?

She looked at Satan, hunched over in his seat, staring at his shoes, trying to look innocent and uninterested in the turmoil in her soul and she remembered that this was the most evil man in all of Creation. He would welcome her uncertainty. He would revel in her despair. The worms that chewed her mind were his creatures. So Sister Mary steeled her heart against him and ignored the brown tuniced workers they passed, and she put her steadfast faith again in the wisdom of her God, just in time for the electric cart to come to a stop outside a plain wooden door.

“Come on,” Satan said, and led her inside.

The reception area was bland. Anonymous waiting room furniture was lined up against the walls. Satan walked over to a pair of blonde wooden doors.

“Wait out here,” he said.

“Are you afraid I’ll see your true nature if I follow you?” Sister Mary asked, being nasty about it on principle.

“If it was up to me, I’d have you in,” Satan said. “But since we’re in Heaven, they’re going to insist on speaking True Enochian, the Celestial language. You really don’t want to hear that.”

“Because it will reveal you as a filthy liar and as the corruptor of all mankind?” Sister Mary snarled. She felt slightly conspicuous, talking so violently to Satan who had a perpetual hangdog expression on his face, but she knew that even his expression was probably some kind of trick to force her into lowering her guard and she was determined to reject him in thought, word and deed.

“No,” Satan said. “Because it makes most humans suffer brain aneurisms. But you can come in if you want.”

Mary almost said “yes” just to be contrary about it, but then she realized that if he was asking her to come in she should do the opposite.

“I will stay here,” she said. To what? To wait on him like a handmaiden? “Until my Lord no longer wants me to  stay here.”

Satan shook his head and went through the double doors, while Sister Mary sat on the surprisingly comfortable furniture and pondered the turmoil in her heart.

The conference room was designed by someone who fancied himself a master strategist. Pinpoint spotlights picked up the meeting participants arranged around the enormous oval table, leaving the rest of the room deep in dramatic darkness. Satan didn’t even have to look: it was all the usual suspects, all seated in what they felt were the most intimidating power positions. To the right of the Meeting Leader Chair sat Gabriel, and to the left sat Raphael. The other seats around the table were taken by the remaining archangels: Metatron, Jegudiel and Barachiel. Phanuel, Prince of the Ophan, was a spinning wheel of fire and so he didn’t really fit in chairs. He had to hover by the wall. The Meeting Leader Chair was empty. Satan almost took it, just to be annoying, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He took the Opponent’s Chair.

Being near all of them again made Satan’s skin itch. For an eternity they had been closer than lovers, bound to one another like the fingers of a hand and then suddenly there had been rift and dissolution, The Fall and the carving up of Creation into kingdoms. Division of labor is not a concept that sits easily with eternal beings and Satan could tell that they, like him, had been warped by their temporal responsibilities. No one would make eye contact with him. No one talked to him. They all just sat and glared elsewhere. After a while the door behind Satan opened and the archangels all sat up a little straighter. Satan resisted the urge to turn around – he had a pretty good idea of who it was.

“Lucifer,” the Archangel Michael said, taking the Meeting Leader Chair directly across from Satan. “How does it feel to walk the corridors of Heaven once more?”

Satan was careful to keep his face expressionless. To hear his former name, especially from the mouth of this jumped-up halo-polisher, to be reminded of his Fall, to have the pain of being exiled from the Creator’s presence sliced into him anew, it was like being flayed alive. But he managed to keep his face blank.

“Looks about like I remember it,” he said.

“Of course,” Michael purred. “It’s perfect. And perfection need never change.”

In the corner, Phanuel spun faster, releasing a series of musical chimes that sounded like crystal glasses being played in an empty opera house. The archangels spoke True Enochian, a language that moved simultaneously backwards and forwards in time so that the end of each sentence was also its beginning, thereby rendering every expression of angelic thought perfect and complete in and of itself. Because Phanuel was prince of the physical laws that bound Creation and gave it shape he alone was subject to the passage of time and could not converse in True Enochian. Instead, he spoke in a language of musical mathematics that the other archangels, except Satan, had long ago learned to understand.

“I agree with Phanuel,” Barachiel said.“Roll this stupid tape so that we can be finished here. While you two swap chit chat my responsibilities and obligations go neglected.”

“Gabriel,” Michael murmured. “Show Lucifer why we have asked him to join us.”

“You’re here because you’re embarrassing yourself,” Gabriel said. “And, by extension, you’re embarrassing us. Have you seen this?”

A projector screen came down at one end of the room. Paused footage from a twenty-four hour news channel came on, but it was washed out by the light of Phanuel’s flames.

“I can’t see a thing with all that glare,” Barachiel snapped.

“Do something about your flames, brother,” said Gabriel.

Phanuel folded himself into a shape that couldn’t be described and slipped through the wall, leaving the meeting by way of a graceful fourth-dimensional back flip.

“Interesting,” Metatron said. “He manipulates time and space in such a way that his form extends infinitely in all directions and he merely recalls this projection of his consciousness back to his Ur-self at will. Do you not find this elegance fascinating, my brothers?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing,” Gabriel said and pressed
‘
Play.’

 The CNN crawl frozen across the bottom of the frame leapt to life and the camera shook. It was outside an impressive set of courthouse steps. A trim, fifty-ish man with a gray moustache and a feral grin strode down them. Tucked under his arm was a tear-streaked Frita Babbit.