"What the--"
There's no loud bang and no blaze of fire and brimstone. One second, I'm whirling around looking at my comatose comrades, thinking Asmodeus has finally caught up to us, and the next, I turn back around and I'm staring into ice blue eyes set back into dark umber sockets.
"Good evening, Miss Clarke.” Lucifer's voice is quiet and deep. So many misconceptions about him, so much shock absorption my brain is trying to process.
"Lucifer.” I check out my gang, who are all sleeping, along with James, Lowell, and Zeke. Charles, Dante, Damien, and Phil seem to be frozen, and it is difficult to ascertain if they are awake or not. I keep my eyes on Lucifer as he clasps his hands behind his back. He looks like he belongs in the library. His jacket is navy blue with the elbow patches and his trousers are tailored with a button up pale blue shirt highlighting his eyes. I want to scope the pocket and see if a pair of glasses are tucked in the front, completing the scholarly look, but I don't dare take my eyes off him.
He steps out of the pentagram. So much for the trap. I turn, watching him as he approaches the table and begins looking at the books we have out.
"You're looking in the wrong place.”
He turns back to me and I'm still pulling the fish out of water routine. My heart is pounding so loud in my chest, I'm sure he can hear it. He made it beat again, I bet he can make it stop at any time he wants to.
"Ah--"
"The content I hid in those pages wasn't anything evil. Contrary to what my father believes. It wasn't my influence over the Benedictines that produced the illuminated manuscript.”
"Umm--" Why am I not dead? Or deader? Or in severe amounts of pain. “Why am I not on fire?" I didn't mean to blurt the question out, but there it is, lying between us, out in the open for everyone to see.
Lucifer chuckles. “Because I am saving energy to practice a modicum of patience with you for taking so long to get here.”
"Huh?"
"You haven't figured it out yet, Catriona?"
"Figured out what?" I think he might be drunk, crazy, or both because he sure as Hell isn't making any sense.
"Use your head. Damien has been trying to tell you all along. Dante too.” Lucifer circles Dante who is frozen in place, and I worry with one flick of a finger, he'll make ashes out of the angel. “You are going to take over the rule of Hell.”
There's no use for it. I walk over to the table I was reading at and I sit. I'm too tired for this crap. Either he is going to really lay into me and kill me or he's going to continue the mind games. Either way, I don't have the energy anymore to stand there with my mouth hanging open, catching flies. This feels like one of those moments the Anderson's were preparing me for a lecture on the dangers of being young and naïve, which always turned into a tirade about the sins and behavior against the Lord. I can't do it again though. He won. He caught up to us and we walked right into his trap.
"Oh no. That won't do. You can't give up yet, Catriona. There is too much to do.” He wags a finger at me and my eyes bug out further.
"What in the seven sins are you going on about? You knew Damien and I were coming to overthrow you all along? You knew Dick and Doug would turn on us. You knew--"
"Everything, Trina. I knew everything. But what you don't know is such a long list it would take an eternity to talk it all through. So I am going to make it short and sweet and I hope you're as strong as she says you are and can handle it.”
"She? Who is she?" I start to stand, but Lucifer walks over and touches my forehead and there is no long, titillating conversation. There is just knowledge. Knowledge I shouldn't be privy to, save for the fact I have reached some level or plateau of awareness reserved solely for the divine. I might not be consciously aware of what it is, at least I wasn't at first. But now, here I sit weeping for the knowledge I have. The cosmic questions we ask ourselves daily. Why am I here? What's my purpose? What happens after it's all over? The proverbial big picture flashes through my brain and I cry for it all. The good, the bad and the painfully mediocre. Even for the people blessed with the fabulous existence far surpassing the rest of the masses. They're all connected. All a part of "the plan" whether they believe it or not. It doesn't matter what they call "it" or who they believed scribed the initial blueprints, because the scribe is one and the same, with many names.
I sob the hardest because believers or not, I now know they are all in trouble. Someone didn't account for all the variables and there they all are in serious trouble. Stuck in an eternal cycle like recycled plastic for hundreds of thousands of years until someone throws a wrench in the plan. A crazy idea loosening the nuts and bolts to relieve the kinks in the system and has to figure out what to do with all of the excess. Lucifer has been privy to the plan the entire time. It's just none of us ever knew it.
"Why tell me?" I can’t wrap my brain around the amount of info he has just given me. It isn’t even the full scoop yet. But it is enough. I figure it’s best to start simple.
"Because you know they are in trouble and you are one of the few people who can help. One soul at a time, remember? It’s your mantra, is it not?"
I nod stupidly, trying to process everything he has just put into my head. Secrets I don't even think Damien knows about.
"Why me? A sinner? A demon? How can I possibly help? I'm still trying to save my own soul. Redemption and atonement? I was a nobody. I begged. I’m not a savior.” It's like some twisted version of Ouija where I keep asking the questions, but my damn spirit keeps trying to answer because I'm technically already dead and it, me, tries to answer my own game with the nonsensical psycho-babble bullshit. “How do you expect me to save seven billion souls? Not counting the ones overcrowding Heaven and Hell?"
"One at a time, like you've been saying all along.”
I get why he's called the prince of darkness because it's one tall order of bleak and next to impossible on the rocks. Hope feels like the useless little umbrella the bartender always serves up with it. It's pretty, but only serves a singular purpose, to stab the olive in the end, but you wonder if you've got enough brass to toss it all back in order to get to the delicious inebriated little nugget of happiness. Because that's what happy is. Drunk on the love of life. No other substances needed. Lucifer senses my dilemma because he offers his best shot at encouragement, as twisted as it might be.
"Not everyone gets to be the savior, but that's ok; because if there weren't ever people who needed rescuing, who would the superhero types who sometimes loiter in the dark places have left to save?”
"I'm not a victim," I tell him. I made my bed. The thing is damn comfy when I go to lie down in it. I don't need saving, apart from what I am already doing for myself. I may be a beggar and a sinner, but if I’ve learned one thing in my afterlife, it’s getting down on my knees and accepting the bullet, isn’t in my genetic makeup anymore. The defining moment. It came to me after the worst happened.
"I never said you were. You're a survivor. It's why I chose you. It's why my son chose you. Saviors aren’t always the ones with the false bravado, Catriona. Saviors are delightfully flawed. That’s why it makes you so perfect. You can connect with those whom you are trying to save.”
I think about Damien. He'd been so cryptic all along. Does he know Heaven and Hell are in serious trouble? Does he know the apocalypse is pretty much upon us? All it needs is a little kickstart to really jump off and get going. I think about the police officers and whoever the man was, Aaron, before the Drude took him over. His body is no doubt lying, rotting somewhere, waiting to be found if it hasn’t already. But the thing is, had he not been in trouble emotionally and mentally, the Drude might not have possessed him to begin with. I feel for him. And I feel for the police officers. Maybe Lucifer has a point. Maybe I need to take charge and fight, whether I’m terrified of the battle to come or not. Leather or a cape, I guess no one really gives a shit what I’m wearing, just as long as the job gets done.
The effed-up thing about the apocalypse is everyone c
an see it coming, but no one ever knows what to do about it once it arrives. There’re always the signs, natural disasters, babies born with inverted faces and all that gross stuff including the man on the corner of the street shouting his blessed head off about it. You would think someone would have grabbed a pen when history repeated itself, again and again, and written the blueprints down. I'm pretty sure the main man Noah tried to, but he got sidetracked counting and recounting all those animals. So, like any good supervisor, he delegated the task. Only he gave the job to someone who wasn't up to par with the seriousness of the situation. Probably a carpenter because the whole passage in the Bible was pretty much dedicated to the dimensions of the damn boat and yet historians still can't agree on how big it actually was.
I shake my head, trying to clear the cyclone of confusion and disbelief. Lucifer sits and with a wave of his hand, conjures two cups of coffee. I'm too shell-shocked to consider they might be a ruse to poison me. At this point, I'd welcome the reprieve from the splitting headache.
"You want me to save the world when all I'm trying to do is get the mark switched from Lowell to Zeke. All of my plans to see that liar, thief, and murderer put where he belongs has caused you all of this headache and yet you still trust me enough to do it?"
"It's interesting you clump murderers amongst the liars and thieves.”
"Why? What are you getting at? It's what he is.” I sip my coffee, the first real form of any sustenance I’ve had in days. I moan with delight.
"Murdering someone is perhaps one of the most honest acts of violence a person can ever commit. The intensity of the anger and the rage is so pure, there is no opportunity for their soul to deny it.”
"It doesn't make it right!"
"I agree, which is why there is a special place in Hell for them, but it's not the point. Sure, they might lie about it in your courts of law later. And perhaps the moment of unadulterated hatred came before they sought out the intended victim to commit the act, making it premeditated; the point is it was there. The one defining moment categorizes their soul and sets it apart from their other sins.”
"That's one Hell of a scary thought,” I murmur looking sideways at him.
"Hell is a scary place if you really think about the different reasons why souls are here. It's why Cain from the Bible is charged with torturing the souls of the murderers. It was a special torment I thought up for him. He never committed such an infraction against the purity of his own soul before he killed Abel, but once he had his moment of clarity, he crossed a line. It slays him every time he has to rip into another soul, especially if they themselves were like him. Never having committed the worst of atrocities before they committed the act of murder. The torture comes with the knowledge it was a choice. He chose to act upon his anger and hatred, just as they did.”
"That's…that's so evil!" I look up at him in fear. He smiles at me and what horrifies me the most is it is kind.
"Is it? Is it evil to make his punishment his own choice? Again and again, day after day, he has to choose to act upon the evil burning hot within himself in order to torment his peers. He made the decision, Catriona. Remember that. You know all too well the consequences of repudiation. He embraced the pit of evil festering inside himself and he is now forced to embrace it again and again. That isn't evil in itself. It shows him it is there and he must utilize it to carry out his duties. It teaches him honesty. It's the second reason why I didn't interfere when you decided to stand alongside Damien. You chose to do nothing in life. You stood aside and watched. You are a rare gift because you have learned in your afterlife to not continue to turn the other cheek, even though it could cost you the redemption of your soul.”
I rub my forehead. “I take it the opportunity has gone out the window. I did go against the rules.”
"What rules? Do you still not understand? Choices are what define us, Catriona. There isn't a single soul here who is being held against their will.”
"What?"
Lucifer doesn't answer me but takes a sip of his coffee. He crosses one leg over the other and leans back in the chair. I wait for him to answer before continuing. When he doesn't, I press.
“What do you mean? There are souls who can't possibly leave. The goo in the Acheron River. The frozen faces in the walls outside. They're trapped.”
"Trapped of their own volition. If I may say so, it is a special little torment I drummed up specifically for this place at the behest of my father. You've been looking for the sleight of hand, and as the master of deception, I do think I've overdone myself.” Lucifer winks at me. “A little influence here, a touch of suggestion there, and humans will believe anything you want them to.”
The significance of what he is telling me is not a single soul in this place must stay, but because they believe they are being forced to, here they are. They put so much stock in what they believe written by the hand of a few men, they don't look deep inside themselves and find an inner truth. One that tells them although there have been faults, and there is culpability to be had for the choices they made in life, they can choose to believe they are worthy of redemption. If the message about the cross and the death of one of the big man's own is true, why then do people still believe so much they deserve to be punished? I get it now. The mission he has for me about the apocalypse. My mission with Damien has never been to save the world from eternal damnation and take over ruling Hell. Hell itself is the biggest lie of them all. It has been to have the brass enough to stand up and tell people they deserve to be redeemed. The first person I am supposed to start with is myself. I snort in disbelief. The expectations just keep piling on, don't they?
"If you don't believe me, go outside. The first face on the right just before the bridge.” I stare at him and he smiles again, encouragingly. “Go on. Your friends will still be here when you get back. Tell her it's time to go.”
I get up from my chair and move woodenly to the door, unsure of what to believe in anymore. For so long we, as in people, have believed we are destined for punishment, only to find out the threat to the system is because of our own misconceptions. We are our own worst critiques. These words have never rung true more than when I step outside in the frozen atmosphere and find the face of the soul Satan guided me to.
I feel the hot tears run down my face as I reach up and the icy cheek I cup sends jolts of pain through my fingertips. The eighties hair woman with the bad life and the downtrodden disposition is frozen in the wall. The only reason she's here is she believed her treachery of forsaking the Lord is cause enough to see her be sent to the ninth circle of Hell. She was never given a choice. At least, not in her eyes. She never had anything in life worthy enough to prove to herself she deserved anything better, in life or in this.
I press my forehead to the ice and the pain far exceeds the headache I have been entertaining for the last three days. The cold cuts through and when I pull my forehead away, it's like being a little kid at recess who was dared to stick their tongue to the frozen flagpole. Eighties hair Fran watches me through frozen eyes.
I whisper to her, "You don't belong here. You never did. I'm sorry. I should have helped when I met you in Limbo. It's time to go. You need to go. Get out of here.” I wait as her eyes begin to burn brighter as she hears my words. Just planting the kernel of hope into her is enough to give her the strength to believe she belongs someplace other than this one.
I watch as her face first cracks away from the wall and then the rest of her begins to slip away from the vacant area, which immediately freezes over. I wave to her as she begins to float upward, to the next floor. She doesn't need an elevator if she truly believes she doesn't belong here. She'll find her way out.
I stand there and watch her go until I can't see the shining orb anymore. I walk back inside, wondering how people who claim to see orbs in the human realm are actually seeing souls from the other side. Satan answers my question.
"They are the ones who believe they don't belong here, but haven't figured out they be
long there instead. Or they don't believe it yet, so they are stuck in between.”
I sit back down and pick up my coffee cup with shaking fingers.
"I trust you understand if this news gets out, it will completely unbalance the universe as we know it.”
"Then what am I supposed to do about it?" I ask him.
"Continue saving the world, one soul at a time.”
I never should have thought of the mantra, but I suppose it is a good one. I sip my coffee silently as I consider the magnitude of what he is requesting.
"Does Damien know?"
"He is on a different path, but he needs to know, and I am counting on you to bring him on board.” Lucifer touches Damien's forehead, having appeared next to him in an instant. Does he fly? Teleport? The guy’s ability to appear and disappear at will is freaking me out. Has he always been watching us? I shiver, thinking about the many hours spent in my bedroom air-guitaring to some of Joan Jett’s greatests. So awkward. I turn my attention back to what Lucifer is doing. The tenderness is not what I would expect from him.
"I'll try, but I mean, I don't know what I have to offer him to convince him to trust me.”
"You'll figure it out. These might help.” Satan pulls a few sheets of paper from his pockets and lays them on the table. They are the missing pages from the Devil's Bible.
I set my coffee aside, still not sure how I ended up grabbing a cup of Joe with Lucifer, but I unfold them. There are copies of the same pages I’d seen before. The calligraphy letters in red indicating the Devil's Mark and the same copy of the folio of the Devil as was in the copy of James' version.
When next I look up, Satan is gone, not leaving me any chance to ask if the hordes of Hell are going to get off our tails, or how we are going to get the mark off Lowell. It looks like my free pass on just visiting in this Hellish Hasbro game has just expired.
18
"Of Ou Momi, Almi: Damien is Born.” I squint at the words scrawled in ink under the folio I am reading. “What?"
Highway to Hell Page 22