Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Except for the radiance. A faint but unmistakable glow emanated from Belial’s face. Could the humans could see it or only sense it? I turned to the nurse.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “No one in this room is dangerous, least of all your cousin. Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” We crossed the room toward Belial. He turned his head to see me, and his face lit up even more.

  “Lucifer!” Belial jumped up so fast, his plastic chair fell backwards and clattered to the floor. The catatonic didn’t flinch. “What a surprise! I thought you’d abandoned me, too.” He beamed at the nurse. “You won’t believe who this is.” He pinched my arm. “It’s the Prince of Darkness himself, in the flesh.”

  “Now, Bill, remember what we discussed,” the nurse said. “When you start talking like that, it scares the other residents, and I know you don’t want to do that.”

  Belial cast an anxious glance over his fellow patients. “Sorry. I don’t want to rattle any of my new friends, but seeing my evil ex-taskmaster stroll into this abode of absolution was quite a shock, as you might imagine.”

  “Would it be possible for us to speak in private?” I asked the nurse.

  He indicated a nearby doorway. “I was just about to show you to the visitation room. Follow me.” The three of us walked toward the door.

  “Visitation room.” Belial squinted and scratched his face. “That makes you my first visitator. Visitator. Vis-i-ta-tor.” He rolled the syllables over his tongue. “The word makes sense. It sounds like a potato that can see, and potatoes do have eyes.”

  The nurse opened the door and ushered us in. The visitation room was divided into a lounge area with a large window on one wall and an observation room on the other side of the window.

  “I’ll be out here,” the nurse said. “I can see you through the window, but I won’t be able to hear you. This is as private as it gets around here, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. Belial and I entered the other room and sat facing each other on chairs that were even less comfortable than they appeared. Belial folded his hands in his lap and stared at the floor to my right.

  “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” he said.

  “What are you talking about? You know I can’t—”

  “I’ve betrayed you. I’ve renounced you. What else can you do but destroy me?”

  “Belial, listen—”

  “I don’t mind if you destroy me.” He lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Either way I’m going back to Heaven.”

  “What?!” I glanced at the nurse through the window, then shifted to a chair next to Belial, my back to the observation room. “What do you mean, going back to Heaven? You can’t go back.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says . . . you know who.”

  “Apparently He’s changed His mind.”

  “He doesn’t change his mind, ever.”

  “Not true,” Belial said. “You’re forgetting Abraham in the land of Moriah when he was prepared to sacrifice Isaac. You’re forgetting when Moses convinced Him to let the rest of the Israelites escape before the ground swallowed up Korah, Dathan, and—”

  “Those are humans, Belial. Humans can get grace. We can’t.”

  “Maybe you can’t. But I just did.”

  “You’re insane.”

  Belial blinked, then roared with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You think I’m insane, and they think I’m insane,” he jerked his thumb in the nurse’s direction, “but for opposite reasons. That is pure comedy.” His laughter faded into a bright smile. “I saved someone’s life, you know.”

  “Yes. So I heard.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious about the experience?”

  “‘Curious’ doesn’t exactly—”

  “I’ll tell you what it was like,” he said. “For a few moments, as I was putting out the fire on that man’s head, I forgot I existed. Have you ever felt that way, so deep inside another person’s soul that your own presence just evaporates?”

  I thought about the episodes of almost unbearable intimacy I shared with Gianna, the moments when her breath was the only rhythm I heard or felt.

  “Once I realized what I’d done,” he said, “the feeling was indescribable. Saving a life . . . the rush . . . it was even better than the kill thrill.” His eyes gleamed. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

  “How long do you plan to continue this charade?”

  “Until I’m called upon to do something else. Right now I need to rest during this time of transition.”

  “Transition to what?”

  Belial began to answer me, then furrowed his brow and stared at the corner of the ceiling for a few moments. Finally he shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  He tapped his forefinger against his lips while he thought, then turned to me. “He spoke to me, Lucifer. God spoke to me.”

  I sat back in my chair, reeling as if he’d slapped me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t say His name in front of you again. I just wanted you to see that I could utter it without heavenly retribution, that I’m free of that commandment now.”

  “But how—”

  “I don’t know. I spend most of my time here wondering why, why He chose me out of all of us.” Belial grinned. “At first I thought maybe He needed a good public relations director, what with these fundamentalists running around offending everybody. But eventually I stopped wondering why, and just accepted it for the undeserved gift that it was.”

  “What gift?” I said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. It’s not yours to understand.”

  “Belial, he didn’t speak to you. Even if he did, it was a lie. He’s manipulating you, can’t you see that?”

  “I’m the master of mendacity. Don’t you think I’d know a lie if I heard one?”

  “Not if it sounded like what you always wanted to hear.”

  “What I always wanted to hear?” Belial leaned forward with a patronizing smile. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that all this time I’ve thirsted for redemption, that I’ve longed to hear our Father speak to me with tender words of forgiveness, that I’ve dreamed of returning to Heaven and falling into His waiting arms . . .” He gestured at his surroundings. “In this institution, we call that ‘projection.’”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “None of us missed Heaven much, missed His holy presence. We had you, after all—our own smaller but infinitely more entertaining deity. And you pretend you don’t miss it either, that you don’t care, but we can all see it.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  “Not to worry, Lucifer, we wouldn’t dream of dishonoring you by discussing it among ourselves. But we see your torment, your grief, your regret.”

  “I have no regrets.”

  He touched my knee softly. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I’m sorry you’ll never share my experience.”

  I brushed away his hand. “I don’t want your pity, Belial. I want your loyalty.”

  “You can’t have it anymore. I renounced you, remember?”

  “Then unrenounce me!” I gripped the arms of the chair. “Please . . .”

  “Don’t beg, Lucifer. It’s unbecoming behavior for a prince such as yourself.”

  My left hand wanted to fly to his throat to smother his smug words. Instead, I collected the muscles of my face until they formed a stony facade. Then I stood and looked through him as I spoke:

  “I came here to help you. It seems I am too late. Goodbye.”

  16

  Et ab Hoedis Me Sequestra

  “That is some fucked-up crazy shit, Lucifer.”

  “No kidding.”

  Mephistopheles rolled down the window on the passenger side of my Mercedes. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “I sure as hell do. Stink up your own leather seats, Mr. My-DeVille’s-in-the-Shop-Aga
in. What is it with you and American cars? Can’t you put ethnic trim on a BMW?”

  “Not the same.” He rolled the window back up. “So should we assume that Belial’s never coming back?”

  “These days, I never use the word ‘never.’”

  “Right. Hey, did you get a chance to look at my report?”

  “Actually, I did, and I was thinking maybe you should . . . you know . . .”

  “What?”

  I scratched my head and tried to figure out how to suggest postponing the Million Man Massacre without looking suspicious. I came up empty.

  “I think you should tell your people not to be taken alive,” I said. “If they’re caught, they should shoot themselves rather than be arrested.”

  “Yeah, that’s brilliant.” Mephistopheles pulled a small notepad out of his jacket. “I’ll say that they’re better off dead than being held captive by the Man again. ‘Death before slavery’—that could be our motto.”

  “Also, I think you should martyr yourself. Try to fake your own assassination around the time the Massacre starts to break down.” These thoughts came so easily.

  “That’s perfect!” He scribbled faster. “I’ll inspire them from beyond the grave, inspire them to keep fighting, keep killing.”

  “You’ll be a hero, Mephistopheles, an icon.”

  “An icon.” He pulled down the passenger’s-side visor and examined his image in the mirror. The bright red taillights from the car in front of us cast a crimson glow over Mephistopheles’s smooth skin. “This face’ll be on a trading card someday.”

  “Maybe even a coin,” I said.

  “You think?”

  “I know some people in the Treasury Department.” I pulled into Gianna’s parking lot. “We’ll discuss it more later. Remember what I said about tonight.”

  “Right. Pretend I’m Christmas shopping. Buy stuff for myself and mumble about how much my Uncle Sammy is going to love it.” He stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette.

  I walked into Gianna’s building to meet her and nearly collided with her inside the front door.

  “Hey!” she said.

  “Hey, yourself.” I pulled a red-and-white rose from inside my jacket. “Getting tired of these yet?”

  “Never.” She kissed me. “Thanks so much for taking me shopping. Christmas is one time it sucks not to have a car.”

  “My pleasure. Perhaps you can clue me in as to what it’s all about. The shopping, I mean, not Christmas.” I followed her out the door. “I invited Bob and Malcolm along, too.”

  “Cool. Where’s Bill?”

  “On vacation. One of those spa getaways, I believe, where they pamper your cares away.”

  “Sounds great,” she said. “Hey, Malc.”

  “Hey,” Mephistopheles purred as he opened the car door for her.

  Next we picked up Beelzebub.

  “Hi, honey.” He kissed her on the cheek. She laughed.

  “Watch it, mister,” she said. “Remember I’m a castrating bitch.”

  “My favorite kind.”

  “Where should we go?” I said.

  Gianna looked at her Christmas list. “How about Lafayette Mall?”

  “NO!!” Beelzebub grabbed the back of my seat. “I mean, no, I’ve been there, and they don’t have what I’m looking for. Can we go somewhere else?”

  “Yeah, I hear they overcook their cheese steaks, too,” Mephistopheles said. Beelzebub punched him in the arm, beginning a backseat wrestling match that I could tell was about to mutate into something less combative.

  “I hate malls,” I said. “Why don’t we just go down to Dupont Circle?”

  “Ugh, you’re the one who has to park the car, so okay.” Gianna leaned closer to me. “Should we find dates for them?”

  I glanced in my rearview mirror to see one of Mephistopheles’s hands on Beelzebub’s knee. I couldn’t see where his other hand was.

  “No, not tonight,” I said.

  Gianna glanced into the back of the car. “Oh!” She sat back in her seat. “Never mind, then.” A minute later, she said, “That reminds me. I’m having dinner with my brother Marc next Sunday. Would you like to come?”

  “What reminds you?” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “What reminded you of him?”

  “Um, nothing. Never mind. So would you like to join us?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Hang on.” I accelerated towards the oncoming stoplight, then slammed on my brakes. The occupants of the backseat crashed forward.

  “Ow!” Beelzebub rubbed his forehead. “What was that for?”

  “Just letting you know we’re almost there, so you can get dressed,” I said.

  “Bite me. I am dressed.”

  “If you guys were back here, you’d be doing the same thing,” Mephistopheles said.

  I glared at him in the rearview mirror. “There’s such a thing as propriety.”

  “Propriety, right.” Beelzebub’s head appeared between us. “So, Gianna, tell me, when you blew him in the wine cellar at the Shack, was your pinky extended?”

  “That would be a waste of a damn useful pinky,” she replied.

  “I adore this woman,” Beelzebub said to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to share me with her?”

  “You mean share her with you?”

  “Whatever.” He turned to Gianna. “Pronouns are such a bitch.”

  I parked the car, and we began to window-shop. While Gianna and Mephistopheles were drooling over boots, Beelzebub sidled up to me.

  “I think she likes me.”

  “I think you amuse her.”

  “I’ve got a great idea,” he said. “Tell her I’m not really your brother.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cuz then maybe the three of us could, you know . . .”

  “No!” The other two turned their heads to look at us, then went inside the shoe store. I lowered my voice. “Are you out of your fucking skull?”

  “What’s the big deal? I think she’d like it. I know I’d like it.”

  “I don’t care what you’d like,” I said. “It’s not worth freaking her out and admitting that I lied to her. Besides, it doesn’t interest me in the least.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Whatever you say.” Beelzebub moved a few feet away and studied a Salvador Dali-esque wall clock through the store window. “You’re doomed, you know.”

  “Doomed?”

  “Yeah, now that I’ve mentioned it, you won’t be able to get the thought out of your head. You’ll probably dream about it tonight.” He tapped the window. “I’m going to buy that clock.”

  I watched him disappear into the store.

  “Bastard.”

  While Beelzebub and Mephistopheles carried the hideous clock back to my car, Gianna and I continued to shop. Half in jest, she bought me a glass snow globe with a Christmas tree inside it, to “inject some cheer” into my apparently dismal office. On M Street, we paused outside a funky jewelry store.

  “I didn’t realize Bob and Malcolm were . . . you know . . .”

  “They’re not,” I said.

  “Not what?”

  “A couple. They just like a change of pace once in a while.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “What?”

  “Wow, look at that.” Gianna stepped away from me and pressed her nose against the glass.

  “Which one?”

  “That one, in the back row there. All the way to the left.” She pointed to a small silver cross on a chain. Behind the intersection of the cross, two thin pieces of silver entwined to form a circle.

  “What’s so special about that one?” I said.

  “I don’t know, it just grabs me. I’m not usually one for wearing crosses or crucifixes. I find it kind of macabre, especially considering how I feel about capital punishment.” She held her hand up against the cold window. “But that one is simple. It’s hopeful. I love it.” I placed my hand over hers an
d felt her vibrate with excitement.

  “Hey, you guys wanna grab a drink or two or six?” Mephistopheles said behind us.

  We went to the Wisteria, a gothic vegetarian bar and restaurant, the kind of place where you can get something pierced for free with your fifth drink, which tended to involve an obscure liquor pureed with a fruit or vegetable.

  Gianna finished her first schnapps and celery juice. “I should have known I’d get no shopping done with this crew.”

  “Hard to believe I’d want to put a damper on the Christmas spirit, eh?” I said.

  “Speaking of which,” Gianna glanced over her shoulder at Mephistopheles and Beelzebub, who were using bar garnishes to make the vegetables on their plate look like terrified animals, “and if you say no, I’ll never bring it up again, but would you consider maybe coming home with me for Christmas, you know, to meet my family?”

  I blinked hard, then examined my wheat-grass whiskey sour. “What do they put in these drinks?”

  “We’ll just stay the two nights,” she said, “and leave the day after Christmas.”

  “Then I’m not hallucinating. You’re actually inviting me to spend Christmas with you and your family.”

  “I know it sounds strange, but—”

  “You have no idea.” I shook my head and began to chuckle. “You cannot begin to comprehend what a ludicrous proposition that is.” My laughter became more uncontrollable, and finally I had to rest my forehead on the cushy vinyl edge of the bar until the giggles subsided.

  “You’re right. It was a stupid idea,” Gianna said. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  “No, no.” I lifted my head and leered at her. “You know what? It’s too absurd not to try. I’ll do it.”

  “You will?”

  “You may regret it,” I said. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll regret it.” I waved over the androgynous bartender. “Another round here. Bring us something seasonal.”

  Gianna wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  “I promise you it will be a unique experience.”

  “Considering I’ve never celebrated Christmas, and my entire family consists of that bizarre child over there making cocktail-onion goats, I’m quite certain you’re right.”

  “Um, Bob’s not coming with us, okay? Just you.”