Satan Loves You (18 page)

“Finally, I landed here, in Hell. Back then it was a realm of eternal darkness, full of smoldering fires, walls of flame, floors of magma, ceilings of lava. Around me, in the darkness, I could hear the cries of the angels who had fallen with me. Angels love the cool for its calm, relaxing waves of slow Brownian movement but in Hell they burned for centuries, for millennia, and it twisted their bodies and broke their minds. All of these deformed demons you see around you were angels once.

“It didn’t bother me so much, I was one of the archangels. What hurt was that I had been removed from the presence of the Creator and trapped in Hell, locked away inside his Creation, unable to get him to stop trying to build his cosmic ant farm. I made do. I built Hell, I turned it into my realm, I brought order to this chaos. I was as surprised as anyone else when he first began to send his outcast souls to me. I guess he thought that they were like me: sinners, rebels, traitors to his glory. He had expected they’d just burn, the way we had burned, but he hadn’t seen what I’d done with the place. I stratified and codified the punishments, brought order to the torments. I used to invent new ones all the time. It was fun.

“I did the best I could with what I had. I don’t know how I could have done it any differently or any better. Now they’re going to take it from me. I got so used to the way things were that I forgot they could just take all my work away anytime they wanted. I suppose I thought that I was as good as them. But I’m not. I’m Satan. I am the lowest and most worthless being in all of Creation.”

Suddenly he plunged his hand into Sister Mary’s chest and yanked. Sister Mary bolted up like she was spring-loaded or, to be more precise, her soul did. Her body stayed on the flinty ground, but her soul popped out like a champagne cork. She stood, panting for a minute and then looked back.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I wanted to be here when your soul finally loosened up enough to come out,” Satan said, hauling himself to his feet.

“You were telling me some kind of really long, boring story,” Sister Mary said.

“Just trying to psych myself up,” Satan said. “I think I have to fight this. I don’t have a choice. It’s my nature. I need to save Hell.”

“But why wait for me?” she asked.

“You hit me in the head with the lid from a toilet tank,” Satan said. “I need someone who knows about fighting.”

Mary looked down at her body.

“Is that really what I looked like?” she asked, disappointed.

“No one ever looks their best when they’re dead,” Satan said.

Absently, Sister Mary rubbed her stomach and then realized what she was doing.

“Am I still
...”
she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“What?”

“Full of sin?” she finally managed.

Satan nodded.

Sister Mary began to cry.

“I’m still pregnant!” she wailed.

“And you’re in Hell,” Satan said.

Sister Mary cried harder.

“For all eternity,” he said. “Now come on, we need to get up to the Fifth Circle.”

“I’m having a moment here,” she sniffled.

“We don’t have time for that,” Satan said, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind him as they started the long walk back to the monorail.

Satan led Mary down endless halls with asbestos insulation sagging from the ceilings, stained industrial green walls and half the light bulbs burnt out. Finally, they arrived at Hell’s offices.

“Nero,” he said, bursting through the door. “What’s the situation?”

“Remarkably unchanged,” Nero said. “Bad bordering on disastrous. Sir, did you know you have a soul following you?”

“That’s Mary Renfro. She’s a dead, pregnant nun. I haven’t decided what to do with her yet.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to rejoin us but you have bigger problems. We’re running out of souls to process and Heaven in getting very impatient and – ”

“I think we’re being set up,” Satan said. “I’ve had time to think and I know you don’t really like it when I do that, but I think that Heaven has been pulling the strings all along. They want to annex Hell and I think that’s why we’re missing all our contenders for the Ultimate Death Match, that’s why I’m being sued right now, that’s why Death is out of action. They want me reeling. They don’t want a fight, they just want to move in with no muss and no fuss.”

“Why would Heaven want to take over Hell?” Mary asked.

“Profits,” Satan said. “Every soul that goes to Heaven is worth a lot more than the souls that come here, but we do more volume. It’s far harder to qualify for Heaven than for Hell, and every year less and less souls get in there and more and more come here. They would love to get their hands on our customer base, start monetizing it the way they’ve monetized Heaven.”

“The bastards,” Nero hissed.

“But we’re going to take the fight to them. Where’s our wrestler?”

“I warn you,” Nero said. “He’s not much, sir.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Satan said. “This nun is going to teach him how to fight dirty.”

“He’s right in here,” Nero said and took them into the room next door where an overweight man with tiny feet and short arms sat. He was wearing a unitard. He looked uncomfortable on both a physical and an existential level.

“So this is Deep Insecurity?” Satan asked.

“Why? Are you going to make fun of me now?” Deep Insecurity asked.

“I just wanted to meet you and give you a little pep talk,” Satan said.

“I’m going to lose,” Deep Insecurity said.

“No you’re not.”

“Don’t pressure me. I don’t respond well to pressure.”

“Look,” Satan said. “Unless you beat Michael in the Ultimate Death Match, Heaven is going to take over Hell and everyone is going to know it was all your fault!”

“Stop yelling at me,” Deep Insecurity said. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Sure I do, Robert.”

“It’s Dan.”

“Right, Dave,” Satan said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. But things are very stressful right now. I don’t want you to worry. We’re going to sew you a great costume, something really inspiring. Right, Nero?”

“Absolutely,” Nero said. “I’ve got two different sweatshops working on it.”

“You’re going to have a great costume, and you’re going to do super. Mary, have you ever wrestled?”

“No,” Mary said.

“But you were great with that toilet lid so now you’re Doug’s trainer. Do a good job. Literally everything is riding on this.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Mary said.

“Nero, do we have any demons who are somewhat female?”

“There’s the Lamia, but she eats everyone who tries to talk to her. Empusa was just up here though and, as long as you don’t mind that her legs don’t match, she’s very feminine.”

“Great,” Satan said. “Mary, Empusa is going to be your Hell Coach and get you up to speed. I’d help but I think I have to go to court soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Nero said.

“Who’s my lawyer?”

“Me, sir. We couldn’t afford to hire a lawyer and keep the lights on. But I’ve got a whole shelf of John Grisham novels and I’ve already finished four of them. I think I can do this.”

“Really?”

“No,” Nero said. “Grisham makes it sound easy but there must be a reason lawyers go to school for years before trying a case.”

“It’s okay,” Satan said, clapping his hands and attempting to inject some hope into the situation. “I’ve had time to think and I know that right is on our side. They can’t just take over Hell. It’s...it’s wrong. We’re going to pull this off. I know it. I mean, how bad could this trial be?”

“It could be really bad,” Nero said.

“Come on, Nero,” Satan said.

“Really, really bad.”

“Lighten up.”

“Really, really, really bad. And awful. And bad, too.”
 

Carson City, Nevada.

The venue for the trial of the century had been carefully selected by Ted Hunter’s legal team. Nevada had the highest crime rate in the country, the highest percentage of teen pregnancies, the highest unemployment rate. It was tied with Rhode Island for the worst state economy in America, it had the highest foreclosure rate in North America, the worst public school system and a governor who was being sued for sexual assault.

“If anyone in this great land of ours is sick and tired of evil,” Ted Hunter told Nancy Grace. “It is the good citizens of the Sagebrush State.”

And now, on the day jury selection was to begin, Carson City was ready to explode. Its population had doubled and then tripled as a massive influx of humanity surged into town, attracted by the gravitational pull of the trial of the century. Theologians looking to power up their ministries, congregations who were looking to take a stand against evil, professional protesters who couldn’t resist an opportunity to attend the greatest protest in human history, disbelieving philosophy professors from Northeastern universities who just had to see it for themselves, hack magazine writers, heavy metal fans, Hollywood producers and angry parents. Tea Partiers who were convinced that Satan would look like Obama, Muslims who were convinced that Satan would look like an Israeli, and Israelis who didn’t believe in Satan but who were convinced that if he did exist he’d look like a Palestinian. Power preachers from the AME Church, tattooed lay leaders from the UUs, hip hop rabbis from Southern California, fiery Baptists from Mississippi, not-so-fiery Presbyterians from West Virginia, stuffy Episcopalians from Massachusetts, disbelieving Baha’i from Portland, every cult leader, get-rich-quick prosperity minister and the leader of every single congregation that could raise the bus fare were there.

Carson City’s motto was “Proud of its past, confident of its future,” and although the average Carson City resident didn’t know squat about their past, right this minute they were confident that if they had a spare room, a back yard, a sofa bed, a rundown school bus or even an RV in the driveway the future would bring piles of cash from renting them out to the tourists at extortionate prices. CNBC, Reuters, the AP, CNN, Al Jazeera, Fox and even the Christian Broadcasting Network had all sent their star correspondents, their best camera crews, their hungriest producers.

By the time the morning of jury selection rolled around the parking lot of the courthouse was a mosh pit of cameras, microphones, make-up men, anchorwomen and stand-up correspondents. Tiny tents were pitched for live commentators, platforms erected for panels of experts who would comment on the commentators, a water buffalo was parked in the handicapped parking space by the sheriff who anticipated that about half of these idiots had never been in the desert before and would pass out from heat stroke before noon, and a Red Cross blood bank was pulled up next to it. The Red Cross hoped that seeing Satan might inspire virtuous deeds in the crowd since blood donations were at an all-time low.

Across from the courthouse, the empty lot on the corner of North Pratt Street had been converted into “Freedom of Expression Plaza.” This was a fancy term for what was basically a cattle pen for the large number of Americans who weren’t content to watch Satan’s trial on TV. These fine citizens would not rest until they had confronted Satan directly with their misspelled signs and their American flags. They came by motorcycle, by van, by truck and by car. The ones whose licenses had been suspended came by charter bus, by train, by hitchhiking and by, in one case, carjacking a Prius. Surely even Satan himself would quail in the face of their opprobrium. Surely he would quake before their disapproval. They had rented every portable sound system in Carson City. They had brought their own whistles and bullhorns, their Mr. Microphones and their karaoke machines. Jammed in, gut to butt, until they overflowed Freedom of Expression Plaza they clogged the streets and waved their scrawled signs.

“Catholic Church Was Right! We Knew It All Along!”

“Satin is Gods Barf”

“Thank you Fox News for Keeping Us Informed!”

Several small children had signs duct taped to their heads reading, “ No illegal Alein Satan/Think Twice America!”

As the sun came up over the Bristlecone Pines and the Single-Leaf Pinyons, the crowd sang a tuneless version of “We Shall Overcome,” which switched to a droning rendition of “Amazing Grace” as the minivan carrying Satan appeared far down the shimmering street. Devoted members of the Colorado Christian Men of Christ had staked out the airport and through a keen combination of prayer and looking for a minivan driver holding a sign that said “Satan” they had spotted the Evil One when he came out of The ReNU AirSpa Experience and they’d phone ahead with the details. They’d also taken photos of the minivan and its license plate and emailed them to their pastor who was on the ground outside the courthouse and one of their members had trailed the minivan and kept them all up-to-date via his Twitter feed. Turning a crowd into a mob is hard work and it requires the latest technology.

Suddenly, as if a starter pistol had been fired, the huge crush of humanity surged out of Freedom of Expression Plaza and poured up the street like a river flowing upstream. The minivan slowed as the wall of humanity ran at it and, before anyone could even think of what to do, it was surrounded. One side of the van was swarmed by protestors while camera crews from across the street pressed up against the other. “Amazing Grace” turned into whistle blasts and angry shouts as the mob sent the few sheriff’s deputies who were unwise enough to try to stop them, flying.