The Devil May Care

The Devil May Care

Lucifer Satin, the local con man, relaxed in the corner of the Alligator Pub, feet propped up on the table. He had taken a seat in the darkest corner, farthest away from the bar and the local jazz band. He wasn’t much for John Coltrane or Dizzy Gillespie, but jazz wasn’t all bad.

He reached for his beer bottle and drank, leaning farther back in his chair as the liquor rolled down his parched throat. He set the bottle on the floor next to him and, reaching into his vest pocket, pulled out a fifty cent coin.

They never make ‘em like these anymore, he thought as he gripped the coin between his middle and index finger. He pulled the brim of his fedora over his inkwell-black eyes and concentrated on the coin, making it dance across his fingers. Middle finger down, then ring finger up, then ring finger down, then pinky up, then back to the palm to repeat the cycle again.

The coin was his distraction tool. The tool he used to idle away the hours until something important came along. And, at the Alligator, something always did.

Soon, he put the coin back into his vest pocket and picked up the bottle, draining it in one shot. Grinning, he coolly slid his feet off the table and brought his chair back to the upright position. Tossing the bottle into the nearby garbage can, he strode over to the bar, eyeing a couple of blondes giggling at the bartender’s jokes.

The oak floor creaked as he took a seat at the bar. Lucifer was about to call the bartender over, but his attention was diverted by a distraught man, huddling over his drink and protecting it from some monstrosity that wanted to steal it.

As if there were any monsters in this bar, Lucifer grinned. He raised the fedora higher on his brow and slid down a few barstools so he could sit by the man.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, Lucifer raised his hand and called the bartender over. “Set me up a round there chief.”

“Fifth one tonight Mr. Satin,” the bartender said as he turned towards the back counter and grabbed another beer. “Think you better stop?”

“I’ll stop when Hell freezes over!” Lucifer laughed as he groped for the bottle.

Grinning, the bartender handed the bottle to Lucifer’s needy hands, then headed back to joke with the sultry blondes.

Leaning his head back and draining half the bottle in one gulp, he slammed it onto the counter and looked over at the man.

“Everything alright?” Lucifer asked. “Need anything?”

“My wife back,” the man said.

“You gotta name, son?”

“Harper. Harper Faulk. And yourself?”

Lucifer extended his hand. “Lucifer Satin’s the name, solving problems is my game.” Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a business card with his name and number printed on the front and handed it to Harper, who grabbed it rather reluctantly.

“666-0333,” Harper said, puzzled. “What kinda number is that?”

“It’s my number. Call if you need anything.” Lucifer drained the rest of the bottle. “So what’s this about your wife?”

“She’s dead. Drug overdose. Downed a whole bottle of vicodin with wine. The doctors all say postpartum depression, but that seems too cut and dry to me.”

“And you want her back,” Lucifer said. “Don’t you?”

“More than life itself.”

Lucifer grinned. “Come with me.” He laid a fifty on the counter and, yelling for the bartender, said “Keep the change chief!”

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Harper followed Lucifer out the door and down the street. Jazz music dripped out of the pubs and clubs, never letting Harper out of its sights. Coming to an abandoned part of town, Harper noticed Lucifer turning his head every which way to ensure that no one had followed them. Satisfied, Lucifer ducked into an alley and motioned for Harper to follow.

Once in the alley, Lucifer removed his fedora and vest. He held his hand out to Harper. “Give me my card please. I think there’s a typo.”

Shrugging, Harper handed the card back to Lucifer, who gripped it in both hands.

“Didn’t seem like anything was misspelled to me, Mr. Satin,” Harper said.

Ignoring Harper’s outburst, Lucifer stared into his eyes and shouted, “This is where the fun begins.”

Lucifer ripped the business card in half and each half burst into flames. He tossed the flaming bits of paper on the ground near the dumpster and then, making a rising motion with his hands, caused a wall of smokeless fire to rise. He stuck out his forked tongue and bade the fire dance across his lips.

Lucifer’s human features melted away. Flesh, bone, clothing, all of it. In its place was scaly red skin, slowly creeping up his charred bony body until it was completely covered. Four large horns grew from his head, each forming a spiral shape, reminding Harper of the bighorn sheep he had seen at the zoo. Fire emanated from Lucifer’s fingers, toes, and the rest of his body, shrouding it an in ominous red glow.

“You see Mr. Faulk, I’m not really Lucifer Satin. That’s just one of my many names. I’ve been called Lucifer many times, that much is true. I’ve also been called Abaddon, the Great Deceiver, Beelzebub, the Father of Lies, the Ruler of this World. But mostly, I’ve been called Satan.” Catching the fear frozen on Harper’s face, Lucifer grinned. “That’s right Mr. Faulk. I am the Devil.”

He turned to the wall of smokeless fire and, with arms extended, said, “I call upon the spirit of one Susan Faulk.”

The fire’s shape shifted and exploded outward, enveloping Lucifer in additional flame until it subsided. Shielding his eyes, Harper gazed into the flames at his tortured wife.

She was wrapped in heavy iron chains, made red hot by the flames. Her face and body were contorted in odd angles from the constant pain the flames and chains gave her. Fire had enveloped her entire body, but she was not burned or scalded or branded. She was left to endure the pain of eternal suffering without so much as a mark to show for it.

“She’s mine now, Harper,” Lucifer said. “For all eternity, she shall be mine. God grants life Harper. He plans for you to live your life to the fullest and by following His plan. Taking your own life is not in His plan. As such, your precious wife must suffer for all eternity.” He cackled. “But I’m not cruel like Him, Mr. Faulk. I believe in second chances. And in deals.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How about a trade Mr. Faulk? You for her. I put her soul back on Earth so she can attempt to live according to His plan. But you must take her place. I’ll allow you to live for a while, guiding her. But when you die, you immediately come to me. How does that sound?”

Harper thought for a moment. He loved his wife, yes. And he wanted her to get up to Heaven, just like Pastor Webb said God’s plan for everyone is. And hey, people always did better on second chances, right?

But there was the part about him going to Hell. The opposite of God’s plan. There was no telling himself that Hell didn’t exist; the proof was right in front of his face. But Harper had been a Marine and had been in hellish situations before. He had survived, and even thrived, through them all. No bullets, mines, or suicide bombers had ever touched him. He had never been captured and incarcerated in a POW camp, though he had busted plenty of his comrades out. If I could handle the rigors of Afghanistan, he thought, I can sure handle Hell. They’re not much different anyway.

“I’ll take it. Just promise me you’ll give me ample time.”

Lucifer grinned and snapped his fingers. The fire disappeared as did the satanic image of his tortured wife. All the satanic features of Lucifer melted away and he was back to looking like Lucifer Satin again. Pulling his fedora and vest on, Lucifer reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small branding iron with the numbers 666 on the branding plate.

“This’ll only sting for a moment,” Lucifer said as he covered the branding iron with one of his hands. Instantly, the iron became red hot and Lucifer held it out in front of him. “Take off your shirt please, Mr. Faulk. I only want to brand you, not your clothing.”

Reluctantly, Harper removed his shirt and held it over his head, exposing his chest to the Father of Lies. To that great tempter of men.

Lucifer, grinning like he always was, buried the red hot branding iron into Harper’s chest, forever immortalizing the Devil’s mark in his skin. Harper’s mouth contorted into a low shriek, his whole body screaming with him. Soon, Lucifer removed the branding iron and he bade Harper to put his shirt back on.

“Put some ice on that,” he said as he put the iron back into his vest. “You’re gonna need it.”

“So that’s it? That’s all I have to do?”

“Your soul is now sold to me Mr. Faulk. Congratulations.” Lucifer stuck his hand out and Harper took it. But he quickly withdrew it, staring at Lucifer’s flaming hand. Lucifer cackled. “I love doing that!”

Lucifer skipped away down the alley, singing Charlie Daniel’s song “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”.

“Hey!” Harper yelled. Lucifer turned around. “Where’s my wife?!”

“She’ll be at your apartment Mr. Faulk. I’m a man of my word.”

Harper soon walked off toward home, following close behind Lucifer only because the two were walking down the same street. Before Lucifer turned into the door of the Alligator, Harper heard him say, “Ah, mortal men. Bring their wives into it and you can convince them of anything. You think God would’ve learned after what I did with Adam.”

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Harper tiptoed up the stairs, hand placed over his still burning chest. He strode across the hallway until he came to the door to apartment 212. His apartment. He reached into his pocket and fumbled for his keys. Finally reaching the right key, he slid it into the key slot and turned it. Hearing the familiar click, he walked in.

He saw Benny, his four month old son, asleep in his crib, fist balled up under his chin. Harper put an extra blanket on his sleeping son and kissed him on the forehead.

Then he walked out of the nursery (just a converted second bedroom) and entered his room. The room he had previously shared with his wife and the room where he had discovered her corpse. They had taken her body away two weeks ago and had buried her that day around noon. He was sure they had buried her. Harper had seen them lower her coffin into a six foot hole then pile the dirt back on her coffin.

But there she was lying in bed, wearing her favorite red nightgown.

“Susan,” he said. He collapsed into tears, not knowing what else to say. It had been an hour since he had made his deal, but he had never been happier. His son was asleep in the next room and his wife slept in their bed. He had never seen her so peaceful, except for the night she had died.

But he wasn’t thinking of that now. Harper just wanted to wrap his wife up in his arms and tell her how much he loved her and how much he had missed her in the week she had been gone. He flipped on the light. That had always awakened her.

But there was something wrong. Susan did not wake up. She did not even turn away from the light. She continued to lie still, never moving.

Then, on the bedside table, he saw the vicodin and the wine. Under the wine bottle, he saw a piece of paper sticking out. Walking around to the table, he picked up the wine bottle and removed the piece of paper. A business card. Lucifer Satin. 666-0333.

He flipped it over and saw a handwritten message scribbled on the back.

It read: “Only God has power over death Mr. Faulk. They always come back to me. I offer them pain Mr. Faulk, that much is true. But they know that Hell is where they belong once they get down here. And when they rise again, they try everything to get back to me. I kept my part of the deal Mr. Faulk. She lived again, if only for half an hour. Now you keep yours. See you next year Mr. Faulk.”

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Harper awoke early the next day and called a babysitter to watch Benny. He skipped breakfast that morning and got dressed as quickly as he could.

Grabbing his keys, he spent an hour walking from his apartment to the Southern Baptist Church of Christ. His head was bowed in shame for the entirety of that walk.

When he reached the edifice, he knew no one was there. No one was ever there on Thursday. But the door was always open. Harper reached for the brass handle, opened the heavy oak doors, and entered the holy building.

He shut the door behind him and walked down the aisle towards the altar at the front of the church. A crucifix with a clay sculpture of Jesus Christ, head adorned with a crown of thorns, stood at the front of the church, staring out at the empty pews.

Harper knelt down in front of the altar, resting his forehead on the carpet. And wept.