Satan Loves You (10 page)

“I go nowhere with you, Deceiver.”

“Not even to Heaven?”

“What should I wear?” Mary asked. “Something formal? My habit? Casual wear?”

“Don’t bother,” Satan said. “Whatever you wear it won’t be good enough. Now come on, where’s your nearest Quiznos?”

Satan found one in the phonebook and once they were in the cab he explained.

“Have you ever eaten at a Quiznos?” he asked. Mary shook her head. “Right. No one eats at Quiznos, and yet they’re everywhere. There’s a reason for that. Heaven leases space from them for their express elevators.

Mary didn’t say anything. Her insides were vibrating. She was nervous. She was about to go to Heaven. Even if she had to go there with Satan, it was still Heaven. How many Poor Clares got this opportunity? She felt like she was about to burst, but that might just have been the baby pressing against her bladder. Was it that big yet? She really didn’t know anything about pregnancy or the human reproductive system.

“What are we going to do there?” she asked.

“I’m going to try to find out why they really want you dead,” Satan said. “I have a hard time believing that there’s some kind of conspiracy going on. Heaven doesn’t go for conspiracies. Most likely it’s nothing and I’ll just wind up killing you after all. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Nero it’s that you can never be too paranoid. Or too rich.”

“So if it’s nothing, I’ll die?” Sister Mary asked.

“Right,” Satan said.

He was thinking a shark attack. That ought to take her by surprise.

“And then I’ll go to Hell?” Mary asked.

“For all eternity,” Satan said.

And all of a sudden, in the cab, all alone, fated to die and burn in Hell for all eternity, Mary Renfro started to cry.

“What’d you do to her?” the cabbie snarled. “What’d you say to her, you bastid. Makin’ a nun cry?”

He pulled the cab over and threw one beefy forearm over the back seat.

“Sister, you wannme to come back there an’ kick
‘
is ass? This sumbitch say something nasty to you? Something perverted?”

“Would you do something before this gets ugly?” Satan hissed at Sister Mary.

“I’m fine,” Mary said. “Just
...
take us to Quiznos.”

“You’re not fine, you’re crying.”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” she said. He looked at her quizzically. “I’m so happy about
...
the toasted sandwiches.” she said. “Really.”

The cabbie shrugged and drove on.

They pulled up outside a Quiznos. It anchored the corner of a bleak strip mall and, like all Quiznos, when you walked inside you entered a universe of sadness. Curling, laminated signs advertising products that no one was interested in dangled from the ceiling by strings like cardboard suicides. A neon sign over the counter reminded non-existent customers that the food they weren’t eating was, “Mmmm
...
tasty
...”
Two employees who had long ago abandoned any expectation of ever serving actual customers listlessly wiped sanitized rags across cutting boards that no one had ever used. No one ordered a toasty sandwich. No one asked for the key to the bathroom. No one paid for a refill. In their bins, tasteless tomato slices and piles of shredded iceberg lettuce slowly oxidized and turned brown.

As soon as Satan and Sister Mary entered the two employees stopped what they were doing and looked up expectantly.

“Welcome to Quiznos,” one managed to stammer, but by then Satan had led Sister Mary to a door marked “Employees Only” and swiped a key card. It clicked open and he led her into a tiny storage area. The two employee’s shoulders slumped. Even the people who actually came through the door weren’t customers. Carson, the older of the two, looked at her watch: her shift had only started forty-five minutes ago. It felt like forty-five years.

In the storage area, as promised, there was an elevator. Satan pushed the call button. There was a chime and the doors slid open. Inside there were only two buttons, one marked “Up” and the other marked “Down.” He pushed “Up,” the doors rumbled shut and the elevator began to ascend at a ridiculous rate of speed. Sister Mary knelt on the floor and began praying while Satan did his best to ignore her. They rode in silence for a while.

“Would you cut that out?” he finally said.

Sister Mary prayed harder.

“You can suck up all you want,” Satan said. “But you’re still going to Hell.”

“Deceiver,” she hissed, opening her eyes. “I have finally figured it out. You’re here to test my faith.”

“You’re right,” Satan said. “I’m testing you. It’s all a great big test. You’re actually going to win a giant golden banana and stay in Heaven forever when we get there. You got me.”

“I know what’s going on here,” she said.

“I don’t,” he said. “I have no idea what’s going on here, and it’s making me very irritable.”

“I’m talking about my sin.”

“Oh,” Satan said. “That.”

“My turning away from God and towards the false idol of atheism is not a mortal sin. It is a venial sin.”

“I can’t really tell them apart.”

“I must spend time in Purgatory away from the presence of My Lord in order to be cleansed of my apostasy,” Mary said. “And once cleansed I will ascend into the presence of my Creator.”

“Actually no,” Satan said.

“I will not debate theology with Satan,” Mary said.

“I’m just saying, there is no Purgatory. So you probably won’t be spending any time in it.”

“There is a Purgatory,” Mary said. “And I expect to be spending time there atoning for my venial sin.”

“You can believe me or not,” Satan said. “But Purgatory was never that profitable, so back in the 50’s Heaven figured it would be more cost effective to chop it up into parcels and lease it out. There are pieces of Purgatory everywhere. They leased a chunk of it to the Port Authority of New York back in
‘
51 to use as a bus station, they leased parts of it to city governments all over the world to use as permit and licensing offices, a lot of it went to the old Soviet Union. The last piece of it was actually leased to FEMA after Hurricane Katrina for emergency housing. It generates some pretty hefty rental revenue for Heaven.”

Sister Mary narrowed her eyes

“Mock not my beliefs, O Satan.”

“Have it your way,” he said.

Sister Mary went back to praying. The elevator kept ascending. It ascended for a long time. It ascended for so long that finally Mary got bored. It takes a lot to bore a nun. They wear the same clothes every day and they love nothing more than praying for hours on end, but this elevator ride was that long.

“Is Heaven wonderful?” she finally asked.

“What?”

“Is it glorious to be in the presence of the Creator?”

“It’s alright,” Satan said.

“Hell is a terrible place, isn’t it?”

“Pretty awful.”

“What will happen if I go?”

“Well, if you must know, you’re probably going down to the Seventh Circle which is where blasphemers are punished. You’ll have to lie in a desert of burning sand while fire rains down on you.”

“And I’ll wander?”

“No, you’ll lie down. The sodomites get to wander. I don’t know why that is.”

Sister Mary began to cry.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she said. “I failed my Lord. I blasphemed and now I’ll be burned in the fires of Hell for eternity and I deserve it.”

“Look,” Satan said. “I don’t think
‘
deserve’ has much to do with it. I’ve been around pretty much since the beginning and there are a lot of things that make the Universe go round – gravity, the Second Law of Thermodynamics, feng shui – but nowhere on that list are you going to find
‘
deserve.’ That concept exists nowhere except in the minds of men. So give up on this deserve business. You’re going to Hell because you forgot to cancel an automatically renewing membership in an atheist society. That’s all. You were probably a great nun.”

“No,” Sister Mary said. “I wasn’t. I was fearful and cowardly and I killed a lot of people.”

“Come again?”

“I killed people with my prayers,” Sister Mary said. “Every time I prayed for someone they passed. Now I see that it was the atheism that made my prayers toxic.”

“Yeah,” Satan said. “That actually sounds just petty and ridiculous enough to be true.”

Then the elevator bumped to a stop, the doors dinged open and they found themselves in Heaven.

The first thing people notice about Heaven is how good it smells. Sometimes it smells like freshly baked cookies. Sometimes it smells like warm puppies. Sometimes it smells like clean laundry, drying in the sun, or Cape Cod after a spring rain, or like Massachusetts in October. Martha Stewart had actually designed Heaven’s entire aroma palette before she was born. She doesn’t remember doing it, but one day she’s going to die and ascend into the clouds and she will walk through Heaven’s lobby and she will think to herself, “This smells exactly right.”

Sister Mary and Satan stumbled out of their cramped elevator and into an enormous lobby the size of a small convention center. The bewitching scent of freshly mown grass wafted through the air. Done in tasteful neutral shades of slate, cinereous, feldgrau and Xanadu, Heaven’s lobby had a long row of elevator doors marching down one side and a series of smooth, corporate information desks lining the other. The occasional angel flapped by overhead. Wisps of pink cloud tumble-weeded lazily across the carpet.

Satan led Mary to one of the information desks. Behind it sat a balding, middle-aged man with a long white beard. He was dressed in a woman’s blouse with a silk neckerchief tied at a jaunty angle and he was wearing a Bluetooth headset.

“Welcome to Heaven,” he said. “Congratulations, you’ve lived a righteous life and you’ll be spending eternity with us. You’ll find that Heaven is comfortable, affordable and equipped with all the conveniences that make will make your stay
...
Heavenly.”

“It’s me, Peter,” Satan said. “I need to see Michael.”

“I didn’t recognize you,” Saint Peter said. “You look so old and pale. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but – ”

“Then I’m sorry, but we’re all very busy and no one has the time to sit down and visit with you right now.”

“Vicar of Christ, Father of the Church,” Mary said, kneeling. “This humble sinner beseeches you – ”

“Who’s the fattie?” Peter asked.

“She’s who I wanted to ask about.”

“No appointment means no entry, so you and your chunky monkey can toddle on back down to Earth now.”

“I really need to see Michael,” Satan said.

“You said that, and then I said no, and then we ended our thrilling conversation,” Peter said. “Don’t you remember?”

“Can you give him a message for me?” Satan asked.

“Let me see. Hmmmm
...”
Saint Peter pretended to think. “No.”

“He needs to know that – “

“Have a blessed day.”

“You’re going to be in a lot of trouble when Michael finds out about this,” Satan said.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Saint Peter said, waggling his fingers at them.

He watched until Satan and Mary Renfro had boarded an elevator and then he picked up his phone.

“That nun is still alive,” he said. “Someone who’s not me needs to do something about it.”

On the elevator, Mary beamed exultantly. She had been so near to the presence of her Lord that she felt His greatness in everything – in the wall-to-wall carpeting, in the indirect lighting, in the piped-in Muzak. She was glowing with his reflected glory. A few minutes later she was merely glittering. More time passed and she was down to a feeble flicker. Finally, she was just plain bored.

“Here,” Satan said, handing her a glossy brochure. “I grabbed you something to read.”

Mary took it from him, careful not to touch his flesh. It was a full color pamphlet with stock photos of smiling men and women on the cover. On the back, a small child and a panda bear played checkers. She had the feeling that this photo had been heavily retouched. She opened the pamphlet. It was a complicated list of pricing options with monthly fees laid out on one side of the page and membership rankings on the other.

“Demi-Blessed: all your desires catered to,” the first one read. Then, “Blessed: most of your desires catered to. Semi-Blessed: some of your desires catered to. Lucky To Be Here: fifteen desires per month catered to as long as they don’t involve felonies.”

At the bottom of the page was fine print that read, “Terms and conditions vary. In some situations, certain restrictions may apply.”

“I don’t understand
...”
Sister Mary said. “This isn’t for Heaven. This is for a vacation resort.”

“Those rates are how Heaven’s stayed so profitable all these years,” Satan said. “I can’t charge anything because who wants to come to Hell? Everyone wants to go to Heaven. In a market driven economy they hold all the cards.”

She was reading more of the fine print now.