X. Deal with the Devil

The other side of the gate reminded Findhorn more of a bank than what he'd expected of Hell. A row of desks stood before him, each with a more or lesshuman clerk seated behind it, negotiating with others Findhorn assumed were lost souls like himself.

"Mister Findhorn?" said one cleark, looking like a man in his thirties.

"That's me." said Findhorn.

"Please, take a seat. My name is Lyster, and it's time for us to negotiate your terms of service."

Findhorn sat. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Well, it's like this, Mister Findhorn. During your lifetime, you didn't hold yourself to the tenants of any of the sanctioned religions, so you wound up here. Now, I can see by the look on your face you're wondering what the sanctioned religions are. They are Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. All three worship the same God (albeit in different ways) and share the Old Testament. He is the real God--there are three different religions because He understood that humans can be rebellious by nature and if there were fewer options some would reject them out of course. That's why Heaven judged you three times--once by each sanctioned religion's standards.

"For most people, a triple failure means they're doomed to suffer in Hell for all eternity. You, however, are an exception. Hell feels that you have something to offer it."

"So I would be some sort of devil?" asked Findhorn.

"Well, 'demon' is the term we use, but yes, you would be a sort of working-class devil." said Lyster.

"What would I do?"

"That depends on your personal affinity. I can find that out for you right now if you'd like."

Findhorn hesitated. "...Sure."

"Just put your palm on that pad there in front of you." said Lyster, gesturing a gray pad on the desk in front of him.

Findhorn put his hand down on the pad. As soon as it made contact, his body became rigid and his vision tinted red. He felt as if he were being watched--no, scrutinized--from all sides at once--and that whatever was watching didn't like what it saw.

The feeling stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Findhorn's vision cleared and his body returned to normal.

"Interesting." said Lyster. "You've been chosen as a Reaver, the chosen assassins of Hell."

Deep down, you're a killer. Briggs' words echoed in Findhorn's mind.

"Now, then." said Lyster. "There are two kinds of terms, Releasers and Keepers. A Releaser is a demon who will reincarnate as a human after certain conditions are met, giving them a second chance to avoid damnation. If they fail again, they're not offered a second chance at demonhood--they burn for eternity. Keepers are demons who serve forever. Because they're permanent fixtures of Hell, Keepers are granted more potent abilities than Releasers, and are better trusted.

"In the case of Reavers, being a Keeper is mandatory."

"So my choice is to be a servant forever or a prisoner forever?"

"Essentially. However, you may ask for certain boons of your own choosing."

Findhorn thought for a moment. He looked down at his aging body, the lines on his hands, the veins on his arms. There was no denying it--age had slowed him down. But now...

Findhorn looked up.

"What is it you want, Mister Findhorn?" asked Lyster. For the first time, Findhorn noticed that Lyster's teeth came to points.

"I want...I want to never have to feel tired, or hurt. I want to be indestructible, to know that I can pick a fight with anyone and win. If I'm supposed to be a killer, make me one that kill anything without breaking a sweat."

"And is that all?"

"No, there's something else. I want to be more than just a killer. I want people to trust me, right until I crack them in half. Make me someone that can take out anything the world can throw at me."

"Your wish," said Lyster, "is my command."

He withdrew a paper from his desk and passed it across the table to Findhorn. "All you have to do is sign here."

Findhorn hesitated for a second, then nodded and signed his full name. Once he had finished, a pair of hands nearly as large as a torso clapped down onto Findhorn's shoulders. He looked up to see a head that was bigger than any he'd ever seen. Long ringlets of brown hair dangled down towards Findhorn's face. The face behind it seemed to be joviality itself behind a beard and moustache. The man's shoulders looked to be nearly five feet across.

Findhorn looked up in terror.

"Relax, man!" boomed the giant. "My name's Barnum, and I'll be taking what you are, and making it into what you will be! Now come on, time's a-wastin'!"

Findhorn looked to Lyster. "He's telling the truth Mister Findhorn, he'll transform you from a lost soul into a demon. Our business is concluded."

Barnum hoisted Findhorn out of the chair and placed him on the floor with surprising gentleness. Barnum was over nine feet tall.

"Come on, now! Don't look so glum! This is the first day of the rest of your death!" Barnum grinned with a massive mouth filled with pearly white teeth. "Come on, then, follow me!"

With a last glance at Lyster, Findhorn reluctantly followed Barnum into the next chamber.

IX. Pearls and Gold

Detective Paul Findhorn awoke from the nightmare to unfamiliar surroundings. The place looked like some sort of temple--marble floors, elaborate columns, the works. There were no visible lights or windows, but there were no shadows to be seen--it was if the structure itself was its own light source. He felt a compulsion to move toward something--he wasn't sure what.

Findhorn stumbled into a wide room with a dais at the far end. On the dais stood a podium with a hooded figure behind it, beckoning him closer. Findhorn felt the compulsion grow stronger. He approached the dais.

"Paul Findhorn." said the figure. The voice was firm, but calming. "Approach and judged."

Findhorn stepped onto the platform. "Judged for what?"

"For the doings of you life. You have died, Paul Findhorn, and you will be judged to decide your fate for eternity."

It all came back. He'd come home with the intention of protecting Margaret from the violence Briggs had warned him about. Instead, he'd found her in bed--the bed that they shared--with another man. Rage overwhelmed him, and he shot the lover twice in the head. Margaret's screams of horror had only deepened his anger--she was cheating on him with this scumbag, and now she was crying out for him. He'd teach her a thing or two about loyalty. Caught up in the passion of the moment, he shot her right in her two-timing heart.

Then it sank in. Briggs had told him his wife would be shot, and he should take his time getting home to avoid the violence. Briggs had somehow known what would happen. If Findhorn had stayed out, the lover would have been gone by the time he came home. His wife would still have been unfaithful, but she would have been alive.

And he wouldn't have just committed a double homicide.

Briggs was right again. He was a born killer. But Findhorn decided one thing--he'd be damned before he'd let this happen again. Findhorn gritted his teeth, put the gun to his temple, and fired the last bullet.

He woke up here, thinking it had all been a nightmare.

"So, you're Saint Peter, huh?"

The figure nodded. Findhorn noticed that there were a pair of gates in the hall. To his right was a gate made of silver, inset with pearls. To his left was another, made of wrought iron gilded with gold.

As Findhorn stood on the dais, a white light flashed over him three times, followed by a red light flashing twice.

"You have been judged three times by Heaven and failed each time. Hell has judged you twice and both times have accepted you. This gives you a choice; you may accept your punishment of damnation and spend eternity as a victim in Hell, or you may make a deal with Hell and be its servant until the end of time."

Findhorn hadn't expected this. "If I decide to be punished, do I get another chance?"

"It is the will of the Lord that each man has but one chance to live, one chance to live by His Commandments and join him in Heaven." said Saint Peter.

Findhorn sighed. "Then...I guess I'll make a deal."

Peter turned to face the iron gate. It slowly ground open of its own accord. "Go forth, Paul Findhorn, and accept your fate."

Seeing no alternative, he went. The gate closed behind him.