The Devil, His Brother, and I

The sigh stretches on forever; it echoes off the walls and carries a desperation of a man who is doomed. I glance at the poor sap who has been nursing his drink for hours. Middle-aged guy, grayish skin tone typical of the overworked and overindulgent, saggy bags under his eyes.

If I had to guess: heart attack.

He wipes his face and points at the golden oval in the wall that’s more of a veil than a solid obstacle. “Tell me again. What exactly happens when I walk through that door?”

“You’ll meet the enforcer for judgment day.”

“And he decides if I go to heaven or hell?”

I nod and polish the glass in my hand. The all-consuming question everyone asks as patrons sit at my counter and ponder their life.

Plus, of course, the doubts of the curious souls.

“Was I a decent enough human being?”

“Did my life make a difference?”

“What about do-overs?”

I shrug and smile because that’s what I always do. Everyone who comes here has made their bed. Now it will only depend on whether the sheets are made of silk or fire.

The man’s anxious gaze cuts into me. “Can I have another whiskey?”

“Sorry, but everyone gets up to three drinks. No exception.” I return the polished glass to its proper place on the shelf and turn to the woman at the other end of the bar. “How are you doing, ma’am?”

She sniffles. “Already miss my grandkids.”

She seems like the grandma type; gray hair that’s well kept, resolute mouth, eyes that are energetic and full of love. If she doesn’t make it to heaven, no one else will.

She juts her head at the dude. “Can I give him one of my drinks?”

“Sure.” I pour the middle-aged man another top-shelf whiskey. Although I shouldn’t make exceptions, I’m a sucker for good deeds. Reason I got the job.

He raises his glass to her. “Thank you.” Gulping down a mouthful, he smiles. “How many grandchildren do you have?”

“Seven.”

That’s a lot of grandkids.

She adds more honey to her tea and stirs. “What about you? Do you have children?”

“One.” The man raises an index finger. “She’s fifteen and hates my guts.”

The woman laughs. “We all went through that. It’s just a phase.”

“But now I won’t see her grow up.” Moisture swims in the man’s eyes. “I wish I could see her one more time and tell her how proud I am of her.”

I want to slam my head into the wall.

Please!

Regrets. Guilt. Remorse.

That’s what I’m forced to listen to all day.

Dreadful.

“How did you die?” he pries.

“Old age, dear.” Her gaze flicks to me before she clears her throat and refocuses on the man. “And you?”

“Heart attack.”

Told ya.

“Well”—the woman stands—“I better get on my way. I’m hoping that my husband is already waiting for me on the other side.”

I give her an encouraging nod. “Best of luck.”

“What if he’s not there?” Sudden fear twists her lips. “We were married for fifty-two years. He is my world.”

I pat her hand. “You seem like an outstanding human being, so I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”

“You are very kind.”

“And if you and your husband are soulmates but end up in different places, you can request a reunification.”

Her shoulders relax. “I guess that’s good.”

I omit that the process only works in one direction—and that is straight to hell. There are no roads from the underworld to heaven.

Raising her chin, she takes a deep breath. A few steps and she is at the golden portal that leads to the next part of her journey. With one more glance in my direction, she walks into the void. That’s the last I’ll ever see of her.

The man stares at the closing hole and downs the rest of his whiskey. His bleak gaze meets mine. “Will it hurt?”

Only if you go to hell. “Not at all.”

“And this enforcer, is he fair?”

He checks off names on a list and follows orders. No discussions. No mercy. No fuss. “He can be reasoned with, if you don’t agree with his judgment.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Setting down the empty tumbler, the man wipes his hand on a napkin. “And I mean, just between us guys, there should be some forgiveness for minor transgressions, right?”

I blink at him. “What kind of transgressions?”

“You know how it is when you’re married. Things get old, boring, so I cheated a few times . . .”

I grimace. A cheater. What a surprise.

Can’t help you there, buddy.

Never been in a relationship for more than one night.

“And it’s not that it was serious cheating. I just liked to go to strip clubs. Relax with the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

“Sorry, I don’t.” I shrug an apology. “We don’t have those establishments around here.”

“Hm, bummer. I would’ve thought that hell was filled with them.”

Boy, will he be in for a surprise.

“So what do you do for fun then?” he rattles on. “Like on your days off.”

“I don’t get any days off.”

“You don’t?” He gapes at me with an open mouth. “Must be stressful.”

Buddy, I’m a demon.

We don’t do stress. “Humans die twenty-four, seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year.” Which increases to three hundred and sixty-six in a leap year. “And someone needs to be around to greet them. Make sure that the passage to the next world becomes a little easier.”

“And you’re doing this all by yourself?”

“Yep.” Bartender, owner, and operator all wrapped in one. That’s my life in a nutshell.

“Well, you are doing a terrific job.”

“Why, thank you.” I rinse the teacup of the old lady and keep my face frozen with a pleasant smile. For six hours, he’s been showering me with his nonsense in order to avoid the inevitable. I point at his glass. “If you are done, you really need to move on.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “And I can’t get another drink?”

“Nope.”

“Please, just one more.”

The despair coloring his words makes me cringe. “Look, I know it’s scary to face judgment day, but as long as you are sitting here, you won’t find peace. And for all you know, you could be earmarked for heaven.”

“You think?”

No!

Cheaters go to hell without detour, especially those who took advantage of the vulnerability of strippers. “My point is that you won’t know until you meet the enforcer.”

“I suppose.” He gets slowly to his feet and blows out a heavy breath. “Okay, wish me luck.”

You’ll need plenty. “Take care.”

Shoulders squared, he walks to the portal with his head held high; for a breath, he hesitates but then he crosses through the veil into the void.

I pick up his tumbler and soak it in dishwater before wiping down the bar. After a few minutes, my sensitive ears pick up a scream.

Yep, poor bastard didn’t make it.

The devil will have his fun with him.

Tossing the cloth into the sink with a sigh, I rinse the cup and glass under cold water. Constant raindrops pelt down on the roof with low plops and cast a sullen mood over the dimly lit space. I should turn on some music. It’s a quiet night, though that could change in the blink of an eye. One big pile up on the highway or a mass shooting, and the place will be crawling with folks.

Crossing to the other side of the bar where the jukebox is hidden in a corner, my finger already hovers over H6, my favorite song, when the door to Earth creaks open. A young woman appears on the threshold, soaked to the skin and shivering. Drenched hair sticks to her face, though her cheeks are not solely wet from the downpour outside. Tears spill from her eyes by the buckets; she’s engulfed in a cloud of guilt and remorse that is even detectable from this side of the room. All in all, the girl is a mess and will need some serious prompting to travel any further.

I give her my most cheerful smile. “Welcome to the Resting Point, the best watering hole between the life and the afterlife. Come on in and take a load off. We got plenty of drinks to make this passage a little easier.”