So its been over a year since I first thought up this story opening. It was stalled by the delivery of Abduction, which has sat untouched for over a month now, in its re-written state, much longer since new material was introduced… So it’s been a while, and only brought to my attention because a recent comment reminded me this gem was sitting here.

I’m newly revived from my trip, and suffering only slightly, to the time difference, which isn’t all that traumatic, because frankly, I don’t sleep like I should.

Time was a rare thing for him. Minions, though he disliked the word, weren’t allowed a whole lot of free time and the man in charge wasn’t known for his kind, good-hearted nature. When he was allowed what the Devil called ‘playtime’ it was with explicit direction that it involve something completely self-serving at the expense of someone else.

Most of the others wasted their time jumping between worlds and causing mischief on a grand scale. Car accidents and missing persons were often games they enjoyed and if, in the doing, they captured a soul or two, all that much better. The trouble with them was simply they enjoyed the spotlight far too much, and while the Devil liked things that brought the world to a halt, he also enjoyed his anonymity. The last thing he wanted was a massive pro-God movement that would set him back another 100 years.

This last century had been productive. Belial looked back at the mass exodus that was occurring below him and snorted with disgust. Los Angeles. They were lazy to target an area so ripe with sin. It was the rare one that went out to mislead a flock of devout Bible-thumping Christians or encourage those priests to reach out and touch someone. Although, lately, that second one wasn’t all that hard either. No, he thought, they preferred the safety of sin rather than the risk of a greater reward.

He inhaled sharply as the ripe scent of lust wafted up to him from the open portal. It was tempting, he admitted to himself, but of late he preferred the pure taste of one, rather than many. His tastes were more refined than those in the mass below him. Lucifer called it ‘the refinement that only breeding could instill.’ It was a way for the boss to blow sunshine up his ass, and being a Prince of hell, next in line for the crown, wasn’t something to be envied.

Belial, like Lucifer, had once known God, but after the first century, refused to acknowledge they were related. It was a sore spot, God, and one that he rarely discussed unless it was to encourage the louder moans of a newly fallen human. He knew that the big man, and by that he meant God, could hear each and every cry torn from the lips of a human amid the fire of lust.

It was his way of getting back. Who gets tossed out of heaven for what amounted to a little graffiti? Granted, it did have Mary in a compromising position, but all it took was for Junior to whine and not a second later, Belial was on his ass, looking into the smiling face of Lucifer himself.

Humans would have you believe that God was wholly good, the Devil wholly evil, but while his boss did enjoy the occasional torment, and invented increasingly painful ways to do his job, he wasn’t all that different from the man upstairs - except that God was into self-denial and the Devil denied himself nothing.

‘Taking a trip over to the light side?’ His brother, Vassago, said from over his shoulder. Belial had felt him coming, indeed, had a sixth sense about it. The habit kept him safe in these parts. The gateway area of hell was where lot of ‘questionable’ things occurred. If Hell had a ghetto, this was surely the place.

Belial shrugged without turning. ‘I will. I just signed a fresh one.’ Belial jabbed his finger at the shimmering surface of the gate and drew it downward and across, drawing a square. Black formed and burned the area, the image of the woman in question rippled onto the screen. ‘She’s still sleeping.’ He drew his finger from the portal and it closed. ‘Meanwhile, I’m keeping an eye on the gate. I don’t want someone dragging back another Natalee Holloway.’

‘You expect them to go for an ugly one?’

‘Yes. The ugly ones get less attention.’ Belial looked down as a fight started at the port. ‘A soul is a soul. This is a public service we provide, thinning the herd, and beauty isn’t a requirement.’

‘Charming description of it, brother.’ The fight was taking an ugly turn, and blood was hitting the gate, sinking into the shimmering mass. ‘You aren’t going to interfere?’

Belial smiled. ‘Oh it can go a little longer before one of them dies and Lucifer gets wind.’ He smiled, watching one of them slip in the puddle of blood staining the floor. ‘He only cares about the aristocracy anyway.’

Vassago winced when he heard the pained cry of the one about to lose. A wave of his hand froze the fighting below, and he turned to look at Belial, who, no doubt, had already established odds. ‘You get more and more like him every day.’

A look of self outrage crossed Belial’s face. ‘Take that back, asshole.’ Vassago saw the Hell Hand, a mark of power, start to glow on his brother. Now was a good time to go.

He flashed over to where the fight stood, suspended. ‘I won’t, bro. I will, however, care for these two.’ He winked and as they disappeared, the exodus for spring break resumed below.

‘Mother fucker.’ He muttered. He waived his hand and slammed the gate closed below. Cries of outrage filtered up from the crowd that were silenced when they saw him looking down.

‘That’s enough for one day! Go practice your mannerisms.’ He glared at the rapidly fading crowd and soon, drew his own portal out through the gate. She should be waking up soon.

[Part Three]