NEGOTIATING HELL: a sequel to CS Lewis' "Screwtape Letters." Ch 14 -"Day 2, who's the boss?"

Mary exited the pearly gates, sighed and eased down the stairs. She admired the matching basketball-sized white pearls ornamenting the bottom-step banisters, juxtaposing hell's black ball of despair.

For today’s program, she was flying solo. In her favorite beach bag, she brought supplies for the next 8-hours: bottled water, microwave popcorn, pens and paper, packs of adhesive mirror tiles, etc. She held a bouquet of white lilies, for purity and contrast in her Chippendale chamber. The thought of being trapped in a temporary tomb with Beelzebub’s breath, was viscerally vexing.

Mary saw St Tech approaching and they hugged. Only he understood, since their dealings with the devil yesterday.

“Thanks for setting boundaries with Satan. Without knowing its definition, he danced around my dignity.” Tech asked how her project was coming. Mary described the disastrous decorum. “His red rooms won’t work,” said Mary. “But if I ask to remodel, he’ll add rouge-rugs.”

“How can it be done as Satan’s idea?” asked Tech. “You’re the negotiator.”

“IDK yet. Satan’s ideas must be received as the universes’ most brilliant,” said Mary. They saw a flock of fresh faces forming on the beach, waving at Tech.

Tech explained, “today, our new arrivals learn to walk on water. I hope you join us soon. Once we gain our balance, we’ll upgrade to water baseball. Mother Teresa catches since she does it standing. She’s a legend.”

They hugged and he left. In His wake, she smelled lawn lavender. She gathered some to keep her lilies company.

She smiled at God’s sense of humor, as she activated the clamshell stairs and descended into hell. While everyone else was walking on water, she hiked to hell. What did God say about gratitude? Perhaps, a positive perspective was, she wasn’t there forever.

Ungreeted, she groped the dark streets that tunneled to Satan’s stronghold. In the library, the butler dusted documents, an obvious waste of time. Mary refused to wander Satan’s domain alone. After reading Dante’s Inferno, she didn’t desire the scenic tour. She wanted a direct route to her desk, so she waited and watched.

The bald butler noticed her, “may I be of assistance?” Mary smiled, asking the way to her office. She was led down an eerie, endless hallway and turned left. There are no right turns in hell, as Detroit is designed.

“First, you must pass through security,” the butler informed her. “His Degenerateness desires no vengeful violence.”

“Why? We didn’t yesterday,” Mary said in surprise.

“That was yesterday, today is today,” the butler balked. “Every new day brings new rules. His Wickedness wishes to wield his wrath over the weak,” Mary rolled her eyes and sighed. New rules threw everyone into chaos. Or were they distractions from darker disasters?

“You! Take a number!” pointed a guard. Mary looked around at the empty room. He handed her the number 3, as in the Holy Trinity. “Not that number, it’s cursed.”

She slid her supplies onto the conveyer belt. The mirrored tiles triggered the scanner’s algorithm. Red lights flashed, but no one cared. As she walked through the metal detector, the guards ignored the contraband warning. Perhaps, they knew she was ‘playing’ Satan and savored the idea. They pretended to be rough, rude, negative and nasty. Clearly, they were airport security in mortal times. Downstream, she gathered her belongings to leave. Then, she noticed the giggling guards sending themselves through the x-ray machine. That explained everything. Patiently, the butler waited.

“I’m Mary, what’s your name?” she asked the butler, as they left.

The butler stopped dead still, “Excuse me, Ma’am, sorry? Did you say Mary?” He brightened at her name.

“Yes. Please Sir, may I know you by your proper name?” Mary repeated.

After a long silence, “no one has ever asked for my name,” the butler said in surprise. “My name is Virgil.”

“Thank you, Virgil,” said Mary, “and now we are formal friends.” She shook his cold, dead hand.

“How respectful. After an eternity of His Harshness, someone here knows my name.” Virgil carried himself taller and straighter. “Satan cares nothing of us. He only has eyes for himself and his titles.”

Mary smiled, “but now you have a friend—in hell.”

He opened a door. “Here you are, Ma’am Mary,” bowed Virgil. He waved the way in, with new confidence. “If I may suggest … with that name,” he winked as they entered; “you have the upper hand here. Use it well,” Mary scrunched her nose back at him.

Then she sighed about the room, “ah yes, our bodacious boudoir.” She declared, “I will poshify this place, if it is the hill upon which I must die.”

“Sincerest of luck with that, Miss Mary,” said the smiling Virgil. “His Horrorfic-Ness designed it himself. He does not take kindly to criticism.”

“Thank you, ever so much, Sir Virgil. I will keep that in mind,” Mary bowed.

“Yes, Ma’am, Mary,” bowed Virgil respectfully, as he quietly closed the door.

Mary looked around and shuddered. It was so hideous, that her bouquet shuddered also. Mary set it on a table and instantly, it wilted.

While still alone, she mounted a few mirrored tiles in strategic spots, inventoried hell’s non-existent supplies, lengthened her laundry list and caressed Tech’s climate-controlled, computer-cove. Slowly, the door opened as an invisible Elvis belted, “you’re the devil in disguise…” She wasn’t scared. She was too busy considering where Elvis’ soul dwelled. Maybe she could meet him if he was here?

Satan appeared with an automotive air filter around his neck. He wore both matching-maroon jacket and balloon shorts, accented with silver buttons. The velveteen suit overlayed a white shirt that spilled ruffles over his hands. His white tights tapered into black leather slip-ons sporting silver-pilgrim buckles. His wilting maroon beret was accented with fine, feather boa-like black ostrich feathers. He looked like a tragedy from William Shakespeare’s multiverse. Mary stifled a guffaw. She really should empty her bladder soon, but imagined Turkish Toilets.

As Satan sailed in, he slipped in a puddle of loose, metallic maroon beads. Recovering awkwardly, he declared, “I’m tired of this room. It must be redecorated,” he looked sheepish. Ostrich feathers floated to the floor and a major run appeared in his white tights.

“But didn’t you decorate it, just for me?” Mary displayed disappointment.

“Yes, but it's time for a change …” Satan attempted to regain his dignity.

“… If you would like, I could take care of that for you,” interrupted Mary, quickly capitalizing on opportunity. “With you busy running hell and all, perhaps I could proffer this off your hands. If you don’t like it, you can fix it when I go.”

“What an excellent idea,” said Satan. “I’m glad I thought of it. I hereby delegate you responsible for room-redecoration.”

“As long as you don’t mind, might I try a professional approach?” asked Mary tentatively.

“Fine, but nothing girly or cutesy. I refuse to be seen gagging or barfing. You understand, Princes have standards and cute is off the table,” sneered Satan.

“Deal,” said Mary quickly. She hated girly and cute. “Until we meet minions to discuss ground rules and grievances, what else do you need?” she asked. “I’m confident about your wishes, so that is not a problem.” She wasn't confident and it was a problem. Come Holy Spirit!

“Just let me know when and I’ll send for the mooching maggots,” said Satan.

“First, please may I see where we will debate?” Mary asked. “I’d like to stage the negotiation room.”

“What’s so hard about setting up a room?” asked Satan. “We get good chairs. They get crappy chairs.” Mary chuckled. She couldn’t argue with his logic.

Mary forced a gush, “great idea! Let’s see what else can be done with it?” Stopping suddenly, Satan noticed the new mirrors and primped. He readjusted the ostrich feathers in his bonnet several times. Did he just boop the nose of his reflection?

Mary and Satan toured the next room. It wasn’t bad. It was neutral in tone and non-garish in decor. There were 0 windows, 3 doors, 3 tables and various chairs.

Door #1 led to a room straight ahead.

Door #2 was on the right and led to the hallway.

Door #3 was the one through which they’d just entered.

“Does door #1 lead to their caucus room?” Mary asked.

“Why do they need a room?” leered Satan.

“They need to deliberate, explain, upgrade wording, change course or have private meltdowns,” said Mary stating the obvious.

“I don’t like it,” said Satan. “But they can use it, if I let them.”

“May I see it, please?” asked Mary, ignoring Satan’s comment. Satan led the way. Obviously, Satan decorated the caucus room. The décor was a deathly gray with no furniture, like a morgue. Mary and Virgil would get some.

“This will be fine,” said Mary. As they left the morgue, Mary spoke. “Let’s arrange the 3 tables in front of each door. Since the chairs look alike, we will take the comfortable ones. A word of warning, we cannot show them our caucus room. Like it or not, we must appear fair. Also, I’ll make some tented namecards.”

“Why? Everyone knows me,” Satan was puzzled.

“We need to know with whom we are dealing.” Mary tried not to condescend.

Satan summoned Virgil. Mary discussed her need for morgue furniture while Satan sent for the minions. They weren’t the brightest fallen angels, but they knew to come when called. Mary returned to the negotiation area to mount more mirrors. Satan excused himself for a moment, most likely to change his torn tights. Excited, Mary was ready to meet the demons determined to disarm El Diablo.

< See below link for Chapter 15: “The meeting of the minds — to waste” >

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Talking to a wall

Chapter 2: Jerking Satan’s Chain & the burning laptop

Chapter 3: “Hmm …. I guess I read that wrong”

Chapter 4: The devil is in the details

Chapter 5: And what was it they wanted to organize?

Chapter 6: Nothing is ever good enough

Chapter 7: What could be worse?

Chapter 8: The learning curve

Chapter 9: It’s all in the sales pitch

Chapter 10: Uh, huh?