Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 1

The devil walked through a driving snowstorm down Church Street in Hartford, Connecticut. Although icy northeast winds were whipping through the city, his gait was casual and unaffected. It was Saturday morning March 13, 1993, and he was out in the middle of what was to be later and forever termed the Storm of the Century; a phenomenal blizzard that would ultimately blanket most of the eastern United States. Before it was through ladling out its frozen devastation, three hundred people would perish and Hartford itself would be buried under two feet of snow. None of this foreknowledge bothered Lucifer however; he simply continued his stride in its nonchalant but purposeful manner. He had a rendezvous to get to, but there was no need to rush. The plows couldn’t hope to keep up with the endless snow and, if he was lucky, he might get to witness a head-on collision or two.

Few people were on the street, and even fewer noticed him. Why would they? He bore no horns, no tail. He carried no pitchfork. In fact the only thing that might have stood out was that his hair, full and black in his current incarnation, did not seem to be affected by the weather at all. In what had been only a slight concession to the conditions, he had zipped his gray and blue UConn sweatshirt up to the collar. This was mainly for show, of course. He was certainly able to keep himself plenty warm enough. He was on his way to the Hartford Civic Center to meet with the Nemesis, the only thing Satan would allow himself to call Him. The rest of the universe called Him ‘God’ in one language or another, but the devil thought that that title was a trifle arrogant. It had been quite some time since they’d met in person, and this little weather pattern seemed the perfect backdrop under which to meet with his old adversary once again. He smiled at the thought of how the media would react if it knew that their little reunion would be taking place today in this historic southern New England city. Even in this time period, right before the explosion of a relatively unknown little tool called the Internet, which was just starting to arrive on the scene. Lucifer was well aware of the coming impact of the World Wide Web, as well as the incredible societal changes it would bring along with it. He smiled again as he pondered the staggering amount of temptation he could manage through that clever creation. If, that is, the goal of today’s little soiree proved unattainable. Nice to have a fallback position though, he thought.

As he had with all cities and towns in the world, Satan had been to Hartford many times before. He briefly thought on the irony of today’s visit in correlation with his last: January 18, 1978. That day a similar snowstorm had collapsed the roof of the arena he was walking toward at this very moment. Although no one had been hurt, he still cherished the memories of the panic created that day. He didn’t cause the collapse, as he couldn’t interfere to such an extent; but he had known it would occur and had made sure he was there for the aftermath. Today’s kind of like a bookend, he mused.

He looked up and saw that the doors to the mall section of the Civic Center were only about fifty yards ahead. The arena enclosed within it was set to host a National Hockey League game later that evening between the Hartford Whalers and the Buffalo Sabres; though that was hours away. Until then the unrelenting snow would keep Hartford a relative ghost town, thus giving him ample opportunity to discuss his offer with the Nemesis in relative peace and quiet. The devil reached the base of the steps leading up to the entrance of the mall and paused for a moment. While brushing snow off his collar, he glanced up and said softly, Such a beautiful day. Then with a little laugh he jogged up the steps. At the top stair he turned around to survey the snow-covered landscape. I hate to admit it, he whispered to himself, but this is pretty damn picturesque. He spun back around, opened one of the mall doors, and stepped inside.

* * *

Andrea’s Maple House was the very definition of the stereotypically quaint New England eatery and gathering place. It was discerningly ornamented with pictures and paintings depicting various scenes of Connecticut’s past, with some looking as if they’d been taken directly from an old issue of the Saturday Evening Post. To complete the rustic effect were scented candles and the gentle strains of Christmas songs playing softly over the Maple House’s built-in speaker system. The charming café’s owner and namesake Andrea Tremarias had found that such music was popular year round, with customers occasionally pointing out that it added to the allure of the place. The songs played were instrumentals, and many barely noticed anyway. The Maple House was designed to feel out of place. Its ambition was to be an establishment that carried old fashioned pastoral appeal, while located in the heart of the capital city. Andrea had the idea from before she’d actually bought the Maple House to make its theme a ‘workday getaway.’ It allowed any number of her patrons, who were taken mostly from the thousands of insurance company workers in the area, to use their lunch hour to briefly escape the endless inanity that came with working in that industry- if only for an hour or so. Her front door stood no more than eighty feet away from the turnstiles on the inside of the entrance to the Hartford Civic Center’s Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum. The morning crowd today had been sparse, and when the devil walked in there were only seven customers inside. Three couples were spaced out in different booths while one solitary man sat at the coffee bar. He was in the process of drowning a large stack of pancakes with pure Vermont maple syrup. Lucifer locked his gaze upon him, and after a very brief moment the handle to the syrup carafe suddenly broke off, causing it to crash down onto the plate and send its contents splattering all over the stocky man’s flannel shirt. As a nearby waitress rushed to attend to him, Satan cracked a slight smile. Petty? Yes. Yet nonetheless satisfying. The devil surveyed the dining area and selected a booth near a window. He sat down, picked up a menu, and looked it over. As he reached the list of Belgian Waffle toppings, he realized that he was no longer alone in the booth. Without looking up he offered a matter-of-fact greeting. Glad You could make it. To which God replied simply, I do what I can.

Lucifer smiled, laid down the menu and sat back. The ‘Man’ sitting across from him looked as if He might have just stepped off the set of a Bond movie. He was fit, with steely blue eyes and what could best be described as dark blond hair. Were He actually human, He’d be in his early-40’s. Even in this incarnation though, He was a commanding presence.

Bit of an understatement there, Old Man, Replied the devil." Just then, a waitress appeared at the table with an open notepad and a pen at the ready.

What can I get for you today, gentlemen? The nametag neatly pinned to the green and yellow apron she wore read ‘Andrea’ in old English-style script. Her dress and manner clearly indicated that she was the owner and namesake of the Maple House. Satan answered first, requesting a frozen green tea concoction listed on the menu.

Good choice. They’re excellent. We haven’t sold that many lately with it still being so cold out.

Without changing tone or missing a beat, Lucifer responded by flashing what could only be described as a devilish grin, and replied, I imagine you haven’t. I’m originally from the south though, and regardless of temperature I still enjoy a cold drink every now and then.

I’d never have guessed that; you have almost no accent. Well sir, welcome to winter in New England. We don’t get too many southerners here. Where are you from? Georgia?

Close. A little farther south.

Not too much snow there then, I guess. I bet it gets as hot as hell sometimes.

Satan answered with a chuckle, You have no idea.

Across the booth God rolled His eyes as He waited patiently for a wrap on the repartee. Andrea smiled as she jotted down the order, and then turned her attention to the other man. And for You, Sir?

God put the menu down and gave her His order. I’ll have a hot chocolate and a glazed cinnamon stick.

Excellent. Will that be all, gentlemen?

Yes, Andrea, God answered.

Great. I’ll be right back with your orders, then.

No rush, Lucifer chimed in with a flirtatious tone in his voice. Andrea smiled again and was off. When she was out of earshot, God turned to His oldest adversary and stated simply, What do you want?

That’s a little rude, isn’t it? Did I pull You away from Your busy schedule? Last time I looked You had things running pretty much on autopilot for the past few millennia.

Get to the point, Beelzebub, came the terse reply.

All right, then. I want more.

More what?

More control over things down here. And I want out of hell.

Who are you to ask Me for anything? You’re lucky I don’t banish your ass right out of existence.

The devil sighed. I see You’re on the same old power trip You’re always on. Go ahead and do it then. I’ll thank You for it.

"You must know by now that it’s primarily because that’s what you’d want that I won’t do it. You haven’t suffered enough. It will never be enough."

The whites around Lucifer’s brown eyes began to glow a fiery red. Who are You to hold such a grudge for so long, Joshua? So high and mighty? I was-beyond any reasonable definition- loyal to You for ages. I was Your fucking Luca Brasi and You treated me like garbage. I had my fill and took my chance. I lost, and I can accept that. You really showed me. Lesson learned. How long is this going to last?

Only until the end of time, you treasonous bastard. I trust you can still recall how long that is?

This is bullshit! Satan roared while slamming a fist down on the table, causing the silverware to jump and more than one head to turn toward them. He then continued on in a lower voice. I have spent eons trying to manipulate, use, corrupt and then piss out your minions. And I have a far greater success rate of getting them to follow my lead than You have of getting them to follow Yours. My God Man, seriously, do You even care anymore? You just sit there and allow all that I do to continue. Then on top of me, there are the famines, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, diseases, politicians…shall I go on?

Ecoute-moi, My hot little friend-I do not allow it. They listen to you if they want; they set up their own systems of government and elect whomever they wish. There is always a choice. God continued, Natural disasters and health issues are simply a necessary and unfortunate consequence of the science required to make the universe possible. You couldn’t possibly even begin to contemplate the enormity of the process.

A choice? The devil practically spat out. You’d make a great comedy writer. Let’s recap, shall we? You give them an entire world, fully stocked no less. But then You allow incredible disparity among them all concerning wealth, health and social status. Good people live their entire lives poverty stricken and yet still crawl through the mud to praise Your name. At the same time, others inherit fortunes and spend their lives crushing those below them, all the while thumbing their noses and laughing at You. Then of course there are the celebrities who instruct the rank and file to conserve energy lest the sky fall, while their butlers take private jets to grocery shop. And my personal favorite, centuries of wars fought and millions of people slaughtered in the name of their religion du jour. ’My God is the one true God,’ blah, blah, blah. It’s all bullshit. You’re not even religious. And where are You? Sitting back on Your celestial La-Z-Boy watching it all in High Definition.

Just then Andrea appeared and placed their drinks down, along with a plate that held the cinnamon stick. Will there be anything else, gentlemen?

Satan’s tone changed so quickly it was as if someone had used a remote control on him. Not at the moment, love. This will suffice. Lucifer’s little smile was enough to cause her to feel an incredible warmth inside. She politely returned it and then walked away. When she was gone God spoke up.

"Listen, I could give you My ‘where were you when I created the world routine’ or something along those lines. Instead, after careful consideration, I believe I’ll just go with the ‘fuck you’ defense. The question isn’t ‘who am I?’ it’s who are you? Allow Me to spell it out for you: you don’t dictate to Me, and I don’t explain Myself to you. I created you. I gave you everything, yet that wasn’t enough. You had to attempt your ridiculous coup d’état. And what’s nearly unfathomable-even to Me-is that you attempted a coup that you already knew would not, nay, could not, possibly be successful. That is the very definition of blind arrogance. So watch carefully, Heat Miser. I’m going to show you something. From nowhere, God produced a thick, hard-covered Webster’s dictionary. He dropped it on the table in front of His former protégé with a thud. Take this. Look up ‘Supreme Being’ and see if you recognize the resemblance."

Not in the mood for sarcasm, the devil picked up the book and immediately converted it to ash; which then blew away and disappeared. I get it, yeah. Thanks. But where is the responsibility that comes with all of that power? You’ve set these people adrift. No guidance. You can’t even keep Your own houses in order.

God cut him off, ‘What houses?’ As you’ve already correctly stated, I am not religious. I create, and they do what they will with My creation. I do not interfere."

I see, Satan answered. "The hands off approach, eh? That must be mighty convenient. In case You haven’t yet noticed though, they’re turning their collective back on You in droves.

I’m here, as I have always been. What I’m trying to say Lucy is that they believe or they don’t. I will not resort to parlor tricks to get them to believe or to care. God paused and broke off a piece of the cinnamon stick Andrea had brought Him. Good, He thought; no raisins. He hated raisins. Grapes, yes. But raisins? He couldn’t abide them. Why dry out such a tasty fruit? Ah, well…too late now. God returned his attention to Lucifer. That, He continued, "is an individual decision made by each human individually. It’s how I roll. Always have, Ol’ Scratch. Incidentally what the hell do you care, anyway?"

Uh, I’m the devil, retorted Lucifer. I’m an agitator by nature. It’s how I roll. Would You like Your dictionary back to check?

Right. And I’m God. You can’t agitate Me.

So true, so true. The devil drummed his fingers softly on the table as he paused for a moment. However, I may be able to make You ponder."

Ponder what?

Look. You may have Creation’s best poker face, but I know somewhere in there You’re bored. I’m sure it’s just deity nature. I mean, when You’re perched at the very top there’s nowhere left to go, right? You’ve seen how far their worship of You has fallen. You can’t deny it. Millions have stopped believing altogether. I’m fairly certain You’d be interested in finding out how much faith has been lost…at least on a small scale.

I don’t need to be shown anything. I have no ego to bruise. In that way, I’m kind of like a celestial Mr. Spock.

Lucifer, with absolutely nothing to lose, pushed further. Right, right. So, as Lord Acton put it so eloquently-Absolute power corrupts absolutely-except for You. The One who sits upon the most power-wielding throne there ever was.

If you’re trying to appeal to My vanity, Mighty Casey, then you’ve struck out. I don’t need to prove anything to you; and as you’ve just pointed out, there’s no one above Me to impress. With that, God popped the rest of the cinnamon stick into His mouth, slowly savoring the last bite out loud. Mmm. These things are just so Me-damn delicious. You really should try one. It’d be a real sin not to. God chuckled at his own agitation skills as He started to slide to the edge of the booth.

The devil, realizing he was powerless to stop Him, tried one last, desperate plea.

Listen, I have a proposition. I’d like to offer You a wager.

God paused for a moment, and then asked, why would I bet with you? What could you possibly offer Me that I couldn’t simply get for Myself?

The devil smiled, for he was waiting on this very question. "Excellent point, Your Highness. Indeed, what does one get for the Man who-literally-has everything? How about this? If You win, I’ll go two full millennia without actively recruiting anyone. I’ll guarantee You that any soul who shows up on my doorstep will be there of his or her own accord. No temptations, no possessions. Nothing. I will disappear into hell for two thousand earth years of my own free will, in keeping with Your policy. Going forward, that represents the entire time that has elapsed since the Crucifixion for humanity to heal itself. If, that is, it’s in their collective nature to do so. I’m betting You’d be interested in finding that out for sure, too. So there it is, Joshua. I offer You the chance to prove to Yourself that You still care. It certainly feels to me as if these people are like a Christmas present You gave Yourself then got bored with. And now they’re scattered all over the place; abandoned and in self-destruct mode. You know I’m right. This is quite different than it was with Job. You’ll be playing for something more than that. If you win, You’ll be allowing them the one thing they’ve never fully possessed as long as I’ve been around. Total and absolute free will."

God slid back to the middle of the booth. He looked over at Andrea and called out to her. Can you pack another one of those cinnamon sticks to go and bring the check, please? He leaned over the table, looked at His former right-hand man, and in a low voice asked, And if you win?

Satan’s grin reappeared and widened. He too leaned in close, and whispered four words that were barely audible. I get back in.

So, the Prodigal Son wants to come in from the heat.

The thought has occurred to me.

So then what? I just reinstate you to your former position?

Well…

Sure. Do you have any preference on which jewels I’ll encrust your throne with? Diamonds? Rubies? Actually, Emeralds are nice. Then again, I’ve always been partial to green. Perhaps I might even be able to find you a matching ottoman. In fact, now that I think about it, I’d bet you’d also enjoy a refrigerator with one of those ice dispensers built right into the door.

Okay, okay. That’s enough. Lucifer continued, Listen, I’m perfectly willing to allow You to determine what position I would take should I be fortunate enough to gain re-entry. I’d never be so presumptuous as to tell you what to do with Your kingdom.

Right. That doesn’t sound like you at all.

Well, going forward at least, Satan responded sheepishly with a shrug.

God sat back and did indeed ponder for a moment. He then asked for clarification of the proposal. As if on cue, Lucifer reached without hesitation into the inside pocket of his sweatshirt and produced a document with a brick red cover. On its front was emblazed a satanic image. He extended it to the Almighty. God looked down at it and threw a glance across the table. Seriously? What is this thing?

It’s my updated corporate logo. You like it?

It looks like the devil on a can of Underwood ham.

Whatever. Jealous that You didn’t think of it first, my friend?

Absolutely. That’s just what I need, another icon.

God took the document from Satan’s outstretched hand and flipped through it, taking much longer than was necessary to peruse it just to piss him off. When He was done, He folded the proposal and put it into His own coat pocket. He looked over at the pathetic fallen angel, who wasn’t even trying to hide the nervous anticipation he felt in awaiting His response. After a long moment, God finally spoke. I do care; and at their core My people are good people. Maybe it has come time to prove that to you yet again. You’re on, Heat Miser.

The devil let out a small laugh and a wider grin than he’d intended. I’ll get the check. Lucifer called over to Andrea, who was only a few booths away.

"Sweetie,