I Am Satan (Hellbound Trilogy Book 2)

by Tim Hawken

  “We are now going to do an exercise,” she said, clasping her hands at her waist. “I want you to turn to the person behind you and tell them a secret you kept during your life. It doesn’t have to be big, just something no one else knows. As the secret comes out, feel the burden inside lift within your spirit.”

  Students turned to each other and there was a murmur of conversation. After a few minutes, beaming smiles resonated on the faces of everyone present. They looked to each other with a united aura of achievement.

  “Very good,” the elderly woman said. “Now think to yourself: if the truth of something so small can make me feel so good, how light will I become when I reveal my darkest deeds?”

  She turned to a whiteboard behind her and wrote in black on it: What are my Darkest Secrets? She then turned back to her students and stood there a moment, looking at each of them seriously.

  “I want all of you tonight to contemplate what your darkest secrets are. What are you least proud of doing in your life? It may take some days until you’re honest with yourself, but when you are, then you are ready to be honest with others. I am always here to listen to those confessions, but remember I am not being told them in confidence. I am being told so that it is common knowledge. The real truth is when nothing is hidden from even someone who barely knows you. It’s like being famous in a way, people can read the tabloids of your misgivings just like on Earth.”

  There was a titter of laughter and everyone started to rise. Some stretched their limbs as they stood in place and chatted to one another.

  “This school has been another great help in cleansing souls,” Zoroaster said. “These people are more honest than you could believe. I hope their truth spreads into Heaven when they pass over. We’re chipping away at chaos, one lie at a time!”

  The prophet turned to us with a smile. “The truth will set you free!”

  “You haven’t changed,” Mary smiled.

  “We all change,” Zoroaster said. “Our only hope is that we change for the better.”

  He took Mary by the hand and turned to lead her back down the pathway. I followed close behind. We pushed past people who were coming up to the school and turned right again, walking up the hill, along the bustling street. Zoroaster patted Mary’s arm fondly as they walked. I strode forward to keep up. We turned a corner and a group of children came running down the street, laughing and playing. One of them bumped into my leg. He looked up, with big brown eyes. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear, disfiguring him hideously.

  “I’m sorry mithter,” he said with a lisp, and kept running down the street.

  Zoroaster turned to me.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said. “His scars weren’t beautiful. They are a hangover from his personal perception of body in life. Don’t let it bother you.”

  “It’s not that,” I said, shaking my head in dismay. “There are children here. I thought all children would be in Heaven.”

  “That’s quite naïve of you, Michael,” he replied as we walked on. “There are children in Hell too if you cared to look, although if nothing’s changed they are normally turned into fully fledged demons quickly. Young minds are easily influenced, positively or otherwise.”

  “But they’re children!” I said. “Surely God would have given some grace when he created these filters for them?”

  “A soul is a soul, Michael, young or old. What age would you set to become an adult? Eight, ten, fourteen? It’s different for everyone, that kind of level of maturity. The ability to tell the difference between right and wrong can come much earlier. If you’re stealing candy from your parents, it is still a sin in God’s eyes. What’s to stop you stealing other people’s things in Heaven? Hmmm?”

  “But…”

  “But nothing,” he kept on. “Stealing candy is only a minor sin, so those children thankfully come here. But ‘children’, as you call them, can still murder or torture. Some wage wars, some are soldiers. Maybe you’ve lived a sheltered life, Michael, but surely you can see that even if you’re little, you can become a brute. It’s a grace from The Lord in Heaven and Mary here that many of those young souls come to Purgatory now. Before, they would have gone straight to the flames.”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s one of the reasons we need to create more freedom in the realms.” Seeing an opportunity to plead our case, I continued, “God, as you call him, has lost grip on what’s good and evil. The Asmodeus I know is nothing but a brute himself.”

  “You don’t understand much then, do you?” Zoroaster said, still with an easy smile. He wasn’t attacking me, simply making a comment. Nevertheless, anger prickled inside me.

  “I understand that freedom and truth are not things that Asmodeus holds dear.”

  “Maybe so,” Zoroaster said. “But matters of good and evil aren’t so simple. You aren’t ready for this conversation yet, though, Michael. Maybe after some more time to learn and reflect we can pick up this discussion.”

  “I want to discuss it now,” I said, my face getting hot with embarrassment at his words.

  “No, it will be useless. Tell me. Would you kill one child so that you could save two?”

  “I would never kill a child!” I said defensively.

  “Not even to save two? What about two million?”

  I stood there, dumb.

  “If I knew that by killing one child it would save two million lives, then I would do it,” I said sullenly.

  “Would you?” Zoroaster said in surprise. “What if it was your own child? What then? Would you stand and watch while other children devoured your baby for sustenance? Wouldn’t that make you a monster? Forsaking your own flesh and blood like that?”

  I stood and thought for a few moments. If it was my own child, I wasn’t sure I could make that decision.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I finally said. “It’s not a choice I would ever have to make. We’re just talking rhetorically.”

  “Life is rhetorical. I told you that you’re too young for this conversation.” Zoroaster frowned. “God, the Asmodeus that you despise so much, has to make those kinds of decisions all the time. That is one of the biggest misconceptions about Him. People think He’s evil because He takes the lives of innocents, but in the end He is doing it for the greater good.”

  “Who is to say what the greater good is?” I countered.

  “It is the natural order of things.”

  “There is no natural order when a supernatural being pulls all the strings,” I said. “He should leave us to determine what is natural for ourselves. Our lives are our own; we should be the ones who decide.”

  “You aren’t qualified to make those decisions of what the greater good is,” Zoroaster said.

  “More evil has been committed under the auspices of ‘the greater good’ than almost any other!” I snapped, losing my cool. “Religion, efficiency. It’s all the same. They take the faces away from the people and treat them like meat on a chopping board.” I had raised my voice passionately to put forward my argument. Some people had stopped around us and were staring.

  “It’s easy for you to make moral judgments,” Zoroaster said calmly, resuming our walk. I had no choice but to follow. “Many people think utilitarianism is a bad thing because it takes the focus off the individual.” He turned back to me as he made his way up the street. “We all want to be viewed as individuals, but how can you separate one leaf from a tree?”

  “How can you take away an individual’s unique contribution or potential by lumping them into a group?”

  “I can’t,” Zoroaster said. “But God has to. He is forced to look at the bigger picture because he is the bigger picture. Like I said, you aren’t ready for this conversation. I don’t expect you to fathom Asmodeus’ reasoning without having been in his presence for at least a few hundred years or more and seen history’s mistakes with your own eyes.”

  “Asmodeus is my father!” I said stupidly. It was a last ditch att
empt to stay in the debate.

  “That doesn’t change much. Unless he raised and nurtured you with his ideas?”

  I remained silent.

  “We are all God’s neglected children in a real sense that he created us,” Zoroaster went on. “I have problems with The Father just as you do, but his ethics on the treatment of unclean souls isn’t one of them. It’s his inability to act in absolute truthfulness, which disturbs me most. Now, where is this building we’re looking for?”

  He glanced from left to right. I wanted to jump into the conversation again, but he was concentrating on looking up and down the street.

  Mary touched me lightly on the shoulder.

  “Don’t take anything of this personally, please. He can rub people up badly when they don’t like the truth they hear.”

  “It’s a problem that there are sometimes two versions of the same truth,” Zoroaster interrupted us. “Perspective and experience can split the same concept radically either way. I don’t mean any offence, Michael. Please listen to Mary. I’m not trying to make you angry. You have to understand, I’m more than a thousand years older than you. With age comes perspective, if not wisdom. What’s more important right now is that we find my home so we can really sit down and discuss thoughtfully and rationally what it is you are really seeking from me.”

  He was spinning around, looking at the buildings around us. There was no color at all in this area of the city. Each building was the same size, dull and grey.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asked Mary.

  “We’re on the corner of 8th Avenue and 10th Street,” she said, pointing to a road sign near us.

  “Ha!” Zoroaster said. “I’m glad we haven’t done away with all conveniences! Although maybe those signs are a necessity, I’m not sure. I’ll have to meditate on the truth of that later. We’re not too far. Only three more blocks.”

  He took off once more at a brisk walk.

  Rather than be drawn into conversation again and risk losing Zoroaster’s respect, I decided to look at the people, as we walked, to calm myself. The streets were a melting pot of every different race, age and sex. There was no discrimination by Asmodeus in sending people to Purgatory – by physical appearance at least. It buoyed me to see the pedestrians passing and smiling. I felt a connection of brotherhood with them all. No matter who we are, we are joined by our humanity. We have been cast down here together, I thought. Our desires aren’t split between nationality or language or generation after all. A smile is a smile anywhere. A sin is a sin to Asmodeus, no matter who you are.

  A man with dirty-blue eyes and a hooked nose walked past. He did a double take as he brushed by.

  “Michael?” I heard him say. “Saint Michael, is that you?”

  EIGHT

  IT TOOK ME A FEW MOMENTS to register who the man was. He was wearing a grey, holey beanie on his head, pulled down to meet his high arching eyebrows. A scraggly teddy bear was tucked tightly under his arm.

  “Dante!” I said, recalling the bum I’d once met on the winter streets of Las Vegas.

  “Michael! It is you! You remember Virgil as well, don’t you?” He held up the bear and wiggled it a little.

  “How could I forget?” I smiled. Abruptly, my smile clouded to a frown. Was this another one of Asmodeus’ tricks? I looked to Zoroaster, who was just ahead. He had turned to see what was happening.

  “Zoroaster,” I called. “Is this man supposed to be in Purgatory? Do you know him?”

  The prophet waddled back towards us and studied Dante who was grinning, looking from Virgil to me and pointing.

  “Ah yes, I know him,” Zoroaster confirmed. “He’s been here a few months. We are dragging him slowly out of the chaos of insanity in his mind. His biggest hurdle is to admit that the bear isn’t actually a living being, otherwise he’s perfectly sane and fit.”

  Dante looked up to Zoroaster angrily.

  “You’re not a living being! Why would you speak of Mr. Virgil that way?”

  “Would you give us a few moments?” I asked Zoroaster quietly. He nodded and rejoined Mary, who was standing patiently a few paces away. They began a conversation of their own and I turned back to my friend.

  “What are you doing here, Dante?” I asked, looking him up and down. He was identical to how I remembered from when we first met on the cold night streets of Las Vegas. “I thought you’d be in Heaven!”

  “Oh, I’m trying, Saint Michael,” he said. “I died not too long ago. I’m told that it will take only a small time until I get used to my new body here, and that my mind will adjust to proper working order again. I’m very much looking forward to it. I’m excited to go to Heaven and see my wife. I miss her so much. My daughter will be there one day too, I’m sure. We can be a family again. That’s all I’ve ever wanted in this life. To be with them again.”

  I reached up and held him on the shoulder. There was so much sadness in his eyes.

  “I’m glad to see you’re okay.” I said. “Everything will work out. I’m trying to make sure of that. It’s why I’m here, actually. I’m trying to find a way we can all go to Heaven.”

  “That would be fantastic!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Everyone’s so nice in Purgatory, but it’s incredibly boring! If only we could all go to Paradise together, the afterlife would be so much better. I’m relieved I’m not in Hell, though. Earth was bad enough.”

  Dante hugged Virgil close to his chest and stared into space for a few moments. I thought he would ask how I was going to get him to Heaven, but he did not.

  “I wanted to say I was sorry,” he said finally.

  “What for?” I scoffed. “You did nothing wrong to me. If anything, I should be thanking you. You helped me.”

  “Helped you?” He screwed up his hooked nose. “If I remember, you were the one who pulled me off the freezing streets for a night and fed Virgil and me a hot meal. Then we stole your beer and left your skipping rope in the fridge. I was going to say I was sorry for acting so strangely. It wasn’t a way to return the kindness you showed us.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “Your act spurred me to start living life properly again. I started training again because of the note you left me. I became great. It led me to meet the love of my life.”

  “But you’re still not in Heaven. I obviously didn’t help you enough,” he said sadly. “What happened to that love of yours?”

  My heart sank.

  “She was murdered,” I admitted reluctantly, not willing to go over the whole truth with him.

  “Well, maybe that was my fault for leading you in that direction. Fate works in funny ways.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not at fault. I am.”

  “Admitting your mistakes is the first step in amending them. That’s what they say at the Veritas School I’m going to. They’re lovely people. Just lovely.”

  I smiled.

  “I’m glad.” I looked back up to Mary and Zoroaster who stood waiting. “I’m sorry Dante, but I have to go. I’m happy to see you. Is there anything I can do to repay the favor you did me once?”

  “Yes. You can get us all to Heaven like you said. You, me and Virgil. He’s been my only trustworthy companion through all of my hardships. He never left me, and I will not leave him behind, ever. We just want to see my wife.”

  “I promise you,” I said sincerely, “I’ll get you to Heaven.”

  I turned, heavy in my heart, and walked back up to Mary and Zoroaster.

  “Everything alright?” Mary asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “He was a ghost from the past. He tends to make me see things the way I should. Shall we go?”

  “We’re here,” said Zoroaster, pointing up to an open doorway just in front of us. “Let’s hear what you have to say.”

  NINE

  WE SAT DOWN IN A SPARSE WOODEN ROOM. It was circular, constructed out of what looked like a grey version of pine. There were white cushions spread over the floor, and a plain futon mattress tucked into one corner. Zoroaster s
at down on one of the cushions and crossed his legs.

  He sat unmoving and listened while Mary and I told him exactly how we came to be in Purgatory asking for help. We left out nothing, from the explanation of how Satan and God had united into the same being, to my desire to have revenge on him. Our hope was that Zoroaster would fully understand our case if we were as honest as possible. He bowed his head in silence during our tale and displayed little to no reaction. We ended our story by recounting the battle at the Fount of Mercy and how Asmodeus had stolen the keys to Heaven from Mary.

  “Our plan from here is to tear down the walls of Purgatory and Hell,” I summarised in conclusion. “We ultimately seek an even state in the afterlife, with no borders or filters. We want equality and freedom for all. Once we have brought down the first wall, we will gather the souls from both realms and rally them to attack Heaven head on. It will not be an unplanned assault. It may take decades to execute, but this first action is a step in the right direction. We’re heading towards a freedom and truth in the universe we all deserve. If people wish, they can remain living in Hell, but they will have the choice to travel to Purgatory or Heaven without having to suppress their desires or leaving their sins at the door. They will be true to themselves wherever they are and we will accept each other for what we are, imperfect but striving to be good. We don’t want to change the landscapes of the universe, just to bring down the barriers which separate us.”

  Zoroaster looked up once I had finished. He sat staring at the both of us for a long time.

  “I think there are some admirable qualities in what you are looking to achieve,” he finally said. “I once fought Satan for similar reasons. I wanted him to take away the controls he had put in place. I strove to reveal his lies. He resisted strongly. I’m sure that as Asmodeus he will do the same. The difference now is that he has more power at his disposal. He has God’s might within him. It’s a dangerous combination. I’m afraid of the consequences for those who resist him. If he cannot cast those souls away from him into a prison, you leave him with little alternative but delivering a true death. Are you ready for that?”