May God Rest My Soul

The bar was dead that night, Ron remembered. The ‘storm of the century’ was in full swing, and the roads were flooded and fresh with potholes. The minister at his father’s funeral had remarked that it was by God’s grace that they were able to bury him before the storm reached its peak, else they would have had to delay for an entire week. 

“Where was God’s grace when he suffered in the hospital for three days after his heart attack?” Ron had wanted to ask.  

A thunderous roar reverberated off the walls as he wiped his boots on the muddy doormat. Rain pounded on the roof in a constant parade of noise. Only the deranged and the truly desperate would be out at this time. Luckily, Ron happened to be both.

Removing his coat, he surveyed the room. He recognized a regular slumped over a table in the corner, still holding his bottle of Heineken. A young couple- road trippers most likely- huddled by the jukebox wide-eyed and panicked. Only one person sat at the bar, his back to the others.

Ron slid into a barstool a few seats away from the stranger. Louis, the bartender, emerged from the shadows and nodded his head in greeting. He reached for a bottle and glass, and wordlessly began pouring.

Ron glanced at the stranger next to him. He almost wished he hadn’t.

The man was tall- taller than most basketball players- and wore a long black coat that almost shimmered, even amidst the dull lighting in the bar. His hair was a violent shade of blue- yes, blue- and hung down to his mid back in a flat sheet. His hands were pale and spindly with multiple rings that seemed too big for his delicate fingers. In his hand he clutched what appeared to be a mint julep.

“Here ya go, Ron.” Louis slid the glass of brown liquid towards him and cleared his throat awkwardly. “You know… It’s a real shame about your dad. Great guy. Always paid his tab and never got into fights.” He chuckled to himself. “Anyway, I just wanted to offer my condolences.”

Ron gave him a fake half-smile, one that he’d displayed all day at the funeral and reception. He opened his mouth to retort and tell Louis exactly what kind of man his father was- how he ignored his children for the better half of the past fifteen years, how he drove his wife to a life addicted to antidepressants, how he was “too busy keeping the damned roof over their heads.” 

But instead all he said was, “Appreciate it, Louis.” He raised his glass in mock celebration. “To Dad.” He took a long drink.

Louis bowed his head. “May God rest his soul.”

At this, the stranger let out a high-pitched giggle.

Ron turned his head fully towards the man and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something funny?” he asked cooly. Today was simply not the day.

The stranger turned to face Ron. His pitch-black eyes were slits in a face white as paper, practically translucent. A shudder ran through Ron’s spine, as if the rain outside had suddenly poured through the ceiling onto him. 

The man giggled again, this time revealing his two rows of thin, needle-sharp teeth. He waved his hand in dismissal.

“Forgive me.” His voice was surprisingly light and airy, almost melodic. “I just simply can’t help myself sometimes.” 

Ron felt very uneasy. A large part of him wanted to retreat back to his car and put as many miles as possible between him and this man. The other part- the part that was fed up with listening to bullshit condolences all day- wanted to keep poking.

“You find death to be something to laugh about huh?”

The stranger smiled. “Oh, yes. Quite.” 

Ron didn’t quite enjoy that response. 

“However,” the man continued. “It was the bartender’s comment about your father’s soul that I found amusing.” 

“Why? You don’t believe in God or something?” 

“Oh no, it has nothing to do with God. God is quite real.” He sighed and twirled the straw in his now empty glass. “But your father’s soul isn’t with God.” He said it very matter-of-factly.

Ron downed the rest of his drink and faced the man full-on. As much as he despised his father, he wasn’t about to let his memory be defiled by some punk drinking a cocktail. “Oh yeah? Then who is his soul with?”

“With me.”

Ron scoffed, affronted by this man’s impudence. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The man giggled. “Now you’re getting it.” He stood abruptly and walked over to the jukebox, sending the couple scurrying. Within a few seconds, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” blasted its famous fiddle intro. 

He strolled back towards his seat and chuckled. “I do love this song. However, I have never been beaten by a human at anything. Make no mistake about that.” 

This was too much for Ron. “So you think you’re the Devil?”

“At your service.” He sunk into a deep bow.

That was the last straw. Ron shook his head and grabbed his jacket. “Have a good night buddy. Stay off the hard stuff okay?”

As he began walking away, the man called out. “You would know about that wouldn't you Ronald? What was your fancy- Adderall and Xanax?”

Ron stopped in his tracks, his heart hammering in his chest. No one knew about that, not even his wife. With clammy palms, he turned to face the accuser. “What game are you playing? How the hell do you know about that?”

The man smiled gleefully. “It’s my job to know your deepest fears, your secret desires.” He clapped his hands with childlike excitement. “I know how much you hated your father. So I hope you’ll be pleased to know that he's currently spending eternity in the fifth circle of Hell.”

Ron wanted to believe this, he really did.

“Good,” he responded sarcastically. “And with that comforting message, I’m leaving.”

The blue haired stranger gave a dramatic sigh. “You humans are willing to kill one another over your beliefs, yet ye have little faith.” He snapped his fingers. The liquid in his previously empty glass rose steadily until the drink was full again. He took a sip. 

Before Ron could put together a reasonable explanation, the man waved his hand towards the door. “By all means, leave. The storm has passed.”

Ron cautiously made his way to the door and opened it, half-dreading what would lie on the other side. 

Nothing. No rain, no clouds, no lighting- nothing to indicate that the ‘storm of the century’ had just moments ago been wreaking havoc on the town. The moon hung bright in the now-clear sky, laughing.

Shutting the door, Ron turned back to the stranger- the Devil- who was humming along to the end of the song. His body felt ice cold. Was he going to kill him? Did he have enough time to run away? Is it even possible to escape the Devil?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and returned to the barstool, taking a seat next to the Devil. “Wh-what do you want from me?”

The Devil smiled ruefully. “I believe the question you’re looking for is: ‘What can I do for you.”’ He held his arms open. “I am here to make you a deal.”

Ron snorted. “A deal with the Devil? That hardly sounds like a good decision.”

“Yet you’ll do it anyway.” The Devil winked. “Come, Ron, I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime. What would you wish for? Name it, and it shall be yours.” His pitch-black eyes glittered as he spoke.

It didn’t take long for Ron to decide. “I want to live forever.”

“Done.” The man’s expression didn’t change, but Ron detected a hint of dark satisfaction in his tone, as if he was expecting an answer of this caliber. That did little to assuage his trepidation.

“What’s your price?”

The Devil shrugged. “My price has never changed. Your soul, of course.”

“My soul?” Ron choked. “What the- no! Forget it.” He stood to leave.

The Devil snapped his fingers and Ron fell back into the chair. “Don’t be alarmed, dear human. It’s not so simple as that, I’m afraid. You see, you have to willingly give me your soul. I cannot just take it.” 

“You expect me to just give you my soul?”

The man grinned, those needle teeth appearing even sharper, if that was possible. “Oh yes. When the time is right. They all do.” He said it with such simplicity.

Ron thought for a moment. “But… my soul makes me human. If I live forever… then there’s no way for me to ever give you my soul. I won’t die, therefore you can’t have it.” 

“Well then, there’s nothing for you to lose then, is there?” The Devil extended his hand, the rings shielding his fingers like armor. He eyes pierced Ron’s. “Do we have a deal?”

To live forever. The mere thought of it had Ron’s heart racing- this time with excitement. All those years watching his father waste away his years imbibing in vices. He was selfish to the end. And look where that got him? Six-feet deep in the ground without a single good word said about him. If Ron had this opportunity, the possibilities were endless. He could travel- live in every country if he wanted. He could take up hobbies, learn various jobs, maybe finally attempt skydiving. Without the threat of death, the world could be his oyster. And it’s not like he would ever just agree to give up his soul… 

Before he could stop himself, Ron’s hand clasped the Devil’s. “We have a deal.”

Fifteen years later…

It was just after midnight, and the bar was near closing. Ron sat in his favorite barstool holding an empty whiskey glass, feeling drunk and delirious just as he had done last night. And the night before. And the night before that.

He rapped on the table loudly. “Louis! Another!” His voice slurred as he spoke.

Louis appeared from the back and gave his friend a sheepish glance. “Sorry Ron, I can’t. You’re drunk. Lemme call you a cab.”

That wasn’t the right answer. Ron slammed his hand down angrily. “No! I want another, and you’ll give it to me, goddamn it.”

“You’ve already had five, Ron. Don’t you care about your liver? Think of your dad- he wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Ron stood up, wobbling. He looked in the bartender’s eyes and held his stare. “My dad was a shitty human being, and he’s currently rotting in hell for it. I don't care what he thinks of me. I’ll do whatever I damn well please! I’ll keep drinking as much as I want for the rest of eternity because I can. I’m going to live forever, and that’s more than I can say for the rest of you imbeciles!”

Louis eyed him with pity. “Look in the mirror sometime, Ron. Maybe you’re more like your dad than you think.” He grabbed the empty glass and pointed to the door. “Walk it off, son.”

Seething with rage and alcohol, Ron stumbled to the door. He emerged into the night feeling powerful, if not drunk out of his mind. Making that deal fifteen years ago had been the best decision of his life.

The years had been an endless parade of drinking, drugs, and women. He left his wife (how could he not?) and began living a life of carefree recklessness. He bought a motorcycle and was often seen ripping down the highway at speeds over 100 miles per hour without a helmet. He even took up cigarettes, something he always hated his father for indulging in. It didn't matter, after all. It wasn’t as if they could kill him. Those plans for traveling and hobbies never panned out, but who cared? He had eternity.

Ron was walking along the road now. He felt the cold on his face and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. He lit one and took a deep inhale. Much better. Suddenly feeling a burst of energy, he ran out into the street and pumped his fists into the air. “I’m invincible!” He cried. He gazed up at the moon, which looked the same as it had the night he had met that blue-haired stranger in the bar. Life was great. Life was absolutely-

A flash of headlights, a loud horn honking, a swerve of metal, and suddenly everything went black.

The morning of his birthday found Ron laying in his hospital bed staring morosely at the wall. Everything hurt. His body was on fire, as if a million scorpions were piercing his skin over and over again. The pain meds they had him on weren’t working- he had built up too much of a tolerance over the years. 

The car accident that night, almost two months ago now, had left him debilitated and bed bound. He was in the ICU clinging to life (at least, that’s what the doctors had said) and had undergone emergency surgery to repair internal bleeding. The medical staff kept repeating that they didn’t know how he managed to survive the accident. Ron had wanted to tell them that he couldn't die- that he was special- but the tube in this throat prevented him from speaking. 

He was full of tubes, actually. One in his nose that went to his stomach, one in his neck for blood draws and IV nutrition, one to drain his pee (that one was the most humiliating), and many more that he probably hadn’t even seen yet. It was pure hell. 

The accident had also damaged his spinal cord, which the doctor said meant that he would most likely never walk again. “We’ll get you into physical therapy as soon as you’re able to tolerate it,” he had promised. “I could be wrong.” But his face revealed that he knew he wasn’t.

A movement out of the corner of his eye. Ron turned his head slightly, but the voice spoke before he could see.

“Hello, Ron,” that melodic voice chimed. “Happy Birthday.”

The Devil walked over to his bed and placed a hand on his numb, dead leg. He looked the same as he had all those years ago, except this time his hair was cropped short and dyed neon pink. It was startling to say the least.

“You.” Ron thought to himself. He couldn't speak, but he hoped the Devil might be able to read his thoughts. “You gotta help me.”

The man didn’t answer, but instead looked around the empty room. “Why, no visitors Ron? Tisk, tisk. Have you forsaken everyone over the last ten years?” He already knew the answer. Not a single person had come to visit. Not Ron’s ex-wife, not even Louis.

The Devil continued. “I read your chart, Ron. In addition to these… unfortunate injuries, it looks like your liver is cirrhotic and your blood pressure- oh my! Your kidneys and lungs are hardly working.” He looked as if he was chastising a child. “And is that a diagnosis of stomach cancer I see? My my, what have you done to yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron thought. “It’s not like any of this is going to kill me.”

“Oh but it does matter.”

“What do you mean?”

The Devil was waiting for this. “I gave you the gift of living forever, but that doesn’t mean your body is capable of regenerating itself. These actions, these injuries you’ve done to yourself, they’re permanent I’m afraid.”

Ron’s heart stopped. This couldn’t be true. “You’re lying.”

The man shook his head. “I don’t lie. Yes, you’ll live, but you’ll require oxygen indefinitely for the damage you've caused your lungs. You won’t walk again. You’ll have a heart attack in the next handful of years due to the stress on your heart. The cancer will spread.” He leaned over the bed and stopped a few inches away from Ron’s face. “Now, what kind of life is that to live?”

Ron couldn’t think. His mind spiraled, and he felt as though someone was restricting his air. “What do I do?” he finally asked. 

The Devil smirked. “You know what to do.” He squeezed Ron’s arm tightly.

“Never.”

He cackled and walked over to the window, peering out at the rain pelting the ground. A storm was rolling in. “How ironic,” he whispered. 

Turning back to the patient, “You know, you’re exactly like your father.” Silence. “He too abused the gift I gave him, but it took quite a while for me to receive my end of the bargain. Until that heart attack.” The Devil grinned evilly, sending chills across Ron’s body. For the first time in a long time, Ron was afraid. 

The man continued. “He was stubborn at first. He claimed he wasn’t ready to go. But he too eventually saw the writing on the wall. He begged for death in the end.” 

Ron’s face was wet with tears. So this was how it was going to end. “You tricked me.”

The Devil shook his head. “No, I merely understand human nature. You creatures are incapable of freedom.” He sat on the bed. “So, what will it be?”

Ron closed his eyes and felt nothing but pain. His body was shutting down, he knew that. He had no friends, no family, and no future. All that he had planned had been wasted- he had squandered everything, just like his father. What was the point of living? 

He nodded, hot tears running down his face. He was tired, and it was time to rest. “Okay. You win. Take it.”

A triumphant exhale. “I always get what I want in the end, Ron. Don’t despair.”

“May God rest my soul.”

The Devil giggled. “I highly doubt that.”