While the Devil's Away

By Bonnie Kerr

Mary Murphy works in Hell. It's usually a pretty good place to work, with high salaries, great benefits, and immortality as a job perk. When Satan decides to take a vacation, all that changes. There is a lot of jealousy and resentment from employees who feel the promotion should have been theirs, but no one dares to go against Satan's choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TotalRecall Publications, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781648831591

Book preview

While the Devil’s Away

A Novel

Bonnie Kerr

TotalRecall Publications, Inc.

1103 Middlecreek

Friendswood, Texas 77546

281-992-3131 281-Tel

www.totalrecallpress.com

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical or by photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior permission of the publisher. Exclusive worldwide content publication / distribution by TotalRecall Publications, Inc.

Copyright © 2022 by Bonnie Kerr

Edited by: D.A. Goodwin

Front Cover photo by ID 48584570 © Ammentorp | Dreamstime.com

Book Cover by Bruce Moran

ISBN:  978-1-64883-159-1

UPC:  6-43977-61591-6

Library of Congress Control Number:  2022935137

FIRST EDITION

1    2    3    4    5    6    7    8    9    10

This is a work of fiction.  The characters, names, events, views, and subject matter of this book are either the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any similarity or resemblance to any real people, real situations or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended to portray any person, place, or event in a false, disparaging or negative light.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

To My Lady and My Man

Prologue

If Hell were hiring, would you take the job? I know your first impulse is to say, ‘No way! I’d never work for the devil,’ but if you’ve ever been really desperate for work, you might find yourself reconsidering your answer. In fact, the ad we post is so ambiguous, you may have unwittingly applied. I’m sure that you have read an ad looking for an ‘energetic, go-getter, no experience necessary.’ You may have even applied in a moment of sheer desperation despite the lack of contact information provided. We have thousands of resumes in the Archives and I’m sure the Boss will get around to you eventually.

It was two hundred years ago when I answered such an ad. As a recently widowed woman, I didn’t have the same options that are available today. My dear husband, Russell, died in a logging accident in northern Canada, leaving me feeling vulnerable and very alone in the world. We had no children and the fear that I couldn’t get pregnant made a second match unlikely. With no husband, I only had two options: service or the brothel. I sent my letter of inquiry to the post office box in the ad and forgot all about it. Mail moved slowly in the eighteen hundreds. It’s hard to imagine in two thousand twenty-two, the age of technology, where emails and texts arrive instantly, but I waited months for a reply. I managed, in due time, to secure a position as a caregiver to six children and I might have been okay until the children’s father took an unnatural liking to me. Just when the brothel started to look good, the Boss answered my letter.

In those days, job interviews were not common practice yet, so when offered a position, by correspondence, I packed up my meager possessions in a trunk and took a carriage to the train station where I was to meet my new employer. A man who went by the name of Bob and a child called Janey met me at the station. To this day, I couldn’t tell you what Bob looked like, despite seeing his face many times. I could only describe him as ordinary, but the child was lovely. Janey had corn silk hair, gathered into playful pigtails, and big blue eyes. She was the picture of the child I always dreamed of having for my own, but when she spoke, there was an odd maturity that I couldn’t account for.

They took me to a rooming house in town to deposit my trunk in my new lodgings. It was luxurious, for the time, with a four-poster canopy bed and a lovely window seat that I was immediately drawn to. I’ve moved many times since then, but I’ll always remember that little window seat fondly. When I started to think everything would work out fine, Janey asked me if I spooked easily. I turned from my investigation of the view just in time to see Bob morph into a seven-foot, winged red demon. He had leathery, red skin and a wingspan of six feet, which made the room suddenly feel very small. His eyes flickered with fire and his head, crowned with thick, black curling horns, wore a countenance of pure evil. Glued to the spot, I peed my pants. I could hear Satan laughing in my head for three weeks.

Janey stayed with me while I recovered from the shock. She assured me that the job was mine if I could get over the Boss’s little practical joke. Having no other options, I went forward with the position. I was afraid of the Boss for many years, but eventually, I came to know all his faces and tricks.

We still conduct interviews in this manner. There are those who cannot accept the supernatural; their minds never recover and they usually end up in a mental hospital. That’s why Satan waits until the situation is dire to offer a job. In his twisted logic, he feels that he is doing the person a favor either way. He’s not such a bad guy to work for once you understand his sense of humor. The first year is the worst; you get to know his mind tricks, as he tests your fears and weaknesses, but once he knows how to scare you, he eases up and saves his really traumatic jokes for special occasions. Now, centuries later, he’s just like anyone else; well, like anyone else who can bring to life your worst nightmare at the drop of a hat, just for a little giggle.

Today, I am over two hundred and twenty-seven years old. There is something about the air we breathe in Hell that arrests the aging process. I still don’t look a day over twenty-seven, despite two centuries of service. For as long as I work in Hell, I will not age a day. We can still die from an accident or violent death, but we stop aging the day our employment begins. Rumor has it that Hank Grey had terminal cancer when he started his employment with us. The disease halted in its tracks. The doctors didn’t know what to make of it and he had to relocate immediately to avoid drawing too much attention to himself. We call it the Brimstone Effect. We can only die if we make a choice that leads to our demise. Satan cannot interfere with free will, so if we decide to do something that puts us in harm’s way, we can die, but sickness, and age cannot touch us. In two hundred years, I haven’t had so much as a cold, but I did break a leg when I fell from a ladder.

Immortality complicates life a little. It’s hard to have a personal life when you know that you’ll have to leave it behind every ten years for new places and new faces. It’s nice to watch the world changing around you, but it’s a lonely existence. Those who quit Hell can’t come back. At least, not as employees. They age and die and then one day, I find myself processing their soul. We don’t go to Hell for doing our job; there is a clause in our contract that gives us an exemption for actions in the service of Satan, but by the time people choose to leave this job, they have sinned enough outside of work to guarantee themselves a place in Hell.

Modern, mass hiring techniques make recruitment easy. We used to have to hire people individually. It was a real drain on the Boss’s time. Now, we bring those who still want the job after the Boss’s little ‘show and tell’ back in groups for an orientation. We do all the modern paperwork and Satan slips in a completely optional form, surrendering your immortal soul to him. Most people know better than to sign this, but there is always one eager beaver who signs anyway. Emily Thompson signed and her first years here were traumatic, at best. She’s a little obsessed with death now, but on the whole, she’s done okay for herself.

Next, new recruits go to the station and learn how to access the trains. You go into the train stations, to the last stall of the bathroom, count six tiles over, six tiles down and six tiles over again, tap the last tile and an electronic keypad extends from the wall. You enter a code and the panel behind the toilet opens up. The numbered code can change, but the keypad is always in the same place. Two portals open in the back wall. One appears to be a slide; it’s marked ‘express;’ the slide is for souls. The other is the slow train for employees.

Once a new employee was late for work and took the express slide to save time. Hannah was in the Sea of Despair for three weeks before we figured out what happened. It took another week to fish her out from among thousands of newly dead souls, all looking for a way out of Hell. She never really recovered from the ordeal. Because it was a workplace accident, Satan created a temporary position as his personal assistant. Before long, he announced that the position would be permanent. It wasn’t so much for her sake, as it was for his own. Hannah was a nervous girl before the incident and a month in the Sea of Despair pushed her right to the brink of insanity. Her reactions made her a favorite target for the Boss’s practical jokes. I can only imagine what kind of horrors Satan has unleashed on her over the years.

Hell’s not really such a bad place to work. High salaries, paid vacations, and an amazing benefit package make for happy employees. The hours are flexible, we seldom work weekends, and the commute is shorter than you might expect; it’s a twenty-minute ride on the slow train from any train station in the world. Immortality is a nice little job perk. The requirements are simple; you must speak English and know how to keep a secret.

Our contract and confidentiality agreements are a hundred and fifteen pages long and there is no forgiveness for a breech. Fireable offenses include breech of confidentiality, drawing attention, insubordination, squandering resources, violence outside of the parameters of the job, destruction to or theft of any property belonging to Hell’s domain, harassment of any kind, showing leniency or special treatment to a soul in your charge … and the list goes on and on. Firing doesn’t happen often; the contract is so vague that the Boss can basically fire anyone he wants, but he has also been known to overlook minor offenses for employees he likes. I guess, if you are going to work in Hell, it’s a good idea to stay in Satan’s good books.

When a firing does happen, it’s usually breech of confidentiality in the first few years. We usually know within the first six months if an employee can handle the secret. Most often, those who can’t end up in a mental institution topside, raving about working in Hell, before we even get a chance to fire them. By the time the squealer gets out, the train codes have changed and the former employee is wondering himself if he dreamed the whole thing up.

The Boss is careful with new recruits. For the first few decades, we rotate departments every two years until he figures out where our strengths are. Once we’ve worked all departments, he places us in the level we are most suited to. I’ve worked all thirteen departments over the years and the jobs aren’t terribly difficult. I prefer Reception; Satan placed me there a long time ago. I managed to work my way to the top of the department and I have no desire to do anything else.

Too much ambition can be a drawback in Hell; employees don’t quit and rarely die, so movement up the ladder is really slow. Sometimes the Boss will move ambitious employees to new departments just to keep them interested in the job, but over centuries, most of us become complacent about our jobs and find other ways to satisfy our need for more.

Satan’s not such a bad guy to work for; he’s got a job to do and he does it well. He has a boss like everyone else and he’s governed by God’s rules. Free will is sacred and he has to honor his contracts. Life in Hell is actually pretty mundane. It’s a business like any other and runs on routine and schedules. For the most part, it runs smoothly. At least it did until the Boss decided to go on vacation.

Chapter 1

Monday

I

t was a Monday morning, like any other, when all hell broke loose in Hell. I awoke to the blaring noise of my alarm clock and hit the snooze button once, twice, and a third time, snuggling back into my warm, blue duvet for just a few more minutes of blissful sleep. Finally dragging myself from among my pillows, I jumped into the shower. As the hot spray of water washed over my body, I began to wake up and prepare for my day.

Brushing my teeth, I caught big, brown eyes staring back at me from the mirror. I spat toothpaste in the sink and wiped my full mouth on a towel. I smiled into the mirror, investigating my perfect teeth: in the glass. I applied light makeup and brushed my long blonde hair before turning my attention to the bathroom scales. Cringing, I stepped tentatively on the scale and read the digital screen. I lost another pound and left the bathroom with a smile on my face.

I dressed in black dress pants and a yellow silk blouse, adding yellow drop earrings, a black belt, and low-heeled shoes to complete the ensemble. Checking the full-length mirror, I turned sideways and smoothed a hand down my stomach. Nine pounds down and eleven to go, I said to my reflection.

I am not a morning person, so I take time in the evening to make coffee in a programmable coffee machine so that my mornings require no thought. I poured a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar. Turning on my tablet, I checked the news and my Facebook page while I ate a breakfast of shredded wheat and blueberries. On impulse, I sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar over the shredded wheat. It wasn’t Lucky Charms or Fruit Loops, but it was better.

Grabbing a light jacket and keys, I was out the door smoothly in less than an hour, caffeinated and looking my best. Fall leaves skittered across the pavement in the light breeze as I waited for my ride. I didn’t wait long before Jason pulled up to the curb. Good morning, I said. I jumped into the passenger side of a blue sedan. The driver, Jason Jameson, was a co-worker and as close to a friend as I would allow myself to have. Like anyone with secrets, I keep people at arms’ length. It makes life a little lonely at times, but I prefer solitude to the insane asylum that awaits should anyone hear me talking about Hell. It was different with Jason, however. He was the department head of the Archives level of Hell, so my secret was his secret too.

A few decades ago, we discovered that we lived in the same city, so we started carpooling to the train station together. When I had to change my identity and move to another city, he showed up in front of my new front door as if it was business as usual. In the Archives of Hell, Jason has a lot of spare time and he spends it reviewing our confidentiality agreement with Satan. Since sharing a city wasn’t a breech, he moved down the street from my new building. Sometimes, we go for long drives in the country before he drops me off and it’s nice to have someone to talk to that understands the trials and tribulations of our unusual workplace.

Plunking my oversized handbag on the floor at my feet, I gratefully took the paper cup of coffee Jason handed me. Mmmm, I said, taking a sip. It’s hot today.

And good morning to you, he said. I trust your morning went well?

Smooth as silk, I said. Jason is well aware of my need for routine and he can spot a bad morning from a mile away. As he turned his attention back to the road, I examined his profile. Jason is an attractive man. In his mid-thirties, he has thick brown hair and blue eyes, lined with thick lashes; full lips surround perfect white teeth and a slight dimple in his chin gives him the look of a mischievous boy when he smiles. He is at least four inches taller than my own five foot nine, with a long-limbed, muscular frame. He always wore stylish suits for work, and sunglasses while driving. As attractive as Jason is, his personality has always been his best feature. Relaxed, easygoing, and quick to smile, he is always ready to listen.

How’s traffic today? I asked.

Pulling into the stream of cars, Jason shrugged his shoulders and said, Not really that bad. We’ll be there in lots of time for the Monday meeting. Is your paperwork done?

Smirking, I asked, Have you met me? A better question would be ‘Is yours?’

Yup, that’s a much better question, he said

It’s not done? I asked.

Nothing much happens in Archives, he said. Don’t worry, Mary. I’ll have it done before the meeting. I know how the Boss loves his paperwork.

Hey, it’s your butt on the line, not mine, I said.

Jason navigated the highways expertly and before long, we were pulling into the train station’s parking lot. He threw his parking pass on the dash and we left the vehicle, headed inside. We are early enough that I’ll have half an hour before the meeting starts.

Half an hour? I asked, surprised. That’s all you need?

With a suggestive smile, he opened the door for me. Why don’t you try me and see? he said.

Pig! I said, walking past him, into the station. Jason began laughing and I tried to keep a straight face as I chastised him. If you’re not careful, your soul will end up down on level two with Simon and the lusties.

That’s okay, said Jason, I’m pretty sure I’m not Simon’s type. I walked into the supply closet yesterday for pens and caught him with Tiffany.

We reached the bathrooms and parted company, each of us going into the correct gender-specific bathroom. Waiting for the stalls to be empty, I went to the last stall and entered the code. When the portal opened, I stepped into the seat closest to me, careful not to tip my coffee as the seats swung from an overhead bar. The slow train seats, although cushioned and comfortable, share a lot in common with a Ferris wheel seat; they just go up and down instead of around. I clicked on the tiny overhead light against the darkness around me and waited for Jason. Moments later, there was a light at the opposite side of the seat and Jason climbed in next to me.

Tiffany, really? I said, I thought she had more sense than that!

Jason flicked on his light and the car began to descend into deep darkness. People get lonely, Mary. Don’t you ever just need that connection?

Sure, but Tiffany is so pretty and perfect and Simon is so… I searched for the right word, but Jason found it first.

Sleazy? he said.

Yeah! I grimaced at my own thoughts. Yuck!

What about Taylor and Hank? asked Jason. They’ve been using that supply closet for years and everyone knows it. I’m pretty sure everyone has walked in on them at least once.

Yeah, but at least they are both clean, I said. Simon’s hair looks like he doesn’t use shampoo and sometimes he just stinks!

Now that we know he’s using the supply closet, maybe we also know why he stinks, said Jason.

Ohhh! I groaned. You’re really trying to gross me out today.

Who cares if it’s gross to us? said Jason seriously. Whether it’s a one-time thing or something lasting, it’s working for the two of them and I say, if two people can find a little happiness in this messed up world we live in, they deserve it. Who are we to judge them?

I was silent for a moment. Do you think this means he’ll stop talking to my boobs? I asked.

No way, said Jason. You have great boobs. He’ll definitely keep looking.

I punched him gently in the shoulder. Pig, I said.

What was that for, Mary? he said, rubbing his shoulder. There’s a compliment in there if you look for it.

You’re a pig and I’m trying to save your soul from level two, I said as the seat came to a stop.

I’m immortal! he said. You worry far too much, Mary.

Stepping carefully out of the car, I said, I’m immortal too and I’ve got fifty years on you. You’re only immortal until you are hit by a bus or fired. The Brimstone Effect can’t save you from free will or the bad choices of others.

Maybe, but I’m not worried about getting fired, said Jason. He likes me too much for that to happen and I know better than to spill the beans.

As we descended from the slow train, we could already hear the moaning and wailing of the waiting souls in the Sea of Despair. We walked the length of the platform together until we reached a seven-foot wall with a railed-in sidewalk that ran its length. Beyond the wall was a darkness so profound that looking directly into it gave you a feeling of vertigo. The wall, covered in incomprehensible graffiti, ran around the perimeter of Hell.

When the Boss got a copy of the book Dante’s Inferno, he loved it so much, he renovated. One of many changes he made was this wall. It was supposed to say ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’ in Latin, but that wasn’t good enough for the Boss. He decided that everyone should be able to understand it, so he hired an artist to write the words in every language spoken on the planet. The Boss expanded the wall to circle all of Hell, but the artist went a little crazy before he could finish his work and the Boss had to abandon the project.

The Sea of Despair was a writhing, amorphous mess of silver-gray human forms. It spanned the width of the compound and ran right up to the gates of Hell. Staff members stood along the banks with soul stickers, a weapon we used to keep the souls under control, making sure none of the souls escaped up the embankment. There was a stone bridge with lights going across the sea to the gates and the only bright source of light. Florescent lights shone brightly from the Reception area on the other side of the gates of Hell. A long glass wall seemed to cut into the darkness itself and a steady trickle of employees punched in for their shifts.

We walked in silence across the bridge until Jason abruptly asked, Will you have dinner with me?

I stopped in my tracks at his unexpected request. Dinner? I said, sounding more confused than I wanted to. Jason and I had been friends for a century and a half, but we had never crossed the line into each other's personal lives. We never had dinner or drinks or even talked on the phone. It had never occurred to me that he may have wanted more from our friendship.

It’s just dinner, Mary, he said calmly. I’ve already checked into it. There is no conflict. We are allowed to see each other outside of work. I even asked Satan himself.

You asked the Boss if we could have dinner? When? I asked.

About a year ago.… he started to explain, but I cut him off.

No, when would you like to have dinner? I asked, smiling. A year ago?

You’re saying yes! he exclaimed with a rueful smile. Yes! he said and picked me up and turned me around. Friday? he asked.

Sounds good, I said, but right now, you have paperwork to do.

Yup, I really do, he said. I’ll see you tonight. With that, he ran through the wrought iron gates of Hell and through the glass doors. Punching in at the time clock, he turned to wave and disappeared down a massive stairwell that dominated the Reception area behind the glass.

Dinner! I said, wondering how I was going to suppress the stupid grin on my face all day.

Proceeding to the time clock, I selected my card from the rack and punched in for my shift. I began the routine tasks that filled the first hour of my morning. I checked in with each of my staff, ensuring that everyone’s morning was running smoothly. As head of the Reception department, I was responsible for three divisions: General Reception, Employee Recruitment, and Soul Intake.

Rachel was a competent and capable receptionist. She handled the desk with grace and ease, taking care of payroll and petty cash ethically. Her sums balanced to the penny and problems came to my attention promptly. Harold, on the other hand, showed too much initiative for my taste. He was new to the department and trying too hard to impress Satan. Harold spent his days rifling through resumes, looking for potential employees. He attended recruitment seminars with the Boss and he spent a good deal of his time topside, doing research on the lives of potentials. Harold had been with Reception for six months and I still wasn’t convinced that he had the patience for recruitment. He kept trying to bring people in prematurely and the Boss wouldn’t have it. I had yet to see a single new recruit approved by Satan since Harold started.

Sam and Lizzie, my senior staff, process souls, efficiently ensuring that they end up on the right level for their sins. It’s a complicated job that I entrust only to those who have good judgment and strong moral integrity. Sam and Lizzie don’t suffer guilt for sentencing souls to their due punishment; they are able to make the decision and move on. After all, our job is to see that all souls pay for their sins.

In Hell, we define ‘sin’ by the intention of an act. No one ends up in Hell over an accident. The seven deadly sins, envy, greed, lust, vanity, gluttony, sloth, and wrath, will certainly get you in, but sometimes things are more complicated than that. Deep down, in your soul, everyone knows when they are doing something wrong and a soul can’t hide from our scanners. If you intend to kill, you go to Hell.

Problem souls are rerouted to my office for further processing. This is my favorite part of the job. Sin, defined through intention, isn’t always black and white. Sometimes I have