I hate hospitals. Most people do, I know, but with a family prone to cancer, hard drinking, hard smoking, and other forms of self-destruction, I'd spent far too many hours in hospital waiting rooms. Bad enough when it was an aunt or a cousin or my parents.

But it was Suzie, strong, beautiful, unfailingly healthy Suzie who was supposed to live another eighty years, who was under the knife not for cancer but for riding home with a drunken friend. It wasn't fair, I'd told myself through many an endless stretch in hospital waiting rooms. It wasn't fair. Suzie should have had the devil's own luck, not mine, not theirs. "Internal bleeding," they'd told me. "Broken ribs. Concussion." This couldn't be happening. She couldn't actually die, no, I couldn't think it or I'd lose my mind and pound the floor with my chapped hands, scream with my tired throat. Not Suzie. Not Suzie!

A part of me, the part of me that had already spent too many tragic nights in hospitals, knew that my anguish and torment would accomplish nothing. She was in the doctors' hands. Some would say God's hands, but not I. My religious relatives, cousins and aunts, both sisters, my parents, even the drunken lout I once married, each had breathed his last in a hospital just like this one, trusting God. Now there was just Suzie and me. I couldn't stand the thought that I would be the last one, left all alone, in another hospital. But I wouldn't expect God to save her.

I needed to knit, focus on the stitches, and disengage my brain. My chest ached with worry, but that would do nothing for Suzie. I had to be strong. Her fiancé was coming, too. Smart man, working so he wasn't at the party. I'd feel better when he was there and so would she. Suzie knew how to pick 'em.

It was Friday night, so the surgical waiting room was crowded. The accident my daughter was fighting her way back from had involved half a dozen cars, many filled with equally-drunk graduation partiers, so the room was packed.

Two women wailed, faces slimed with tears and snot, gripping each others' hands with white knuckles. Two men, red of face, wrangled near the door, each blaming each other's child for the near death of the other. Children and quieter parents draped on uncomfortable vinyl chairs as sleep tried to reclaim the stolen hours, while others stared sightlessly in shock, overcome by fear. The room reeked of misery, fear, and rage. I couldn't sit next to any of these heartsick or angry people without losing my mind, giving over to noisy, angry despair.

I couldn't even get angry at the parents of my daughter's driver. I didn’t know them. I never got out into the social world. Who had time to attend parties and functions when working two jobs to take care of one fantastic kid? And if some of my scribblings had helped to house her as she went through college, even better. But it didn't give me more time. Suzie's the one who needed more time.

In a quiet corner, a lone man sat, an empty chair on either side of him. He did not seem disturbed or angry, frightened or aggrieved, but calmly scrolled through something on his smart phone, paying no attention to anyone else. I approached him and asked if I could sit in one of the empty chairs, hoping they weren't taken.

With a gesture, he offered me the seat next to a corner table (the one I would have preferred if asked) and then returned to his cell phone. For just a moment, the man had looked up with the kind of heart-stopping smile that even an old woman like me could fall for. His eyes were dark brown, and his clear beautiful skin was light brown like caramel, and his dimples were pronounced and added charm to a slim goatee. His black hair was glossy and curled in waves that fell to his shoulders. Without his smile, he was very handsome. With his smile, he was entrancing. Never really appreciated that term until that moment. This was the kind of man who could sweep someone off their feet with a smile.

Just the kind of man my late father would have warned me against, but I regretted I hadn't met him twenty years prior. Maybe thirty. As for my father's judgment, my ex-lout was proof positive my father had never had any business choosing men for me. Well, romance was out of the question—he was too young to contemplate—but he was worth sneaking glances at as I readied my yarn. I'd never seen anyone so beautiful up close.

He made no sign he saw me ogling him, but his well-curved mouth, just touched by his neat mustache, lifted at the corner as if he were amused, his cellphone providing muted music, show tunes it sounded like. Calm amusement seemed out of place in an ICU waiting room. But I said nothing, pretending to be focused on my needles. He was a mystery, though, and my curiosity just kept growing the longer he pretended I wasn't staring.

When he suddenly burst out laughing, the room went still and stiff with disapproval. Not just a chuckle, mind you, a chortle that the man could cover up by pretending to cough. No, the man threw his head back and laughed, long and loud, the sound rolling through and around this room steeped in anguish and anxiety, stilling the furious shouts of the two purple-faced men and the raucous sobs of women gripping hands in grief and even catching the attention of sleepy children who'd been dragged there in the wee hours. The laughter stilled the noise and grief and replaced it with a sound of unabashed joy instead.

As the sound faded, bright as the sun in this cold fluorescent room, no one said anything to him, but their grim faces and shocked gasps made it clear they resented his happiness amidst their fear and pain. I know my aunt and my father, even my lout of an ex-husband would have been equally censorious, but I felt cheered by his devil-may-care attitude, hopeful even, and it pushed my curiosity to the breaking point. "What are you watching?" I asked.

He answered in a warm baritone every bit as beautiful as his laughter and his face. "Community production in my home town. Really, they've outdone themselves." He offered his cell to me unprompted, and I took it with eager hands, yarn forsaken.

I watched a scene from a play, complete with stunning sets and costumes that would not have shamed Broadway, let alone a local theater. Unwilling to monopolize his device (with stunning picture and sound), I limited myself to the one scene. "That's amazing," I said, with complete sincerity. "They sound professional. That's a community theater? They're really, really good."

The man smiled his half-smile again and it struck me that his smile, now and before, spoke of a secret joke. "We have an unusually large concentration of talented people where I live. It makes for lively shows, and ones of great production value." He lifted a brow as if challenging me to ask more.

I knew I shouldn't. He was a stranger, but the knitting was not enough distraction from obsessing over Suzie. Here was a spot of happy and I wanted more of it. "I'm Sandy Markham. You seem interesting and I need to talk to someone. Would you talk to me?"

"I would. So, what makes me interesting?" I took a moment to drink in more of him. In addition to his obvious charm and beauty, he was dressed like a vibrant pimp in shocking red, his tie a slick slash of black. On anyone else, it would seem vulgar or even ridiculous, but it was so natural on him, I hadn't even noticed it. It was like he was in brilliant saturated color, superimposed on a black and white movie with the rest of us faded and colorless.

I shrugged, tucking the yarn back into my bag. "People in hospitals never seem friendly or happy or calm. That's pretty interesting. You're a handsome devil, that's pretty interesting. You're cheerful and full of life. I don't see that in hospitals. It makes me curious."

"Does it make you happier?"

I considered the question carefully, rolled it around in my brain. The fear and anxiety for Suzie still waited to pounce and overwhelm me, but I was holding it off, so I wasn't happy. But happier? "Yes. It's so easy to fall into panic and despair in places like this, and I'm not in despair."

"Good," he said, his smile as warm as his voice. "My name is Lucifer B. Satan. Charmed."

I couldn't answer. I was chortling, then choking as I tried to cover it with a cough. Not convincingly, as I had quite a few dark stares aimed at me. I dropped my voice lower to hide the laughter it shook with. "Lucifer B—you must be joking. That's hilarious!"

"Well, I like laughter myself. I'm glad you're amused. Have you been frequenting hospitals, Sandy?"

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose. Not for me, mind you. I've always been healthy, but my family dropped like flies for the past twenty years. Accidents, cancer, cirrhosis, food poisoning, you name it. But my daughter..." I couldn't bring myself to say it as the fear swarmed up my throat and tried to choke me. Saying it made it real. I cleared my throat. "Are you waiting for someone, too?"

"I am, but I have every expectation she'll leave with me."

I lifted my own brow at that. It sounded almost smug. "Does she have something minor or is that just your faith talking?"

The wattage of his smile never flickered. "Oh, she has quite a serious condition and I'm not much for faith. Consider it a logical conclusion based on what I know about her."

I tried to squelch my envy at his sense of assurance. It flavored my tone. "You seem confident."

His grin widened and his eyes danced. "Indeed. One might even say it's one of my defining characteristics, though it doesn't usually make the top five."

A sigh slipped past me and I muttered, "I wish I had your confidence."

"My confidence wouldn't do you a bit of good. Better to create your own."

"But how can I—? I don't even know—"

He waited calmly as I stuttered, then asked, "What is your daughter like?"

"You don't want me to talk about her condition?"

His eyes seemed amused. "Do you know her condition?"

"No," I admitted, deflated.

"No sense talking about it, then. But what is she like? Who is she? That's often where you get the best answers. Is she like you?"

"In some ways. She's stubborn, maybe a bit more than I am. Smart as hell, sharp, witty, clever. She fought with me all through high school, scraping grades, then managed to get herself through college on scholarships and grants with nearly straight A's. Once she's decided on something, nothing stops her. She impatient, but kind, thoughtful, honest to a fault. Makes great friends. People love her. She has a good man who loves her. Beautiful. You wouldn't know it looking at me, but she's a beautiful girl."

The warmth crept back into his eyes and I felt it seep into me somehow. "Oh, I don't doubt it for an instant. If you want confidence, seems like you have reason enough. She doesn't sound like the girl who would give up on life easily."

"No." And the thought did cheer me, but hellish panic was still there, licking at my consciousness, making it hard to breathe. I needed to keep talking or I'd lose it. "So, what is your name really?"

"Just as I told you."

I had to bite down on another burst of laughter. "Seriously? Your parents must have been sadists to name you Lucifer with a last name like Satan. What were they thinking? You must have been teased terribly, if not worse?"

"Oh, I'm not named after the Devil. I am the Devil." His dark eyes flashed briefly with orange flames and his smile took on quite the dangerous cast.

"That's not funny," I hissed, trying hard to tell myself not to be silly. Obviously, I was being teased.

"I'm not laughing. Tell me, Sandy," he said, looking in no way offended. "Would you sell your soul to me to save your daughter's life?"

"Yes!" I barked without hesitation and a trifle too loudly. Ignoring more of the angry glances, I reiterated at a whisper, "Yes, of course I would."

"Of course you would. That's why so many stories about me are obviously false."

I felt my head spinning and grabbed the arm of the chair so I didn't slide from it. "What?"

"Well, don't they say dealing with the Devil gets you anything you want in return for your soul? If I wanted to bargain for souls, I could just hang out in children's hospitals. Parents would be flinging their souls at me in desperation faster than I could catch them. Anything to save their children."

There was a logic to that, but it seemed too glib and there had to be a catch. "But you can't take their souls if there's a sacrifice, can you?" I wasn't sure at what point I had accepted the possibility that he was the actual Satan, but why not go with it? This might be the most interesting conversation I'd ever had. I had some terrible heartburn suddenly, and speaking helped me think past it. Shouldn't have had Chinese for lunch.

"Why? Wouldn't you think someone with a soul slated for heaven would be the only type of person worth pursuing? If I needed souls. Most of the ones in stories are consumed by greed or power or fame or glory. Wouldn't they be already headed to hell without my overt involvement? That hardly seems worth my precious time."

That made sense, too. I'd always wondered about that. If you were willing to sell your soul for selfish reasons, it didn't exactly argue you were heaven-bound. "It does seem like a lot of trouble. And I've always thought it odd that you have a reputation as a liar and a fraud, but you always play by the rules while they try to cheat you of their souls after you've fulfilled your part of the bargain."

"See, no effort at all to keep such yahoos out of heaven."

Even beyond the irreverent logic, I found it odd that he was repeating back my own thinking, the kind of thinking I'd always been careful to keep to myself. Still, seemed callous to target frightened parents. I felt a little disappointed. "So, you do that? Ask scared parents to sell their souls to you?"

For the first time, his smile dimmed and he sighed. "Really, Sandy, I expected more from you. Why would you think that?"

"Well, if you're the Devil, aren't you always trolling for souls any way you can get them? And I don't mind giving you mine for Suzie. She's all I have in the world and she's got a full life in front of her. I wouldn't mind at all."

"Don't be stupid." He looked disgusted. "And call me Lucifer"

I felt a little crushed. Lord knows I had plenty to worry about with Suzie. And, yeah, I didn't know this guy and he was actually claiming to be the Devil himself, but I was enjoying his company. For some reason, I didn't want him to think I was stupid or to hate me. But then he couldn't hate me and want me to call him by his first name, right? Maybe the heartburn was a little more distracting than I'd thought. "I'm confused," I said.

Lucifer gestured broadly to the room full of miserable, angry, and offended people. "Who needs to troll for souls? There are plenty of bad people around if I wanted them." He offered me a handkerchief, patterned in black and red, and I wiped the sweat off my forehead without thinking. Weren't hospitals usually cold?

"Well, these folks are not at their best—what do you mean 'if' you wanted them?"

Lucifer sighed. "Of what possible use would be crowding up my corner of the afterlife with phalanxes of the most miserable and obnoxious people? With the hordes of assholes crowding hell already, why would I seek out more? What's my incentive? Do you think I get a discount per soul? Fifty more souls and I get a free ice cream?"

I didn't say anything but I remember thinking that before, too. Weren't there plenty of souls headed toward eternal damnation? Didn't seem like the Devil had to work that hard and he was always getting credit for being more involved than God.

"Or maybe you think I have a running bet with God? If so, why isn't he walking around down here trying to get converts? Seems like there's more incentive for him to save good people from me and win the bet than I have to double down on the already damned."

"I guess I never thought about that. I always assumed God waited for the faithful to find him." I'd never been much of one for church, though my parents had certainly pushed for it and even my ex-husband, when the bastard wasn't beating me in a drunken rage, told me my soul would be forfeit if I didn't find the Lord. Sometimes, as he was beating me. Just didn't seem all that convincing from a greasy neanderthal with a streak of cruel that spilled over into every other aspect of life, spilling on to me and, eventually, Suzie. That was when I left. I might keep a commitment with a monster, but I'd be damned if she was going to pay for it.

"Sandy?"

Seemed harder than it ought to be to keep myself focused. My lousy ex was the last thing I wanted to think about it. "So, God leaves us all to our own devices?" I was feeling unusually tired, but I wanted to see where this led.

Lucifer cleared his throat, "Oh, well, no actually he does his own legwork, too, but it's not like what you think."

"No?"

"What do you think happens after you die?"

Well, that stumped me. I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I think we have souls, probably. Suzie came into the world with personality to spare, more and better than me or her father. But heaven and hell, even before Lucifer started shooting down notions, never seemed to make sense either. "I don't know. They say that those who are bad, or even those who are good but don't go to the right church or commit the wrong sin or are gay or won't believe all go to hell."

"So they say. Is that what you think?"

I sighed. "I don't like to think it. I know too many nice people that are gay or pagan or don't believe anything, good kind people, who are often nicer than the most religious people I know. Doesn’t seem right to me that any decent person, let alone God, would let them be tortured forever when they were good people." I frowned. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Exactly. What would be the point of a place where people were forever tortured, not just for heinous acts but inconsequential sins or philosophical differences? Even if they were horrible criminals, why would you do that? To teach them a lesson? What for, since they're there for all eternity? To punish them? Why waste your resources doing that forever?"

It made too much sense. Maybe I was confused. "So what are you saying?"

"That hell, the way they tell it, doesn't exist. If your soul is beyond redemption, better to destroy it back down to the original essence and let it start again. Maybe as a germ. Or an amoeba."

"So, no billions of the dead being burned in flaming pits or stabbed with pitchforks?"

"Um, no." Well, that was a little better. Come to think of it, that made the notion of selling my soul to Lucifer to save Suzie a bit more palatable.

"Heaven's not what many people think either," he said as I ruminated over how best to offer my soul to him again.

"No?"

"First, think of the sort of people who think they are going to heaven. Even the ones who are nice, decent people in many ways, aren't they a little too pleased that people who don't agree with them are going to be tortured for eternity? Don't many of them seem far too focused on condemning others and congratulating themselves on their faith?"

Maybe he was reading my mind. I'd thought that many times, with my parents, my husband, my neighbors, the preachers on television. "Seems petty and small-minded to me," I said, trying not to feel guilty as so many people I grew up with flashed across my mind. "Not evil, not the kind of horrible thing where I'd want 'em tortured or turned into amoebas or anything. Just not the kind of thing that makes you think they deserve an eternal reward."

I could barely hold my head up I was so tired. Age was probably catching up to me. Lucifer, who clearly did read minds, took my craft bag and purse from my limp fingers and placed them on the little table, like a pillow. I leaned on it gratefully, but then was confounded when he sat back down and wrapped his arm around me so I could lean on his shoulder. Why would I do that? I wondered then snuggled up as if my mind were not my own. Maybe I'd leaned against my father once or twice that way, maybe my mother, but I couldn't remember. I was more comforted than I could possibly express.

"You're very kind." I said, finding the position unexpectedly comfy, perhaps because I felt less alone. He smelled wonderful, spicy and warm. Probably the brimstone. "Too bad you're the Devil. I could fall in love with you."

"Don't let that stop you. It's not like I'm taken." I wished I could see his face. I bet he'd flashed his dimples

I laughed and I was convinced he wanted me to. I felt so much better since I'd curled up next to him, no more pain or fatigue. Maybe that bag had been bothering me. It was a bit heavy. "What were we talking about?"

"You were saying, quite rightly, that small-minded people had no business in eternal luxury. But maybe you haven't thought things through. Say that, for those who are really selfish and grasping, who actively manipulate people for power or gain or hatefulness, they go off to start existence at the beginning. That leaves a large population, far more than those who are truly evil, who aren't bad so much as easily led and not very imaginative or good at thinking."

"There are more good people than bad," I said, with decision. "The bad get far more press." I lifted my head and then my body. I wasn't tired at all any more. I wanted to see his face, his smile.

"Indeed, but it's the sheep and the closed- or small-minded that enable the evil, so it's really not something to encourage. So they go to what they think is heaven."

"Doesn't seem fair," I repeated. Perhaps I thought he'd forgotten.

"Really? What's heaven like, according to those same people?"

I sighed. "No strife, no hardship. An eternity of peace and prosperity with no struggles or hunger or need."

"An eternity of, in fact, nothing, no challenges, no movement, no growth."

"Actually, that sounds dull as hell. I'd be bored in weeks."

"Only you have eternity and you can't die."

I shuddered involuntarily. "The devil really is in the details."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Really? You're going with that?"

"Hell is sounding better and better."

He laughed again and I checked the room but no one seemed to be paying any attention anymore. I couldn't smell the scents of fear and anxiety, or hear the sobbing. It was like we were in the room alone. "Well, in all fairness, that's not really heaven. People down here talk as though it were but it's not. It's limbo, someplace for the limited of mind to get a full dose of what it is they think they want. God even installed pearly gates to comfort them. Eventually, for many, they realize that 'heaven' isn't all it was cracked up to be, and, once they have that realization, it's generally time to let them live a new life and hope they're wiser this time. God was really struggling with humankind. No matter how often he suggested people do their own thinking, too many of them kept confusing his helpful suggestions with unbreakable laws that were worth killing over, either using it for their own power or following those leaders blindly while forgoing any independent thought. So, Jesus suggested using limbo to wise 'em up. Jesus got saddled with oversight of the place, but I think he's going to turn it over to the archangels to take turns. There's only so much of that a soul can take."

"Hmm. So, what are you here for? Don’t tell me you're not recruiting because I don't believe it."

His smile flashed. "Just so. You see, Sandy, while most of the world is peopled by sheep and those evil enough to use them, there are people who are neither. And those of us who have our realms on the next plane come and choose from those more advanced souls that fit best in our worlds so they can continue their journey."

"'Those of us?' You mean, you and God? That makes you sound like buddies."

"More like colleagues. And there are more than just the two. But we're not all looking for the same thing. God, for instance, likes the philosophical and philanthropic. Those who can't be corrupted and do true good, making real change."

I shook my head. "Seems odd you'd call him God, somehow."

"Well, anyone would want an alternative to Godwin."

I couldn’t argue that. But I was scared, suddenly. "Are... Are you here to get my daughter?" There was no doubt my daughter was something extraordinary. My fear made me stumble over my words as I rushed. "I know you mean well, or at least some sort of well, but she has so much ahead of her! Please, please, don't take her."

"I'm not going to. She's coming out of surgery now. She'll be fine."

His arm was still about me and I gripped his lapel, weeping. "Thank you, thank you!" I turned for a tissue from my purse and only then realized that another me was slumped over the bags, sleeping very quietly. "Oh." I turned back to him, tears forgotten. "Are you taking me instead?"

"I never came for your daughter. You had a heart attack, Sandy, but you don't think about yourself, so you didn't even notice."

"You want me?" The notion seemed outlandish, more so now that I realized it was a compliment, not a sentence. And I knew it. I was sure. If Lucifer was a flimflam man, I was well and truly bamboozled because I believed every part of it.

"Very much."

I tried to wrap my mind around it but I couldn't. Suzie I could see, she was smart and kind and remarkable. But me, I was no one special. "Why? I'm not a philosopher or a saint."

"I know. But that's what God's looking for in his realm. From the very beginning, I've favored the creative, those who think beyond what they're taught, who question authority, who aren't satisfied with an empty paradise and want to know more."

"The original sin."

"Sin is so strong a word. It's not a sin to think and act on your own, to make your world better than it was when you got there, to raise others to think and feel and learn, just as you did with Suzie, giving her so much more than you were ever offered. Those are the people I like to invite into my little corner of the afterworld. Care to join me?"

"What about Suzie?"

"It won't be easy. She'll have a long recovery and she'll miss you. Can't exactly blame her. But you gave her the tools to thrive. She'll be fine. Her fiancé just arrived. He'll help her." Lucifer stood and held out a hand. "What do you say? You're already dead so you need only choose. Hecate has a particular fondness for crafty, strong-willed women. But I'd rather you danced with me."

"Dance with the Devil? Sounds wonderful!" I looked into his eyes, then smiled, feeling joy, for Suzie's life to come, for whatever lay ahead of her. I placed my hand in his and felt his music, then let him lead me astray, stepping right through Suzie's frantic fiancé with no more than a passing thought.

*******

In "heaven," Archie Markham shook his head and spat,missing his chewing tobacco. "I knew it. I knew it!" he told his wife, gesturing to the screen as their difficult daughter, Sandy, was led off by the Devil. "I knew she'd be seduced by logic. That girl always thought too much for her own good."

"Well, Archie," Deena offered. "'Tain't your fault. Some people just cain't learn for nuthin'."

[First published in the anthology "Legacy"]