Josie Rawlings spent the next two days lost in a hazy world of alcohol and pills. Rather than face the issue at hand, she preferred to ignore it, pretend that she had not slept with the devil, pretend that he had not impregnated her, and pretend that he had not offered her the dubious title of being Mrs. Lucifer, or however she would be addressed.
She did not allow anyone but Lupita, her most trusted servant, to see her, and then only to bring her another bottle, an occasional meal, and cigarettes.
Throughout this time, Josie fretted, wailed, cried, and cooked up half formed ideas on how she might get the devil off her back, but when one is throwing up and passing out so frequently, intelligent thought is a difficult task.
Lupita was sure that her boss was having a nervous breakdown of some sort, and it wasn't the first time, though she had never let them last as long as this one had. While the rest of the staff whispered and giggled, Lupita worried. In Peru, Lupita had been a lot like Josie, surrounded by money and servants. After her parents caught her with drugs, they sent her to work in the United States for three years as punishment. She could understand people like Josie, because in reality, while she was not as cold hearted, she could certainly relate. Though other staff members tried to get information out of the loyal Lupita, none could, and they all hated her for it.
Of course, she did not have the issues that Josie did, and could not have known how serious her employer's problem was.
She had thrown up again by seven that night. It was the fourth time in the past two hours, and as she brushed her teeth, eyes in the mirror bloodshot and staring, she felt all too lucid, far too sober. The reality of that day was coming back to her again, and she was sure that if she drank a little more, took another Paxil, that she would be okay again.
With a sigh, she left the red tiled bathroom, nearly tripping over the long nightgown of dark blue silk, and fell face down on the Berber carpet, her nose skinned. Josie started to cry, folding her arms under her head to do so. It was through a wet blur that she saw the feet, wearing a pair of spotless white Nikes.
Josie started to call for Lupita, but as she lifted her head, her voice caught in her throat, and she realized she was looking up at the devil, or Bob, as he preferred to be called. "This is pathetic, my love," he said to her with an easy smile.
"Pathetic?!" Anger replaced the initial shock at seeing him here, and she got to her knees, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Pathetic is trapping someone into an impossible decision. Don't you have worshippers that you can choose from? Why me? Why would you do something so evil?"
He began to laugh. A full, rich laugh that actually held something warm deep within. "I'm Satan, that's why," he replied, looking amused to the point of utter delight. "And my worshippers bore me. They have it all wrong. I don't want to be worshipped and all that black and red that they wear is tacky. I punish those that can't make it there and I am pretty well accustomed to running things myself. What has been missing is a woman to stand at my side, bear my children, and share in an eternity of power, soul torturing, and understanding, if not love."
