Chapter 2

As was always the case the day following the recurring nightmare, Mary was depressed and tense. What happened so long ago still weighed heavily on her mind. She'd almost forget, but then she'd have the vivid dream and it would all come back -- in every minute detail. She was doomed to never forget. "I guess it's my penitence," she'd tell herself.

The ringing doorbell startled Mary. She stared at the TV -- it was a different show than the one she had been watching. Shaking her head she wondered, What time is it? How long have I been sleeping? But the sound of the persistent doorbell brought her out of those thoughts and she almost ran to the front door.

Mary's hand flew to her open mouth as the blood drained from her face. "Oh my god, it's YOU!"

"No, I'm not your God, but yes ... it's me."

Mary stared in disbelief and then, her hand shaking as she lowered it, said, "It can't be you. You look the same. I must be dreaming again."

Mary jumped back when the man's hand rose, and then she squealed when he pinched her arm. After an evil chuckle, the man said, "If you felt that you're not dreaming. Yes, it's me."

"What do you want? No, it can't be you. It can't."

Without waiting for an invitation, the man pushed past Mary and entered her house. He closed the door behind him, the noise causing Mary to flinch. It was not possible. It couldn't be him.

"Please, God, let this be a dream. Make me wake up," she pleaded, looking skyward.

"You're trying my patience," the man said. "God is useless. He can't help you. Now come with me."

In a daze, Mary silently followed the man into her living room. She sat on the couch with her elbows on her knees and her face cupped in her palms. After praying again, Mary's fingers spread and she peeked through them.

"You're still here," she said almost inaudibly. And then her voice got shaky. "But you haven't aged. It's been 19 years. That's impossible."

"Actually, not quite 19 years. More like three months shy of 19. And as for the way I look, a year for me is like a single grain of sand on a mile long beach." Dumfounded, Mary continued to stare. "Well, at least you remember me." The man chuckled when he saw Mary blush. "Yes indeed, you sure do remember me."

Mary's chin dropped to her chest as she said, "I wish I didn't, but I keep having these dreams and can't forget."

"Ah yes. And when did you first have the dream?"

Mary thought for a moment and then said, "My sixth anniversary."

"Exactly?"

"Well, two days after."

"So on our sixth anniversary?"

"What? Oh, I guess so." Mary blushed even redder.

Mary didn't know where the pencil and paper came from, but the man scribbled a "6" and showed it to her. "Okay, on our sixth anniversary. And when did you have the next dream?"

"On my twelfth anniversary ... um, two days after my anniversary."

The man scribbled on the paper and then asked, "Was that the last one?"

"No, I had one a year ago, two days after my eighteenth anniversary."

After writing again, the man looked up and said, "So you seem to have them every six years. First on our sixth anniversary, then six years later on our twelfth anniversary, and then on our eighteenth anniversary, which is another six years." He held up the paper he had been writing on and Mary stared at the three perfectly written numbers -- "666". "Do you see any significance in that?"

"I don't understand."

"Do you know what this is?" After Mary stared dumbly at the numbers he said, "You keep bringing up God. Well, remember the Book of Revelation? It's the Number of the Beast. The antichrist ... although I never liked that term. That implies God and I are equals, and I'm much more powerful."

"No, it can't be," Mary whimpered.

"No? Do you believe in God?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then you must believe in me. Good and evil. Heaven and hell. God and me."

The blood drained from Mary's face and her hands trembled. I must be having another nightmare, she thought. What he's saying is impossible. It has to be. If I'm to maintain my sanity, he can't be... Mary was unable to even think the word, but the man smirked as if he had read her mind.

"Satan," he said.

Mary shook her head from side to side. "No, no, no!" she said over and over again.

"Think back ... to your honeymoon. Remember the man who approached you on the street with the deep sea fishing ticket?"

The man's face got blurry and a metamorphosis took place. Both of Mary's hands covered her open mouth and she screamed, "It was you! You were that man!"

The man's face changed back to the one in Mary's dreams and he continued. "I think you and your husband said it must have been fate. Well, I wouldn't call it fate, but it wasn't an accident. Your husband said he'd sell his soul to catch a swordfish. Well, if you remember, he came back empty-handed. I didn't want his soul. I wanted something else."

Mary listened flabbergasted and then said, "What did you want then? Me?"

"You mean your physical body? I enjoyed that, but no, that's not what I wanted. Do you remember what you offered me if I'd fuck you?"

Mary's eyes lowered and she said very softly, "No."

"You're a lousy liar. Now tell me what you offered."

"Money."

"Yes, but more. What?"

The tears fell from Mary's eyes, but as soon as she wiped them away more followed. Her cheeks shone from the salty liquid smeared on her face. She tried to gather herself, but was hysterical.

"Please, no! Oh my god, no! Not that. I didn't mean it. Please, not my soul."

"I don't want your soul."

Mary's head shot up and she stared at the devil in disbelief. He smiled at the false hope that spread over her face knowing she'd be crushed that much more.

"Then what is this all about?" Mary asked.

Just then the front door opened and Mary's head spun towards it, but the devil kept staring at Mary. A boy yelled, "Mom, I'm home," followed by the door slamming and footsteps running up the stairs.

Shocked, Mary turned back to the devil. She frantically shook her head from side to side. "No, no."

"So you do remember," Satan said. "Tell me. What was the third thing you offered?"

"I didn't mean it."

"What was it?"

"I said 'my first born' but I didn't mean it."

"Mary, do you know why you had the dream last night? After all, you were having them exactly six years apart on our anniversary." Mary looked up but remained silent. "Yesterday was a very special day. It's exactly 18 years and 9 months from that day. I'm here to meet my son ... the son you promised me if I'd fuck you. Well, I fucked you and impregnated you. You begged me to. Remember?"

Mary burst into tears. She cried so loudly that her son heard and ran down to see what the problem was. He stopped as he entered the living room and saw his mother sobbing and a stranger sitting across from her.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Who the hell are you?"

"Hmm, you're close," Satan said, and chuckled.

"Mom, who is he? Did he hurt you?"

"Charlie, I knew him a long time ago. We need to talk so please leave us alone."

"No, I think the boy should stay."

Mary looked up at the devil, her eyes pleading. Her palms were together with her fingertips at her chin. She mouthed the word "please."

"Tell him who I am."

"Charlie, go to your room. Don't ask--"

"NO!" The deep resonating voice shook the room like a minor earthquake and both Mary and her son cringed. "I'm here to meet my son and no one will interfere."

"Mister, I don't know what you're talking about, but I think you better leave. Or else I'm calling the cops."

"Mary, tell him who his father is."

"I know damn well who--"

Mary clenched her fists and jaw, struggling to say what was on her mind, but in a losing battle blurted out, "This is your father ... your real father."

It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. The boy's knees went weak and he grabbed the side of the couch to keep from falling. He looked back and forth between his mother and the stranger, not knowing what to say.

"Big shock, huh?" Satan said.

"Charlie, let me explain," Mary cried out, her heart wrenching.

"How can you explain? Why didn't you tell me?" Charlie's eyes went vacant and then he said, "Does Dad know?"

Mary burst into tears, and then said, "I didn't even know."

"What! Who is this man? How could he be my... ?" Charlie hesitated and used his fingers as a calculator. "You were either just married or about to be married to Dad. You cheated on him. How could you?"

Mary couldn't speak. The palms of her hands covered her face, hardly muffling the sobs. How could she explain what she herself didn't understand? And then rage filled her like never before. Mary leapt from the couch with her arms extended and fingers crooked like claws. She was two feet from Satan when he slowly raised his hand, palm outward. It was like she hit an invisible wall. Mary dropped to her knees and then collapsed onto her side, curling up into a ball and weeping.

Charlie ran over to his mother and cradled her in his arms. He rocked back and forth, saying, "It's all right. Don't worry. Everything will be okay." Still holding his mother, he looked up at the stranger. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm your father and..." Satan held up his hand to silence Charlie's protest. "I may not have raised you, but I created you. You are my son. Now that you're eighteen, I've come to give you a gift you never dreamed of."

"I don't want anything from you. I just want you to leave. I want my old life back."

"Is your old life that good?"

"Yes. That's a stupid question."

"Wouldn't you want it to be better? What if you could do anything and get anything you ever wanted? What if you had that power?"