Did Smith react to the name? Was that a response to it? Chrissy simply looked intrigued. Thoughtful. “Never heard of it,” he said gruffly. “Chrissy usually works with those sorts of groups. You ever heard of them, hon?” Chrissy shook her head no. “Well I'm glad they got you the help you needed, brother!” if there was any other sign than affability, Smith did not display it. But my stomach didn’t unclench.

  “Yeah. I think Carl's getting a real job too, so that ought to help.” I tried to direct the conversation elsewhere. “I think things are desperate enough at work that even he could get hired.”

  “You truly have the patience of a saint, Jeremy. That young man” (Smith was maaaybe older than Carl, but if so, it wasn't by much) “needs to get a reality check. What would he do if he didn’t have you?”

  Now? He’d tell everyone about how I enslaved him. “I don’t know, he relies on his parents for most things, so probably just go back to them until he can dupe another roommate.”

  “Some honest work would be good for him I think. You said he draws for a living?” Smith looked over to his wife. “Maybe he could work with Chrissy. She loves to paint.”

  “I don't think that-” I started.

  “It's just a hobby,” Chrissy cut in. “I'm sure a professional like him doesn't need me.”

  “Don't be that way! Showing Carl a little friendship might just be what he needs. Spend some time, show him God’s love. You never know. Maybe you can teach him a thing or two,” Smith offered.

  “I uh, I don’t think Carl really draws what you guys would be into.” That was as charitably as I could put it.

  “Chrissy’s always looking to learn,” Smith replied. “I’m sure they could help each other.”

  I sighed. “He draws smut. Porn. Naked ladies.” I quirked an eyebrow. “Does Chrissy?”

  “Heavens, no!” Smith said, embarrassedly.

  “Of course not,” Chrissy assured.

  The awkward silence gave me some blessed time to enjoy the food. They still would talk a little, but it was less invested, not as heartfelt. It made me feel a little better, knowing Carl put a damper on other people’s spirits, too. They mostly talked about their church, the things they did, how excited they were for me to attend.

  “Well,” Smith leaned back, patting at his stomach. “That was delicious. Hope you saved room for the blueberry crumble. I have to hit the head anyhow, I’ll bring it in when I get back.”

  “Just wash your hands, dear,” Chrissy chided.

  “Of course, my love,” Smith called back as he went into the kitchen.

  We sat in silence. Chrissy swallowed and said “Could I meet Carl?”

  “What?” I couldn't have heard her right.

  Chrissy blushed, reddening her freckles. “I want to learn to draw… that.” She waved a hand.

  “Like… what he draws? The porn?”

  She blanched as I said it, her eyes downcast. Her hands clenched that pretty dress, fists bunching the fabric just above her knees. I had never seen someone look so textbook perfectly abashed. Even like that, my heart yearned. Even asking to meet Carl. Wasn't that just the exception that proved her perfection?

  No, I needed to slow down these thoughts. She was an enemy. She and Smith were arrayed against me in my job. They were… business rivals? This could be an in, but I had to not let dreams of lying in bed cuddling with Chrissy distract me. “Carl isn't here, he's staying with his parents for Christmas. But I can put you in touch. What's your number?”

  Chrissy gave me her digits in a tumble and I barely caught them in the rush. She composed herself, brushed out her dress and lost the embarrassed demeanor quickly. She was again the picture-perfect housewife by the time Smith came in, bearing the wonderfully aromatic dessert. The couple exchanged happy smiles as soon as Smith's eyes found hers.

  “I gotta warn ya, brother, after you have this crumble, it's going to ruin every other dessert for you. Did for me, at least.” Smith informed me as he served a helping to each of us. That accomplished, he left and returned with a bowl of whipped cream, hand-made by the look of it. “Absolutely heavenly, my Chrissy's crumble. Nothing like it.” Finally, everything served, he sat next to Chrissy. “Dig in,” he proclaimed with a smile.

  He didn't need to tell me twice.

  *****

  At last, mercifully, dinner was in the rear-view. Smith planned me into getting picked up for Christmas Eve service. We talked a little bit more, but nothing of import. Until I was headed out the door. “Thanks for having me,” I said, juggling Tupperware. I had helpings of shepherd's pie and blueberry crumble, only reluctantly parted with by Smith.

  “You wanna come over Saturday? Watch the hockey game? Have a couple other fellas over. Good bonding experience. You definitely don't want to miss Chrissy's dry rub wings. They’re wonderful.” Smith said this while donning his Carhartt lined jacket. “You don’t mind another guest over, do you Chrissy?”

  “Not at all, we’d love to have you over again, Jeremy. No crumble next time though, just some appetizers.” She gave a pleasant smile.

  The things I did for Hell. “Sure, I’d love to catch a hockey game.” I put on my best smile, hoping we could be out the door. Even with Chrissy right there, this house made my skin crawl slightly. Regardless of Wayward Souls, this place would be discomfiting to me. Maybe because it was so much more full of life than my dreary little apartment. Maybe it was because they had more room on the one floor than my entire living space. Or maybe their personality felt fake, forced, some kind of front. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel comfortable there.

  “My man,” Smith slapped my back. “Let's get you home.”

  The early evening light of winter had faded long before, night holding sway as Smith drove me home. We pulled into Vista View Arms. It was as disappointing as I remembered it. The familiar sense of self-loathing began its slow drip through my person. This was a profaned haven for anyone except me. It was just another chain tethering me to this unhappiness. I would just have to move up, and hopefully Smith Burrows’ money could get me there.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “See you Saturday, QB,” Smith said as I got out of the Suburban. He didn't work tomorrow so I wouldn't see him until then. And the day after… Christmas Eve.

  “Thanks for the ride and the food, man.” My breath frosted on the air. It was incredibly cold, a cutting pain on the inhale. “I gotta get inside and warm up already.”

  “Don't mention it, brother. Get that Tupperware back to me on Saturday. Chrissy is real particular about her dishes.” Smith paused a moment, his eyes no longer twinkling. “And I don't think that Wayward Souls thing is good for you Jeremy. Central United has all the help and fellowship and love that you need. Assistance comes in more ways than money. Just think about it. Judas betrayed Christ for thirty pieces of silver. Love is worth so much more than that. Christmas Eve service, I'll see you there.” His last intonation was somber, almost bordering on severe. His window rolled up and Smith drove off, leaving me in the cold.

  And freaking the fuck out.

  *****

  “You told him about it? You went out and said it? You gave away the game? Gonna get speared. Get smote. Get shackled. Get stymied. Get-”

  I cut Craig off. “What the fuck do I do? I can't see him again, he has to fucking know what it is.”

  “Of course he knows. They always know, they already know. Someone gets a feel bad and runs away. Tells a padre about it. Boo hoo, the story ends. And Craig Baird goes back to being alone. Thanks for the Domino's.” Craig was somehow talking in his ramble around a grotesque portion of pizza.

  “What happens if I go on Christmas Eve? Do I get exorcised? Burnt at the stake”

  “Probably baptized”. Or worse.” Craig shuddered. “Get wet? No thanks. Need dry. Stay dry.”

  Craig had returned from his supposed escorting of my person. I never saw him at Smith’s, so I had no clue as to his veracity, but Craig came back to the apartment shortly after I did. Tracy hadn’t come back. Chevy was doing whatever it was that she did. Carl was still mercifully absent. It was just Craig and I. Which felt strange after the bustle of the last few days. I fended off Craig from the leftover food by getting him a couple of pizzas. I knew they’d be gone within the day, but it was Craig’s money we were burning through. Although that did remind me of a nagging concern:

  “Do you need to go to any of the shelters or kitchens? Will they notice you stopped going?” I honestly had no clue how it worked or how observant any given volunteer would be there. But Craig was also a lively personality, despite his ability to go unnoticed. He might be someone they’d miss.

  “Nope. Warm and dry here. And pizza. Go lots of places, keep them guessing.” Craig crammed another greasy slice down his gullet. “Craig Baird in lots of places. Lots of foods, lots of rumors.”

  “You want to see if you can figure anything else out? LIke why this Christmas Eve is so important? Or why Smith is so invested in me going to church with him?”

  “Same reason people defect. Save their souls. You know that whole chicanery. Say you’re sorry, get the bread, problem solved. You think you’re the first Lieutenant to be approached? ‘Oh no you have second thoughts, let’s make your third thoughts be fluttery and beautiful’ and then you’re in a pew and kneeling. Bad for the knees, being in church. But everyone gets scared. They get an out with the big guy, and take it. Hell’s not a fan of apostasy though. Bad for the business pitches. Bad for the morale. Bad for the how it is seen.”

  “Yes, scary bad things happen if I stop working for Hell. Am I in danger if I go to this church on Christmas Eve?” I wanted to shake Craig.

  “Always in danger. Always gonna be. Get used to it. But they wanna save you first. Always try to save you. Gotta do a lot more bad before they don’t. Hell, I still get asked at the shelters sometimes.” Craig idly scratched at his scraggly facial hair.

  “Wait, people there know you work for Hell?”

  “Hm? No, but they ask.”

  I wanted to beat my head against the wall.

  “I say no,” Craig continued. “Not my gig. They still wanna try. Always wanna try. Give me little cards, little pamphlets, little books. ‘Come sit on a cloud and think the good thinks’ they tell me. I don’t get a good think anymore, just a tattered soul in a skin suit, is Craig Baird.”

  “Okay, you go spy or whatever it is you do. I’m going to go and try to think of some way out of this.” I stomped off to my room.

  But when I sat down and thought about it, I wasn’t sure if that was the route I should take. Smith clearly wanted me on his side. Badly. Could I use that? Being dishonest in the service of Hell seemed more like a job duty than anything. It was dangerous to do that, of course, but I wanted to progress. I didn’t want to sit in my apartment all day fretting over micromanaging Carl. I wanted to be able to use the recruits that Tracy could call up. I wanted to stop going to work, listening to Sherrie, ringing up groceries. This was my pathway out of it, and it would require risks. Risks like going into the stronghold of my enemy. Even if they knew about Wayward Souls.

  I warred for a time, between fear and ambition. Resting on my bed, even though I didn't feel particularly tired, let me destress. I could feel Tracy and Chevy faintly. Tracy felt agitated, Chevy calm. Both were pretty distant. My little empire. If it was to be any larger, I needed this. Ambition won out over fear. Come Christmas eve, I was going to go into Central United.

  *****

  The house was completely empty. Craig had left. He went off to find some homeless shelter or soup kitchen or wherever there were innocent souls to be tormented. It was just me, and no one else. It was absolute stillness. It was sort of late at this point, but I didn’t feel all that tired. So it was with a little surprise that I found myself going on a walk.

  It was almost midnight, and bitter cold out. My cheeks and ears burned with the cold. I tugged my beanie lower but it failed to provide much warmth. Maybe before anything grandiose, I’d use the money I got for some real warm winter wear. The air was such a crisp cold that snow trickled down in flurries, drawn out of the little moisture in the air. It wasn’t enough to accumulate or anywhere near that, even. The pavement was still bare. It didn’t feel much like Christmas, just a cold emptiness. Maybe it was from having snowier winters in years past, or maybe it was from all the stress, but walking out here it all felt inconsequential. Meaningless.

  The idea of going into that church didn't feel as daunting. It felt small, surmountable. Just another menial task as I moved up in Wayward Souls. At first, the idea of holding Carl's soul felt powerful. But already it felt normal. How much farther could I go? In a week would Smith's church give me the same sense of routine? I didn't have anyone else to compare to, but I felt pretty proud of myself. I was crushing it. I wondered if I could ask Danielle. Participate in the corporate farce and ask how my performance metrics compared with that of my peers. Or something else in the obtuse farce that Hell seemed to be governing itself by. Contacting her seemed like it'd be difficult- I had no way to reach her.

  But then I realized I could see how others compared. I had someone practically begging me to participate. Sure, Sandra was shady as Hell, but that was the price of admission into Wayward Souls. I had enslaved my roommate, broke up my already precarious family, roped some people into my little cult, lied to my friends about it, and was pretending to find God in order to pilfer a rich family. Put that way, Sandra seemed entirely on the level. And hey, if she was already cool with betraying those other Lieutenants, perhaps I could just jump the gun and do the same to her. Let the best Lieutenant win.

  Maybe I was feeling a bit giddy after surviving Smith's place. Maybe it was trying to combat the malaise that coming back to my apartment gave me. Maybe it was a counterbalance to the anxiety of earlier. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the realization that for once I was in control. I could make things better for myself. My success or failure didn't depend on Carl paying his half of the bills. It didn't depend on Daryl feeling magnanimous with my family's hard-won money. It didn't depend on Sherrie giving me enough hours. All I needed was my Implement- the tool that would let me accomplish whatever I needed.

  As self interested as it was, I hadn't really considered Wayward Souls as more than a vehicle to stop working retail. The idea that my ability would allow me to set my own path was daunting but exciting. I could think so much more ambitious than simply not going to work. There was more to this than money. I didn't need to do this for money. I could do it for power- my own independence. Smith talked about thirty pieces of silver. With Wayward Souls, I could eventually control the silver mint and mine. I'd be the one in charge.

  I had actually walked far from Vista View Arms. The air was no less frigid than it was hours ago. Just because I had the vitality didn't mean I was immune to the cold. And it had finally started to cut into my near manic cheer. Realizing I probably looked a little unhinged with the wide smile I had, I tried to still my features. The smile still peeked through, curling at the edges, pulling at my cheeks. My steps felt lighter, my chest felt free.

  It was jarring to realize. I was happy?