Free Black Treacle Magazine (Issue 4) by Black Treacle Publications Page A

rule.” My master pointed upward. “Even He
can’t change that. No, it’s something else.” He exhaled, filling
the room with the pleasant stench of brimstone and putrefaction. “I
can’t have this, Imp. Satan wants his soul. You must go Outside and see what has happened, or we’ll both know
torments like no other.”
    Argument was
pointless, and I turned away filled with trepidation. Outside , where the air was fresh and the wind felt like a
lingering kiss on the skin. Outside meant the land of the
living, and because I didn’t belong, I could never stay.
    Truly, hell on
earth.
     
    ***
     
    With a belch
of amorphous exhaust, the prison bus unloaded its cargo of
convicts, I among them. Shackled, with over-sized luminescent
orange coveralls, I felt quite comfortable in my disguise.
    Eventually, a
portly guard met us. He had a nasty smile and body odor hung about
him like sulfurous smog. His silver name tag claimed he was Gary
Furlong. Gary, however, was neither a real guard, nor a real human.
He was a minion, a spy for my master, and thoroughly ungrateful for
the opportunity.
    Gary led us
through the mundane chore of processing. After a meaningful look in
his direction, he grudgingly escorted me to the nearest empty
washroom.
    “What are you
doing here, Imp?” Gary crossed thick arms across his ample belly.
Bullying prisoners had spoiled him and he needed a reminder of who
was subordinate to whom. I began by sloughing off my shackles and
flinging them at his flabby chest.
    “Our master
has denizens in every office from political to postal,” I said.
“His ears are in every gossip session in every coffee shop in the
world. As you might guess he is very well informed. He likes it
that way. We like it that way. So, you can understand our
surprise when Tomas Grandon managed to get himself off the Soul
List, and more importantly, why we weren’t informed of this turn of
events.” I leaned in close and with one long finger touched him
just under his doughy second chin. “Be careful how you answer.”
    Gary licked
his thick lips as his tiny mind tried to process just how he had
lost the advantage. “I was about to send my report,” he answered
slowly. “But everything happened so fast and I had to do double
shifts.”
    “Double
shifts, Gary?” Perhaps it was the stench of prison air, but I felt
an unaccustomed fugue, and let my arm drop to my side. “Very well.
I suppose as a human you need to make a living. I’ll just have to
report to our master that you thought work more important
than--”
    “DNA!” Gary
jiggled about like a three-year-old with a full bladder.
    “What?”
    “Deoxyribonucleic acid,” he said. “A double helix of repeating
molecu--”
    “I know what
DNA is,” I snapped. “What’s that got to do with our master’s
missing soul?”
    “Everything,”
said Gary. “Some lawyer found DNA evidence from the crime scene
that didn’t match Grandon’s DNA. That bought him a last minute Stay
of Execution from the governor.”
    My head tilted
to the side. “After all these years this evidence surfaces
now?”
    Gary forced
himself to straighten. “All I know is some woman lawyer approached
Grandon about a last ditch effort. I guess it paid off.”
    I drew in a
long breath. “A lawyer fouled this up?” Taking the shackles from
the floor where they landed, I slipped them over my wrists and
ankles and locked them in place. “Never mind,” I said. “If she
dared tamper with the world’s Order we’ll have her soul, too.”
     
    ***
     
    Kelly
Llewellyn practiced law from a strip mall five miles further from
the state courthouse than any reputable attorney. Her tweed power
business suit was two-years out of style. Her hair, dyed blond with
black roots, curled around her head like an ice cream swirl. “What
can I do for you, Mr. Brimstone?” she said, the remnants of a light
Welsh accent fighting a losing battle with an easy Southern
drawl.
    Since that
Daniel Webster incident, I’ve