Free The Devil Stood Up by Christine Dougherty Page A

inside him.
    The members of the jury had paled and then gone paler still at each 20 by 24 photo the prosecutor erected on easels facing the jury box. By the time the coroner was finished testifying, there were no less than seventeen easels bearing up under their weight of photographic horror.
    Seeing those sour cream faces, the prosecutor had been sure, had been certain, that Carrie would receive a guilty verdict and then the sentencing would begin. And the state would ask for death.
    But it hadn’t happened that way. The defense lawyer, Thomas Evigan, had somehow pulled a rabbit from his ass and gotten her acquitted. The rabbit–a shocking piece of testimony from a transient who said he’d seen the defendant’s mom behind the wheel of the defendant’s car that morning–was disgusting. It was covered in shit and half dead from suffocation, but there it was, and it cast just enough doubt among the jury–who knew the death penalty would be asked for–to set Carrie free.
    Now, the Devil was going to pull another rabbit from Thomas Evigan’s ass. And this rabbit would be in the form of his spinal cord and everything that God, Himself had packed so neatly into his ribcage. Then he’d let the shit fall where it may.
    He considered what Amon had asked him. Why was he doing this? Why–after everything, after all the evil he’d been privy to? What made this lawyer different?
    The Devil continued to walk. The morning sun was becoming the mid-morning sun and it warmed his shoulders. It was true that he’d seen worse evils, evils treacherous enough to break the most stouthearted of humans. And it was true that he’d been impassive and punished each with the same measure, doing the bidding of God, Himself–doing what God, Himself had decreed he must do for eternity or until God, Himself wiped him out completely or carried him back to Heaven.
    The Devil swung his arms and clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the muscles knitting busily back together, the tendons reattaching themselves to the bones. The ache was a constant torment, but bearable.
    It was the willfulness, he decided. The sheer willfulness of Thomas Evigan to look at that dead baby boy and see in that little corpse a career boost. Not even a life-changing career boost, but a mere stepping-stone.
    The willfulness.
    That was what was so…
    A car was coming up behind him.
    This time, he did not turn. He felt none of the itching recognition of his own kind, his own kin. He continued his musings and as the car drew closer he wondered if following this path of thought might not lead him to a thicket impossible to tear himself free of. Let the humans examine and equivocate, searching their souls (more often to find an excuse for their misdeeds rather than perform the actions that would land them surely at salvation’s gate) and morbidly pouring over and over their motivations.
    He, the Devil, would punish this man now, on Earth, and then send Thomas Evigan where he belonged without the benefit of the sixty-odd intervening years he might otherwise enjoy…because it would please the Devil to do so.
    It would please Him greatly and that was enough.
    The car pulled to the shoulder behind him.
    The Devil turned and at first he could not see the driver but then she leaned forward, her face coming into the light and it was Kelly.
    Her face was set and pale, almost grim. She opened her door and stood, keeping the door between herself and the Devil. Her fear came off her waves.
    “I…I’m glad I found you…I wanted to ask, to offer, I mean, I wanted to offer…” she swallowed and the Devil heard the dry, uncomfortable click even from ten feet away. He said nothing.
    She lowered her head and her shoulders rounded as she took a deep breath. Then she looked up and into the Devil’s (her brother’s) eyes.
    “I wanted to offer you a deal,” she said, nodding slightly as if to say, yes, that’s right, you heard me.
    The Devil was familiar with the term ‘deal with