Free The Session by Greg Curtis

The Session.
     
     
    The waiting room was typical of such places. Soft carpets, light coloured walls, leather couches and soothing music playing softly in the background. It was full of patients too when Lucifer walked in – but they quickly left. They took one look at him, paled a little and ran, and soon it became a stampede. That despite the fact that he'd done his best to look like one of the accursed monkeys. No horns, no tail, no burning hot bright red skin. Though perhaps the blackened marks in the carpet where his feet had been standing for too long were somewhat unusual. And if the truth be told the creaking of the floor under his weight might have worried them a little as well. Some of them screamed as they ran, but they didn't let that stop them running and he didn't let it bother him – too much.
     
    Lucifer tried not to take their reactions to heart. After thousands of years in the pit he was familiar with the behaviour after all. And yet a part of him still cringed at the sight of their fear. And that damned voice was still there in his ear whispering to him that he was ugly. That he wasn't good enough. That he smelled. Or in some other way that he couldn't quite define he just wasn't quite good enough. That made him angry.
     
    Prince of darkness, ruler of the underworld, corrupter of innocence, master of evil, and he wasn't good enough for these accursed monkeys! How dare they!
     
    The very idea of it made him more than angry and he had to control himself. It would have been so easy to simply incinerate this entire place. And then to go onto the rest of the world. However those above would be upset with him if he did that. They liked the monkeys. So he controlled his temper and withheld his wrath. Still he couldn't stop himself from snarling a tiny bit and maybe letting a small whiff of smoke escape his nostrils. But in the end that was why he was here. Not the rage but rather the reason for it.
     
    He was worried that it was compromising his work. That it was causing him to go too gently on the souls in his care. That he wasn't properly tormenting them. Burning the sin out of them. And that could not happen. He was one fallen angel who took pride in his work.
     
    His friends – not that he had friends, just a few pets that he kept around for amusement – had all said he should try therapy, and reluctantly he'd eventually accepted that they might be right. It was wrong for him to think that he was anything less than what he was. And it was absolutely intolerable that he should even think of easing up on the souls in his charge.
     
    So he'd agreed, spiriting quietly out of Hell for a few hours – the other fallen could run things for a while – and looking for someone to talk to. Someone who understood these strange feelings. Who could explain why it should bother him that these pitiful creatures should not like him. Who could fix it. Tell him how to make these monkeys like him. And this guy was supposed to be the best. Certainly he was the most highly qualified of his peers. And a man with that many degrees had to know something – didn't he? Besides who but a monkey would understand other monkeys?
     
    Lucifer walked up to the counter and smiled perfunctorily at the receptionist who was trapped in the room. To reach the door she'd have to run past him, and she was too terrified to do that. So instead she was trying to hide under the desk and whispering frantic prayers. A lot of good they'd do her. Prayers had to be genuine, not spoken out of fear. Not when her life was so full of sin. Hell was filled with souls who'd tried to recant all their sins and beg for mercy on their deathbeds. Too little, too late. However she'd find that out for herself in due course.
     
    He asked her the obvious question. “Through there?” Lucifer indicated the hallway beyond the reception desk.
     
    She shrieked a little, gulped and then swallowed her terror before nodding, white faced.
     
    “Thank you my dear.”