Demonised - 2. Departures

One whole bloody hour!

That's how long he'd been waiting in the resort's reception area. As his holiday mood wore off, the demon found his surroundings were no longer cool, calm and relaxing. More like cold, clammy, dark, and bloody irritating. How difficult could it be to arrange transportation for one single guest?

The demon's forked tail lashed back and forth, creating cross-currents, ripples and wavelets throughout the whole of the resort's ground floor. He could see a shoal of angel fish were getting restive in the dining area. He started kicking his hooves against the reception desk, just for something to do. It made a satisfyingly annoying racket. Suddenly one of the angel fish darted out and started talking to a waiter.

Just let them try complaining and he'd give them bloody angels. As if the Other Place wasn't already way ahead with its marketing reach – the number of people they connected with was far beyond anything his work could ever hope to achieve … They didn't need to sponsor fish, for fuck's sake. What were they going to think of next? In fact, he was surprised the fish weren't sporting the official logo – not that he'd ever told anyone else he knew what it was. That would be seen by his 'elders and betters' as taking far too much interest in the Other Place's operations. The old timers were quite happy to continue in blissful ignorance.

Him? As far as he was concerned, they were business rivals. And you could never learn enough about your competitors. He'd even tried to visit their website once, in a fit of bravado. The demon's tail lashed even harder – it'd been for a bet and if he'd been caught, there would've been trouble, big trouble. Fortunately, one of the others worked on hell_is.com and knew enough to cover his tracks. It wasn't as if he'd even managed to get there. It'd been blocked for inappropriate content.

However hard he tried, the demon could feel the heat and the redness returning. At this rate, he'd have no tan left to show off to his fellow toilers in the fourth circle. He enjoyed the sense of one-upmanship that came with regaling his co-workers with unending details of his holiday. He'd already uploaded some of his photos and the details of his encounter with the vampire squid. Hell's teeth, but they were a boring lot – no sense of adventure, any of them. Losers that they were, they doubtless thought that his cousins, Asmodai and Orobas were the perfect demons. He didn't think they'd ever missed a day from work, and they'd probably never even considered leaving hell.

This line of thought brought him back to his cat and to Thomas, the damned who was meant to be looking after it. And to their last conversation … and what he'd said. A temporary feeling of pinkness returned. A stray thought popped up. Should he have contacted Thomas to explain why he was going to be delayed? … The demon let out a stream of boiling hot vapour. Where the fuck had that come from? Yes, he had feelings for Thomas but he was still one of the damned – he didn't have to explain anything, apologise for anything. There was exploring the esoteric and enjoying what resulted, and there was completely losing the plot. He knew which category that particular thought fell into.

He kicked the desk with renewed vigour. Where the fuck was that bloody octopus? Managers who couldn't manage – he recognised the symptoms from a mile off. He'd had quite enough experience of that already – his current manager being an outstanding example. … His thoughts slid back to Thomas. Had there been any trouble? He needed to be more careful – maybe the cat was one thing too many. Perhaps he should've called again? He knew deep down, that in a toss up between the cat and his damned, Thomas would win every time. The demon felt another tinge of pinkness but it soon faded. Anger was such satisfying emotion – so normal, so red. The pinkness was very new and it still felt odd, sort of warped. He wasn't yet sure of how it affected his thoughts and actions.

Finally! A thoroughly flustered octopus suddenly propelled itself into position behind the reception desk. The demon made his views as clear as could be by giving the desk one final, energetic hoofing. This attracted the attention of a conger eel floating nearby which was patently part of the resort's Security detail. The demon gave it the finger – he could deal with it with one arm tied behind his back. Confident nothing was going to happen, he turned his attention onto the octopus. Grasped in the one of its arms were a number of large pieces of paper with the resort's logo clearly visible. So, was that why he'd been kept waiting?

The demon stared at the papers with suspicion. “And that is?”

The octopus gave him a nervous, ingratiating smile. “Ahh … yes … ehm … Mr Demon, sir, the owners of the resort are dismayed at your decision to leave us so early …”

The demon rolled his eyes and snorted derisively. The resulting super-heated flow made the octopus flinch out of the way. While it was waiting for the water to cool off, the demon noticed a notification blinking away in a corner of his mind. Yellow – that was medical. A reminder of something he needed to do. Oh, yes. He remembered finally what it was for – notifications were useful but he wasn't going to rely on them like a crutch. Some of the most recent intake of damned couldn't seem to function without their quota of bleeps, chirps and blinking lights. Until they were encouraged to do otherwise, of course. He sniggered.

Anyway, he started examining the underside of his tail for the first signs of scale rot. Prevention was definitely better than cure – he'd seen some of the old-timers with the disgusting ulcerations. Why did people think that hell was hot and dry? Some parts were revoltingly humid. What with the sweat, tears and other bodily secretions, it really wasn't that surprising. Health and safety – that was another of his … interests. Obsessions might be a better description.

The water having cooled down sufficiently, the octopus cleared its throat loudly to attract the demon's attention. The demon grunted in response, not bothering to stop what he was doing – his health was much more important than anything some jumped-up mollusc had to say. The octopus then flailed its arms until the demon couldn't stand the distraction any longer.

“For Satan's sake! Say what you've got to say. It had better be what I want to hear, though.”

The octopus paled and appeared to shrink under the demon's baleful glare. It stuttered as it started to speak. “Ah … Mr … D… D ... Demon, sir. The resort's owners would be most grateful if you would spare just a very few minutes to complete our customer satisfaction survey …”

The demon's eyes glowed a menacing blood red with flames licking at the edges. For fuck's sake! He was sure his tan was fading by the minute, and he could feel his redness increasing all the time. He been left hanging around for that? Fuck it! The demon stuck an arm out, and grabbed the wretched survey from the unfortunate octopus. He then took infinite delight in singeing each page, one by one, with his forked tongue before adding a final flambé to the entire lot, and sending the resulting ashes on a wave towards the shoal of angel fish.

Just the thing for breakfast. He sniggered.

The demon turned back to the octopus. “I'm leaving because it suits me to.That's all you and your idiot superiors need to know. Now, get me some fucking transport before I explode!”

Satan, that felt good!

An hour later, the demon was wandering around the departure lounge bookshop. He stopped by a shelf and stood, desultorily flicking through the Idiot's Guide to Flaying. It was so bad, he started writing in the margins of the book, noting all the errors as he went through.

The idiot was the fucking author. How in Hell's name did that loser ever get a contract? He could've done it so much better himself, and he could've supplied full colour illustrations. Online video, even – nothing better for illustrating a practical demonstration than video. Last time he'd sent off something he'd written, they hadn't even bothered with rejection slips, or emails. Bastards. This moron had obviously never flayed anything in his life, never mind one of their clients. It took care, skill, and attention to do it properly. Professionalism – that was his watchword.

The demon dropped the book on the floor, and his hoofs made short work of scuffing it all over before he shoved it under the book stand, bending the cover in two. He was about to start looking at another choice offering, when his eye was caught by the multi-coloured cover of a book kept behind the sales counter. The brightness was almost overwhelming when compared with the dull black and reds of the bookstock in front of him. He felt drawn to it immediately – it looked exciting, exotic. … forbidden?

He let go of Imps – Exercising Command and Control – A Casebook Solution without a second thought and started towards the counter. He took a circuitous route, all the while keeping one eye on the squid which was in charge. Fortunately, it appeared to be engrossed by a very long, printed list. The demon was used to just seizing what he wanted – that was normal, what happened. Demons were made that way. Yet, this time, he had the strangest feeling. He wasn't sure what it was or how to describe it, but he was … He dredged around in his memories of the esoteric and came up with a word: unsure. Hesitant, was another.

As he finally got close enough to the sales counter to see the title, he gasped quietly. It was a gardening book – Containerised Gardening for the Complete Beginner. The temptation … he wanted it so badly. But …

Fuck! Was this what it felt like when they did it to the damned? No wonder it drove them mad eventually. The demon was pleased with the insight – it would help him be more professional at his job. Hmm … he'd have to think about how to improve on the sensations though – how to make them more intense, more lasting. Meanwhile, it wasn't helping his current situation. He carefully stretched out a hand … he'd just laid his fingers on the book when the assistant looked up.

“Anything I can help you with?”

The demon let go of the book like a bag of frozen peas – of course, it slipped off the shelf onto the floor. The squid assistant smirked. The demon seethed in return. He'd got every right to look at it – it was the buying part that might be tricky. And getting it back home in his luggage. He drew himself up to his full height.

“I want to see everything you have on …” He struggled to remember the necessary terms. “Ehm … container gardening.”

The squid rolled its eyes and dived wearily under the counter. It reappeared, clutching a book in each of its eight arms. The demon snatched the nearest two and started looking at them avidly. The books were grubby, dog-eared and well-thumbed but the illustrations were still present in all their multi-coloured glory. The demon stared at a picture of garden pinks and wondered how they could be so beautiful.

Was Thomas a gardener? The demon hoped so. He didn't yet know very much about his damned apart from the reason Thomas was in his section, Greed … He couldn't remember the precise details but it had been pretty vanilla compared to some of the exploits of the long-time inhabitants.The demon had a short fantasy about him and Thomas planting flowers together on the patio behind his living quarters. Maybe, they'd even consider growing vegetables? The pinkness came on suddenly. The demon tried his best to conceal it but he was sure the wretched squid had noticed. Was that a snigger he just heard? He looked up and glared at the assistant which was floating there, right in his line of vision. It was watching him closely.

“Fuck off! I can't concentrate with you hanging around.”

The squid's smirk widened. “Orders are … I can't leave while someone's looking at 'under the counter' stuff.”

He'd give it 'under the counter stuff'. The demon drew himself up to his full height, towered over the squid, and fantasised briefly about pitchforks. They were considered very old school, but they were wonderfully effective in certain circumstances. One of his hands reached out and grabbed the two most colourful offerings which he then waved under the squid's nose.

“Right. I'll take two brand new, sealed copies – one of each.”

The squid, completely unintimidated, smirked at him again. “Those are the only copies left – take 'em or leave 'em. Prices as marked, no discount. Any attempt at bartering will double the price.”

Prices which were already extortionate. The demon gloomily contemplated the economies he'd have to implement to afford them as they were. That was the result of no collective bargaining – he hadn't had a pay rise in millennia. Did prices stay the same? Stupid fucking question.

“OK …” For some reason, the demon stopped speaking. He appeared to be having some sort of silent discussion with himself.

The squid eyed him wearily, expecting the usual 'thanks, but no thanks' response. If it'd had commission every time a denizen of hell had pawed over those particular books, it wouldn't be in this poxy concession. No, it'd be basking in the Med – shallow, warm, and sunny. Bliss!

The demon came to a decision, possibly the most reckless decision of his existence. He took a deep breath. “I want to see all the gay romances that you have.” There. He'd said it.

The squid's eyes grew in astonishment until they seemed to occupy all the available space. A few seconds passed before it could reply.

“You want what? Blimey! We don't advertise the hardcore stuff at all. How d'you know about them, anyway? You're not on our mailing list. OK … well, I'm not authorised to deal in that sort of stuff. You'll have to wait for my manager.”

The demon tried hard to look cool and unruffled. Which was pretty difficult given how red he'd been getting.

Ten minutes later, the demon was faced with a small heap of the most seductive, enticing, printed contraband he'd ever seen. He hardly knew where to start. Had Thomas ever read any of these? All the covers looked equally romantic, almost mesmerising in their l – There, he'd almost used the L word again. Fuck! His transport was due in only a few minutes. What had he been missing? He picked up the closest volume, Stefano's Seductions. He feverishly started to flick through it, although he had to stop every time his eyes got snagged on something particularly choice …

Blake almost swooned into his lover's arms. He felt so safe, so desired, pressed against Stefano's manly chest. Blake could hardly remember a time before he first met his Italian lover. Stefano was so strong, so commanding. They kissed again. Stefano whispered steamy sweet nothings into the smaller man's ear, while stretching round to caress his sexy, perfect globes. …

The pinkness was threatening to take him over. The demon could scarcely keep control of himself – he glanced back at his tail and to his horror, the flange was almost glowing pink. Pink! He tried desperately to think of lectures on disembowelling techniques – anything to calm things down. Then … Ping! Beep, beep! Incoming message from your line manager. This message is flagged as important, private, and confidential. Accept now? … Automatic acceptance in five … four … three … two … one...

Bollocks! The demon froze. Was his pinkness obvious? He dared not think of, never mind look at, his tail.

“Ah … so there you are. Good, good.” The booming, false bonhomie of his useless line manager seemed to fill his skull. The demon was quietly glad that it was inaudible to the obnoxious squid which was sniggering in the background.

“Thought I hadn't seen you for a bit. Sick, are you?” The demon sensed his superior peering at him. “You're certainly looking a very odd colour. There're some strange bugs doing the rounds apparently – looks as though you've caught one of them. Oh well … I'll have HR after me if I don't record your sickness absence properly …”

The demon silently, and privately, gave thanks for his manager's witterings. Usually they irritated the fuck out of him, but now … now they gave him the opportunity to sidle away from the counter. Not too far – just enough to place his bulk between the incriminating heap of books and his manager's roaming eyes. That accomplished, the demon took his first breath in minutes, then interrupted his boss as he was reciting the list of acceptable ailments which the demon could admit to.

“Actually, I'm on holiday. Well, more about to return from holiday. I sent you a postcard.”

His boss was evidently having trouble grasping the basic concept – all he could hear was a puzzled silence.

The demon carried on. “I am entitled to paid holiday. HR sent me confirmation.” After they'd scratched their heads for a very long time. He suspected his personnel record was now marked in some way. “And I did tell you before I left …”

His manager muttered darkly about wimpish, alien ideas brought in from the Other Place. Then he returned to his previous theme.

“You're still looking a odd colour. Can't have you bringing back some exotic infection …” Before the demon could get a word in edgeways, his boss abruptly moved on to the next subject. An answer obviously wasn't necessary. Typical.

“Anyway, I'd better move on. The reason for my call? Well, there are some changes afoot and it's my job to explain them, and how they affect you.”

Changes? Something told the demon he wouldn't like what was coming. Yes, he was usually progressive in his outlook, but Thomas and, to a lesser extent, the cat had altered that. Hell wasn't a place where change meant good things – he thought of the last attempt to integrate the imps into the main structure. Complete and utter disaster.

Pinkness, gardening, and romances were completely forgotten as the demon tried to focus on what his manager was about to say.

“OK … You know that Satan commissioned a firm of outside consultants to prepare a report about things here? Yes?” As usual, his boss continued without a pause. “Well, they've handed in their findings. Their recommendations have been accepted in full by Satan and the senior management team.”

The demon desperately tried to remember what had been said about this previously. He had a sinking feeling that he'd been sent the emails but never bothered to read them. Who did, for fuck's sake? Now, if they had a union rep …

His manager continued droning on. “So … as I said. I'm here to give you a rundown of what's going to happen, and how those actions are likely to affect you. I've been told to remind you that consultations are still ongoing and certain elements may change, but we both know that's total bollocks.”

The demon found he was holding his breath as he continued to wait for his boss to get to the point. Of course, his manager then spent some time clearing his throat and generally faffing around.

“OK … you're aware of the three main strands of the report?” The demon didn't have a clue. Not that it made any difference – he knew his boss only too well. “The three strands are: de-layering and rationalising the company's operations, flattening the management structure, and ensuring that every demon possesses the same transferable skills set.”

What the fuck? The demon, still standing in the book concession, tried to decode the management waffle while his boss continued talking.

“Well, the easiest one is the management restructuring – I'm off out of here at the end of the week. I'm taking the redundancy package – generous, it is too.”

The demon cheered silently – he almost felt like doing a victory dance. Which he couldn't, of course. Or … if his boss was on the way out … Fuck, it was so tempting. Meanwhile, his boss was getting into his stride.

“Now, the de-layering and rationalisation.” The demon tried to concentrate. “The current nine circles will be reduced to five ...” What the fuck? The demon's mouth dropped open. “Your current location, Greed, will be absorbed along with Gluttony to become G² …” And how much had that fucking logo cost? The demon stared at the interlocking, almost writhing Gs. They'd be getting like the Other Place soon – all branding and market reach. Maybe he'd demand to see the end of year accounts just to check. Effing bloody consultants.

His manager must have heard his gasp of astonishment. As he continued with the news, he tried to sound more sympathetic, and signally failed. His own pleasure at escaping bled into everything he said.

“Bit of a shock? Well, never mind. It's about time oldies like me got out of the way. Chance for a change of direction for me, perhaps.” The demon couldn't give a fuck. “Obviously, with the rationalisation, some employees may have to be let go. But it's also a great opportunity. Always keep that at the front of your mind. Oh, ah … that doesn't seem to be the case with you … Sorry, wrong piece of paper.” The demon felt like he was going to erupt. “Actually, you're down to move to support services. It's been decided that some front-facing colleagues should experience a variety of environments, to gain different skills. So, you're due to start in the social media and client engagement hub as soon as you return. Which will be when, by the way?”

The demon didn't hear the question. His mind was racing. He'd spent his entire working existence in Greed. How would he manage – stuck in some backroom somewhere? His work interacting with the clients was all he'd ever known. He wouldn't have met Thomas otherwise, and he so enjoyed his meetings with his damned. What their future together was … His heart almost stopped. Thomas …