Demonised - 3. Distractions

Fuck! He hated being cooped up in the office all the time. No heat, no fires, no flames. No damned – no action.

The demon glared at his computer screen as if hoping that alone would transform it into a portal back to his beloved Greed. Only, of course, it didn't exist any more – it was now just part of G². He tried to focus on the job in hand – a customer satisfaction survey for the clients of the eighth circle, Fraud – but failed miserably. Why was he being punished in this way? Hadn't he always been a model employee? At work, at least …

An imp intern loitered by the photocopier / printer, his earphones leaking loud but tinny death metal music. The demon knew if he insisted on the noise being turned down, he'd be in trouble. Never mind, suggesting that the spotty-faced youth might actually do some work … The demon snarled. If he did that, his screen would lock him out suddenly, and he'd have to explain to his manager why he hadn't met his daily productivity target.

He shifted in his seat, trying for the millionth time to find a comfortable position. Nothing was designed for him: the desk was far too low, the screen wouldn't move up high enough, the ceiling lights were in the wrong position, and his tail kept on getting caught in the gap between the seat back and the cushion. Sitting. That's all he seemed to do nowadays. The demon realised in retrospect, the amount of physical effort he put into his job. And the buckets of sweat he'd lost, as well. How was he meant to keep fit now? He was proud of his muscles – they weren't the product of hours spent in a gym. As far as he was concerned, they were a symbol of his work, his professionalism. Or, of what he used to do. The demon let out a long, exasperated sigh. Fortunately, all the equipment in the Engagement Hub was super-resistant to heat and flames.

To try to keep his hand in, he'd started volunteering on his days off. Of course, it didn't exactly show solidarity with those demons who'd been let go, but his sanity and well-being were more important. It wasn't anything much, just a few hours' flaying and the odd disembowelling. Nothing sexual, though – he wasn't in the mood. The morons in senior management had miscalculated how many demons were needed after the re-organisation, and now they were short-staffed. Not in the office functions, of course, but out on the frontline, where it really mattered.

He was so glad he wasn't working the complaints desk. The demon glanced over at a harassed-looking co-worker. Beleth was sweating badly, and was barely visible in an ever-increasing cloud of steam as he endeavoured to make headway with the backlog of email flames, vitriolic tweets, and uploaded videos showing the damned lounging around, unattended by any demons. He'd heard one moron had started an online petition, demanding that Satan reinstate proper supervision of all the tasks in hand. Apparently, the damned were incapable of working without the encouragement only his co-workers could provide.

The demon dragged his eyes back to his screen. He was meant to be devising questions for the survey. Taking a deep breath to help him clear his mind, he ended up coughing and spluttering all over his keyboard. Hell's teeth. Suddenly, there was an appalling stink in the vicinity of his desk. Leonard, an overweight slob of a demon, had returned to his station close by. Of course. The stench was made up of his perpetual reek of rancid sweat, together with whatever delights he'd brought in for lunch.

Leonard looked sideways at him. “You should stop smoking, mate. Are those pictures on the packets yours?” He cackled at his own humour. The demon glowered at his screen. Leonard yawned. “Time for lunch, I think. It's been a slog this morning.”

The demon felt himself getting redder. An eruption was on the cards, if he wasn't careful. The fat git had spent most of the morning trying to charm the imp in charge of the stationery supply. He took another breath. Eugh! Leonard was unwrapping a small mound of pickled eggs which he then sliced, and slapped in between hunks of cold fried bread. The demon felt ill. His neighbour was shovelling the food into his mouth like it was in danger of vanishing. As if … The demon decided to check his emails instead. He couldn't possibly concentrate on the survey with that going on.

A few minutes later, his nose was assailed by something new. What now? … For fuck's sake! Leonard had moved onto devilled kidneys which he'd warmed up in the office microwave. And there were sounds to go with it as well. Loud, slobbering, chewing noises which were making the demon want to heave. Why didn't the obnoxious toad move to G^2. He was as much a glutton as any of their clients. Leonard added snuffling like a pig to his repertoire, as he dug into the heaped offal which was precariously balanced on a slab of toast. The demon had been hungry, but not any longer. Hopefully, his appetite would return once some of the miasma had cleared. His tuna and cucumber wrap was sitting in the office fridge – he'd get it out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, he needed to watch his blood pressure. Letting Leonard get to him like that wasn't a good idea.

The demon stared blankly at his screen, waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead, a picture of his damned, Thomas, slid into his mind's eye. His pale skin, freckles, and the shock of red hair made the demon sigh. He was so … beautiful. Yes, that wasn't too strong an adjective. Not a word that got used much in hell, surprisingly. On impulse, he checked the list of words they were forbidden from using on the website. Yep – there it was. Right next to lovely. The demon actually felt a twinge of pinkness – the first one since he'd got back from his holiday, and found that Thomas had gone. The demon sighed. He thought of the gardening books, and the gay romances. In the aftermath of his manager's news about the restructuring in hell, the demon hadn't been able to think straight. When his flight was called, he blundered onto the plane, all books forgotten. Such a waste. He had no idea when he would be going on holiday again. Another sigh escaped.

Leonard belched, then re-filled his mouth before starting to speak. “Mmph … What's … the matter … with you?” Slurping sounds followed as he tried to force some green-coloured cola into his mouth, before he'd emptied it of the food. Inevitably, some of the cola, or the food, went down the wrong way. The resulting spray of part-chewed, greenish, kidney bits, and soggy toast crumbs made the demon move his seat swiftly out of the way. Fuck, how much more disgusting could it get?

Finally, his co-worker stopped coughing long enough to speak again. “Sorry 'bout that. Did I get you?” The demon forced himself to shake his head. “Oh dear. I'll have to try harder next time.” Leonard's irritating, wheezing cackle made the demon want to force feed him tofu from now until eternity. His co-worker took another long slurp of the cola, swished it round his open mouth, and swallowed it with a gargling sound. “It's just you were looking a very strange colour a few minutes ago. Don't how to describe it … Err …” The sight of Leonard trying to force his one remaining brain cell to work, made the demon feel better. He got given meaningful, creative work to do.

“Pink! That's it. Pink. Can't remember the last time I used that.” He looked proud at having retrieved the word. “Don't hold with going on holiday. All that travelling, eating the muck they call food, and it's always far too cold. Don't know why you do it.”

The demon remained focussed on his screen. Eventually, Leonard got the message, and left to go and plague the stationery imp once again. The demon wasn't getting any work done – no more than Leonard. … Pink. The word brought him back to when he finally returned from his holiday.

That evening, his quarters were unoccupied, as far as he could tell from the outside. However, when the demon opened the front door, he was almost bowled over by a spitting, hissing ball of jet black fur rushing in the opposite direction. His cat. He was about to tell Thomas to go and fetch it back, when, of course, he remembered that Thomas was no longer in residence. The cat could wait – he'd hardly spent any time with it even before he went on holiday. In fact, it was more his damned's cat than his. Thomas was long gone – it had taken the demon several days to get back, what with delays, cancellations, re-routing, and imps working to rule.

Of course, the refrigeration unit had been turned off. So, as he went through the apartment, it felt like his old work on a bad day. The demon trailed his suitcases through to his bedroom, only to discover that the fucking cat had amused itself by shredding everything in sight. Hell's teeth! The demon surveyed the wreckage of his bed linen. For some reason, that was almost the final straw. Instead of the expected redness and rage, he felt something else. What, he didn't know. It was a … grey, damp feeling? The demon was mentally flicking through all the emotions known to him, when he noticed a small cloud of vapour hanging in the air, just in front of him. Odd … He felt his eyes prick, and another small cloud joined the first.

No Thomas, no Greed, no cat, and a crap new job starting the next day. The demon sank down on the mattress – he'd never felt less red in the whole of his existence. … Ding dong! Usual, perfect bloody timing. He dragged himself off the bed, and went to answer the door. If it was another effing imp trying sell Satan-endorsed junk, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. He already had the mug, and the baseball cap, and the bloody useless tongs. He opened up, and there, standing on the doorstep, was his least-favourite cousin, Sabnock. That wasn't saying much, of course, as all his cousins were obedient, snooping sycophants, whose principal occupation was toeing the corporate line. Sabnock was a particular lackey of Satan himself – he followed each and every utterance of their Lord and Master like it was … The demon couldn't think of the appropriate word.

The demon stared unblinkingly at his visitor. “What?”

Sabnock looked offended. “Aren't you going to invite me in? That would be the properly Satanic thing to do.”

“No.” What the fuck?! Since when did any demon invite anybody to do anything? He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had changed while he was away? Hnh … “Whatever you have to say, can be said here. Or, what? You expecting tea, and cucumber sandwiches?” Madness, complete madness. Hadn't his world changed enough already?

Sabnock obviously wasn't impressed. “Maybe you missed the latest series of tweets from our Glorious Leader?”

The demon's tail started lashing from side to side. “I've been on holiday. So, no, I haven't been keeping up.”

“We all know our mighty Satan is a deep thinker, and sometimes he graciously lets us, his minions, into his thoughts. He set down some totally new, left-field ideas in these tweets. Love thy neighbour was one of them. Great idea. Radical – turning normal demon behaviours on their head. Nobody but Satan could've thought of that.” The sounds of such rank hero-worship coming from his cousin, made the demon want to spit. Sabnock continued unaware. “Anyway, the reason I came round was about your own behaviour. Why do you bring such shame on your family by disappearing for weeks at a time? You should know that Satan doesn't take holidays.”

“Well, more fool him.” The demon turned on his hooves, terminating the conversation, and slammed the door closed behind him. First thing he did was to sign back into his Twitter account. Something smelt wrong about those supposed tweets from the Boss. Unless he'd completely lost the plot. The demon wondered if Satan's account had been hacked. Yep. There, amongst all the predictable squeals of both outrage and fawning praise, was a tweet from an account that looked suspicious. The Hahahaha! gave it away. The demon sniggered – heads would be rolling somewhere. Maybe, even in his new workplace … Now, there was a thought – he was hoping for a quiet, boring start to his new job, not coming to somewhere which'd be like a disturbed ant's nest. And doubtless, some geek over at the Other Place was congratulating himself on winning a bet, or a dare.

The temporary lift Sabnock's idiocy had given to his spirits, soon dissipated, and the demon was back to contemplating his empty existence. As he saw it, he could accept that Thomas was no longer his, and start looking for another damned during his volunteering sessions. Or, he could fight to get Thomas back. How the fuck he was going to do that, he had no idea. Thinking about things further, it was definitely Thomas he missed – not any damned, but him, for himself. The demon let out a plume of scalding hot steam. He'd been so close – Thomas, gardening, love. … The cat? Well, if it came back, it came back, the demon certainly wasn't going to chase it round the neighbourhood.

Meanwhile, he was jet-lagged, and generally knackered like nobody's business. His bed, however wrecked, was calling. He needed to be alert in the morning, especially if a witch-hunt was in progress. Just as he was dragging his hooves in the direction of the bedroom, the doorbell rang again. WTF? Without bothering to turn around, the demon made his feelings known.

“Fuck off, Sabnock! I'm going to bed.”

A muffled voice replied, sounding offended. “It's Asmodai, not Sabnock. I need to speak to you urgently.”

The demon seethed. “No, you don't, you stupid arse. Bugger off.”

“I'll report you …” The voice now sounded indignant, in exactly the officious sort of way the demon associated with his cousins.

He stopped in his tracks. Maybe some caution was required? “What for?” Fuck, there were so many things. … Then a smirk slowly emerged. Of course …

“For not inviting me in. Your own cousin. Satan will hear of it.”

Oh, another guillible fool. The demon started laughing, then guffawing – so much, he had to support himself on the door jamb. Finally, he got enough of a grip on himself to speak, or rather, yell through the closed door. “Really? Do it, sucker. Do it.” Then he stumbled off to bed, still sniggering.

The demon found himself grinning at his computer screen. The bollocking meted to Asmodai after he'd made his complaint had been truly memorable. And the punishment? Oh, it made him so gleeful, it almost hurt. Asmodai was sentenced to spend every day for the next decade or so watching tourist videos, listening to the damned telling him their favourite holiday tales, and eating nothing but exotic food. With the threat that, if he did anything like it again, he'd be sent on a long, long holiday. Served him right. And he hadn't been the only demon to fall for it. The demon frowned. Shouldn't his co-workers and fellow denizens of hell be more discerning? Or, just employ some common sense? Sometimes, he thought everything was going to … the Other Place, perhaps.

Meanwhile, this still wasn't getting his survey done. Why had he been given it in the first place? He knew fuck all about Fraud. Looking up, he noticed another newcomer, Pithius, staring fixedly at a piece of paper. Someone else having trouble … The demon smelt the possibility of a trade – nothing could be worse than Fraud. He got up, wandered across the office to get his wrap out of the fridge, and started to make his way back, via Pithius' desk.

“How're things?”

Pithius looked up, mutinously. “I've got to assemble a focus group, a fuckin' focus group.”

The demon felt a flicker of interest. “Who for?”

“Oh, that new place. G², is it? Who thinks of these bloody names, anyway?” Pithius continued grumbling, but the demon didn't hear a word.

A focus group for G²? Oh, yay! Awesome! He'd got to have that. Now to reel Pithius in somehow. “Don't suppose you'd like to swap? I used to work in Greed …” The demon left the sentence enticingly open. And …?

“You're not joking?” The other demon looked pathetically grateful. “Wouldn't I just. Here's the instructions, and it's all yours. What you giving me? A survey for Fraud? Oh, those are a doddle. It doesn't really matter what you ask them – they all lie through their teeth, anyway.”

The demon hurried off back to his desk before something happened to spoil his good luck. Thomas. He'd be able to see Thomas again.