Page 7 of Not Today, Satan
“Why not? Isn’t that why they’re all here?”
“You know that isn’t true.” He returns the glasses to his pinched face. “Besides, that isn’t the point of this class. Your father insists you learn how to use your sight properly. Now, look at his picture again and concentrate. What is his sin?”
I press my fingers into my forehead and rub in circles as I focus on the image of a Korean man with a tight smile. Nothing appears beyond a slight headache from the hour we’ve spent doing this.
“He cheated on his wife?”
“No.”
“Cheated on his taxes, then?”
“No.” Mr. Bellum grits his teeth. “Try harder, Devica.”
“I don’t know,” I groan. “He um… He owned an exorbitant number of cats?”
“That’s not even a sin.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Are you sure? Weren’t cats the furry demons Father sent to Earth to punish the living?”
Mr. Bellum groans in exasperation. He was a teacher in his human life and was plucked by Father from his lot to teach me. That sounds like it would be an upgrade down here, but the way he’s looking at me, I get the idea that he’d prefer his original punishment of hanging upside-down by his toenails for eternity.
“Try one last time,” he says. “Really try to connect through his eyes.”
I follow Mr. Bellum’s directions, practically boring holes into the blackboard, but beyond white spots swimming through my vision, the photo stays the same.
“Nothing.” I hurl my pen onto my desk and cross my arms over my chest. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”
Mr. Bellum gives me a rare smile. “For once, Devica, you’re right. Youshouldn’tsee anything in this man. He hasn’t committed a sin, and he will be sent to Paradise.” He sighs and raises his eyes to the ceiling, no doubt debating what he could’ve changed in his life to have received a similar fate.
“That’s not possible. Everyone sins. They may not always end up down here, but humans sin constantly.” I point at him with my pen. “Even you. That’s whyyou’rehere.”
He clears his throat.
Mr. Bellum never talks about what sent him to us, but he doesn’t have to.
I peeked at his file once at work. I know he stole funds from a school fundraiser to pay off his mounting gambling debts, but it was too late. His bookie had already sent someone to “deal with the problem.”
Poor Mr. B. hadn’t even seen it coming. He died clutching the ten-dollar bills his students had sold chocolate door-to-door to raise. Guess that year’s band trip had to wait.
Mr. Bellum fixes his gaze on the floor. “Everyone sins, yes. Even those with the best of intentions. But there are sins small enough to be forgiven and send someone to Paradise. You won’t be able to see the sins of people who still have good in them. But those that are doomed—destined—to come here, you’ll be able to see their souls, clear as this photograph.”
I study the image again. “If he was so wonderful, why can’t I see any of that? I can see their sins, but not their good deeds? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s because of what you are,” Mr. Bellum replies. “Your father’s sight extends solely to sin. Good deeds are accessible only by the angels who make the decisions in Paradise. You have no reason to see them.”
I run my finger along a burn in the oak top of my desk. It was put there by me only a few days ago in a fit of rage when I kept failing Mr. B.’s tests of my powers. A slightly sulfuric scent still clings to the wood. “So, I either see something or I don’t. Doesn’t that make this class pointless?”
Mr. Bellum rubs his receding hairline. “If only your father believed me when I tried to tell him that. Your powers will get stronger the more you practice using them.” He peers at me over his glasses. “And if you can learn to control your emotions.”
I suppress another yawn and study the room Father had built for my lessons. Because he only taught small children on Earth, Mr. B. decorated it with that in mind. Cartoon bunnies romp across the alphabet bordering the walls. Toys overflow the box in the corner. An empty coat closet lines the wall behind me, and a pink, fluffy rug that makes me want to hurl sprawls in the center of the room.
It looks nothing like the classrooms I shared with other demon children growing up. Those were dark and gloomy, with steel walls covered in weapons and instruments of torture.
I hadn’t graduated into The Art of Torturing Humans before Father decided he had other plans for me. Six months ago, he pulled me out of my classes and stuck me here, explaining that he wanted me to learn whether I had any abilities and how to harness them.
I set down my pen. “We’ve been doing this for months, and I’m not getting any stronger. I know Father started out touching humans to see their sins. Why aren’t we doing that?”
“You’re right. Touch amplifies your sight. Close contact with the sinner will put you in their soul. You’ll see their sins as they happened. But you’re not ready, Devica. Touching someone connects you intimately with their sins. It can be overwhelming. And you tend to”—he glances at the pile of ash beside his desk that was once a trash can before I’d disintegrated it in frustration last lesson—“set things on fire when you get overwhelmed.”
