Deadlines are a beast, but they never used to worry me… Not like they do now…
I’d been writing and hitting deadlines since grade school, so I never used to worry about them. Generally, I was that overachiever that finished early so that I could have at least one full round of edits. It was all thanks to my military father. If you’re not five minutes early, you’re ten minutes late. So I was always ten minutes early to appointments, and days ahead of deadlines.
That struck in my favor when I interviewed for Purgatory Press. Luci was impressed with my promptness, and enjoyed my quiet obedience to rules and regulations. She marveled at the creativity in my articles, and asked how I was with contracts. That was new to me, but how much harder could it be? All writing required work, research, and dedication. And I was good at all of that.
Luci liked that.
She hired me on the spot, and slid a contract across the table to me.
“A six week trial,” she explained calmly in her eastern European accent. “If that goes well, it will become a six month probationary job. And if that goes well, it leads to a six year guaranteed job with Purgatory Press.”
Guaranteed pay in the professional world that I loved! I jumped at the chance. The hustle for a paying job would be no more. It was the dream. Why wouldn’t I sign?
The first month and half was mostly training of the organization with a Pakistani gentleman named Sataan. I’d know Purgatory was a wide-reaching organization, but I didn’t realize how wide. It was a worldwide phenomenon with followers from Timbuktu to Shanghai to Adelaide. Mostly I was writing straightforward informational articles on local atrocities. Because of how well I researched and documented events, I was given the top draws. It was simultaneously exhilarating, and horribly depressing.
But it got me to the probation period.
That’s when I met Belze, the beautiful, cold Frenchwoman who was in charge of recruiting – at least that what’s they told me. I thought I was reaching out for donations and partnerships, to keep Purgatory funded and running. So I was dedicated, and thorough, and persuasive. My numbers were top tier, impressive, and more than enough to jump me straight into the guaranteed job.
That’s when contracts were brought up again. Luci, personally visited me in my probationary office cube to walk me to my new workspace.
“You’ve far exceeded my expectations, dear,” she said, walking ramrod straight with her chin parallel to the floor. “I have very high expectations of my personal hires, and I am unforgiving when expectations aren’t met.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, scurrying along beside her, a mix of intimidation and pride mud-wrestling in my gut.
“I’m very pleased you’ve been so efficient.” She glanced out of the corner of her perfectly lined eyes at me. “I hope you will continue to be so detailed and well-organized in this new position. This is the most important work of Purgatory Press, and nothing but perfection can transpire in these offices.”
“I get my own office?” I squeaked, missing the somber tone of the conversation.
“Yes,” she answered, turning sharply as the hallway divided. “You have earned this promotion, and you have earned this space. I am impressed with your work, but my expectations will only go up from here.”
“Understood, ma’am,” I answered, gripping my briefcase to my chest.
“The Deadlines are more serious on this floor,” she cautioned me, but I missed the real meaning. I never could have actually understood the true warning.
“I understand,” I assured her. “I’ve never missed a deadline, or not met quota.”
“Yes, I am aware,” she said, stopping abruptly to press open the door to an empty office. “I expect that behavior to continue. And if it does, and you satisfactorily fulfill your six years, you will be released.”
“Released?” I asked, perplexed as I entered the empty room. “Why would I want to be released? I love my job, ma’am.”
“They all do in the beginning,” she said on a sigh. “But six years can be long, and it will be tough. Deadlines are not to be trifled with.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” I admitted, setting my briefcase on the large desk. “What exactly is this promotion?”
“You will be writing contracts,” she said simply. “Asmodeus will train you, as he is the best.”
Asmodeus? I thought, plastering my professional smile onto my face. Now that’s a name.
“You have now become the next cog in the machine,” she explained. “After the pledges, that you were collecting before, the client goes to legal – which is what you will be learning. They must sign their contract, by their assigned date, or there will be Hell to pay.”
I stared at her, forcefully keeping my lips together and pushed up in a pleasant smile despite the heavy, floor dropping beneath my feet feeling. It was like sitting at the top of a roller coaster, anticipation mixed with a slight fear, knowing the excitement and exhilaration and breathlessness that would come in the next moment.
“Please, settle yourself into your office,” she said, waving her hand and the dark, empty space. “Asmodeus will be along shortly.” She spun tightly in her heels, and headed out the door.
“Ms. Luci,” I called, stopping her.
“Oh,” she said reflectively, as if an afterthought had just fluttered to her brain. “You may call me Lucifer, dear. Everyone at this level does.”
“Lu-Lucifer?” I repeated, my heart dropping to the floor in a puddle of dread.
“Yes dear,” she confirmed, smiling for the first time since I’d met her. It was a cold, serpentine smile that froze my hope and frightened my very soul. “Do not disappoint me.”
And she was gone, her heels clicking down the hallway as staccato as the frantic pounding of my heart.
Asmodeus was a hulk of a man, heavy dark brows over impossibly black eyes – Iranian, he told me. He was brusque and direct and brought with him a nightmare beast on a chain. It was a creature of shadow and malice, about the size of a horse, with fur that shifted like mist in the wind. It was eyeless – more room for teeth – with talons at the end of its four muscled legs. Claws meant to rip and tear and shred.
“This,” Asmodeus said. “Is your Deadline. Do not miss your assigned signature date.”
I learned very quickly how to creatively hide in a binding contract that we were stealing souls. I hadn’t been collecting agreements for monetary donations, I had been setting up bargains for souls. And now I was writing the very contracts would legally bind that soul to an unreachable agreement, and therefore to Purgatory.
I was literally damning people to Hell.
But if I didn’t, if I at all disappointed Lucifer, then my soul was forfeit.
So I worked my ass off for five years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days. I met Lucifer’s expectations. I impressed Asmodeus and the others on my level. I got the nickname of The Harvester. I did my job, and I did it well. I did what I had to, to survive.
It was that last contract, that one last job before I’d have been set free with my soul intact. An impossible negotiation that had already claimed the souls of six others. It was meant to trip me up, to make me fail, so that Lucifer could keep me.
But I have never failed at anything.
The clock ticked down, and the Deadline inched closer and closer, its hot breath stirring up gooseflesh on the back of my neck – but I continued to work. I would not fail. Not this close. I hadn’t come this far to lose it in the end.
I
Would
Succeed!
And I did. With only five minutes to spare, sure, but I got that final contract signed. I had done it! I was free…
Or I was supposed to be…
Oh…
Oh no. No, no… if you’re not five minutes early… shit.
I had missed the Deadline.
