The Middle Son

“It may take more than a lifetime to discover yourself.”

Beelzebub was thumbing through the report as he walked down the hallway. And by the look on his face, he wasn’t happy. He kicked open his office door.

His administrative assistant chimed out, “Good morning, Satan.”

He glowered at his assistant, “Karrrenn, what have I said about that?

“Oh, sorry, boss. Hail my Darkness!”

“Better, Karen. Is my nine o’clock here?”

“Yes, my Darkness. He’s in the waiting room.

“Great, I’ll page you after I get settled in.

“As you wish, my Lord of Darkness.

He turned back just before entering his office, “Oh, and Karen, get that AC fixed, or it’ll be coming out of your hide!”

A gruesome grin spread across his crimson face as he thought,

“Let the torment begin! Because he knew that all AC repairmen go directly to Heaven.”

Beelzebub crackled into a Jack Daniels and Camel cigarette laugh, “Ha Ha Ha Ha.”

He drops the report on his desk and sits down. He leans back, plops his feet on his desk, and thinks, “Another day in Hell. How did I get so damn lucky!” He looks up at the poster on the back of his office door and beams with pride. 

On the poster was the cutest little kitten hanging on for dear life. Underneath the kitten was the caption, “Hang in there, Baby.”

This simple poster was the reason why Dad had given him this job. He had proposed placing these posters all around Hell. He was stunned when his Dad said, “Beelzebub, my boy, that’s a good idea. Give those pathetic souls a glimmer of hope and then crush it. Bloody brilliant!”

And Heaven knows, it wasn’t easy to get on Dad’s good side, especially being Satan’s middle son. Yet every day, Dad would call and ask the same damning question, “What have you done for me today?” 

Running Hell is no easy job. Beelzebub grimaced as he looked down at the newbie’s folder. He was stumped. None of the tortures that Hell is renowned for had done the trick. What the heck was he gonna do? I mean, Hell had a reputation to uphold. He had a reputation and a legacy to maintain. If he didn’t fix this situation with the newbie, he’d eventually have to report this to Dad, and that would not be a “Happy day in Hell.”  

The report before him documented the newbie’s multiple infractions. Page after page, there were reports of this idiot smiling, yes smiling, and smiling was not permitted.   Beelzebub flipped the pages of the newbie’s HR files. He could see that this guy wasn’t crazy. He was just a regular joe that was cosmically un-fucking lucky.  

When this sap died, he was sent to Purgatory to work off a few minor misdemeanors preventing him from ascending directly into Heaven. In Purgatory, he did everything expected of him. Yet every time the parole board green-lighted his entry into Heaven, he deferred saying, “I’m good; surely there is someone else more deserving of seeing the Big Gal.”  The parole committee would look at each other, shrug, and send him back to Purgatory. This scenario occurred time after time.

Time doesn’t pass quickly in Purgatory. And it can be excruciating for those anxious to get to Heaven. Beelzebub found multiple incidents where this guy, whose earth name was Bob, would go out of his way to help others cope with their TAG syndrome (Time Away from God syndrome). Beelzebub wondered why someone would give up his shot at Heaven, so he called one of the recordings hoping to figure this soul out.  

Beelzebub watched as this solitary sad sack wandered around Purgatory, savoring the sunsets, studying the leaves and the trees, and spending countless hours talking to anyone he came across who was sad or crying. There was one recording that caught his attention.

Bob approached a crying young woman in one of Purgatory’s pastoral meadows.

“What’s wrong?” asked Bob.

The young lady looks up from the park bench. Bob sees her red and swollen eyes that mar but does not hide her beauty. 

Between sobs, she snaps, “I’m in limbo; that’s what is wrong! We are all in limbo. And I don’t deserve to be here.” She pauses, then continues softer, “You see, I was on my way to confess my embezzlement to the CEO when I ran that red light.” 

Even through her blurry eyes, she made out the stranger’s features. His strong jaw, black hair, and broad nose would fade into any crowd if it weren’t for his eyes. His eyes were a deep and penetrating blue. 

Bob motioned a request to sit on the park bench, and the woman nodded. Bob’s brow furrowed as he began, “I’ve been here a long time too. I have a lot of issues to work out, not the least, discovering my purpose.” He looks around at the grass meadow, then returns his gaze to the woman next to him. “Apologies, my name is or was Bob.”  She looks down coyly and says, “Mine is Linda.”

“Very nice to meet you, Linda.”  She turns to Bob but can’t bring herself to break the silence. She begins to fidget with her handkerchief. 

Bob broke the awkward silence, “In life, I was a son of a bitch. There was no limit to what I’d do to stand out from my perfect older brother or my darling little sister, a typical middle child.” 

Bob pursed his lips and continued, “After my death, I was in complete denial. You see, I was never a strong religious believer. In my twenties, I began to shop around for a new religion. Yet I kept finding that each religion’s corporate structures interfered with their core teachings, so eventually, I just “read their holy books and ditched the classes.”  These teachings taught me to look inward. They helped but did not fix me before I died.” Bob looked down into his folded hands and paused.  

“Linda, why do you feel so sad?”

Linda wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t belong here.”

She takes a deep breath, “I had decided to turn myself in. I had all the papers detailing how I had embezzled millions of dollars from the corporation.” As she exhaled, she softly muttered, “I was coming clean.”

 She swallowed hard, “The closer I got to the corporate offices, the better I felt about my confession, and the better I felt, the faster I drove.”  She glanced over at Bob, “I never saw that the light had changed. The next thing I remember was landing here, Purgatory, heavens waiting room, aka Heaven’s DMV.”

As Linda took a deep breath, she turned to look at Bob. His gentle smile gave her the strength to continue. “I guess that all that money I took hurt many people. Whole divisions shut down. Towns died. All to allow me to enjoy the finer things in life.” 

Linda stiffened and continued. “Bob, let me tell you about the finer things in life. It’s a “lost leader.”  The chase for the finer things only begets a desire for more and more until it is no longer a thing you desire; it becomes a hole in your soul that you need to fill. A void you can never fill.”

She started sobbing again. Bob asked, “Is that why you decided to turn yourself in?”

Linda sniffled and, through her watery eyes, said. “There was a particular incident. Corporate sent to one of our company towns in middle America. Our plant had been closed for over a year, and I was there to dispose of those assets. I stood in front of that shuttered factory, impatiently waiting for the auction company to arrive when I noticed a dirty little child playing next to a rusting lean-to.

The young child busied herself in a solitary game of stacking and unstacking some old paint cans. The little child hurried over to me when I got out of my car. “Hi, nice lady, can you help my mommy?”  I barely looked down at the dirty little waif. I opened my purse and fumbled for some money. “Here you go, give this to your mommy.”  The waif looked at the cash and cocked her head. “My mommy is sick.”  Figuring that this was some well-practiced ploy, I grabbed larger bills and offered them to the dirty little con artist. “Here you go, now GO AWAY!”  The waif remained motionless. “My mommy is really sick, and she needs help. Will you help her?” Now completely perturbed and only wanting this little ragamuffin to go away before the auction reps arrived, I said, “Where is your mommy?” I thought, “I’m going to give this woman a load of shit for pimping out her daughter to beg.”

The child pointed to the corrugated lean-to. 

“Show me.” I demanded.   

As we walked towards the lean-to, a faint but familiar aroma increased.  

I knew that smell.  

I experienced the same stench as a little girl on my family farm. It triggered those memories when my Dad and I discovered that calf that had gotten tangled in the barb-wire fence and then greedily torn to shreds by the wolves. 

In the shadow of the lean-to was the child’s mother, her arm cinched off with some surgical tubing and a syringe dangling her arm. The fading sunlight illuminated her calf-like eyes. I stood transfixed. Her dead eyes were still searching for an answer to the pain of life. I don’t know how long I stood there until the little girl woke me from my trance, “Please help my mommy. Please!” 

A soft sigh escaped her pursed lips, “I don’t even remember calling 911. When the authorities arrived, I told them why I was here and what had transpired. As I talked to them, my internal dialog whipped into high gear.

This junkie had made her choices. I didn’t put that needle into her arm; I did not sentence her daughter to a life as an orphan. “

Linda grabbed Bob’s hand. “Bob, Purgatory has allowed me to think about that incident and others. I am crying because although I did not put the poison into that mother’s veins, I created a slippery slope for poor souls like her to lose hope.”  

She looked up into Bob’s generous blue eyes. “She lost hope, Bob. I had taken her hope, and hope is the last rung before you fall into the pit of despair. I had stolen the money, their hopes, dreams, and for what? All to fill the void in my soul.”

Bob handed her his handkerchief. Linda took it and wiped her eyes. Bob continued, “Linda, I know I followed a selfish path for most of my life, and it brought me no pleasure.” He turned to look into her bleary eyes, “Does sitting here alone and crying make you feel better?”

Linda winced at his words. She felt that old pain in the pit of her stomach. “Not really, No.”   Bob looked deep into her eyes, “Where does your pain come from?”

Linda dabbed her eyes and looked up. Bob watched as the sun broke through the branches to illuminate her beautiful face. She turned to Bob and said, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The silence that followed felt like the entire world held its breath in anticipation. 

After an eternity of introspection, Linda turned to Bob. “I guess that is why I am here. I’m here to discover that answer.

Beelzebub paused the recording and thought to himself,

This guy was good! He had a real knack for this stuff!

He skipped ahead and watched as “Bob” wandered around Purgatory. He thought Bob would still be strolling there today if God hadn’t got the bright idea to do away with Purgatory entirely.

Now God is a genius. She is a big picture gal, always looking for a better way. So, when she got it into her head to streamline Heaven and Hell, there was no stopping her. God’s big idea was to do away with Purgatory. But she left the details to her angels.  

The angels decided to let Purgatory empty itself through attrition. Bob never noticed that Purgatory was getting less and less crowded. He just continued rediscovering himself by helping others discover themselves.    

As Purgatory’s deadline approached, the Angels made their final checks, but Bob’s paperwork somehow got lost. In those final moments, as the beauty of Purgatory rose to Heaven, that lost soul known as Bob fell to Hell.

Beelzebub sat up and said aloud, “And that is when he became my problem. Thanks, Gabriel, you self-righteous prick! “

He continued thinking to himself,

“I’m good at my job. I know how to deal with the slithering likes of money changers and righteous politicians, but this guy, sure as Hell, didn’t belong here.

Bob never bitched, moaned, or cried “poor me” about anything. Like when I told him to make the flames go higher, he silently responded by shoveling faster.   He never asked what happened to Purgatory or how he’d ended up in Hell. Nope, just keep shoveling the brimstone and did a great job at it. The fires of damnation have never been so hot. Now he wasn’t perfect. Oh, nooo. There were several times we caught him singing. We told him there is no singing in the nether world, Oh, and no smiling either. Only I get to smile down here.

It wasn’t long before I started running out of new fiendish tortures for him. Then I remembered the Sisyphus ordeal. I told him that if he could just roll that massive stone up that hill and keep it there for one hour, I’d send his sorry ass up to Heaven. The simplicity of this torment and its soul-crushing results made me smile every time I thought about it. Truth be told, I was half hoping he’d succeed so I could get him out of my hair.

I’d watch him arrive each day with the precision of a watchmaker. He’d place his hand on that stone and push. He struggled so hard that every muscle in his body would quake. Eventually, he’d gotten quite good at it and made it to the top several times. Yet the game is rigged, and the massive stone would invariably roll back down that hill. I can still see him smiling when he made it to the top. He never complained. He’d stand silently and stoically watch that rock and his heavenly chances rumble away when his strength gave out. I always wondered what was going on in his mind. What in the hell was Bob thinking?”  

Bob came to work every day not because he enjoyed pushing that massive stone up that hill. He came to enjoy the view his struggles afforded, even if that pleasure was fleeting. 

As his workday started, he’d stretch his now-massive muscles and hunker down behind the stone that stood twice his height. He placed his calloused hands against the rock and started to push. As the stone began to roll, he felt how much smoother it was than when this torture started. He smiled, realizing he had metamorphosed this stone through his repeated failures. 

His every step strained every muscle as he inched the boulder up the hill. As he pushed the stone higher, his only view was the granite patterns that played like a kaleidoscope in front of his face. He began to treat the random patterns like musical notes that rose and fell as he progressed to the top of this hill. This imaginary symphony lifted his spirits as he maintained his slavish pace up this incline.

On the rare occasions when he did make it to the pinnacle, he’d take that moment to look around. From his vantage, he’d survey the landscape of lost souls in the ninth level of Hell. The fiery fresco before him was awash with the consuming fires of regret and the lamentations of hopeless souls.

All around him, the devils danced to the songs of these tormented souls. The devils grew fat on these lamentations. Hopelessness rose and fell in the rhythm of an unseen conductor’s baton. Bob felt their despair wash over him. The full fury of that desperation consumed him. Regrets from his tattered relationships with his mother started to drown all his hope. It pulled him down, deeper and deeper. Suddenly a single image of an ocean sunrise flooded his mind. It was enough to allow him to break his regret’s surface and breathe in hope. Hope that gave him the will to go on as he watched that boulder rumble back down the hill.

Beelzebub had learned enough; he pushed down on the intercom, “Karen, send in my nine o’clock.”

Karen opened the door to the boss’s office with Bob in tow. She motioned for Bob to sit in the lone chair before her boss’s massive black onyx desk.

 Beelzebub did not look up from the files on his desk until he heard Karen close the door behind her.   The Red King stared down at this unfortunate soul from his terrible throne. In a voice like a deep iron bell, he began.

“Bob, you are a pain in my ass! And from your HR report, you’ve been a pain in everyone’s ass. I have no idea why I was the one to get stuck with you except that Hell is the ultimate dumpster of souls.”  The dark lord pauses and impatiently taps his pen on his desk. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

The “Magistrate of Madness” voice bolted Bob into a stiff posture as he replied, “Are you unhappy with my performance?”

Beelzebub leans across the desk, and through clenched teeth, he spoke, “Why in hell would I summon you here if you hadn’t been screwing up?” 

Bob tenses, “I’ve done everything that anyone has asked. What more can I do?”

A puzzled look crossed the Master of Darkness’s face. “You can’t be that clueless. Don’t you understand the basic premise of this place? Didn’t you read the inscription over the gates of Hell when you came here? “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, blah, blah, blah!”  Does this ring a bell?”

Now it was Bob’s turn to look puzzled, “What gate? I just dropped into your pit of fire and brimstone. I don’t remember any gate. “

Beelzebub looked down and hurriedly thumbed his way through the HR report. Sure, enough, this guy did not go through the regular onboarding training. “Oh, I see. “ Beelzebub gave himself a moment to regain his righteous anger, “Let me give it to you now. Your time in Hell is to be a soul-sucking experience. We work hard to design your stay for maximum pain; the only pain I can see is the pain you are causing in my ass.”

Bob leaned in towards the “Dictator of Damnation,” “No one told me.”

In the silence, Bob leaned back in his chair and asked. “Do you market this place with that same line, “Abandon all hope,…” Doesn’t sound too appealing.” 

Now it was Beelzebub’s turn to think, “No, it doesn’t sound very appealing but let me tell you, it hasn’t reduced the flow of hapless saps knocking at our gates. No matter how bad I make Hell sound, they keep coming and coming. Let me tell you; my job keeps getting more and more hectic. Sometimes things get so crazy that I think my Dad’s promotion to Chairman of Hades was just a way to screw me over.”  

Bob leaned into the Devil and asked, “Your dad would do that to you?”

Bob’s question threw Beelzebub back in his chair. After an instant of reflection, the crimson chairman’s face cracked into incredulity as he began,

“Dad would do that and more! Can you imagine what kind of bullshit dear old Dad pulled to get his ass kicked out of Heaven. What does it take to get “The all-merciful God Almighty” to kick you out of Heaven and build Hell to hold you? Yep, he’s that kind of guy.”

Bob looked down at his hands, then back up at the “Raiser of Ragnarok” and asked, “Sounds like your dad has some pretty big issues.”

Bob thought about all the stories he had heard during his journeys in Purgatory. Life stories of the reoccurring patterns of generational pain, anger, and misery. In a soft voice, Bob continued,

“How does that make you feel?”  

Beelzebub didn’t know how he felt about it. As the middle child, he had spent his life striving for Dad’s attention.

In a whisper, Beelzebub murmured, “I know my Dad is an asshole. It’s his job, his life’s mission. Whenever anyone thinks of doing something horrendous, they look to him for the How-To video.”  He gulped a long pause.

“But he’s, my Dad!

Bob looked into the Devil’s eyes. Was that a tear sizzling on his cheek? Bob paused out of respect, then asked. “Is that all you are? Are you just Satan’s middle child?”

The question hung in the air like falling ash.

Beelzebub lowered his head into his hands, “I guess I’m a product of that environment. And my older brother isn’t much better; he’s earned his nickname of Son of Satan! Sometimes I feel I don’t belong in this family. Like I’m just going through the motions. Just trying to be the dutiful son. But it doesn’t feel right; it’s not me; it’s not the real me.”    

After a while, Beelzebub raised his head out of his hands, sat up straight, and took a deep breath. “Bob, life is a shit-show. And maybe that’s why I ended up running this place. I don’t know if I deserve this place, or this place deserves me, but we got each other.” 

The Devil of darkness looks down at the report on his desk. “Bob, you are a problem. Specifically, you are my problem. You don’t belong here, but there you are, sitting right across from me.”  A grin cracked his face. “Bob, let me be blunt. You just ain’t working out. You’ve been singing.” The Devil flipped another page. “You have multiple smiling infractions” He flipped several more pages. “God damn it, you enjoy whatever torment we throw at you.”  He dropped the accumulated reports on his desk.   “Bob, I am afraid we are gonna have to let you go.”

The Devil’s statement hit Bob like a falling piano.  

Beelzebub shook his head, “But Bob, I don’t know where that leaves you. You died, then served your time in that place formerly known as Purgatory. After that, you served an eternity in Hell. And let me tell you that if Saint Peter can’t find you on his list, he won’t allow your ass into Heaven.”   

Beelzebub closed the file and stared at Bob. “Bob, before I got this chance to talk to you, I relished just kicking you out and seeing what happened.”  Then the “Devil of lost opportunities” did something he had never done before. He pulled a glossy trifold pamphlet from his drawer.

“Bob, a new opportunity has just opened up. I don’t know if you’ll take this as good news or bad, but there is an opening in the collections department.” 

Bob cocked his head, “Collections department?”

“Bob, you might know them as the GRC (Grim Reaper Corps). This corps is the backbone of both Heaven and Hell. And I can tell you; I’ve never met a soul that would be a better fit since you sure as Hell don’t fit in any other place.”

Bob stroked his chin and leaned back, and read the cover of the pamphlet,

“Be all you can be, be a reaper of one! That had a nice ring to it.”

Bob asks, “What’s it like being in the Grim Reaper Corps?”      

Beelzebub jumped up from his chair and began jumping jacks as he explained, “You’ll need to make it through Bootcamp, but after your time in Hell, that’ll be a piece of cake for you. Then you take some university-level classes and labs where you’ll learn the science and the art behind the harvesting of souls.”

A slightly winded Beelzebub sat back down and continued, “Bob, you are a man perfectly suited for this career. You’ve been on both sides, you’ve been a devil, and you’ve been a saint. You’ll be able to guide those darker souls directly to the Iron Gates of Hell, and with the same aplomb, you’ll gracefully escort the gentler souls to the Pearly Gates.” Beelzebub paused to let this sink in. “I’ll even put in a personal recommendation for you.”  The Devil took a deep breath, “What do you think?”

Bob flipped through the pages on the brochure. The more he read, the bigger his smile grew. For the first time in his existence, he felt that all his experiences had led him to this single question.  

“Am I Reaper material?”   

Bob looked up from the pamphlet, “Satan, err Beelzebub; I’ll do it!” 

As the words came out, it filled Bob with a sense of calm. He felt that it all fit for the first time. That his crazy life had all been for this single purpose.

Beelzebub stood up and extended his hand. “Great, Bob, I believe this career is perfect for you.” 

Bob shook Beelzebub’s hand and knew he had gotten the better of the Devil. As they released their respective grips, Bob disappeared. Bob was off to start the career of an after-lifetime. 

Beelzebub sat back down, and, for the briefest instant, a warm satisfaction rose in his chest.

He thought, “Did I help a soul find its purpose?”

He shook his head and reprimanded himself, “No, that was not him; that’s not something the “Demon-Lord of the Damned” would do. He was Satan’s middle son, for Christ’s sake.”  

He squinted his face as a thought flashed in his mind, “But was that all he was?”

His finger hovered over the intercom as the full force of that question settled in his chest.  

The moment passed; he pressed the intercom.

“Karen, bring me the report for my ten o’clock.”

“Yes, my Darkness.

“And Karen, get that damn AC working, or there will be Hell to pay!”

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