While The Mistress is reminiscing and reading The People vs. Alex Cross The Devil passes the study in that shadowy, dream-like fashion of his. She sees this from the periphery and knows exactly where he’s headed. Trying to examine the guru again, are you? She thinks as she flips a page in the novel. She tries to continue reading when curiosity starts to rise in her.
For the past ten years she’s been living it up in The Devil’s corner mansion, she’s seen him go in that room in more or less good spirits (or whatever can be called good spirits in terms of The Devil) and come out of that room flustered, angry and frustrated, and sometimes. . .he doesn’t come out at all. Days, sometimes weeks (and one time a month) go by before The Devil comes back looking younger but somewhat drained and haggard. She’s never asked him what goes on in that room nor did she ever want to know (anyone The Devil personally deals with is in for some scary shit). She’d always supposed it would be too horrendous if she got involved; however, this time is different.
Her curiosity gets the best of her and she closes the book, forgetting to check the page she’s on before doing so. No matter, because what she’s about to witness is going to be better than reading about a fictional character trying to right the wrongs in his life through the legal system. She can feel it.
She walks (more like saunters) out of the room and turns right toward The Devil’s examination room. The door is cracked slightly and fluorescent light sneaks through it revealing the wooden leg of a hallway table with a vase of red and black roses and a burning incense stick in an incense holder on it. She walks stealthily to the door and looks through the crack where she can barely see The Devil’s dark and shadowy figure. She also sees something white, someone in a white robe with head wrapping (a turban?) laying on the table as a dead person lay in the coffin.
The person is very much alive, no doubt about that (if they were dead and The Devil had their soul they’d be being tortured). However, there’s something different about this person, very different. The Mistress is feeling some weird energy, some strange vibe, coming from this robed individual. It’s pure, loving, compassionate and . . . free. Yes, that’s the word for it. The energy from this person is free.
“So, you’re the great Yogi Mashallah,” The Devil says, “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”
“I finally get to meet The Devil himself,” Yogi Mashallah says with a kind voice, “I say the pleasure is mine.”
The Devil chuckles, “Put up that universal love front as much as you please. No, really, keep it up. It makes it that much easier to do what I have to do.”
“And what would that be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m going to skin your face and sink my claws into your brain.” The Devil replies. “I have to find out why.”
The Mistress doesn’t see it due to The Devil’s body obstructing her view, but the Yogi looks at The Devil with a knowing smile. A smile that knows a great many things in which The Devil doesn’t. Things that, if The Devil knew, would erase his existence once and for all.
“I see,” Yogi Mashallah nods looking at the fluorescent light shining on top of him, “then do what you must.”
“You have no objections to this?” The Devil asks. “You know I’m going to kill you, don’t you?”
“This body is only a vessel that contains spirit and is made of spirit.” The Yogi starts. “This body and this world around us we call reality is nothing but a fiction. We as an entity haven’t yet begun to understand the nature of existence, and though I am connected to the divine, the infinite, the oneness of the universe, it is still too vast for my limited mind to understand and this limited vessel to contain. Which is why I meditate on the mountains and consciously leave my body for twelve to sixteen hours at a time, to experience the profundity of The Absolute Truth.”
Absolute Truth? The Mistress thinks as she hears this, just what in the chains of hell is he talking about?
“That’s all well and good,” The Devil says, “but I’m afraid you’re going to be leaving your body for more than sixteen hours this time, and I’ll find what it is about you Yogis and Gurus that makes you so “connected to the oneness of the universe”, so to speak.”
Yogi Mashallah nods, “then do what you must.”
The Devil extends his hand and a black flame engulfs it up to the forearm for about ten seconds. When the flame goes out it leaves a wooden, obsidian black and smooth looking gauntlet with shadowy and dreamy claws. The gauntlet extends up The Devil’s forearm to the elbow in black, wooden curls that remind her of flowy hair. The Mistress has seen those claws before; in fact, she’s seen them many times. The Devil only uses the gauntlet for entities and creatures that have power comparable to his (and besides the big guy upstairs and the angels there aren’t too many).
The Devil raises the claw and prepares to go to work on the Yogi when suddenly he stops. No, The Devil doesn’t just stop, he freezes. The Mistress has never in her ten years with The Devil seen him freeze (except when he ejaculates on her butt). It seems like the claw develops a will of its own and is now resisting its wearer.
The Mistress tries to open the door wider without making a sound and manages to open it another three inches for a better look at what’s happening. What she sees is terrifying, bizarre, yet oddly fascinating. The Yogi is only looking at The Devil with a serene smile. She can feel the universal love energy permeating through the air, giving rise to feelings she hasn’t had since she was a kid that used to go with her father to lay in the fields and look at the sky every weekend. This energy brings back memories of baby blue skies and steel gray clouds that take on various shapes making their way slowly by. The grass swaying in the soft breeze coming in from the west and the leaves rustling in the tree fifty feet behind them, overlooking the harbor and the boats coming in and out of the dock and the seagulls flying through the air and over the deep blue ocean looking for fresh fish to eat, the mountains that look like silhouettes painted on a white canvas in the distance.
Tell me what you think in the comments! I read and reply to all of them and welcome feedback for improving my stories, poetry, and insights. Thanks for reading!