vertigo that threw him to his knees. He picked himself up and made it to the end of the hall. He knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice called from inside.
Michael pushed open the door and went inside to meet his Maker.
Satan’s testimony was over quickly. He had dreaded getting up on the stand, but the plaintiff’s lawyers had made it clear that they weren’t going to cross-examine him. They said it would be “unholy” for them to even talk to someone as evil as Satan, and so Nero called him as a witness, and he sat in the box. He was surprised by how different the courtroom looked from up here. Judge Cody Gold dispensed with swearing Satan in, saying that he would not participate in blasphemy.
“You have heard the arguments made against you,” Nero said. “And so I draw your attention to the plaintiff. Do you recognize this woman?”
“No,” Satan said.
“Look carefully,” Nero said. “After all, she’s accusing you of something that happened a long time ago.”
“I’ve existed since before the dawn of time,” Satan said. “It’s not actually that long ago for me.”
“You’re sure you don’t recognize her?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did you molest this woman as she claims?” Nero asked.
“Well, the Eighties were kind of a bad time for everyone,” Satan said. “But I didn’t molest her.”
“Why should we believe that?” Nero asked.
“I don’t do that kind of thing,” Satan said. “A lot of people claim to be Satanists and start up Satanic cults but I don’t associate with them.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“And why not?”
“I don’t have much interest in mortals,” Satan said. “But I especially don’t have much interest in losers. And, generally, people in cults are losers.”
“So you deny, unequivocally, that you molested Frita Babbit.”
“Unequivocally,” Satan said.
He and Nero had rehearsed this. Nero had walked him through it dozens of times until he knew the script backwards and forwards. But he was still nervous.
“Is your penis shaped like a pitchfork?” Nero asked.
This wasn’t in the script.
Satan shook his head.
“For the record?” Judge Cody Gold asked, leaning in.
“My penis,” Satan said, through gritted teeth. “Is not shaped like a pitchfork.”
“No further questions, your honor,” Nero said.
It was time for closing arguments.
Eddie Horton went first. He stood in front of the bench, and someone on his team pressed “Play” on a CD player and the soft sounds of “I Will Remember You,” by Sarah McLachlan began to play as Horton reviewed the facts of the case. And then he struck home.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, every day there are over two hundred recorded cases of Satanic Ritual Abuse. With close to one million estimated Satan worshippers in this country there is a good chance that Satan is causing your child to be ritually abused right this minute. I want you to look at these pictures.”
He took a remote control out of his pocket and began to run through PowerPoint slides.
“This is Elian Gonzalez, this is Frankie Muniz, this is Dakota Fanning. Wonderful, talented child actors that never would have given us such heartwarming performances if they had been killed and/or eaten by Satan worshippers.
“You have been in this courtroom with Satan for over six days now. You have seen violence in the way he sits, you have seen the arrogance of his wardrobe, you have witnessed the sneering way he sometimes scratches the back of his neck. We have been in the presence of true evil and it has chilled my soul. I trust it has chilled yours, as well. Today you will be asked to go into the jury room and in private you will examine your consciences and decide on a verdict. I want to leave you with just one thought. When our Founding Fathers invented the justice system that we use today – the amazing justice system that lets us sue doctors for malpractice and pet store owners for selling us tiny dogs that turn out to be rats – when our Founding Fathers invented this system of law and order, did they do it because they loved Satan, or because they hated him? Think about it.”
He paused dramatically.
“Thank you.”
No one applauded, but Satan had seen a few jury members nodding in silent agreement during the speech. He didn’t know how Nero could counter this but, then again, Nero was a Roman Emperor, and Roman Emperors are not to be underestimated. Nero stood, threw the end of his dingy toga over one arm with a masterful flourish and strode to the center of the courtroom. He stood silently