Sign Here by Claudia Lux
For my father, Thomas Lux, whom I miss
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threat’ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav’n.
—JOHN MILTON
What makes bitter things sweet? Hunger.
—ALCUIN, ADVISOR TO CHARLEMAGNE
BEFORE
PEYOTE
YOU ALREADY HAVE A lot of ideas about Hell. It’s amazing what Dante and thousands of years of folklore can do to a place’s reputation. I mean, I’m not going to lie to you: it is Hell. It’s not fantastic. But let’s see if this is relatable: You’re late to your aunt’s boyfriend’s birthday brunch because your alarm was on mute even though you know you turned it up the night before. You barrel onto the subway, managing to squeeze yourself between the woman blasting a Techno for the Lonely playlist and the man who farts every time he sneezes, and, just when the lights of the station are out of view, the train lurches to a stop with a death rattle and goes dark. The woman elbows you in the gut as she hits Replay, and the man’s snot tickles as it sprays your cheek, and you think about how you don’t even like your aunt’s boyfriend or even your aunt and you hate brunch, and what do you say? I’ll tell you; I’ve heard it a million times. You say, “This is Hell.”
Well, you’re right. That’s Hell. At least the top floors of it. Your priests and grandmas have good intentions—the ones who don’t wind up here—but their job is to keep you decent above ground, and if they said Hell was a never-ending brunch, you would be out there stealing and raping constantly.
Up here it’s not the fire-and-brimstone thing you think it might be. It’s music that’s too loud, food that’s too rubbery, and kissing with too much tongue. Doesn’t sound that bad, right? But don’t forget: it’s forever. I mean for-all-time forever. Not a lifetime. That’s a pebble compared to what I’m talking about. Hell is agitation for eternity. You can’t possibly fathom eternity; your little mortal brain would explode. A century feels like an hour, less with each millennium. With endless time and no peace, everyone breaks eventually.
I was about to break too. But then I got a promotion.
PART I
PEYOTE
“PEY, TEAM MEETING IN five,” KQ said, rapping on my desk. I jerked up from my screen. It was already ten o’clock.
“Right, I’ll be there. Thanks!” I replied, but she was knocking halfway down the row, her knuckles creating a muffled echo. I grabbed my notebook and my pen case, freed a mangled Cup O’ Noodles from the back of my drawer, and went to the kitchen.
“Heya, Pey, how’s it hanging?” Trey asked as he stood in front of the microwave, watching his frozen meal dissolve and recongeal.
“Just fine, thanks,” I said, peeling back the top to my lunch.
“The hot water is out.”
I looked at the coffee machine: OUT OF ORDER. I rolled my eyes. I filled the Cup O’ Noodles with the hottest water the sink allowed and got in line behind Trey.
“Who do you have nowadays? Anyone interesting?” he asked, opening the microwave before it beeped. The steam from his lunch hit my face. It smelled like warm broccoli.
“No one too good,” I answered. But for the first time in ages, I wasn’t worried. I did have something. Something big. I just wasn’t going to tell Trey.
He stayed in front of the microwave as he stirred his food, his smile almost as thick.
“Too bad, buddy, too bad. Did you hear I landed Spence Norwood? Wrapped that set up like a present.”
“Yeah, Trey, I heard. That’s great,” I said as I edged past him. I punched the thirty-seconds button and fished a plastic spoon from a drawer.
“Don’t worry, buddy. It’ll happen for you too. You’ve only been here, what, a minute?”
“Just about.”
The microwave beeped. I pulled the handle to find my cup drooped to one side, soup dribbling out. I pushed the sloppy Styrofoam back up, but it wouldn’t stick.
“Come on, dipshits!” KQ yelled, her hand on the conference room door.
“Coming!” I responded, trying to rip off a paper towel square and getting only a quarter piece.
* * *
—
“OKAY, EVERYONE, LET’S GET down to business. First things first: we have a couple of new faces here today. We didn’t ask for them and we don’t need them, but here they are anyway. So this means everyone is going to have to work even harder to prove their worth around here, assuming none of you is itching for the days of cleaning out the meat grinders Downstairs.”
The woman next to me slumped down in her chair, as if hoping to melt onto the floor and get out unnoticed. I reached for a bottle of water and offered her one, but she shook her head.
“Second: congratulations are in order!” KQ went on. “Trey, well done with the Norwoods! You’ve been chasing that white whale for a while, slick! Your fifth Complete Set!” KQ put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a rough shake.