Do you believe in the devil?

Slade's question hung in the air between us.

I searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but found none.

You're serious?

I asked for my seat facing his desk.

Listen, Slade said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his brand new desk. Forget for a minute that we've known each other for a long time.

Forget that we've been friends for years.

Forget that our wives are friends.

Try to think of me as your boss now.

I know it's a strange transition,

but I have to believe that you would be asking me the same if you'd got

the promotion in my place. Slade smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming out at me under his

bright blue eyes. So, he continued, do you believe in the devil? No, I said, suddenly nervous,

running a hand through what little hair I had left on my head.

I'm a man of science, Slade. You know that. Please, Fletcher, Slade said, leaning back in his wing

back to chair. While we're interacting in an official capacity, call me Dr. Slade.

Right, sorry, I said. my eyes darting down to his desk

and landing on the picture of his wife. My gaze lingered on the beautiful woman for a moment,

too long. And when I looked back up at Slade, he was smiling sadly at me, pityingly. I willed

him to let it go, to just get on with whatever he'd called me into his new office

for.

But he didn't.

...