Experience the ultimate getaway in Heaven's Resort & Spa, where serenity meets pure bliss. Elevate your soul amidst eternal landscapes and unparalleled luxury that transcends the very essence of time. Newly Added: Pickleball!
Ding! The elevator door slid open.
Hopper’s eyes widened. “Dude... What the hell?” He glanced at Satan. “Uh. Sorry.”
Satan chuckled. “In this case, Hopper, I think you mean, ‘what the heaven.’”
Before them a pink lazy river extended endlessly, flanked on each side by large, open-concept wood and straw bungalows where contented residents received fullbody massages from winged Adonises - men and women of such pristine beauty that it was almost vomit inducing. The lazy river flowed through and beneath various sized islands dotted with tall palm trees and bushy green and blue fauna. A vast network of mahogany bridges connected the islands and bungalows, allowing residents of Heaven to come and go as they pleased.
Hopper scowled as he caught sight of a handful of individuals floating down the river, dressed in board shorts and Hawaiin shirts. The looks on their faces unsettled him, as if they were saying something along the lines of, ‘Oh, but you should see the Heaven next to my summer home in Spain! Ahahahaha hohohoho.’ Hopper wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been a hot pink resort and spa.
Satan smirked knowingly. “First time?”
“Are... are those rose petals in the river?”
“Cherry blossoms,” Satan replied. “Unseemly isn’t it?”
Hopper nodded surreptitiously.
They began to make their way across the bridges and islands, passing bliss-eyed souls moaning in response to the angels kneading their muscles.
“Ohhh... this reminds me of my vacation in Japan!”
“Wow. I think I’m ready to forgive my mother!”
On further scrutiny Hopper realized that the angels’ fingertips glowed with radiant, golden light, and that each motion of their fingers caused strange-colored smoke to billow out of the souls they were massaging. He turned to Satan with a look of puzzlement.
“The angels can relieve trauma through their massages,” Satan explained. “They literally work the emotional pain right out of you.”
Hopper frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to like... talk about their traumas?”
“Oh, they tried that. There used to be group and individual therapy sessions, led by real A-listers, too: Mother Theresa, Liu Xiaobo, Mr. Rogers. Some people liked that, but most of them complained to management. Eventually, the angels decided that this was easier. You’d be surprised the lengths people will go to in order to avoid talking about their feelings.”
“No kidding.”
As they walked Hopper began to notice how empty Heaven was. It wasn’t deserted. There were people out and about, yet for how massive the place was he’d have expected larger crowds. Nine out of ten massage beds were vacant, and the people floating down the lazy river were few and far in between.
He also began to notice something else: silent glares following them, angels scowling as they caught sight of the devil and his best torturer. Hopper decided it would be best to keep his eyes forward, fixed on the horizon. The view, admittedly, was splendid: great stone gorges in gray and beige gold, cut into steppes with blade-like precision; winding mountains red like clay, painted over by thick green and yellow and auburn shrubbery. The sun peeked out over the distant mountains, ruddy orange light reflecting beautifully in the rosy tint of the lazy river.
They made their way indoors into a particularly large bungalow, this one closed on all sides and made of stone. It was the first building Hopper had seen here that didn’t look like it had been culturally appropriated from South Asia.
There was a waiting desk at the entrance foyer, behind which stood a young, sandy-haired angel in khakis, sandals, and a white t-shirt with big, bold font that read, “Hard Rock Cafe.”
The angel’s face lit up as they approached. “Namaste, my dudes. How can I help improve your Heavenly nama-stay?” A luminous halo materialized above his head, like a cartoon lightbulb that signified an idea. Hopper made an exaggerated gagging sound. The angel’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Satan. His face hardened. “Oh,” he said dryly. “It’s you.”
“Dreadful afternoon, brother Raphael!” Satan exclaimed cheerfully.
The angel sneered. “You’re no brother of mine.”
Satan waved his hand dismissively. “Yes yes, forgiveness and mercy for me but not for thee. I get it, Raphy! I’ve been to church, you know.”
Raphael glowered at them. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”
“Oh, well, we have some rather urgent business with the big man.”
Raphael’s scowl deepened. “You’re here to see the Heavenly Father? What, did Hell freeze over?”
Hopper perked up. Why hadn’t he thought of that? In the past, Hell’s oppressive heat had been cause for all manner of suffering and complaints. These days, however, there existed a growing number who found the temperatures to be rather pleasant, moderate even. His assistant told him it had something to do with a human invention called ‘climate change.’
If the earth was getting too hot, however, then wouldn’t that make cold weather all the more blistering? Constant numbness and shivering, toes falling off, brutal starvation... Yes, a frozen Hell might just work. Hopper reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and withdrew his notepad. He began furiously scribbling down notes.
“Hey!” Raphael snapped. “What are you writing down?”
Hopper flushed and stopped what he was doing. “Uh... sorry. Just had a really good idea.”
Raphael studied him for a moment, then, apparently deciding Hopper wasn’t worth the effort, turned back to Satan. “Alright, listen. In order to get past me you need a signed waiver and appointment confirmation sheet. Do you have those?”
Satan pursed his lips. “I’m afraid this issue is far too urgent to wait fifty years for your bureaucracy to approve it. We need to see God now.”
Raphael shrugged. “If you don’t have the appropriate paperwork, I can’t help you.”
The angel seemed almost happy to be denying them. There was a spitefulness in his expression that reminded Hopper of the ‘devil’s advocate’ types from his time as a human - the people who would smugly make arguments in favor of crazy human things like fascism and slavery just for the heck of it.
It had always puzzled him how surprised those guys were when they arrived in Hell at the end of their lives. Like, dude, you were talking up Hitler because he had Fritz Todt build the autobahn. Why are you so surprised to be here? Admittedly, it was always fun to introduce them to the real devil’s advocates, the attorneys in charge of deciding exactly how much punishment a given soul deserved.
Thinking of the devil’s advocates gave Hopper an idea.
“Hang on,” he interrupted. “You’re Raphael, right? Like, the angel of healing?”
The angel turned to him. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, I’m confused. What’s a big, important Seraph like you doing playing concierge? Shouldn’t you be like, visiting doctors and therapists on earth to give them divine inspiration or something?”
Raphael huffed indignantly. “I serve at the Heavenly Father’s pleasure.”
“And he’s got you greeting tourists? Ouch.”
Satan snickered.
The angel’s face reddened. “Do you have a problem with me, bruh?”
Hopper raised his palms in a placating gesture. “No no, of course not! I’m just surprised. Such a skilled, high ranked angel like you? Your talents seem like they’d be way better suited somewhere else. Like, you’re healing, man! That’s totally dope.”
“Hm!” Raphael mused. “It is totally dope, isn’t it?”
“For sure, dude. Healing’s badass. Surgery, therapy, spiritual cleansing, self actualization... I mean, you’re basically the reason people seek out religion.”
“I am, aren’t I?!”
Hopper nodded surreptitiously. “Honestly, you should be God’s right hand man.”
“You’re right!” Raphael exclaimed. “I should be God’s right hand man, not that meathead Gabriel. Like, seriously, the angel of destruction? I mean, when was the last time we even went to war?!”
Hopper put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Just doesn’t seem fair. But listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to think, or anything. I’m just some bureaucrat. I’d never question God’s plan.”
Raphael's brow furrowed angrily. “It’s not even God’s plan! It’s that dick Metatron. He’s the one in charge of heavenly assignments. Not sure why a freakin’ wheel with eyes gets to decide all that...”
Hopper nodded in agreement. “Well hey, man, listen. Maybe we can help each other out. You get us in to see God, we put in a good word for you.”
The angel scowled. “And why would God listen to a couple of demon chucklefucks like you?”
Hopper shrugged. “For starters, Mr. Satan here is clearly God’s favorite.”
Raphael seemed taken aback. “How do you figure?”
“I mean, think about it. Mr. Satan rebelled, caused a whole ass war - the last war you guys were all in, and what does God do? Gives him rule of the biggest domain in the universe!”
Raphael hesitated. He seemed to be weighing Hopper’s words.
Hopper decided to drive it home. “Say what you like about Hell, but the truth is it has more than twenty times the number of residents that Heaven does. That’s a pretty big kingdom if you ask me. Seems to me Mr. Satan knows how to push God’s buttons. I’m no expert, but it’s almost like God rewards initiative like Mr. Satan’s.”
Raphael knitted his brow in consternation. He thought for a long moment, stamping his feet like a horse kicking the ground. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll do it. I’ll take you to God.”
Satan bowed dramatically. “Thank you, good sir! We won’t forget this.”
Raphael rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever.”
The angel led them further into the bungalow, through a series of corridors within which the walls were lined with doors to private rooms where people received VIP massages, played indoor pickleball, and chatted about what they considered to be their life’s great accomplishments.
“So in the end I donated three mill to Black Lives Matter.”
“That’s cool, man. I really didn’t pay attention to that stuff until after Trump got elected. It was a real wakeup call for me, you know? Like wow, politics matter. Politics affect us.”
Finally they arrived at a different area, a maze of cubicles and offices. The change was so abrupt that it was like they’d crossed some dimensional threshold into a totally different space, less a bungalow and more a New York skyscraper. Enormous, central-pane windows at the edges of the room opened up to reveal four different sunsets; one oceanic, another mountainous, a third dominated by city-scape.
Raphael brought them to a large corner office with a closed, golden door upon which a thick, calligraphic “H” was displayed.
“Good luck,” the angel told them. “And don’t forget to put in a word for me!”
“Will do,” Hopper said.
Satan stepped forward, then turned the doorknob and opened it. He sauntered into the office, Hopper following just behind him.
As they entered the office, however, Satan’s eyes grew wide. “What the hell?!” He pointed at the man seated behind the desk. “You’re not God!”
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