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"C'mon, Howie, knock it off. You don't have to prove anything."
    If I could have taken her statement to mean "Because I believe you," that would've been good enough and I would have ceased ringing the bell. Unfortunately, she clearly means, "Because nothing will happen and you'll look like an idiot," and so I must continue.
    Tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkle tinkle .
    My hand is starting to get tired. See? Even with it being a miniscule plastic bell, the ringing process is tiring. That is why I was provided with this particular bell and not some giant black iron behemoth that would be impossible to ring a sufficient number of times without collapsing from exhaustion. Everything makes sense when you apply simple logic.
    "Was that six hundred and sixty-six?" Rick asks.
    "No. We're just over five hundred," I inform him.
    "This all seems kind of inconvenient."
    "Oh, sure, because it makes sooooo much sense that the process of summoning the devil should be so convenient that you can do it just by grabbing the bell from my desk and shaking it a couple of times," I say, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in my voice. "Think about what you're saying, Rick!" I don't have to treat him with respect any longer. You can't respect somebody who is moments away from being skewered by a flaming pitchfork.
    I switch the bell to my left hand and continue ringing.
    Six hundred (approximately).
    I want to cackle with maniacal laughter about what is to occur, but I have to remember that we're still in a place of business, and professional conduct is expected. I can't stop myself from grinning, though.
    I ring so fast that my hand tingles.
    And finally I reach the Ring of the Beast. I ring ten more times just in case.
    I give a satisfied nod to my doomed antagonists . . . but then my grin vanishes.
    What have I done?
    Oh, God, what have I done?
    To prove a point to my co-workers, I have brought Hell to the offices of Tyler & Bettin Inc. How can I call myself a Christian when I would so selfishly summon Lucifer himself for no reason but to make Rick from Corporate Accounting look foolish?
    Satan may not have arrived yet, but there is still an evil presence in this room, and it is I.
    I am so displeased with myself that I want to scream. Rivers of blood will flow over our keyboards and mice. Our printers will melt and sizzle in the hellfire. My co-workers ridiculed me, but did they really deserve this eternal overtime of misery?
    What can I do to stop this?
    Though I'd said that a net couldn't hold Satan, that had merely been an educated guess. If we have one around, it is certainly worth a shot. I want to shout for my co-workers to try to find one, but I am so terrified and appalled by my own behavior that I can't speak. I gesticulate frantically, while they stand around my desk, still looking amused.
    "Hello? Satan?" Rick calls out, unaware that he is almost certainly making himself the first target.
    I have to stop this! But what can I do? What could ward off the Prince of Darkness? What does he hate most in the world?
    And then I realize the answer.
    Love.
    The power of love can stop the Beast from invading our plane of existence. A kiss, true and pure. Upon sensing the expression of human love, the devil will be so repulsed that he might — might — return to his hellish plane and leave us alone.
    I gaze at Patricia.
    She turns and sadly walks away from my desk.
    I think I can hear a rumbling sound in the distance. It reminds me of the ventilation system, but I am in no condition to accurately judge sounds and know there is no time to spare. I have to express pure love now .
    I stand up, whisper "I love you," then pull Rick toward me and kiss him on the lips. I don't really love him, but perhaps Satan will be fooled.
    The chaos is so great that for a moment I think Satan has arrived. But, no, they are merely reacting to my act of redemption. Not in a positive way. Still, they can judge me all they want as long as I've staved off the