Janna stood on the railing, her arms outstretched, the contract in her hand.
She squinted into the rain that slashed across her face, feeling herself swaying with the wind.
I blew it, God, she thought. I was a jerk and a creep; I used people; I was probably at least halfway to Hell before I signed the contract, and I'm sorry I did it. I'm sorry. If I had it to do over, I'd do it differently, but it's too late for me now.
She took a deep breath.
Too late for me.
The contract in her hand burst into flames.
Startled, shocked, she flung it away from her, lost her balance, and fell. Backward. Over the chair. Onto her balcony, where she lay on the concrete with her head ringing and aching and her ribs on fire from the place where they'd hit the chair on the way down. She watched the contract burn.
The rain stopped.
She looked up at the black sky, and a flash of lighting illuminated the clouds. She almost expected to see God looking down at her, but she saw only the rounded underbellies of the cumulonimbus clouds that scudded by, racing toward the sea.
The thunder rumbled.
Shaking, hurting, she sat up. Her contract with Hell had burst into flames when she'd said she was sorry. She was free. Her entire life lay before her, and if she didn't have guaranteed success in it, she had an endless stream of opportunities. She would make of them what she could.
She drew herself to her feet, and realized something was thudding against her front door. She wobbled a little as she hurried to answer it.
It burst open before she got there, and Dan charged in, shouted, "Christ, you're alive," and threw his arms around her.
She stood there like an idiot, with tears running down her cheeks. She wrapped her wet arms around him and sobbed. "I'm alive," she said. "I'm alive."
They held each other for the longest time, and when they pulled apart, she could see that he'd been crying as hard as she had.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," he said, stroking her hair. "There are some things in my past I need to tell you about. I was married once. My wife died of cancer. I promised myself when she died that I'd never fall in love again—that it hurt too much. But that's no way to live. It's like dying with her. And I'm not ready to die."
"Me either." She nodded. "I've kept my own secrets, too, Dan. I've used people, I've lied, I've done things to hurt people who never did anything to me. I may not be perfect in the future, but I'll be better. I've seen the other side."
"Do we have a chance together?" he asked her.
She looked at his face, imagining the two of them growing old together. Not a very Hollywood image—but she could see it. More importantly, she could believe it. "We have a chance. Not a guarantee, you know—"
He smiled. "A guarantee would be too easy."
She took his hands in hers, and nodded. She deserved better than guarantees.
He asked her, "Are you pregnant?"
Her eyes went wide. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"
"Something Puck said—that you were killing yourself and our baby because of me."
"No. Because of my own stupidity. Because I signed a deal with the devil, and thought that meant I couldn't repent. But it's never too late to repent."
"Not ever."
Something brushed against her leg. Something small, and furry. She looked down expecting to see the kitten—and indeed the little monster still had its kitten body—but its head had transformed into something hideous. Green, toothy, with glowing red eyes and mucus dripping from the cavernous nostrils, it grinned at her, then hissed.
She yelped, and Dan saw the little monster, and grabbed it, and chucked it off the balcony in one quick toss.
She shuddered, perhaps from standing in the air conditioning wearing soaking wet clothes, or perhaps from that last reminder of where she had been, and what had nearly become of her. She whispered, "A gift from Puck."
"I almost ended up with one of those myself," Dan said, and hugged her closer.