Foust Legend

The Barstool

Grant Scott took in everything around him. He smelled rotting flowers and dirt as he was looking at his older brother Mike’s tombstone. It was an unseasonably cold and rainy for June, and it was exactly one week since his older brother’s death. Grant was never the best at anything he did. His parents were not proud of him, they only cared about Mike. Mike was the class Valedictorian, class President, and captain of every team he was ever played for, one could say he was the perfect child. When he died the summer before his freshmen year of college at Princeton, his parents were devastated, and Grant decided that he was going to make his parents proud and take over Mike’s place in their hearts. Grant was going to become the best doctor in the world, at any cost.

His senior year of high school, Grant was accepted into Harvard, and he got okay grades, but not the great grades his brother Mike would achieve with very little effort. He knew there was barely any chance that he was going to get into the Medical School. So, he crafted a plan to pay a brilliant doctor he knew to impersonate him and take his MCAT test so he would have a chance to get into the Medical School at Harvard. His score on the exam was one of the best that Harvard had ever received, so the school gave him a partial scholarship to their Medical School. Almost as soon as classes began in the fall, his grades started to slip even more than usual. He was failing out of Medical School.  Out of desperation he began cheating on his tests, and eventually he got caught. Grant was certain he would be expelled, and sure enough when he returned to his apartment one evening there was a message for him to meet with the Dean of the Medical School, Dean Flier.

Feeling extremely worthless on the dark, moonless, December night, he turned to his poison of choice; alcohol, and began to drink away. It was the night before he was going to have to meet with Dean Flier, and he was not looking forward to the meeting. After his bottle ran dry in his apartment, he went outside and started wandering around campus. After fifteen minutes of strolling he came across an area of town that he was unfamiliar with. The vast area looked abandoned, but he saw red neon in the distance that read the word “BAR”, it was just what he was looking for so he walked on. Once he reached the door, he saw through his blurred vision that the name was “Lucifer’s”. He opened the door and tripped inside. The grimy, dingy place was nearly empty, except for the bartender, clad in black leather biker gear, filled with piercings, and sporting a red Mohawk hair style. Grant choose his barstool, one of many, and the only seat that did not have a name etched into the rear. He ordered a Bloody Mary and after that the bartender gave him a few shots of Hot Damn! red cinnamon schnapps, on the house. They burned his throat on the way down, but made him feel fiery. Grant told his whole story to the bartender, and mentioned how he was sure that he would be expelled tomorrow. The bartender said that he knew of somebody that could help him, and he motioned to Grant to follow him into the warehouse. Grant was unsure but went along anyway. He thought that maybe he was going to be offered some sort of drug that would make him more focused.  He followed the bartender into the warehouse.

 The warehouse was large, and black. The walls were made of what seemed to be steel, and it was filled with dozens of industrial sized metal shelves that held what looked to be hundreds of the same red leather seated barstools from the bar, all with different names scratched on to them. He gasped; he saw a name that he had recognized. It was his brother’s name! He wondered why, but did not have the courage to ask the burly bartender. He was led through the maze of shelves until they reached a large desk. Behind the desk there was a red leather chair with bold black letters that spelled out “Lucifer”. The chair was turned around backwards, but Grant could see the sleek slicked black hair of the man behind the chair, and he could also see that he had unusually long fingernails on his boney white hands. Lucifer greeted the bartender, but still did not acknowledge Grant. After a few moments of tense silence, the mysterious man began to talk, “I heard on the street, that you Grant, are failing out of med school and will be expelled. I have an offer for you, a way to change you circumstances. However, it comes at a cost. I will bestow upon you the most brilliant medical mind of your generation. You will live a life of fame and fortune as a result of your mental ability. You will be remembered throughout history; essentially you will be the most intelligent doctor in this century.” Lucifer said all of this facing backwards, but Grant felt as though he was grabbing onto his soul through his piercing words. His voice also seemed familiar, but Grant could not place who it was.

“That would be the greatest thing that could ever happen to me. I cannot wait to start my new life. What did you say the cost was?” Not that it mattered. Grant was sold.

“The price is very high. You give me your soul, and I make you the brightest doctor in the world!” Lucifer said with a devilish laugh.

Grant did not believe in souls anyway, so he quickly agreed. The bartender pulled out a red leather stool that his name was scratched into. “Have a seat,” said Lucifer coolly. “Go fetch a few shots of Hot Damn! we will have a toast.” Lucifer directed to the bartender. They took their shots, and the next thing Grant heard the beep of his alarm clock.

Grant snapped out of his groggy, hungover sleep only fifteen minutes before he had to meet with the Dean, and it took ten minutes to walk to his office.  He splashed his face, brushed his teeth, slipped into a shirt and tie, and prayed that he did not smell like alcohol. He left his apartment and walked at a brisk pace. When he got to the got to the building he was ushered right into the Dean’s office. Grant took a seat and waited for the Dean to turn his crimson leather chair around. The Dean had black slicked back hair and eyes beneath dark furrowed brows, his eyes were so deep brown they looked almost black. His colorless lips were in a curled back in a crooked smile, and his teeth were almost pointed. He had long boney fingers with nails that needed trimming. There was a ring on his right index finger, which looked to be an “L” made out of rubies and black onyx.  His suit was fitted dark grey with a black cherry silk tie and his shoes were a shiny polished black. “Good morning, Grant. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Morning Dean Flier, I’m alright. How are you?”

“I am doing pretty well,” the Dean said with a smirk. “So I called you in today to talk about your grades. They are suffering a bit, are they not?  I see you also cheated on a few tests.” Grant nodded. “Usually, a student would be expelled for that kind of behavior, but this is a special case.” Grant exhaled. “Since you are a scholarship student, and your score on your MCAT exam was the best we’ve seen in the devil knows how long, I am willing to give you one more chance to succeed. I know you will not fail me Grant.”

“Thank you Dean Flier for this excellent opportunity, I will be the best student you have ever had. I will not let you down.” Grant graduated the medical school program at the top of his class, without ever studying for a test. His research on cures for cancer that he did in school was outstanding, and he had dozens of articles written about his research before he had even finished his residency. The medical journals were calling him a prodigy and the greatest doctor of the century. Grant, full of narcissism, loved the things people said about him. He soon became quite famous.

Because of his fame, drug companies would pay him to endorse their weight loss supplements, pills that would turn hair back from grey to its original hue, and pills for wrinkles, the list was endless. Grant would endorse them all even if he knew nothing about them; he would do it just for the money. All of the supplements were basically placebos but people just kept buying them because his face was on the bottle. Grant began to stop using his brilliant mind to help people get better, he just wanted money and he only cared about himself.

As Grant grew older, he knew that the day that Lucifer would come for his soul was looming in. Now that he had gotten wiser, he did not want his time on Earth to end so soon and he did not want to spend his days with Lucifer. What was he thinking when he threw his life away in medical school?  His life had moved as quickly as the strike of a match, he needed to try to do something that would absolve his sins and keep Lucifer from coming to take him.

Grant decided to go back to his research regimen focused on curing cancer and other diseases. He thought that would do the trick and keep Lucifer away, his new found religious beliefs taught him that God is always watching. He also had a Plan B. Grant had been researching on the side for years now, trying to create a drug that would keep him forever youthful, thus keeping him out of Lucifer’s grasp.

He developed the drug and decided to test it out on himself. After injecting the serum he felt the effects almost immediately and he jumped for joy, it was working!  He injected two more vials and took a look in the mirror. Grant Scott looked like a forty-year-old man instead of an eighty-year-old man! If he ended up selling this drug he would make billions. It was near midnight so he decided that he would go to sleep, he felt tired suddenly, and maybe it was a side effect of the drug. Even if it was, he could not be happier.

Grant woke up the next morning feeling very strange, he could not get out of bed and felt very weak. The drug that was supposed to keep him young had backfired; he now felt twenty years older than he did before he took the drug. With great effort he sat up and turned on the lamp that sat on his wooden bedside table. He screamed. What was Dean Flier doing in his bedroom looking the same way he did when Grant was in college? Quickly Grant pieced everything together, the slicked back black hair, the long finger nails, the “L” ring, Dean Flier was Lucifer. How had he not seen this coming?

“Hello, Grant, nice to see you again. You were the best doctor of the century, now it is time for me to get my half of the deal. I hope you think your life was worth it and that you enjoyed it, because your new life is not going to be a picnic.” Lucifer laughed devilishly and the lights went black. Grant’s scream echoed throughout the empty house, he was never seen again.

The bartender at Lucifer’s bar took the red leather barstool into the warehouse, and placed it on the industrial steel shelf next to his brother Mike’s.