Seduced by Satan: A Baseball Story

Prologue

All bowed before the two that were chosen, watching with envy as they danced through the circle of fire, blue and yellow flames shooting towards the stars that could be seen for miles across the skies. They were indeed the finest and most desirable of the feminine species. No mortal man would be able to resist. The sound of thunder and flashes of lightning surrounded them as the voice of the Council was heard.

The chosen one must plant his seed so we may reap the rewards. Is that understood?

The two women emerged from the flames unscathed, their beauty intact.

It is understood, the women replied simultaneously.

Are you ready to begin your quest?

We are ready, they bowed.

Our future depends on it, the voice reminded them. Failure is not an option.

Will the another suffice? one of the female species asked.

Only the chosen one, the voice roared above the flames. The one we seek must possess fame, health, athleticism, and charisma. He must be virile- his seed strong. Our male species are nearly extinct, and only a handful have the ability or means to reproduce. Should you fail our expectations, we may walk the earth no longer.

We will not fail the Council, the two replied.

Chapter 1

April 2025.

Present day

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? Now coming in to pitch for the Washington Nationals, number 32, Rock Harmon.

The boos hung in the air over Wrigley Field as the announcement echoed from the loudspeakers. I made the long walk from the bullpen to the pitcher's mound, ignoring the taunts from the crowd. As a professional baseball player, I’m used to the jeers when we play away from home. The Chicago Cubs probably have the most loyal fans in the National League, so I didn’t expect polite applause when I entered the game. Once my number was called, I expected to hear the boo-birds. I’ve been considered one of the best relief pitchers in all of baseball for several years. If my team is winning, I will come into the game in the final inning and attempt to force the final three outs to preserve the victory. Every team has one specific relief pitcher assigned this task who is their closer, and I am the closer for the Washington Nationals. At least, for now. Unfortunately, I was not having a very good start to the year. The last three times I pitched, I let the opposing team tie or win the game.

As I threw the last of my warm-up pitches, I forced myself to forget the blown saves and ignore the taunts I could hear from the crowd.

You suck, Harmon.

Go back to Washington you bum.

You’re over the hill, loser.

I just need to get three outs. There wasn't any room for error. We were winning the game 4 to 3 in the bottom of the ninth inning, and it was time to earn my pay.

That day, things went my way. The first batter I faced tried to be a hero. He swung hard at the first pitch, even though it was above the strike zone, and hit a weak fly ball to our right fielder. I threw a curveball over the center of the plate to the second batter, who crushed it into the centerfield ivy for what should have been a double. Fortunately for us, our centerfielder and one of my good friends, Gordon Lee, made a great play and threw out the runner as he tried to stretch a double into a triple. I threw a high changeup to the third batter, who hit it very deep to left field. The Chicago winds are usually are very brisk, and that day they were coming in from the north and blowing straight towards home plate, making it difficult for the batters to hit a deep ball. On another day, with no prevailing winds, that might have been a home run, but not today. The left fielder caught the ball at the fence to secure the third out. For the first time in over a week, I saved a game.

After the game I showered and dressed quickly. I was asked to do an interview for the cable station that broadcast our games to the DC area. I was interviewed by John Shelby and Jim Whitfield, who have been doing the play-by-play and commentary for six years now. I sat down between them small table and put the headphones on.

Nice game, Rock. How does it feel to come away with a victory tonight?

I smiled at the camera while trying to hide my annoyance at this idiotic question. It was 2025, my tenth year of professional baseball, my sixth year of doing interviews with these two clowns, and I've been fielding the same questions game after game, year after year. How do you think it feels to win a baseball game? It feels damn good, that's how. Does that surprise you nitwits? I considered sharing my thoughts out loud, but the brass would be all over me tomorrow if I did, so I stuck with the script and gave the usual formatted answers. I had them memorized.

I looked into the camera and replied, Thanks, John. It's always great to get a win here in Chicago. The Cubs are a tough team to beat in their own backyard. It was a total team victory. I was just doing my part.

From the corner of my eye I saw the smug look on his face as I answered. He turned towards the camera long enough to flash a quick smile before saying, Rock, it must be especially satisfying for you. Your last three outings have not gone so well. It was the first time in your career you pitched three consecutive games without successfully holding a lead. I guess the fourth time is the charm. What made tonight different?

My face flushed with anger so I paused a moment to compose myself. The Washington Nationals averaged over 50,000 viewers per night on this cable station, and I now had this moron bringing up my failures from the past couple weeks to the fans. Why couldn't he mention that I also led the National League in saves for the past five years? I suppose fans only cares about your recent history.

I forced myself to smile before replying, What was different tonight is that I made quality pitches when it counted. The average fan would believe me. My teammates would know differently. Tonight, I got a little bit lucky.

He kept an intense look about him, determined to find a story.

Rock, I'm sure the fans would like to know if you are feeling more pressure this year. The Washington Nationals have been a very average team since losing Bryce Harper to free agency years ago. Last year in 2024, the team had a winning record for the first time in years. This year, they’re expected to contend for a playoff spot. They added two rookie pitchers to the bullpen who are expected to challenge your position as closer. Do you think this is affecting your mentality?

My teammates are already in the clubhouse celebrating tonight's win and I'm stuck here with you answering these lame questions. I'm facing professional hitters every night. Sometimes they beat me. Sometimes I beat them. It's the nature of the game. And I'm not about to lose my position to a couple of rookies who are still wet behind the ears.

John, I replied smoothly, my face frozen for the camera. It’s still April, and the season is barely three weeks old. It’s a long year, and we will be needing contributions from every player on the team in order to be successful. Matt Johnson and Steve Marshall will have to contribute as well. All of us as players feel the pressure. It's no different for me then it is for anyone else.

Thank you for spending some time with us, Rock, Jim Whitfield interrupted and shook my hand. Nice win tonight.

My pleasure, I lied.

I left the interview room and joined my teammates on the bus that took us to our hotel. Those of us who were unlikely to play the next day headed to the bar downstairs while others went straight to their rooms. I had a bit of an advantage over my colleagues. I had pitched two consecutive nights so under no circumstances would I play tomorrow. This was a strict team policy, so I did not have to worry about getting enough rest for the upcoming game. I went in and sat at a table with four of my teammates. It was well-known we were all close friends and hung out together off the field, so in my rookie year the media has dubbed us The Nat’s Brats. I ordered a beer along with some loaded potato skins and chicken wings. I sat across from Gordon, who was wincing in pain.

What's the matter with you? I asked as he kept shifting his weight in the chair.

Gordon and I were drafted by the Nationals in the same year. Tall, medium build but surprisingly strong, he is the silent type who leads by example, but his biggest issue is staying healthy. Over the years Gordon spent more time on the disabled list than anyone on the team.

I hurt my back a little going after that fly ball in the ninth, Gordon responded as he struggled to get comfortable.

That was a hell of a play you made, I acknowledged. You saved my ass on that one. The throw you made to third was right on the money.

It’s going to take all of us for us to win this year, Gordon answered with his usual modesty. I really wanted you to get the save tonight, Rock. You’ve had some bad luck lately.

I'm not sure if it was bad luck or bad pitching but that's what teammates do- stick together through the good times and the bad. Gordon always remained upbeat, even when playing hurt. I nodded to him as I devoured the chicken wings and washed them down with some beer. I started on the potato skins and invited the guys to help themselves.

Is this your idea of a meal? someone barked out.

I looked over to the person asking-our second baseman, Danny Peters, sitting to my left. Danny was drafted by the team the year before me. Short, stocky, with wavy blond hair, Danny is the scrappy type who gets by on virtue of his hustle and grit more than his talent. A solid but not spectacular player who always gives 100% every game. The problem with Danny is that he’s a health nut who doesn’t understand why everyone else isn’t like him. He also has no filter and says whatever is on his mind. He is a good friend, but needless to say, he sometimes got on my nerves.

What is that supposed to mean? I growled while stuffing my face.

It means that you're eating crap, he answered bluntly. Every time we play on the road you eat nothing but junk food. That stuff is not good for you. Why don’t you just order a chicken breast and a plain baked potato if you're hungry? You are looking at 1,000 calories sitting in front of you. That might be what's affecting your pitching.

The chatter at the table suddenly stopped as I slammed my beer down and glared at him. Mike Gannon, our catcher, quickly intervened.

Mike is one of those guys who commands respect. A large man well over six feet tall and 250 pounds, he was definitely the toughest dude on the team. He was drafted the same year as me and immediately became the starting catcher. After being voted to the all-star team his rookie year, he became team captain the following year, a position he has held ever since. When he spoke, everyone listened.

Hey guys, lets drop this crap now, he said in a booming voice. We won the ballgame tonight and that’s all that matters. We don’t need to start bickering with each other after a victory.

Quickly the topic of conversation changed. It had been a long road trip and the guys were already mentioning that they couldn’t wait to get back home. I got up from the table and signaled for our waitress to bring us a pitcher of beer. I told everyone I would be back in ten minutes, and walked outside to smoke a cigarette. I stood alone shivering in the chilly night air, longing for the days when a guy was allowed to smoke inside a bar. I was taking a long drag from my cigarette when Danny approached. I figured he was coming over to apologize for his earlier remark.

Those things are going to kill you, he said to me as I exhaled the smoke from my lungs. They can't be helping your pitching either.

I turned and looked him in the eye and replied, If you have something on your mind, just spit it out.

Okay, I will, Danny said evenly. I have some issues with you, Rock. You’ve put on a few pounds since last year and you're not in shape. That's another reason why you are not pitching as well as last year.

"Thanks for your observation, Coach, I mocked. But let me remind you, I usually only pitch an inning per outing. I don't need to be in shape for that."

Bullshit, Danny answered. We are all professional athletes. We all need to be accountable. You need to eat right and exercise. And you don't need these things killing you.

He grabbed the cigarette from my hand and extinguished it with his foot, then walked back inside the hotel without saying another word. I considered lighting up another, but it was cold and I had a pitcher of beer waiting. I went back inside to our table to discover in the only one remaining was Mike.

Where did everyone go? I asked as I took a seat.

Back to their rooms, he answered as he poured himself a half a beer. We are playing an early game tomorrow so everyone else is getting some sleep. Coach said I am not catching tomorrow so I will have one more before turning in.

So we are we the only ones left? I asked. It’s barely midnight. I remember when we all used to stay out until the bar closed.

Bruce is still here, Mike responded. Doing his thing.

Bruce, one of our better starting pitchers, is also one of the Nat’s Brats. We grew up together but went to different high schools. Bruce is a free spirit who marches to the beat of his own drum. He knows what he likes and what he doesn’t like. And one of the things he doesn’t like is pitching in cold weather. The year I was drafted by Washington, Bruce was drafted by Minnesota, but he refused to sign the contract they offered him because he felt he would risk hurting his arm in the Minnesota cold. He told the team officials he would work at a car wash the rest of his life before playing in Minnesota. The team thought he was bluffing and that he would eventually sign. They figured no one in their right mind would turn down a half-million dollar contract. But once July rolled around and Bruce was found spending his summer working on his suntan at the beach, they realized he was serious. They desperately tried to trade his rights to another team but no one was interested. The Nationals knew he had friends on our club and was from the Washington area so they offered a couple minor league prospects for his rights. Minnesota jumped at the offer and within days Bruce signed a contract and became a member of the Washington Nationals. He finished the year playing for the minor league club but the following year was promoted to the majors.

After a quick scan around the bar I found Bruce sitting at a small table surrounded by attractive young women. Bruce was a confirmed bachelor who liked the ladies, and the ladies liked him. Exactly six feet tall, slim build, with long black hair that flowed past his collar, Bruce was constantly targeted by members of the opposite sex. After a game Bruce would join us for a beer before a woman caught his eye. Often when that happened we wouldn’t see him again until late the next morning. It appeared tonight would be one of those times.

I think I am going to call it a night, Mike declared as he gulped down the remainder his of beer.

You are starting to sound more and more like Peters, I mumbled as I looked at him disapprovingly. You quit smoking last year. You ordered dinner tonight off the light menu. Your weight is down. You're turning in when it's barely past midnight. What's next? Are you going to start carrying protein bars in your back pocket like he does?

Mike chuckled before replying, Rock, you need to cut Danny a little slack. He is trying to look out for you. You forget he used to smoke before deciding to rededicate himself to the game. He worked out every day the entire off-season and you can't argue with the results. He has more hits than anyone else on the team this year.

No one has done more for this team than I have the past nine years, I reminded him somewhat bitterly.

I’m not arguing that. But you know life in the Big-League. You have to continually work to improve. Danny is a year older than you, yet he is having a career year. Can you look me in the eye and say that about yourself?

No, I replied, not wanting to admit he was right. This is the worst year I've had since my rookie year. But it's still early - we’ve only played 20 games. We have 142 left to go. I will be just fine. You don't have to worry about me, Big Guy.

Don’t stay up too late, Mike advised me as he left the bar.

I hate drinking alone but the guys left me no choice. I can't say I blame them. The team had a legitimate chance to make the playoffs this year and my teammates wanted to be at their best. I looked up and noticed Bruce sitting at a table with three young ladies waving at me, so I grabbed my beer and walked over.

Ladies, this gentlemen is the best relief pitcher in baseball, Rock Harmon. Rock, I would like to introduce you to Donna and Dana. You know Angie, of course.

I shook hands with Donna, then Dana, who seemed very enthusiastic to meet me, holding my hand a bit longer than is customary. I noticed her eyes, an unnatural hazel color with specs of yellow that in the dim light flashed like fire. My attention quickly diverted to Angie, who I knew very well. She lived across the street from me.

You're a long way from home, aren't you Kid? I asked affectionately. What brings you to Chicago? You should have let me know you were coming. I could have arranged for you to come to tomorrow's game.

Angie’s face was expressionless, and I could feel the chill in her voice as she replied, It’s nice to see you, Rock but I can’t stay. I had a meeting this morning with Mark Leonard regarding Bruce’s contract extension. Dana and I just completed the paperwork.

And she came through again just like I knew she would, Bruce was practically beaming as he kissed Angie’s hand. A new two-year deal, with a signing bonus to boot.

I clenched my teeth when he kissed Angie’s hand.

Lucky you, I said to him sarcastically. Now you won’t be stuck making sand castles at the beach all summer.

Hey! If I didn’t get that extension…

Have you ladies known each other long? I asked Angie, desperate to start a conversation with her. The smile was not returned.

Actually, we just met, Angie responded coolly, before announcing she was retiring for the evening.

Bruce gave Angie a hug and thanked her again. I rose from my chair so I could escort Angie back to her room. We walked in silence down the long hotel corridor, and upon arriving at her door, I asked her why she did not tell me she was coming to Chicago.

It was a last-minute decision, she explained. It was the only day Mr. Leonard and I were both available to negotiate. Bruce should be happy. He wanted a three-year extension but we had to settle for a two-year deal with a sizeable raise. It was a compromise for both sides.

I wasn’t surprised Angie managed to negotiate a better contact for Bruce. She was still a month away from graduating, but she already had a reputation as a shrewd agent, a career I helped launch.

I tried to get her to extend her stay as we stood outside the door to her room. As she reached in her purse to find her keycard I touched her lightly on her wrist and said, Angie, this is quite a coincidence we’re both staying in Chicago at the same hotel.

What are you implying, Rock? That I’m stalking you?

Angie, we need to talk, I calmly replied.

You made your position perfectly clear. I don’t think we have anything left to say to each other. Her arms were folded, and she was looking me straight in the eye.

I desperately wanted her to stay, if just for a short while. I positioned myself so my back was against the door to her room so I could buy a little time. I softly replied, I disagree. Just come back to the bar and have one drink with me.

Her eyes were blazing, and still locked with mine. I have finals coming up so I need to get back to Maryland tomorrow morning. Besides, threes a crowd. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.

It’s not like that, Angie, I responded weakly. I would rather spend time with you.

But you would rather spend the night with one of them, she responded tartly.

That stung, and now I was the one angry.

That’s not true and you know it.

Prove it, she said, as she took a step forward so that our lips were inches apart. Spend the night with me.

Angie, I just can’t, I whispered.

"Why’s that,