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Michael straightened his bow tie and gave himself a final once-over in the mirror. He reminded himself of the message painted on the wall just outside of his office - Everything is fine. He didn’t know why, but out of all the humans this one somehow had the ability to make him feel... nervous? Maybe uneasy? At any rate, it was extremely annoying and he vowed to work on it in the future. But for now, he just had to get through the appointment.
“Raymond!” Michael was pleased with the friendly, jocular tone of his own voice. “Please sit down. Would you care for a beverage. I’ve got your very favorite - hot water!”
Raymond Holt shook his head and slid into his seat. Michael felt the muscles in his neck tensing up. He didn’t know why, but it really bothered him that he had gone to all the trouble of creating a wardrobe full of fashionable clothes from all over the world and yet Holt continued to wear his old Captain’s uniform.
“I must remind you again, Mr Michael, that I prefer to be called Captain Holt.”
Michael allowed himself a bit of a grin. The police captain was oddly impervious to most forms of torture, but misnaming him was definitely doing the trick and he was pleased with that. “So sorry – it just keeps slipping my mind somehow. So, what can I do for you, Raymond?”
“Actually, I’m here because of what I can do for you.” Holt leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “I decided it was only sporting to let you know. The jig, as they say, is up.”
If Michael had actually had any blood, he was certain it would be running cold at the moment. Surely there was some kind of mistake. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is the Bad Place.” Holt’s tone made it all too clear it was going to be impossible to convince him he was wrong – and indeed he was not. “My squad and I – we're all here to be tortured, I assume.”
For a moment, Michael wondered if he could just deny it but he knew there was no point. He sighed deeply. “What gave us away?”
“Several things.” Holt raised his eyebrows. “First of all, no one loves frozen yogurt. It’s garishly colored and full of flavor. Second, Peralta and Linetti are here. I could go on and list several other errors you’ve made in what I can only assume you thought was a fool proof ruse, but there’s no point. Peralta and Linetti are here; ergo, this cannot actually be the Good Place.”
Michael groaned. He had been afraid it would be something like that. He couldn’t just get rid of Jake and Gina for the next reboot. Torturing them was part of the point; they had to be there. To make matters worse, Holt refused to give him a moment to think and continued droning on.
“Additionally, when I began seriously examining your criteria for entry to this so-called Good Place, I came across several other issues that were impossible to ignore. Scully and Hitchcock, for example. I suppose they never technically set out to do harm, but I imagine the sloth alone would have been enough to ensure their damnation according to your standards.”
Michael nodded. “Plus Hitchcock is kind of a perv.” In a strange way, it was really nice to be straightforward with someone.
Holt dipped his head in agreement. “And Santiago. She did give me pause; I must admit. If anyone seemed destined for a good place, it would be Amy Santiago. But then I realized, so much of the good she did on Earth was motivated by a desire for approval and that isn’t enough, is it?”
“Nope.” Michael was impressed, in spite of himself. The guy was a good detective.
“For Boyle, I’m assuming the issue was gluttony. I’m actually fairly certain he’s eaten more than one endangered species.” Holt was now ticking off squad members on his fingers. “I can’t figure out Jeffords though.”
“Also gluttony.” A look of genuine surprise crossed Holt’s face, and Michael was pleased to have at least scored a point there in the middle of this disaster. He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how much yogurt that man consumed? Terry loved yogurt.”
“As I’ve said before, yogurt should not count. It’s a disgusting, presumptuous cheese by-product. Upstart, obnoxious dairy.” For the first time in this conversation, Holt sounded genuinely angry.
Michael shrugged, spreading his fingers wide. “I’m not sure what to tell you, man. I don’t make the rules.”
Holt drew a deep breath and seemed to center himself. "For Diaz, I'll presume it was the violence.”
“You’d think!” This had been bugging Michael for ages and, to be honest, he would have really loved to clear it up. “But the truth is, we have no record of Rosa Diaz. Neither does the real Good Place, the Accounting Department that’s supposed to be keeping track of everybody, not even the Judge! This has literally never happened before!”
A tiny fond smile flickered across Holt’s lips for a moment. “So why is she here?”
“She hung around with your guys. We figured she must have done something.”
It was Holt’s turn to shrug. “I suppose the reasons don’t really matter. What matters is, we’re here. So what are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing!” Michael forced himself to give a triumphant smile. “You aren’t going to do anything! Because I’m going to erase your memory and we’ll try all this again!” Holt was hard to read, but Michael was pretty sure that slight twitch of his chin meant that he was at least a little bit disturbed, and damn he hoped so! His mind was reeling and the truth was that he was making all of this up on the fly. But he could get rid of the yogurt – Jeffords had been enjoying it far too much anyway – and as far as Peralta and Linetti were concerned he’d do... something. “You and your little squad aren’t remember discovering any of this!”
"Oh, the squad doesn’t know.”
Michael’s brain came screeching to a halt. “Wait, what? You didn’t tell them?”
“Of course not.” Holt looked vaguely disappointed in Michael, and that shouldn’t have hurt nearly as much as it did. “It’s one of the hallmarks of good leadership, Mr. Michael. A good leader allows his or her subordinates the time they need to figure things out on their own.”
Michael felt his jaw drop open. If Holt didn’t intend to say anything... then maybe he didn’t need to reset after all? Sure, there was always a chance that one of the other humans would figure it out or that Captain Buzzkill here would decide to spill the beans after all, but if that did happen he could just opt to start over then. And if he could just keep this version going for a while, then maybe he could work out how to avoid getting discovered next time. “You really don’t plan to tell them?”
Holt crossed his arms. “I do not.”
“Well I guess that’s that then!” Michael laughed out loud. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in that hot water?”
Holt shook his head. “You always put lemon in it. It ruins the water.” He stood to leave.
“I’ll remember that for next time”, Michael promised, making a mental note to add more lemon to everything; there must be a way to get it into the tap water as well. He waited until Holt was almost at the door before giving in to his curiosity. “Raymond? Why did you bother telling me that you know?”
Holt turned back to him. “Like, I said, it’s only sporting. You see, Mr. Michael, it may take my little squad some time to figure things out. Right now, they’re distracted by the endless yogurts, the crossword puzzle museum, the Die Hard musical and all that odious citrus. But they’ll get there. Gina is already wondering why the Wi-Fi in Heaven is so bad and Santiago is eventually going to realize that all those typos aren’t innocent mistakes. And once they sort things out, they’re going to tear you, this place, and your whole system apart.”
Michael’s mouth felt oddly dry. His brain found itself searching frantically for a perfect response. “Are not.”
He was new to making human comebacks, but he felt like that one may not have been as strong as he might have hoped.
Holt went on as if Michael hadn’t even spoken. “And I also thought that if I have to know that the people I hold dearest are all going to be stuck here being tortured, at least for the next little while, then perhaps you should experience knowing that it will all end. That seems fair, wouldn’t you say?”
Michael swallowed hard. “You might find that fairness has nothing to do with it.” He wasn’t quite sure where that thought had come from.
Holt inclined his head. “Maybe not. But may I ask you a question?”
Michael was so tempted to go for the little thrill of denying him that; it had been such a long time. But something drove him to agree. “What is it?”
“Why am I here?”
Michael regarded him carefully. A million lies flooded his mind, but what came out of his mouth ended up being the truth. “You wouldn’t leave them. The folks in the real Good Place said they’d never seen anything like it. They tried everything they could think of to make you happy, but you just wanted your squad. And since we wouldn’t give them up, they sent you here.”
That little flicker of a smile was back. “I suggest that you think about what that might mean.” Holt gave a slight bow. “Goodbye for now, Mr. Michael.”
“Goodbye Captain Holt.”
As soon as the door closed, Michael let out a long exhale. His bow tie suddenly felt too tight, so he tugged it loose. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he thought he might even be sweating.
It was stupid to let Raymond Holt get under his skin. Michael knew that. After all, he was the whole creator of the neighborhood and he could bend the rules of its reality to his will. All Holt had was a group of stupid, breakable, limited mortal beings. With an unshakable bond and a ridiculous level of devotion to each other.
Michael wiped his brow and called for Janet.