A Fate Worse Than Death (9 page)

“Do you mean that?” said Jessie. “You won’t tell anyone.”

I grinned at her—a big toothy grin, so she could see it. “You’ve been honest with me, so I guess I should return the favour. As it happens, I am working on a case. I can’t disclose the exact nature of this case, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with investigating imposter angels. And I’m definitely not working for Sally. My instructions come directly from God Himself, though as far as I’m concerned, I see no need to report back to Him details that I do not deem relevant to the case.”

Jessie slid across the bed and nestled against me. She placed her head down on the pillow and lay, breathing softly. After a while, she spoke.

“The last time I saw you, I offered you my assistance. I’d like to now quadruple that offer.”

“Quite frankly, Angel, I think the best thing you can do is stay well away. But I’ve still got a couple of questions to ask you. Firstly, I don’t get Heaven. There’s barely anything to do, the food is mediocre, and, with the exception of a certain house upon the hill, the accommodation is nothing to write home about. I just don’t see why this place is so special.”

“It is special,” said Jessie, “but maybe you can’t understand why until you’ve seen the alternative.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I saw the alternative.”

Jessie jerked upright like a supercoiled spring. “I don’t want you going down there.”

“But Angel, I have to.”

“Can’t you just stay here with me?”

“I’ve still got a job to do. I have to find out about the man I saw at Sally’s.”

“Please don’t go,” she begged. “You don’t know what it’s like down there. You have no idea how truly frightful it is.”

“Which is why I need to find out. Look, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“And afterwards you’ll come back up? Back to me?”

“I promise.” The words had escaped from my mouth before my brain had even started processing her request. Now that they were out, there was no chance I could take them back. Even in the darkness, I could see the dreamy look on her face as she lay back on the pillow. The damage was done. I would just have to deal with the consequences when I got back.
If
I got back.

“One more thing,” I said. “The glowing trick. If you’re not really an angel, how do you do that?”

“Pick up my robe and see.”

I reached down and picked up the robe. Straight away, I realised why it felt so heavy. The insides were lined with a network of tiny wires and globes. Jessie reached over and flicked a switch inside the sleeve, and suddenly the room was bathed in light.

I placed the robe back on the floor and began to laugh. She joined me, and for ages we lay on the bed, howling like a couple of demented chimps. Finally, she rolled over, into my arms, and there she spent the rest of the night.

She was no angel. I was glad.

EARLY IN
THE MORNING
, while Jessie slept, I quietly dressed and stole out of the building. I wanted to take a look at Raphael’s place in the still of morning, before the crowds began to gather.

Even by Heaven’s standards, Raphael’s cottage was small. It looked less like a real dwelling and more like a child’s dollhouse, blown up to almost but not quite full size. Out front, a rickety-looking barrier had been inexpertly set up, with a sign saying
Crime Scene – Do Not Enter
. I tapped on the barrier, and it promptly collapsed at my feet. With any impediment to my progress effectively dismantled, I walked down the little path, opened the door, and entered Raphael’s home.

The place was a shambles. If the nature of Phil’s disappearance remained frustratingly opaque, there could be no doubting that Raphael had been taken against his will. Tables and chairs had been overturned. Pieces of paper and bits of broken ornaments were strewn all over the floor. I was impressed. It looked like the little guy had put up quite a struggle.

I took a closer look to see if anything lying around the place could shed any light on the identity of the intruders. The papers on the floor weren’t much help. They seemed to be either donation forms for the various charitable organisations Raphael ran, or sheet music specially annotated for a harp orchestra. As for the shattered pieces of ornaments, those were the remnants of commemorative plates and porcelain sculptures that only the finest mail order firms would have the gall to perpetrate on the public. They revealed plenty about the victim of this crime but very little about those who had committed it, except that perhaps they possessed a modicum of taste.

I checked out the other rooms and quickly discovered that the struggle had been confined to the front room. The rest of the house seemed to be completely untouched. However, it was what greeted me in the bathroom that really caught my eye.

A series of large green mounds were stacked against the wall—garbage bags, all filled to the brim. I untied the tag of the nearest one and took a look inside. It was packed solid with rubbish of all descriptions: food wrappers, advertising flyers, old newspapers, and electrical junk. I checked a couple of the other bags and found that they too were tightly crammed with waste materials. I counted the number of bags in the room. There were fifteen in all, each one heaving and bulging with refuse. It was no wonder Heaven was so clean. Raphael was a one-man waste disposal system.

From outside the front door, I could hear voices I had no trouble recognising. It was the soft, caring tones of my friends Lizard Neck and Frying Pan. As their heavy footsteps thudded into the front room, I was already out the back door, over the fence, and away.

I hurried back to the office. On the way, I passed the school crossing where I had spoken to Raphael two days previously, and there a bizarre sight caught my eye. Despite the complete absence of any traffic, a large group of children was huddled on the side of the road, waiting for a crossing guard to help them across. It looked like school was going to be out in Heaven today.

* * *

By the time I got back, Jessie was in the kitchen making breakfast. I sat down at the table and she placed a plate of pancakes and a cup of steaming coffee in front of me. As we ate, we chatted about nothing in particular. Afterwards, we both stood up.

She said, “I guess I’d better be going.”

I said, “Angel’s work is never done?”

She sighed. “There’s no rest for the wicked, but I don’t like to consider the alternative.” Then she switched on her lights and walked out the door.

I sat down at my desk and mulled over the current state of affairs. I now had two missing people, far too many suspects with far too many motives, and no real evidence of any kind. I’d clearly reached a dead end. Heaven might have more secrets, but it wasn’t about to spit them out. If I wanted to move the case forward, there was another place I needed to visit. But after what Jessie had told me last night, I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about what I would find when I got there.

Luckily, I was able to put off such forebodings for the moment, because at that precise instant the phone decided to ring. I picked it up and immediately heard a voice with clear tones, precise diction, and a complete lack of interest in talking to me. It was God’s servant, Gabriel.

“The Master would like to see you immediately.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Any idea what this might be about?”

“I’m afraid not. But I don’t think He’s very happy.”

I polished off a quick glass of bourbon before hurrying over to God’s palace. The prospect of facing an angry God was not one that filled me with gleeful anticipation. Still, I did see one positive that could come out of this meeting. I hadn’t had a smoke since I arrived in Heaven. This time, I wasn’t going to turn down God’s offer.

Gabriel ushered me into the palace and led me through the packed waiting room. Within God’s chamber, the television was blaring and God was sitting on the couch, utterly enthralled.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Mr Clarenden to see you,” he said. Then he exited, not quite able to hide the smirk on his face.

God flicked the television off and slowly turned towards me. His face was red and His lips were tightly pursed.

“Jimmy Clarenden,” He rasped. “You have some explaining to do.”

“What exactly do you need me to explain?” I wasn’t exactly quaking in my boots, but only because I wasn’t wearing boots.

“Do you recall what I said to you when you first arrived in Heaven?”

“You said a number of things to me when I first arrived in Heaven. Which one in particular do you wish me to recall?”

“I told you that the peace of Heaven must be preserved. I gave you specific instructions that you were not to cause trouble of any kind.”

“Instructions I have taken great pains to follow.”

“Not great enough. Since your arrival, I have had no end of complaints about your behaviour. Attempts to break into the house of one of my angels. Run-ins with the police, from which I have had to bail you out personally. And now I find that another of my angels has disappeared. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you taken off the case immediately?” As God spoke, His eyes glittered ferociously from under His bushy eyebrows.

I took a deep breath before I replied.

“Listen to me, God,” I said. “First of all, in regard to Raphael’s disappearance, I have no idea who is responsible and I don’t see how that even concerns me. Secondly, in regard to the other disturbances, you’ve hired me to do a job. In the course of trying to do that job, there is a good chance I’m going to uncover some things that were better left covered, and put some noses out of joint. I’m not apologising for that. If you want me to be able to do my job properly, you’re going to have to accept that, and then step back and let me operate the way I see fit. It’s your call. Do you want to see your son again or not?”

“I really need a cigarette,” God muttered. I watched expectantly as He reached towards His pocket. But suddenly, He withdrew His hand again.

“No,” He said firmly. He sat up very straight, pulling His shoulders back. “I will not give in to temptation. As of today, I’m giving up the demon weed for good.”

“That’s very noble of you,” I said flatly.

“Probably why I’m in such a foul mood.” He tried to assume a comfortable pose, but ended up looking as relaxed as an air traffic controller after six cups of coffee. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry for yelling at you. It’s just that the stress has been starting to get to me. And Sally’s been getting to me too.”

“Seems like you’ve been handing out too many treats to Sally, and now she’s got a sweet tooth that won’t go away.”

God sighed. “Don’t think I don’t know it. I’ve heard all the things people are saying. It’s just that sometimes I find it hard to say no. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve always had a soft spot for blondes.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I like to think I’m as hard as the reinforced hull of a supertanker, but show me a honey-blonde mane and a red-lipped smile and I’m sunk. But now, while I’m still afloat, I’d like to return to the subject of Raphael’s disappearance. Can you imagine why anyone would want to kidnap him?”

“I’ve got absolutely no idea. Everyone loved Raphael.”

“I wouldn’t have expected sarcasm from you.”

“Well, what would you have expected?” God said abruptly. “Nobody liked Raphael much, including me. He was annoying. Save the birds, save the trees, save the poor from the whales. Someone please save me from Raphael.”

“What happened to the God of charity I was always told about?”

“Listen to me,” said God, folding His arms like a stubborn child. “Do you like it when people come around hassling you for donations?”

“Not particularly.”

“So why should I? After all, I made you in my image. Doesn’t it make sense that if you don’t like something, I probably won’t like it much either?”

“I never thought of it like that,” I said. Put that way, it made complete sense. Put that way, a lot of things made complete sense.

“Okay,” I said. “Notwithstanding the fact that almost anyone in Heaven could have had a motive for kidnapping Raphael, can you think of any way his disappearance might be connected to Phil’s? Remember that Phil disappeared while he was on his way to see Raphael.”

“I couldn’t say if there’s a connection. Phil was a lot more tolerant of Raphael than just about anyone else in Heaven, but I definitely wouldn’t have called them friends.”

I chewed over God’s response for a second. Then I spoke again.

“You couldn’t say if there’s a connection. Does that mean there isn’t a connection, or there is one but you’re not willing to tell me what it is?”

God turned to me and exploded.

“What do you mean by that?” He thundered.

“I think you can probably figure it out for yourself.”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? Are you implying that I’m holding back information? Do you really think that if there was something I could tell you that might help bring back my son, I wouldn’t?”

The feeling of violence in the room was palpable. I realised I’d better settle things down again quickly. There was no telling what God was capable of if He really got angry.

“I’m not implying anything,” I said softly. “It’s just that you’ve told me so little, and I assumed that because you are who you are, you must know a lot more than that.”

“Oh, I understand,” said God, His voice still dripping with sarcasm. “You don’t actually want to solve this case yourself. You’d much rather have me tell you everything you need to know. What do you expect? Do you think I know everything?”

“Actually, I thought you did.”

This stopped God in His tracks for a moment. Presently, He replied.

“You’re right. I do know everything.” Then He shrugged His shoulders. “It isn’t all it’s made out to be.”

“It sounds pretty handy from where I’m standing.”

“The great problem with knowing everything,” said God, “is that the vast majority of things are really not worth knowing. After a while, you end up with so much junk spinning around inside your head, it becomes practically impossible to determine which bits are actually important. Most of the time, I just end up confusing myself.”

“So there definitely isn’t anything else you can tell me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t. I can’t tell anymore. Everything’s become so complicated. Take art for instance. I created that. Was damn pleased with myself at the time. In fact, I’d have to say that of all the things I created, art was definitely one of my favourites. But look at it now. There’s all this modern art, and post-structuralism, and . . . Well I can’t keep up with all the words they use these days. I haven’t got a clue what any of it means anymore.”

God sat back on the couch. He seemed to be struggling to collect His thoughts, which wasn’t surprising given how many of them there were. After a minute or so, He stirred again.

“Still,” He said, “at least I’ve got television. That’s one thing I’ll always understand.” He raised His remote control and the screen before Him flashed back to life.

I stood in the middle of the room, watching that luminescent box. The program was one of those funniest video shows, the sort that seemed to regard children falling from high places and suffering grievous bodily harm as innately hilarious. And at least one person in the room agreed with that assessment. Within a minute, God was cackling like a hyena in a bed of feather dusters. As for myself, I found it about as funny as a heart bypass.

After about a minute of pranks, pratfalls, and semi-serious injuries, I realised God had switched off for the day. I turned tail and departed from His chamber. He didn’t acknowledge me as I departed. He probably didn’t even realise I had gone.

As Gabriel escorted me from the palace, I was certain there was something God wasn’t telling me. Actually, there were an infinite number of things He wasn’t telling me, but hidden amongst them was something important. Something without which I would never find Phil.

* * *

Over breakfast, Jessie had given me directions to her secret passage between Heaven and Hell. That afternoon, I followed those directions and found an old grate low down in a wall between two houses. It was from behind this grate that Jessie had stared, observing the good people of Heaven before eventually emerging to join them in their games.

I waited by the grate for several hours, trying to convince myself to take the first step. Every so often, I would make a haphazard approach, shaping as if I was actually going to set off, but something always made me stop and hang back. Maybe it was the bright sun getting in my eyes, temporarily blinding me. Maybe it was a slight twist of my ankle as I leant down to inspect the grate. Or maybe it was the sight of a couple of passersby in the street, conveniently alerting me to the fact that it wouldn’t be wise to be spotted fleeing Heaven via this illicit passage.

After a while, I decided to return to the office. It seemed prudent to wait until dark to attempt the journey. That way, I was sure to be able to leave Heaven unnoticed. And besides, after my nerve-wracking encounter with God, I could do with a couple of hours’ rest. If Hell really was as bad as Jessie claimed, I wanted to be in an alert state of mind when I got there.