The Book of Daniel (20 page)

I thanked the angel who had given me the armour, and Thomas and I left the Forge. Stepping out of the sweltering dimness was an enormous relief, but I didn’t have time to savour the feeling. Thomas set off at a brisk pace, and I was quickly overwhelmed by trying to readjust to the transformation that had taken place in the city since I had walked there with Saint Peter. Whereas before the streets had been silent apart from distant cries and the shriek of the Fallen flying overhead, it was now alive with the sounds of humanity. The sheer number of people crammed into New Jerusalem was staggering. Was making peace with God really so hard to get right? I kept wanting to stop and watch those around me, to drink in their conversations, their arguments, their laughter, but Thomas insistently tugged at my arm.

“Come on, Dan. It’s not far now.”

As we continued on our way, another peculiarity struck me—nobody around us was speaking anything other than English. I opened my mouth to ask Thomas why this should be, but then remembered one of the Biblical tales that my mother used to read to me, about the Tower of Babel. According to the story, the reason for all the different languages back on Earth was because shortly after the Great Flood, mankind had sought to glorify itself by building a mighty tower. God, of course, was not particularly impressed with this endeavour, and so scattered the people far and wide, making it so that each man could no longer understand the language of his brother. But in Purgatory, there was no longer any need for such separation; if anything, I guessed that God wanted to encourage us to communicate with each other, to talk about our situation, to help one another out. We were all now citizens of one nation again, and our new bodies were obviously equipped with the gift of tongues, of understanding. In many ways, we were better off in Purgatory than we had ever been back on Earth; at least, if you ignored the imminent threat of being overrun by an army of demons and eternal damnation. But then if God was supposed to be merciful…

“Here we are, Dan. A little taste of home.”

Thomas’s interruption derailed my train of thought, and the sight before me was bizarre enough that it would be some time before the next one left the station. I had thought that I was becoming accustomed to the strange sights of Purgatory, but evidently there were still more surprises in store.

We had turned the corner and come face to face with a pub—a proper English village pub complete with mock Tudor beam construction and a signpost swinging calmly in the breeze. Flickering candles burnt low in its windows, and a small puddle of grass sat underneath the building. A couple of metres away from its walls, the familiar red dust of New Jerusalem’s streets took hold once again, and the overall impression I had was that a tornado had dropped the most inappropriate building it could think of right in the middle of Purgatory. None of the pub’s numerous customers seemed particularly fazed by its presence there, spilling out into the street and sitting around makeshift tables cobbled together from the debris of the surrounding buildings. I felt a grin stealing over my face as I read the name on the signpost: ‘The Last Chance’.

“Pretty impressive, huh? The best part of all is that everything’s free, and you never get a hangover, either. Of course, it’s impossible to get drunk, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Come on, let’s go and get a drink, and then I want you to meet my friend Harper.”

“Harper? That’s an unfortunate name for someone stuck in a place like this.”

“I wouldn’t advise you to mention it, Dan. Harper’s one of those people I talked about earlier, the kind who don’t like to be reminded of the fact that they’re stuck here. I can sort of see her point, too, but I’ll leave it to her to decide if she wants to share the details with you or not. In the meantime, I suggest you tread carefully.”

We made our way through the crowd, entered the pub and headed over to the bar. As you can probably imagine, there was no shortage of people vying for attention at a bar supplying free drinks, but we eventually managed to catch the attention of one of the angels acting as bar staff. It felt a little surreal asking an angel for a pint, but Thomas just grinned at my bemusement. While we were waiting for our drinks, I quizzed him some more.

“So, I have to ask. What the hell is a pub doing here in the middle of Purgatory? If we’re supposed to be concentrating on making our peace with God, surely He’d want there to be as few distractions as possible. This strikes me as being a pretty big distraction.”

“Anywhere there are people, there will be distractions. If not a pub, then we’d only come up with something else instead. It’s human nature. Remember Adam and Eve? If God was to lay down any rules about what was and wasn’t allowed, we’d only go and break them anyway. So God meets us halfway, and provides us with this little spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.”

“As long as you don’t get too comfortable, right? I mean, if you have all the comforts of home here in Purgatory, then why bother to make the effort to escape?”

“Truly the words of someone who hasn’t been outside the city walls yet.”

“Maybe, but then no-one’s forcing me to go out there, are they? What if I just stayed here in the pub forever and ever? For some people, that probably
is
their idea of Heaven.”

Thomas nodded slowly. “You’re right, some people do think like that. There are a couple of faces I could point out to you in here that never seem to leave. But they’re very long faces. They can never get drunk enough to forget where they are or who they are. And they know in their hearts that this isn’t their true destiny, that they’re only hiding from God and from themselves.”

Our drinks arrived, tall and clear and beaded with moisture. I had expected to feel thirsty at the sight of them, but then I remembered that thirst wasn’t part of my new body’s design. “Besides,” said Thomas, raising his glass, “I don’t think sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself is your style, Dan. You said yourself that you want to see your wife again, and you know you won’t find her in here.”

I lifted my own glass in a toast. It was deliciously cool to the touch. “In that case—to getting the hell out of here.”

“To mercy.” Seeing the quizzical look on my face, he elaborated. “Think about it. It’s the only way any of us
are
getting the hell out of here—unless it’s Hell you’re intending to go to, of course. Come on.”

We set off across the pub once again, making our way over to one of the corners at the back. Looking at the faces of the other patrons we passed, I couldn’t see much evidence of mercy there. There was a brittleness about the laughter I could hear, and fear in most of the eyes that met my gaze. More than once I recognised the drawn look of combat fatigue. The cursory appearance of a normal, happy pub was just that: cursory. I realised that most of the people around us were not there to relax after a day of fighting, or to try to help each other figure out how to get out of Purgatory. They were there because they had given up, or were on the verge of doing so. Misery loves company, and there was plenty of both on offer in the Last Chance. As we crossed this sea of the lost, the name of the pub no longer seemed quite so whimsical.

Towards the back of the pub, the almost liturgical murmur of the nearly damned died away, and the dim red light spilling in through the windows yielded to that of the candles that festooned the walls. I could see two figures sitting at the table we were obviously headed for, a man and a woman. For one breathtaking instant I thought that the woman was Joanna, but as she turned to face us, I could see that it was just a trick of the light, exacerbated by the fact that her hair was exactly the same shade of fiery red as Jo’s. I assumed this must be Harper. She eyed me suspiciously as we drew near. She was good looking, that’s for sure, but as I observed her, all I felt was a sharp pang of longing for Jo, made all the more painful by my split second of misidentification. I diverted my feelings by focussing my attention on the guy who sat next to her instead. He looked like a wreck, new body or not. Only the suit of armour he wore seemed to be propping him up, and his cheeks were streaked with the grubby trails of barely dried tears. Whereas Harper’s gaze was steady, his eyes flickered restlessly between Thomas and me, an unhealthy shine stealing into them as we approached.

“Hello, hello,” he called, his voice full of fragile enthusiasm. “Please tell me you’re the ones finally coming to sort out this terrible misunderstanding. Like I keep telling this woman, it’s all a big mistake, my being here. I’m supposed to be in Heaven, not Purgatory. Saint Peter must have got me mixed up with somebody else. That’s okay, I understand. I’m sure it’s easy to do with so many people here; so many sinners, I mean.” The word
sinners
hissed out of his mouth with as much venom as if it had been attached to a real snake.

Harper looked heavenward and addressed Thomas as her eyes came back down. “Don’t look at me, he’s been like this from the moment I picked him up.”

“You always did like a challenge, Harper.”

“Not really,” she sighed. “Allow me to introduce my good deed for the day. He’s one of the ones who don’t believe it when you tell them about this place. Maybe he’ll listen to you instead. His name’s Abraham.”

Thomas sat down at the table opposite Abraham and looked him square in the face. “Take it easy, Abraham, and don’t let this place scare you. It’s not a mistake, your being here, but at the same time it’s nothing to worry about, either. We’ve all got to pass through on our way to the other side.” Thomas reached across the table to give Abraham a reassuring pat on the arm. Abraham flinched.

“Take it easy, you say! How can I do that when I keep hearing everyone around me talking about demons being out there? Demons! Why has God deserted me, left me in this unholy place? I was a good Christian. I went to church every Sunday. I tithed. I was faithful to my wife. And look at my reward: trapped in Purgatory, surrounded by demons! What did I do wrong?”

“You’ve given me a headache, for starters,” muttered Harper.

Thomas shot her a look. “It’s not a question of having done anything wrong, Abraham, it’s just the way things work in the afterlife. Purgatory is a bit like passport control at an airport. As long as you’ve got the right paperwork, you’ll get through, no problem; you just have to wait until it’s your turn to go through the gate. It certainly sounds as if you were living a good life before you died, so you’ve really got nothing to be afraid of. Here, let me introduce you to another new arrival. His name’s Dan.”

I gave Harper and Abraham a lazy salute. “Pleasure to meet you both, however briefly. Like Abraham here, I’m not planning on spending too long in Purgatory, either.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got it all figured out, eh, Newborn?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve certainly got the motivation.”

“Dan here is very keen to be reunited with his wife. She died just a few moments before he did, and has already transitioned,” explained Thomas.

“Well, yeah, there is that too. But I was thinking more about the fact that the beer here tastes like piss.” Nothing could be further from the truth, but my wisecrack (the best I could do after the surreal day I’d had) evoked a flicker of a smirk from Harper and a look of almost comical horror from Abraham.

“How can you make jokes at a time like this? Don’t you know where you are? Don’t you realise what’s at stake? That a stupid joke like that could damn you for all eternity? That it could damn us all?”

“Calm down, Abraham, calm down. I’m sure that Dan was just trying to break the ice, that’s all. Right, Dan?”

The half-pleading, half-warning look in Thomas’s eyes told me the right thing to say. I shrugged. “Sure, I was just kidding around.” Taking Abraham’s state into consideration, perhaps joking about things hadn’t been the best way to handle him, but I was already slipping into the old soldier’s habit of dealing with adversity by laughing in its face. The poor guy opposite me had probably never had to deal with anything more stressful than being twenty minutes late for work. I resolved to be more tactful if I could. “No offence meant. I’m just as unhappy about being here as you are.”

Abraham shook his head. “I doubt it. If that was true, you wouldn’t make jokes. Purgatory is a place of punishment, and the more things you say to anger God, the worse He’ll make it for us.”

Thomas shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said.

The transformation in Abraham was sudden and shocking. One second he had all the vitality of an overcooked noodle, the next he was almost frothing at the mouth. “How the fuck do you know? What makes
you
the expert?”

Thomas’s response was as mild as if he had been discussing the weather. “Nothing really. But I used to be a vicar, so maybe I know a thing or two. Not everything—if I knew everything, I wouldn’t be here talking to you now—but I do know that the whole point of Jesus being sent to Earth was that we were to be forgiven for our sins. Purgatory isn’t about punishment, at least not in the way it’s depicted in paintings and so on. I think God’s more interested in our attitude towards Him now that we’re here, rather than our actions.”

Just as quickly as Abraham had switched on his madness, he switched it off again. He shrank back into his armour. “Huh, you’re one of that lot, I see. The ones who conveniently forget all about Sodom and Gomorrah, the Flood, the fate of those who chose to worship the Golden Calf. You’re entitled to your views, I suppose. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I
know that Purgatory is the place you’re sent to work off the debt of sin you’ve incurred during your life, and I’m just saying: be careful that you don’t rack up any more debt than you already have.”

As much as I was trying to give Abraham a chance, the more he spoke, the less I liked him. Rationally, I knew that I should have empathised with his circumstances. My initial impression—that his hysteria was due to the disorientation of waking up in Purgatory—was giving way to a new realisation: that he was actually terrified out of his mind because finding himself here meant that he’d lived his entire life pleasing a God that had just screwed him over. The exact point in our lives at which God had done so differed—I’d had much longer to get used to the idea than he had—but I could certainly sympathise with his frustration.