A Fate Worse Than Death

by Jonathan Gould

  Now that was something I definitely didn’t want to know more about. God’s talk of impenetrable shadows made me think again of the darkness I had floated through on my way into the light—the darkness I’d assumed I was going to be consumed by. I shivered at the thought and tried to force it from my mind by focussing on more cheerful things.

  “Before we take this any further, I believe there is the issue of payment to discuss. You mentioned that you were prepared to reward me well for my services. Plus, I have my expenses to consider. How many dollars are we talking about?”

  God laughed His throaty laugh again. “Did you ever hear the expression ‘money is the root of all evil’?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well it’s true. You’ll have no need for money up here. Anything you could want in Heaven, from any restaurant, shop, or market, can be acquired free of charge. No, I offer you a reward far more valuable than anything money can buy. Would you like to know what it is?”

  Part of me groaned inwardly. I’d heard this line far too often from potential clients who had no intention of paying. But then I reminded myself that this was God talking. Presumably He’d have something better to offer than a group hug when the job was over.

  I nodded.

  “I present to you the most valuable payment anyone could ever receive. An opportunity to restore your life. To right all your wrongs and fix all your mistakes. What I offer is a second chance. What do you say to that, Mr Clarenden?” He lit up another cigarette.

  I mulled over God’s offer. This job was clearly not going to be a walk in the park. Even the sorts of parks I was used to walking in—with rusted-out playgrounds, weed-choked lawns, and sinister figures lurking in the shadows—seemed bright and pleasant when compared to the impenetrable shadows that God Himself couldn’t see through. And yet, the idea of a second chance was pretty alluring. After the mess I’d made of my first attempt at life, the prospect of going back to have another shot was like sweet music to my previously tone-deaf ears.

  It didn’t take long for me to convince myself that the positives outweighed the negatives. Sure, I might be taking on forces beyond imagining, but it seemed worth it for a chance to fix all of my mistakes. And it only seemed fair, given I had made an awful lot of mistakes.

  “I say I am at your service. The sooner I can get started, the better.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. But remember, with payment comes responsibility. As I mentioned before, Heaven is a place of peace. I’ve worked long and hard to make it that way. If I find you are causing trouble and interfering with that peace, you will not only lose that second chance, but you will be off the case, permanently. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As clear as the water at a beach after a shark has been spotted.”

  “Splendid,” said God. He pulled on a chain that hung beside the couch. Immediately, the door opened and the tall servant reappeared. He stood by the door with a pained expression on his face, gently waving his hand in front of his nose—trying to repel the cigarette smoke while not drawing attention to the fact he was doing it.

  “I have organised the rental of a small office for you,” said God. “Gabriel here will show you where it is. He will also assist you in any way possible. If there is anything you need, he’s the man to ask.”

  I pointed to the servant, Gabriel, and put a finger to my lips.

  “No, it’s all right,” said God. “Gabriel is to be trusted. He knows about Phil’s disappearance. But he’s the only one. Remember, no one else is to know the true nature of your presence in Heaven. No one.”

  “No one will know,” I assured God.

  “Good. Now go. Search Heaven for me. Find my son and bring him back to me.” And with that, God turned away and picked up His remote control again.

  “If you would be so kind as to follow me,” said Gabriel, sounding even less interested in me than he had been at our prior meeting.

  I made to follow him out the door, but a flaring pain in the vicinity of my chest reminded me of the rather violent way I’d been forced to depart the land of the living.

  “Before I go, can I ask one more question?” I said with a grimace.

  “Anything,” said God.

  “I’ve just been shot. Is there a doctor around here I can see?”

  “I’m sorry, I quite forgot. Gabriel, please take Mr Clarenden to see my personal physician immediately.”

  As I left God’s chamber, the sound of coughing tempted me to take one quick look back. Through the smoky haze that filled the room, I could just make out the figure of God lighting another cigarette and then raising the remote control and pointing it at the television.

  CHAPTER 3

  GABRIEL LED ME UP A FLIGHT OF STAIRS and down a short corridor. He opened a door at the end of the hall and I followed him through. We were in a small surgery. A little man with thinning brown hair and large glasses sat writing at a desk. He looked up with an enquiring expression as we entered.

  “Dr Galapagos, I have an important patient for you to see,” said Gabriel.

  “Important, is he?” said the doctor. He put down his pen and stood up. “If you’d be so kind as to give me and my patient a little privacy,” he said to Gabriel, who promptly turned up his nose and exited, closing the door behind him.

  “Now would you like to take a seat on the bed, Mr . . . ”

  “Clarenden. Jimmy Clarenden.”

  I sat down on the bed. The doctor took his chair and sat across from me. He sniffed loudly and then screwed up his nose.

  “You don’t have to tell me who you’ve been speaking to,” he grunted. “The Lord of Nicotine Himself.”

  “A man needs a hobby,” I said. It seemed that doctors in Heaven weren’t all that different from doctors back in the land of the living.

  “Then why can’t He take up lawn bowls or flower arranging?” Dr Galapagos grumbled. “That damn Walter Raleigh. I told Peter not to let him through the Gates, but does anyone listen to a silly old doctor?” He threw his arms up in despair. “Within five minutes, He was smoking like a chimney stack.”

  I shrugged. As I did so, another bolt of pain ripped through my shoulders. I must have groaned because the doctor immediately ceased his griping.

  “Looks like you didn’t have an easy trip up here.”

  “I’ve been shot, doc. Too many times to count. I figure at the moment I’m the holeyest man in Heaven.”

  “Very droll,” the doctor chuckled. He eased off my shirt and examined the numerous, bloody wounds. Then he walked over to his desk and took some ointment from one of the drawers. “Apply this to the wounds three times a day and that should do it.”

  “I think I’ll need something a bit stronger than that. We’re not talking about a grazed knee here.”

  “On the contrary, this should be more than sufficient. You probably don’t even need it, but I’d hate for you to think I wasn’t doing my job. The thing is, Heaven is a wonderfully therapeutic place. Something to do with the air up here, I believe. A couple of days and you won’t even remember you’ve been shot. But if you’re still not convinced, let me give you a quick checkup as well.”

  The doctor went through the usual routine. He looked down my throat and in my ears, and then he took out a stethoscope. As he pressed it to my chest, an expression of puzzlement crossed his brow.

  “Is there something wrong with my heart?” I asked.

  “Yes, there most certainly is. It’s beating!”

  The doc was clearly onto me. I figured I had little choice but to be as up-front as I could. “There’s a simple explanation for that. I’m kind of, sort of not completely dead.”

  “Then what are you doing up here?” Luckily, before I could rack my brain for a suitable answer, he continued. “No, don’t tell me. He moves in mysterious ways. I’m sure He has His reasons. I suppose I’d better let you get on with whatever it is you’re meant to be doing, Mr Clarenden.”

  I put my shirt on and stood up.

 
“Thanks for your help, doc,” I said. “Just one more thing before I go.”

  “How may I be of assistance?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any aspirin? I’ve got one doozy of a hangover.”

  * * *

  I rejoined Gabriel outside the doctor’s office.

  “Are you feeling better now, Mr Clarenden?” he asked as his eyes studied a spot on the wall behind me.

  “About as fine as a tropical hailstorm.”

  “Very good,” he said. “If you will follow me, I shall get you the directions to your office.” He began to walk back down the hall.

  “Wait a moment,” I called as I hurried to catch up.

  He stopped, turned around, and stood staring at me as if I were a stain on the carpet.

  “Before you take me to my office, I’d like to talk to you for a moment about Phil.”

  “There really isn’t much I can say. Master Phil is a fine young gentleman.”

  “Come on, there must be more to it than that. There must be something you can tell me.”

  “I can tell you nothing. But if you really don’t believe me―perhaps if I show you his bedroom you will understand.”

  “That was the next thing I was going to ask you to do.”

  Gabriel led me down the corridor to a small door, hidden just to the left of the stairs.

  “The residential quarters,” he explained. “Members of the public are not usually permitted in here.”

  He opened the door and walked through. I followed and then stopped, blinking in disbelief. For a moment, I thought that maybe the painkillers the doc had given me were messing with my head. I had never in my life seen anything like this before.

  We were in a huge hall that swept away as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was so high it could barely be glimpsed, gleaming far above my head. The walls were adorned with paintings and tapestries that could only have been the work of grand masters. The massive columns that supported the roof were embellished with carvings of amazing intricacy and studded with diamonds and other jewels. To create this place, God must have gathered every great artist that had ever lived for the past three thousand years and then let them loose.

  I followed Gabriel through the hall, passing marvels of art that would have made a museum curator feel like a stamp collector. My eyes were popping out like a cartoon mouse’s, and my mouth was hanging so far open that my jaw was dragging along the ground. Finally, Gabriel produced a key and unlocked a door. I crossed the threshold, holding my breath in anticipation of what new wonders would greet me.

  It was a room, a bed, a desk. No gold or silver. No jewels or sculptures. Just a simple, basic room with timber shelves, a worn old carpet, and a patterned cotton sheet on the bed. After the magnificence of the hall, this was a major letdown. I turned to Gabriel.

  “Why so plain?”

  “The Master felt it was important to give His children as normal an upbringing as possible. He always said that just because they were the sons of God, that was no reason to spoil them.”

  “Your boss is a clever fellow.”

  “Infinitely so.” Gabriel lifted an arm and began fiddling with the sleeve.

  I took the hint and began to examine the room more closely. There was an overpowering sense of neatness to it. The bed was neatly made. The desk had a couple of pens and a notepad neatly arranged on it, while the shelves above were neatly packed with books and ornaments. I opened the closet to see a neatly organised assortment of clothes on one side, and a tennis racquet and some balls neatly placed on the other. If being neat was an Olympic sport, this Phil would be up on the podium brandishing a gold medal.

  I closed the closet and walked across the room to inspect the desk. The notepad had a series of mathematical calculations written on the first three pages. The books arranged on the shelves above had titles like Introduction to Elementary Accounting and Learning Balance Sheets the Fun Way.

  “What’s with the books?” I asked.

  Gabriel reluctantly looked up from his sleeve adjusting. “Master Phil is a keen student of the financial sciences.”

  A “student of the financial sciences” seemed like a pretty fancy name for a bean counter. I had a lot of names for my accountant, but none of them sounded as nice as that.

  I scanned the shelves further and, at last, my eyes alit on something out of the ordinary. Amongst the ornaments displayed was a group of items that seemed completely out of place in the room: a long hunting knife, a deadly-looking spear, a collection of fearsome native carvings. Was it possible that underneath the neatness and the number crunching, this fine young gentleman did have a darker side? I picked up one of the carvings.

  “What’s a nice boy like Phil doing with a nasty thing like this?”

  “A gift from Master Jesus. He travels a lot, often to quite exotic places. He always brings back the most remarkable things.”

  So much for that idea. I put the carving back.

  “Do you see what I mean, Mr Clarenden?” Gabriel’s voice somehow managed to convey a mix of both triumph and complete indifference.

  I nodded. It seemed Gabriel was right. If Phil had a dark side, soap and detergent couldn’t have made it any lighter. There was nothing to see in this room that might have aroused any kind of suspicion.

  “I suppose I’d be wasting my time if I asked if you had any idea where Phil might be,” I said to Gabriel.

  “I suppose you would be.” Gabriel had already turned his back and was leaving the room.

  I followed. As we began walking back down the majestic hall, I considered what I had learned so far.

  My missing person didn’t seem to be anyone special. An average kid, hard-working, neat. There was just one thing that made him stand out in a big way, like a kangaroo in a chicken coop.

  How many people could claim a parentage like his? How many kids could say they were the son of God? Just two, it would seem. From what I had gleaned about Phil, he didn’t sound like the type to boast, but it wouldn’t be something he could hide either. Had he perhaps been kidnapped and held hostage? Was there someone in Heaven with the nerve to hold God to ransom?

  This theory seemed the strongest possibility so far, except it had one major flaw: God had made no reference to a ransom note. I knew He had been holding things back, but surely He wouldn’t want to conceal such a crucial piece of evidence. Even Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be able to solve the case if that sort of information was withheld.

  By this time, we had come to the door at the end of the hall. Before we departed, I figured I should treat my eyes to one last look back. I couldn’t help noticing that amidst the gleaming splendor, there were three points of light gliding towards us. As I looked more closely, the lights began to resolve into figures. I pointed them out to Gabriel.

  “Angels,” Gabriel sniffed.

  “I don’t see any wings?”

  “Probably at the dry cleaners.”

  As the figures drew near, I could see there were two women and one man. They seemed to radiate light, though it was less blindingly brilliant than the light in God’s chamber. Still, I was beginning to realise Heaven was not a good place for those with sensitive eyes.

  Gabriel did the introductions in a tone you could have mixed with whiskey.

  “Mr Clarenden, it is my utter delight to present to you the archangels of my Master’s court, Sally, Jessie, and Raphael.” He turned to the angels. “If you would be so kind as to entertain Mr Clarenden, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Then he disappeared through the door at the end of the hall.

  I looked at the angels. Well, that’s not quite true. I looked at the one angel standing in front of the other two, the one Gabriel had introduced as Sally. It was hard to look anywhere else.

  She was stunning. Let me rephrase that. She was beyond stunning. No, let me try again. She was beyond beyond stunning. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like flowing sheets of gold and her eyes sparkled with piercing blue fire. Her lips were red and moist and drawn up
into a slightly mocking smile, while her legs, barely concealed by a shorter-than-short robe, were surely the most finely crafted artifacts in the whole of this hall.

  “Mr Clarenden,” she purred. “Not Mr Jimmy Clarenden?” Her voice was as clear as an iceberg and just as dangerous.

  “It’s hard to tell,” I said. “I’m a master of disguises.”

  “So I hear.” She laughed. “They tell me that in your previous life, you were disguised as a private investigator.”

  “The best disguise I ever created. It lasted twenty years and no one ever saw through it.”

  “How strange that no one saw through it. I hear you haven’t actually solved a case for over five years.”

  “Just part of the cover. Wouldn’t want to appear too successful. I’d hate to draw unwanted attention to myself.” I fixed her in the eyes as I spoke.

  She paused. For a moment, those fiery eyes locked onto mine, trying to stare me into submission. When my face didn’t drop, she wavered and looked away.

  “What are you doing here, Clarenden?” she said softly. Underneath the ice, I could hear just the tiniest shred of doubt.

  “What is anyone doing here?” I said. “Enjoying the rewards due after a life of toil and struggle.”

  “Toil and struggle? You wouldn’t know toil and struggle if it came up behind you and kicked you in the pants.”

  “A kick in the pants would be a lot more pleasant than this welcoming committee. Is this the sort of greeting people usually get when they enter God’s kingdom?”

  “You think you got a rotten welcome? You should see the send-off they gave you.”

  She raised a finger and pointed up to the nearest painting on the wall. Instantly, the image was replaced by a television screen. On the screen, a small group was visible, standing outside a church beside a grave. It was my own funeral.

  A tired-looking priest was speaking. “It betides us ill to speak poorly of the dead,” he intoned, “however in the case of Jimmy Clarenden, I’m not sure there’s much else we can do.”