Chapter 2

I STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of God’s chamber, averting my eyes from the blinding glare. Part of me wanted to bow down before Him. Another part suggested I should be prostrating myself fully. A third part convinced me that total paralysis was the preferable option. I might have made some incomprehensible noises. In short, I completely failed to come up with any kind of coherent response. Presently, He spoke again.

“I’m sorry. It’s the light, isn’t it. Give me a moment. I’ll just turn it down.”

Within the haze of light, I could just make out the movement of an arm. Then, gradually, the glow diminished, and before too long I began to be able to make sense of my surroundings, if “sense” was the right word to use.

Everything within this chamber was utterly ordinary in the most magnificent way. The couch against the far wall wouldn’t have looked out of place in a cut-price motel, save for the fact that the legs were mahogany and the cushions were rich red velvet. The old cathode ray television sitting opposite had been carved from a solid block of granite and featured a screen of shimmering crystal. The patterned wallpaper on all sides was embossed with gold thread, while the floral curtains that hung over the single window were woven from sheer silk. As far as I could tell, the only things missing were three flying ducks on the wall, cut from twenty-carat diamonds.

God Himself was sitting on the couch. He was a stout old man, dressed in a robe not dissimilar to Peter’s but somewhat more worn. He had a large round head, capped by a thick shock of ragged white hair and underscored by an equally ragged white beard. His skin was rough and lined, His nose was bulbous, and His eyes glistened from beneath a hedge of bushy eyebrows. He looked exactly the way God was supposed to look, only slightly shorter.

“That’s better,” He grunted as He placed what looked like a gem-encrusted remote control back on the armrest. “Now Mr Clarenden, as I was saying, you’re probably wondering why I summoned you here today.”

I tried to open my mouth, only to discover my tongue had gone missing. I sent a search team to look for it. It seemed to have found a hiding place at the back of my throat, right behind my tonsils. I sent a retrieval team down to try to bring it home. Mission accomplished, I finally managed to speak.

“I think I know what you’re about to say, and I’m ready to face it. I know I haven’t lived the best life I could have, but I’m fully prepared to accept my fate.”

God gave me a puzzled look for a moment. Then He let out a throaty, husky chuckle.

“You think that’s why I called you here? You think I would go to all that effort and have Peter escort you directly through the Gates, just for that? Absolutely not. It’s definitely not that time for you yet.”

My tongue was gone again. This time, it was way past my tonsils and halfway down my throat. I could only look at God with a gaping mouth, like a puffer fish at a dentist appointment.

“You mean I’m not dead?” I finally managed to squeak.

“That’s a difficult question to answer. There are certain rules of the natural world that even I am not able to circumvent. In order to bring you up here, you’ve had to go through what was essentially a death experience, and I apologise for any discomfort that may have caused. Still, you have been summoned for a very specific purpose before your time is supposed to be up, so I guess technically you’re not really dead. By the way, can I offer you a cigarette?”

“No thanks, I always did mean to give them up.” I assumed this was the response He would want.

“Suit yourself. Hope you don’t mind if I have one.” He took a gold cigarette case and a glistening silver lighter from out of His robe. Then He lit up a cigarette and puffed contentedly on it. “Dreadful habit, I know, but I just can’t help myself. My doctor hates it. Says it’ll be the death of me. Typical damn quacks.”

Sitting in Heaven and watching God smoking a cigarette was not quite how I’d expected this night to end, but a private investigator had to be prepared for all eventualities. And I couldn’t exactly say it was a blow to discover I wasn’t about to be sent down to the fiery pit. Maybe I was actually going to catch a break for once in my surprisingly extended life.

“So if I’m not dead, what am I doing here? I assume you didn’t invite me up for tea and cookies.”

“You assume correct,” said God, taking another puff on His gasper. “I need you for a job.”

“You need me for a job?” I echoed dumbly. It looked like there were some eventualities this private investigator was not prepared for.

“That’s what I just said,” God grumbled, somewhat impatiently. “I have an urgent need for the services of someone such as yourself. I have a . . . problem that is quite delicate and personal. And I am prepared to reward you well for your services.”

The prospect of being well rewarded for my services was possibly the strangest concept of all to me, but it was one I was more than happy to go along with. It was time to get down to business.

“Tell me about this delicate problem,” I said. “What’s this job I’ve been summoned here to do?”

God put the cigarette down on a diamond ashtray and cleared His throat again. “My son has gone missing, Mr Clarenden. I need you to find him for me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Jesus?”

“No, not Jesus. Phil.”

“I thought your son’s name was Jesus.”

“It is.”

“Then who is Phil?”

“My other son. I have two sons. One is Jesus and the other one is Phil. Phil is the one I need you to find.”

“Where is Jesus?”

“I don’t know,” said God as He picked up His cigarette again.

“Do you want me to find him too?”

“No, no, no,” spluttered God, the smoke streaming from His mouth in three different directions. “I don’t know where Jesus is because he’s away at the moment. He often goes down to Earth to check up on things for me.”

“You mean the second coming has already happened?”

“The second coming, and the third, and the fourth. He’s learned to keep a much lower profile these days, after all that messy business the first time around. Still, sometimes it’s hard for him. People always want to follow him. He’s very charismatic. See, have a look at these photos.”

God pointed over to the shelf beside the television where a bunch of photos stood: a series of family shots of God and Jesus celebrating events such as birthdays, graduations, and homecomings. My eyes were instantly drawn to the younger man with the flowing brown hair, the beard, and the expression of inner calm. It took me a while to realise there was a second young man in the photos.

He was utterly ordinary looking. His hair was cropped short, and his clean-shaven face was pleasant but uninteresting. His mouth was permanently caught halfway between a smile and a frown, while his eyes never looked directly at the camera. He seemed to hang at the back of the photos, deflecting all attention to his more compelling father and brother. Compared to God and Jesus, he was like a dry cracker sitting next to a box of chocolates.

“This is Phil?” I indicated the other young man in the photos.

God nodded. “He’s nothing like Jesus. It’s not at all like him to go missing. He’s much more the stay-at-home type.”

“With digs like this, I don’t blame him. So what does he do while he’s staying at home?”

“He helps me out with . . . certain things.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Just a few odds and ends. A little of this and a little of that.”

“A little of this and a little of that can add up to quite a lot. A little more information would be helpful.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Clarenden. When I said this was a personal matter, I meant it. There are some things I am unable to share with you.”

God’s evasiveness was frustrating, but I wasn’t going to question it. Respecting a client’s privacy was an important part of the job. And besides, it didn’t seem smart to bring down His wrath upon me, at least not until I knew Him a bit better. I figured I’d better go with whatever He was prepared to tell me.