“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 UPA 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.