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‘But in some instances a person has lived their life in such a way that Heaven and Hell both feel that they have equal claim to the soul. And in those cases, the Court of Saint Peter is convened to adjudicate on the matter.’
‘So God and the Devil are having a fucking custody battle over me?’
‘Well I’m not sure Heaven will want custody if you persist with that kind of language, Mr Shepherd.’
He sighed.
‘Apologies – it’s been a killer day.’
He winced again. Why did everything in Purgatory lead to an unfortunate pun?
‘The court simply wants to clarify certain aspects of the life your soul has lived and based on that, they will make a recommendation.’
‘And what are you?’
‘I am your defence counsel.’
‘No I mean, what actually are you? Are you an Angel?’
She smiled and gave a proud little nod.
‘Indeed I am.’
David slowly walked around her, his eyes scanning up and down.
‘Where are your wings then?’
‘Well the Dominions passed a motion many years ago that prevent any angel within the Third Sphere from wearing his or her wings in Purgatory or Earth.’
She gave an embarrassed smile.
‘It seemed that we were intimidating people.’
‘Who are the Dominions? What’s the Third Sphere?’
She looked at him in disbelief.
‘Your file says that you attended a Catholic School, yet you know nothing of the Three Spheres?’
‘I wasn’t much of a reader,’ he replied sheepishly.
‘Clearly,’ she said with a raised eyebrow. ‘The Third Sphere refers to the Third Sphere of Angels. Although things are constantly re-structuring, there are essentially three spheres of Angels in Heaven. The First Sphere is made of the Seraphim, Cherubim and the Ophanims. These Angels are responsible for looking after the Throne.’
‘Senior management, yeah?’
She gave a pained smile.
‘If you like. Now, the Second Sphere of Angels are the governors of Heaven. They are made up of Angels known as the Virtues, the Powers and the Dominions. These angels regulate the Kingdom.’
‘So the Dominions are your bosses?’
‘Angels don’t have “bosses”, Mr Shepherd. The Dominions merely regulate how the Third Sphere should conduct themselves and pass on the tasks which the First Sphere has passed to them.’
Unbelievable. It seemed that even Heaven had middle management.
‘And then there is the Third Sphere – the Principalities, Archangels and the Angels. The Principalities liaise with the Powers and pass on their wishes to us.’
‘So you’re an Archangel?’
She shot him a look that a boarding school headmistress would have been proud of.
‘I most certainly am not. I am an Angel.’
‘But do you know many Archangels?’
‘Several.’
‘So what are they like?’
She sighed.
‘What is behind this fascination that people seem to have with Archangels? Archangels and Guardian Angels seem to be the only Angels that people take notice of anymore.’
As Olivia continued, David sensed that he’d struck a raw nerve.
‘Michael and his Archangels have been riding the coat tails of banishing Lucifer to Hell for millennia. People seemed to have forgotten that Lucifer had actually been an Archangel in the first place. The only miracle that Michael achieved was somehow turning a career-ending embarrassment into a legacy that he has hung his halo on for far too long. It’s amazing what a little PR will do for you.’
Although it had been many years since David had read a bible, he couldn’t remember Heaven having publicists.
‘As for Guardian Angels,’ continued Olivia, ‘they are simply a Catholic myth. There may be a handful of souls that the First Sphere take a close interest in, but the very idea that every soul has an Angel watching over them is simply preposterous. Heaven simply doesn’t have the resources.’
Olivia was about to go on, but caught herself. She blushed.
‘Apologies, but I am a keen advocate of Equality within the Third Sphere, Mr Shepherd. Forgive me, what was your original question?’
‘I was just wondering what Archangels are like.’
‘They are …. theatrical,’ said Olivia through a pained smile.
Her response reminded him of when people asked him what he thought of illegal mini-cab drivers. Although “theatrical” was not probably a word he would have used.
He rubbed his temples. His headache was getting worse.
‘So what happens now? When is this trial supposed to begin?’
She snapped the folder shut and smiled.
‘Now.’
CHAPTER 2
Gabriel never used an alarm. The heat usually woke him. He still hadn’t quite got used to the heat in Hell.
He got out of his bed, not even looking at the brunette whom he’d slept with last night, and walked naked across to an old gramophone on the antique table in the corner of the room. He switched it on and placed the needle down on the record with the gentle precision of a surgeon. A moment of crackled silence and then opera wafted throughout his apartment as he walked down the hallway to the bathroom.
He reached into the shower and turned the tap. As he stepped under the scalding water and closed his eyes, he took a moment to let the music and heat wash over him before turning to the job at hand of washing himself. Although his job afforded him many luxuries, laziness was not one of them.
Gabriel got out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror for a moment. His dark eyes studied his muscular physique and like most people that laid eyes on him, he liked what he saw. He splashed some cologne into his palms and rubbed them over his designer stubble, before slipping on a crimson, satin gown and walking down to the kitchen.
He made two espressos on a coffee machine that would have not looked out of place in a Parisian café and drank one immediately. He took the second with him to a glass dining table adjacent to the kitchen.
As always, the table was laden with newspapers from all over the planet, each in a different language. He scanned the headlines: Corruption in Brazil; A sex scandal in Canada; Freedom of expression in Sweden; A reality TV star in America who was suing a television network that produced and aired his television show, for invasion of privacy. With the opera drifting down the hallway toward him, he casually leafed through the newspapers and slowly sipped his second espresso. He largely ignored the political stories, as those types would rarely make it to trial. He did take particular notice of natural disaster stories though. You just never knew exactly who was going to die in one of those.
He checked the expensive silver watch on his wrist and sighed – there was just never enough time to read the paper in full nowadays. He picked up the Daily Mirror – a newspaper that had a special relationship with his employer - and leafed through to the obituaries, keen to see what the working day would bring for the prosecutor’s office and its team of capable lawyers.
A baker in Dunedin. A little girl in Reading. Some troops returning