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  ‘Joe?’ Metatron emerged from among the trees. He looked surprised. ‘I was just about to call you.’ He gave me his usual huge smile then turned me around to face the other way. ‘Excellent timing as usual, dear boy, come on we need to stop this car.’

  ‘What?’ Completely confused, I stared into the darkness. In the distance I could just make out the twin pinprick lights of an oncoming car. Wind-driven rain occasionally blurred them into bright lines but, even so, they seemed to be growing at an alarming rate.

  ‘Metatron!’ I squinted into the deluge, choking as water ran into my mouth, ‘I’ve got a real problem. I was with my next-door neighbour and …’ I stopped as the boss held up a hand as he stared off into the distance watching the car draw closer.

  ‘I know all about it.’ Metatron frowned as he studied the oncoming vehicle. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Right come on.’ Metatron grabbed my arm and pulled me into the middle of the road. I could hear the car’s engine, its note high pitched and strained as it tore toward us.

  I tried to edge away but Metatron controlled my wrist and held me still. ‘What are we supposed to be doing?’ I swallowed hard as the lights grew bigger and bigger.

  ‘Just standing here.’ Metatron seemed totally relaxed. ‘Hopefully Mr Latimer will see us before he runs us down.’

  ‘Hopefully?’ I braced myself for yet another death or, at the very least, a vast amount of broken bones. My brain gave me a little nudge – Latimer – didn’t I know that name from somewhere? My rising panic stopped me from thinking clearly.

  Metatron stood solidly in the centre of the road and watched with a wide smile as the big 4x4 bore down on us. I cringed behind him. I had just got to the point of screaming and ducking, when the big car violently changed direction. Unable to gain purchase on the rain-slick tarmac, it slid in a wide arc, the spinning wheels sending up a fountain of muddy water. Finally finding purchase in the gutter, it careered off the road, and plunged into the undergrowth.

  ‘Tch!’ The diminutive angel sighed and began to brush small flecks of mud from his suit jacket with a look of distaste. Looking up with a frown, he watched the car bounce and crash a trail through the bushes and grass, finally hammering into a tall tree about ten metres away. He winced, then laughed as the bonnet collapsed, allowing the crumpled wings to pull the tree into an aggressive embrace.

  For a moment there was silence – even the wind and rain seemed to still. Finally, with a sort of loud “whoomph”, the car exploded in light and fury sending a bright fireball high into the branches above. The burning air evaporated the rain and replaced each drop with flaming, distorted leaves from the instantly blazing tree: autumn in Hell.

  Metatron gave a short laugh at the sight of the car wrapped around the trunk of the old oak. ‘Bloody tree huggers.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Nice job, Joe, I thought for a moment he wasn’t going to see us. It could have been a little embarrassing if I’d had to scrape you off the road and take you back in a jar.’

  I stared at the wreckage for a moment. Still occasionally visible within the flames was the red glow of the tail lights. While we watched, these flickered then died as car and tree became one roaring beacon of flame.

  The boss turned toward me and rolled his eyes as he noticed the state of his polished brown brogues – they were soaked through. ‘These are never going to be the same again,’ he said. Turning, he began to walk toward the wreck, stepping over small fires that were breaking out in the undergrowth as the burning rain continued. ‘I suppose we’d better get him out, hadn’t we.’

  Ignoring the rage of flames, Metatron reached in through the shattered driver’s window then, smiling, he breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well, I managed to catch him in time, look.’ Surrounded by fire, melting plastic and tortured metal, a dark-haired, slightly doughy, middle-aged man slept, his face composed.

  ‘Get him out please, Joe – and don’t worry, fire won’t touch you,’ Metatron said. ‘I’ll just make another one.’

  ‘Another what – fire?’ I asked but Metatron didn’t answer so, shrugging, I dragged open the door. I was about to use my knife to cut the seatbelt when Metatron looked up. ‘Don’t do that, please, it will look odd if the belts have been cut. It’s the sort of thing that makes the police nervous and I need this death to be worry free.’

  I hesitated. The flames were fierce and, although I wasn’t burning, it was incredibly hot. Eventually, I took a deep breath then reached across and unlocked the seatbelt. Dragging the man from the car, I carried him to the side of the road and lay him in the smoking grass. He seemed all right – asleep, but still breathing. Leaving him there I went to find Metatron.

  He was working on what appeared to be a shop mannequin. The blank grey form was rapidly filling out and becoming the double of the man sleeping peacefully in the bushes only a couple of metres away. I’d seen him create these before; he called them “constructs” – human forms with no will or personality. They always freaked the shit out of me. It stood eerily still as Metatron fussed over the finishing touches, occasionally consulting a set of notes. Finally, he was satisfied with his creation. ‘There we go, the dental records will match and I’ve put fingerprints on him as well, just in case.’ He studied his handiwork for a moment. ‘Put him in the car, please, Joe.’ He sniffed and stared at the pale, dead-looking human form with a look of distaste. ‘It’s really only the soul and the personality that makes you lot interesting, isn’t it?’ He paused for a moment. ‘Without those, you’re just lumps of putty.’

  Grasping the form by the wrist, I gave a gentle tug. The being turned and looked at me blankly then followed with mute incomprehension. I felt slightly sick – as though I was being trailed by a corpse. I manoeuvred the man form into the car and then relocked the seatbelt around its chest. As I drew back, I looked into its eyes and saw fear. It turned slowly, watching the flames then, as I backed away, it opened its mouth in a silent scream.

  I turned to Metatron. ‘Why is it screaming? It doesn’t feel anything, does it?’ I watched in horror as flames filled the car. The form twisted and howled within.

  ‘Calm down.’ Metatron studied the burning car. ‘Only enough that there will be some sort of emotion on its face.’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, it wouldn’t look right if it was just sitting there looking composed now, would it?’

  I spluttered and felt sick. ‘Metatron, that’s monstrous!’ I turned and looked at the construct. It had raised both hands and was banging on the window; I stared into its eyes before they dissolved into the flames.

  ‘Don’t be pathetic,’ Metatron said. ‘It’s really important that we get this man away from here; it was only a little pain, and it didn’t last long.’ He paused again, studying the inside of the burning car. ‘Give it ten minutes and it will all be over, we are doing a good thing here, Joe, and if there’s a tiny bit of collateral damage, well, it’s certainly outweighed by the good we’re doing.’ He shrugged – obviously this didn’t bother him at all.

  As we stood, watching the car burn, I wondered who was this good for. Certainly not for the man unconscious in the bushes; certainly not for the poor created thing that was currently burning in the car. I sighed and looked up; the tree wasn’t having a very good day either, so exactly who or what did this benefit?

  Eventually, the boss decided that it was time to move and, stepping through the blackened and soaking grass, he headed back toward the car. Once again, ignoring the rage of flames, he reached in through one of the smashed windows. Then, looking more weary than disgusted, he hooked a finger into the jaw bone of the smouldering skull and turned it to face him. All that was left was bone and blackened morsels of skin. Eye sockets, boiled dry, contained only evil-smelling smoke and withered tissue. Teeth clenched together in pain, now parted abruptly as tendons gave way under intense heat and the probing finger. The lower jaw fell into his hand and he laughed before placing it carefully into the
corpse’s lap. ‘Hmm, looks like I didn’t actually need to worry about that thing’s facial expression after all.’ Metatron sniggered.

  It wasn’t a “that”, it was a “he” – even if only for a few moments. Creating something just to torture it … My thoughts scattered; this wasn’t right. I’d just been involved in causing something a huge amount of unnecessary agony and felt as guilty as if I’d tied bricks to a puppy, then kicked it into a pond. Gathering up the sleeping man I half-carried him, half-dragged him over to the middle of the road. I concentrated on pushing my treacherous thoughts firmly away as I walked. Metatron knew what he was doing and, even if he was playing it a little rough, I certainly didn’t have the nerve to question his motives; I had way too much to lose.

  As flashing blue lights lit the distant horizon we all stood in a line, the unconscious supported by the conscious. Then, as a slender gap slid aside in the world, we stepped through and away from the wind and rain. The fire brigade arrived just as the door closed with a slight chime; I was sure it would go completely unnoticed as the humans concentrated on Metatron’s latest masterpiece.

  ‘Put him down there.’ Metatron nodded toward an elegant blue divan – a new piece of furniture to grace his office.

  I placed the unconscious man on the sofa and stared as I had that “Eureka!” moment and realised why I knew his name. I studied the paunchy, mousey man. I couldn’t help being unimpressed. Graham Latimer was about 40 years old and running slightly to fat. His hair – both thinning and greying – hung over a prematurely wrinkled forehead and his skin looked as though it hadn’t seen the sun in about 20 years. I glanced up at the painting on the ceiling. The angry falling angel – the most evil and uncontrollable of God’s creations – had absolutely nothing in common with the unconscious man in the cheap blue suit. Obviously artistic licence had no limits at all. ‘So this is Lucifer?’ I asked.

  Metatron appeared at my shoulder and we both stared down at the sleeping man. ‘Not yet.’ He gently picked up one of Graham’s arms that had flopped onto the carpet and placed it on the rhythmically rising and falling chest. ‘But I know he’s in there.’ He stepped forward and roughly prised one eyelid open; a blank green eye stared off into the distance. ‘I know you’re in there.’ He muttered. He let the eyelid fall and stood up. ‘And I know the way to get you out.’

  Turning back to his desk, he pulled out two cut-glass tumblers and a decanter of golden whisky. Pouring two measures, he pushed one across the desk to me. ‘What’s the matter, Joe?’ He took a sip and stared at me over the rim of the glass. ‘You know what we have to do.’

  I sat down and picked up my glass, turning it this way and that as I watched the light sparkle off the facets, turning the whisky to liquid fire. ‘How many humans are in heaven?’ I asked.

  Metatron frowned. ‘Thousands, why?’

  ‘Thousands, is that all?’ I had at least expected him to say millions. ‘What do they do there?’

  ‘Do?’ Metatron stood up and went to have another look at his sleeping guest. He obviously wasn’t really concentrating on me. ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘Serve the Host, sing, they’re treated like children.’ He shrugged again. ‘Pampered and played with.’

  I shuddered. ‘When was the last time a human entered the kingdom of Heaven?’

  ‘What?’ He kept staring at the unconscious man, as though his very will could drag the Morning Star from his fleshy hiding place. ‘Oh I don’t know, what’s with all the questions?’ Turning away from his studies he frowned at me.

  I decided it was time for a little vacant eye widening. ‘Have you been to Hell?’

  Metatron shook his head. ‘No thank you,’ he said. ‘I try and stay out of the gutter if I can possibly help it.’

  ‘It’s teeming with terrified people and all sorts of other things.’ I took a sip of my drink and assumed a righteous expression. ‘You know if people could only see that place, they’d be a lot more willing to make the effort to get into Heaven.’

  The small angel’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled. ‘I know where this is going.’ He laughed and settled back down in his chair. ‘Stop worrying, I told you before and I won’t go back on my promise. If this all goes well this will be the very last job you ever do for me.’

  I smiled inanely up at him. My teeth and cheeks were beginning to ache. ‘I can go on? I can finally really stop?’

  Metatron nodded and, reaching over, patted me on the wrist. ‘Well, you certainly deserve that “final reward”, don’t you?’

  Metatron relaxed enough to pour another drink. ‘Here look at this.’ He reached into a drawer and brought out the white box that I’d collected from Worcester. He stared at me for a moment then shrugged. ‘You are probably the only human to see this in the last 500 years and know – really know – what it is.’ He turned the box to face me.

  It was my knife, well … it’s what my knife would have looked like if it hadn’t been decorated, polished and loved. The unadorned grey metal gave off no reflection and lay in the box as though diseased. Feeling a little sick, I reached over, intending to remove the velvet that covered the hilt, Metatron stopped me.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ he said. ‘It’s not really a nice thing.’

  ‘Is that …’ There was only one knife in the whole of history that could ever give off that sort of sullen threat. It may have looked similar to mine, but it was so very, very different. I certainly wouldn’t try to cut cake with that; it would probably reverse itself and cut the throat of anyone that tried.

  Metatron turned the box then, and after fumbling around in it for a moment, closed the lid with a snap. He placed it carefully back into his drawer. ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ He chuckled at my reaction.

  I nodded. I hadn’t even touched it and I felt slightly dirty, as though I’d been walking through thick smog.

  ‘That knife is the one artefact that can drag Lucifer, kicking and screaming, back into the light.’ Metatron took a huge swig of whisky and laughed. ‘Do you know what, Joe?’ He topped my glass up. ‘I’m suddenly in a very good mood.’

  I didn’t want to talk about Lucifer or the knife any more. So as he was, as he said, in a good mood, maybe now would be a good time to ask that final big question. Taking a good mouthful of whisky, I swallowed. ‘So can I leave now?’

  Metatron looked up and waved. ‘Sure, I’ll call when I need you.’ He nodded. ‘Go and get some sleep, you probably need it.’

  ‘No.’ I took another sip. ‘I mean, now that you’ve got all that you want, can I go? Really go?’ I took a deep breath and finally managed to say the words. ‘I want this all to stop. I want peace.’

  Metatron frowned. ‘Very soon.’ He nodded toward the sleeping insurance salesman. ‘Just let me get this business tied up and I swear that you’ll be out of here.’

  I sighed.

  ‘Don’t be selfish, Joe.’ Metatron looked hurt. ‘I’ve spent eons working toward this. Are you telling me you want to leave before you find out how it all ends?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, of course not.’

  Metatron gave me the sunniest of his smiles.

  My stomach turned over. That little voice was getting too loud to ignore, and it was telling me that if I asked the right questions and he gave me the answer I was expecting, my whole life – my whole campaign to pay off my debt of sin – would be proved a farce. There was a distinct possibility that I would have to face the very unwelcome fact that, for the last 2,000 years, I had been nothing but a deluded fool.

  ‘So what happened to Nessus?’ I reached out and flipped open the top page of the manila file I’d retrieved from Hell.

  He reached over and put a hand on top of the folder. Then, still smiling, he closed it. Taking it away, he carefully put it in his drawer with the knife box. ‘Who?’ He frowned for a moment. ‘Oh the gatekeeper, it was clever of you to get him to help you. Really, well done.’

  OK, no clues there. He was just sidestepping ever having dealt with him. I switc
hed tack. ‘Do you remember me telling you about my next-door neighbour?’

  ‘Some sort of mad artist type, isn’t she?’ He poured himself another drink and settled deep within the red cushions of his chair, then he stared at me, expressionless.

  I nodded. ‘They took her last night and you said you knew about it. Two demons turned up, smashed me over the head and took her as a Hostage; they wanted that file and the box.’ I jabbed a finger towards his desk drawer. ‘You said it would be OK. So is she at home?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Joe, I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’d saved her.’ Metatron didn’t bother looking at me. ‘Look, she’s better off where she is,’ he said. ‘All she’s done is jump the queue a little. With all the pieces to the puzzle we’re so very, very close. It wouldn’t be very nice to save her from Hell, drag her back to Earth, then watch her and all the others get sucked, screaming into the void, would it?’ The Voice of God ran a manicured nail across the leather of his desk. ‘When all this comes together, the Earth will be made clean. He will sweep across the Earth removing it all: all the questions, all the heresy, the filth and the dirt, the false idols, the adultery, the murder.’ He stopped to take a breath. ‘It will be as if humans never even existed.’

  I could see a small bubble of spit glistening on his lips. ‘It’s my job to make sure it all happens,’ he said, his eyes still tracking aimlessly across the carpet. ‘It’s my job to keep it all moving, even in His absence.’ He reached over and grasped my arm. It took everything I had not to yank it out from beneath his hand.

  ‘I know this all seems harsh, but it’s been foretold for millennia that this – the final outcome – was always preordained.’ He shrugged and looked earnestly down at his desk. ‘The humans know, although they swear they don’t believe. They all secretly worry about each new rumour of an impending apocalypse.’ He shrugged. ‘Right now they’re all nervous about December 2012, but I can guarantee that it’ll be much, much sooner than that.’