Qualia Read online

  ‘You know, Joe.’ The expressionless angel walked slowly toward me. ‘I cut you an awful lot of slack. I try to understand your pathetic limitations and I put up with a vast amount of disrespect. You really are a huge disappointment.’ He ran a finger around the edge of the desk as he stepped slowly toward me. He watched, smiling gently as, all alarm bells ringing in my head, I began to back away. ‘Time and again I give you chances to prove yourself and every single time you screw up. I’m beginning to think you do it deliberately, just to irritate me.’

  I bumped into the wall. There was nowhere left for me to go.

  With a single sharp crack his wings swept downward and we were, once more, face to face. I could feel hot sweat gathering in my hair and my heart was trying to climb out of my chest. I tucked my chin down as he gently wrapped those inhuman fingers around my throat – a vain attempt to halt the inevitable. With a snort of derision he began to squeeze.

  ‘Wait, WAIT!’ I forced the words from my compressed larynx.

  ‘Shhh,’ His smile stretched into a grimace and his eyes stared through me. ‘I don’t want to do this but …’ he shrugged, ‘… you push me too far, you make me do this.’ He squeezed a little harder and, ignoring my scrabbling hands that were convulsively grasping his wrist, he casually lifted me from the floor and pressed me back against the wall.

  I literally saw stars, tiny motes of light began to dance at the outer limits of my vision and, bereft of oxygen, I could feel my heels begin an arrhythmic and involuntary tattoo on the wall behind me.

  Although panicking and dying I found myself in an almost Zen-like frame of mind and studied my feelings about the situation. In all the years I’d worked for him Metatron had never lost his temper, never raised a hand to anyone. The worst I ever expected from him was a sarcastic comment highlighting my incompetence. Looking into this creature’s snarling features I finally realised that he was capable of so much more and it terrified me.

  Eventually the stars faded and my sight began to collapse into darkness; the last thing I saw was his mouth moving. I couldn’t hear what he was saying and, quite frankly, I was beyond caring. I slipped into the darkness, carried away on a blanket of white noise. My last thought was that if anyone could, Metatron could make sure I didn’t come back. I left the world with a smile.

  No such luck, I came around, lying comfortably on my back in the deep blue carpet, a cushion beneath my head. I looked around, swallowing hard in an attempt to get my yet again abused throat to work properly. Metatron was sitting cross legged beside me, his head in his hands.

  Seeing that I was awake he leapt to his feet and helped me to sit up. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He handed me a glass of water. ‘I don’t know what happened.’ He rested on the edge of the desk and regarded me. ‘I have no excuse; I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment.’ He hung his head then. Getting up, he brushed off the knees of his trousers before holding out a helping hand.

  I wanted to ignore it but that just seemed a good way to end up dead again so hesitantly I took it and clambered to my feet.

  ‘There is no one else, Joe.’ Metatron handed me into my chair and gave an elegant shrug. ‘The Host can’t know, the humans can’t know and, most importantly of all, Hell can’t know.’ He ran a shaking hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. ‘I only have you, and when you turned against me I just lost it.’

  Hang on a minute, I didn’t actually remember “turning against him”; I just remembered saying no for once in my long life. I decided that staying quiet would be a good idea and nodded at him to show that I understood.

  I swapped the glass of water for the dregs of the whisky-filled coffee that was still on the desk. I should have been used to that sinking feeling by now. Staring into the cloudy mess of whisky and coffee in my mug I took a long swallow.

  Obviously I was deluding myself if I felt I had a choice in any of this so I was now going to have to find Lucifer. I had a horrible feeling that ending up face to face with the Morning Star would have me dead, then deader, then deadest (if there was such a word). Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad job after all.

  I pulled myself together and took a deep breath. ‘So let’s get this straight.’ I coughed then smiled at him, ticking off points on the desk with a finger. ‘You want me to find the most powerful angel of all time. An angry, bitter, very formidable ex-angel that doesn’t want to be found and you want me to tell him to come quietly, so that he can fulfil the prophecy that has him slaughtered, to enable the onset of Armageddon.’ I took a huge gulp of whisky and spluttered again. ‘Have I missed anything out?’ Downing the last mouthful of the now sour-tasting drink, I stared up at Lucifer’s glowering countenance. ‘Metatron, I can’t see him being pleased about that and, if you can’t find him, where am I supposed to look?’

  The angel, all smiles and grace once more, poured us both more whisky then, after nudging my mug toward me, wandered over to stand directly beneath the painting. ‘Don’t worry, even I couldn’t stand against the Light Bringer at full strength.’ Metatron paused and glowered up at Lucifer. ‘Hell knows where you are.’ He took a long swallow then smiled. ‘And soon, so will I.’

  There was silence for a long moment as he glared up at the painting. Eventually he seemed to remember I was still there and, without any apology, returned to the subject at hand.

  ‘The blood of Longinus is still present and alive. His …’ He shrugged. ‘… Oh however many times great-grandson is still here. I’m fairly sure that’s where Lucifer’s hiding, in the body of a human; it’s the only place that we can’t see. He’s just skulking there, a passenger in someone else’s life, jumping from generation to generation as they’re born and staying off Heaven’s radar.’

  ‘So, he’s human?’ I could feel my brain beginning to twinge. There were billions of humans on Earth – it would be the ultimate “needle in a haystack” hunt.

  ‘No.’ Metatron stared once more at the painting. He seemed physically unable to look away from it for very long; the antichrist glared back at him. ‘He can’t become human, he’d have to give up everything for that and there’s no way he would even consider it. However, he can hide away in one since the two bloods became mixed; we just have to find the right one. You will present yourself for judgement,’ he shouted up at the mural. ‘You can’t hide for ever!’ Metatron scowled and rolled the bronze-coloured whisky around his glass. ‘Hell has been hiding this one man for eons but they will have records. All you have to do is find out who is Longinus’ living descendant and I’m fairly sure we’ll have our man.’

  ‘You don’t have access to the same information?’ I said.

  Metatron shook his head, ‘No, this is a rather odd line – one male child and in each case the father dies very soon after the birth. We managed to keep track for a couple of hundred years but there were so many false leads and trails that we lost it. Hell says that they’ve lost track as well. They’re lying.’

  I could feel my mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. ‘I’m supposed to get a quick peek at Hell’s records?’ This was becoming surreal. ‘What am I supposed to do, trot up to the gates and say “Hey, guys, I’m the new filing clerk?”’

  ‘Oh, stop clenching.’ Metatron poured me yet more whisky. ‘It’s not that bad. Since Lucifer’s rather seditious personality has been absent, Heaven and Hell have had fairly routine diplomatic relations. They’re not always cordial but there are things that need to be discussed. Tomorrow, Michael, Raphael and a full entourage of scribes are heading down there for their yearly talks. You’ll be going with them – we’ve got a man who owes me a favour, he’ll meet you and take you to the hall of records.’ He paused for a moment considering. ‘Just don’t let Belial catch you there.’

  ‘Why doesn’t this man of yours give you the information?’ I coughed to clear my throat and get rid of that whining tone. ‘Is there even a chance that Belial will know I’m there?’ Belial had long been the power in Hell. Lucifer’s second-
in-command was rumoured to be over 15 feet tall, eyes of fire, horned with the classic cloven hooves and red skin thing going on. He was way down my list of people I ever wanted to meet. Even the demons were terrified of him and spoke his name with a sort of hushed reverence.

  Metatron frowned. ‘He won’t, he says he doesn’t owe me that big a favour.’ He pulled his chair from beneath the desk and dropped into it. ‘Belial knows nothing, just go in with the scribes, get the file and just hope that you don’t run into that twisted bastard of a boss by coincidence. If you do catch a glimpse of him … Run.’

  The icy look was back and I resisted my more immediate need to run. ‘But Michael wants to kill me.’ That horrible whining tone was back and I coughed again.

  ‘That’s because he thinks you don’t take him seriously.’ Metatron glared at me. ‘Sometimes you can be a little dismissive of his status and that really gets up his nose.’

  ‘But …’ Well, this was just getting worse and worse. I’d rather face a horde of demons than archangel Michael any day. Lifting the mug, I downed the contents in one huge gulp; it burned all the way down my abused gullet causing me to splutter and choke.

  ‘No arguments, you need to be back here tomorrow at midday.’ Metatron stood up indicating that this meeting was over. ‘I don’t have the time or inclination to discuss this any further. Like it or not, you’re going to Hell.’

  CHAPTER 3

  LANDING RATHER HEAVILY IN the middle of my living room knocked the last of my breath away, which was the only reason I couldn’t indulge in hysterical giggling. Finding Lucifer was the least of my worries: tomorrow I was going to have to face Michael again. Dragging myself to my feet I headed for the kitchen. I needed tea.

  The last time we’d met things hadn’t gone well. In fact, if I remembered rightly, he’d actually threatened to disembowel me if he ever laid eyes on me again. I didn’t even dare to hope that he’d forgotten. Michael: “The Archistratege”, field commander of God’s armies. Sword swinging, sociopathic and permanently enraged, he was the one member of the Host that frightened me – no, that wasn’t true, I wasn’t frightened of him, I was terrified.

  I hadn’t realised I’d been staring at the wall, until it was obscured by the steam from the kettle. Grabbing some teabags, I threw one into a mug then opened the fridge. Bloody hell, fire and damnation: no milk.

  Swapping the teabag for one of Carly’s weird herbal things that she keeps giving me, I poured hot water onto the small green bag and located a sticky, dusty jar of honey at the back of one of my kitchen cupboards. After bending three spoons trying to get the wretched stuff out of the jar, I finally managed to wrestle a good dollop into the steaming, fragrant brew then headed back into the living room. The wafting scent of peppermint and ginger from my mug raised my spirits in spite of my need to mope.

  I like my house and, although I’m in imminent danger of running out of shelf space, I really didn’t want this to be the last time I saw it. I’ve had a lot of years to collect books and now they’re everywhere. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases run the length of the combined lounge and dining room; books are stacked under the table, in every corner and piled beneath the stairs. The funnies can all be found in the bathroom and the spare room is filled with text books.

  I picked up one of my copies of the Bible, intending to read up on Lucifer and all his ways but then put it down again. I really couldn’t face anything heavy and meaningful, so grabbing my tea and a well-thumbed copy of Consider Her Ways by John Wyndham, I killed the lights and headed upstairs. Sometimes, the only way forward is to let the world go hang.

  After an uneasy night where screaming angels sliced my dreams into ribbons with flaming swords I was awake ridiculously early the next morning. Trying to ignore a beautiful sunrise I decided to spend some time putting my house to rights. I really needed to redecorate, the aging 70s wallpaper with its tiny floral pattern just made me feel tired. I was getting old – old and tired. Pushing that thought resolutely aside, I shoved a load into the washing machine, then, locating my boots and wallet, headed down to the shops for some much-needed supplies.

  I smiled as I noticed Carly and Henry walking toward me. Henry was an elderly basset hound that belonged to the Morrises and Carly loved to take him out for a walk – well, more of a waddle really. He was the most ridiculous design for a dog: short, chunky legs with feet that splayed out at the ends, his knees were just a mass of wrinkles. His huge chest, droopy face and ridiculously long ears gave the impression of stupidity. However, I knew from painful experience that Henry was anything but stupid.

  ‘Joe!’ Carly bounced up to me, the arms and legs of her hairy purple monster backpack flapped as though it was trying to take off. Henry followed at a more sedate pace. ‘What on earth are you doing up and about at this time of the morning?’

  ‘No milk. My world can’t start without tea. You look bright and perky.’ I grinned at her. She really did look great. Her fiery hair had been dragged back into a scruffy knot, revealing a lot more freckles. Some of them had actually joined up in some places giving her a slightly piebald look; it was very cute. The denim cut-offs, sandals and a T-shirt which read “What if the hokey cokey is what it’s all about?” just confirmed that cuteness. Pushing away the sudden impulse to kiss her, I crouched down to give Henry a rub. It always amused me to pull his long, flapping jowls back into a smile. ‘Hello, happy.’ I laughed at the indignant look on his face.

  ‘Stop mauling the dog.’ Carly slapped me gently. ‘You know he reports back to Mr Morris. He actually itemises all the awful things you do to him.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I stood up and, grinning innocently, tried to surreptitiously wipe the drool off my hand and onto her arm.

  Carly rustled around in her backpack then handed me a small bottle. ‘Vitamins,’ she said. ‘She reached out and tapped the bottle I was holding. ‘Take those, you’re beginning to look a little waxy and for God’s sake treat yourself to something green from the shop and a bottle of absinthe doesn’t count. Get some proper food inside you.’

  ‘So, my choices are: succumb to the Green Fairy or eat some broccoli? That’s not much of a choice, lady.’ I gave her a huge smile. ‘Actually, the crockery’s clean, the machine’s doing my washing as we speak and I’m in the mood for apples, so I’m heading down to the supermarket right now.’

  Carly frowned at me. ‘Well, you’re obviously sick.’ She laughed. ‘Look, I fancy cooking this afternoon, do you fancy eating?’

  I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more and was just about to give her an enthusiastic agreement when I remembered my prior engagement. ‘I’m working. Any chance you might feel like cooking tomorrow?’ I crossed my fingers deep in my jeans pocket; if I got out of Hell and managed to avoid being decapitated by Michael, I would definitely want to celebrate. If I didn’t … well, Carly would never know what happened to me. I felt my chest tighten.

  She took a step backward and held up her hands to give in. ‘OK, OK, no need to look quite so sad, come round on Sunday and I’ll cook.’

  Reaching over I gave her a big hug and, as I felt it may be the last one I was going to get, I may have held on for just a little longer than I should have.

  ‘Get off me, you great twit.’ Carly took another step back and straightened her hair. ‘I never realised my cooking was so good.’ She smirked. ‘Make sure you buy an expensive bottle of wine while you’re in the shop, I’m sure I deserve a treat for living next door to you. Come on, Henry.’ With a cheery wave they wandered off up the street, Carly humming to herself and stopping every ten steps or so to give Henry a chance to catch up. He certainly wasn’t a dog inclined to hurry; I don’t think I’d ever seen him run and really couldn’t imagine him even trying.

  By 11.30 my fridge was stocked, my washing done and I’d even managed to unearth my ancient vacuum cleaner and had given the carpet a going over. But even with all the displacement activity, my mind kept going around and around, imagining my afternoon’s trip.

 
; Finally, I headed for the spare room and dug out an elderly book of medieval paintings that depicted both Heaven and Hell – maybe this would give me some insight. Within an hour I’d tucked it under the sofa and resolved never to look at the damned thing again. Evidently the tortures of Hell were diverse and imaginative; each picture showed variations of the same theme over and over again. There was fire, there was pain and I could only imagine the sounds and the smells. All those souls, all terrified … I sank onto the sofa and just stared out of the window. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  Midday on the dot and I was back in the boss’s office.

  ‘Joe!’ Metatron’s cheery greeting did nothing to dispel the icy atmosphere that appeared to be emanating from the tall, dark man standing with his back to us. The other occupant of the room was seated, his bare feet resting on Metatron’s desk; he gave me a cheery wave.

  ‘Hey, Joe.’ Raphael tossed his long blond hair over one shoulder and stuck a thumb up to me.

  I’d always liked Raphael. If he’d been human, he’d have probably been a beach resident and would have used words like “Dude” and “tubular”. Dressed in his usual white cotton trousers and tunic he was relaxed, calm and smiling. It was a complete mystery to me why he always seemed permanently teamed up with Michael, who could easily be described as Raphael’s evil twin. Dark to Raph’s blond, sour to his brother’s sunny, you never turned your back on Michael. He was a stickler for protocol, had a hair-trigger temper and loved nothing more than a good fight.

  Archangel Michael turned slowly from the window and scowled at me. ‘Metatron says you’re coming with us,’ he snarled. ‘Don’t get in my way, don’t do or say anything stupid.’ He walked slowly across the office, lips pressed tightly together, his well-muscled arms crossed rigidly across his pristinely white shirt front. ‘In fact.’ He bent down toward me and his long dark hair, tied in a neat tail at the back of his head, fell across his chest. ‘We’d all be safer and happier if you didn’t do or say anything at all.’ Raising his hand he pushed two rigid fingers hard into my chest. ‘Got it?’