By "Net.cop" Scott Keith

- Roger Waters

"Where is he?" asked one of the Creators, rather impatiently.

"Really? I thought he switched to decaf a few years ago?"

They all mulled over that one for a bit.

"All in favor?"

All 5 said aye.

"The ayes have it. New universe, then lunch."

And they had lunch. And the lunch was good. A bit expensive for their tastes, but still good.

But seriously...

It seemed to me that I could remember falling. That much I'm certain of.

Everything was in pretty bad shape near the end. In fact, what had been a really bad week for me as it was got worse when the universe decided to self-destruct. I was apparently one of the only two beings to survive the whole ordeal. It was very stressful, let me tell you.

Oh, sorry. I'm not good at first person narrative. I haven't even introduced myself yet. My name is Benjamin Reilly Gabriel, but you can call me Ben. Everyone else does. I'm more popularly called the Archangel Gabriel, however, which I suppose denotes a certain amount of respect, but it does get terribly boring after a while. You wouldn't believe how old I feel when some young angel bows down in front of me and prostrates himself, muttering "Ancient and Holy Gabriel" or some such nonsense.

Oh, now don't go getting all excitable on me. I'm sure I've shattered about 14 of your religious convictions already, so you might as well get used to the ugly truth. Here's another: God is a pretty boring entity, all things considered. I should know. I've been serving as his chief disciple/"right-hand man"/secretary/whatever since the time you refer to as 2000 BC.

Don't believe the hype. God didn't even come into existence until around the time that the old "caveman" gods fell out of favor, and he didn't gain any kind of overwhelming majority until the Norse and Roman gods died out. The "creation of the earth in 7 days" bit is just a line he used at the really big Deity parties for a while. Got written into the Bible somehow...

The job that I serve is really much less humbling than one might think. Humbling is, in fact, the last description I would use. Boring is closer to the truth. Mind-numbing. I mean, even immortals need vacations. Just being long-lived is hardly the end or the means -- just something to do in between Ice Ages.

We're in one right now you know. An Ice Age, that is. It's just been a really warm spell for the past few thousand years. Not many people know that.

Since God is usually off contemplating Himself most of the time, I basically run Heaven. And a more mundane task you could not find on this plane or any other. All the bureaucrats and lawyers are burning in Hell right now, so we have to do the ugly paperwork ourselves. I keep suggesting some kind of work-release program, but you know how much red tape is involved with new proposals...

I can sneak in a few personal touches now and then, though. When the next major Ice Age hits, look for a glacier to cut across where New York used to be and form a huge ditch in the shape of a "G." That's mine. Took me 300 years to requisition the forms to get away with that one. I'm rather proud of it.

Anyway, the whole thing sounds crazy, I know, but it gets stranger.

It seems that the guy who saved my rear when the Big Bang came in reverse was Macbeth, who was basically my sworn enemy and chief nemesis for nearly a millennium. He was possessed by one of the Creators of the universe for a time in order for it to accomplish some obscure goal that only they know.

What do I know? I'm just a god.

When the bitter end came, Macbeth did the trick he loved doing the most -- he opened up a cosmic "zipper," which was basically a portable gate to anywhere you needed to go. Works great under normal circumstances.

This, however, was not normal. Due to his extreme stress over the end of everything, he accidentally opened a hole in time as well as space. Which was good considering the destruction of the universe was occurring, but very bad because I didn't know where the hell I was.

Correction, I was free falling at 20,000 feet over some city in the US which I presumed to be New York due to sheer size, but beyond that my navigational prowess was a bit shaky.

Now, normally I'm a very good flier. I won a contest once in my younger days, in fact. So I tried correcting my descent and floating in gently.

It was the butterfly that did me in.

You know about the chaos theory, right? Really, really minute changes in air pressure and such, like from a butterfly flapping its wings, can cause huge changes elsewhere around the world? Ring any bells?

Well, even if you don't know, it still happened. Some stupid little insect in Beijing flapped at an inopportune moment and I lost control.

Normally I can correct for these kinds of things, but in this case I got kind of screwed up due to the "death of all and everything" thing. I'm sure you would too.

Long story short, I landed rather hard. On my head. There, I said it. I'm sure everyone in Heaven is reading this right now and just having a jolly old time laughing at me. Well, as I mentioned before, it gets worse.

I had amnesia.

Yes, I know it sounds cheesy. "Archangel falls from heaven and hits head on way down" is hardly the stuff printed in the Bible, but then 90% of that is lies anyhow. I swear the National Enquirer print more reliable information. Ten Commandments on stone tablets, rubbish. There are more than 150,000 and I have them all on my desk, in triplicate, and on computer. I wonder why didn't just smite that con-man Moses sometimes...

An angel with amnesia... It sounds dumb even to me sometimes. But apparently it was just after the Great Depression, and religious sentiment was at its highest, and I was a long way from home, so to sum up, I was not exactly godlike at that moment. I was almost human. For a god, that is.

Okay, so most humans don't survive free-falls from 20,000 feet without being named DB Cooper (if you only knew the real story behind that one...) but it's my book and I think I deserve some leeway.

Specifically, I landed in the back alley of a rather large brokerage called Gloucester/Gabriel Inc. That seemed to be a rather big coincidence upon further reflection, but the reasons for it will become apparent later.

I think I smashed into a garbage can, too, I'm not sure. I really didn't smell very good, whatever the cause. The garbage can seems more likely than anything else does.

Okay, I'm off-topic again. This is becoming a habit.

This was not shaping up to be a particularly successful excursion.

I awoke a little ways into 1941. That much I know. A daily newspaper was sitting beside me, and the date was right there. I could remember that my name was Gabriel, but not much else. Certainly neither my angelic status, nor my favorite flavor of ice cream, nor my reason for being there.

But then, the last one is a pretty tough one for most of us anyway.

I must have looked just a bit unusual, what with the white three-piece suit and all. Oh, come now, you don't think angels wear white robes and halos all the time, now, do you? As soon as suit were invented (actually, a few years before, just to be extra haute couture)

I switched from the robe to a proper look. White all around, of course. Goes with my hair.

I've been told I look strikingly like movie star Tony Curtis in his much younger days, with white hair. Of course, I can pick any form I want for myself, so that's hardly a fair comparison, but the one people compare to Curtis is the one I tend to use most of the time. If I were less pious I might let it go to my head, but as an Archangel I have certain duties, and being humble is one of them.

It does make it easy to pick up women at parties, however. Not that I'm that sort of person, but I've heard from reliable sources that this sort of form is attractive to the women of earth.

Back on-topic we go...I have no idea how the general populace missed seeing me there for three weeks, although I have my suspicions.

I climbed carefully to my feet upon waking and examined my surroundings. New York was, in a word, the ugliest pace I've ever seen and ever will, including Hell (and Akron, Ohio. I just know I'll catch it from the Ohio tourist board for that crack, but then I'm the Archangel...)

That's rather more than a word, I suppose. But then writing never was my strong point. Back to the proceedings.

My suit didn't seem to be dirty in the slightest, which I thought was odd at the time. But then I couldn't remember was an angel, either. Angels never have dirty faces, James Cagney notwithstanding.

The poor soul sitting beside me, however, could not be granted the same description. I figured I should escape now, before he woke up and started asking the tough questions, like the one about to come...

"Hey, buddy, where the hell did you come from?"

I didn't know, and that truly bothered me for many reasons. I decided to improvise, with something suitably witty.

"I don't know." I stammered out. God was right. I wasn't nearly as witty as I thought I was. "I'm just sort of here. Does that make sense?"

"Nope. But then considering the amount I had to drink last night, I can relate. Can you at least remember your name?"

"Gabriel sounds right." I was handling an awkward situation rather well, all things considered.

"All right, well I'm Jerry. Nice to meet you." Jerry seemed to think I was a fellow drunkard and was trying to be nice to what he felt was a kindred spirit. "So can you remember anything about yourself? Anything at all?"

"I...remember falling...hitting my head. Don't remember much else."

"I see. Sounds like you're a jumper. Nice suit, clean cut. Makes sense."

"I don't follow."

"You were probably a stock broker. Fell on hard times, tried jumping out a window. But you messed up and lived. Hit your head on the way down." Made sense at the time. "In fact, I bet you worked in the building we're leaning on right now. I think what you've been given, my friend, is a second chance to make things right." That sounded perfectly reasonable.

"Yes, I'll bet I was! You're right!"

"Good, because we all deserve a second chance." He got a little pensive as he spoke then. "Now go and use your chance to make it right his time. Maybe you'll even remember who you are."

"I don't know. Maybe I was a bad person. Good people don't usually end up jumping out of windows, you know."

"You could be right. Well, then maybe just resolve to be the best person you can be." That was good advice, at least.

"I will! And if there's anything I can do for you..."

"That's all right, Gabriel, I can help myself just fine. God only helps those who help themselves, right?"

Darn tootin'. In fact, he had a specially made plaque for his desk saying just that. Couldn't remember that for the life of me at the time, of course.

"So I hear. Well, thanks for the encouragement, Jerry." I was never much of a conversationalist. The wisest man I ever met gave me some simple advice: The smartest man is the one who knows when silence says more than words. Or something like that.

Well, I thought it was very profound. But then I was only 16...

I strode purposefully towards the front door of the building which I had presumably fallen out of. Jerry had a strange look on his face, as if he had just been brushed with greatness. It passed quickly enough, and he went back to whatever he was doing before he met me.

As an archangel, I tend to be like that. When I'm around, you stand as if in the presence of God himself, and when I leave you forget you ever met me. Makes it easier for us to visit the Earth that way. Otherwise we'd have entire communities going into rapture for days at a time. Big waste of time, take it from someone who knows.

I opened the main doors, expecting some big rush of memories to come back at me, but there was nothing. Seeds of doubt were creeping into my mind, but the receptionist quickly squashed them.

"Ben! Oh my lord, we thought you were dead."

"To quote Mark Twain, the rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated." I could be witty when I wanted to. About 12 employees came streaming into the lobby to greet me. I took this as a good sign that I was, in fact, who I thought myself to be.

"But you jumped out a window!"

"15 stories!"

"Bounced off the building four times!"

The voices were all jumbled together as they marveled at my "resurrection." I was decidedly calm about the miraculous situation. Miracles were nothing new to me, of course, even if I couldn't remember performing any at that moment.

"Maybe I have a guardian angel. All I know is I woke in a hospital a few months ago out of a coma, and I can't remember anything from before. They said this is where I worked, and I should go back here to jog my memory." I'm a very good liar when I want to be.

Besides, that seemed to be a plausible enough explanation. I mean, if I said I woke up in an alley 15 minutes ago, it might be stretching my credibility just a bit. All my erstwhile coworkers were more than eager to give me a guided tour of the place to get me back into the groove again.

"What's all the commotion down here?" Came an intimidating sounding voice from the stairwell. I knew him from somewhere. I could tell that much immediately. And furthermore, I knew I really disliked this particular person, but for what reason I couldn't remember at the time. "Ben? Ben Gabriel? We thought you were dead."

"That seems to be the prevailing opinion, yes." I replied calmly. Now where had I seen this guy before. The term "slimy little weasel" kept popping into my head for some reason. "I was in a coma. Lost my memory. You know how it is....sorry, but I can't quite remember your name, either."

"You must be banged up pretty good if you can't remember your partner, Ben. It's me -- Edmund."

Bing! Big bells were going off at the mention of that name, but why?

"Edmund? Sounds familiar..."

"Sure, Edmund Gloucester. Of the Gloucester/Gabriel company. You know, the one we're partners in?"

"Oh. That one." This felt wrong for some reason. Very, very wrong. But this was looking to be what I was supposed to be doing, so I continued playing along. "I assume you haven't found someone to replace me already?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Benny. No one could replace you."

"Don't call me Benny."

"Hm? Sorry?"

"I don't like being called Benny. Benjamin or Ben, please."

Edmund looked at me funny, like I had said something that he wasn't expecting, but seemed to regain his former smile a half-second later. But I caught the change.

"This is new."

"I'm a new person. Falling out of a window tends to do that to you." I decided to go for the big prize right away. "Or should I say pushed."

I watched his eyes. They looked slightly confused, but not guilty. I was on the wrong track with that guess.

"Who would want to push you out a window, Ben? Are you sure you're all right?" Suddenly, one of my well-wishers pulled a gun out of his briefcase. Oh, great.

"All right! I admit it! I did it! I wanted your job!" Everyone had hit the floor right away, and I seemed to be standing alone against a maniac who I had unknowingly fingered as the guilty party while trying to nail Edmund. My day just kept getting more and more interesting. "I pushed you out the window, but Gloucester didn't name a new partner to

replace you! I hate you!" Then the miraculous part happened.

He fired off three shots, dead center. I caught them. To say that his eyes nearly bugged out of his head with shock would be an understatement. He actually fell down from surprise and hit his head on the floor, knocking himself out. I stood holding the bullets in my head, as much in shock as he was.

"Ben! Are you all right?" Funny, he didn't sound too concerned. Almost as if he knew I'd do what I did. I'm pretty sure he saw the bullets in my hand, too, but he didn't say anything about them. Something very odd was happening here. I casually pocketed the bullets and walked over to where my would-be assassin was resting less than

comfortably on the floor.

A large crowd of people was gathering outside the building after hearing the gunshots. Taking a closer look at my "friend," the wound to the head seemed awfully convenient. He was bleeding, but not enough to be life-threatening. The blow to the head came to a very strong part of the skull, where it would do the least damage. I reached down to look at the wound...and it stopped bleeding. I don't mean trickled off. I mean the thing just plain stopped leaking blood the millisecond my hand got near it. He woke immediately. His eyes got really big, and his face bore the same expression Jerry's did. The brush with greatness.

"I would give my life for you..." he whispered in an awed tone of voice. "My guardian angel. Oh, your halo...it's so beautiful...Please forgive me, my lord...I knew not what I did." He began saying a Hail Mary over and over. I stood up, more than a little creeped out, to tell the truth.

Okay, now I was getting a bit suspicious. People pledging their lives to me in a state of rapture was not something the average mind is prepared to deal with on a regular basis. But then whoever said I was average?

Edmund had the man discreetly taken away by security, and things seemed to settle down pretty quickly. Raptures aside. If I hadn't been totally out of it, spiritually speaking, I'd have been pretty damned suspicious at this point.

Edmund took me aside and tried to keep things moving along.

"Let's up to the office and talk business, Ben."

This seemed rather odd to me, what with the police hauling off the nutball and all, but it was kind of overwhelming as a whole anyway so I just numbly nodded and went along with him. It was a long elevator trip.

I've been meaning to study of physics of elevators as it relates to time dilation, but I've never really had the time. I mean, it's less than 30 seconds in actual time, but in elevator time it feels like you're standing there for hours waiting for the thing to get to the top. I'm convinced God stuck some kind of time warp into the design when he created it, but he keeps denying it. Not vehemently, though.

I'm off onto another tangent again. Sorry.

So we're sitting in Edmund's office, and he decides it's time to "play ball" as they say. He writes a number on a piece of paper and slides it across the desk to me. It's a big one.

"I can't possibly accept this amount." I say, deadpan.

"You're a tough one, Ben."

I hand it back to him. "Make it half that amount, and you have a deal."

"What? Are you trying to...half? Did you say half?" That one definitely caught him off-guard.

"Half. Not a penny more."

He gave me a "Are you feeling all right?" look, but seemed to accept it. But that seemed to be an act, like something he was coming up with for my sake. Another part of him seemed unsurprised.

"Well, that's very generous of you, Ben. But I'll give you the whole thing anyway. Send the other half to your mother or something. The office is this way -- sorry if it's not as big as you expected."

I would've had to have been an Egyptian pharaoh for that statement to apply.

It was not only the biggest office I've ever seen, but perhaps one of the biggest rooms I've ever seen, including the various ones I've been in Heaven and Purgatory. I mean, this place was huge.

"This place is huge." I said.

"Just your standard office, Ben. Nothing spectacular. The Ryerson corporation has ones that put this broom closet to shame. Your secretary is in the next room. I'll let you get acquainted. Things to do, people to see, you know."

And he was gone. Fast. Of course, I'm sure you can guess where he was going by this point, but again I was without a clue on the matter at the time, and I wasn't even the Gabriel he thought I was. I was in Purgatory on vacation at this time, actually.

Time travel always give me headaches. Back to the story.

The door was closed, so I figured it might be a smart idea to knock first.

"Come in." A quiet voice called out. I did so, and nearly fell over. The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen sat at the smallish desk.

"May I help you?" she asked, as though trying not to intrude on my thoughts. I was so taken that I nearly didn't get the words out. As an angel, I hadn't had to deal with human emotions for thousands of years. And even when I was human, I died at a young age and never really experienced love.

"I...uh..." I shook my head to clear my thoughts, "I'm Ben Gabriel." As if that explained everything.

"Oh. Hi. I'm Monique." She went back to her filing, her eyes averting mine. No wonder she was stuck off in this little hole.

"Actually, I'm, uh, apparently a partner here. I've been presumed dead for the past couple of years. But I wasn't -- I was in a coma. It's just been the weirdest kind of day." I was on the verge of babbling incoherently.

"Oh." Still not looking at me. She was even less talkative than me, if that's possible.

"I think you should have a file on me." To my surprise, she had already found it.

"There you are." Very quiet, almost apologetically. "Hope you're feeling better." It was a pretty trite thing to say, but from her it spoke volumes. She left me the file and beat a hasty retreat to her little section of the office, before I could even get a good look at her.

I think she wanted it that way.

Having grabbed the file off her desk on the way out, I started leafing through it and checking out exactly who I was. I was born Benjamin Reilly Gabriel, August 30, 1910, in the area where Seattle would be in a few years. I had been a partner in the company for 6 years. Apparently Edmund and I bought it from a minor businessman and turned it into a big operation. I had a very nice, very expensive apartment. I had never been married for some reason. Probably too busy with the company. I had quite a business degree from Harvard. I was your all-around All-American boy prodigy.

But my picture looked nothing like me. It was a minor detail, but the minor details, when added up, are the ones that get you in the end. The hair color was wrong. It was black & white, but I have utterly white hair, and the picture showed dark hair. The face was wrong. Everyone has the innate ability to look a picture of themselves and say "That's me, all right." I looked at the picture and said "Who the hell is that?" Just to ensure I wasn't going insane, I took a quick glance at my reflection in a window.

A stranger stared back at me. It was Benjamin Reilly Gabriel, all right, but I was beginning to have strong doubts about whether or I not I was him. I -- or he, or whoever -- looked just like the picture. But it wasn't me. The last thing I needed right now was another identity crisis, but it seemed to be forthcoming. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to sleep on it.

But I thought it would be a better idea to visit someone else first.

"Jerry," I said, shaking my friend awake, "wake up!" He sleepily fought me off, thinking me to be someone trying to steal whatever few possessions he might have had, but I persisted. "It's me, Gabriel! Come on, get up."

"Whazzat...Gabe! How'd your little self-discovery journey go?"

"Quite well. It turns out I'm fabulously wealthy with my own business and a big apartment."

"Well, that was certainly sudden."

"Yes. And there's more, but I'll get to that later. Come on, let's go see my place." I paused a moment, as if just thinking of it now. "Gee, I think it's big enough for at least two..."

"Oh, very subtle, Lucifer."

"Lucifer?"

"You know, the angel fallen from Heaven? That's what you seem to be: A guardian angel, fallen from the Heavens." He got that look in his eyes again. "Gabriel...who fell from the Heavens, wakes up in an alley, and can't remember who he is. Dressed all in white." He was giving me a sideways look now. "You, my friend, are the archangel

Gabriel."

I felt like Clark Kent, suddenly having his shirt ripped open by a stranger in the middle of a crowded hall. Of course, it would explain quite a lot.

"You're joking, right?"

"Of course I'm joking. As if my miserable existence would warrant a personal angel -- the #1 angel on the angel hierarchy nonetheless -- to oversee my fortunes. Please, don't mock me any more than this life already does. C'mon -- let's go for a walk in the park. You can buy me lunch to celebrate."

"I don't know how many restaurants would take you looking like that."

"Okay, you can take me for lunch and a new wardrobe. You're good for it, right?"

That was an understatement. My salary could finance a small island for a few years.

We certainly got more than a few funny looks from barbers, clothiers and other assorted merchants as we went on a quest to improve Jerry's looks, but by the time we got to the restaurant, he looked like yet another stock broker lowlife again. He didn't seem as happy about this development as I'd have guessed he would.

"I look like another stock broker lowlife again, Ben."

"You're supposed to. It's an effort to make you in an upstanding citizen again. That's the objective."

"Yes, but I threw this all away for a reason." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "If I order a gin and tonic, shoot me."

"I think you're overreacting. It's not like you're going to start dealing in Wall Street again right away."

"I had a talent, Ben. I couldn't lose."

"That seems like an odd reason to stop, Jerry."

"It gets worse. I made millions on the stock market."

"Then the market crashed and you lost everything, right?"

"No, that's the worst part -- I had my money tied up in stuff unaffected by the crash. It crashed and I came out still having millions."

"Yes....so?"

"I'm getting there, hang on. I bought everything on the advice of a very good friend of mine, who had the talent but not the money to play the market. He was doing everything through me, and it ended up that I was getting all the money and all the credit."

"Did he mind?"

"No. He was a sickeningly nice person. Never liked the cutthroat nature of the stock market. He just asked for 10% and went about his business." He waved down a waitress. "I'll have a gin and tonic. So anyway..."

I made a pistol from my fingers and pretended to shoot him.

"I didn't just order a gin and tonic, did I?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you did. Go on."

"Damn. So anyway, after the crash we were just totally raking in the money, hand over fist. Had so much of it even he didn't know what to do with it all. It was just that much."

"Does this story get tragic fairly soon?"

"I'm getting there. So one day, he bought this really expensive car. Huge Rolls-Royce. Newest model they had."

"Cell phone?"

"Why would he sell his telephone? What are you talking about?"

I thought a bit. "Nothing. That phrase just popped into my mind. Keep going."

"Honestly, I don't know about you sometimes. So he drove it everywhere. The neighbors began asking questions. He was just a writer for the paper, nothing that made enough money for that kind of extravagance. People were talking."

"Why didn't he just say where he got it from?"

"He did. Do you how phony it sounds tell people you came into millions of dollars -- right around the time of Black Monday -- by playing the stock market here and there? Would you believe him?"

"Hell no."

"Right. And neither did anyone else. Plus, he was Italian."

"Ah." Now this was beginning to make sense.

"I'm sure you can guess what people were thinking. He might as well have had MAFIA printed on his shirts. And the real Mafia doesn't appreciate that kind of publicity."

"I'd imagine not."

"The paper he worked at fired him immediately -- although, ironically, they really did have mob ties and were even owned by a gangster -- and he was left to living off what he made on the stock market. Then the IRS of all people launched an investigation of him. And to make matters worse, I was out of the country at the time on business. So what can he tell them? I'm not there to vouch for him, he says I gave him millions of dollars for his stock advice. I'm conveniently not there to back up his story. They get suspicious, call in the damn police now. And I don't mean the regular patrolmen, I mean the guys who go after the mobs and spies and such."

"The CIA?"

"Who the hell are the CIA?"

"Secret government police force. Nasty guys to deal with."

"I won't even ask how you know about that. So the police are tailing my friend night and day now, the IRS is harassing him for god knows what reason, and there's probably a contract on his head from the Mafia."

"I'm surprised someone in the government didn't accuse him of being an enemy sympathizer, too."

"I'm getting to that part. In fact, the state department does come knocking on his door, wanting to know if he knows Benito Mussolini."

"This is really bizarre, Jerry. I mean it, you should write a book about your friend."

"Yeah? You want to know the really bizarre part. Not only does he know Mussolini, he's a not-entirely-distant relative."

I nearly spit out my drink with surprise.

"You must be kidding."

"No. And it still gets worse. My friend really was a spy! He had retired after the war, but he was an actual agent for the Italian government during the war years. Now the feds came after him like a pack of dogs on a butcher shop. They took him in for questioning, and now the poor guy is scared out of his wits. And he names me! He actually accuses me of being an undercover agent!"

"That's harsh, Jerry. Why'd he do something like that? I mean, you were innocent, right?"

"Mm?" he replied, paying an inordinate amount of attention to his drink now.

"I mean," I repeated a little more emphatically, "you were innocent, right?"

"That's hardly the point, Gabriel. I trusted him. Whether I was or not is irrelevant."

"So you were then?"

"You know, Gabe, by even having this conversation you're forcing me to implicate myself in a matter of high treason. This restaurant could be under surveillance by the government as we speak."

"Oh, my god, you are a spy."

"Were. I'm retired, remember? Now I'm just a vagrant."

"So this whole sympathy story leads up to you retiring and living as a vagrant so you could escape the clutches of the US government and not get prosecuted for treason? What happened to your friend?"

"Um, shot at dawn I think. I forget the exact punishment, but he's not among the living anymore..."

"This is incredible! What were you doing with all the money you made on the stock market, then? Sending back to the home office?"

Jerry shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.

"That is what you were doing! Who were you working for? I have to know." I was bouncing up and down with excitement now. This was like something out of a comic book.

"Gabe, this isn't really a great place to be discussing this."

"How can you be so calm about this? You're a traitor to the country!" Jerry was making frantic "shushing" motions now. I would not be dissuaded, however. "Have you met James Bond?" Even I was caught off-guard by my own statement. "Wait a minute, that didn't sound right. Where have I heard of James Bond before?" Something was itching at the back of my mind, trying to get out, but I paid it no heed for the moment.

"Why don't we go for a walk or something, Gabe, and we can finish this conversation."

"Sure. Check, please." The waiter gave us kind of a funny look as he brought the bill, but I'm pretty sure that Jerry would have had him killed if he had thought him a threat.

This was so cool.

We headed out for a walk for privacy amongst the teeming millions, and ended up in a large park as the evening wound down.

"Okay, give me the rest of the details." I asked like a little kid.

"Do you believe in God, Gabe?" Jerry asked rather suddenly, changing the subject.

"Well, since I've only been conscious for a little while, I can't really say as I've had time to ponder the deeper questions of life yet."

"You should. it's part of your identity. Makes you who you are. Besides which, it's not something you should even have to think about. You should just know. Either you believe or you don't." He seemed pretty set on that one.

"But I've read about a different philosophy, called agnosticism, I think, where the basic idea is that you don't know." Not sure at the time where I remembered that from. Macbeth was once very big on that philosophy, before he became one of us, and learned there truly are no higher powers. We're all just a bunch of guys who are as flawed as the humans we purport to be above.

"Pfft. Any belief system whose basic tenant is that you're not sure what you believe isn't worth much, for my money."

"Okay, what about existentialism, where belief is irrelevant because you think everything is chaotic and inevitably going to seed anyway?" Of course, as it turned out, the existentialists were right for once. According to Michael, Jean-Paul Sartre was gloating night and day in Heaven once the end of the universe started. Never did like the French.

"Can't say I've ever heard that one before, actually. Who came up with it?"

"Jean-Paul something. French philosopher."

"Figures. We bail them out in the war, and they send us that."

"Well, they did take Jerry Lewis off our hands." Another anachronistic remark. This was either a good sign or a sign of insanity. Of course, at the time I had no idea why I even said it, except that I thought it would be funny.

We walked along for a while, until something dawned on Jerry.

"You didn't answer my question yet."

"And you didn't answer mine, either. So I think that makes us even."

"Yes, but mine was philosophical. Yours was trying to get classified information from me."

I failed to see the distinction, and I told him so.

"Okay, look at it like this: I was merely trying to discover a facet of your personality, while you were trying to make me divulge information that could get us both killed."

"Sorry. I don't normally psychoanalyze."

"Missed that one too. Where'd you hear that one?"

"Psychology magazine. Guy named Sigmund Freud."

"I think I've heard of him. Must be recent, at any rate."

"I don't think he published many articles in Chicago's major newspapers." We both laughed at that one.

"You know, you still haven't answered my question yet." He pointed out again.

"I know. You first."

It was a stalemate, we could both tell. I decided to call off the forces and head home for the night. I mentioned to Jerry where the apartment was.

His eyes nearly burst out of his head.

"Gabe! Do you know where you live? That's just about the nicest apartment in the city!"

So I have good taste. So sue me.

"You know, I think I still have the keys, too." I added, checking my pockets, and of course there they were. Subtle I'm not.

And of course the place was huge. I'd expect nothing less from myself. It was the penthouse, too, just for that extra oomph.

The fact that the penthouse suite in the nicest apartment complex in the city had been left free for six years and still remained mine for the taking didn't register on me at the time. I think Jerry was beginning to suspect something, but then as a former spy he was paranoid as hell anyway. He spent the night in the second of the four bedrooms I had, while I took the fourth. By unspoken mutual consent, we decided that he'd just stay with me from now on.

But there'd be plenty of time for integration later. I gave him some money for that day, and then headed off to work again.

I lived only a few blocks from the building I jumped out of, so I made it with plenty of time to look around the place a bit.

The whole building was, on the whole, pretty Spartan. Obviously, the designers had never heard of the psychology of color schemes when the place was built.

I was mildly surprised when Edmund came up behind me.

"Boo." he said, obviously confusing my staring intently at the walls to be inattentiveness, rather than interest. "Scare you, Ben?"

"Actually, no. I was just noticing how...white everything is." This coming from a guy dressed like the Glad Man.

"Well, it certainly matches your attire. Same suit as yesterday?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I bought some new ones yesterday."

"All white?"

"I like white."

"That's for sure. You'd think you were the archangel Gabriel instead of just Ben Gabriel." Big, clanging bells went off in my head as he looked at me as though waiting for something in return. "What, did I say something wrong?"

"Actually, you're the second person to say that today. I keep thinking that it's important for some reason. Like I'm supposed to be remembering something."

"Suffering from amnesia?"

"Um, yes, I did suffer a head injury of sorts recently..." Edmund suddenly became very edgy.

"Oh...oh, I'm sorry. I had no idea." But his eyes said otherwise. He seemed to back off uncomfortably, as if he knew that I knew that.

As an aside, if you ever want to see true theater of the paranoid, watch gods play chess sometime. More second-guessing and false moves you'll never see in your life. That's what we were currently engaging in, a chess game of the gods, although only one of us was aware of that fact at the time.

"Oh, don't worry." I admonished as we walked towards my office. "It was a long time ago, and I'm much better now." A lie, but a small one.

"Oh. Good. Well, Edmund Gloucester knows when to shut up! Changing the subject: Did you need a refresher on the company before getting back into the loop again?" I wasn't sure if he was being totally serious or not, so I assumed he was.

"Well, I've been 'out of the loop' for six years now, so I'm pretty sure I've got a lot to catch up on."

"Not a problem. Most of the job is pretty self-explanatory -- not much stock brokering required. You'll be essentially running the business end of things."

"Okay, that I can handle."

"Good. The necessary files are on your desk, I believe. Have fun!" he said with a slightly evil grin. I didn't trust anyone capable of an evil grin 100%, if you know what I mean. Gloucester seemed like a nice enough person, but there was almost an aura about him. I didn't realize that I was, in fact, reading his soul until later. And I didn't realize just which Edmund I was dealing with until later still.

Now, the first thing I noticed as I walked into my office that morning was the huge pile of papers and other assorted forms that sat on my otherwise beautiful antique desk.

We'd have to do something about that right away. I hit the intercom for Monique.

"Miss...uh...I don't believe you ever told me your last name."

"Trainer."

"Ah. Well, Miss Trainer, could you help me out in here, please?" About two seconds later, she walked in from the next room. I had more of a chance to appreciate her this time.

She was only about five feet tall, maybe a little less. Thick brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She wore glasses, but large blue eyes. She looked to be only about 21 or so, but dressed older. Her conservative attire concealed an ample bustline and slightly weighty figure. She seemed very shy and withdrawn. Hardly a temptress by any stretch of the imagination.

Naturally, I fell instantly and madly in love with her.

"Yes, Mr. Gabriel?" She asked in a quiet voice, afraid of offending my sensibilities for whatever reason.

"Um...er..." I stuttered, amazed to find myself nervous in the presence of this heavenly creature. She simply radiated innocence and purity, and I found it to be incredibly stimulating. "I need some help in, uh, organizing my, er, files..." I finally finished, trailing off rather lamely I thought. She smiled reassuringly at me, unaware of the effect she was having on me.

"Okay." Ever a woman of few words. "How?"

Maybe alphabetically. "You're absolutely beautiful."

Wait a minute. I think I mixed up what I was supposed to be thinking and what I was supposed to be saying.

I'm not entirely sure, but I think if you filmed her in slow-motion during the next minute or so, you would've seen her head literally explode, and then her entire body shrink into the corner so she wouldn't have to deal with my statement. As it was, she looked scared half out of her wits. She mumbled something, but her voice was so soft and quiet I couldn't even make it out.

"Monique?"

"Um, I'm..." she trailed off, mumbling.

"Sorry?"

"Thanks." And she quickly retreated into the bathroom adjacent to the room. Others might think her psychotic, but I thought it was cute.

I tried to quickly smooth things over. Hopefully. I ran over and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Let's try this again. Hi, I'm Benjamin Reilly Gabriel."

Slowly the bathroom door opened and she emerged, looking beet red from blushing.

"Hi. I'm Monique Trainer."

"Hello, Monique." I replied, trying to use the reassuring tone that Jerry had used on me in the alley. It worked, as she seemed to calm down a bit. "Monique seems an odd name for an American, doesn't it?"

"I'm Canadian, actually. And my parents had a weird sense of humor." She didn't seem to want to elaborate. Fair enough, I could relate.

"Any ideas on how we could get this mess of paper into some kind of order? By client, by year?" I tried to lighten the mood a bit. "We could just set them on fire and do a pagan ritual."

That seemed to crack her outer shell a bit, although not much. Well, I've always enjoyed a challenge. I decided not to press the issue too much. I could respect her right to privacy as long as she did the job well.

Which she did. Damned if we didn't get the place in working order by lunchtime. I figured asking her to lunch would be a bit too forward, however.

The actual work involved in being a partner was pretty trivial, all things considered. I was definitely living in the bourgeois lap of luxury now, getting top dollar for little actual work. It is a sad indictment on my life at the time when my on-the-job priorities included getting my secretary to go out to lunch with me. Well, that and getting Jerry re-integrated into society without having the secret police smash down our door and drag him off for hanging.

We discussed it one night.

"Does this strike you as odd?" he asked out of the blue.

"What, this conversation or life in general?" I asked semi-mockingly. By now I was used to Jerry's forays into the deeper questions of existence. He was pretty deep for a bum.

"Don't be cute. Take a look at our situation. You basically woke up, in a back alley, six weeks ago, dressed in a perfect Armani business suit."

"Right," I said, busy reading a book on amnesia and not totally devoting my attentions to him.

"From there, you wander into the building you were next to, and discover you already work there. In fact, you don't just work there, you're a partner in the business."

"Right."

"Furthermore, you were actually in a similar position with the company six years ago, or however long you were out."

"Right..." Paying attention now.

"But things got bad and you jumped out of a window."

"Okay."

"And this doesn't strike you as the least bit, oh, convenient? You know, Gabe, people who are so unsuccessful at playing stock broker that they attempt suicide aren't exactly likely to have your good luck."

"You know, this paranoid secret agent thing really gets annoying sometimes, Jerry..."

"Don't change the subject, Gabe. You should be on a very large run of bad luck, but instead you're an overnight success, quite literally."

"Good timing, I guess."

"Okay, but I, on the other hand, come wandering out of the same alley you did, at roughly the same time, with roughly the same background, and yet you're the one with a high-paying job and the Taj Mahal for your office. Something just seems...wrong. The whole deal smells."

"I'd expect just that conclusion from you. So what's the theory behind this one? An intricate German plot to infiltrate the US?" I was laying on the sarcasm rather thick, which certainly wasn't fair to Jerry. "Sorry, I just don't get what you're driving at here."

"Have you considered divine intervention?"

"I don't believe in God."

Jerry shot up like someone had just stuck a lit match down his underwear.

"Yes! I finally got you to answer the question first!" The man had a point. We'd spent the past six weeks trying to pry the pertinent information out of each other with a crowbar.

Jerry's jubilation was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Aileen, from the floor below. Her husband was off in Europe on some sort of military duty. Not to say that she was of questionable morals, but the housecoat she was wearing was rather, shall we say, liberal in it's construction. Certainly in contrast to Monique's quiet dignity.

"Mrs. Weaver, can I help you?" I inquired politely, trying to remain blissfully ignorant of her delightfully endowed body.

"Oh, don't be so formal, Benny..."

"I'd rather not be called that, actually..."

"...you can call me Aileen. After all, we're neighbors. And neighbors help each other out." She giggled, and her housecoat conveniently got a bit more revealing. "Why, Benny, you're turning all red." She giggled again. I desperately tried to salvage my dignity.

"So, uh, Aileen, when will your husband," I said, stressing the last word, "be coming back from...Poland, wasn't it?"

"Yes, last I heard. He sends me the cutest letters. Very stimulating, if you know what I mean." Apparently I turned redder, because she giggled again. "It's too cute the way you blush all the time, Benny! I could just eat you up with a spoon." She licked her lips for emphasis. I gulped.

"What did you need, again? I seem to have forgotten."

"That's because I didn't tell you, silly. Isn't he silly, Jerry?"

"The silliest," my oh-so-helpful cohort chimes in. I shoot him a dirty look and try to steer the conversation back into safe water again.

"Did you need a cup of sugar or something?"

"Oh, how...what's that word for something really obvious that's been done to death before?"

"Clich�."

"Yeah, clich�. A cup of sugar would be too clich�." she recited, as though in a spelling bee. "That'll be my word for today: Clich�. My husband says I should learn as many new words as possible every day."

"A fine goal." I said, relieved to have the topic at hand back to something manageable.

"In fact, I was reading this really fascinating book...did I use that word right?"

"What, book?"

"No, silly, fascinating. My husband says I should never use words that I don't know the meaning of."

"You should never end sentences with a preposition, either. But a wise man this husband of yours is, at any rate."

"He's really smart. He'll be a writer some day, after he's done in the army."

"A noble goal. Now, what about this book?" I prodded, as Jerry, heartless bastard he was, snickered in the background.

"Book?"

"Yes, the book you just mentioned two minutes ago."

"Oh, the book I was reading! Well, it's a book about..." she giggled again, "...anatomy."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, how the body is made up of different parts..."

"I know what 'anatomy' means, but I'm surprised you can use it in a sentence without checking first." I was becoming vaguely annoyed with this silly young woman, and obviously it was beginning to show.

"Well, if you think I'm dumb, then maybe I just won't talk to you anymore tonight." She looked intently at me, searching for some hint of guilt or remorse on my part. Not bloody likely. She made a "Humph." sound and stomped off to her own apartment to do god-knows-what.

I closed the door as Jerry burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

"Did you," he chortled, struggling to get the words out over his laughter, "actually establish what she wanted?"

"Oh, I know what she wants. But in answer to your specific question, no."

"And that's another thing! What's with the women falling all over you? At the restaurant the other day, there was at least three women who looked at you all big-eyed and lovingly. It's like they're going into rapture over you."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know full well what I mean. You'd think you have a halo over your head or something. I'm telling you, you're the archangel Gabriel. It's the only idea that explains everything."

"And your government actually paid you to hold these crackpot opinions?"

He smiled at me reassuringly, and we played cards for the rest of the night, having forgotten where the conversation left off before the untimely interruption.

Months passed, as they often do.

By this time, I was actually starting to make progress with Monique. We weren't what you'd call "an item" or anything, but she appeared to trust me much more now, to the point where I could actually hold normal conversations with her without her retreating into her shell all the time. Maybe another step was in order, I thought. Not like I had anything more productive to do at work anyway.

She was taking dictation one day, when I decided to broach the subject.

"Monique," I said, dispensing with the formality of "Miss Trainer," "did you have any plans for tonight?" Knowing full that she didn't. She never did.

I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it. Ever see the movie "Scanners" where an alien invader causes a human's head to inflate until it explodes? Well, that's nothing compared to the look on her face, as she was trapped, helpless, and with a blatant dinner invitation staring her squarely in the face. It was cute in a sadomasochistic kind of way.

And predictably, she bolted. Right out of the room without answering the question, or even looking me in the face. She was completely red all over. I could see why Aileen thought that was so cute now.

Assuming, correctly, that she had retreated to her desk, I buzzed the intercom. Amazingly, her voice was even quieter than usual.

"Yes, Mr. Gabriel?" She sounded terrified. I sighed.

"Monique, I'm sorry if I scared you. Come back in here for a few minutes so we can talk about this." I hoped she wouldn't run off into a broom closet or something. She shuffled into the room, desperately trying to avoid my gaze.

"So." I began, trying to be casual and reassuring. "I'm sorry if I startled you. If you aren't comfortable taking our relationship to the next level, I can understand that, but I had to make the attempt."

She still wasn't talking, so I got up and put my hand on her shoulder to reassure her. I continued.

"I do find you very attractive, and I would be overjoyed if you accompanied me to dinner, even in friendship. Okay?" I asked, trying to get some sort of response from her.

In an odd development, she threw her arms around me and kissed me. Unexpected, but fun. It was my turn to stand there in shock as she composed herself again, as much in disbelief of her own actions as I was.

"I'll take that as a yes, then..." I stammered.

"Yes." she said, simply. Now she was looking at me a little funny.

"Did you want to kiss me again?" I asked.

"I think so." So she did, just in case. In fact, we did it a few times, making sure we didn't screw it up by accident the first time.

As I prepared for dinner that night, I was unspeakably nervous and Jerry seemed most amused by it.

"Think she'll like roast chicken?"

"I think she'll like it, Ben, yes." Jerry replied, as though humoring a child.

"What about the side dishes?" I asked, really freaking out (for me).

"They look delicious. And where did you learn to cook, anyway?"

There's an interesting story behind that involving a famous French chef, two elephants and the entire membership of the fallen Holy Roman Empire, but I couldn't recall it at the time so I just made something up.

There was a knock at the door anyway, before I got a chance to try out the story.

Jerry gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and went to answer the door.

"I hope you like chicken." I called out.

"I just love chicken!" Came the reply from someone definitely not Monique. It was much more annoying. "Ooo, Benny, dinner smells heavenly. What're we having?" Aileen asked, making an uninvited appearance in my kitchen.

"I thought you weren't talking to me anymore." I said while fondling my chicken.

"I'm a mature person, Benny, so I've decided to forgive you." She grabbed a carrot stick from the pile and dipped it in the chicken's sauce.

"You know, Aileen, I do have company coming over tonight..." I said, trying to be diplomatic as I kicked her out.

"Female company?" Now she was eyeballing the chicken.

"Um, yes." Her eyes lit up.

"Benny, you scoundrel, I never knew. Am I just too much woman for you?" She suddenly reached out and fondled my rear. I was at a loss for words. Of course, she never was. "You know, Benny, it gets so lonely at night without someone to share a bed with. If I wasn't married, I'd tie you up in my apartment and..." seeing Jerry, she stopped and whispered the rest of the very, very graphic details in my ear. I think she may have put her tongue in there, too. It's all kind of a blur after the bits with the whipping cream and the cheerleader costume. "Good luck, Benny. I hope she's half as good as we could be." She straightened her dress and left. She actually left of her own accord, peaceably, without the need for insulting remarks or physical force. Amazing.

I think my potatoes were burning. Didn't seem to matter much at that point.

"Oh, Romeo, we have another guest." Jerry called out. And there she sat. As if I wasn't walking around in a state of shock as it was, Monique was now sitting on my couch, looking even more beautiful than I thought was humanly possible.

And certainly more nervous. This was going to be tricky. Better step carefully here.

"Hi, Monique, I hope you like..."

Quick pause for historical reflection here. I am reasonably sure that, at some point in his long and wildly successful romantic career, Don Juan may have tripped on the carpeting and spilled his drink all over a poor girl sitting on the couch. Especially if it was that really thick shag carpeting that needed a "Watch your step" sign between the kitchen and the living room.

Either way, it was something of a social faux pas, to say the least. I didn't really blame her for running out into the hall in tears.

I was convinced at the time, in one of those wacky ironic moments, that I had a guardian angel, because Aileen interceded. She stopped Monique, in mid-stride, somehow managed to calm her down, and since they were approximately the same size, even found her a dress.

I was so relieved I even asked Aileen to join us for dinner.

Not that she wouldn't have invited herself anyway.

She joined me in the kitchen for a word while Jerry attempted to make non-threatening small talk with Monique.

"Benny," she began in a soothing tone of voice, "What's bothering you?"

"Don't call me Benny. You can call me Ben or Gabe, but I would rather not be called Benny." Stick and move, stick and move.

"Oh, don't give me that. Being a little nervous is fine, but you dumped a large amount of alcohol on the poor girl."

"Orange juice, actually. She doesn't drink." I corrected her absently, concentrating on the dinner.

"What isn't she old enough yet?"

Now that got my attention.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. I have no idea where that came from."

"I'm only a few years older than her, and she's 21 as it is. I don't see the issue here, especially coming from someone who looks like she's still in grade school."

That one really got her, I think.

"You're right. It was a totally stupid thing for me to say."

I glanced out to the living room, and saw that Jerry seemed to have her feeling a lot more comfortable. I turned my attention back to the matter at hand.

"Are you jealous?" I thought I'd try a shot in the dark. Aileen kind of made a sputtering sound in response. A-ha. "You are jealous, aren't you? How ironic." She seemed distinctly uncomfortable now. And Jerry had his arm around Monique off and on.

"I'm not jealous." She was lying. I could now read people's auras quite easily without knowing, and I did so now. I chalked it up to intuition at the time, but it was really my angelic powers making themselves known again.

"Yes, I think you are. For whatever strange reason, you..." Wait a minute.

Jerry had his arm around Monique?

I peeked out into the living room again. Yes, indeed, my roommate and best friend was sitting there putting the moves on the person who, at this point, could be reasonably considered as being close to being my girlfriend. Aileen, of course, noticed.

"Jealous?"

"Okay, I see your point." But I still looked, and felt, threatened by the activities in the living room, no matter how innocent they might be. Aileen seemed to sense this.

"Don't worry, honey, she's your for the taking. As if you haven't been screaming your love of her from the hills. I'm sure Jerry has picked up on it by now." She was right. My desire to make that night go perfectly was driving me to paranoia.

"I'll handle dinner, Gabe," Aileen said, stressing my name, "go show your stuff." I instinctively knew she'd burn the sauce, but more important issues beckoned, so I decided to put it out of my mind.

I sauntered casually into the living room where Jerry was having quite a bit of success, apparently, keeping Monique amused. Good. Made my job easier.

"Jerry, are you bothering this poor lady?" My lady love suddenly got very tense.

"Oh, it's not a bother...really, I enjoy talking to him."

"I was joking. It's okay, really." She gave me a look as if to imply that, no, that sort of joke wasn't okay and I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking it. I was vaguely disturbed by this reaction, but didn't think much of it at the time.

With that distinctly uncomfortable moment behind us for the moment, we proceeded to make meaningless small talk until our de facto chef informed us that dinner was ready. I recall finding my arm around Monique at some point, although I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that it happened. I was definitely making progress, and the conversation, whatever inconsequential matters it may have entailed, fell by the wayside to her eyes. I'm pretty sure I took part in the conversation, but it was only a part of me. The rest was preoccupied with her and only her.

I went to bed (not with her, unfortunately) totally happy that night.

Of course, things kind of went downhill from there.

It all started with the dream I had that night...

INTERLUDE: GABRIEL'S DREAM.

The kind was not dead. For from it, as a matter of fact. But for the ceremony and treatment being given him, he might as well have been.

The embalmer was carefully explaining the preparations of mummification to the young man beside him. the boy had accidentally been left behind after a passing group from the other side of the continent had stopped by to bless them with holy water of some sort. Those sorts of weird barbarian types came by all the time and most of the locals didn't pay too much attention to them. So when they left the boy, Gabriel, behind by accident, not many people had much motivation to actually talk to the group again, and decided to raise the boy themselves. He was a fast learner, and seemed destined for greatness, but showed little desire to accept his place in the order of things. While most his age were yearning for the crown, young Gabriel remained modest, willing to serve and unencumbered by thoughts of personal gain.

In short, he was insufferably nice. Enough to make most of his elders upset that someone -- a foreigner nonetheless -- would dare make them look less than perfect in front of the king. And make no mistake, with no royal heirs, sucking up to the ruler of the land was an artform.

And even worse, in the yes of the group, the king loved the little cretin. Gabriel would go around generally being incredibly nice to the king, and would be rewarded with promises of great royal favors to be paid sometime in the future, which Gabriel always patiently turned down and continued about his business.

It made everyone else sick to his stomach, so they decided to do something about it. Not being what you might call a moderate group of people, they poisoned the king one day on a whim. Respect for royalty wasn't really high around 1400 BC.

And so the king lay on his deathbed, stubbornly refusing to die and be done with it. this greatly disturbed the corrupt ones who had engineered the coup d'etat, given they had carefully laid plans and long deliberations on just which poison to kill him with. complex decisions like that didn't just make themselves, you know.

So really, it was an all-around shitty day for the conspirators. And as with all small-minded, hateful peoples, the best solution they could think of was to blame a scapegoat.

And who better than Gabriel, currently standing next to the kind old embalmer, rapt with attention.

And of course, the conspirators chose that moment to burst in and declare the boy the assassin and drag him off to the local jail. The plan was for him to rot there until the king died from his unfortunate condition, at which point he would be executed. Gabriel was somewhat upset at fate dealing him such a cruel blow, given all the good he had done in his short -- and soon to be shorter -- life.

But still the king wouldn't die. In fact, that seemed to be his whole purpose in life -- to just go on generally outliving the hell out of everyone else. This was very upsetting to the conspirators, who had a short attention span as it was, and finally some of the more rebellious factions just got so sick of him waking up from the comas, heart attacks and strokes that they just broke in, forced poison down his throat, and stayed with the old coot day and night until he finally died. And even then, they had to inconspicuously bludgeon him to death with a rock before he finally got the message.

Even as he lay dying, however, the king still called for Gabriel. In fact, that was his last word...Gabriel.

The one being called for was having not much of a better time of it. He had spent week after miserable week in solitary confinement, with only bread and water to keep him alive. Life was truly hellish, as concerned citizens of the village stopped by to deliver daily beatings to the insolent boy who dared let himself be taken into the king's trust, and then kill him in cold blood.

Of course, the king didn't actually die until well into Gabriel's sentence, but a lack of evidence or common sense has never stopped the wheels of justice from crushing the innocent before, so why now?

In the end, he was dragged from his private hell, disfigured from the beatings, bloodied, head bowed and stinking of his own filth, and beheaded with a dull blade. Since it was a very dull blade, it took a few tries to get it all the way off.

The body was burned, and the ashes tossed in a waste pit and spat on by the villagers.

Two days later, the king finally died.

Life sucks sometimes. But things got better after his death.

There was light. A lot of it. The young man named Gabriel was impressed, and considering that he had just been slowly and painfully executed for a crime he didn't commit, that was no small feat.

Gabriel just kind of floated there in the void for a while, wondering what the hell was happening. It was rather maddening, being put on hold like that on a cosmic scale. Finally, a voice spoke. A clear, strong voice. The voice of God.

"Um, sorry to keep you waiting. Busy tinkering with my infinite creations and all that. You know how it is."

"I'm sorry?" The very confused young man stammered.

"Oh! Sorry, we haven't been introduced, have we? I....am God." A fanfare played from nowhere.

"Ah. Which one?"

God sputtered indignantly at that.

"Which one? Why, I am God. I created the universe and all the creatures in it. The stars and heavens are but my playthings. I bend infinity to my will and the light in the universe shines in my name." God looked expectantly at Gabriel, waiting for the proper look of awe. None came. "You know...GOD."

"Never heard of you. Are you new? I met Ra, the sun god, once when I was younger. He seemed nice."

"Pa. Rank amateur." God stopped, embarrassed. "And yes, I am new, actually. Just took over for one of the gods of some African tribe. He lost all his worshippers, and ceased to exist. So a position opened up, and I snapped it up." He grinned quite proudly.

"Was the name your idea?"

"Oh, yes. Nobody has ever had the courage to actually call themselves 'God' before. I'm making quite a name for myself in these circles. I might even beat out that punk Allah for Best New God at this year's Deity Awards."

"Well, that's wonderful. Now, why am I here?"

"Eh?" Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"I mean, you've obviously brought me to this place for a reason, right?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, got lost in my own magnificence for a minute there. It's quite easy, you know. I'm quite magnificent." He pondered himself again.

Oh brother, Gabriel thought.

"I heard that. I'm God, you know. I can hear thoughts."

"Right, well, very good. Obviously you had some purpose in bringing me here, right? What is it?" Gabriel hoped all gods weren't as stuck on themselves.

Actually, they are, but that's beside the point.

"Yes, of course. Your purpose is..." God paused dramatically, "...to be my herald and archangel." More fanfare.

"Oh. Sounds...interesting." Gabriel said in the voice people reserve for really bad wedding gifts. "What does that entail?"

"Er, see, that's the thing. You see, you're a very hot commodity up here. 14 different gods were bidding for your services after your death, and I barely won out over Allah to get you on my side. Good people are hard to find these days."

"So I hear."

"Anyway, I came up with the herald and archangel thing as my winning bid, but I never really decided what's involved, and what's more I'm not exactly...known...on the mortal plane yet, so basically your powers and influence with be fairly...uh...limited."

"Oh."

"You'll have a nice desk, though. And it'll just be a for a little while. I've got this really great idea to drum up support for my cause."

"Uh huh."

"No, really. See, I'll slowly build up support for my cause for the next few centuries, and then I'll martyr some poor schmuck in my name."

"That hardly seems fair to whoever gets to be the martyr."

"I'm sure he'll understand, my boy...and what was your name again?"

Gabriel knew then that this would be a slightly more complicated relationship than he was used to.

"Gabriel. My name is Gabriel."

"Oh, right. Keeping up with the billions of inhabitants of the universe tends to affect the memory sometimes. Now then, here's the general idea of your involvement: You're going to spend the next century down there, drumming up support for me and winning disciples, and possibly looking for our lucky martyr."

"So you don't actually, you know, know who your messenger is going to be just yet?"

"Well, not in so many words, no..."

This was getting to be a bit much for a rational being to take.

"You are amazing. You really expect to build a religion around this kind of disorder and inconsistency?"

"I was hoping you'd help out with the disorder bit, actually..."

"Damn straight, because I'm obviously the only chance you've got of succeeding. Just how long have you been waiting around, anyway?"

God sort of mumbled something that could have been either "million" or "billion".

"That long, eh? And you expect 100% penetration in two thousand years or less?"

"I was kind of hoping, yes..." The roles of teacher and student seemed to altering.

"Okay, fine, I'll go down and do what I can. Not that I particularly enjoy the company of them anymore. But I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

Gabriel thought for a moment.

"14 other gods were after me?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"And you were the winner?"

"Definitely."

"The gods work in mysterious ways." And with that he became aware of his angelic glory and floated down to the world below to spread the word of God...

***

"I'm Gabriel!" I yelled out suddenly, awakening from my dream.

"No shit, Gabe. Where the hell have you been? I've been hanging around for weeks, and you've been ignoring me!"

That voice...it couldn't be.

"Wakey, wakey." Macbeth said.

"Oh, man...what are you doing here?" I thought about it for a bit. "What am I doing here, for that matter?"

"I don't know. I've been jumping up and down and screaming in your face ever since you did a gainer into the gutter and I don't think you could see me. Maybe you have to be in archangel form to know I'm there or something." He paused a bit longer. "And what's with the first-person narrative."

I wasn't sure.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, maybe it's a side-effect of the head injury. So, it must have been a hard knock on the head if you've been out this long."

"I haven't been 'out,' I've just been acting like a normal human being. You might try it sometime."

"Oh, very deft social commentary, Gabe. Look, the mortal is staring at you. Hi, monkey man!"

Jerry was indeed staring at me, and I seemed to be having a conversation with no one.

"Oh, great...Jerry, look, there's a perfectly rational explanation -- I'm really the archangel Gabriel, and I'm talking to Macbeth, but you can't see him because he's an apparition and you're not dead yet."

"Uh huh."

"Okay, that didn't come out the way I wanted it to. You were right. I'm the archangel Gabriel. I'm God's herald and all-around VP of heaven. Honest. Bring me a glass of wine and I'll turn it into water!"

"It's the other way around, Gabe." Macbeth whispered.

"It is? Damn, it's been so long..."

"Ben? You're talking to no one again." Jerry sounded pretty freaked out. I decided to do something about it.

"Okay, that's it." I did one of those angelic hand wave things and suddenly Macbeth was solid again.

"Nice trick, Gabe. Remind me to get you to cater my next party."

"Shut up. Jerry, this is Macbeth, sometime ruler of hell and basic pain in the ass."

"This is too weird, Ben. I'm having trouble coping with this."

Just then, God showed up.

"I'll be fainting right about now." Jerry commented, and did so.

"I'll be leaving right about now." Macbeth commented, and did so in the usual way.

"Well, I see I'm a popular deity today, Gabriel." God commented. "And you've certainly dug a hole for yourself this time."

Aileen ran in just then, apparently hearing the fanfare that always accompanies God.

"Oh, my god!"

"Hello there." He replied sociably. Aileen kind of fell back a few steps, not believing what she was seeing.

God and I laughed a bit.

"So."

"So."

"Don't you just hate uncomfortable silences?"

Aileen felt the need to interject at this point.

"Excuse me, but how can you have a conversation lag with God?"

Now we had something to talk about.

"Quite easily, actually. We've been having conversations for four thousand years. You tend to turn out of topics of conversation after the secrets of the universe exhaust themselves."

Aileen was sputtering like an outboard motor.

"But...but...but...aren't the secrets of the universe infinite and indescribable?"

God sighed.

"You were raised Catholic, weren't you?"

"Well, yes..."

"Wholly unimaginative group, them. Rather than take the time to discover this stuff for themselves, they make up phrases like 'infinite and indescribable' and pass the buck to me. Feh, like I don't have enough on my mind. Okay, you want the secrets of the universe? Get a pen."

Aileen slipped into her purse and found a pen and pad of paper.

"I...uh...don't actually remember having those in there..."

God kind of coughed as a reminder of just who was in the room at the time.

"Oh, right." She added apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Okay," God began, "here are the secrets of the universe. Prepare to be disappointed."

"He's right, you know." I added helpfully. "He's told the secrets of the universe so many times now that only the newbies are even remotely impressed. And usually only the drunk ones at that. It's sad, really."

"You're not helping, Gabriel."

"Well, I wouldn't want these poor souls to all excited about your big secret, only to hear how boring and pathetic it really is."

"Well, maybe we should just let them judge for themselves. They seem reasonably intelligent."

"Oh, please. Even that buffoon Adam and his air-headed wife Eve got it."

Aileen felt the need to speak up again.

"You mean Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, right?"

God and I looked at each other for a minute.

"Are they still spreading that nonsense? Don't you Catholics find the concept of an entire race of people derived from two single people to be a bit silly?" God asked.

"But they've always taught that..."

"I mean, the issue of skin color aside, the inbreeding required would reduce the human race to a group of drooling morons. Why do you think I came up with the evolutionary process? For my health? I don't think so, young lady. I mean, I practically had to put flashing signs all over the Galapagos Islands for Darwin to get the bloody point. Then the church goes and denounces the whole thing! What, do I have to come down and explain this to every single person myself? I'm rather busy for that sort of waste of My time, let me tell you..."

"I just..."

"And where did the church get off rewriting the Word of God in the first place? I wrote the damned thing in Hebrew, they should have taught the toadying clergy to read it instead of persecuting the Jews. Thank Me the world is beyond those sorts of antics now."

"What about Hitler?" I pointed out.

"Who?"

"Adolph Hitler. Nutty as a fruitcake. He'll try to conquer the world and slaughter millions of Jews in the process."

"Are you sure? I don't remember anyone by that name."

This seemed odd to me, but I let it pass as God's usual absent-mindedness.

"Are you sure you're not mistaken?" I tried.

"I don't make mistakes."

"What about continental drift?"

"An oversight."

"The Martian Canals?"

"Error in judgment."

"Attilla the Hun? Extinction of the dinosaurs? Kathy Lee Gifford?"

"Look, the point is that I didn't create this Hitler person. I don't know who he is and he's certainly not my responsibility. Maybe he's from the Equal Opportunity Act?"

Ah, yes, a truly insidious device of torture. After the Renaissance, the forces of evil claimed that there was too much good in the world and measures needed to be taken to ensure evil had as much of a chance to prosper as good did. Shortly after the act was made universal law, the USA became a country.

Even the forces of evil were forced to apologize for that one.

But I kept a close record of people like Hitler, and he was definitely created by God himself. I began to have a sneaking suspicion about something, but decided to keep it to myself until I could chat with Macbeth again.

"Well," I said, "when there's eight million souls sitting outside of Heaven at once, don't say I didn't warn you. Of course, I'm the one who gets to take care of them..."

"Isn't that St. Peter's job?" Aileen asked, a reasonable enough question.

"No, Peter's job is to separate the good souls from the bad and send them to the appropriate place. We sub-contract him, but he doesn't work for us, as such. Same with Thanatos, the Grim Reaper. He kind of collects errant souls wandering the earth, but he's not an official agent of Heaven." I explained.

Now that I thought about it, Thanatos should have been by to collect Macbeth and myself, as we certainly didn't belong in this time.

"I think you and Michael are about the only ones who are 'on the payroll'" God mused.

"Well, Jesus is when he's not drunk."

You wouldn't think a reasonable statement like that would stir up such emotions in a woman.

"What...how can you say...no way..." Aileen was so angry she was struggling for words.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what does your precious church tell you about him?"

"Jesus died for our sins. He loves and forgives everyone. Jesus is love. Jesus is Lord."

"Jesus is a bum." God added. I figured I should elaborate before Aileen had a heart attack.

"Basically," I said, "Jesus is what we call a 'groupie.' Every time a new god or religion bursts onto the scene, he starts going from town to town singing the praises of his new god. He's trying to earn points for the afterlife, but the ironic bit is that he's doomed to walk the earth forever as an immortal. Long story behind it, but he deserved it, trust me. He's known by a lot of names, Homer, Mohammed, Jesus, and a few others. We weren't impressed with that little crucifixion bit, let me tell you. Little git."

"So he's still around?"

"Absolutely. He's thousands of years old, older than me even. He started out as head minion of Oog, the Neanderthal god of loud noises. When that well ran dry -- for reasons less obvious than you're thinking -- he attempted to preserve his own immortality by jumping from religion to religion. It worked too well, and now he can never die. Last time he was on earth, he was known as Vlad Dracula, the Impaler."

Jerry, now woken up, seemed rather crushed by this news.

"You're shattering my whole belief system here, Gabe." he said, with more than a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Wait until you hear about Noah, then." God added with a glint in his eye. "Two of every animal indeed..."

"I hardly think Noah's personal life is an appropriate subject for mixed company. And besides," I added apologetically for the guy, "he was having marital problems at the time."

"Baaaaa." God added simply. "Oh, there's a flood, quick, get two of every species onto my private little houseboat..."

"That's quite enough!" I snapped. "He's been in therapy since 1400, and he's working through his problems, so just let the poor guy live in peace."

"Well, what about Moses, that con man. Just happens to drop a lit torch into a bush when all his friends are around. Makes up ten commandments in My name and engraves them on stone tablets. Heh. Any idiot can part the Red Sea."

The last statement drew stares.

"Long story." I added. "Moses found out how to do it by a series of coincidences that are actually pretty funny. It all started when..."

"Gabriel, if you tell that story one more time, I will smite you." God interrupted.

"Well, it's very funny, no matter what he thinks."

"Aren't you going to tell us the secret of the universe?" Aileen prodded.

"Oh, yes, of course. Let it be." God said, with appropriate fanfare.

"What?"

"Let it be. That's it."

"It's seems a little..."

"Unsatisfying? Boring? Colossal waste of time? You're totally right. Some Welsh farmer named McCartney wrote it years ago. Total dolt, never even realized what he had written."

"Um," Jerry inquired, "how exactly does one know they've written something like that?"

I snorted.

"Believe, you know. In his case, he became fabulously wealthy within hours of writing it. His wife became impregnated, I think God himself appeared with some sort of congratulatory note..."

"A fireworks display taking up most of the northern hemisphere, if I recall correctly."

"...and just generally buckets of good luck and long, long, long life for someone who otherwise had no business getting anything but a swift kick in the ass for his troubles."

"Wow." Aileen said in awe, now knowing the secret of the universe. "How do you use it?"

"Use it?" We both said simultaneously, then burst into fits of laughter.

"Funny you should ask," God began. "In fact, you can't. It's a very specific piece of a very specific prophecy which does no one but the person mentioned in the prophecy a whit of good. I could publish it in every newspaper in the world one day and not affect a thing."

"Not a very impressive 'secret of the universe.'" Jerry commented bitterly.

"Well," I said, "I don't mean to say 'I told you so,' but I did."

"Now, if you want the secret of love, riches and eternal happiness..." God added.

Jerry perked up again.

"...you'll just have to become a god and learn them yourself." Well, he's a god, not a comedian. Ultimate power is easy, comedy is tough. "Well then, I'm off. Just heard you were in the neighborhood -- which is odd, because I thought you were off at some boring council of Major Deities meeting, but never mind -- and I thought I'd stop in and say hello. So, hello." And he was gone.

"That was interesting." Jerry said casually.

"Don't worry if you feel disappointed. Most experiences with this version of God end that way."

"What was that prophecy he was talking about?" Jerry continued.

"Oh, that." I said. "There's kind of a long story behind that. Basically, the Creators of the universe have kind of a twisted sense of humor."

"Didn't God create the universe?" Aileen asked.

"No. He just says that to impress female gods at parties."

"You're kidding...he doesn't seem like the type." Jerry mused.

"Yes, I know, but then if you ever saw what Jesus really looks like, you wouldn't call him king of the Jews, either."

"Okay, so who created the universe, then?" Jerry asked.

"Ah! Therein lies an interesting story. You see, the Creators are really a bunch of nauseating blowhard jerks. Know-it-all showoffs who like to do each other one better every day, just to show it can be done. But with only 5 of them and no reality to inflict themselves on yet, it got boring pretty quickly before the universe we know came about. So they created it." I paused to let them soak in the richness of the tale.

"That's it? That's the story of the creation of life, the universe and everything? Is everything in the universe this disappointing?"

"Wait, there's more, Jerry. Okay, so the original deities up and created the universe we now live in. I'll spare you the details -- it involves a lot of paperwork and a fixed vote. You can't even tell you're no longer in one reality and in another...it's a seamless transition. Heck, I could create one myself if I had more patience and free time." I thought a second about my own statement, and not being able to tell you're in another universe, but Jerry looked like he was ready to say something, so my train of thought was interrupted.

"So there's other universes out there besides ours?"

"Sort of. You've probably lived a million lives without knowing it, because the basic players in each successive universe created remain the same, with slight differences. But the older ones get destroyed to make way for the new ones. Anyway, to continue, they weren't content with just making the universe and all its inhabitants..."

"Is there life besides us out there?" Jerry asked.

"Yes, but the chances of your race surviving themselves long enough to figure out who it is are slim and none. You'll have blown yourselves to pieces by the time they get here. Continuing on...the Creators decided to write a book, chronicling the history of the universe, from creation to its eventual end. Very interesting read, incidentally. Public libraries should stock a copy, it's very educational."

"You've read the history of the universe?" Aileen asked, jaw dropping.

"Yes, I've read the history of one universe, but I'm beginning to suspect I'm in a totally different one."

"When does it end? How does it end?" Jerry asked despite my disclaimer.

"I'm afraid if I told you it wouldn't exactly reinforce your dwindling faith in the universe."

"When? I have to know."

I sighed. "In about 75 years. You should be safely dead by then, but it'll be pretty nasty for those here on Earth. A giant meteor or comet or something like that will impact with your planet in the year 2020 and kill all life instantly, and fragment Earth into a billion pieces to boot."

Talk about uncomfortable silences.

"Can't we escape to the moon or something?"

"Funny you should ask...ever play billiards?"

"No! Forget I asked!" Jerry amended. "I don't even want to know what that means."

Aileen had a point to make, for once.

"But that's just how the Earth ends. How does the rest of the universe end?"

"Mm. Very observant, oh annoying one. Oddly enough, I'm apparently the main catalyst for the destruction of the universe."

Both looked somewhat stunned at this. Not that I blamed them.

"And I'm also one of the last two survivors, along with my 'friend' Macbeth, who you met before. And since the universe ends at that point, so does the book."

"Seems like sort of a bad way to end a book." Jerry commented.

"Yes, well, they're the Creators. They can create Pulitzer prizes for themselves if they want to. The book is filled with much stranger fare than that anyway...for instance, just to be real class-A jerks, they put a series of completely stupid and improbable predictions in there just to annoy everyone. And of course they all came true, to the letter. Disgusting. Do you know who the biggest musical group of 1995 will be? Four kids called 'Hootie and the Blowfish.' And Ronald Reagan will be president for two terms. And professional wrestling will become wildly popular starting in the mid-eighties. And..." I shuddered just to think of it, "...disco."

"What's 'disco?'" Aileen asked, not liking the sound of the word.

"You don't even want to know."

"It certainly sounds bad, whatever it is."

"They have a really, really weird sense of humor. They even make appearances here on Earth now and then, just to irritate the hell out of those of us who know who they are. Ever heard of something called a UFO? That's them, being funny. Divine interventions and experiences are generally theirs. Woman in Peru sees God...that's them. Bunch of shit disturbers, that's what they are."

"Aren't you afraid of offending them?" Aileen asked.

"I survived the end of the universe. I can handle myself against them." I didn't mention my run-in with Thor, of course, but then I didn't think that was relevant. "And, if you ever met any of the men called the Devil, I'm afraid you'd be just as disappointed. In fact, you did meet one of them -- Macbeth. Not many of them dress in red and have a tail. Genghis Khan wore a dress, but that was just a phase."

"Are all the gods that weird?" Aileen again.

"Weirder. Thor is the dumbest god you'll every meet. IQ of a rock. Zeus collects butterflies. Most are odd, but mostly harmless. Then of course, there are those who are legitimately dangerous or just psychotic. For instance, the position of the Devil changes every few years, if only because you don't make many friends in that particular capacity. So the Council of Major Deities meets to decide who gets to be Lord of the flies. Usually we appoint serial killers like Jack the Ripper and his ilk, because they're very effective at being evil, but they're not very bright, and therefore are easy to control. The problems come when someone is really evil and really intelligent. Then it's war. All-out, take no prisoners. Temujian -- Genghis Khan -- is incredibly smart. he came up with the Black Plague during his tenure. Gave all of us up there a run for our money. We eventually had to convince one of his subordinates -- Edmund the Bastard -- to have him removed."

"How does one 'remove' Satan from power, exactly?" Jerry asked.

"We don't ask, and he doesn't tell us. It works out better for both of us that way."

"Why would this person want to help you?"

"It was in his best interests." Macbeth replied, stepping out of his portal. "I take it God is gone now?" He looked around to make sure. "Right, then, Gabe, if you're finished educating the children on all the secrets of the afterlife, we really have to go somewhere and talk. Alone." He said, emphasizing the last word with a meaningful glance at my onlookers. "And I'm having problems with my portal, so you might want to be careful."

"Careful, how?"

"I'm not sure. Just hang on tight or something. Let's go." And he opened up a portal and pulled me through it before I had a chance to argue or even say good-bye.

I had a feeling that between the two of us, we weren't going to come up with anything really life-affirming.

I was right, as usual.