Hi, all :) Long time no see. What with everything that's happened since 2020, I've been slacking at posting, though not at writing. I do realize it's been so long that most people have moved on from this "ship". Not me, though. I score high on loyalty if not on diligence. So if there are still a couple of you who remember my handful of stories, I hope you'll like this one as well. I wrote most of it in one go a while back, faffed about polishing it and was only compelled to post because someone very dear to me met one of these "agents" today. But, though it may be dark, there's levity, too, because I'm very soft hearted and that someone was a total goof.


This is how it's supposed to happen: you guide them as they cross the threshold into the unknown. It's a person's ultimate fear. They're completely on their own, no one tells them where the path leads, how long it'll take and just how the other side feels like. Well, attempts have been made. All major religions know to assure their flock that everything's going to be all right, all the pain gone, all the worries dismissed. Some people who have seen the white light swear to a variant of this. But doubts still remain. And doubt is a human's worst enemy, it makes them cling to even the worst situations – better the devil you know.

That's where the supervisors come in. People are afraid, so they cling on to life, kicking and screaming – usually figuratively, though sometimes things come to unfortunately hairy ends, even though, really, everything could be solved with a nice cup of tea.

Sooner or later, the threshold has to be crossed, no ifs or buts. So the ultimate powers that be have arranged for qualified personnel to make this transition a little bit smoother. This isn't out of some generous feeling towards humans. Power as such is cold and unfeeling – clinical. Things need to be done, they will be done and the more efficient the better. A bit like being under anesthetic. The idea is for the brain to be induced with pleasant images, in so far as that particular human's personality has the capacity to conjure up beauty and pleasure. The white light that permeates everything; a sunny meadow; an angel, clothed in white robes, exuding serenity, is taking your hand; a beloved ancestor greets you warmly; the tractor beam from the mothership, ready to transport you to the place where all your questions are finally answered. So on and so forth. All figments of one's panicked imagination in the face of the ultimate homecoming.

If one has been found wanting in The Grand Court of Karma, after being clever and/or lucky enough to escape human judgment, the option of redemption might be offered. The powers that be tend to amuse themselves by giving this option to non-believers 9 out of 10 times. The essence of the universe might be cold and unfeeling in the way it deals with the material world but, just as it contains everything else, it also accommodates humor. Or so say those who have seen the white light and came back to brag about it on TV.


"How to Serve in Heaven for Dummies" was an actual book. Or it looked very much like it. It had thick, porous paper pages, off white in color and it smelled like old ink. Alex glanced around the library as she held the pages to her face so she could sniff the tome. It had the familiar bright yellow cover and that triangular nerdy face in black and white that had always reminded her of Bill Gates. She idly wondered if, in this case, it was supposed to represent St Peter. The large, all seeing eyes and the wagging index fit his personality.

She'd run into the dude while she was trying to find her way in what looked like an English maze. She did not remember Fahri's Long Island property having such a maze. In fact, Fahri had no interest in the faux-Tudor style. So where the hell was she? Had she stumbled into the property of one of the neighbors who could trace their line back to the Mayflower? Truth be told, she had been too smashed to remember even making it out of the house, let alone who the neighbors were.

That was when she'd heard the voice. It belonged to a somewhat stern looking elderly man in a white terry cloth bathrobe, holding an ivory walking stick. She chuckled out loud, though at the same time she reasoned that wealthy areas were always populated by eccentric types. 15 years of mingling with the rich and powerful had still not completely erased the feeling of incongruity she had in their presence.

"Can I help you, young lady? You seem lost."

She was lost all right, but the way the man said it confused her even more. He made it sound like he meant lost in the moral sense. She immediately scoffed and mentally went through a few potential witty replies. The man took a moment to look very hard at her and then frowned as if he was reminded of something quite unpleasant.

"Follow me. I believe there is a deal on the table."

Well that was interesting, although not surprising. There was always a deal to be made in Alex's everyday life. She relaxed a bit. The man was shuffling through the sand in the direction of a sprawling beach house on the other side of the dunes. He must've felt she wasn't following, because he turned around.

"Come on, this is a limited time offer."


Alex found it hard to believe that the local library, a 50s style one storey building on Main Street, was the headquarters of Power with capital P. Not the Mayor's office, nor the cop shop, but the pastel colored public library amidst banal, if well tended, shrubbery, with its tiny, obsessively raked Zen garden right outside the reading room. The man who later introduced himself as St Peter waited for her to partially suspend her disbelief as she entered the building and found a seat behind the Circulation Desk, as silently instructed.

There were a few other stragglers in the room, beside the quiet readers, the bored schoolchildren and a couple of very stereotypical librarians, complete with hair in tight buns, muted color cardigans and the ubiquitous reading glasses. Alex felt self conscious and pushed hers to the top of her head. As much as she enjoyed a good book, the idea of getting a job in a library had never crossed her mind. Surely that was not the point of this exercise? But everyone else, including the guy with the huge swastika tattoo on his chest and the bearded dude who wore what could only be described as a suicide bomber vest, looked like congregating in a public library was the most natural thing in the world. She took a seat on a swivel chair and crossed her arms over her chest. This was absurd. Fahri was surely going to wonder where the hell she'd disappeared to and start a search party. None of this would have happened if she'd taken her phone when she stepped out of the house…

With a few sighs and creaking joints, the elderly man with the ivory walking stick sat behind a very ordinary laminate wood desk. He linked his fat fingers and swept the room with his trademark displeased gaze. One of the librarians, who looked about his age and sported whorehouse red hair, as Alex's deadbeat dad would say, walked closer. The two exchanged hushed comments as the oddball crew watched with eerily sedated eyes. She didn't put secretly getting the audience roofied beyond this lot, reason for which she'd not touched the water on offer, even though she felt parched. More narcotics was clearly not the answer to the predicament she found herself in.

The man cleared his throat as his assistant silently departed in the direction of a group of murmuring kids.

"First off, welcome to paradise." At this, the group collectively blinked. Alex scoffed. The man flashed her an irritated look but went on. "I am speaking literally. This isn't a figurative world. You are in heaven. More precisely, at the edge of heaven. However, as you know very well, none of you actually belongs here." Here he stopped dramatically, long enough to emphatically look every one of them in the eye. Alex sighed. As far as bad trips went, this was one of the worst and definitely the most clichéd she'd ever had. Whatever she'd ingested, she would find out upon return to reality and make sure she got the provider banished to some faraway, inconsequent market. This was an insult to her intelligence…

"All right, I'm outta here," the swastika dude said as he slapped his hands onto his thighs. He got to his feet, apparently ready to hightail. Except he just stood there, with a confused look on his face. "What the sweet bleepedy bleep?!"

Alex lifted an eyebrow. Had the dude just verbally substituted the words fuckity fuck with a PG version? It appeared he had, if judged by everyone else's surprised expression. The man in the bathrobe continued unperturbed.

"I want to make one thing clear. No matter how tough and powerful you thought you were in your previous, human life, you're nobody here. What you have to say does not matter. It's all about what I say. No sit down and listen."

The neo nazi watched him blinking. He didn't move.

"Oh, I forgot." The elderly man flicked his fingers and the other guy dropped like a sack of potatoes onto his seat. "So. Where was I? Oh. This is paradise," he smiled paternally, lifting his open palms to the ceiling. "It's a nice place. For the righteous, of course, which you're not. You're some of the scum of the earth," he went on smiling just as pleasantly as before. "But, even though it's probably not aligned with your particular beliefs, Divinity has a merciful core. In other words, we're in the business of offering one last chance. Just one. Bleep it up and you're toast – literally. Down below," he winked, pointing with his thumb towards the floor. "You'll burn in the lake of lava for aeons. So I'll make you an offer and you have the choice of accepting it or taking the elevator to the eternal basement effective immediately."

"That's not much of a choice," Alex observed.

"Tough bleep. You should've thought about that before you went on stuffing death powder down kids' throats for nearly two decades, don't you think?" All eyes turned to Alex. She could recognize quite a bit of judgment in them. As if!

"This is bullbleep," she heard herself say. It would've been mildly funny if it didn't feel so much like reality. She'd been pinching her thigh for the past 10 minutes and nothing. Not one thing had changed. They were still in the stupid library, with the now petrified kids (the assistant must've told them they were going to bleep for talking within the hallowed walls), the quietly menacing librarians and the raggedy bleep crew of criminals. And she really could not move from her chair. Her legs, even though they felt normal, would simply not move. Unbelievable. "I didn't stuff anything down anyone's orifice of choice. Free will –"

"Excuses, excuses. I believe that has always been your modus operandi, Ms Vause? Save your and my time. Lengthy explanations won't work here. You have already been judged and found at fault. Now it's time for punishment."

"I thought you said something about a deal? A second chance?" The suicide bomber chimed in. He sounded rather alarmed. "This is heaven, after all." His eyes moved around the room. The middle aged women did not look much like the typical thousand virgins, though mysterious are the ways of the lord…

"It is heaven. Though not for you lot," the man behind the desk grinned. "You are here to serve. Or, you know..." he pointed at the floor with his thumb.