“You can cut the Art of the Deal bullshit out right now”, I said with a grin. “I know that it’s valuable. And so do you, or I’d still be talking to Archangel Arsehole.”
“Are you sure that you are not simply hallucinating?” he asked looking me up and down slowly. “Man in your….condition. Running around in the cold, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your grip on what you consider to be reality was slipping somewhat.”
“What does it mean if your hallucination is telling you that you are hallucinating? That doesn’t sound good for my mental state. I’m sure Freud would have something inappropriate to say about a family member.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to ask him when I next see him”.
“Really? The ‘you want to screw your mother’ guy?”
“Well, he was only trying to help, and it really isn’t his fault that you humans have such disgusting impulses, now is it? Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. Would it be OK if we started over? Where are you keeping the merchandise?”
I nodded at the gawping priest trying to cope with finding out he was 100% right about the existence of Angels and 100% wrong about how they operated. “Can you do something about him before we go? I feel like he more likely to pop a stroke than I am.”
The suited figure nodded and walked over to the priest and put his hand on his arm. “Father, thank you so much for the advice. I think it will help us both find a lot of peace”. As he said 'peace' the confusion and stress melted from the priests face and a glazed smile took its place.
“It was my pleasure, my son. A chance to help is truly a blessing, and I thank you for it.”
“A blessing”, said the suit and walked back to me. The smile dropped away as he reached me. “Are we happy?”
“Not as happy as he is apparently? What did you do to him?”
“I merely allowed him to believe that he had done the thing he enjoys most. Fortunately for us, that was helping people. I get the impression that if I pulled the same trick with you it would not be such a wholesome activity.”
I shrugged. He had a point. “You want to see the merchandise or not?”
He nodded. “Well, I believe helping our friend over there was a condition for that to take place, and I did just create a miracle to make that happen, so yes, I would like to see the soul you are trying to sell me.”
“OK, Don. Is it OK if I call you Don? It’s a very Mad Men look you have there, and I am going to need to call you something.”
“You may call me Don, but I cannot guarantee I will answer to it. But I do enjoy that show. An awful lot of people sending themselves straight to hell, however.”
“Drinking and affairs? Or Marketing?”
“Little of column A, a little of column B.”
I gestured towards the exit. As we approached the large gothic framed stone archway ‘Don’ winced at the stylistic clash of the cheap green plastic Emergency exit sign that was fixed above it.
“Eurgh. Humans really are confusing creatures at times. How do you take things of beauty, like this masonry, and commit such crimes upon it? Gods inspiration does not seem to fall upon you all.”
“Well, isn’t that really on God? If he made us in his own image?”
“No-one said it was a good self-portrait. Some of the greatest landscape painters of your world were unable to paint themselves. It’s just a blindspot for some people. So amongst the glory of the world and God’s many oil paintings, there is one roughly coloured crayon picture. An unhappy little accident, as Bob Ross wouldn’t have said.”
“Ouch. That’s cold.”
“Yes. But you’ll appreciate the chill when you’re in Hell.”
I decided to chance my arm. “Speaking of chill, is there any chance you can miracle us back to my flat? I’m buggered if I’m walking.”
He shook his head and strode under the Emergency Exit sign, without pausing to consider any of the parish notices at all. “Don’t push it”, ‘Don’ replied. “We’ll get an Uber.”
