Chapter Text
-Michael-
Another day, another dollar.
Well, not really. I don’t get paid. And this is Heaven. Time doesn’t exist here.
Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.
My name is Michael.
No, not that Michael. He’s the Prince of the Heavenly Armies and the most capable fighter in existence.
I’m a lower level Angel. I run the Paradesk.
Oh, right, explanations.
See, while St. Peter stands at the main Gates of Heaven with the Book of Life at his fingertips and marks down the new arrrivals, the poor soul was at it for nearly 2000 years by himself, on top of interceding for his 266 Papal successors, good and bad. He needed some help.
Enter the Paradesk.
If St. Peter is Customs, we’re the TSA. We screen souls and tell them where to go. Heaven is infinite. You can get lost (though a quick prayer can set you straight. Or just send a quick intercession to St. Christopher. He’ll tell you where to go.)
Of course, we also send souls to Purgatory because they need a little extra cleansing. Trade secret, but hardly anyone gets into Heaven straight away. I can count with the feathers on one wing how many souls were sent straight to Paradise. The Apostles, children, Betty White, Pope Francis (sorry, too soon?)
And it’s not like Purgatory is horrible. Trust me, Hell is scary. I’m an Angel and I say that. There’s a reason I don’t work with the Judgement Department. Seeing souls get sucked down into the fire and brimstone makes me shudder. I may be named for the toughest Angel in existence, but I’m not him.
—
As I open up my queue and call for my first soul of the shift, my coworker, Levi, a humorous Angel who pulls double duty as a Guardian drops a chai latte on my desk. I look at him gratefully.
“God bless you, brother…” I say as I inhale the scent of chai, oat milk, and honey.
“Oh, He does, Mike,” Levi chuckles as he parks his butt on the edge of my desk. “But He really blessed you today. Check your first soul.”
A file appears on my desk as my first charge walks up to my desk. He’s young. I mean, all souls look young in Heaven. There’s no age or anything that signifies the passage of time for mortal souls. Each one looks as they did in their prime. But the soul in front of me died young. Hit by a drunk driver as he walked home from Mass.
“Hi. So… St. Peter told me to wait here. Is there an issue?” The soul asks.
I pursue his file. “Well, let’s check the facts. You were raised Catholic, alright, strong start… though just so you don’t get confused later, you won’t only see other Christians in Heaven. It helps to be of one of the Abrahamic faiths, but there are good people who weren’t Christian, but lived good enough lives to get in.”
The soul nods. “Thought so. God is love. Love thy neighbor, right?”
“Ok, got the message, good… worked as a preschool teacher and was fondly remembered…” I frown as I read the next paragraph. “Ooh… a lifetime plagued by sporadic bouts of lust… there it is.”
The soul starts to freak. “Am…am I going to Hell?”
I unfurl my wings and encircle the soul. “Hey, hey, be not afraid, alright? If you had been a lustful sinner with no remorse and turned your back on God, you wouldn’t be here. You did your best, but stumbled. It happens. You just need a little time in Purgatory. And since you’re Catholic, you know what that is, right?”
“A state of purification.” The soul replies.
“Exactly. Think of it like… rehab. You have your therapy sessions, you have a living space in Purgatory, then, once you’re clean, you come back to me and we discuss Paradise.” I smile kindly to dispel the fear.
“I’m guessing my Purgatory digs won’t be as nice as my Heaven ones?” The soul asks.
“True. In Heaven, you have your own living space that will conform to whatever brings you the most confort, you can go anywhere in Heaven, fraternize, see your family… in Purgatory, you have a dorm, you can only see your Guardian Angel, since they’ll be handling your…” I scan who this soul’s Guardian is and trail off.
“Handling my…case?” He guesses.
“Yeah…” I look up at him. “Forgive me, as I’m sure this is a tough subject, but…you have a twin sister up here, right?”
The soul brightens. “So she is up here… oh, thank God… everyone outside my family told me she wouldn’t be here because she died in the womb…”
I nod. “She may have died in the womb, but she died with a name and with love. God brought her home… and then designated her as…your Guardian… He has never done that before.”
The soul grins wide. I hadn’t seen a soul that happy since Fred Rogers got here. “My mom always said she was my Guardian Angel… and even though it was kind of against Catholic Doctrine, it always brought me hope.”
I nod and smile back. “Well, Purgatory awaits. Take the left hand staircase down until you hit the linoleum floor. The waiting room for your first session is to your immediate right from there.”
The soul nods. “Alright, thanks. and… just for clarity’s sake…how long will I be in Purgatory?”
“That’s up to you and how much you want to change. It could be a couple sessions, it could be several. You want Paradise, you gotta earn it.” I reply.
The soul takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you to pray for me?”
“You most certainly can. May your recovery be bountiful and may your Paradise be everything you desire.” I reply.
The second the soul was gone, I picked up my desk phone and dialed the number for the Guardian department. “Gabe, it’s Mike up at the Paradesk. Tell the kid her brother’s here.”