I always thought there would be more clouds.

Heh, if I'm honest to you? Really honest? I thought there would be more fire.

For all of the pomp and circumstance, the afterlife looked a lot like a cell at Cook County. Bare concrete brick painted in that off-white institutional color that always made my skin crawl. The same odd graffiti on the wall, either carved deep or written sloppily in flaky brown-red ink that seeped into the cheap industrial slapon paint. The last scrawls of some guy who had spent the night here and left that mark on the world. Crude rhymes and allusions to a life lived outside of this place.

It made me feel hopeful. Even though I knew there wasn't a reason for that hope.

The thing that made me realize this wasn't just some dream was what was missing. Smells. That jail funk you get, an odor of stale bodies barely covered by industrial bleach, the reek of puke from the drunk tank down the row. Even the screw that kept peeking through the slit in the double reinforced door looked like some Kowalski or Zebrowski, a big Chicago Polish guy who was the fifth generation of pricks who got their jollies looking in on some guy picked up off the streets.

After what seemed like an eternity but could've been an hour or a week they came for me. Two big old Midwest boys, dressed in immaculate uniforms with crisp pleats in the pants and shoes that shined like mirrors.

"On your feet, Jackson." Ahh, yeah, been here before.

They didn't even put me in cuffs for the transfer. Just led me out, into a hallway that was so long I couldn't see the end on either side. Thousands of doors on either side of the hall, and as we passed each I could hear the voices within.

I didn't do it! You have to believe me! I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me Do you know who I am?

And then the screams. The screams were the worst.

The voices were legion as I walked down that long corridor, flanked by two screws who had that cock of the walk attitude that came from dealing with thousands of guys before you. They radiated the calm energy of men who knew violence, and I knew that if I decided to fight they would stop me quickly, efficiently, and I'd just go back to my cell and wait some more. If I was thirty years younger...

But I wasn't. I was as old as I would ever be. I recalled those last moments, the paramedics over my body, my ribs broken and all of the blood. No good deed goes unpunished, and trying to step in for one too many people in trouble had led me here.

The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen. Dressed up in her adult costume, and the predator had been waiting for someone to slip. The alley was dark, but I'd been in that dark for a while and could hear what he was trying to do. I hope I got there before he could hurt her too bad, because that knife was sharp, and his fist were like sledgehammers coming down on me.

I needed a drink. I doubt there are beers in Heaven.

After a long walk we got to the courtroom, and I was settled into the chair. My public defender looked run through, a cheap poly blend suit with a stained tie. The prosecutor was a lot better dressed, a sharp black suit with white trim, dark brown hair slicked back and immaculate.

The bailiff stood, and we all rose to meet him.

"All rise. Case Number 71293913719, regarding the Dispensation of one Eric Moore, Son of John. The Honorable Judge Raguel presiding."

The judge just appeared at his seat. I had expected a nice suit or even some black robes, but the Honorable Judge Raguel was sitting in a get-up more like some frat boy at a toga party. He sat on a large volcanic stone, looking at me with eyes like a nun at Saint Nicholas Academy. I hadn't thought of that place in twenty years, but I knew not to make a wrong move in front of those eyes.

"Please be seated. Advocate, Renunciant, please present yourselves." the voice of the Judge was aloof, almost bored. My defender moved forward first, the prosecutor in lockstep behind.

"Ivo of Kermartin, Advocate."

"Ba'al Berith, Renunciant. "

The two men stood before the Judge, and with a final tilt of the head the case proceeded.

Berith, as the Renunciant, took the floor first.

"Honorable representative of the Lord of Hosts... this is as clear-cut a case for remand to the custody of my Master as has been brought before the Court in some time. Eric Moore has been nothing if not thorough in his flouting of the laws and Law to which his soul was committed on June 14th, 1978 by entry into the Covenant through the blessing of baptism. His blasphemies number in the tens of thousands. He has given himself to pleasures of the flesh and violations of his body countless times, and broken the laws of man and your Father in so many ways as to be a bit of a minor celebrity."

Berith started to read my sins out loud to the court, producing a stack of papers as thick as my wrist. As he read them I recalled each moment, a twinge of regret. Abuse of my body, violence against my fellow man, cursing and damning God for putting me through this existence. Theft and sloth, coveting and lying and cheating. The recitation of my flaws took a lifetime, my only response was to fidget as I was renounced, taking in the sheer weight of my crimes against the world. By the end of it all I was flush with embarrassment, and ready to crawl into any fiery pit the Judge deemed fit to send me to.

"If it was just these crimes? Well, Mister Moore has my respect even if he has no dignity. But Honorable Raguel, I have forgotten the worst of his crimes." the demon turned, a grin spreading across his smug face. "Eric Moore is a patricide."

I knew I was lost. It had been a dumb thing to do, I could have taken more. My father was a monster. The things he had done, but I could take more. As long as I knew my sister was safe. Safe from his long glances, the beatings, when he would...

*That night I had come home from working at the Frost Palace with a pint of ice cream. It was Jen's thirteenth birthday. I was sixteen, and the closest thing she had to a real parent. When I heard her sobbing I knew. I knew, and I hated myself for believing it would stop. That because he had done it to me he wouldn't have the taste for her. I learned too late that monsters didn't care who they devoured, just that their bellies were full. *

I didn't even hesitate. I took the bat he had given me the... the first time, and I went to his room. I beat that creature until my hands were sore, until no one could recognize him. I did it for every time, every single damned time, and if I relished the violence then? It was what I was taught.

I knew I was going, then.

"And so Eric Moore is renounced. I beg the court to hear his Advocate." Berith stared at me as he walked back to his seat, then settled in with the look of a child ready for movie night.

My defender rose from his seat, dabbing at his brow with a hastily produced kerchief. Sweating. My advocate was sweating and I was terrified.

"While my colleague, in his Renunciation, has made clever points, the scales of our Lord's justice are weighed heavily in favor of the Judged. As the Renunciation has stated, the Judged was placed under the standards of the Catholic faith by Rite of baptism. That is the reason I stand before your blessed Judgment today in his defense.

"While it is true but Eric Moore was given over to the Church through the Rite of baptism, our loyal Opposition has also proven through his declaration that Mr. Moore has never held to the tenets and standards of that Faith, nor was Mr. Moore confirmed into the Catholic Church by his own free will. As declared time and time again within these Hallowed halls, the Lord on high has demanded that we, His servants, follow both His divine Law and the hearts of the Judged within our observation of their life in total. In that way, Mr. Moore's case would fall outside of the Courts of Heaven, and I would move for his case to changed to the venue of an accepting faith. "

Berith choked on his smugness. "Honorable jurist, this is uncalled for!" the demon shouted, standing up as Ivo rifled through a sheaf of papers that had appeared at my table.

Ivo raised his hand to stop the demon's rebuttal and moved forward.

"Having had time to review his case in full, I requested verification of jursidiction involving Mr. Moore's dispensation. Mr. Moore's case does not qualify for review within the Hall of Odin, nor does his case qualify for review by Anubis, Legba, Hades, or return to the Blessed Wheel of Karma. In fact, it would appear that Mr. Moore's closest relationship to the preternatural dispensation of his immortal spirit would be within the confines of this Court..."

Berith made a noise of muted satisfaction, and I felt the creeping sensation a mouse must feel when the cat pauses to play with its food.

"Except that Mr. Moore is Jewish."

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