Ever since being pulled out of Alain, Junior had spent most of his time under psychological attack. During the 66 years in the cells, the demons hadn't just been a presence, they'd been actively hostile. They would shout at the child souls, grab them and shake them, rake their claws across their backs or arms. Then they would laugh. If they didn't actually feed on the fear and pain of the child souls, they definitely got high on it.

During the first few years, Junior had been like a child in an orphanage, hoping against hope that his real parent would come and rescue him, take him off to live in a warm home with love and no more monsters. But that was the last torture. There were so many times that Alain had come to his cell, told him everything was going to be okay, that he was going to take him away from all this. He would open his arms for Junior to come hug him, but when Junior accepted the invitation and the arms wrapped around him, the being he thought to be Alain would turn into a demon and hurt him.

Eventually, when Alain would come to his cell and beckon him, Junior just curled into a tighter ball, putting his hands over his ears so he couldn't hear Alain's voice. So when Alain came with the two men, Junior wanted to retreat. But Kurt, he glowed so bright. Junior had never seen anything like it. He almost believed Kurt was an angel, and deep in the recesses of the maze of walls and blockades he'd created in his mind, Junior allowed himself the faint hope that maybe Kurt really was there to save him.

Kurt was so nice to him, so kind, so gentle, it was hard to fight the sneaking suspicion that Kurt was an angel, that this wasn't just some elaborate and especially cruel trick to build him up and knock him down, now that he'd stopped believing in Alain ever coming to rescue him. Yet Alain was with Kurt. He didn't try to lure him, didn't make any false promises. He just seemed sad. Junior could almost believe it was really Alain. But it had been such a perverse deceit so many times.

The oath had helped him trust Kurt more. He couldn't say why, but it made him feel better, made him feel connected to Kurt. And then, when Kurt made that bet, when Kurt beat that pit of nothingness, when Kurt took his hand and led him out of Hell, when he saw Kurt actually save souls, all of it made him feel like Kurt was honestly and truly his personal guardian angel, that there was nothing that Kurt could not do.

When the king released him, Junior didn't float up happily or peacefully. He turned and tried to swim downward, he willed himself to be heavier, and when that didn't work, all the hope he'd allowed himself to feel in the past few days turned around on him and punched him in the stomach. He'd never felt pain like this in the past 66 years. Junior curled up into a ball and waited for the demons to come again.

When he reached the top of his rise, he felt a wind shake his body and blow him over the railing. He'd seen souls smack into the walls, and he began to tense up, closing his eyes tighter so he didn't have to see the wall he'd be hitting. But he never hit a wall. He was gently lowered to the ground.

Junior opened one eye. He was in a very big room, but not like Purgatory. It was white, like clouds. Other children flew in from out of the mists and were set gently down. At a far end of the room, three beautiful angels with wings stood before three doorways. The children would walk up to them, an angel would take a child in its arms, kiss it on the forehead, and walk it through one of the doors as another angel flew in to take its place.

Junior so wanted to go to the angels, be wrapped up in their arms, be kissed on his forehead. But in his mind's eye, he saw the angel picking him up, wrapping him up in its arms, its teeth growing long and sharp, horns sprouting from its head as its skin turned into a leathery tree bark. He curled up tighter and closed his eyes. He just wanted to wake up back in his cell. It was horrible there, but it was a horrible he knew.

He was lifted into the arms of some being, but he stayed curled up, his eyes shut tight. He couldn't look. He just couldn't.

Junior felt the slow vibration of the angel's wings flapping and felt the cool air across his face as they moved. They flew for maybe 10 or 20 minutes, and then they set down, the angel walking a bit before it came to a stop.

Junior heard a door open. "This is the one you were seeking," a beautiful voice said.

The angel moved its arms and he was put into the arms of someone smaller, softer. "Thank you," the person holding him said, a voice sounding like a woman with a hint of a French accent that reminded Junior of Alain's grandmother.

"I could be cast down for this," the beautiful voice said.

The person holding Junior shifted her stance a bit. "You know it was the right thing to do. God will approve."

"I hope so," the beautiful voice said.

Junior felt the breeze and heard the sound of the flapping wings, and then they were gone. The woman who held him walked with him a bit, then sat down and rested him on her lap. She smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. "Alain," she called to him softly. "Open your eyes, Alain."

Junior opened his eyes a sliver, trying not to let her see that he was peeking. The woman who held him wasn't a demon. She wasn't an angel either. She was simply a soul like he was. And she was smiling at him.

He opened his eyes wider to get a look at her beautiful smile and she caught him peeking. Her smile broadened with an infusion of joy. "Hello Alain," she said, her voice soft and welcoming. "My name is Marie and I have been waiting a very long time to meet you."

---

Reaching the very end of the walkway they found no stairs, no elevator leading up.

Kurt looked out over the railing, the wading pool below extending into a glass wall with a beach beyond. The water in it remained as part of a wide creek that fed into or from a sunlit ocean over which the troop transport ships apparently travelled.

"It's too far for the ropes," George said, looking at the next level up, hundreds of feet above them.

Kurt stared at the water. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I could try floating up with a partially empty backpack," George said, "just enough to slow the rise so I could control my motion. Maybe there's a rope on the next level that I could lower down to you."

Kurt turned away from the railing. "And what if there's not? Then we're separated. You have no way to get to me. I have no way to get to you. We're screwed."

George looked at Kurt's eyes. They were glazing over from fatigue, but he wouldn't admit to it. The last time either of them had slept was before going through the portal, and that was maybe 30 hours ago. They'd walked through the ersatz night, into the dawn, and kept going. They were easily into the late afternoon of their second day.

Kurt refused to sleep, insisting on walking, and George's new form wasn't showing signs of getting tired, at least not yet. Combine that much time with the amount of physical and emotional stress Kurt had undergone... "Why don't we make camp here," George suggested. "We'll eat something, get some sleep. Maybe a new day will give us a new perspective."

"A new day," Kurt said, snorting. "When the overhead lights dim and that sun that probably isn't really a sun comes streaming back in through the window? And we're that much closer to losing the bet and giving up our souls?"

George didn't know what to do. He knew Kurt needed rest, but Kurt was too afraid to sleep. "Let's at least eat."

Kurt nodded and sat down, staring at the wall with a look that half-said he was going to throw up and half-said he was two seconds from kicking the wall's ass.

Absentmindedly, George slipped off his pack so he could get some rations out. Immediately he began rising. He grabbed the pack, but his body continued to rise, making it look like he was doing a handstand off its frame. "Kurt," he squeaked. "Little help?"

Kurt bounded over and pushed George to the ground, then helped him slip the pack back on. With George seated, Kurt took things out of the large frame pack and stuffed them in his backpack. Hanging one loop of his backpack around George's neck, he helped George slip off the large frame pack.

The weight was enough to keep George seated on the ground, but since it was in a more compact space, hanging off his neck, it took a careful balancing act, using whatever passed for muscle control in his new soul body to keep himself from flipping ass over elbows and rising feet first. George kneeled as Kurt came around behind him and pushed down on his shoulders, allowing George to slip the pack off his neck and onto his back. That gave George a firmer hold on his balance, especially when they tied the straps around his waist. Most of his lightness seemed to be in his chest, almost as if his heart literally pulled him upward, and securing the torso seemed to create a workable center of gravity.

"You good," Kurt asked.

"Yeah," George said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Wordlessly Kurt walked off and sat down in his previous spot, resuming his staring contest with the wall.

As George rummaged through the rations, he found a bottle of sleeping pills he'd packed. He figured one would knock Kurt out for four hours, more if there weren't any stress nightmares. He crushed it into a pouch of military almost-food before handing it to Kurt. He followed it with a bottled water, rather than a Coke, not wanting to give Kurt a caffeinated counterpoint to the pill. Kurt didn't complain.

During the meal, George ate slowly, watching to make sure Kurt ate everything in the pouch and remained seated. After finally finishing his meal, he told Kurt he was tired and needed a lay-down. The smaller pack held him to the floor as he lay on his side, but his feet still wanted to lift, so he tucked them under the frame pack and actually found a small comfort zone.

While George pretended to sleep, he watched Kurt sit eerily still, eerily silent, staring at that wall with the look that couldn't decide between vomiting or picking a fight. It took a while, but the expression began to crack as Kurt tried to stifle a yawn. He succeeded a few times, but eventually they were coming freely. His lids drooped, then would snap open; his head nodded forward, then snapped back.

It was like those internet videos of kittens trying not to fall asleep, only not cute. But eventually, just like the kittens, Kurt succumbed.

---

Kurt woke in a familiar place; the empty streets, the blank nondescript buildings. "How ya feeling," the man in the brown suit asked, kneeling beside him.

Kurt looked around. "How did I get here again?"

"Your buddy drugged you."

Kurt rubbed his head. "That son of a bitch."

The man just smiled. "He was right, you know. You were being irrational. You needed the rest."

Kurt shrugged. He was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. "Alain told me who you are."

The man stood up. "Walk with me."

Kurt stood up and began following the man down the street. "Alain said you're Jack Kerouac."

"Yeah," the man said, continuing to walk.

Kurt jogged a few steps to come abreast with him. "You mean you really are Jack Kerouac? The Jack Kerouac?"

"Yeah," Jack said. Raising an arm, he pointed into the distance. "The sidewalk ends about another hundred yards up."

"But, but," Kurt stammered, "you're Jack Kerouac."

"Uh huh."

Kurt was amazed. He was in the presence of one of the great American authors of the 20th century. Somehow he was expecting Jack to be as excited to be Jack Kerouac as he was to meet Jack Kerouac, but apparently it didn't work that way.

As they continued, the street seemed to fade, until abruptly, it cut off and nothing but blank space extended off in front of them. Jack walked forward and sat down on the sidewalk's edge, dangling his feet into the void, but Kurt stayed a yard back, just staring.

"Come on," Jack said. "Sit next to me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Kurt inched forward, each step tentative, and then sat down a couple of feet from the edge, scootching forward on his behind until his feet dangled off the edge and he sat even with Jack. "What do you see?" Jack asked.

Kurt stared out into the vast void, but it was all black with some faint points of light. "Nothing really."

"Try to focus on one of the lights," Jack said. "Just stare at it. Don't blink. Let your eyes lose focus until it's a blur. Sort of like those stereograms they used to have in the Sunday funnies."

Kurt did as Jack said. He picked a point and watched it, letting his eyes slowly relax and watching the light turn from one point into two and then three. But it kept expanding, kept increasing in numbers. It was like a computer screen, with one pixel turning on at a time, randomly expanding the pattern until the screen filled.

Slowly, the one light became a field of white, like a haze in front of Kurt's eyes, then the whiteness began to change, colors fading in, an image starting to form. It was blurred, the forms and shapes indistinct. There was a large patch of blue, some green, some grey. A larger dark patch was a sort of mottled brown. Then, by reflex, Kurt blinked and it was all gone.

"What did you see," Jack repeated, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt described what he saw and Jack laughed. "Yeah," he said, "it takes a little practice. Plus, physical eyes can't stay open too long. That's an advantage of being dead. Your eyes don't burn."

"What was I supposed to see," Kurt asked.

"Dunno," Jack replied. "It's not really the point. You're not supposed to see anything in particular. You're just supposed to watch. You just look, and focus, and watch until you get bored. Then you watch something else."

"What do you see?"

Jack patted Kurt's shoulder. "I've seen lots."

---

Kurt woke with a slight headache, probably a hangover from whatever George had slipped him. He'd spent a few hours with Jack, staring at the points of light, watching them expand. He'd finally had a blurry vision of a man in a boat before his physical body had moved up from the depths of unconsciousness enough for his knowing where he was to take him out of Nowhere and back to Purgatory.

Sitting up he rubbed his eyes. "Howdy," a voice said.

Kurt dropped his hands and opened his eyes wide. The voice wasn't George's. As he looked around for the source of the greeting, he realized he was no longer on the walkway. He was in an office, a bank of video monitors covering one wall. In fact, he wasn't laying on the floor. He was on a couch. "Howdy," the voice came again.

Kurt snapped his head around in the voice's direction. Across the room, sitting behind a large desk, was... Kurt was sure he must be dreaming. Blue shirt, patches, badge, raising a donut to his mouth. "Where am I?" Kurt asked, seeing George sitting in a chair near the desk. The walls were that fake wood paneling common to cheap construction and the carpet a dull industrial gray.

The man took a bite of his donut and chewed it slowly, then sipped something from a paper cup to wash it down. "This here's the security office," he said. "Name's Duke. Why don't you come have a seat with your friend?"

Slowly, Kurt got up from the couch, walked across the room, and sat in a chair near George trying to shake off both his sleepiness and bewilderment. "You fellas mind if I ask you your business here?"

Kurt looked at the man again. He had more color than your average soul. "Are you an angel?"

Duke took another bite of his donut. "Only an assistant," he said through his mouthful, then swallowed. "But I'm the tops of the assistants. I'm in charge of this whole place." Duke got up and walked around from behind the desk. He was wearing dark pants, about an inch too short, with white socks and black rubber-soled shoes. "Now, if you don't mind answering a few questions. Your friend here wasn't too helpful."

Kurt looked over at George, who merely shrugged in response. "Your friend here," Duke continued, "said you two are just passing through on your way to Heaven."

"Yeah," Kurt said warily.

"But you're not dead." Duke leaned forward and poked Kurt's shoulder. "Are you a saint?"

"Get many passing through?" Kurt asked.

Duke reached back for his donut. "Not really. Don't get much of anyone but souls for the past few hundred years. Not even angels. You know, my shift was supposed to change three hundred and seventy-two years, one hundred and sixty-eight days, and 5 hours ago give or take a few minutes. But no one came to relieve me."

"That's terrible," Kurt said, trying to muster as much faux sympathy as he could. "What happened?"

Duke shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth, chewing noisily. Reaching back for his cup, he knocked it over, spilling its contents over the desk. "Oh, fink," Duke said through a mouthful, turning around and grabbing some papers to mop up the spill.

After swallowing the rest of the donut and throwing the coffee-soaked papers into his trash basket, Duke turned back to Kurt. "Now if you'll please state your business," he said, leaning back against the desk, then hopping forward. As he turned around and grabbed some more papers, Kurt could see a wet stain on the back of Duke's pants. Duke finished mopping up the rest of his coffee and threw the papers in the basket, then grabbed some more and spread them around the edge of the desk before turning and leaning back again, making a slight crinkling sound as his rear met the paper-covered desk. "That's better."

"You're an assistant angel, huh," George asked.

Duke snapped his head to look at George in surprise, almost as if he'd forgotten George was there. "Yeah," Duke said.

"And what do you do around here?"

Duke waved his hand at the video monitors. "Mainly I watch for fires and guard the gate."

"The gate," Kurt asked.

"Yeah," Duke said. "This here's the antechamber to the gates of Purgatory."

Kurt looked around, spotting a double-door behind and off to the side of the desk. "So beyond that door are The Gates?"

"Those are The Gates," Duke said.

"You're kidding me."

"Nope," Duke said, walking over and opening the doors to expose a view of a small corridor leading to a stairway going up. "These are the gates. That stairway there goes up to the first level."

"Weren't we on the first level?" Kurt asked.

"That was the mezzanine," Duke said, shutting the doors again and turning to face them. He placed his hands on his hips and glowered. "Now what is your business in Purgatory?"

George stood and glowered back. "Like I said. We're just passing through."

Duke shook his head. "Uh-uh. No one just passes through except for holy people and we haven't had any of those in my whole shift."

"Well then," Kurt said, getting up and standing next to George, "I'm holy."

Duke looked at him incredulously for a moment, then quickly turned and marched to the cooler. Stooping, he pulled out a paper cup, filled it with water, and walked back to Kurt. "No thanks," Kurt said. "I'm not thirsty."

"Bless it," Duke said, shoving the cup at him.

"What?"

"Bless it. If you're holy, you can turn this into holy water."

"Fine," Kurt said, getting a little tired of the whole charade. "In the name of God, I bless this water." Kurt waved his hand over the cup. "Amen."

Duke turned away and marched over to a cabinet as George nudged Kurt. "That's a blessing?" George whispered.

"What do you expect? Latin?"

Over at the cabinet, Duke opened the doors to expose a large box with a funnel on top. Flipping a switch, he set some lights to blinking and poured the water into the funnel. As the water dripped in, Kurt could swear the machine was talking. "Ouch... Hey... Ow Ow! Owwwwww!!!!"

"Duke," Kurt yelled over the noise. "What the he-- What's that noise?"

"Holy water tester," Duke said as the voice grew more insistent and more pained.

"Why's it talking," Kurt shouted louder as ow grew to earsplitting levels.

"The only way to really test holy water is to pour it on a demon!"

Kurt started to suspect that he was very holy as the machine shot out a slip of paper just before bursting into flames. Duke grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and put it out, then put the extinguisher down and looked at the paper.

As Duke looked at the paper, his eyes widened. "I'm very sorry for detaining you, sir," he said, suddenly bowing on one knee before Kurt. "Had I but known... Please. I'm just an assistant angel. I'm not even that smart."

Kurt was taken back by Duke's sudden obsequiousness, but George merely reached down and snatched the paper from Duke. "Holiness rating of 9.4. What's that mean," he asked, waving the paper in front of Duke.

Duke didn't answer. He merely whimpered, reaching for Kurt's hand and placing it on his head. "What does 9.4 mean," Kurt asked.

Duke stayed prostrated on one knee, his eyes staring at the floor. "It's a log 100 logarithmic scale," he said shakily. "God's a 10, which is about a hundred million times holier than his top archangels, who rate a 6. Seraphim and cherubim are in the low fives. Some saints can get as high as 5. Average human is a 2 to 3."

"What's your score," Kurt asked, unsuccessfully trying to pull his hand out of Duke's iron grip.

Duke's head bowed lower. "Four point seven."

"Four point seven?"

"I'm only an assistant angel," Duke cried.

"But a 9.4? That's like a million times holier than any angel."

"Yes sir," Duke whimpered. "I know sir. I hope you will forgive me for not recognizing you at once, sir."

As calm as Kurt tried to be on the outside, he was like a boiling pot on the inside, thoughts rising to the surface like bubbles. His holiness rating explained so much; how he'd been able to bless the souls, how he'd been able to beat that void that had bled out of Reese. But while it answered those questions, it opened up a whole book of new ones. How could he be that holy? He'd had premarital sex, taken the Lord's name in vain, lusted, indulged in gluttony... he was a common twenty-first-century secular sinner.

He wanted to ask Duke, but as Duke kneeled before him, he decided to put that thought out of his mind. "Duke," he asked, "what's the quickest way to the portal to Heaven?"

"The elevator," Duke said, hopefully.

"How do we get to it?"

Duke stood up, snapping to attention. "It would be my pleasure to escort you to it, sir." Turning on his heel, Duke headed out the door of the office. Kurt grabbed the frame pack rather than risk George turning into a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade float again while they tried to swap packs. Duke came back in the door, apparently having realized they weren't following and waited impatiently for George to help Kurt secure the pack.

With all the weight they'd shifted to his smaller pack, the frame pack's bulk was less heavy than when he'd carried Alain's on the 6th ring, though it was still a bit unwieldy. Kurt and George followed Duke out quietly. He walked to the base of the stairs, turned ninety degrees on his heel and opened a door. "After you, sir," he said, holding the door open and bowing as he motioned Kurt along. Kurt wasn't sure which was more freaky: being in Purgatory, being holier than an archangel, or having this Carl Spackler wannabe bowing and scraping before him. As he walked down the hall, he wondered if he was as holy as Jesus. Duke hadn't even mentioned him.

"Duke," he asked, his pitch rising at the end of the name. "Just for shits and giggles..." Kurt paused, wondering if it was okay for a guy with a holiness rating of 9.4 to say 'shit'. "What's Jesus's holiness rating?"

"Who?" he heard Duke call out behind him.

Kurt stopped, turned and looked past George at Duke. "You know. Jesus? How holy is he?"

"How holy is cheese?" Duke approached Kurt and George. "I hear Swiss cheese is pretty holy." Duke bent over and slapped his knee as he made a sound that sounded something like a guy with a sinus condition who couldn't decide if he was laughing or gagging. When Kurt and George didn't share his enthusiasm, it ended abruptly.

"Jesus," Kurt repeated, his voice flat and bordering on angry. "How holy is he?"

Duke shook his head. "Never heard of the guy."

"Jesus," George blurted out, exasperated. "Son of God. Lived on Earth about 2000 years ago."

"Ohhhh," Duke said, nodding in comprehension. "I wasn't around then."

"Wasn't around then," Kurt asked. "I thought God created all angels at the beginning of time."

"He did," Duke agreed, "but you don't go to the show until you're ready. I paid my dues in three different galaxies before I got promoted to one of Earth's afterlives."

"One of Earth's afterlives? How many are there?"

"Oh, a bunch."

"How many is 'a bunch'?"

"I don't know. Lots? Supernatural Geography wasn't my best subject in angel school."

"What was?"

"Volleyball." Duke gave a satisfied nod and turned around, heading toward the elevator with his back to Kurt and George.

"Volleyball?" George mouthed the word silently to Kurt.

"He's only an assistant angel," Kurt whispered. One hand on George's pack, he gave him a gentle push forward and they walked briskly to catch up with Duke.

---

The walk to the elevator took another ten minutes and Duke paused at the doors, waiting for Kurt and George to make up the last few yards they'd been trailing. "And we're here," Duke said.

The elevator doors looked like regular elevator doors; two half-doors with a semi-reflective steel finish. "You fellas mind if we stop on the fourth level on our way up? Got some guard business to take care of."

"What kind of business?" Kurt asked warily.

"Demonic intrusion. Seems one snuck in a few hours before I found you fellas."

"I don't know..." Kurt said, not eager to meet any more demons.

Duke's face fell and he dropped to one knee again, grabbing Kurt's hand and putting it on his head. "Please!"