Free First Person Peculiar by Mike Resnick Page A

know who I am?”
    “Observation, analysis and deduction,” I explained. “You have obviously sought me out, for you addressed me by my name, and since I have evidently been a discorporate being, one of many billions, I assume you have the ability to distinguish between us all. That implies a certain authority. You have taken the body you used when you were alive, and I perceive that the slight indentations on the fingers of your right hand were made by a crude fishing line. You possess a halo while I do not, which therefore implies that you are a saint. Now, who among the many saints was a fisherman and would have some authority in Heaven?”
    Saint Peter smiled. “You are quite amazing, Mr. Holmes.”
    “I am quite bored, Saint Peter.”
    “I know,” he said, “and for this I am sorry. You are unique among all the souls in Heaven in your discontent.”
    “That is no longer true,” I said, “for do I not perceive a certain lack of content upon your own features?”
    “That is correct, Mr. Holmes,” he agreed. “We have a problem here—a problem of my own making—and I have elected to solicit your aid in solving it. It seems the very least I can do to make your stay here more tolerable to you.” He paused awkwardly. “Also, it may well be that you are the one soul in my domain who is capable of solving it.”
    “Cannot God instantly solve any problem that arises?” I asked.
    “He can, and eventually He will. But since I have created this problem, I requested that I be allowed to solve it—or attempt to solve it—first.”
    “How much time has He given you?”
    “Time has no meaning here, Mr. Holmes. If He determines that I will fail, He will correct the problem Himself.” He paused again. “I hope you will be able to assist me to redeem myself in His eyes.”
    “I shall certainly do my best,” I assured him. “Please state the nature of the problem.”
    “It is most humiliating, Mr. Holmes,” he began. “For time beyond memory I have been the Keeper of the Pearly Gates. No one can enter Heaven without my approval, and until recently I had never made a mistake.”
    “And now you have?”
    He nodded his head wearily. “Now I have. A huge mistake.”
    “Can’t you simply seek out the soul, as you have sought me out, and cast it out?”
    “I wish it were that simple, Mr. Holmes,” he replied. “A Caligula, a Tamerlaine, an Attila I could find with no difficulty. But this soul, though it is blackened beyond belief, has thus far managed to elude me.”
    “I see,” I said. “I am surprised that five such hideous murders do not make it instantly discernable.”
    “Then you know?” he exclaimed.
    “That you seek Jack the Ripper?” I replied. “Elementary. All of the others you mentioned were identified with their crimes, but the Ripper’s identity was never discovered. Further, since the man was mentally unbalanced, it seems possible to me, based on my admittedly limited knowledge of Heaven, that if he feels no guilt, his soul displays no guilt.”
    “You are everything I had hoped you would be, Mr. Holmes,” said Saint Peter.
    “Not quite everything,” I said. “For I do not understand your concern. If the Ripper’s soul displays no taint, why bother seeking him out? After all, the man was obviously insane and not responsible for his actions. On Earth, yes, I would not hesitate to lock him away where he could do no further damage—but here in Heaven, what possible harm can he do?”
    “Things are not as simple as you believe them to be, Mr. Holmes,” replied Saint Peter. “Here we exist on a spiritual plane, but the same is not true of Purgatory or Hell. Recently, an unseen soul has been attempting to open the Pearly Gates from this side.” He frowned. “They were made to withstand efforts from without, but not within. Another attempt or two, and the soul may actually succeed. Once possessed of ectoplasmic attributes, there is no limit to the damage he could do in