Free First Person Peculiar by Mike Resnick Page B

Purgatory.”
    “Then why not simply let him out?”
    “If I leave the gates open for him, we could be overwhelmed by even more unfit souls attempting to enter.”
    “I see,” I said. “What leads you to believe that it is the Ripper?”
    “Just as there is no duration in Heaven, neither is there location. The Pearly Gates, though quite small themselves, exist in all locations.”
    “Ah!” I said, finally comprehending the nature of the problem. “Would I be correct in assuming that the attempt to break out was made in the vicinity of the souls of Elizabeth Stride, Annie Chapman, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Kelly and Mary Ann Nicholls?”
    “His five victims,” said Saint Peter, nodding. “Actually, two of them are beyond even his reach, but Stride, Chapman and Kelly are in Purgatory.”
    “Can you bring those three to Heaven?” I asked.
    “As bait?” asked Saint Peter. “I am afraid not. No one may enter Heaven before his or her time. Besides,” he added, “there is nothing he can do to them in spiritual form. As you yourself know, one cannot even communicate with other souls here. One spends all eternity reveling in the glory of God.”
    “So that is what one does here,” I said wryly.
    “Please, Mr. Holmes!” he said severely.
    “I apologize,” I said. “Well, it seems we must set a trap for the Ripper on his next escape attempt.”
    “Can we be sure he will continue his attempts to escape?”
    “He is perhaps the one soul less suited to Heaven than I myself,” I assured him.
    “It seems an impossible undertaking,” said Saint Peter morosely. “He could try to leave at any point.”
    “He will attempt to leave in the vicinity of his victims,” I answered.
    “How can you be certain of that?” asked Saint Peter.
    “Because those slayings were without motive.”
    “I do not understand.”
    “Where there is no motive,” I explained, “there is no reason to stop. You may rest assured that he will attempt to reach them again.”
    “Even so, how am I to apprehend him—or even identify him?” asked Saint Peter.
    “Is location necessarily meaningless in Heaven?” I asked.
    He stared at me uncomprehendingly.
    “Let me restate that,” I said. “Can you direct the Pearly Gates to remain in the vicinity of the souls in question?”
    He shook his head. “You do not comprehend, Mr. Holmes. They exist in all times and places at once.”
    “I see,” I said, wishing I had my pipe to draw upon now that I was in human form. “Can you create a second gate?”
    “It would not be the same,” said Saint Peter.
    “It needn’t be the same, as long as it similar to the perception of a soul.”
    “He would know instantly.”
    I shook my head. “He is quite insane. His thought processes, such as they are, are aberrant. If you do as I suggest, and place a false gate near the souls of his victims, my guess is that he will not pause to notice the difference. He is somehow drawn to them, and this will be a barrier to his desires. He will be more interested in attacking it than in analyzing it, even if he were capable of the latter, which I am inclined to doubt.”
    “You’re quite sure?” asked Saint Peter doubtfully.
    “He is compelled to perform his carnage upon prostitutes. For whatever reason, these seem to be the only souls he can identify as prostitutes. Therefore, it is these that he wishes to attack.” I paused again. “Create the false gates. The soul that goes through them will be the one you seek.”
    “I hope you are correct, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “Pride is a sin, but even I have a modicum of it, and I should hate to be shamed before my Lord.”
    And with that, he was gone.
    * * *
    He returned after an indeterminate length of time, a triumphant smile upon his face.
    “I assume that our little ruse worked?” I said.
    “Exactly as you said it would!” replied Saint Peter. “Jack the Ripper is now where he belongs, and shall never desecrate Heaven with his presence again.” He