 
God-Box!

Pete Collins

Published by Pete Collins at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Pete Collins

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook my not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

*****

In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God.

All things were made by him; and, quite confusingly, without him was not any thing made that was made.

Even toilets.

*****

Chapter 1

Simon's desk phone rang. It was a noise which he had come to associate with headache inducing misery. Simon's job was optimistically titled 'IT Support Specialist', but a few years of doing this job had made him realise that the only specialism he actually needed was the ability to be moaned at on the telephone all day. As a result, Simon spent a lot of his working day actively trying to avoid answering the telephone.

The phone continued to ring, despite Simon's hope that it would stop. The longer it rang, the more whining and desperate it sounded. "Please God, make it stop" whispered Simon.

Simon didn't actually believe in a god of any kind. Yet that didn't stop him offering up a prayer every time he wanted something. Or when something was going even slightly wrong or not his way. Or when he wanted his favourite football team to win. Or when he hadn't ironed a shirt and he hoped no one would notice. Or when he hoped an attractive woman would sit next to him on the bus instead of the strange man with a toothpick stuck into his bald head, as so frequently happened. And so on.

The phone hadn't stopped ringing, so Simon slowly picked it up, and reluctantly placed the receiver next to his ear. "Hello. IT Support," he monotoned. A shrill, desperate voice greeted him on the other end of the line. Margaret from Payroll. Plump, greasy haired, convinced that she was much more important than she was. Had numerous photographs of her 4 kids, faces smeared with chocolate, stuck to the side of her monitor. In fact, all over her monitor. She had once complained to Simon that he had 'deleted her internet'. When he went to see her he had calmly moved the photograph that was obscuring the browser icon on her monitor.

"I can't print. It won't print! What have you done?" shouted Margaret.

"I beg your pardon, I haven't done anything", replied Simon, slightly taken aback, although given that he had conversations like this at least sixteen times a day he shouldn't have been at all surprised.

"You have, you walked past it before, I know what you IT people are like", said Margaret. Simon tried to follow her logic, realised he couldn't and decided he didn't really want to help her.

"Right, Margaret. Can you see the printer? Yes? OK, now, look at the cable coming out of it. Follow it from the printer to the port in the wall that it's plugged into. Are there lots of coils in the cable?"

"Yes. YES there are!" declared Margaret triumphantly, as if it proved some kind of point. Simon could picture here there, smug smile on her face, one hand running through her greasy hair as she took satisfaction in getting one over the IT department.

"Well, the more coils there are in the cable, the longer it takes to print. So be patient for about half an hour and if it still not working give Andy a call. He's the other IT Support Specialist, and an expert on printers".

Without waiting for a thank you which he didn't deserve and he knew he wasn't going to get anyway, Simon gently placed the phone back on its cradle, pushed his chair back, jumped up and headed for the toilets, his only sanctuary during working hours.

*****

_Tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_ went the keys on Franck's keyboard.

_Wee_ , _wee_ , _wee_ went the imaginary sound of numbers in Franck's head. Franck liked numbers. Franck liked numbers a lot.

Franck also liked to work late at the nondescript accountancy firm that employed him, and it was too early in the afternoon for him to be able to truly enjoy his job. _How can I imagine numbers whizzing around screaming "wee wee wee" while all my colleagues are talking_ , he thought to himself.

He turned away from his keyboard and made his way to the the office kitchen pausing only to watch a train rattle past the window, heading deep into the Belgian countryside. "Ah, the 12.51 to Leuven", Franck smiled to himself as he watched the double decker train continue its journey. This was a routine that Franck partook every day that he was in work.

The train disappeared over the horizon. _Coffee,_ thought Franck, t _ime for coffee_. " _Weeeee_ " agreed one of the imaginary numbers.

Chapter 2

Simon sat in a locked toilet cubicle with his trousers resolutely still fastened. He spent some time rocking gently back and forth silently fuming about the phone call from plump Margaret from payroll and her accusatory tone. "Oooh, what have you done with the printer, Simon?" he whispered in a sarcastic voice. Then, realising he was talking out loud to himself, decided to catch up with the latest news on his phone instead.

Simon spent a lot of time in the toilet at work. Not because he suffered from any kind of intestinal distress issues, but purely because he realised quite early on in his employment with AutoFoods that he could spend about half the working day hiding in the bogs and no one would bother looking for him. If his boss had ever suspected him of anything she'd never suggested it, and now after 6 years with the company Simon had decided that it was unlikely that he would ever get caught.

AutoFoods. The name was crap, and Simon had decided that the company was also crap. He hated it here, and yet he somehow couldn't leave. It wasn't that he wasn't qualified enough to find another job, he just lacked the confidence. He was scared, scared of not finding a job that paid him as much money, scared of being out of work for any length of time, scared of trying a completely different career even though it might just make him a happier and more fulfilled person. This didn't stop him from offering up a prayer to a god he didn't believe in each evening on his way home, demanding that a new and better job be delivered into his eager lap without having to actually put any effort into finding one.

He was also very wary of offending his parents. Simon was born and raised in Manchester, but his parents were both from Dingle in Ireland. His mother was a former Rose of Tralee, and you could still see the beauty in her face when she smiled. Each Rose of Tralee was supposed to lovely and fair, but to Simon his mother was a fearsome woman, and even though he was 29 years of age he was still terrified of upsetting her. His father was no soft touch either, and Simon had been subjected to a Catholic upbringing that has ingrained him with so much guilt he was sometimes amazed he could make eye contact with anyone let alone have got through school with some decent qualifications and hold down a steady job. If he walked out of a job he was convinced that his parents would probably disown him, or somehow send him off to be a priest. Simon did not want to be a priest.

So instead he reluctantly got the bus into work each day, answering IT Support calls for a company that sold overpriced stale food in petrol stations to people in a hurry. It was no wonder that hiding in the toilet for hours at a time seemed more appealing in comparison.

Simon checked his watch. 20 minutes of toilet hiding time had elapsed. He flicked to another web page on his phone, reckoning he was good for at least another 20.

*****

Franck sat in his office drinking coffee. He gripped the mug in one hot little hand while still tapping away at his keyboard with the other. Coffee made the numbers whizz around Franck's head even faster and noisier. Drinking coffee was the most exciting thing that Franck ever did. Ever.

_Tap_ , _tap_ , _tappity tap_ went Franck's keyboard. His fingers moving faster and faster yet somehow making no mistakes in his spreadsheet.

" _Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_ " screamed the numbers.

Chapter 3

Simon was back at his desk. It had been enforced on him, not because any authority figure had noticed he was missing, but because the security guard had decided to take his copy of The Sun into the cubicle right next to Simon's and parp merrily away. When he was 11, Simon had found a dead fox on a field near his house. It must have been there for quite some time as it was partly decayed, and slime oozed from it when Simon poked it with a stick. The slime gave off the worst smell Simon had ever experienced, a smell he had thought could never be beaten. Until today.

Simon's colleague Andy was sat at a desk on the other side of the room, piles of "Survivalist Monthly" magazines covering every available space. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. It wasn't that they didn't like each other, in fact Simon was aware that Andy was very fond of him, it was just that Simon sometimes preferred not to engage Andy in conversation for fear of what he might hear. It was fair to say that some of Andy's stories were a bit far fetched. Simon recalled that a few weeks ago when Andy went on holiday to Barcelona he came back and said that the plane was running so late that it didn't have time to land and that all the passengers were told that they had to go back to Manchester, and that Andy, refusing to be returned home and keen to start his holiday, had parachuted out over the Pyrenees.

He hadn't explained where the parachute had come from, or how he had managed to open the plane door and leap out with no danger to the other passengers on board, he just said it in such a way that it should be obvious that is what he would do.

The phone rang. Simon looked across at Andy. Andy stared back, neither of them wanting to be the first to cave in and answer the call. Simon muttered "Please god, make Andy pick up the phone," under his breath. Evidently, if there was a God then He (or She) had other ideas as Andy decided that the easiest way to get out of this was just to stand up and leave the room.

"Bastard!" Simon shouted after him as he picked up the phone.

"Hello, you're speaking to IT Support" he said. A _nice bit of variation on the old patter there_ , he thought to himself, _maybe I could actually bring myself to like this job_.

No such luck. 10 minutes later Simon was nearly crying in frustration as he was still stuck on the phone, and Andy, who had come back seconds after Simon has picked up the phone, flicked elastic bands at him from the other side of the room. "Mr Heaton, please try again, your password has been changed to 'password'. Can you type that for me? Ok, what's happened? How are you spelling password? Do you know how to spell password?"

Mr Heaton was an eccentric marketing director famed for paying out thousands of pounds of his own money to get some interior designers to tell him which way to hang his paintings and how ajar to have his door in order to maximise the energy in his office. He was not one for actually ever using his own keyboard, hence his inability to locate the P key. But today his PA was off sick and he'd decided that the energy in the room was so great that he would type his own ridiculous marketing blurbs for once.

Simon really wanted to march down the corridor and kick Mr Heaton square in the nuts, but imagined that his mother would not take kindly to such behavior so instead he meekly trudged to where Mr Heaton was, typed his password for him and trudged back.

"You need to grow some bollocks mate," Andy opined, and promptly flicked an elastic band at Simon's genitals, causing him to collapse theatrically on to the ground. _I might just stay here_ , thought Simon, _what's the worst that could happen?_

*****

Nothingness. Nothingness stretching on forever. No sounds, no smells, not even any discernible colours.

This is what real purgatory looks like. There is someone stuck here. There has been someone stuck here for a very long time. But not for much longer.

Chapter 4

Of course, Simon hadn't spent the rest of the day lying on the office floor. He got up the moment the phone rang again and answered it, and despite only half listening to the person on the other end because he was thinking about how his dull and empty life repeated itself day after day after day with seemingly no respite, he managed to be quite polite and helpful.

"No bollocks at all," was all Andy had to say on the matter. He pushed some aviator shades onto his face and proceeded to ignore Simon for the rest of the day.

With another 55 minute hiding session in the toilet later that afternoon getting Simon to home time, he clambered onto the bus. "Please god, not the toothpick man. Not the toothpick man," he whispered. The Toothpick man disturbed Simon very much. He'd noticed him about 18 months earlier. He had a completely bald head, and a toothpick was half stuck into it. Simon had never been brave enough to ask how it had happened or if the man actually realised it was there. He did wonder what would happen if the toothpick was ever pulled out, and whether the man would deflate like a balloon.

The bus jolted away. No toothpick man. "Yes!" Simon said, a little too loudly, making an old lady raise her eyebrows at him. _Well fuck you lady_ , thought Simon, _I've got a seat to myself tonight, la la la la laaaaa_.

That this was a cause for celebration was a measure of how low Simon's life was right now.

Simon lived in a flat on Thomas Street near the middle of Manchester city centre. It overlooked an Adult video shop and a takeaway and he couldn't bring himself to call it an apartment because that would indicate some element of glamour that just wasn't evident in his life. There was just the one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and bathroom, and an optimistically titled living room, containing a huge settee that he'd inherited from a long dead great uncle. It smelt weird, but Simon didn't care because it had been free and because it was so big and surprisingly comfortable he could lie on it each evening after work and self indulgently moan to himself about his life.

Although, that was Simon's second favourite thing he liked to do on his settee. His favourite thing usually involved his laptop, which was sitting on his coffee table. Simon booted it up, the glow from the screen making his pasty features look even more pale. "Ah, the internet. How I love you," he said. "If you'd been around when I was a kid I wouldn't have had to spend so much time looking for grumble mags hidden in plastic bags in hedges and under sheds".

Simon started doing his favourite thing to do when lying on his settee. True to form he did utter the words "oh god", except for first the first time today he wasn't praying.

*****

Franck was home from work, slightly earlier than normal. He'd had a bit too much coffee and the numbers had shouted a bit too enthusiastically in his head. He knelt by the side of his bed, scribbling words onto a scrap of paper in an illegible hand. _Oh, this is a good one,_ he thought to himself.

Chapter 5

Simon hadn't slept well. He never usually did, spending much of the night worrying about having to go to back to work the next day. Stood in the bath with the shower head pointed straight in his face, his mind wandered to think about all the things he'd rather be doing right now. A lot of them involved his favourite lying on the settee activity, except with another person instead of being alone.

"Please God, stop me from being constantly alone," he said. Simon had split up with his longterm girlfriend a few months before after she had finally got fed up with Simon's inability to decide what he actually wanted to do with his life. Simon missed her terribly, but his foolish pride meant that he wasn't going to admit that to anybody.

A low rumble startled him. It sounded very much like it was in the bathroom with him. Simon stood as still as he could manage and held his breath as he listened for the noise again. Nothing. Nothing but the sound from the shower water still buffeting against his face and down his puny body. Tentatively he picked up the shampoo and set about lathering up his mop of hair. There was another low rumble, followed by a tiny, pathetic whimper from Simon. Shaking now, he slowly looked around the shower curtain.

Nothing.

Simon let out a sigh. It must have been a big truck driving past, or the sound of some distant roadworks, he reasoned.

It wasn't. The low rumble happened again, longer and slightly more terrifying sounding than the last time. It was definitely coming from somewhere inside his bathroom. Simon leapt from the bath in fright in case it was about to collapse through the floor into old Mrs Symanski's flat below him. She didn't like him very much as it was, so he was almost certain she wouldn't react well to his pale naked body falling down into her apartment.

Or would she? It occurred to Simon that maybe that was the kind of thing that old Mrs Symanski might like. An elaborate fantasy started playing in his head around 80 year old Mrs Symanski kidnapping him and making him dance naked for her night after night, keeping him locked in a cage and feeding him only breadcrumbs and protein shakes. His bizarre daydream was thankfully interrupted by the low rumble again.

Simon turned his head desperately from side to side to try and locate the source of the sound. Of course! It was the toilet! Simon relaxed a little. "Must be the drains," he said, "Thank god".

One last huge rumble of sound erupted from the toilet, and then silence. Simon did a little dribbly wee of fear onto the bathroom floor and stood looking pathetically at the pool of urine on the bath mat.

"Oh piss" he said.

*****

After having to clean up his own mess, Simon was late into work. Hiding in the toilets for hours on end he could get away with, but arriving late was never, ever tolerated. Quite why this should be Simon had never been able to quite work out. The official reason he'd been given was that the computers were an essential part of the business and he should be in work on time to fix them should something go wrong, because if something did go wrong it was CRITICAL it be fixed quickly. _Surely the people who worked at AutoFoods must have some other work they can do that doesn't always rely on their computers_ , thought Simon. But as he tried to sneak in past his boss's office he looked at the row upon row on mindless drones typing away at their keyboards and talking into telephone headsets and realised that they didn't. Instead of thinking about how technology had enabled them to experience so many wonderful things they just reacted like one of the most basic of human rights had been violated in some way if their computer ceased to function or a while.

By now Simon was almost all the way past his boss's office. He began to think that he'd got away with it. Just two more steps. One more step.

No more steps.

He was free. He almost skipped to his desk. Andy barely looked up as he came in. "Morning you twat. You're late. I had some idiot from the accounts department in here for half an hour asking me why the Question Mark symbol was a different font on her PC than it was on the other idiot she sits next to. It's a wonder these people can actually dress themselves and learn a language other than just dribbling".

Simon slumped into his chair. He was glad that he hadn't been here to witness it. Andy could be pretty brutally sarcastic in a way that Simon always tried to emulate but never managed. Also, whereas Andy would get away with it Simon would inevitably get into trouble.

"I'll make us a cup of tea...ah balls, the phone's ringing" said Simon. Andy crossed his arms. "After this morning I'm not answering the phone at all again today" he said. Simon let out a sigh before picking it up and chirpily saying, " Good morning, IT Support".

"My office. Now!" replied his boss.

Chapter 6

Simon would have described his boss as a man mountain. If she was man. Veronica was huge - 6 foot 7 tall and almost as wide. Andy and Simon secretly called her 'The Wall' when she wasn't around as that's exactly what she looked like, a huge square slab of flesh. They'd never say it to her face though, as they were both convinced that Veronica could probably tear them in two without any effort and then eat their remains. Not because she wanted to, but just because she could.

"Simon, you were late this morning. Don't try and pretend that you weren't because you were spotted sneaking in late. I have my spies everywhere". When Veronica spoke she opened her mouth slightly too wide. It disturbed Simon a little, because he found he could never fully concentrate on what she was saying and instead found himself gazing down into her huge gob, dreaming about what it was Veronica had been eating that morning. She was always eating, but it never seemed to be any unhealthy food. She was the only person Simon knew that seemed to have an addiction to carrots, she was barely ever seen without one in her hand. At the last company Christmas do she'd put 67 away in the course of the evening, stopping only to speak to people with her too-open mouth and to down jagerbombs. Andy maintained that Veronica kept her carrots stashed away in her knickers, but was strangely reticent to tell Simon how exactly he knew this.

"You're absolutely right. I'm sorry," replied Simon. He always found it easier just to agree with everything Veronica said, and usually followed it up with an apology. She was that kind of intimidating figure that made Simon feel the need to apologise even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Mind you, Simon was intimidated by pretty much everybody.

He noticed Veronica's eyes flick to her monitor screen. This was a good sign, a sign that she was ready to tell him to go away quite soon. It was pretty common knowledge to everyone apart from Veronica's husband that she'd been having an online affair on Facebook for months with a potato farmer in Bolivia. Apart from telling Simon off for being late or going to departmental meetings she pretty much stayed in her office all day. Simon wondered what they typed to each other in their marathon Facebook chat sessions. He imagined it was dirty. Really dirty.

Simon didn't exactly know why he was thinking this way about his boss. He started to wonder what Veronica's husband was like. Maybe he liked the idea of his wife having cyber sex with a Bolivian farmer? Maybe that's what did it for him?

Simon began to wonder what it would be like to get a blow-job off Veronica.

His face contorted into a look of horror. "Why the hell did I think that?" he said to himself.

"Is there something wrong? You look ill," said Veronica.

"Er..no, I'm OK, just a little stomach ache. Look, I'm very sorry again about being late, the bus had a problem and I had to get off and get the next one. Can I go now? There might be computer problems..." Simon liked to dangle that little tidbit in front of Veronica every time she spoke to him, as they both knew full well how anally retentive the company employees were when it came to things not working.

"Yes, off you go Simon. Just don't do it again".

Simon rose and smiled, and without trying to make it look too obvious bolted for the door and back to his desk.

*****

One of the advantages of always working late was that Franck got to have a lie in each day and go to work mid-morning. His alarm clock rang and Franck slowly opened his eyes. Lying on his back he stared at the ceiling and listened to the birds sing. He mouthed some silent words, smiled to himself and got up.

*****

"I'm telling you, Veronica and that Bolivian farmer are planning on kidnapping a prostitute and going to live in Siberia," said Andy after Simon had filled him in on his summons to the bosses office.

"Where do you get all this from Andy? What exactly are they going to do with this prostitute in Siberia? And you still haven't told me how you know about the carrots in her knickers thing".

"I can't tell you my sources, fella. Just rest assured I'm building up a portfolio of material against every single person who works here. And one day...boom".

"Boom?"

"Yeah, boom. I'm going to use it to get a pay rise so huge it'll make your eyes water and your dick hard".

"Andy, nothing you say could make my penis even remotely stir, let alone make it fully engorged," said Simon. An image of Veronica kneeling in front of him working his fly down crossed his mind. Simon shivered. He still couldn't work out why he'd thought of it.

He checked the wall clock. Half ten. Time to get some quality toilet hiding time in.

*****

Franck got dressed. In his wardrobe he had 7 pairs of identical brown slacks, 7 white shirts, 7 green ties and 2 pairs of brown loafers.

And a small wooden box.

Franck ignored the box and got dressed. He placed his glasses onto his average face and smoothed down his average brown hair. Average was what Franck was all about. No surprises, nothing different day to day, the same old routine. This is what he lived for. The most different thing that last disrupted Franck's daily routine had happened in 2001 when he'd gone to the shoe shop and could only buy black loafers instead of brown ones. He tried wearing them for a week and decided he didn't like it. Not one bit. Yes, Franck liked to be very average indeed. Outwardly.

On the inside he knew there was nobody quite like him at all.

It was time for Franck to get the train. He carefully closed his wardrobe and walked out of his house into the glorious Belgian rain.

*****

Something is pushing through purgatory trying to get out. Something is squirming against the nothingness and has almost forced its way through to the other side. Nearly there, nearly there.

Nearly back where it thinks it belongs.

Chapter 7

Simon was surfing the Internet on his phone in the toilet and grinning broadly for the first time today. He'd decided that hearing rumbles in his own bathroom and the bizarre thought about his boss meant he was definitely coming down with something and should be good for at least three days off work.

"You're not ill," said a voice.

Simon sat very still. _I must be ill_ , he thought. _I must be ill and it's making me mad and making me imagine all weird stuff_.

"You're not mad," said the voice.

Andy! This must be Andy's doing. This must be part of his plan to get his erection inducing pay rise, Simon rationalised. "Come on Andy, despite what you said before I really don't care how you know that Veronica keeps carrots stuffed down her sizable pants. You can stop this now".

"You're not ill or mad," repeated the voice.

"Er...Andy? Look, would it help if I told you that yes, your pay rise would give me the most stonking boner of all time. A lob-on the like of which would probably not go down for about at least a week. An erection so impressive that people would come from far and wide to worship it, and I'd have to lie down for 23 hours a day because it was getting the blood that should be rushing to my brain".

Silence. And then: "Good to know. But you're still not mad. Or ill".

Simon began to feel very afraid indeed. He pulled his legs up off the floor and crouched on top of the toilet seat. He wasn't sure how this would help him in any way, but he did feel slightly safer. He was sure he heard the door of the toilets open, and he checked the lock on the cubicle he was hiding in. There was no more sound, and Simon looked upwards to see if there was anyone staring down at him from one of the adjoining cubicles. It had happened a few years before, some weird pervert who spent his time gazing over the tops of the cubicles had been sacked. He claimed he was on a righteous mission to make sure nobody was masturbating on work time, but that excuse hadn't washed with HR.

Anyway, there wasn't anyone looking down at Simon from the next cubicle. He sighed. It had to be Andy playing a trick on him. It just had to be.

"Look Andy, this isn't funny anymore. Just stop".

Someone coughed outside Simon's cubicle, the kind of short cough that someone does when they want attention. Simon unlocked the cubicle door slowly and poised himself.

Quickly pulling it open, he shouted "Fuck off Andy!" followed by some words he thought he'd heard from karate films he'd seen at school, and executed a flying kick which he hoped looked like he was some king of Kung Fu expert but really make him look like a flailing, shrieking mad man, shouting some made up oriental words. More by luck than any kind of martial arts skill, Simon's foot connected with the genitals of Mr Heaton, the eccentric marketing director.

Mr Heaton's face went bright red and a long, rasping whine escaped from his lips. He then promptly collapsed on the floor, writhing in what Simon suspected was a rather exaggerated agony.

"Oh balls," said Simon.

*****

Something has wrenched itself halfway out of the vacuum of nothingness. The fabric of what was emptiness has been torn. There is a way through after all.

Something is leaving purgatory behind.

*****

A shiver ran up Franck's spine. He paused from tapping away at his keyboard, and the numbers whizzing around his brain stopped making noises at each other. _Something big just happened, something I don't understand_ , thought Franck.

Franck became aware that his breathing was laboured and a light sweat had broken out on his forehead. He felt dizzy and distinctly not average, which certainly wasn't like him.

He blinked and took a long, deep breath. The feeling passed. Franck resumed typing, the numbers resumed whizzing. _Tap, tap, tap. Wee, wee, wee_.

Chapter 8

For the second time today Simon sat in front of Veronica's substantial bulk. He could tell by her flustered, sweaty face and the way that her eyes kept being drawn towards her computer monitor that having him sat opposite her was a distraction she could do without. He was obviously getting in the way of some sexy time with her internet lover. Simon imagined her with her hands down her pants, pushing the carrots Andy was convinced she kept there out of the way, to fiddle with her lady bits. "I bet she was having a really heavy session with Mr Bolivian Farmer," he muttered. _What on earth has come over me_ , he thought.

"Pardon?"

"Er...nothing, I was just talking to myself about how unfortunate it is that I have been called to your office for the second time today and how very, very sorry I am about that".

Veronica frowned and started talking again, doing the slightly-too-open thing with her mouth that now disturbed Simon even more after thinking about receiving fellatio from her earlier that morning. "Oh, an apology just won't cut is this time boyo. That won't cut it at all. Do you know what kind of pain Mr Heaton is in right now? At this very moment he is sat in his office with a Feng Shui expert that he has paid a not inconsiderable sum of money to work out how best to sort out the energy flow of his office so that he recovers fully from the ordeal. An ordeal you put him through Simon. What have you got to say about that?"

Simon sat there in silence, his mind ticking over. He couldn't very well tell her the truth could he? That he had been hearing voices and was either ill, mad or that he thought it was Andy trying the next stage of his plan to get a pay rise that would force Simon to have an erection that only a Viagra overdose could replicate.

There was nothing else for it, he'd have to try and talk his way out of this another way. The ridiculous though that he try and imitate Mr Sexy Bolivian Farmer flashed through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He was really getting worried about these strange thoughts he'd been having all day that had started with the fantasy about old Mrs Symanski taking him prisoner.

He cleared his throat. "Well, Veronica, I want to start by saying that I wasn't aware that it was Mr Heaton on the other side of that toilet door".

"Go on".

"Well, remember this morning, how I was late? It has left me feeling a bit stressed all day, knowing that someone's computer might have gone all wrong while I wasn't here, with only poor Andy left on his own to run around and fix everything. It could have been a total disaster".

"Hmmmmm".

"And, well, I told you about the bus here this morning, how it broke down and I had to get off and get the next one. Well, I worried that it might be...er..terrorists that had done something to the bus. What if they'd planted a bomb and it had failed to detonate properly but had instead made the engine fail?"

"Simon, I'm not sure I quite follow..."

"Sorry, again, Veronica. But I am just getting to the point. The point being that the stress of thinking about terrorists and the stress of being late made me think - what if there were terrorists who are interested in making things go wrong here at AutoFoods?"

"Well, we all have to stay aware at all times," replied Veronica, her brow furrowed, her mind slightly confused but willing Simon to carry on. Surely everybody should be concerned about terrorism theses days, that's what the news kept telling her at least.

"Well, what with all the stress, I got a stomach ache and went to the toilet for a bit, but then I heard someone trying to be extra quiet just outside. And I thought...I thought it might be a terrorist. And if I could take him down, I'd be a hero. I'd have saved the company," Simon finished his tale with a flourish and a smile, bringing his fist down on the desk.

Veronica sat perfectly still and stared at Simon. The silence in the room began to feel crushing, and Simon felt his shoulders droop. He realised that the story he thought had been an excellent excuse was in reality a huge pile of rubbish. He couldn't bring himself to look back at his boss and instead focused on the fat fingers of her right hand, still clasping her mouse. Simon imagined her using those fat fingers to squeeze one of her nipples while talking online to her Bolivian lover while her poor, desperate husband looked on, crying tears of shame and arousal.

The thought made him whimper. _I'll have to see a doctor about this_ , he thought.

Veronica opened her mouth too wide to speak, flicked her eyes to her monitor, and closed it again. Something she saw on the screen made her whimper too. Simon did not enjoy the sound one bit. She tried talking again "Simon, I know everybody should be concerned about terrorism in this day and age. You just want to be a good employee and a good citizen. I know that".

Simon blinked. He was actually getting away with this!

"But, really, you story is a sack of shit. I'm going to have to suspend you - without pay - for a few days while we sort out with Mr Heaton and the other senior managers what to do with you. You should feel lucky that I don't just sack you on the spot".

Simon's mind reeled as he tried to think of a suitable retort. She hadn't believed a word and had made him think he was off the hook. Veronica looked over at her monitor again, let out another whimper and bit her bottom lip. Simon saw an opportunity to take control of the situation and try to be brave for the first time in a long time.

"No. No, no, no. You're not going to suspend me at all. You can't".

"Can't? I most certainly can Simon. You kicked a senior manager right in his cubes whilst shouting some made up Japanese words. I could have you done for racism too, you little shitbag. Not to mention you then just lied to me, your friend and manager, by making up a whole bunch of crap about being worried about terrorists to try and absolve yourself of any blame. Why the fuck can't I suspend you?"

"Friends? We're friends now are we?" barked Simon. "Right, I'm going to tell you exactly why you can't suspend me, and why this will all be forgotten about. I know all about where you keep the carrots".

"Where I keep the carrots." Veronica repeated the words slowly. "Simon, what the hell are you talking about? Is that some kind of password? I'm not a World War Two spy or Resistance fighter".

It occurred to him that Andy had probably told him some nonsense. He wasn't exactly a stable kind of guy who often told the truth after all. Now he thought about it, Andy had once told him that he lived in a mansion with three Russian sisters who all shared a bed with him and whose job it was to sleep with famous politicians so they could get pregnant and blackmail them. So he probably wasn't actually all that reliable when it came to finding out real facts about people. And how could Simon have so quickly forgotten about the recent obvious bullshit parachuting out of a passenger plane story Andy had told him?

"Alright, forget the carrots. You can't suspend me because if you do I'll tell your husband about the Bolivian farmer. I'll tell him that you two spend all day typing the most depraved stuff at each other all day, and that you fiddle with yourself during office hours and that you've broken four office chairs because you've masturbated so hard that they fell apart. Yeah".

Veronica started at him in disbelief. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. But you've blown it big time buddy. You no longer have a career here at AutoFoods. I'm kicking you right out." But while she said it her eyes momentarily flicked back to her monitor screen and her fingers tightened their grip on her mouse.

"Ah ha! I knew it! I really knew it" said Simon, jumping to his feet and waving his arms around in the air in a bizarre victory dance. "You ARE doing the online dirty with a bloke from Bolivia!". Simon grabbed her monitor and twisted it around so he could see it and expose his boss. He was going to keep his job and she could just piss off.

On the screen was a webcam window displaying Veronica's husband and a very sick looking Labrador. Veronica's husband looked back at Simon with a very accusatory look on his face.

"You absolute dick," said Veronica's husband.

"Oh. Hello there. I suppose you heard all that about your dirty, dirty wife did you?" shouted Simon back at the screen. He was going to keep this up. There was no retreating on this.

Veronica manoeuvred herself off her chair and around to the other side of the desk where Simon was standing. She put a large, comforting, pillow-like arm around him and gripped his shoulder firmly. "Simon, this is my husband Phil. And that is our dog, Ivan. Ivan is very old and very, very ill. We've had him for years but he's not going to survive much longer. Phil has been staying home to look after Ivan in these last few days of his life, and I've been checking in on them every so often. It's terribly sad".

Simon didn't know quite what to say. He became aware that a tear was welling up in his eye. "So there's no Bolivian Farmer? No sordid internet affair? No heavy, chair-breaking wanking?". Veronica and Phil both shook their heads. "And no carrots down the pants?" Veronica looked confused again, so Simon thought he should try another tack. "Veronica, Phil, Ivan, I'm so, so very sorry," said Simon.

Veronica nodded slowly and smiled a sad half smile. She tightened her grip on his shoulder. "Simon, you're fired," she said.

"Right you are," said Simon.

Chapter 9

"Oh god, oh god, oh god" said Simon as he paced up and down in his living room. The skies over Manchester were a dirty grey and the rain beat heavily against his window, which did nothing to lift Simon's dark mood. He paused to look down the street, watching people scurrying past struggling to put up umbrellas, and cars splashing through growing puddles. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?". As a bolt of lightning lit up the room, illuminating an odd stain on his big settee he realised what bothered him most about losing his job: he'd have to tell his mother. "She'll probably beat me to death with rosary beads," he said softly.

At least he hadn't had any inappropriate thoughts since he had been booted out of work. He ran over the events of the day - the weird noises in the bathroom, the voices in his head, the kicking of Mr Heaton in the balls, the way he'd tried to blackmail Veronica when all she was doing was checking in on her sick dog. He'd turned into such a blubbering wreck in her office that they'd had to fetch Andy to peel him up off the floor and take him to clear out his desk. As Simon was leaving the office Andy had put on his aviator shades and given Simon a salute. Simon was unsure how exactly that was supposed to help him, but Andy had probably considered that some kind of tribute. Weirdo.

So, there was nothing left to do but pick up the phone and talk to his mum. He reached his hand out and pulled it back again. He couldn't do it. He paced some more. Went to pick up the phone, chickened out again and paced a bit more. Thunder rumbled across the sky and the crack of lightning made him catch his reflection in the window. He looked an absolute mess. Shaking his head slightly he picked up the phone and dialed.

*****

An hour later, Simon sat in the kitchen at his mother's house. His dad was out working, but his mum was home brewing up far too much tea for them both to be able to drink. Simon's mother was called Bridget. As well as being a former Rose of Trallee she had been well known as having the fiercest temper in all of Dingle while she lived there. It was semi legendary in the town that Simon's dad, Sean, was the only person who was brave enough to ask for her hand in marriage. They'd been together 40 years now.

"You never call around enough son. And you only do when you want something. What is it?" Bridget walked over to the kitchen table and poured from her huge teapot. She gently placed a cup in front of Simon, sat down and fixed him with a stare that made him go cold inside.

At least his mother was straight to the point, so even though Simon was very afraid of her reaction he could at least take some comfort in that fact they he was only telling her because she asked. Simon liked to have an excuse for most things.

"Well mum, it's like this..." he paused, scanned the room for rosary beads that she could beat him to death with and, happy that there were none, continued "I lost...well, that is to say, I was asked, well more like forced to, you know, leave my job today".

Bridget didn't answer, not straight away. But she gave Simon another stare that chilled him to the very core of his body. Shifting in her seat she reached over and grabbed both of his wrists, gripping them tightly.

"Son, you know I'll always love you". Simon flinched. He knew what was coming. "But no child of mine should ever be sacked from a job!" she screamed, standing up to slap him around the head. "I know what you need, you need to go and see Father Jackson and enter the Priesthood. You're no good for anything else!"

Simon tried his best to evade his mothers flailing arms but it was no use. Blow upon blow rained down upon him. He tried to reason with her. "Mum, I'll find another job, I will, I promise. A good one, one where they won't sack me because I'll be amazing at it. But I'm not going to see Father Jackson, I don't want to be a priest. I don't even believe in God!"

Simon clasped his hands over his mouth in shock. He hadn't meant to say that last bit to his mum, but he'd blurted it out in sheer panic. Although it was completely true he knew that it wouldn't go down at all well. This was too much for his very Catholic mother. Simon wasn't sure she could get any angrier but she somehow managed it.

Grabbing his hands again she summoned up strength that her tiny body seemed incapable of. She pushed him firmly down the hallway towards the front door.

"Get out of my house you Heathen! Get out you disgusting sinner! Come back here when you've found some faith. Until then I don't want to see your face. Away with you!"

*****

Much later, Simon sat on his huge old settee feeling very miserable indeed, his head in his hands. The rain still hadn't stopped, in fact it had become so torrential that he could barely see out of his flat window as so much water splashed and drizzled down the glass. The neon sign of the takeaway shop opposite looked like a colourful smudge. Simon had tried walking the streets for a couple of hours, but the persistent rain had forced him home. He closed his eyes and pushed his fingers against his eyelids. He hoped to find some answers to his problems in the weird swirling effect this created. He didn't.

The thunder and lightning started up again.

Chapter 10

The fabric between our universe and purgatory has been torn asunder. Where before there was something trapped in the nothingness now there is just a deep dark hole. Whatever had been kept prisoner in there has escaped.

*****

Franck was not working late again today. He was once again kneeling beside his bed, the box he kept in his wardrobe with his consistently average clothes was open on top of it, and lots of bits of paper were all over his duvet. Each piece of paper had something written on it in Franck's spidery hand. Franck ignored these existing notes and was scribbling frantically on new paper, writing note after note and trying to stuff them into the overflowing box.

"It's happening. It's happening!" he shouted loudly

*****

The thunder boomed louder than ever outside Simon's flat. The neon light of the takeaway opposite began to flicker and cycle through lots of different colours. Simon had never seen this before. "What's going on?" he murmured and slowly crept closer to the window. When he'd been a child his dad had always told him to stay away from windows when there was a thunderstorm, although now he wasn't sure whether there was any danger in it or whether it was just something he'd been told to keep him quiet and afraid during storms.

A flash of lightning cracked suspiciously close to the window as if to answer Simon's thoughts. He jumped back, and fell backwards over his coffee table, banging his head on the floor. He lay still for a moment while his brain caught up with what had happened. As soon as he realised he wasn't hurt he laughed for the first time today. Shaking any grogginess from his head he was just getting up again when another flash of lightning lit up the sky and all the lights and electronics in Simon's' flat went off.

"Oh" said Simon. Simon didn't like the dark very much. His two older sisters had told him stories when he was a young child about monsters coming to get him, and even now he still got apprehensive when he knew there was no way for him to illuminate a room quickly. He'd always wondered if he should have some kind of emergency kit for times like this, but he wasn't much cop as a manly man. His only concession to having a toolkit was one screwdriver, and that was only because he'd found it on the communal stairs one day. To organise himself to have a box full of candles for a situation like this was something that he had never found the time to be bothered doing.

Simon reached out a hand to steady himself, and his fingers reassuringly brushed along the side of his old settee. _Right, at least I know where I am_ , he thought. He considered getting on the settee and just trying to get some sleep, and that he could see what he had to sort out in the morning. The lightning flashed again, illuminating the room. Simon thought he caught sight of something ridiculous out of the corner of his eye. It couldn't really be what he thought could it? He rubbed his eyes and shook his head again, but the room was completely dark. "Idiot. Seeing things now as well as hearing them?" he chided himself.

He sat down. As well as not owning a box of candles for an emergency like this, he didn't own a torch either, so felt around on the table for his mobile phone so he could at least use that for some light. It wasn't there. _I must have knocked it off when I fell over_ , he thought. Dropping to his knees he desperately cast his hands around on the floor searching for his phone. He realised that he really should vacuum his carpet a lot more than he did.

His hands touched something cold, something he was certain shouldn't be where it was, and he recoiled with a scream. For the second time in a matter of minutes he fell over backwards and hit his head.

"Oh god help me!" he cried out. For the first time ever it occurred to him that he did actually say those words a lot considering he wasn't religious at all. Then it occurred to him that he probably had bigger worries given that he'd touched something cold in the middle of his living room and he couldn't see what it was. He was hoping that his bladder wouldn't fail him like it had this morning and that he could sort this out.

The lightning flashed again. He looked around frantically trying to spot what it was he'd touched moments earlier. There was nothing unusual in the room. Simon began to get very afraid indeed.

He was sure he'd seen something, sure that he'd touched something. The hair on the back of his neck began to rise, and the temperature dropped. The thunder seemed to be rolling towards his flat like waves, louder and louder each time, as if the storm was converging right above his head.

When the next flash of lightning struck, Simon span around quickly to try and get a look at every corner of his living room. His left foot came down on his mobile phone and he slipped over, hitting his head once more. This time he blacked out.

*****

Franck lay on his back on his bed surrounded by pieces of paper. He was completely naked and his pasty white skin was now covered in writing. He had run out of paper and had written all over himself in black marker pen. His wooden box lay on the floor, tipped over, and all the notes that had been inside lay in a pile next to his wardrobe.

"Soon! Please make it soon!" said Franck.

*****

When Simon awoke, the lights were back on and the storm seemed to have passed. Even the rain had stopped. He looked up at the clock on the wall. A little over an hour had passed. He looked around him, and then down at himself. His clothes were strewn all across the room, and he was left just wearing his boxer shorts. One of his balls was peeping out of the fly, looking like a sad wrinkled old man. It was not a good look for Simon.

Tucking his scrotum back into his undies, he stood up and started gathering his clothes together. He rubbed his head and found a big lump, and it was going to need some ice. Was it possible he'd removed his clothes prior to falling unconscious, he wondered. "Maybe I'm suffering from some short term memory loss?" he said aloud. "Maybe getting nearly naked was somehow an important thing?"

Holding his clothes under one arm, Simon made his way through to the kitchen and pulled a bag of peas from the freezer and held it to his head. He tried to run through the events of the blackout. He remembered the lights going out and looking for his phone. Then he remembered reaching out and touching something cold and smooth in the darkness. And seeing something. Something that didn't belong in a living room.

He made his way back into the lounge and stopped. And blinked. And rubbed his eyes. And then he dropped the bag of frozen peas on the floor and gasped loudly. There was a toilet stood atop his coffee table.

"What the fuck?!" said Simon.

"Hello Simon. I'm God," replied the toilet. "Oh, and one of your dangly balls has fallen out of the fly of your boxers again". And then it disappeared.

Chapter 11

Andy walked in Simon's living room wearing his aviator shades and matching camouflage jacket and trousers. He'd told Simon that he was looking for mini projectors hidden in the walls by the FBI. He neglected to tell Simon why he thought the FBI would possibly be interested in turning off his lights, stripping his clothes and then projecting a hologram of a toilet onto his coffee table. Also he'd like to know why they'd chosen to have the toilet tell him he had a dangly ball hanging out. "I don't have dangly balls," said Simon out loud suddenly "I have beautiful balls". Andy stopped what he was doing to give him a quizzical stare then turned back and started prodding at the walls with a pen.

Simon had begun to regret calling Andy. He'd been in a complete flapping panic when he'd dialled the number. He had much better friends, but he'd somehow caught himself half rambling and half screaming down the phone to Andy about what had happened. Andy wasn't particularly stable at the best of times and this had just ramped his paranoia up several degrees, but at least he hadn't just accused Simon of being a lunatic or making it up. "What are you doing with that pen?" asked Simon. Andy turned around again and theatrically took off his shades. He fixed Simon with a stare that made him feel like he did indeed have dangly balls and they were hanging out again (although thankfully he had managed to get dressed before Andy had shown up).

"This here is not a pen. Oh no no no Simon. It is a sophisticated device given to me by the Russian triplets I live with. It was designed during the cold war and it will tell us everything we need to know about the bastards who did this to you my good man". He put his shades back on and turned back to the walls.

"That is clever. You and those crazy Russian triplets," said Simon, taking a closer step towards Andy, who seemed to twist away slightly. "Er...how is the special detection machine thing going? Are you hiding something?"

"No. keep back and let the master do his work" replied Andy, slightly sheepishly. He held out his right arm to keep Simon at a distance while he carried on prodding at the walls with his cold war terrorist detection device.

Simon stepped away. Andy let out a low whistle as if he'd found something interesting or incriminating. Then he proceeded to ignore whatever it was and instead tell Simon a story about how one of the Russian triplets was carrying a vial of the French Presidents gametes around her neck and would use it "when the time is right". He also told Simon the eye watering tale of how she got hold of the French President's gametes. Simon's spirits, briefly lifted began to fall again. He remembered that if Andy hadn't told him stories about Veronica having an online affair with a Bolivian farmer then he may still be gainfully employed, and that he should maybe doubt what Andy was up to. He took a step back and waited until until Andy seemed to relax, before leaping forward and grabbing Andy's hand. He snatched the device out of it before running around to the other side of the settee.

"Ah ha! What the fuck is this Andy? This is one of those pens that if you hold in a certain way a woman's clothes fall off. Did you get this in Blackpool? I tell you what it's not - it's not an amazing Russian cold war special forces fucking super weapon and detection system is it?"

Andy didn't answer straight away. He pulled his shades off again and unzipped his camouflage jacket. He was wearing a Care Bears t-shirt. He followed Simon's shocked gaze, looked down at himself and zipped his jacket back up again.

"Fucking hell Simon, I was just trying to cheer you up. Jesus. You prick. You cock. You pig shagger. Give me my pen back or I'll kick you in the guts. I know exactly where to aim my foot that I could kill you in one go. You would literally throw up your intestines. Do you want that Simon? Do you want your guts to fly out of your mouth and pulsate on the floor while you lie there watching them as you die? I'll do it man, I'll do it. I can get my Russian triplets to make it look like a ninja came in and did it. I'll even sort it so your stupid dangly old man balls are hanging out of your undies again. Fuck yeah".

A lesser man than Simon might have folded at this point, but Simon had worked with Andy for 6 years. He'd heard it all before, many, many times. "Hey, come on, no need for that attitude Andy. You were the one who lied to me about the pen. And about Veronica".

"Hey, shut the shit up Simon. I'm telling you, Veronica definitely is doing the online dirty with that Bolivian fella. I'll get you back into AutoFoods mate. I will. I just can't bring the evidence out yet".

Simon shrugged and sat down. After the day he'd had he wasn't sure what to believe anymore, although he was almost certain that he shouldn't put too much hope into what Andy told him from now on.

Andy sat down next to him and put one comforting arm around Simon's shoulder. With the other hand he gently prised the pen out of Simon's clammy grasp. "Hey fella, watch this," he said, and held the pen out in front of them. Andy grinned as he watched the lady painted on the side slowly stripped naked. "Yeah, look at that Simon. Nice boobs eh?" he said as he shook him gently. Simon tried not to smile but it was hard not to give his man-child friend a small grin.

"Yeah, nice boobs Andy," he agreed.

Andy was suddenly serious. "You want to keep it mate? Pleasure yourself while looking at it?"

Simon pushed him away "Andy! No! Why would you ask that?" Andy looked hurt.

"Just trying to cheer you up. But I hear you man. I know what it is you need. Be back in a minute".

Andy strode out of the flat and went down the stairs to his car leaving the pen on the coffee table. Simon let out a deep breath and looked around. No toilets. No voices in his head. Good.

He looked down at the naked lady on the pen, briefly considered Andy's proposition about keeping it for a little bit of male relaxation time, and then slapped himself hard on the face.

A few minutes later, Andy came bursting through the door of the flat with a box in his hand, jumped into the lounge and did a failed commando role. He noticed Simon's reddened cheek. "What's going on? Who slapped you? I can kick their guts out instead!"

"It's OK, stop worrying, nobody needs to have their guts kicked out tonight. It was me," said Simon, pulling him to his feet.

"Oh, S & M is it Simon? A bit of the old auto erotic asphyxiation? That why my nudey lady pen isn't good enough for you? Well if that's what you're into this package I have in my hand isn't going to cheer you up at all".

"Don't be ridiculous, I was just trying to...er...wake myself up. Still feeling a bit groggy if I'm honest".

"Right, well you have two choices. I can either tell you the story of how I spent the evening on my computer flying in real time from London to New York on a flight simulator..."

"I'll pass on that thanks. You already told me that story twice yesterday".

"...I haven't told you about how I managed my toilet breaks. But, OK, another time. Right then your choice of cheer up material, our winner tonight by default, is a DVD. I know how you're always bringing in books to read during your lunch break, and you like George Orwell very much".

"Yeah. I do. I really do," said Simon. He was actually genuinely touched that Andy appeared to be doing something thoughtful for a change.

"Well dude, I have a treat for you tonight. An adaptation of one of your favourite books. I was keeping this back for your birthday, but now you've gone and got sacked and everything I thought it might be the right time to give to to you". He handed over the box to Simon.

"Is it 1984? I think there's a few adaptations. I've seen the film with John Hurt, but I'll happily watch it again. There was one done in the 50's wasn't there? And a couple of TV series adaptations? And an Opera! Not sure how I feel about that, but it might be alright. Thank you so much Andy".

Andy was quiet for a minute. "No, sorry fella. If I'd known that was your favourite I would have got that. But I think you'll really like this one too. It's called Animal Farm".

"Wow! I do like that book too, I know that was made into a film but I've never seen it. This should be good. Will you stick around to watch it?"

"Sure, why not man. Why not," said Andy. He peeled off his camouflage jacket, no longer caring that Simon would see his Care Bears T-shirt.

"Which one's that? The bear?" asked Simon.

"Leave it man, leave it," was all Andy would reply.

Simon took the DVD out of its box. It was a copied one, and he glanced back at Andy.

"It's OK Simon, a mate made a copy for me. Relax".

Simon pushed the disc into his player and sat back on the settee. Andy pulled two cans of beer from his camouflage trousers "You never know when you might need these Simon. Always be prepared," he said.

"Tennents Super? 9.0% alcohol? Why have you got this shit secreted in your trousers Andy? Are you some kind of street drinker?" asked Simon,

"Sssshh," said Andy, putting his fingers on his lips. "Watch the film".

The screen remained blank for a while. Then a fuzzy hillside appeared.

"The farm must be around there somewhere," remarked Andy.

In the distance a woman appeared on the back of a horse.

"Is she naked?" asked Simon, squinting at the screen.

"Nah...oh yeah, she is. Looks like an early 70s film. Maybe they were going for some kind of post-hippy symbolism?" said Andy.

The naked woman got closer to the camera, and got off the horse, taking the time to make sure that the camera got a long lingering close up of her bottom as she got down.

"He he he, check out that big 70's bush," laughed Andy as she turned around to face the camera.

"I think that horse is supposed to be Boxer," explained Simon to Andy, ignoring his little fit of childish giggles "He's a very loyal horse".

The naked woman on screen seemed to be spending a bit too much time to do some bending and stretching, almost like she was limbering up for something. Simon noticing out of the corner of his eyes that she looked disturbingly similar to the lady on the side of Andy's pen, still lying on the table in front of them. She said something in a language which to both Andy and Simon sounded like Danish. She stroked the horse's mane. Then she got down on her knees and performed what the daily tabloid newspapers would describe as a 'sex act' on the horse.

"Urrghhh!" shouted Simon,

"Oh man, I am incredibly, unashamedly aroused right now," said Andy.

"Get out Andy!" shouted Simon, echoing the words his mother had said to him a few hours earlier.

"You want me to leave the DVD here for you to watch alone dude?"

"GET OUT!"

Chapter 12

Franck awoke. He was caked in sweat, and had obviously been tossing and turning in his sleep. Where whatever he had scrawled all over his body had been difficult to read before he fell into a slumber, it was now smudged and smeared and completely unintelligible.

"Has it happened?" he asked the darkness of the room "Can I have a sign? I need a sign."

There was no answer apart from the distant sound of an owl.

"It must have happened. I felt it. Why does it feel like nothing has changed?" Still no answer. Franck reached out for his bedside lamp and turned it on. It had an energy saving light bulb and the room lit up slowly, revealing to Franck the paper notes strewn everywhere. He didn't remember having done that. He struggled to his feet, his legs feeling weak and unfamiliar to him and stumbled into the bathroom. He almost fell, once, twice on the way there, and pulled on the light cord with some effort.

Franck regarded himself in the bathroom mirror, looking deep into his own bloodshot eyes, and then down his naked body covered in black ink. He shuddered.

"Tomorrow, everything will be different," he told his reflection.

*****

Of course Simon had watched the rest of the DVD after he had kicked Andy out. He watched it in a mixture of horror and fascination, and then vowed to never watch it ever again.

And then he went to bed.

Simon slept the tortured sleep of a man who was beginning to convince himself that everything had turned to shit and had no clue what to do next. He dreamt that he was trapped on the side of a pen that people would tip over to see his clothes dissolve and laugh at his dangly balls.

"They're not dangly! They're beautiful!" he called out but no one could hear him. Because he was a picture on the side of a pen and had no vocal chords and no other way to communicate with people.

A loud noise woke him and he sat straight up in bed. "Is that...surely it can't be...?" he whispered to himself. Softly he slid out of bed and adopted a strange half crouched position which he thought would make him more stealthy, but actually just hurt his back after taking four steps towards his living room.

As he got closer, the unmistakable sound of some hard core European bestiality wafted through the closed living room door. Simon suppressed the need to angrily shout out, convinced that Andy had somehow got back into the flat, probably by using what he would describe as a genuine World War 2 skeleton key but would actually mean through a window he'd just smashed.

Simon gently put his hand on the door and counted to three. And then to ten. And then to twenty. He needed to make sure he was mentally prepared for the kicking he was going to give his workmate. He also needed to be mentally prepared for the sight of Andy with his pants around his ankles having a good old time to a woman dressed as a nun being fucked by a pig.

When Simon had counted to fifty he pushed the door open quickly and jumped into the room. Whatever it was he'd been preparing himself to see when he ran in it was not this. There was no masturbating work mate to be seen. Instead there was a toilet sat on the settee laughing while on the TV screen a scene involving a man and a chicken unfolded.

Simon opened his mouth to say something and realised he had nothing to offer whatsoever.

He tried again, but only some strained noises came out instead of words.

"Ssssh!" said the toilet. "I'm watching this". Simon glanced at the television. He didn't like what he saw and turned away again.

"I must be dreaming," said Simon

"No dream Simon, I promise you," said the toilet.

"Cluck, cluck, CLUCK!" said the chicken on the screen.

"And now I think I'll sell you at the market" said the man on the telly in Danish (although for the benefit of international viewers there were subtitles).

"Get a load of that!" said the Toilet "Imagine buying that chicken from a market only to get it home and find it all stuffed up with spooge. Would certainly be a talking point at Sunday dinner, eh?"

"I would hope that you'd notice that it was full of some dirty farmer's cock juice long before you got it home, and that you'd take it back for a full refund, plus some hush money," replied Simon, slumping down onto the settee next to the toilet and unable to stop himself from talking.

"Hey, that's the spirit, acceptance that I'm here, and engagement in conversation. That's good," said the toilet. "Now, as I was trying to tell you the other day before I was so cruelly temporarily snatched away again, I'm God".

"Yeah, yeah. Now as I know this isn't real I'll play along for a minute. Pleased to meet you". Simon held out his hand. "Er..how do I shake your hand then Mr God? Toilets don't have hands. Can I do this..." he said reaching out for the flush handle.

"Don't touch that Simon, It would be bad for both of us," said God in a tone which immediately made Simon pull his hand back quickly.

"So, what are you doing here anyway. And why do you look like a toilet in this mad dream of mine?" asked Simon

"I told you earlier, it's no dream. I am god. We'll get onto the whys and wherefores of why I look like a bog soon enough. You don't strike me as being very impressed at meeting the creator of the universe".

"It is a dream, and I'm not impressed because I don't believe in god. Any kind of god".

"Don't be silly Simon. I'm here because of you. Because you are the One True Believer".

Simon got suddenly irritated that his dream was getting out of his control and jumped to his feet and shouted "Look, I refuse to believe any of this is real. It's ridiculous, I'm going to close my eyes for a minute and when I open them you'll be gone. And tomorrow I'll go to a doctor and he'll tell me I'm stressed and will give me some nice tasty tablets to calm me down, and I'll be OK again in a couple of weeks". Simon shut his eyes and folded his arms.

"For the last time, it's no dream. So stop being a pussy," said God authoritatively. "Oh, and your balls are hanging out again". Simon's eyes snapped open, looking down at his boxer shorts and back to the toilet. Unlike the last time Simon had seen him, this time it did not disappear.

Chapter 13

Simon was pacing up and down in his living room again.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," said God "Or at least do it away from me, because you keep obscuring this top quality euro filth that I want to watch".

The braying of a donkey emanated from the TVs speakers as if to emphasise the point.

"Well, if you're so much of a god, why do you have to be watching the TV to see it? Can't you just have angels beam in straight into your eyeballs or something?" Simon spat back.

"Hey, don't get touchy. First of all, I'm not a god, I'm _the_ God. And Angels? Angels aren't as cute and fluffy and all serving as you might think, pal. You know, for the One True Believer I wasn't expecting such a snotty attitude".

Simon stopped pacing. "What's all this One True Believer bollocks?" he asked.

"Now we're getting to it" said God. "It's the reason I'm here. I thought you'd be much more excited".

"I'm confused. I told you before, I don't believe in any kind of religion at all".

If a toilet could look surly, then God was doing a good job of it having heard Simon's reply.

"Look, c'mon Simon stop messing around. This is the day you've been preparing for. You're always praying to me. You have that box full of prayers".

Simon gave God a funny look "I most certainly do not have a box of prayers for you. And if I was going to plan a big day that I was waiting for all my miserable life, then I really don't think that it would be a day that a talking Toilet tells me it's God and wants to watch animal pornography with me. That sounds like a pretty shit 'day I was waiting for', thank you very much".

God let out a deep sigh and softly murmured "I _can't_ have got it wrong after all these years".

Somehow the toilet slid off the settee and stood in front of Simon to stop him pacing.

"I think I need to tell you a story," he said.

*****

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And he was bored. Really bored.

To alleviate some of that boredom, God said "Let there be light!", and there was a light so bright it took him by surprise and he fell over backwards. After he had stopped laughing at himself, he got up and realised that even with darkness and light he was still a bit bored. So he made some dinosaurs.

Now the dinosaurs were pretty good for a laugh, chasing each other around and eating each other. God had a lot of fun watching them for a few years before he got bored again. God knew what was missing. He was horny. He had a need and he decided he would try and fill that need by having sex with every different species of dinosaur.

Except God found out that even he couldn't do things without consequence. In another one of his bored moments he had created a council of Angels to look after things while he was off getting his end away. Unfortunately for him they kept tabs on his every little indiscretion, and eventually, thousands of years later they had enough incriminating evidence to put him away. Forever.

*****

"So" said Simon "You got locked up in purgatory for shagging dinosaurs. No wonder you wanted to watch this DVD. You sex pest".

"It wasn't just dinosaurs. That was the main charge at the trial, yeah, but it went on long after the dinosaurs were extinct. I did it with basically everything that had a hole. And they all loved it. Who wouldn't want to be rogered silly by God?"

Simon regarded the toilet in front of him. "I might have to put a bag over your head," he said.

"Oh, ha de ha ha Simon, very fucking funny. I'll have you know that if I was able to appear to you in my real form you would find me utterly irresistible. In fact, the longer I am out of purgatory and here the more attractive you'll find me even like this. So stick that up your bum".

"Anyway, Mr God, that doesn't explain why you're here in my flat. It doesn't explain how you escaped. Or why you are in the form you're in. Or why you think I'm some sort of believer in you, because I most certainly am not. In fact, it doesn't really explain anything except that you are a huge pervert who'll have sex with anyone or anything".

"The proper term is 'sex addict' Simon. But I'll let it slide this time because I like your style. I think you should go to sleep. I realise you've had a very stressful day, but by the morning you might actually remember that you are the One True Believer and then we can get the plan into action".

"Plan?" asked Simon

"Ahhhh. The plan. I'm saying no more until the morning. Go to bed now. And for my sake...please put your balls away! How many times do I have to tell you?"

Chapter 14

Franck woke up feeling dreadful. Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to. So many years of planning and all he had to show for it was a naked body covered in ink and a black eye where he'd slipped over on some of his discarded notes coming back into the bedroom and hit his face on his wooden box. It had been enough to make him say his first swear words since 2003 when he told old Mrs Dubois down the road that her cat was a 'damn nuisance' for defecating outside his house and half burying it in some soil so that Franck had touched it with his hands while gardening.

On that occasion Franck had been so shocked by his language that he'd locked himself in his room for a week with only two 3 litre bottles of water and his box full of paper for company. But this time Franck decided that he'd actually enjoyed the feel of the forbidden words in his mouth, and he'd quite like to to swear again. "Damn, damn, damn," he said.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said the numbers creeping around in his brain.

"Shut the damn up," replied Franck.

*****

Simon woke up feeling amazing. The sun was shining through his bedroom window and the birds were singing a beautiful tune. He jumped up from his bed and threw the curtains open. His balls did not drop out of the fly of his boxer shorts and give the people in the flat above the takeaway opposite a fright. Everything was good.

He danced to the bathroom and jumped in the shower. He emerged 10 minutes later feeling fresher than ever. He had a shave. He had a poo with the bathroom door open, something he never did even though he lived alone. He danced back into his bedroom and chose some clothes that he knew he looked good in. "I'm going to be everything I always wanted to be today," he said out loud "And it's all thanks to that ridiculous dream I had about the toilet".

He danced into the living room ands stopped dead. His mouth fell.

"Morning ugly," said the toilet lying on his settee. "Sleep well?"

"For fucks sake," said Simon, rubbing his face. "Why are you still here. I know I'm awake now". He started pacing again "This can't be happening".

"You really do like pacing don't you?" said God. "It won't do you any good. What you need is to have a nice cup of coffee then we can sit down and discuss the plan".

Simon sulkily went into the kitchen, but as an act of rebellion made a cup of tea instead of coffee.

"Where's mine you selfish bastard?" asked God.

"What would I do with it, pour it down your bowl?"

"Cheeky as well as selfish. You've proven yourself to be a pretty shit One True Believer so far Simon. You better buck up".

As there was no room for him to sit down, Simon perched himself at the end of the settee.

"Make yourself at home then God. Oh, I see you already have".

"Oooh! Bitchy".

"Right, we've got to sort this out. I have no idea what you're talking about or why you're here. You're going to have to start from the beginning again, and this time I don't need to hear the bit about how you gave a Stegosaurus 17 simultaneous orgasms. OK?"

"OK. It's like this..."

*****

While God was stuck in purgatory the world went on. Wars were fought, inventions were invented, and people made up a whole motley crew of false gods to worship. Through each generation there were a few people who believed in the real god, but they kept quiet for fear of ridicule or persecution, until eventually there was only one person left on earth who knew the truth.

Meanwhile God stayed locked away while his council of Angels tried to decide what best to do about his sex addiction. A consensus was never reached, so they decided to keep him there. Out of sight, out of mind. In the meantime they could carry on partying and leaving the world to look after itself. But God, being an all powerful being, knew he could bide his time. Although purgatory kept him trapped, he knew that he'd find a way out eventually. And that once he did, all he had to do was track down the last true believer, and somehow harness the power of his or her belief to reveal himself to the world and rule things his way again.

That was the plan anyway.

*****

"Sounds like a pretty shonky plan with plenty of holes in if you ask me," said Simon. "So let me get this straight. You're not a god that anyone actually worships? Apart from this One True Believer?"

"Yeah, that's it. All the religions of this planet are all equal. In that they're all completely wrong. I'm the God who created the heavens and the earth, the dark and light, man and woman, yadda yadda yadda, and nobody apart from one person knows it".

"But how come you're here with me, given that, as I keep telling you, I am NOT the One True Believer? And why are you a toilet?"

"I need to you answer some questions for me honestly Simon. Will you do that for me?"

Simon sighed. He was already talking to a speaking toilet who claimed to be God, so he might as well continue the charade for a bit before voluntarily handing himself in to a psychiatric unit.

"Go on".

"Well, firstly, have you been preparing yourself for yesterday for some time, filled with the knowledge that something great was about to happen?"

"No. I spent my day being humiliated at work, losing my job and watching a woman do something that put a smile on a horses face".

God grunted. Simon was sure that if the toilet had a face it would be frowning right now.

"Do you have a wooden box hidden in the wardrobe in your bedroom?"

Simon shifted uncomfortably at the end of the sette and nearly fell off.

"I'll take that as a yes," said God.

"How do you know about that?" Simon demanded to know.

"I raise my eyebrows at you Simon. As we have covered only a few minutes ago, I am the supreme being. I am all knowing. Er...almost. Now, let's go into your bedroom and have a look at that box".

"No way. It's mine. You stay out of my personal stuff Toilet!"

But God had already disappeared and Simon could hear the sound of the wardrobe door opening in the bedroom.

Chapter 15

Simon dashed after the Toilet. "How do you do that?" he asked.

"Ah, your puny brain isn't ready for information like that yet Simon. Stick with me though and you'll learn everything".

"Hmmm. You don't actually sound very sincere," replied Simon sulkily.

"Quiet now and get that box out of the wardrobe".

"You do it, I heard you open the doors somehow".

"Alright, I will," said God. And he did.

*****

The box lay on the bed. Simon made an attempt to snatch it but found that he couldn't touch it, it was as if there was a barrier all around it. "Oh, they're going to have a field day with me down at the psychiatric ward" he said.

"Stop fretting and flapping," said God "As you're the One True Believer, this box will be full of prayers you've been writing to me, won't it?"

"Er..." said Simon.

The lid of the box opened all on its own. "I always like the simple tricks best," said God. "Right, let's get a good look at these prayers then. Oh...what's going on here Simon? This isn't right, this isn't right at all".

There were indeed a lot of pieces of paper stuffed in the box, but none of them were what God was expecting to find in there.

Simon stood red faced at the bottom of the bed. "It's a box filled with pictures and poems and letters to and about all the girls and women I have fancied in my life. No, I can't explain why I keep it, yes I am embarrassed, no I am not weird, yes I do want you to shut the box and forget that you ever saw it".

But God would do no such thing "Hehehe, look at this one - did you actually ask permission to take this picture Simon?"

"Yes, of course I did!"

"And this one? Is that a cartoon of your old English teacher Mrs Heslop's breasts? Good pencil work there," laughed God

"Yes. Yes it is. Hey - how do you know what my English teacher was called?"

God made a movement which was a fair approximation of a toilet shrugging "Looks like she had a fair pair Simon. Did you ever see them or is this just how you imagined them to be?"

"I never saw them," he said wistfully. "There was the one time on the school summer camp when I nearly...oh! Hold on! I am NOT talking to you about this. Stop trying to catch me out!"

"S'alright, I'm God. I already know what you were going to say. Now imagine a toilet winking at you in a cheeky way".

"Fuck off".

Simon sat down on the bed next to the box and sighed. He had never wanted anyone to see this. And certainly not a talking toilet who knew what he was going to say even before he did.

He flicked through some of the pictures and letters. He found a poem to his first girlfriend which was both sweet and excruciating. He found a letter he'd written to himself in college where he was weighing up the pros and cons of asking out the nicest girl on his course. He found another pencil sketch of what he imagined Mrs Heslop's boobs to look like.

"Don't worry about it," said God, "Plenty of people have far more embarrassing things than this lying around in their houses. The problem for me is, it's not what I was looking for. Are you sure you don't have another one full of prayers to me?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean I don't have another box"

"Tut, tut. Have you ever written things about me all over your naked body?"

"What kind of freaky question is that? Of course I haven't!" said Simon.

"Alright, calm down! I have to say, it's beginning to look like I have made huge mistake thinking you were the last true believer. Which is bad news for both you and me".

"Bad news for me? I don't understand. I fully understand why it's bad news for you, and I do think that you should leave me alone as quickly as possible to go off and find your mate, but why on earth is it bad news for me?"

"Because if you're not him you'll have to help me find him. Or her. And let's face it, it's not like you've got a job to go to is it? Ha ha!"

Simon shot him a dirty look.

"Hmmm" said God. "There is one last chance you could be him you know. How about this - do you like to spend a lot of time in toilets?"

Simon couldn't very well deny that given how much time he'd spent in hiding in the last few years working at AutoFoods. He gave God a sheepish look.

"Ah ha! I knew it!" shouted God. "The reason I've manifested myself as a toilet is because I have one piece of your body which links you as the One Last True Believer to me".

Something appeared in a cloud of smoke on the bedroom carpet. The smoke made them both cough.

"Sorry" said God. "I was trying too hard to show off".

The smoke cleared and Simon bent over to have a closer look.

"Is that a pube?!" he cried.

*****

Franck was back at work. It was fair to describe his mood as dark.

Tap, tap, tap, thwack, went his keyboard.

"Damn it" said Franck. His finger slip meant he'd typed something incorrectly into his spreadsheet. This was unheard of. The numbers in his head elected to stay quiet and not offer their opinion.

Franck's college Vincent overheard Franck's outburst. "Can I have a Euro for the swear box Franck?" he joked. He'd barely ever heard Franck speak before, let alone curse.

"Damn you!" replied Franck, before focusing on his work again.

*****

"Touch it, touch it! You know you want to!" said God. He was using his powers to force Simon's right hand towards the pubic hair on the floor. Simon was flailing his other three limbs around to no avail.

"Alright, you don't have to touch it with your hand".

Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

"You have to touch it with your FACE!" shouted God. Simon screamed as he felt himself bending closer and closer to it.

"Stop it! Stop it now! I don't want to touch it! It's not mine! It's not even the right colour! Please God help me!"

God abruptly stopped forcing Simon towards it, but Simon found he couldn't move at all.

"Did you just use my name in vain?" he asked.

"Er...yeah. Sorry. Bad habit of mine" said Simon.

"Things are becoming slightly clearer to me now," said God. He let Simon go, who promptly fell on the floor. His mouth was mere centimetres from the pubic hair, and when he realised he sprang quickly to his feet.

"I know it's not yours," sighed God. "I realised when the box wasn't right that you weren't the one I was looking for. In fact, I think I knew it right from the moment you freaked out when you caught me watching the DVD earlier. But this pubic hair does belong to the One True Believer and you have to help me find him".

"How in God's name...sorry...have you got one of his pubic hairs?" demanded Simon. "I mean, I know you're a right old pervert and sex pest and everything, but carrying around a pube, that's just weird. You are one sick little toilet".

"I'll just have to tell you another story won't I?" said God.

"Great" sighed Simon.

An invisible hand smacked him around the back of the head.

"Ow!"

*****

Towards the end of God's days in purgatory, when his powers had come back sufficiently, he found he was able to catch snatches of the prayers that were being said to him. He knew then that he was very close to being able to make his escape.

He also found he could make brief teleportations to earth, in the form of something which the One True Believer was close to or spent a lot of time with. It turns out that the One True Believer was also also a big fan of spending time in the bathroom and so God ended up with a pubic hair stuck to his toilet seat on one brief trip back to earth before he was pushed back into purgatory.

As he didn't yet have enough power to speak in his new chosen form he couldn't vent about how disgusted he was to have this stuck to him, but he did keep hold of it in case it somehow came in useful later.

*****

"So you see Simon, because you're a big pussy, always saying 'Oh god help me with that,' or "Oh god don't let that happen to me,' I got you confused with the One True Believer. And add in the fact that you spent forever hiding in the toilets you can see how this is completely your fault".

"But if you're so flipping magical can't you just know whose pubic hair that is?" asked Simon. It was not an unreasonable question.

"No, I'm not strong enough yet. You're going to have to help me. I have to find The Believer".

"And I suppose you're going to say that you're not strong enough yet to teleport straight to them and you can only be around me for the time being as well?"

"Damn right. Now you're getting with the programme Simon my boy".

Simon mulled over his options. "How long will it take for you to be strong enough to just know where to go?" he asked.

"I don't know. So it looks like you have two options doesn't it? You can not help, and have a talking toilet hanging around you for weeks on end, driving you up the wall. Or..."

"Or I can help you and potentially still have a talking toilet hanging around me for weeks because we have absolutely no idea what to do".

"Precisely".

Simon stayed silent for a couple of minutes. He knew he should really get his life in order, get himself cured from the obvious mental breakdown he was having and then find a job and get a new girlfriend. But the prospect of going off the rails for a couple of weeks also appealed to him.

"Alright then Mr God. I'll help you".

"Yesss! That's the spirit Simon. The _holy_ spirit! Geddit?".

"Lame".

"Sorry. Anyway, this calls for a celebratory drink".

"I'll get you some bleach. That is what toilets drink isn't it?"

"You _really_ are a cheeky bastard Simon".

Chapter 16

Arthur Trimble was in the cellar of his house looking for a book. His cellar looked like an old, forgotten library with dusty ancient tomes lying unorganised on cobweb encrusted shelves. Arthur looked at the piece of paper in his hand where he'd written the name of what he was looking for. He moved some papers and a spider the size of Arthur's head scuttled out from the back of the bookcase and down onto the floor before taking off to find another dark corner. Arthur choked back a scream and moved away to another set of books.

Arthur was a man in his mid 60's. Five feet eight, bespectacled, grey of beard, and grey of personality. Arthur had a slight sneery and whiny voice. To try and convince people he wasn't at all boring or whiny he was rather too fond of wearing t-shirts that only men much younger than himself should wear. Today's T-shirt had the slogan "On the Internet I'm a 14 year old girl". Arthur thought it was funny. His wife, Beatrice, did not agree, but then she has spent much of the 43 years they'd been married feeling slightly bemused by Arthur's actions.

Although Arthur had spent most of his life working his way up through the ranks at his local bank, from being a lowly tea and message boy after leaving work, right up to being a branch and then an area manager, Arthur had always been obsessed with trying to crack codes in religious texts, as well as with black magic and witchcraft. He'd spent a small fortune in books over his lifetime, picking them up from back street Occult shops and from the internet, but most of them had lay unloved and unread in his cellar.

Arthur had retired from his job with the bank when he was 63, and in the last two years his obsession had skyrocketed. He was convinced that he was on the cusp of discovering something big, and that it would all be revealed very soon. Arthur's wife, on the other hand, was of the opinion that he had just read "The Da Vinci Code" one too many times and should take up a new hobby like fishing or buy himself a motorbike.

Arthur pulled a small pocket torch from his trousers and moved to the back of the cellar. He ducked to avoid a spider dangling idly from the ceiling and kicked something solid, which when he shone the torch onto it turned out to be a dead cat, mummified in cobwebs. "Oh, so that's where she went" he said "We missed you Agatha". He swerved around the cat to the biggest bookshelf in the room.

He looked down at the piece of paper again, and then shone the torch at each and every book on the shelves. Just as he was about to give up he decided to move some of the biggest tomes out of the way, and found what he'd been searching for. "Ah ha! There you are!"

Arthur pulled a very slim volume out from the back of the bookshelf and blew the dust from the cover. The cover promptly fell off on the floor. Tutting, Arthur bent over to retrieve it, the title caught in the glint of the light from the pocket torch as he squatted to the floor:

" _The Gospel According To Stan_ ".

*****

"Right where do we start?" hiccupped Simon. He and God had celebrated with the only alcoholic drinks Simon currently had in the flat - the cans of Tennent's Super that Andy had left behind when he'd been kicked out the night before.

"Fucked if I know," said God. Not for the first time Simon shot him a dirty look.

"You must have some ideas surely? Some little magical inkling about what we should do? I can't honestly believe that I'll have to be the brains of this operation".

"I wouldn't mind another can of that special brew. That might get my mind ticking over".

"There is no way I'm going into the shop to buy that. Can't you just turn some water into wine or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Who would ever believe a story like that? Those people who wrote that fantasy story really pushed the credibility of their tale, I'm telling you," said God.

"So is that true then? That no religions are real?"

"Look Simon, that is something I will have to tell you about another time. We really should work out what to do next. Get a map of the world..."

"Haven't got one".

"...Go and get a map of the world from a bookshop. A road atlas will do. And laminate this while you're at it".

The pubic hair appeared in the palm of Simon's hand. Simon screamed and dropped it.

"Oi! Don't lose that" said God. It appeared in Simon's hand again.

"Why do you want it laminating?"

"Because I don't want anything bad happening to it. So get it done Simon".

"I must say God, I'm finding it difficult to know what things you can do, like get private boxes out of people's wardrobes for example, and what you can't. Like you can't laminate this on your own".

"Don't disobey the will of God. Didn't they teach you that in your crappy Catholic school?" said God breezily.

*****

Arthur Trimble walked up the stairs from the cellar, out through the kitchen and into the back garden without saying a single word to his wife, and took the Gospel of Stan down to his shed. Beatrice watched him amble down the garden path and sighed. She decided she was going to send the fishing rod she'd bought him for his upcoming birthday back to the shop and instead use the money to buy herself a good looking male escort.

Arthur closed and locked the shed door behind him. This was it! The puzzle was all coming together nicely, Arthur decided. All over the walls of the shed there were maps and strange diagrams, and photocopied pages from lots of different books in lots of different languages. Various bits had been highlighted in fluorescent colours.

"Oh yes, this one could make me world famous" Arthur declared as he lay the Gospel of Stan down on his desk, pushing a dog eared copy of "The Book of The Other Kings" off onto the floor as he did so.

He pulled a pencil out of a drawer and set to work.

Chapter 17

Franck could feel his dark, dark mood lifting slightly. He had decided he wasn't going to work late that night, and instead he would leave early and go home where he must atone for his sins. He would pray like never before and he would be rewarded for his good service.

"Weeeee!" said the numbers in his head, far more cheerfully than they had earlier in the day.

*****

Simon trudged out of the door of his local book shop after buying a World Road Atlas for God. That was the first of his tasks completed. He had the pubic hair of the One True Believer safely stored in his wallet, and he wasn't happy about it at all. He certainly didn't own a laminator, and the only one he knew about was the one in his old office at AutoFoods. He'd have to apologise to Andy for kicking him out of the flat and get him to sneak him in and out again without being seen by Veronica or any of the other managers.

"Stupid Pube," he sighed out loud. An old lady standing in a nearby bus stop glared at him. Simon offered a weak smile in return as he approached her, but she hit him with her hand bag and shouted "I've got one of those alarms in here and if you say another word I'll set it off".

Simon decided he'd walk to the next stop.

On the way he called Andy, who was surprisingly happy to hear from him. "Of course I'll sneak you in mate. Give me a chance to put all my special forces training into practice". Andy had never even been in the Scouts let alone any special forces, but Simon didn't point that out in case he withdrew his offer to help.

Andy was waiting for him as he got off the bus outside AutoFoods. "Right mate, I've knocked out the security guard using a hold that only gets taught to the top five percent of Delta Force operatives because the other 95 percent just wouldn't be able to comprehend it. It's a hold which sends the victim to sleep for five hours and also has the side effect of making them shit themselves".

"Are you sure? Smells a bit like _you_ might have Andy".

Andy blushed but ploughed on. "Look, just follow me. Come on".

Simon ran through the front door. Sure enough, there was no security guard at the desk.

"He's slumped to the floor under the desk. He won't come around for ages yet," said Andy, doing his best to rush Simon through.

Leanne from accounts burst through the doors leading to the offices, the place that Andy and Simon were trying to get to. Simon winced, certain that this meant that he was about to be thrown off the premises, but she ignored him. "Hey Andy. Could you tell the security guard when he gets back from the loo that he forget to lock our office windows last night, and that a bird got in and pooped everywhere," she said.

Simon gave Andy an exasperated look.

"Sorry mate, I might have bent the truth a little but at least I didn't lie about the shitting himself bit". He ignored Leanne and pushed Simon in the back and through the doors.

The lights were on in Veronica's room but the blinds were drawn. Andy made Simon crawl on the floor past her office and into his old one. In the space of 24 hours his desk had been completely cleared, although there was a card left on the top of it. Simon opened it. It was a picture of his head stuck on top if a picture of a body builder cut out from a magazine. Underneath it said 'I'll miss you mate'.

"Thanks Andy," said Simon.

"I didn't make that," lied Andy in return.

"Well, in any case, lets get that laminator out".

Andy pulled one from a cupboard at the back of the room and Simon got his wallet out.

"You never did tell me what was so important that you needed laminating" said Andy.

"Er...it might be better if you keep watch by the door, and I'll just handle this".

"But I want to see".

"No, you don't. You really don't".

"I do!"

Simon caved in and pulled the pubic hair from his wallet, and brandished it like a trophy in the air, more to disturb Andy than because he was getting used to the idea of handling it.

"Urrghhh!" said Andy "Who does that belong to? Were you with a girl last night after I left? Is this something to remember her by?"

"No, you've got it all wrong. This is..."

But their squabbling had got louder and louder, and a cough from the doorway made them spin around. Veronica stood there glaring at them, a carrot in one hand and a few magazines tucked under her other arm.

"You shoudn't be here Simon. Do I have to call the police?" she asked.

"No, please Veronica. I just need to do one thing here and then I'll never come back again. I promise".

She took a few steps towards them and then stopped in her tracks. "What's that you've got in your hand Simon?" She took another two steps, realised what it was and screamed. She dropped the magazines on the floor at Simon's feet.

"Holiday brochures for Bolivia?" said Simon "I knew it! I bloody knew it".

"Security!" shouted Veronica.

Chapter 18

Arthur Trimble had been in his shed for four hours. Later on that evening he will get back to his house and discover that his wife Beatrice has gone away to her sisters for the night, but for the time being he worked ignorantly away trying to break the code from the Gospel According To Stan.

Arthur was reading through the gospel and writing down every 69th word. Beatrice would argue that this was because Arthur was in essence a dirty old man, but just hid it well. Arthur would instead tell you that he had adapted the Torah Code that had been used to controversially apparently decipher certain messages in the Hebrew bible. Arthur Trimble had decided that when he was rich and famous he would go to all the television stations and newspapers that would listen to him and tell the world how he had devised his 69th letter methodology. And it wouldn't just be because he was a dirty old man. Then he would put his arm around a pretty TV presenter and prove that that was exactly what he was.

Arthur looked back at the letters he'd written down already. Prominently at the top of the first page of his notebook he'd written the word "TOILET". It wasn't a word he expected to find and it perturbed him. He stared and he squinted at it. He scratched his beard. He shook his head. Maybe something was wrong with his code? No, he wouldn't accept that. Could be a joke on the Gospel writers part. He crossed it out and carried on, whistling a jolly little tune.

*****

Franck was back home. He got everything he needed together - his box, some pieces of paper, a pen to write on the paper and a big marker pen to write on himself.

He gathered up some candles and arranged them on his bedside cabinet. He fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and set it down on the floor next to the bed. He then made his way all around the house making sure they there were no lights on, and he turned off all the electrical appliances. When he got back into the bedroom he stripped himself down to his underwear.

And then he waited for the sun to go down.

*****

Simon had made his way back to the flat after being thrown out of AutoFoods once again. He sat quietly on the big settee, feeling strangely guilty about letting God down by not getting the pubic hair laminated. He sat with his head in his hands thinking about how he'd reached this point in his life.

God pretended to be angry at him for a while, but when he didn't get a reaction from Simon he gave up and tried a different approach.

"Look Simon, you didn't really have to get the pubic hair laminated".

"You're just saying that. I'm a failure!"

"No, really. It was a trust exercise. I needed to be sure that you would help me, and I knew that someone who would try and get a pube laminated would probably be the kind of person who would follow me to wherever it is I have to go".

Simon looked up. "Really?" he asked, his face full of hope. This actually made God feel a little sick, but he didn't let Simon know that.

"Really. Here, watch this," said God.

The pube appeared floating in front of Simon's face. "Now watch this," said God. In a flash it was fully laminated. And then in another flash it wasn't.

Simon watched wide eyed. Then he smiled and frowned at the same time, which was not a good look for anyone to try and pull off. "I really could have done without the trust exercise God. I could get into a lot of trouble trespassing at AutoFoods".

"Never mind them and never mind that. I am a bit surprised you went for it anyway. Why on earth would I need a laminated pube anyway? Hehehe, what a thought".

Simon moved to touch God's flush handle in retaliation but God, surprisingly quickly for a toilet, moved out of the way and Simon fell on the floor.

God carried on talking "Anyway, we're ready to start. Get that Road Atlas out you bought before. I can feel another storm coming, and I think I might be able to at least pinpoint the country the One True Believer is in".

Simon opened the road alas on the coffee table. "Lets start with Europe," said God. A rumble of thunder startled Simon and he looked out of the window. When he looked back the pubic hair was resting on the road atlas. When the first bolt of lightning flashed through the sky it began to twitch.

Chapter 19

Darkness rapidly fell over Franck's house. He smiled as he heard the storm approaching and he quickly knelt by the side of the bed and began to write. He also spoke softly in the gloom, begging for forgiveness for his swearing, asking for another chance and promising that he would be the best that he ever could be, forever and ever.

The rain started, slowly at first and then harder and faster. The intensity of it threw Franck a little and he stopped talking to watch it wash down the windows. Then he leapt to his feet and grabbed the marker pen and began to draw diagrams all over himself, as if his hands were being guided by an unseen force. Over his stomach he drew an odd looking shape, almost bowl like with an odd rim around the top.

Franck heard the sound of a garden hose unwinding in his garden and he stopped drawing to rush to the window. Outside his house everything looked strange, bigger and longer and further away than it should be. The front gate looked miles away. The coiled hose rose up like a snake and fired a blast of cold water at the window. A blast of lightning rippled through the sky and lit up the trees in the field beyond the railway line. They looked like they were marching towards Franck's house.

Franck raced out into the front garden and raised his hands. The rain fell harder, and with it hail stones which left red marks on Franck's naked skin as they bounced off onto the ground. Franck strode over them in his bare feet, oblivious to any pain.

"Yes!" he shouted "Yes! Now is the time! Now everybody will see! Everybody!"

*****

Simon was having a wee when he heard God shout to him from the lounge. Watching a pubic hair jumping about all over the road atlas had been interesting for about five minutes, but when it didn't seem to be doing anything more spectacular Simon had wandered off to the bathroom.

"I think it's getting closer!" shouted God. Simon zipped up his fly too quickly and a small visible patch of urine formed on his jeans. He grimaced. Only a couple of days ago he would have not bothered to change his trousers and instead say 'Please God, let no one see this' but now he made a big show of ignoring the Toilet in the living room, walking through the bedroom and getting new underwear and jeans.

"Come on Simon!" God shouted. "You're missing it!"

Simon came back into the lounge and watched the road atlas begin to glow red. The lights in the flat had gone out again and this was the only illumination. It made the twitching of the pubic hair look even creepier. It edged towards Germany, then onwards to Poland, down to Ukraine. Then it stopped. Simon held his breath. It started moving again. The glow around the atlas changed to blue, then green, then back to red. The thunder cracked louder than ever.

"It's coming! It's coming!" said God.

The pubic hair twisted and turned then jumped up towards the ceiling where it hung in mid air for a few seconds. Then it came down quickly, piercing the paper of the atlas right through the middle of one small European country.

"Belgium!" shouted God in triumph.

"Belgium?" said Simon incredulously.

*****

The rain lashed down onto Arthur Trimble's shed. The wood creaked in protest as the wind howled through the cracks. Arthur had built the shed himself and it was fair to say that it was far from an expert effort.

Arthur was nearing the end of The Gospel According to Stan. 69 more words to go, which meant he only had one more letter to add to his notebook. He flicked to the back of the Gospel and wrote down a large letter "M".

"Right then, if all my research is correct, I will be able to at least find out where a holy being is due to next manifest itself on earth," he whispered, being careful so that Beatrice couldn't hear him from the house. Beatrice couldn't care less, because at that moment she was onto her second bottle of red wine at her sisters house, and talking about how she was going to run away with the postman.

Arthur Trimble went through all of the letters, dividing them up into words. There was no sound inside the shed except Arthur Trimble's rapidly quickening breathing and the scratch of his trusty HB pencil on the notebook paper. His method of deciding on legitimate words was a bit hit and miss, so he had a copy of The Collins Scrabble Dictionary open next to him. As he wrote his eyes began to open wider and wider in shock. "If this is true..." he said but couldn't finish the sentence. At last he got to the end of the letters in his notebook. The wind howled louder, a flash of lightning framed Arthur Trimbles face in a macabre light. He pushed his chair back slowly and stood up.

"Belgium? Belgium!" exclaimed Arthur Trimble.

Chapter 20

"I can't go to Belgium!" said Simon.

"Whoa, what's all this? Only a few hours ago you were all enthusiastic about helping and yet the minute you find out we have to go to Belgium you want to quit? You can't quit buddy. You're in too deep. Balls deep".

"I don't think you're using that phrase quite right".

"I don't care! The point is, you're coming to Belgium with me," said God emphatically.

"But...Belgium?"

"What's your problem with Belgium? Belgium is a lovely place".

"Are you quite sure?" asked Simon "I mean, all it's famous for is beer, chocolate, mussels and paedophiles".

"Three out of those four things are great, Simon" said God. "And for your information, Austria has far better paedophiles than Belgium".

"How do you work out the league tale of what country has the best paedophiles?!" Simon cried out. "Is it quantity of paedos in the country? Or by how much money they earn? A sort of PDP - paedo domestic product - per capita deal? Or is it by a country's ratio of paedophiles per children? Or by some other arbitrary scoring system so disgusting I don't want to even think about it".

"You need to calm down Simon, you're over thinking how it might work. Just let it go. Forget it," said God. "All you need to think about now is how you're going to Belgium. Get packing and get yourself a plane ticket".

"And how do you suggest I do that? I lost my job. I'm holding you responsible for that, by the way".

"Me? What did I do? Did I make you try and blackmail your boss? Did I?"

"No," said Simon glumly.

"You're just going to have to get creative. How about asking your mother for the money..?"

*****

Simon knocked on the front door of his parent's house. He was not hopeful. When he'd asked God why he couldn't just create some money out of thin air he'd been laughed out of the flat. He'd taken that as God avoiding the question but still ended up here anyway. Get creative, he'd been told. Well, it was going to take something very creative to get any money out of his mother.

Bridget answered the door and let him in without a word. The look in her eyes made it obvious that she had not forgiven him. _That's not very Christian_ , Simon thought to himself. He sat down slowly in the kitchen.

"Are you expecting a cup of tea Simon? Because you aren't getting one," said Bridget. "Not unless you've come crawling back here to admit you were wrong. And that you've seen the error of your sinning ways and have finally found salvation in God's love?"

"Well, that's the thing mum, I have".

Bridget looked smug "Go on, son," she said.

"I have found God, in a way that I wasn't at all expecting. It has made me see how right you were, and that I need to find myself a holy vocation".

"Praise be! So you're going to Ireland to become a priest then? Just wait until I tell Father Jackson!"

"No, wait mum, it's not quite like that. I am going away from Manchester for a bit, and I'll need some money".

"You won't need money, your father will drive you to Holyhead and we'll all get the ferry across together".

"No, you're not listening mum. I need money so I can get a flight. A flight to...Belgium".

"Belgium? Why on earth do you want to go to Belgium?"

"It's why my holy vocation lies mum. I'm going to enrol myself as a monk. In the abbey of...Chimay," he said. His knowledge of alcohol and strong Trappist beers had served him well.

Bridget didn't say anything at first. Then she got up out of her chair. Simon flinched, ready for a smack around the head. He closed his eyes, but the smack never came. Instead Bridget hugged her son for the first time in years.

"Oh, my son, my son. I'm so proud of you. For the very first time I'm almost as proud of you as I am your two sisters. How much do you need to get to Belgium?" she said.

Chapter 21

"So we're all set then," said God.

"Go away, I'm trying to sleep and I feel awful" replied Simon. It was 6am the next morning. Simon had asked his mother for rather more money than he was going to need, found himself surprised that he didn't feel at all guilty, and promptly gone out and bought 4 bottles of wine on the way home. He and God had drank them all and Simon was now feeling distinctly worse for wear.

"How come you haven't got a hangover?" Simon asked when he realised the Toilet was not going to leave his bedroom.

"I thought we'd got past the stupid questions phase of our relationship Simon?"

"If I am to follow a talking Crapper to Belgium you could at least do me the courtesy of answering some of them," Simon snapped back

"All in good time. Now get up and have a shower. There's a flight to Brussels in 3 hours from now and you need to get a ticket and be on it. I've packed your suitcase for you".

"What? How did you do that?"

"Again with the questions Simon! Just get up and get yourself presentable. I'll have some painkillers and a glass of water waiting for you when you've got dressed. I really do spoil you".

"What about you? How do I explain that I'm taking my toilet on the plane?"

"What is it with you and all the worrying? I'll be OK, I don't need to take the plane. Once you're there I will be able to appear with you. And no, I won't tell you how that is possible, you're just going to have to trust me again. I've written some instructions down about how you can make me manifest myself in Brussels with you, and I've put them in your case as well. Do not, I repeat, do not read them until you arrive in Belgium. Have you got that? It's very, very important".

"But..."

"SIMON! No more questions. Get up, get up. GET UP".

*****

An hour later Simon was at Terminal Three of Manchester Airport, dark glasses firmly covering his bloodshot eyes. _I stink like a brewery, they'll never let me fly_ , he thought to himself.

He approached the ticket office for Brussels airlines and did his best to smile. He just ended up looking sinister and odd.

"Can I help you?" said the ticket office assistant boredly. Her name tag said "Sarah". Simon winced slightly. He had a really bad habit of overusing people's names if he saw them on name tags.

"Yes, please Sarah. I need to go to Brussels. I'd really like to be on the plane that leaves two hours from now Sarah". He looked around. Why was he talking in this weird, awkward way? He'd never really had a problem with talking to people before.

"That should be no problem. There are a few seats left," said the assistant, startling Simon. For some reason he'd began to convince himself he wouldn't really be allowed to go, that he wouldn't end up in Belgium at all, that maybe, somehow he'd gone off the rails enough and could now return to normal society.

But no.

Sarah asked Simon for the money. He produced a wad of notes from his pocket. "My mum gave it to me Sarah," he explained. The ticket office assistant nodded in a distracted way. She wasn't really listening.

"I expect you get a load of people wandering up and producing fists full of cash eager to run away to Belgium don't you, Sarah?" said Simon, persisting with making small talk.

_Why on earth did I say that?_ he thought.

"Er...Sometimes sir, sometimes," she replied warily

"I'm not a lunatic or anything, Sarah," said Simon, almost to convince himself "I'm just really, really excited to be going to Brussels. Sarah".

"You should go over to check in desk 37 to 41 to drop your bag off sir," said the assistant. "Have a nice flight". Her tone suggested that she really wanted to say "Now please fuck off and leave me alone. Sir".

"Thanks Sarah," said Simon as he backed away from the ticket office. He wandered away towards the check-in desk, telling himself that he should probably only say the bare minimum while checking his bag in.

"Did you pack the suitcase yourself? Did anyone give you anything to put in your baggage?" asked the check in clerk. He was called Rob. Simon bit his lip to prevent himself saying "Well, Rob, the bag was packed by a talking toilet who told me he was God. I don't know what he put in there because I am an idiot and I promised not to open my bag until I was in Belgium, so who knows what could be in there?"

Instead he grunted along with the questions, careful to not say anything that might earn him an inconvenient and uncomfortable cavity search.

"Right then, you're all ready to go. Seat 5A, boarding in an hour".

"Thanks. Rob". said Simon.

Simon went through security. Inevitably, despite removing his belt, shoes and putting all his money in his bag he still set off the alarm and had to go through the full body scanner, or what he what he called the 'nudie scanner'. He had an impulse to pull a seductive pose and lick his lips while he waited for the green light to come on and let him out, but once again the words CAVITY SEARCH flashed through his mind and he resisted.

Simon enjoyed airports. He was always relaxed in them. Well, almost always. Other people bothered him in airports \- so many of them trying to rush around in a panic despite the fact that their plane wasn't going to leave for another hour, and all trying to cram onto the plane first when the Gate was called, as if that was going to make the plane leave any quicker. Simon settled himself into a chair in a cafe and ordered an overpriced coffee. He watched a group of men in their early 20's, all wearing t-shirts bearing the slogan 'Jaeger Bomb Disposal Squad'. They looked like they'd already disposed of a few that morning. He looked out over a series of businessmen, all sat alone at different tables, all uniformly on their laptops and mobile phones glued to their ears, believing that what they did actually mattered. At best, Simon had a huge mistrust of businessmen. At worst he hated them. Really, really hated them.

When boarding was announced Simon calmly joined the queue. He was smiling. He felt good. Before he could stop himself he quietly mumbled "Please God let nobody sit next to me on the plane". A burst of pain spread out from his stomach and he fell to his knees. Some of the people in the queue stared at him, others behind him in the queue ignored him and walked around so they could get on the plane first. Only one person came over and helped him to his feet.

"Thanks," said Simon, shaken. "Stomach ache. I'm not a good flyer," he lied by way of excuse. He offered a weak smile and then made his way onto the plane.

He settled in his seat. The rest of the passengers walked on. Nobody had yet sat next to him. Just as he thought he'd got away with it, a businessman got on and headed for Simon. He groaned inwardly. Not a businessman! No!

"Can I get past you," asked the businessman in the manner and tone that suggested it was not a question but an order. Simon had the aisle seat, and asked the man if he could just scoot over and have the window and let the businessman sit Simon's seat.

"No," said the man.

"Oh," said Simon.

"Serves you right," said the voice of God in Simon's head. Simon closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears. The businessman coughed. No reaction. He grabbed Simon's arm to pull him from his seat.

"Alright, calm down Mr Evil Businessman," said Simon. "I have a headache, so deal with it". He sullenly got up and let the businessman have the window seat.

"Keep an eye on this person," said Simon to an Flight Attendant. "He manhandled me. I might have him done for air rage". The Flight Attendant frowned and but said nothing. The businessman gave Simon a dirty look and opened his laptop.

Simon sat down and stared at him "Turn that off until we're up in the air and the seat belt sign has gone off".

The business man ignored him and opened a spreadsheet. Simon seethed. The businessman smiled a very smug smile on his already smarmy face and started to type. Simon felt his anger rising higher and higher. He pressed the call button above his head and waited for the Flight Attendant to come back.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Yes please...er..." Simon searched for a name badge and couldn't see one, so it just looked like he was staring at her breasts.

"Sir?"

"Sorry, this man here has turned his laptop on before we've taken off and won't turn it off".

The Flight Attendant gave the businessman a stern look and he turned it off. Simon grinned at him, and reached up once more, this time to switch the air conditioning on. A nice but weak stream of air brushed over his face.

The plane started its taxi down the runway, and the cabin staff did the safety routine. While Simon was watching this the businessman booted up his laptop again. Simon turned around and pushed the lid shut. The businessman reached up and turned off Simon's air con and opened the laptop lid again.

"You really are an arsehole," said Simon. "What is it that's so fucking important that you can't wait 15 minutes until we're at cruising altitude? You think you're Mr Big Shot Businessman whose job is so important that you work all the time and never see your poor wife and kids. Do you know what you are? You're really, really tragic and I feel sorry for you. And please - turn that bloody laptop off".

The business man ignored him, but looked hurt. "Aha, I've struck a nerve haven't I?" said Simon, ploughing on. He turned his air conditioning back on, and the one above the businessman's head.

"I'll...get the sack?" offered the businessman weakly. Simon looked him in the eye.

"You don't really believe that for a minute. That's a piss poor excuse. You've bought into some kind of corporate culture, a businessman lifestyle. You love the pissing contest of trying to be the first one in the office in the morning, and the last one to leave at night. You like to think that when you take a business trip on a plane you should be the first one on a mobile phone when it lands so you can 'touch base' with the office back home. You like to talk loudly about your work so that people around you have to listen to you saying things like "Yeah the Brinckman deal is great for our company. I just don't think John is the man to lead the project team though. We need to look at some kind of performance based paradigm for our team so we don't lose credibility." You think it makes you look good, that people are impressed with your big corporate buzz words. Well, let me tell you mate - you look like a complete dick".

"But..."

"No buts. Shut up and don't talk to me again. Turn off your laptop and make sure that the first call you make when get off this plane is to your wife. And make sure that when you make that call that you turn your phone on when you're safely in the terminal, not when people are trying to disembark the plane. OK?"

"Er...OK".

Yes, Simon felt good.

Chapter 22

Arthur Trimble stood in his bedroom carefully folding up a bunch of t-shirts with inappropriate slogans on the front of them. He'd tried to call Beatrice to tell her he needed to go away for a few days, but she told him that she'd couldn't talk right now because her mouth was about to be filled. He heard what sounded like the raucous laughter of two men in the background. She must be out having a meal with work colleagues, he thought. No matter, he had bigger fish to fry, and he needed to be somewhere in Belgium to do it. He'd just have to figure out where exactly in Belgium that was when he got there.

He tucked his copy of The Gospel According to Stan in his hand luggage. He'd need to employ a different code pattern to it once he reached his hotel in Brussels so he could figure out what his next move was.

A taxi pulled up outside his house. This is is, thought Arthur Trimble, my big adventure that will make me rich and world famous. He wobbled down the stairs with his case and put it in the taxi's boot. "St Pancras Train Station please" he told the driver

"Should you really be wearing a T-shirt that says 'Dirty Slut' on it?" replied the driver.

Arthur Trimble's cheeks reddened slightly, but he simply repeated "St Pancras Train Station please" and they were away.

*****

Simon's plane landed on the runway at Brussels International Airport and taxied to the terminal. The businessman sat next to Simon got his mobile phone out, but Simon shook his head at him and he put it away sheepishly.

Getting through customs was really quick, and Simon boarded the train to Brussels Central station as God had instructed him to that morning before he left. Simon enjoyed trains, not in a strange hanging around on platforms writing numbers down kind of way, but he enjoyed watching the scenery go by as he travelled, especially if it was in a country he'd never been to before. Simon had certainly never thought of going to Belgium before.

The train journey took just over 10 minutes and Simon got out in the subterranean bowels of the Central Station. It was a bit dirty and unkempt, but had a charm of it's own. He had been expecting somewhere bright and shiny and modern looking, what with this being the city housing the European Parliament.

As Simon had got rather more money out of his mother than he needed, he'd booked himself into a five star hotel directly opposite the station. He had a desire to run off and get a load of beers, chips, waffles and mussels and eat and drink himself stupid, and enjoy a holiday, but the thought of the searing pain that he got in his stomach when he'd used God's name out loud in Manchester Airport came back to him. _What if he's watching me somehow_ , thought Simon, _I'd better not risk it_. Instead, as instructed he went and checked into the hotel and wandered up to his room. He opened the window to let some air in and enjoy the view, and he looked out over the Mont Des Arts, smiling. Then he opened his case to retrieve the note that God had left him with instructions of how he could make him appear in Brussels with Simon.

"Dear Simon,

I really do hope you are in Brussels when you are reading this, otherwise any second now THE DEVIL WILL PULL YOU INTO HELL AND STICK HIS FINGERS IN YOUR BUMHOLE.

Not really. Were you scared? I'm joking of course, but I do hope you kept this until you're in the hotel, like I asked. And as we're such good friends now, you really should be able to keep that promise.

Now, to get me to appear there is really quite simple. Leave the hotel and go around the back to Place Agora. There's a fountain there that has a statue of a man called Charles Buls attached to it. You can't miss it. He's a big fella with a bushy moustache and a dog. Now, Charles Buls was a mayor of Brussels who establish bilingual road signs and made sure the old parts of Brussels were preserved instead of being torn down by the mad architectural dreams of King Leopold. But that's not important now. What is important is this:

You have to go and sit on the statues knee in just your boxer shorts, and tell him you've been a bad, bad boy. And he should spank you very hard.

And then I'll be there in Brussels with you. Just like that.

Simple eh?

See you soon, Your good friend and the most charming sex addict in the world,

God."

Simon screwed up the note and let out a small, pathetic whimper.

Chapter 23

Franck had awoken late. It was mid morning and he had been due in work an hour ago. His head was killing him. He tried to sit up in bed in a panic but the throbbing pain moved from his head and all the way down his body and back up again. It was not a pleasant experience so he lay down flat on his back. After a couple of minutes he tried to move his arms but found he couldn't. Franck began to panic.

He tried to recall the events of the previous evening. He remembered getting his wooden box out of the cupboard. He remembered writing on pieces of paper. He remembered stripping down to his underwear to write all over himself. So far nothing unusual in that for a man like Franck. His mind throbbed with pain. _What happened next, what happened next?_ he thought to himself over and over.

Franck had an urge to vomit, which was unfortunate given that he was finding moving to be very, very difficult. He managed to turn his head and spew all over the pillow. He opened his mouth to say "Damn" but stopped himself. _I won't go down that road again_ , he thought.

And then he remembered running out into the front garden in the pouring rain. Franck was mortified, and he wondered if any of his neighbours had seen. He had worked so long throughout his life to appear completely and totally average. And if his neighbours hadn't been shocked by the sight of him in his underwear covered in words he'd written on his own body, what would they have made of the garden hose rising up and like a huge snake and coiling around him? And what would they have made of the trees marching towards his house, calling out his name over and over? And what would they have made of...

Franck sat straight up suddenly. Then he remembered the pain he was in, cried out and collapsed again. His head crashed down into the pile of sick, but Franck didn't care. He had remembered what had happened next last night. And he didn't like it at all.

*****

Arthur Trimble sat in Le Pain Quotidien Cafe in St Pancras train station, drinking a coffee and watching the world go by. 59 minutes until his Eurostar train left for Brussels. Arthur could feel the excitement and adrenalin rushing through his body. He checked his luggage for the 6th time since sitting down to make sure all his notebooks and the Gospel According To Stan were with him, and then chuckled. "This is going to blow those blokes who wrote ' _The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail"_ right out of the water. I'll be on the front page of every paper in the world".

Something occurred to Arthur and he pulled out a notebook to scribble down a few words, making him completely miss his wife Beatrice being carried in the direction of the Eurostar train departure gate by a six foot five bronzed Adonis.

*****

Place Agora (or Agoraplein if you're that way inclined) is a lovely little square near the Grand Place in Brussels. On some days it hosts little craft markets, and today was one of those days. Some tourists walked through it as quickly as possible so they could get to the Grand Place, while others sat cheerfully at the pavement cafes and had a beer or two. A white bearded old busker sat nearby playing some old blues standards. He was raking in a lot of money.

Today, the tourists and locals in Place Agora were about to see a slightly different attraction however. Simon stood opposite the fountain where the statue of Charles Buls and his dog was, trying to psyche himself up to do what God had told him he had to do. Andy had once offered to buy him to stripper pants as a birthday present. Simon wished that he had done now, they would have come in useful in this situation.

Simon looked around him, trying to time it right. He slowly slipped off his shoes. Again he looked around. Nobody had seemed to notice, they were all busy going about their own business. Simon edged closer to the statue, figuring that the nearer he was the quicker he could get this over with. He was scanning the square for his escape route for afterwards when some very important thoughts occurred to him - would God appear instantaneously, would he still be in the form of a toilet, and how would people react when they saw him? Simon realised that as God hadn't left Simon's flat and nobody had been in there except Simon since God appeared, no one else had seen him yet. Simon started to sweat nervously. He tried to stop himself from shaking, sure that the people around the square would notice that.

Simon tried to get a grip of himself. He looked to see who would notice him first. The people watching the old bearded busker were no danger, they were all enjoying the music and facing the other way. The people in the bars might notice, but they all appeared to be having too good a time with each other to notice a man stripping down to his boxers. The biggest dangers were anybody traipsing across the market on the square on their way to the Grand Place. The nearest people to him were a family of four - a mother, father and teenage children, one girl and one boy. They had their backs to him and were looking at one of the craft stalls. This was his chance!

Simon quickly pushed his trousers down and pulled off his jumper and t-shirt. He hadn't heard any laughter or disgust yet, so he assumed that nobody had noticed, although he was not brave enough to look around and check. Wanting to just get it over and done with he jumped onto Charles Bul's lap. The statue was cold, which was a bit of shock to Simon and he let out a quiet gasp, enough to get the attention of the family who were browsing the craft stall.

"Qu'est ce qui se passe?" blurted the mother. Simon's grasp of French wasn't great despite being the not so proud owner of a GCSE (Grade B) in the language but he understood that she was politely asking what was happening when most people would just shout "what the fuck are you doing?". The family stared at him. Simon tried his best to ignore them and instead looked into the eyes of the statue of Charles Buls. "I've been a very naughty boy Charles Buls. A bad, bad boy indeed. Do you know what you should do Charles Buls? You should spank me. Spank me hard".

He shut his eyes then opened them again, expecting God to have appeared. Either that, or some magical sign that he could stop. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Nothing, that is, apart from all the people who had previously been watching the busker had turned around to look at him. Simon felt his face turn crimson. He resisted the impulse to run, thinking maybe he hadn't said the words correctly. He bent down to retrieve his trousers and pulled the note that God had written for him. He repeated what he was supposed to say word for word, and accompanied it with a provocative grinding of his hips which elicited both cries of laughter and cries of disgust from the watching crowd. He stroked the face of Charles Buls and even gave him a little peck on the cheek. Some people had left the comfort of the bars and their ridiculously strong Belgian beers to come and have a look. Even the old busker, who at first had been quite put out to have had his spectators stolen from him had come over to stare and was having a big old giggle about it.

A camera flashed. Then another. Then a lot more.

"Come on God you cunt!" said Simon a bit too loudly. This time there were more cries of disgust than of laughter from the crowd.

"Merde!" said Simon, displaying his mastery of the French language. There was no way he was going to try and tell Charles Buls he was a bad boy anymore, God would just have to make his own stupid toilet-faced way here.

Simon noticed that the crowd was beginning to part slightly down the middle. Then he noticed two members of the Brussels Police marching through the crowd directly towards the fountain. They did not look happy to see a pasty skinned English fella gyrating his hips on a statue of the former mayor the city.

"Merde!" said Simon again, jumping down from the statue of Charles Buls and stopping only to scoop up his clothes from the floor before running off in the direction of his hotel.

Chapter 24

The Eurostar train was minutes away from pulling away from the platform at St Pancras Railway Station when Arthur Trimble rushed up and threw himself on. He'd got too carried away writing in his notebook and dreaming of the super stardom and world fame that he was so obviously going to earn that he had neglected to keep track of time and had been shocked to hear the final boarding call. It had been quite a run from the cafe to the train platform, especially as he had to show his passport on the way, and he was now very sweaty and very knackered. He collapsed in a heap just inside the train doorway. A frowning ticket inspector prodded him in the belly and made him get up to find his seat.

Because Arthur had thrown himself through the first open door he had to walk quite a long way down the train to get to his seat. He took off his jacket to try and cool himself down and did his very best to try and ignore the people tutting and frowning at his 'Dirty Slut' T-shirt. When he finally found his seat the other three seats were taken up by some lads in their early twenties. When they saw Arthur's T-shirt they didn't react like the rest of the passengers. They loved it. They pulled Arthur down, gave him a can of lager and told him how much they respected him. At least that's what Arthur thought they were saying. They told him they were called Greg, Joe and Brian and that they were going to get a train from Brussels straight up to Amsterdam because they'd got a really cheap train deal. And that they were going to drink all the way there.

"So, Arthur, what are you going to Brussels for?" asked Brian, who was sat next to Arthur. Brian put a friendly drunken arm around Arthur but it was quickly withdrawn when he realised how sweaty Arthur was.

Arthur considered telling the truth and then decided he didn't want to reveal it to these three pissheads. So instead he just smiled a knowing smile and said "Oh, you know". He hoped that would sound ambiguous enough to put them off asking any further questions and they would leave it at that. Joe, Brian and Greg looked at each other then cheered, and bashed their cans of booze together.

"You dirty old bastard!" said Greg "Going to get your end away with some sweet ladies of night! You dog. I like you. For an old man you're pretty fucking cool".

"Er...no, it's not like that" said Arthur, realising his mistake. "I'm going to see a friend...er...he's called...Stan. Yes, that's it. I'm going to see my good friend Stan".

_Dammit_ , he thought, _why did I choose Stan? What if these people are clever undercover investigators come to catch me out and steal the Gospel According To Stan for themselves?_

"It's alright Arthur" said Brian "We understand. You're not going to meet some ladies of the night. You're going to meet a man of the night! You are a dirty old bastard. No judgement here from us, we love all kinds of naughty behavior. Come on and drink up!"

Definitely _not_ undercover agents, thought Arthur, blushing.

Joe slipped away from the table, telling everybody in the carriage loudly that he was going for a piss. "So, tell us more about Stan," said Greg.

Arthur choked on the big swig of alcohol he was taking. Brian slapped him on the back and carried on the conversation.

"Come on big man, spill the beans. How long have you and Stan been at it? We can see your wedding ring, I take it your wife doesn't know about you dalliances in Europe?"

"Or maybe she does," chipped in Greg, "Maybe she likes it. Maybe she watches. Maybe she even joins in sometimes. Oh yeah. A right pair of swingers are our mate Arthur and his Missus. Bet they do dogging and dressing up in gimp masks and everything!"

"Er...well, you see..." said Arthur, not knowing whether to go along with this or come clean about the whole reason for his trip.

Thankfully for Arthur he was rescued by Joe staggering back from the toilet.

"Someone's shagging in the bogs and it sounds like they're really going for it!" he said. The rest of the gang, and Arthur, cheered and knocked their cans of lager together again.

In the toilets, Arthur's wife Beatrice wrapped her legs around her young bronzed Adonis of a lover and synchronised her moans with the sound of the train clacking over the tracks.

*****

Back in his room at the Hotel, Simon stood in the bathroom and fumed. He looked again at the note God had put in his luggage, and then tore it up and threw it in the bin. He walked out of the bathroom and lay on his bed. He was still dressed only in his boxer shorts, and had caused quite a scene of amusement when he dashed back through the hotel reception. He was expecting a knock on the door any minute now to be asked to leave by the hotel management.

"Hey God, I bet you're listening, I want to know what happened, you fucking fucker? I did everything you told me to do. And yet you're not here and my life is totally fucking ruined".

Then it struck him that he might have actually been hallucinating all along. Hallucinating due to the stress of doing a job he hated. That must be it. And there must have been some fumes in his flat, some insane carbon monoxide poisoning or something. Or Andy had slipped some weird substance into his coffee at work that he thought was a truth drug from North Korea but really wasn't because Andy is fucking lying loser. And that now he was here he wasn't being affected by that and that's why he couldn't see the fucking talking toilet.

Simon began to laugh. He laughed loud and long and then he did a dance around the room. He pulled his boxers off and shook his naked ass around. He whooped and cheered and laughed some more.

"What are you doing Simon? Oooh yeah, shake it baby. Just like that. Mmmmm," said God.

Simon jumped high in the air in fright and then came crashing back down to the floor. He got up gingerly and put his hands over his genitals.

"What are you doing that for?" said God, "I know what a penis looks like. I did design it after all. Have to admit I was a bit drunk that day, that's why it is a bit of a ridiculous thing when you think about it. And you've already flashed your balls at me a few times so I don't know why you're being all coy all of a sudden".

Simon's face went red with anger and he tried to shout sixteen different swear words at once. It was not a good look or sound. He took a breath. God waited as patiently as a talking toilet can.

"Why did you make me do that God?! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? It'll be all over the Internet and the news. My mum will see. She thinks I've gone off to be a monk, and yet there I am getting my gay on with a statue. You are a despicable supreme being".

"I didn't make you do anything! You have your own free will, that's how I remember making your species. You were obviously so desperate to have me here that you went straight out and did it after checking in. The truth is, I can appear wherever you are without you needing to do some special words. Or seduce the statue of Charles Buls".

"You didn't make me do it? What about hearing your voice on the plane? Or when you gave me a big stomach ache when I said your name at the departure gate? Tell me that you fucking over sized potty".

"Alright, maybe I influenced you a little bit, it was pretty funny watching you do what you did. But I didn't completely take over your body to make you do it. You did make some decisions of your own. For example, I have a question for you Simon \- why didn't you just wait until the middle of the night to go and give Charles Buls a lap dance?" asked God. Simon stared at him, his brain ticking over to try and give a snappy response. But there wasn't one to give, Simon had genuinely not thought of doing it at under cover of darkness when nobody could see him.

"I always knew there was something of an exhibitionist about you" said God. "And now the internet will know it too".

Simon sat on the bed and put his head in his hands "I'm ruined. Really ruined. My family will disown me, I'll never get another job or another girlfriend. I'm ready to just go and check into the loony bin now, there's nothing else left for me".

"Listen Simon, there won't be anything on the news or the Internet. I'll take care of it. My powers are getting stronger, it must be because I'm nearer the One True Believer. You have nothing to worry about".

Simon dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. "You mean it?"

"I mean it. There is one little thing though Simon".

"What, what, what? Oh please don't let it be bad, please. I can't take any more stress or embarrassment today I really can't. I'll go back to England. You just watch me."

"Relax. It was just to tell you a good thing".

"Yes?"

"I'm sure you gave the statue of Charles Buls an erection".

"Piss off God," said Simon

Chapter 25

Franck had made it into work eventually. The pain in his arms and in his head had gradually subsided enough for him to get out of bed and slump in the shower for a while until he felt well enough to get dressed. While he put on his usual brown loafers, brown slacks, white shirt, and green tie he looked at the pile of vomit on his bed and decided to deal with it later that evening.

He knew something had changed within him, but it wasn't quite what he had been expecting. He'd been building up to the previous day for years, but now it felt an anticlimax. Whatever was supposed to reveal itself to him was certainly taking its own sweet time.

"Morning Franck" said Caroline chirpily as he walked into work. Caroline sat nearest to Franck, and although they never conversed very much Franck was always very pleasant and courteous to her. Today he completely ignored her as he slumped into his office chair and turned his computer on.

"Are you OK Franck?" Caroline asked. Franck tried not to make eye contact in the hope that she'd go away. "Franck?" she asked again

"Leave me alone" snapped Franck. Something in the way he looked at her made her shiver and she recoiled backwards.

Franck sat down and opened a spreadsheet. The numbers in his head said nothing. He started to type, but everything looked blurred. He rubbed his eyes and started typing again, hoping that the numbers in his head just needed a minute to get going and would begin their normal "wee wee weeee," refrain. It didn't happen.

Franck checked his watch. He decided that maybe he should get himself a coffee, that everything would be alright if only he had some caffeine. He paused by the office window on the way to the kitchen to watch the 12.51 train to to Leuven. He was still there 2 minutes later. No double decker train had rattled past. Something was very, very wrong in Franck's world.

The lights were out in the kitchen when Franck entered. In the gloom he saw Caroline talking to Vincent, the only other work colleague who had ever really given him the time of day.

"Oh, hello Franck" said Vincent with a start "The bulb has gone". By the way they were startled when he walked in it was obvious that they had been talking about him. Franck's normal disposition was to be nice to people even though he kept himself to himself, but now he felt such a hatred and bile for these two colleagues rising inside his chest. He fantasised about pulling the kettle off the worktop and throwing the boiling water in their faces. This was very un-Franck. Shocked at his thoughts he forced a smile at his colleagues and mumbled an apology to Caroline.

"I haven't been feeling very well lately. I'm very sorry I ignored and then shouted at you Caroline".

"That's OK Franck, maybe you need to take a day off?"

"Maybe".

"You do work late most days Franck," said Vincent, "I reckon it's all just catching up with you and a good night sleep and a day off will do you the world of good".

"Perhaps, yes you're right Vincent," Franck managed another weak smile.

Feeling a bit better about Franck's condition, Vincent and Caroline left the kitchen. If they had stuck around for just a few seconds longer they would have noticed a the grimace on his face and a momentary deep red glow in Franck's eyes as he stepped into the the shadows of the kitchen.

*****

The Eurostar train pulled into Brussels Midi Station. Arthur stepped from the train with Greg, Joe and Brian. After drinking lots of beer during the journey, all four of them were a little worse for wear, and the three lads insisted on a group hug before they let Arthur go off. "Oh all right" said Arthur and held his arms out wide.

"We'll miss you, you dirty, dirty old bastard" said Brian. While they were hugging, Arthur missed Beatrice disappearing off down the platform with an attractive young man on each arm.

When the lads finally let Arthur go and he had waved them off on the next leg of their journeys to Amsterdam, he thought about what he should do next. His sensible instincts told him to find a cheap hotel and then work on breaking the code in the Gospel According to Stan to work out where exactly in Belgium he had to go. His drunken state however told him that maybe he should either drink more alcohol or fall asleep. Arthur sat down on a bench in the station concourse and shut his eyes.

*****

A big map of Belgium was spread out over Simon's hotel bed. It was huge and covered the whole of the duvet. Simon had been dispatched to a bookshop to buy it, and to his amazement not one person had pointed at him and laughed, not one police officer had come up and arrested him for public indecency and not one camera crew had grabbed him to interview today's internet sensation. On the way back he even walked past the statue of Charles Buls and gave him a flirty wink. Charles Buls did not react.

"Are we going to do the dancing pubic hair trick again?" asked Simon.

"You seem almost too enthusiastic to look at the pube again Simon," replied God. "No, not this time, it might come in useful in the future but now I have to look at this map and concentrate for a little while. So shut up and be quiet".

Simon sat on the floor with his arms and legs crossed like a sulking child while God perused the map. It was quite a ridiculous thing to look at, a toilet bending over and occasionally 'oohing' and 'ahhing' to himself.

After a few minutes he jumped down from the bed and landed next to Simon.

"I think I've got it. I know where we should go next. But that can wait until tomorrow, tonight I think you should treat yourself and go out for a few beers in Brussels".

"Tell me, tell me, tell me," said Simon, "I am genuinely excited to hear where we have to go".

"All in good time, Simon. You will have to do something though - we need to hire a car. And I really want it to be a big Cadillac. And one that we're able to put the roof down and feel the breeze around us".

"And how do you suppose I get one of those? If I waltz into the local car hire place they'll offer me the usual suspects when it comes to cars. I don't think that they'll offer me a convertible Cadillac".

"Well you'd better get yourself along to a garage and buy one instead then. Your mum gave you loads of money".

"Find me a garage that's got one then!"

"I was hoping you were going to say that, because I already know". He told Simon the address of a place not too far away from Brussels city centre.

"I suppose you used your growing holy powers to find that out didn't you?" said Simon

"No, I read it in the paper while you were having a big poo earlier".

Simon made an exasperated sound. He was beginning to think that God was actually some kind of excitable man child. Simon grabbed a copy of his Belgian guide book to have a look at the 'driving' section. After a few seconds he closed the book suddenly and threw it at God.

"There's no way I'm driving in this country!" he shouted "It's got one of the worst accident rates for driving in Europe! And look at this - people didn't need driving licenses here until the 1960s!

And look at this 'priority to the right' rule - it's is total madness! People can pull out of any old road on the right without even glancing to see if there is oncoming traffic! We'll be killed for sure!"

"You'll be killed. I can't be," said God.

"Well thank you very much, that's very comforting".

"Look Simon, it'll be great. It'll be like a great American road trip - you and me out there driving with the roof down, tunes blasting from the stereo, picking up some gorgeous women along the way and then saving the world".

"Saving the world...what's all this about? I thought you wanted to meet the One True Believer?"

"Yeah, yeah, same difference mate" said God.

"Right, bollocks to you, I'm going to the pub".

Chapter 26

It had been an interesting first day in Brussels for Arthur Trimble, that was for sure. He was currently sat in an office in the British Embassy on Avenue d'Auderghem telling the consulate about his unfortunate adventures in Gare Du Midi. After he had fallen asleep he'd had all but his hand luggage stolen from him. Thankfully for him he still had his notebooks and the Gospel According to Stan which had been kept in a small bag strapped tightly around his shoulders, but he'd stupidly left his money and passport in his suitcase.

When he awoke, with a banging hangover, to discover his luggage missing, Arthur Trimble had not been at all pleased. His first instinct was to panic, thinking that his life's work had gone missing. When he realised he still had the gospel and the notebooks he was then relieved. But then he then remembered that he'd left his wallet in his suitcase and let out a long, loud howl.

A couple of police officers heard the noise and hurried over. When they saw his his red face, straggly grey beard and huge sweat patches under his arms, not to mention the the inappropriate t-shirt he was wearing, they assumed him to be homeless. Arthur Trimble started to jabber in what he assumed was a combined mix of English, Dutch and French to explain what had happened but just sounded like he was gargling some meths. The police officers looked at him sternly and decided the best thing to do was to take him to he nearest police station. Arthur didn't put up a fight, he went limp in their arms and allowed them to drag him out of Gare du Midi into a police car, reasoning that somewhere along the line he'd find someone he was able to explain his situation to. And get some tablets for his splitting headache.

Eventually, after struggling through another conversation with some approximation of French and Dutch words Arthur had been scooted off to the British Embassy and pretty much dumped on the doorstep. Thankfully he'd been able to wangle an appointment with a very helpful lady called Christine, who had so far proved to be quite sympathetic to his plight, telling Arthur that they would be able to help in terms of his passport, and could tell him the names of some people who could investigate the stealing of his passport.

Yes, Christine was certainly helpful. Until the question of getting Arthur Trimble some money cropped up.

"You mentioned you were married Mr Trimble. Can you call your wife and have her wire some money to you?"

"Well I phoned her and I got no answer. I don't know where the blasted woman is at all. Probably at her sister's house again. She's a terrible influence on Beatrice. A terrible, terrible influence".

Arthur Trimble actually began to cry, so convinced that his bid for fame and fortune was about to slip away thanks to his own stupidity. Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't like to see a 63 year old man cry. If she had known it was because he was worried about not breaking the code of a gospel nobody had heard of she might not have been so sympathetic, but as it was she believed it was just because he had lost his clothes.

"Alright, we'll have to sort something out, if only so that you can get yourself out of that horrible T-shirt" said Christine, pointing at the words 'Dirty Slut' on Arthur Trimble's chest. "Did they take your clothes as well, is that why you're wearing it?"

"Erm...yes?" squeaked Arthur.

"Well, we can lend you some money, which has to be taken out of public funds and you'll have to pay us back very, very quickly. Have you got that?"

"Yes" said Arthur "I'm sure I can get myself to a bank and sort this out. And if Beatrice would answer the bloody phone I might even be able to sort it out even quicker".

Ten minutes later Arthur Trimble stepped from the British Embassy with a spring in his step.

"Everything is going to be OK" he said out loud, beaming a wide smile. He put his hands on his hips and looked around, giving anyone who caught his eye a toothy grin. It was a bit disconcerting and people gave him a wide berth. Arthur didn't care. He did a little dance on the spot, his t-shirt rising up to reveal his big, hairy belly wobbling around.

Arthur's grin began to drop slightly when he realised that two figures dressed all in black, with black hoods obscuring their faces were walking towards him. Arthur began to panic, but found that his legs wouldn't obey his command to walk swiftly in the opposite direction. Arthur tried his big grin at the figures who were approaching rapidly, in the hope that it might put them off robbing him. He didn't really want to be robbed twice in one day. His fingers tightened around his hand luggage. Nobody must get their hands on my notebooks, he told himself.

The two mysterious figures stopped in front of him. Up close Arthur could tell that there was one man and one woman. The woman spoke first.

"Arthur Trimble? Arthur Trimble of Beech Close, Sunbury on Thames?"

"Er...yes. Yes, that's me. Who are you?"

"That is not your concern. But we do know all about you, Arthur Trimble. We know what you're up to," said the man.

Arthur Trimble began to tremble. The man opened his jacket and reached in to get something.

So this is how it ends, thought Arthur, stabbed to death or shot on a street in Brussels right outside the British embassy, nobody around to care, and Beatrice off gallivanting with her sister.

"This is yours I believe Arthur Trimble" said the man, producing a battered brown leather wallet. Arthur was very much taken aback, but not taken aback enough to forget to snatch it back out of the man's hand.

"What is this? What's going on?"

"Do not be concerned Arthur Trimble, we are watching over you," said the woman. "Your money is gone, we could not get that back for you, and also your passport is missing, but the British Embassy will be able to fix that for you. Your luggage is already in the room you have been checked into in a nearby hotel. Here is the address". She produced a card bearing the name of a very upmarket 5 star hotel opposite the central train station.

"I don't understand what is going on. Not one bit," said Arthur.

The woman reached out a hand and gently stroked Arthur's cheek, making him blush.

"As I said, we are watching over you, and we know what you are doing. Our masters want you to succeed. Do not fail them. The people who stole your belongings have been dealt with and will not bother you again. Do not ask any more questions Arthur Trimble".

"Oh, thank you!" said Arthur, beaming back at them "Thank you so much!"

"You have a very interesting taste in T-shirts," replied the woman. And then the two mysterious figures turned on their heels and walked rapidly away.

Arthur thought about following them, but they were walking at a fair old pace, and he'd had a very stressful few hours. "Right!" he said, clapping his hands together, "I need to get to my hotel and then I need to go and celebrate!"

Chapter 27

Simon hadn't gone straight out to a bar after he left the hotel, he had decided to do some sight seeing first. He'd marvelled at the world heritage site that is the Grand Place, with its old Guild Houses (and, Simon noticed, yet another statue of Charles Buls which made him smirk a little), before moving on to look around Place St-Catherine. Then he'd doubled back to have a quick look in the Cathedral of St Michel and Gudula. He went into the treasury and had a look at the gruesome display of a skeletal hand which was supposed to be the relics of some saint or other.

"Religion is fucked up" he said, which earned him a dirty look from the nice lady who had taken his money to let him into the treasury. He gave up and left in search of alcohol. He was actually beginning to feel more and more relaxed.

He walked down a nondescript grey street over the road from the cathedral, and round the corner onto Rue Montage aux Herbes Potagères. That's when he saw the bar he had to go into: A La Morte Subite. He looked through the windows at what was a pub that appeared to be in a time warp, with long wooden benches, old mirrors and waiters rushing about in long aprons, serving beer to people's tables. It was something that looked trapped in time at the very beginning of the 20th century. Simon was smitten. Hoping that God could get along without him in the hotel for few more hours he pushed open the doors and went inside.

*****

An hour earlier, Arthur Trimble had waddled up Rue Montage aux Herbes Potagères the opposite way to Simon, and had also decided that this was the bar where he needed to celebrate his good fortune and think some more about these mysterious figures who were supposedly watching over him. He'd been very impressed with the hotel they'd sorted him out with, and changed his T-shirt to one that read "My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard".

Then he decided it was definitely time for beer, and lots of it. Cracking the code of where to go next could wait until tomorrow. He'd ended up sitting on a table near the toilets in A La Morte Subite drinking some very strong Trappist beers with a very old and very fat cat for company in a basket next to him. It was extremely busy in the bar but not around Arthur - whenever any locals or tourists came in they'd give Arthur's red face T-shirt a glance and decide to go and sit elsewhere.

Simon had no such qualms. He just wanted a seat and some beer. He gave the old man with the strange T-shirt and tattered notebook a quick glance, decided he could ignore him, and then parked himself down opposite and waited for a waiter to come over.

"You should have this," said Arthur, "It's a 10% beer".

"Erm...no thanks. Sounds a bit 'street drinker' to me," replied Simon. "I was hoping to ease myself in slowly".

"Suit yourself," said Arthur and went back to his notebook.

Simon ordered himself a not so-strong beer to start himself off with. He looked around the bar at people having fun and then began to wish he hadn't sat himself down opposite a weird old fella. While he was thinking about whether it would be rude or not to just get up and move, Arthur spoke again.

"Are you on own in Brussels? Ever been here before?"

Simon had not be brought up to be rude, so he found himself falling into conversation with Arthur. His not-so-strong beer was replaced with a stronger one, and that with a much stronger one, and before too long he was drinking the same incredible strength stuff that Arthur Trimble was on. The conversation was flowing much more freely, Simon had ranted about Veronica and how he had been sacked from his job. Arthur was of the opinion that she probably was having an affair, but that was only because he was blind drunk and all of the theories that Andy had told Simon do sound completely convincing when people are three sheets to the wind.

Simon had thankfully managed to leave telling Arthur anything about seeing a talking toilet that claimed to be God out of his tale. Instead he told Arthur that he'd come to Belgium to have a bit of a break and think over his future. Simon was pretty good at not blurting everything out even when drunk, one trait which his friends admired in him greatly.

"Anyway," said Simon, "I'm doing all the talking here. Why are you in Brussels Arthur?"

Arthur took a long draft of his silly strength beer and tried to fix Simon with a steely stare. It didn't work as the room was beginning to spin a little. Even though he was sat down he put one arm out to steady himself on Simon and missed. His slumped forward. Simon moved around to sit next to Arthur and helped him sit up straight.

"Thanks Simon *hic*. Maybe I am a little *hic* worse for wear".

"Not at all. Let's get a another round in and you can tell me about how you came to be here".

"But it's a very good question about why am I here. Why are any of us here really?" Arthur giggled. Oh dear, thought Simon. Unperturbed, Arthur went on.

"I'm here in this bar because I am celebrating a day where I stole victory from the jaws of defeat. But I'm also here in Belgium for a far higher purpose. One that will see my face beamed across the globe".

"Are you some sort of criminal about to announce a mass atrocity?" said Simon "I hope you're not some kind of demented sex pervert serial killer. I am having a pretty good day and could do without having being found in the boot of your hire car with my penis and my head missing while you prance around wearing my skin".

"They are some pretty dark thoughts, Simon," said Arthur, "How come that was the first place your mind went?"

"That I do not really know Arthur. Sorry. Must be something to do with the disturbingly inappropriate T-shirt you're wearing right now. Carry on".

Arthur drank the last dregs of beer from his glass and shouted to the waiter for two more. The waiter brought them over but didn't look happy about it. "Voila monsieur" said the waiter slightly sarcastically.

"Well then young Simon, I'm not a sex mad serial killer, and I have no need to chop off your penis. And if I hid your bleeding and mutilated body in the boot of my hire car it would be a bugger to get the stains out. No, I will be famous because I have information. Information on something big, and it's only a matter of time before I figure out exactly what it is".

"How do you know it's big if you haven't figured it out?" asked Simon, taking another big gulp of his ale. He began to think that Arthur and Andy may be quite similar in the tall tales stakes.

"I'm halfway there. I know it's going to happen here in Belgium".

"That's a weird coincidence, I'm here because something big is happening in Belgium," said Simon, before clamping a hand over his own mouth. Why did I say that? he thought. But thankfully Arthur was now in full flow and hadn't heard him.

"I'm breaking a code you see. A code hidden in an old book that nobody but me has. I can't tell you what code, in case you steal it from me, but the code is going to guide me somewhere, and it'll blow your mind when I reveal what it is. It could hold the secret of the universe".

This bloke is an absolute nut job, thought Simon to himself. Considering the last couple of days that Simon had had this was a pretty big statement.

"I can't tell you too much more Simon, but you should remember the day you met me. You should remember the name Arthur Trimble". With that, Arthur stood up and put a triumphant arm in the air before promptly losing balance and knocking his beer over.

"Shit," he said.

"Look, that's a lot to take in Arthur. But now I have to go for a whizz. Be back in a minute. Why don't you get another round in while I'm in the bogs?" said Simon.

Simon wandered into the toilet, stood in front of a urinal, unzipped his fly and proceeded to start doing one of the longest wees he'd ever done. He was all alone in the toilet. "What a crazy old bastard he was. But at least he doesn't want to chop my knob off," he laughed, shaking his head at the preposterous things Arthur had told him. Not quite as preposterous as a talking toilet, but preposterous nonetheless.

"Do you think there's any truth in what he said?" said a voice. A voice which startled Simon, making him do a bit of a wee on his trousers.

"Dammit," said Simon looking at the wet patch before he turned to look at where the voice was coming from. It was God.

"What the hell are you doing here? What if people see you?!"

"I'm in a toilet. What are they going to say? Why is that toilet in some toilets?"

"But you're in the middle of the room. You're not plumbed in. It's weird. Plus, you are talking! I'm pretty sure that is going to freak anyone out".

"Pull yourself together Simon, we've not got long before you have to go back out there. He was banging on about breaking some code and revealing that something that could explain the secrets of the universe. And that it was all going to go down here in Belgium. Does that not seem like a massive coincidence to you?"

Simon thought about it.

"Hmmm. I suppose. It does seem a bit strange. Maybe I should go and quiz him a bit more, he's really drunk so I might be able to get the whole story out of him".

Just then Simon heard a movement in the cubicle behind him. The door opened and a man, very much worse for wear, appeared in the doorway. Simon jumped back to try and hide God, while stuffing his penis back in his pants. Some more wee splashed into his trousers and made the wet patch bigger.

The man regarded Simon for a minute, then held out an arm to steady himself against the door frame of the cubicle. "Who were you talking to?" he slurred.

"Oh, no one. Myself. Just myself," replied Simon, hopping from foot to foot and trying to make himself as wide and big as possible so that the man wouldn't look behind him and see the toilet. He just looked like he was doing a bizarre dance. The man lurched forward, pushing past Simon. Simon winced, and closed his eyes, convinced that any second now he'd hear the sound of the drunk man falling over God. The sound never came. Simon opened his eyes. God was gone and the man was staggering back out into the bar.

"You didn't wash your hands!" Simon shouted after him. Then he looked down at the wet patch on the crotch of his jeans. "I can't go out there like this," he said, and pushed his hips under the hand dryer to try and make himself look more acceptable. He hoped nobody else would come in and catch him doing it.

Arthur Trimble had got two more beers in and was raising the glass to his lips when he became aware of a figure next to him. It was a woman dressed in black with a black hood obscuring most of her face. She was the same woman he'd met earlier that afternoon, but she she spoke rather more urgently than she had done earlier in the day.

"You've said too much already Arthur Trimble. You must leave now".

"But, I've got a whole new beer to drink!" Arthur protested.

"Arthur Trimble, you are very drunk and in danger of giving all your secrets away to a stranger. We do not want the secrets to fall into anyone else's hands. You must break the code, you must succeed. You do not know this person and yet here you are telling him everything". The figure leant forward further to bring her head level with Arthur's. Arthur tried to focus his drunken gaze on her, but as he was now seeing double he wasn't sure which figure to look at so he gave up and tried to look at both. It hurt. The figure ignored this and continued.

"How would you feel if the Gospel According to Stan was stolen from you before you have had a chance to expose its secrets?" she hissed.

*****

Simon returned from the toilet to find that Arthur was missing from his seat. Empty beer bottles and glasses were scattered all over the table. Simon looked up from the table just in time to see Arthur's back disappear out of the front door.

"Hey, you old fucker! You didn't leave me any money for the bill!"

A waiter approached and looked sternly at Simon. He handed over a slip of paper with a number in written on it in Euros. The number was far higher than Simon had expected. He fumed silently and got his wallet out.

Chapter 28

Simon made his way back to the hotel, took the lift up to his room and collapsed on his back on his bed in the dark. He closed his eyes, but opened them again seconds later when he realised that all of the lights had come on in the room. Even the little ones in the wardrobe that people don't normally bother with. He groaned and closed his eyes again.

"Fuck off God!" he said.

"No way Simon. You've got to sober up a bit and we have got to talk".

"Can't it wait until the morning? I am in no fit state at the moment, and you certainly don't help with your appearing and disappearing acts".

"Did you really think I'd hang around and let that bloke see me in the toilets? While I'm stuck in this form I'm really going to need you to drive us to where we need to get to. I can't let anyone else find out what's going on just yet," said God. "Now, focus and tell me about that man you were talking to. He said he was going to break a code. What was he using to do that, what was the code?"

"I don't know. He didn't say. We just kept drinking and drinking. He seemed to think it was going to make him famous though".

"I don't like it, not one bit".

"I don't care. And I'm drunk enough to sleep with all the lights on. So turn them off or leave them on, it doesn't matter to me. Good night," said Simon.

"Oi!" said God, but he was answered with the sound of snoring.

*****

Two floors above where Simon was sleeping, Arthur Trimble was lying on the bathroom floor having thrown up in the toilet. He'd also managed to throw up in the bath, sink and shower, as well as down his "My Milkshake Brings All The Boys to the Yard" T-Shirt. He didn't care. He was actually laughing gently to himself. He had some guardian angels, all dressed in black, and watching out for his every move so he couldn't put a foot wrong! He couldn't fail!

*****

Five hours later Simon awoke with a splitting headache and a very nasty taste in his mouth, a taste that only the morning after a night drinking incredibly strong beers could bring. He lay flat on his back trying not to move, knowing that if God knew he was awake he'd make a big thing out of Simon's hangover.

Of course God knew Simon was awake. But he decided not to say anything just yet. He wanted Simon to work himself up into a panic about exactly when it was going to happen.

Simon sat up slowly, groaning. He looked around the room and tried to recall exactly the events of the previous evening. He couldn't see God. but he did remember telling God where to go when he told him he wanted a conversation while Simon had been blind drunk. He won't be happy about that, thought Simon. Then Simon remembered having to pay a massive bar bill. Why was that?

As quietly as he could, still afraid that God was going to bang on and on about him being drunk, Simon staggered to the shower and let the refreshing water wash down his body. He massaged some shampoo into his hair and rubbed it into his scalp. He began to sing, something Simon rarely did in the shower, or ever. Probably because he had a very, very tuneless voice.

"My Milkshake Brings ALL the Boys to the Yard..."

And that was when it it struck him: Arthur Trimble.

"Arthur Trimble, you fat beardy sex maniac serial killer bastard!" he shouted at the top of his voice. He'd forgotten all about God now, such was his rage at Arthur skipping out of the pub and leaving him to pick up the tab. "Arthur Trimble, before I leave Brussels I am going to find you and you are going to pay every single cent of that money back, you free loading fucker!"

A voice from just outside the shower cubicle startled Simon.

"Oh, so now you want to talk about Arthur Trimble do you?" said God. Simon jumped in the air with fright, and when he landed he covered his genitals up with his hands.

"Er...are you watching me in the nude yet again?" enquired Simon.

"Yeah, I'm watching you shower Simon. And even though you can't see it, I'm wanking like a Bonobo monkey. Ooh, work that soap. Work it right into every crevice," said God, knowing how uncomfortable this was going to make Simon feel. "If you don't start working it I'll use my powers to make you do a sexy shower dance for me".

"Look, please, I'm really sorry I didn't want to talk last night, I was very, very drunk. I had to sleep. And this man had just run away from the pub and left me to pay and I really didn't want to have to go through that again while pissed up. Can't you just stop...er..wanking like a chimp..."

"A Bonobo monkey," corrected God.

"Yes, a Bonobo monkey...and we can start again talking about Arthur Trimble?"

"I don't know about that," said God, "I'll have to have a think and see if I forgive you. After you've done your sexy shower dance".

"No, look, I'll do something else. Just name it," said Simon.

"OK then. Lick my toilet bowl" said God.

"Lick your what? No! I'm not doing that!"

"Well, why not? It's not like I'm a toilet that's actually in use is it? I'm nice and clean. Minty fresh. I'll gargle some toilet cleaner for you first if you want? Why won't you touch me? Do I disgust you?" replied God.

Simon weighed up his options. "All right, I'll lick your toilet bowl" he said sullenly.

God flounced out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, laughing "You would have really done it wouldn't you? You are so easy to wind up Simon".

*****

In another hotel room two floors up from where Simon was trying to think of a way to get back at God for all the tricks he'd been pulling on him, Arthur Trimble was similarly suffering from a shocking hangover. He had also been experiencing an erotic dream, and had been very upset to be woken by a loud banging noise. He turned over and tried to get back to sleep.

He'd been dreaming about the woman in the black clothes and black hood who had come to tell him off for nearly revealing too much to Simon in A La Morte Subite the previous evening.

In his dream she's stripped naked apart from the hood, still hiding her face from him. And she'd been even more stern with him than she had been in the pub. Arthur had enjoyed the dream very much.

There was a loud banging noise and Arthur realised it was someone beating insistently on his hotel room door. He pulled a bathrobe onto his naked body but didn't bother fastening it. He made his way slowly over to the door, his head throbbing. The thumping on the door began again. "Alright, I'm coming!" he said "Can you be a bit quieter? I'm really suffering here". Arthur flung the door open and was about to give whoever it was a piece of his mind when he saw the mysterious woman in the black clothes and black hood.

"Oh, it's you!" he said surprised. "I wasn't expecting company this morning".

"Evidently not" she said, noticing that Arthur's robe was gaping open revealing him in all his naked glory. "Put that thing away Arthur Trimble," she said, flicking him on the end of his widge.

"Ow! That really hurt!" said Arthur, flinching. A single tear fell from his right eye.

The woman ignored his anguish and pushed her way around him into the hotel room. Grimacing in pain, Arthur fastened the bathrobe and followed her in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked Arthur, limping slightly with the pain he was in. He hoped that he might sound suave but just sounded like a pervy old man. Which is exactly what he was.

"As you have been told Arthur Trimble, we are very keen that you complete your work, and we are striving to support you. This you have already seen. But that also means you cannot delay. You must sober up and begin work on cracking the code immediately".

"But I have so many questions for you," said Arthur. "Who is this "we" that you keep referring to? And who was the man you were with when I met you outside the British Embassy? And come to think of it, who are you exactly? And why are you taking such a keen interest in what I'm doing? And how did you find out about me and my work?"

"I realise there is much you want to know, but I cannot answer all your questions at this time. And none at all until you sober up," she replied.

She produced a small blue pill from someone under her black robe "Open wide Arthur Trimble," she said.

"Is that a Viagra pill?" asked Arthur, "Because if it is I have to tell you that I'm still in full working order down there and in no need of stimulants".

The woman ignored him and pushed the pill towards Arthur's face. It was only after she'd popped it into Arthur's mouth that he realised how trusting he'd been. _This woman could be here to kill me_ , thought Arthur suddenly. Then he felt his temperature rising and his face reddening. He was burning up! He found he had problems breathing and stumbled forward onto his knees. The pain in his stomach and back was intense. Arthur curled up in a ball and groaned and moaned loudly. _So I face death again_ , he thought to himself, _killed by being too bloody trusting_. He reached out his hands to try and grab hold of the mysterious woman but she took a step back out of his reach. Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe again all the pain left him as suddenly as it had appeared. Arthur touched his face and body to make sure he was still alive. He looked up at the woman and could see her mouth smiling from under her hood. Although to Arthur it looked more like a smirk

"To answer one of your questions, I have many names. But you may call me Badiya. Now, stand up Arthur Trimble," she said. Arthur braced himself, fully expecting his legs to hurt and for it to be a struggle to stand, but he got up easily. He felt unbelievably great. His hangover had completely disappeared. Arthur laughed and did a little skip on the spot. It made his robe fall open again. Arthur didn't care he started skipping and dancing around the room, his wrinkly old man willy bouncing around without a care in the world.

As he danced past Badiya, she flicked Arthur's widge again, harder this time "I told you to put that away".

"Owwwww!" moaned Arthur, although he secretly liked it.

"Now stop dancing, do your bathrobe up and sit down. I will tell you as much as I am able, although I cannot answer everything you have asked me".

Arthur sat down on the bed and gazed up at Badiya like an obedient puppy. He thought he might have fallen in love.

"There are many of us, Arthur Trimble. We work for a higher power, but no I cannot tell you what that is. You will have to trust me, just as you trusted me to give you that pill you just took. The man you also saw yesterday outside the embassy is just like me. Together we have been keeping a watchful eye on you because you need to break the code. If you do not then terrible, awful things could happen that would endanger everybody in the world. We do not want that to happen. If you break the code you will get your fame and fortune Arthur Trimble, but you will also know that you have saved mankind".

This was a bit much for Arthur. He liked the idea of being a saviour but it was a lot of pressure. And Arthur did not thrive so much under pressure. He began to shake slightly, but tried to hide it from Badiya. She sat down next to him on the bed and reached out a hand to gently stroke his face, and Arthur immediately felt soothed. He also felt aroused and hoped that Badiya wouldn't notice that either.

"How did you know about me?" he asked.

"We knew of the Gospel According to Stan, and we used all methods of investigation available to us to find who had it their possession. Then we watched, and were delighted to find you had already started work on breaking its code. We have many powers, but are not blessed to be able to understand how to crack it like you. That is why we have done what we can to keep you safe so far".

"I need to know who you work for! I need more!" exclaimed Arthur, but Badiya rose from the bed.

"No more questions today Arthur Trimble. I have already told you much. Now you must set to work. Worry not, we will be watching over you". She walked to the door. Arthur got up and raced after her.

"Are you sure you have to go?" he asked.

"Yes Arthur Trimble, yes I must. Our observations have shown you work much better when left alone".

Arthur nodded glumly in agreement.

"And Arthur Trimble, one more thing," said Badiya

"Yes?" said Arthur, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"Don't ever have dreams about me like the one you did last night again".

With that she turned swiftly as was gone, leaving Arthur feeling bemused, ashamed and confused about how she knew what his overactive imagination had presented him with while asleep.

Chapter 29

Simon was stood outside a dodgy looking garage on Rue de la Victoire. It looked deserted, with a big chain across the doors. Simon looked again at what he'd cut out of the newspaper. This was definitely the right address. Nervously he walked over to a smaller door next to the big garage ones and knocked meekly. No answer. He gave it about 10 seconds and started to walk away when a voice nearby said "Stop being such a pussy Simon and knock on that door again, louder this time".

"Will you stop just appearing without warning?" hissed Simon back at God, the Toilet stood in the middle of the street. "Now go away before somebody sees you".

Simon turned back to look at the garage and heard a faint popping sound. God was gone again, for the time being. He walked back over to the garage and knocked again, much louder this time.

The door swung open but there was no one there. Simon gulped and said "Hello? Bonjour?" into the dark space where the door had been. He took a step forward. Relieved that he still hadn't been physically assaulted for trespassing he took another step through the open door. He followed a passageway into the main garage. There it was - the big Cadillac that God had insisted he wanted Simon to buy to drive them both across Belgium. The bonnet was up and a big man mountain of a mechanic was bent over poking about at the engine.

Simon cleared his throat "Bonjour monsieur" he said.

The mechanic slowly backed away from the car and stood up straight. Simon felt like this fella was twice his height. One of his biceps was probably the width of both of Simons legs.

"Your French accent is awful," the mechanic replied, "And I'm a Flemish speaker anyway. So to make it easy for your pretty English head we'll stick to your language".

"Fine by me," said Simon, trying to do a smile that masked how nervous he was but just made him look demented instead.

"Is there something wrong with you?" asked the mechanic, "Are you not quite all there in the head? It makes no difference to me, because once you get out on the Belgian roads EVERYBODY is a lunatic, ha ha ha!"

Simon gulped again. The mechanic came over and put a massive hand on his shoulder.

"Try not to worry, you will be fine, I am sure of this. But only if you stop being such an nervous English pussy. Ha ha ha!"

"What is it with everybody calling me a pussy today?" whispered Simon "It's rude and sexist".

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing, don't worry. Maybe I am not quite all there in the head as you said. Now, shall we get down to business?" said Simon, pulling a wad of Euros from his pocket. The mechanic smiled the big smile of someone who knew that he was vastly over charging for what he was selling.

*****

20 minutes later the massive mechanic had unlocked the chain over the garage doors and Simon was tentatively driving the Cadillac out onto the streets of Brussels. He had put the top down and the light breeze ran through his hair.

"Wooo!" shouted Simon "I feel good!" This was despite only doing 20 mph down a street crowded with parked cars.

"Fuck yeah! I feel good too!" said God from the passenger seat.

Simon nearly swerved and hit one of the parked cars. The brakes squealed.

"I told you to stop doing that!" shouted Simon.

"When have I ever listened to you Simon?" said God.

"Fair point," said Simon, putting the car back into gear, "Let's get our stuff from the hotel and get this kick ass road trip going!"

"Kick ass?" said God "Who are you today Simon? Who are you?"

The Cadillac drove off at 18mph this time, the sound of the engine drowned out by the sound of sounds of laughter from both God and Simon.

*****

The sound of people humping was driving poor Arthur Trimble to distraction. The mysterious figures who were watching over him had booked him into a massive suite of the hotel, so he had lots of space to spread out his maps, notebooks and the Gospel According to Stan, yet nowhere in the room could he hide from the sound of two people in the very next room having a grand old time on their bed. At one point Arthur was sure the headboard was going to come crashing through his wall.

Arthur stuffed some cotton wool into his ears and turned up the television. It was only then that he remembered he still hadn't tried to phone Beatrice. She must be worried sick, he thought.

He tried their home phone number first, No answer. He tried again. Still no answer. He tried her mobile phone.

He was sure that he heard a phone ringing in the room next door, above the sounds of the grunting and groaning. He took some cotton wool out of his ear. He was right. "What a funny coincidence" he said to himself, smiling sadly.

In the room next door Beatrice continued her voyage of European sexual discovery, oblivious to her husband's presence in the Hotel.

*****

Two floors down, and well away from the noises emanating from Beatrice's room, Simon was stuffing his clothes and belongings into his bag. He was feeling excited, buoyed along by God's enthusiasm. He'd always wanted to go on a road trip, and although he'd always imagined it was going to be across America he decided that this would do as a practice run.

God was perusing the map again while Simon packed.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" asked Simon.

"Absolutely. In fact, I'll drive if you want?"

"But you haven't got any arms. And what will people say when they see a toilet driving a car?"

"Simon, you have no imagination. This is Belgium, everybody is eccentric here. No one will bat an eyelid. And I don't need arms to drive a car. No, you sit back in the passenger seat with a beer and relax. Everything will be fine".

"Hmmm. Well, OK. You've got me this far I suppose".

"I'm glad to see you getting over your trust issues," said God.

Simon finished packing and zipped up his suitcase. He looked around the room and felt a little sad, he really hadn't had much time to see anything of Brussels but was pretty sure he'd be back. Then he remembered Arthur Trimble and all the money that he'd had to spend settling the bar bill.

"Twat," said Simon.

"Eh?" asked God.

"Nothing, just thinking about that bloke who stitched me up with the bill in A La Morte Subite the other night. Wish I knew where he was right now so I could find him and get what I'm owed".

"Stop worrying about that, when we succeed you'll be well rewarded. I've decided that he's a nobody and a nothing. Another drunkard with big lies to make himself sound important. We'll probably never hear of him again. Come on Simon, let's go".

*****

The noise in the room next to Arthur had finally subsided and, he was working hard on making sure he would never be remembered as a nothing or a nobody. Arthur had a piece of cardboard that he'd cut different sized holes into, and was busy placing it onto the pages of the Gospel According to Stan and writing down the letters and numbers that were revealed into one of his notebooks. Then he planned to rearrange them into something meaningful that would tell him where in Belgium he had to go. Arthur sucked in his breath. This was going to take some time.

He decided he'd go to the shops and get some snacks in so he could work throughout the day.

*****

Simon retrieved the car from the garage underneath the hotel. He'd arranged to drive to the edge of Brussels and then let God take over, reasoning that there was less chance of a toilet driving a car being seen or taken seriously out in the countryside than it would be in the city. God had also agreed to stay hidden until they were outside the city limits too. The sun was out, the weather was warm and Simon had the top of the car down again.

Just as he was he was turning right onto Rue de la Montagne, Simon spotted Arthur Trimble walking down the road. "Oi you twat!" he Simon shouted, "You owe me money you sack of shit!"

Arthur heard him but pretended not to see. He picked up his pace as Simon slowed the car to drive alongside him.

"Listen to me Trimble! Stop walking. I'm going to get out of this car and kick you right in the balls. You don't know who you're messing with here". When Simon got angry his accent turned more Mancunian. People in the street were staring at the commotion and pointing. Arthur showed no sign of slowing down, so Simon prepared to drive up on the pavement behind Arthur when a car shot out of the road to his right. Simon slammed the breaks. "Fucking priorite a droite!" he shouted, punching the steering wheel. When he looked up again, Arthur was gone.

"Bollocks," said Simon.  
"Forget him and carry on," said God, appearing next to Simon.

In a nearby alleyway, Badiya was holding Arthur back out of sight. "You must be more careful Arthur Trimble," she said.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to get some drinks and snacks for while I work. I do feel a bit guilty, I probably should have given him the money, there was no reason not to. He looked like he was on his way out of town anyway".

"We are better erring on the side of caution, Arthur Trimble. There was a very strange aura to that car," said Badiya "Something very familiar".

"Can I get myself a bag of crisps and a drink now?" replied Arthur, ignoring her.

Chapter 30

It had not been a good couple of days for Franck. He wasn't feeling himself at all. He couldn't concentrate at work, the numbers were no longer shouting "Wee wee weeee" in his head, and he didn't feel any satisfaction tap, tap, tapping away at his keyboard on his spreadsheets at all. And, most strangely, he felt no compulsion to pray any more. Two days ago he had been expecting a great revelation, a confirmation that all he had been doing in his life was right and was leading up to a particular moment. But now, since he'd experienced the terrible hallucinations in his garden, he had just felt ill.

He'd also started hearing another voice in his head, one which wasn't the numbers that he usually heard. Today the voice had told Franck to ring in sick to work and so he had. The voice had also told him to sit in his kitchen eating dog food, but Franck had managed to ignore that one, but only because he had no dog food. This was because Franck did not own a dog, but he was now wondering what dog food actually tasted like. "Sometimes it looks appealing on the television commercials" Franck mused out loud to himself. Instead he ate a bowl of cornflakes and wondered what the voice would command him to do next on his day off.

It didn't take long to find out. An intense pain flashed through Franck's body and he fell off the chair and onto his knees on the kitchen floor.

"You must find a gun, Franck. You must find a gun and go to Brussels. And kill everybody you see," boomed the voice. Franck's eyes glowed red.

"Yes master" he replied.

*****

Simon was motoring the Cadillac down the A10 on the outskirts of Brussels when the engine cut out. Simon panicked, but the car slowed gently and came to a stop. God appeared, lying down in the back seat.

"My turn behind the wheel now Simon," he said, "I've had enough of your driving. You're way too careful to drive out here in Belgium. I want some seat of the pants danger stuff. So get in the passenger seat and I'll show you how it's done".

"Are you really sure about this?" replied Simon.

"Very sure. So scoot over".

Simon sighed and reluctantly moved over to the passenger seat.

"Can I at least control the tunes?" he asked.

"Not a chance Simon. You have awful taste in music"

"Do not".

"Do".

This continued for several minutes before Simon discovered he couldn't talk anymore. His mouth was clamped shut and he couldn't open it.

"Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm?"

"Didn't quite catch that Simon," said God, "Do you want to try saying that again?"

""Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmm!" tried Simon.

"Pardon? You really need to learn how to enunciate your words Simon. You're impossible to understand".

"I said what have you done you insane bastard!" shouted Simon, taken by surprise that he could open his mouth again.

"You're a real potty mouth, do you know that? And coming from a talking toilet that is really no compliment at all".

A mysterious force put the car into gear and it slowly drifted away from the curb and sped up.

"Let's go!" said God excitedly. Simon relaxed back into his chair, fairly confident that if they were going to drive in a country with notoriously bad driving he might as well let someone who had magic powers do all the work and keep them safe.

God put Hall & Oates on the stereo.

"What are you doing God? There is no way I'm listening to this rubbish!"

"It keeps me chilled while driving. Calm down. I promise not to sing".

Simon tutted and started sulking.

After half a mile Simon piped up again.

"Can I ask a question?" he said.

"Alright, as long as it's not a complicated theological one or anything like that. I hate those kind of questions".

Simon stayed silent. It had been a complicated theological question. He had a rethink.

"OK then, I'll ask a different question. One thing has been really bothering me. Why was I naked apart from my boxer shorts the night you first appeared to me?" asked Simon. "I wasn't like that when all the lights went out and I lost consciousness".

"Oh that. That was just for a laugh. Are you aware that one of your balls dangles significantly lower than the other one?" said God

"A laugh? You stripped me off and made my balls fall out of my fly for a laugh?"

"Yeah. Come on Simon, it is pretty funny. And I did tell you that I was exiled due to being a sex case, so it shouldn't really come as any surprise that your clothes were off should it?"

"I feel a bit sick," said Simon.

"That'll be the Hall & Oates. It can do that to people. I'll put some local radio on instead".

The Cadillac took an exit of the A10 onto the N9 as Simon tried to listen to the local radio. It was a news program in Dutch which didn't help him. He started fidgeting.

"You are a really bad passenger, did you know that?" said God. Simon reached over, and ignoring God's protests, flicked to another channel. Some awful French pop was playing. He flicked to another station. French language news. Another channel and he got some 60's Italian psychedelia.

"Leave that, I like it," said God.

Simon flicked again. Hall & Oates were back on the radio.

"Urgghhh" said Simon.

"Why are none of the radio shows stations playing Plastic Bertrand?" said Simon "I would have thought there would be a station that played him constantly 24 hours a day here in Belgium".

"Racist" said God.

The N9 became a road called Brusselsteenweg. "Are we there yet?" said Simon.

"How old are you Simon? Five? Next you'll be telling me that you need a wee wee," said God.

"Alright, let me rephrase that. You wouldn't tell me where we were going. I can live with that, but is the place nearby? And - a very important question this - what do we do when we get there?".

"Well, Simon, I'm pleased to say that in about 15 minutes we'll be where I need to go. And when we get there it'll be really obvious what we have to do, believe me".

"Will I get to meet the One True Believer? Will you cry? Will I get to see what you really look like?" said Simon, bouncing up and down on the passenger seat like an excited child.

"Please will you calm down? I'm not answering any of your questions yet".

"What will happen to me? Will you dump me as soon as you meet him or her? I might cry," said Simon. And he genuinely believed it. He had been hoping that the adventure would last a little bit longer than a half an hour drive from Brussels to wherever it was they were going.

"Just shut up and enjoy the view," said God as they passed a sign for somewhere called Walfergem as they carried on up the N9.

*****

Franck had dressed in his usual white shirt, brown trousers and brown loafers combination, but had rebelliously left his tie off. He found that he didn't feel as awkward as he would normally do leaving his house without it on. This was a revelation to Franck. He carefully closed and locked the front door behind him and picked up a small case in which he'd packed a spare shirt and trousers and underwear, and also his little wooden box stuffed full of pieces of paper. And then he walked off in the direction of the nearest train station, whistling a jaunty tune.

Chapter 31

The big open top Cadillac carrying God and Simon motored swiftly through the Belgian countryside. God could tell that Simon was itching to ask him a question but couldn't quite muster up the courage. At last he said "What is it you want to say Simon?"

Simon fidgeted a bit more and finally said "God, I want to ask you about Soddam & Gomarroh".

God chuckled, in a way that made Simon think that he was recalling something pretty disgusting. "What do you want to know Simon?" he said.

"Well, why did you destroy those cities with fire and brimstone? Weren't they full of people having a fine old sexual time? Surely those places were right up your extremely rude street?"

"Bored. I was bored," said God.

Simon was aghast. "Bored? But all those innocent people died! And then Lot went and had it off with his own daughters in a dark cave in the middle of nowhere after you turned his wife into a pillar of salt!"

God guffawed loudly. "No he didn't. I took over his body for that bit, and lots of fun I had too. As Lot himself said when he offered his daughters to the men of the town before I destroyed it: 'they have not known men'".

"You are truly depraved," said Simon, folding his arms and frowning.

"Damn right I am," said God.

The car moved onto a road that was no longer countryside, and pulled up to the outskirts of a town next to a train station.

"Well this is very pretty. What are we doing here? Are we meeting the One True Believer off a train?" asked Simon.

"Not exactly. Come on and get out of the car, we've just got to go around the corner a little bit".

"I'm pretty sure that where we're stopped is a place only buses can be parked" said Simon, worried and frowning.

"It's OK, we won't be long, I promise".

Simon got out of the car and God hopped over the door and landed on the pavement next to him.

"Don't worry if anyone says anything, you won't understand them. And if anyone does say anything in English pretend not to understand that either".

"I don't think it'll be a problem. It looks like there's no one around. What a sleepy countryside town. What is the is place called?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough Simon," said God.

"Why is there an 'Exotic Safari Shop' here?" asked Simon as they crossed the road away from the station.

"It's just a convenience shop. I don't know why it's called that. This is Belgium, you should know by now that everything is mad here". God sounded impatient, like he was looking for something very important. Simon supposed that this must be an effect of being so close to the One True Believer.

"Maybe we drove past it without me seeing?" said God out loud and he began to make his way back along the road they'd driven into the town. Simon trotted along behind him, struggling to keep up. A group of old people emerged from a shop and pointed at God.

"He's my new remote controlled robot, I'm just making sure he works" said Simon, stumbling past them. He didn't sound very convincing.

They crossed over some railway tracks on the other side of a roundabout and God stopped.

"We're here Simon. This is what I needed to see".

Simon stopped in his tracks and looked around for a person. There was no one in sight. Simon waited a few seconds and then asked "Well, where is he or she?"

"Not he or she Simon. No, we're here for something different. God started moving down the road slightly and Simon followed him. God turned around to look at the front of a road sign they had walked past.

"This is it Simon, this is the name of the town and the reason I needed to come here".

In big letters the sign declared "ASSE".

Simon gave Gods toilet bowl a hard kick. It hurt his foot and he winced, but he tried to hide his pain from God by walking off and sitting on the grass embankment at the side of the road.

"Don't be like that Simon," said God. "Come on, get up and take a photograph of me under the sign. Better yet, set a timer going and we can both have a picture".

Simon looked up at the sign again. "ASSE". He started smirking. _I should be relieved_ , he thought to himself, _it was only a few minutes ago that I was feeling disappointed that this might all be over_. He fished his phone out of his pocket and set the timer, and used a nearby rock to prop it up. He ran over to the sign and put his arm around God and beamed for the camera. And then he started laughing uncontrollably.

"You really are fucking unbelievable!" he said to God "All this time you've been telling me how important that it is that you get to meet the One True Believer, and yet you can still find time to come to a place called Asse".

"Who wouldn't want to come here and have a good laugh at this sign?" said God. "Of course the people who live here don't pronounce it Ass like you do but Assa, and probably don't find it so funny but that doesn't stop it being hilarious to us does it?"

"I suppose not. Anyway, what next? Did you actually have any idea where we were going at all?"

"Look, I'm getting signals, I know that very soon I'm going to know where exactly we have to go, but when I saw Asse on the map back in the Hotel I knew we had to come here. And I also knew that if I told then you, you wouldn't have been up for it".

"I might!"

"No, you wouldn't. You might think you've loosened up a bit, but you really haven't yet".

Simon sighed. God was probably right. He'd have to work on his relaxation techniques.

"Let's go back to the car and drive out into the field for a bit. I can have a proper think out there" said God.

"Alright, but if you're still driving I'm going to get some beers from that Exotic Safari Shop back up the road".

*****

Half an hour later, Simon and God lay on their backs in a field half way between Asse and a town called Dendermonde. Simon felt more alive than he had in years, although he had already downed two bottles of beer and was starting on his third. The pair of them looked up into the blue sky and watched birds circle and dive.

God broke the silence: "Your old boss Veronica. Did you ever think about tapping that?"

"What? Veronica? No!" said Simon "She would have eaten me for breakfast. Literally".

"I totally would," said God. "It's such a pity that she'll be off to Bolivia soon to meet that farmer. His cock is massive. She'll be ruined for any other man".

Simon spluttered on his beer and spilled some down the front of his shirt.

"What a waste of alcohol," said God "Pour it down me if you don't want it".

"The stuff about Veronica and the Bolivian farmer? That was all true? Andy actually had it right?"

"Yeah, it was true. She did have a sick dog as well, but she was more concerned about getting it on online with the farmer fella. Hector I believe his name is. He's a damn good potato farmer even though him and his mates haven't got enough chemical fertiliser to go around. Plus he has the previously mentioned massive cock. I did mention the massive cock didn't I?"

Simon nodded, open mouthed and wide eyed, and God carried on talking.

"The plane tickets are all booked, she was just hoping her dog would have kicked the bucket before she ran off on her husband".

"So why didn't she give in to me blackmailing her?"

"Who would ever believe you? All she had to tell people was that she was worried about the dog. That wasn't a lie".

"Well I am stunned," said Simon. "I'm also stunned that Andy actually said something that was true".

"Well, by the way, that is about the only thing your mate Andy has ever been right about. Everything else he says is complete bollocks. Those Russian triplets he lives with? A poster on his bedsit wall. A very mucky poster. He's had it laminated too so he can wipe it clean when he, er... y'know, was relaxing in the gentleman's fashion. That's why he knew exactly where the laminator was when he smuggled you back into work. I mean, come on, what kind of person really knows where a laminator can be found?"

Simon considered this, realised he couldn't deny that and let God go on.

"And I'll tell you something else, people knew you spent half the working day in the toilets. They just thought you had some kind of bowel problem but let you off with it because when you were at your desk you did more hard work than Andy did all day. The cleaner was tasked with waiting for you to leave so he could go in and spray the place from top to bottom with air freshener"

"But I wasn't actually doing any poo in there, I was just hiding from doing any work!" exclaimed Simon.

"Yeah, but they didn't know that, did they? It was psychosomatic They thought you were so they smelt it."

"How do you know all this anyway?" asked Simon.

"There are some advantages to being God" said God.

*****

Back in an expensive hotel room in Brussels, Arthur Trimble now had a notebook full of scribbled words he had taken from the Gospel According to Stan. He absent-mindedly stuffed some crisps into his mouth with one hand and scratched his head with the other. These were going to take some organisation.

*****

In the deserted toilets of a train station somewhere in Belgium, Franck lay curled up in a ball on the floor of a cubicle, moaning with pain. He had decided that although he had enjoyed the suggestion made by the voices in his head not to wear a tie, he had no so much enjoyed the suggestion that he go and buy a gun and shoot up a bunch of innocent people.

Franck was struggling to understand where all this rage was coming from. He was a good person normally.

"You are not a good person anymore Franck," said the voices. It was definitely voices plural now, there seemed to be so many of them speaking at once yet all saying the same thing. "Now go and buy a gun and get to Brussels!"

"Noooo!" moaned Franck "Who are you an what do you want from me?"

"We are what you have been waiting for all your life Franck. Why do you not believe us? Why do you not want to serve us like you always promised you would? To do our every bidding?"

"This is wrong. This is not how it should be at all. I know what I have to do".

"You have to do what we tell you to do Franck. Get yourself to Brussels at once".

"Alright, alright, I'll do it" he replied.

Summoning all his strength, Franck pulled himself to his feet and unlocked the cubicle. He made his way to the train station ticket office and promptly bought a ticket for a train going in the opposite direction to Brussels.

*****

Arthur furrowed his brow as he scribbled into yet another notebook, trying to put the words from the first one into a sensible order.

"This won't do at all. I'm going to have to write on something bigger. Maybe I can go to an art shop and get some massive pieces of paper or..." he stopped and looked around the room, "...Maybe I could just get a marker pen and use these walls..."

Chapter 32

In a field somewhere between Asse and Dendermonde, Simon woke up and rubbed his eyes. The sky had changed colour, darkened slightly even though it was still warm, and it looked to be early evening. Simon supposed that he must have fallen asleep for at least four or five hours. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked God. There was no answer, so Simon turned over. There was no God to be seen. He looked over to the road, and there was no Cadillac there either.

"Oh, that's about right, abandon me here you fucker!" he said loudly. Still no answer.

Simon didn't really know what to do. In the absence of any better plan he decided that he could walk into town and find a bus that would take him back to Brussels. He trudged towards the main road. A huge truck thundered past full of horses. One of the horses looked over the back gate of the truck as it sped into the distance and regarded Simon with big, sad eyes. Simon flicked the Vs at it. He didn't like horses much, although it was probably an overreaction to do a rude gesture at one.

Simon followed the road and came across some houses and a sign which pointed the way to Dendermonde. It didn't give any indication of how far that would be, which Simon found to not be very useful to him in his current situation. That was when he saw the Cadillac, parked in the driveway of a house a bit further up the road, near a sign for a windmill. As he got closer he realised there was an attractive woman bending over the driver side door talking away to God. She was smiling and running her fingers through her hair and showing God a not insubstantial amount of cleavage. Simon was horrified. He hurried down the road towards the car.

"What's going on here?" he asked. God and the woman both turned to look at him. Simon realised he was all red in the face from hurrying down the road and had bits of twigs and grass stuck to him thanks to his little nap in the field. Once again Simon appearance suggested he might be a bit demented.

"Who's this mad man?" asked the woman.

"Don't worry about him. He's just jealous. He wants me for himself," said God.

"Well he can just go away for a while and leave us alone for a while longer can't he? You should come inside my house," said the woman to God, running her fingers through her hair and winking.

"Get in the passenger side, I'm driving," shouted Simon at God.

"You're still drunk, I'll do it," said God. He turned to the woman "Look, I've got to go now and get this man somewhere where he can calm down and sober up. But I'll be back for you, I promise".

The woman leaned over and kissed God right on the toilet bowl. Simon was aghast.

God put the car into reverse and backed slowly out of the driveway and onto the road. The woman blew as kiss to God as they drove off.

"See you soon handsome!" she called after them.

"What was that all about? Why on earth was she talking all flirtily to a toilet? And kissing you? What kind of pervert is she?" demanded Simon.

"She didn't see me as a toilet, Simon. I must be getting close to the One true Believer, I could appear to her in a different form. She saw me as the man of her dreams. But it's just as well you came along when you did, I couldn't hold it for very long. And if she'd touched me longer than she did with her lips she would have seen me as you do".

Simon crossed his arms and didn't speak for a few minutes. Then he opened his mouth to say something but God cut him off.

"You're going to moan about being left in the field aren't you? Well I'm not going to listen. We need to go and find somewhere to stay for the night and work out our next move".

Simon spluttered and waved his arms abound for a bit before giving in and agreeing.

They drove on for a while passing through Dendermonde and further North through a place called Zele until they came to a road called the E17. God eased the car onto the westbound lane.

"This should take us to Ghent, which is as good a place as any to stay tonight" said God.

"Ghent? But that doesn't have a rude name. Are you sure we're not going to a place called Willy or Balls or Bum now?"

"No need For sarcasm. Actually, there is Belgian mathematician called Jaques Tits who I'd love to meet, but he lives in France now".

"Jaque Tits? Are you kidding me?" said Simon.

"It's completely true. He was born in Brussels and has won awards and everything. Even had some stuff named after him".

"Like what?" asked Simon, very intrigued about this Jaques Tits character.

"Well, the Tits Group for one thing. It's a group of numbers".

Simon snickered like a schoolboy. "The Tits Group? TITS Group?!" he laughed. He laughed until he had tears running down his eyes before he asked "What else?"

"Tits Buildings," said God "Some kind of geometric structures. I won't try and explain them to you".

"Let me guess, they're shaped like Boobies? Like great big, wobbly boobies?" inquired Simon.

"Don't be stupid" said God "Why would they be shaped like boobies? They also describe simple algebraic groups. I don't like the way you are trying to belittle the achievements of this mathematical genius. I told you he won awards and everything. He's an old man now, don't be so cruel. You are really bad sometimes do you know that?"

"Sorry," said Simon in a small voice looking down at the floor of the car "I was being silly".

"That's OK Simon," said God cheerily, "I care not for his achievements. I just like his hilarious name".

They were both silent for a while before Simon had another giggling fit over the name "Jacques Tits". Then he was suddenly serious.

"God, how long does it take to get to Ghent?" asked Simon.

"About another 20 minutes, all being well".

"Can I ask you about hell? And the devil and things like that?"

God was silent for a long time. He seemed to slow the car down somewhat and Simon watched others race past them in the outside lane. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

"There are certain things which are too big for your brain to comprehend Simon. You've done so well to accept that you're in a car being driven through Belgium by a talking toilet that says he's God. Any more than that might drive you absolutely insane".

"But I was always brought up my my mother to fear hell. That if I did anything bad that's where I would end up, an eternal sinner burning in the flames. Most likely with a red hot poker shoved up where the sun don't shine".

"Sounds like fun," said God, laughing. "Sometimes I think you forget you're talking to a sex addict Simon. What I will tell you is this: there are a lot of evil things out there Simon, or at least what would appear to be evil to you humans. But out where I live, which isn't called Heaven before you ask, there are many things that happen which you just can't understand. Lots of beings who would seek to do things for amusement which you wouldn't like but are considered normal. And I'm not saying anything else".

Simon opened his mouth to speak again but God, as he was becoming irritatingly good at, cut him off.

"And no, I don't sit on a big fluffy cloud surrounded by naked babies playing lutes. And I don't have a huge white beard. Now watch the countryside go by for a while in silence, I need to focus".

*****

In the big expensive hotel over the road from the central station in Brussels, Arthur Trimble had a sweat on. He was busy writing over one of the walls in his suite in a big black marker pen. He had his shirt off and his man boobs swayed as he ran around the room, writing here and there, seemingly at random. Every so often he would refer to his notebook and mumble quietly to himself. It really did look like Arthur had gone completely bat shit crazy.

He stood back and admired what he'd written for a minute. Then he picked up a red marker pen from the floor, exposing a good couple of inches of bum crack peeping over his trousers as he bent over. He circled a few words, then ran over to a blank wall and wrote them in order with the black marker pen in capital letters:

FIND SOME LOCOMOTION TO THE COAST

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Arthur, "I must decode the rest". He picked up the red marker pen and started circling more words.

*****

A Belgian Intercity train pulled into Ghent Saint Peter's station. Franck pushed through the crowd of people trying to get on as he was trying to get off. He lifted his small case containing his spare clothes over his head with one hand and shoved people out of the way with the other. He wouldn't normally do this kind of thing, but he decided that today he had mitigating circumstances, what with the strange voices in his head and everything.

And more importantly, he had but five minutes to get from platform 14 where his train had arrived, and over to platform 4 where his connecting train was going to leave. Well, more like 4 minutes and 30 seconds as the doors would close half a minute before the train was due to depart. Signs on the wall of the station made that fact very clear. He had to be on that train. Franck gritted his teeth and ran down the platform towards the stairs at the end that would take him to the bridge connecting all the platforms.

"Where are you going?! This is not the right way to get to Brussels! And you haven't even made any arrangements to get your hands on a gun yet. You are completely useless!" shouted the voices in his head but he ignored them. He leapt over a bag that had been left lying on the platform floor and sprinted up the steps. He could see platform 4 from where he was, and he saw the train conductor put his whistle to his lips. Franck tried to speed up but could feel that the voices in his head were somehow making his body slow down. Franck tried to force his legs to respond, pushing against the pain barrier. He grabbed the railing that lay along the top of the bridge and dragged himself along with his arms, trying to make sure his feet kept up with him. He pulled himself to the top of the steps of platform 4. The doors were about to close.

"I have to be on that train" he said defiantly. Franck closed his eyes and threw himself down the stairs, bouncing off steps on the way and landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. His suitcase landed next to him and opened as it hit the ground, throwing his spare clothes on the platform. His box of prayers fell out too, scattering pieces of paper everywhere. People gasped and pointed, and a couple ran to his aid. Franck dragged himself into a sitting position, and looked in desperation as the train was pulling away. It would be another hour until the next connecting train.

"Must stay strong," mumbled Franck as some people helped him to his feet.

"Ahahaha, you should give up now and go to Brussels. Come on Franck. You want to feel a gun in your hands don't you? A semi automatic rifle perhaps? You want to know how it would feel to shoot innocent people, to watch their blood wash over the streets. The media circus will make you a star".

The train halted again. A door at the front opened and the driver jumped down and raced towards Franck.

"I saw what happened! Are you OK? If you're that desperate to get on this train then I'm going to help you on myself". He picked up the scattered clothes and stuffed them into the suitcase and then put an arm around Franck. Another person gathered up Frank's pieces of paper and stuffed them into the box. They looked at a couple of the notes and gave Franck a quizzical look but said nothing. The train driver and one of the other people who'd rushed to help almost carried Franck onto the train. He was very grateful and thanked them profusely.

"Balls!" shouted the voices in Franck's head.

Chapter 33

The big open top Cadillac carrying Simon and God neared Ghent.

"Why did you make Jonah get swallowed by a whale? And how did he stay alive inside it?" Simon blurted out.

God sighed. "Well, I told him to go somewhere and then he disregarded that and ran off in the opposite direction to swan around on a boat with a bunch of sailors, didn't he? Fool. Thinking he could just ignore doing what I wanted him to do".

"But why didn't you just let him sink or swim when they threw him in the sea?"

"I didn't want him to die really. He was actually a good laugh. A total pervert, so I really liked him. He used to get off on the idea of doing it with a big fish, so I thought that him being swallowed by a whale would be pretty ironic. He just sat about in its belly for three days feeling sorry for himself and worrying about whether he would get out alive. Then the whale spewed him up on a beach. That was pretty funny, seeing him all bedraggled and dripping with whale juice".

They turned off the E17 onto another road. A sign caught Simon's eye. "Is this road really called Dwight Eisenhowerlaan?" he asked.

"That's right, Dwight David "Ike" Eisenhower", the thirty fourth president of the United States of America. I'd like to think that old Dwight would have known who the mighty Jaques Tits was, but he probably didn't. We're very close to Ghent now, we've just got to follow this road around, then we'll see some pretty canals when we get closer. Then we can sort a hotel and some hookers out for the night".

"Hookers?" spluttered Simon.

"Did I say hookers? I meant food and drink. Easy mistake to make".

At that very same minute, Franck was disembarking the train at Ghent and trying to get to his connection. The Cadillac braked suddenly, and the car behind nearly ran into them. The driver drove around shouting insults and waving a fist at Simon and completely ignoring the toilet in the driving seat. The insults may well have been in Dutch but Simon understood exactly what the driver was getting at.

"What's going on God? Are you OK?" asked Simon.

"The One True Believer. I just got a very strong flash that he or she is very nearby. I think it's a man. That pubic hair looked more like a man pube that a lady pube. I was taken by surprise. wasn't expecting to feel him so close yet".

God started the engine and put the car in gear again and they set off following Dwight Eisenhowerlaan into Ghent.

"I think you're going a little fast," said Simon. "Slow down. I do not want to have to explain to the police why a toilet is driving this car when we get pulled over for speeding".

The brakes screeched again and the car came to a halt.

"What the hell is it this time!" screamed Simon. "You nearly gave me whiplash. I'll sue".

"You'll sue? I'd love to see your lawyers take that case on," whispered God quietly. Simon could tell that yet again there was something wrong. This time he didn't press it, he assumed God would tell him when the time was right. They sat in silence for minutes. A gentle breeze blew through Simon's hair and the birds still sang. At last God spoke "He's gone. He was here but he's gone. Not far, but moving further away every second. This really is very odd".

"Can we catch him?" asked Simon.

"I'm not sure I know which direction he's heading in. Let's go back to the plan of finding some place to stay in Ghent. I'm so close to knowing exactly where to go, so frustratingly close".

They followed Dwight Eisenhowerlaan as far as they could before they took a left turn.

"That road up there is John Kennedylaan" said God.

"Seriously? What's it with people in Ghent and their need to have roads named after American presidents? Is there a James Polk Road? That's a funny name. Polk. Polk, polk, polk" said Simon.

God didn't answer. He appeared to be deep in thought. Well, as much as a toilet can look deep in thought. Simon didn't push it. They completed the rest of the journey mostly in silence until they came to the city centre.

"This is pretty," said Simon looking out over the canals that ran through Ghent. "It reminds me of a small Amsterdam".

"It's more like Bruges but with people who stay around after 5pm after all the day trippers have buggered off back on their coaches" replied God.

They drove along Kraanlei next to a particularly nice canal. Simon earmarked some bars for later. There was no way he was going to spend the evening sober.

"Look for signs for St Baafskathedraal," said God, "There's a cheap hotel over the road from it that we can stay at".

"How do you know all this?"

"My powers are quickly coming back now Simon. I'm able to know things but right at this moment I have no way to actually know how I know them!"

"And I suppose I'll just have to accept that as an act of faith will I?" said Simon.

"Damn straight".

They crossed another bridge and saw 6 men sat at what looked like a strange red pub bar with wheels. They were cycling themselves around the city while helping themselves to beer.

"I must have a go on that," said Simon, wide eyed.  
"All in good time, we're nearly at the hotel so you'll have to go and check in. I'm going to make myself invisible for a while".

"Don't do that before you stop the..." shouted Simon, but it was too late, God was gone from the drivers seat and the car, although slowing down, crashed into a bollard and came to a halt. Once again on his trip to Belgium Simon was pointed at by a bunch of tourists who took photographs of the idiot Englishman.

He buried his head in his hands and hoped the ground would swallow him up.

*****

Franck sat on the train that had left Ghent St Peters station and watched the countryside fly past. A young mother and her four year old daughter sat on the opposite side of the table to Franck, reading through a children's book. The daughter laughed away happily, pointing at the pictures.

"She loves this one," said the mother glancing up at Franck. He forced a smile in return, not because he didn't like children but because the voices in his head were suggesting all kinds of awful things and Franck was doing his best to try and repel them. Undeterred, the mother carried on talking. "It's one of her favourites. Do you have children? You should buy this if you do".

Franck tried to reply but no words would come from his mouth.

"You should kill them both," said the voices in his head. "You should reach over now and grab the daughter by her throat and throttle her in front of her mother. Then throw her lifeless body from the train before finding something sharp to kill the mother".

"Shut up! Just shut up!" shouted Franck.

The mother and daughter looked up at Franck. The mother began to look worried. Very worried indeed, especially when she saw that Franck's eyes were glowing red. Franck noticed the way that she was looking at him and began to panic. He opened his mouth to tell her that everything would be alright but a red glow came from deep inside his throat too and instead of words he rasped and croaked. It was an evil sound. The young girl threw her arms around her mother and began to cry as Franck clamped his hands over his mouth.

"What are you?" gasped the mother, wide eyed and scared.

Franck tried to indicate to her with his eyes that he needed help but they burned redder than ever before. He knew he had to get away, so he leapt to his feet and ran off down the aisle of the train in the direction of the toilets. The first set he came across were occupied. He cursed under his breath and ran through the next carriage. People looked up at him in horror as he hurried past but he ignored them. At last he came across some that weren't in use and he pulled the door open violently and threw himself inside. Franck slumped against the toilet door, tears running down his eyes, "No no no" he cried, his normal voice returning at last.

"Yes, yes, yes" said the voices "join us, joooooin usssss..."

Franck squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could. He had made a decision. He knew what he had to do to fix this.

*****

Arthur Trimble had put the "Do not disturb" sign on his hotel door the previous evening and had still not taken it off. There was no way he could let the maid in to his room to see what he'd done all over the walls. He didn't really have a plan as to what he was going to do to clean it all up, but he was hoping that he might be able to get some help from Badiya and her other black robed friend. Or at the very least they'd pay the cleaning bill as well as the bill for staying in this hotel that they were already taking care of.

He stood back again to admire his handywork. The thought crossed his mind that because he was so obviously going to become rich and world famous that the hotel might want to keep the walls as they were now, and charge people to come look at the room where Arthur Trimble broke the last remaining code of the Gospel According to Stan. People might want to make love on the very bed where Arthur had had dirty dreams about Badiya. Arthur felt funny in his tummy. It was a mixture of nervous butterflies and intense arousal.

Arthur read the words out loud that he had circled in red pen and written again in order another wall:

FIND SOME LOCOMOTION TO THE COAST

PUT A STOP TO THE BATTLES OF HOLY GHOSTS

THE ONE FROM PURGATORY AND HIS FRIEND

ON THE PIER THEY'LL FIND THEIR END.

He stood staring at it in silence, his breathing heavy. Then he marched to the wardrobe and pulled a Belgian guide book from his luggage. He flicked to the section about the Flemish coast and stabbed a sausage like index finger down on to one of the maps. Then he whooped loudly and punched the air.

"Blanckenberge! It must be!" exclaimed Arthur. "It's the only Belgian coastal town with a pier. I must find out how to get there at once!" For some reason he was now feeling even more aroused. That was until he heard the couple on the room next door going at it again, even louder then they had on the previous days that Arthur had been in the hotel. He clasped his hands over his ears but the sound penetrated his fingers and bounced around in his mind. It made him think of Beatrice and he felt a slight pang of guilt for still not having managed to contact his wife. _I did leave her a long note and she's well able to contact me if she wants to_ , thought Arthur. The banging of the headboard of the bed in the room next door took on a hypnotic, rhythmic quality. It burned its way into Arthur's mind and he found himself growing angrier, guiltier and hornier by the second.

"I must put a stop to this right now!" he exclaimed loudly. He pulled on a T-shirt (this one had the words "Look like Barbie, Smoke like Marley" written on it. Arthur couldn't remember where he'd got it from and it seemed to be two sizes too small so his fat, hairy belly hung out. It was not an appealing sight. Not at all.

He stomped out of his room into the hallway and banged on the next room's door, but the noise of humping seemed to get even louder. Arthur beat on the door with both fists and shouted "Open up! Open up at once! I'm trying to do some very, very important work in the next room and you are distracting me. No, more than that, you are preventing history from being made. Open up this instance!"

The noise lulled, and Arthur heard the bed springs squeak and the sound of someone tumbling to the floor. There was a scrabbling noise and a man's voice cursing quietly. Then Arthur heard the door chain being applied and the lock opening. The door opened as far as the chain would allow and a face looked back. It was a woman wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair all over the place, her lipstick smudged and looking very unhappy about having her passionate and noisy intimate moment interrupted. But not only that, she was very, very familiar to Arthur.

"Beatrice? But how? What the devil is going on here?" said Arthur.

"Arthur?" she said "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here!" She tried to close the door but Arthur put his foot in the way and pushed back against it with all his strength. The door chain held firm, but Arthur looked around Beatrice's head and saw a muscular man lying on the bed, completely naked apart from a black hood covering his face.

"Oh" said Arthur. Then he sat on the floor of the hotel corridor and began to cry.

*****

At 6.54 pm the train from Ghent Saint Peters that was carrying Franck, still ensconced in the toilets, arrived at the municipality of Knokke Heist, near the Belgian coast of the North Sea. It was the last stop on the journey and close to the border with the Netherlands. People piled off the train onto the platform of the tiny station. So tiny that the passengers didn't even need to go through a station terminal building to get out onto the street, although there was one there. They simply walked around it and away onto waiting buses or taxis.

Feeling that the train had reached its destination, Franck pulled himself to his feet. He quickly rushed back to where his seat had been. Thankfully everybody had got off, including the mother and child he'd scared earlier. He wished he could find them to tell them that he wasn't really evil, that he was merely feeling ill, but he was sure they wouldn't believe him. He was also not convinced that the voices in his head, although quiet for the moment, wouldn't reappear and make him emit horrible, rasping sounds from his mouth again. He couldn't have the police come and take him away and lock him up. He was sure that the voices were only going to get louder and more insistent, and he had to take care of them his own way.

He grabbed his small suitcase from the luggage rack and disembarked the train, taking in a deep breath. He could smell the sea and hear the seagulls swooping and crowing. He'd always liked the seaside, and he thought about the trips he'd been taken on when he was a child, his mother and father driving him to the affluent Belgian coastal town of De Haan, where they'd sit on the beach and make sandcastles. It was always such a happy time. Franck hadn't spoken to his parents for many years, not since he'd started to devote his life to keeping his prayers in his little box. He wondered what they were doing now, and made a mental note to speak to them very, very soon. He would have to before it was too late.

Franck dodged the traffic as he walked across the road from the station and up Lippenslaan where he found the hotel he was looking for - the Prins Boudewijn. His parents had also brought him here when he was a child and Franck was pleased to see it was still there. The receptionist beamed brightly at Franck as he entered, and he hoped he would be able to talk without his eyes glowing. He managed to book a room for the night without any problems and trudged up the stairs. Once inside his room he collapsed on his back on the bed with a big sigh.

He listened for the voices. Nothing. _Surely it couldn't be that easy, to block them out by sheer willpower alone_ , thought Franck. His question was answered moments later with another searing pain in his head. It felt like something was trying to burrow its way into his brain and eat him from the inside.

"Oh dear Franck. You're good. You're very good. You have such a conviction in your beliefs that you are resisting us well and keeping us quiet. But the longer this goes on the stronger we will get Franck. And you WILL do our bidding eventually whether you like it or not. People have to die, and it will be by your hand".

The pain left Franck's brain and he screwed his eyes up tight. When the voices didn't return for a few minutes he pulled the curtains in the room, made sure all the lights were out. He lay back on the bed again and fell into a fitful, nightmarish sleep.

Chapter 34

Arthur was sat on the bed in Beatrice's hotel bedroom. There had been a lot for him to come to terms with since he had banged on the door, and he wasn't taking any of it at all well. The feelings of triumph, nervousness and arousal had most definitely faded, to be replaced by a deep misery.

The man in the black hood had at least got dressed now, which was a huge relief to Arthur. He'd made Arthur feel very under endowed indeed.

"So, let me go over this again. You had walked out on me before I even got to Belgium? And you didn't read my note?" he asked.

"Yes dear. I decided to go on a voyage of sexual discovery. You were always in that bloody shed and I got fed up. I'm a very desirable woman Arthur, and you weren't giving me what I needed".

"But how did you get all mixed up with him?" he said, pointing at the black robed figure.

"He has a name and it's Bahir. Try and be civil Arthur".

"You lot are certainly big on names beginning with 'B' aren't you?" said Arthur glumly to Bahir. Bahir folded his arms and chose not to answer.

"I didn't come here with Bahir though" said Beatrice. I er...met...some other men first. Quite a few in fact. It was wonderful. But when I got here I ran into Bahir. There was something intriguing about his refusal to remove his hood. I find it very sexy. And he seemed to already know so much about both you and I. He convinced me that it would be a good idea to stay in this hotel. He's even taking care of the bill for me".

"I don't understand," said Arthur jumping to his feet and pacing up and down in the room. "Tell me why Bahir? Why have you done this? I know why you and your friend Badiya, and who knows who else, is paying for my stay, but why hers too?"

Nobody answered. Arthur glared around the room. "I demand to know what is going on here!"

There was a knock on the door, Bahir strode over and let Badiya in.

"Oh, so you're in on this too are you? " said Arthur. "Are you going to let me into all the little secrets now? Or am I to remain your little play thing?"

"Try to stay calm Arthur Trimble. I know this is hard to come to terms with, but we have very good reasons for what has happened here," replied Badiya. "Beatrice knows far more about your work than you imagine . She used to read your notebooks in your shed while you were out, and learnt all about your techniques for cracking bible codes. She never acted on them because she thought it was a silly little hobby that didn't mean anything. That was until she met us, a few hours after we saw you outside the British Embassy. We needed her here as insurance in case you bailed out on us, because we knew she would have the powers to persuade you to stay on track. The code from the Gospel According Stan needs to be broken and you will need to take us to the specified location".

"So you used my wife?"

"Oh, I didn't mind being used at all" said Beatrice giving Bahir a saucy wink. Bahir smirked under his hood.

"So, if I'd turned around and said I wasn't going to do this you were going to wheel out Beatrice to talk me into continuing?" said Arthur.

"Yes Arthur Trimble. And if you had not co-operated Beatrice would know enough to complete your work. She might not have cracked it as quickly as you but she would eventually. You do not give her the credit she deserves" said Bahir.

"Oh, so you do speak do you? Able to get something out of your mouth other than dirty grunts and groans when you're sticking it to my wife?"

Bahir didn't dignify this with an answer, although he did turn to look at Badiya and let her answer instead. "You must get back on track Arthur Trimble. This is but a minor distraction. Why don't you take me back to your room and you can show me what you have discovered so far?"

Arthur let his eyes roam up and down Badiya for a moment.

"Am I going to get to give to you what Bahir was giving to my wife?" he asked her.

Badiya sidled up to Arthur. He smiled, but it turned into a contorted grimace of pain as she kicked him right in the balls.

*****

Simon sat outside a pub called Het Waterhuis aan de Bierkant slowly sipping a beer and looking around at his fellow patrons. He was sat on a terrace which overlooked one of Ghent's pretty canals and a bridge, and he was beginning to relax again after the stress of the Cadillac crashing earlier in the day. God had insisted the car would be OK and he'd driven it into the hotel garage to park up, but it had been making some odd noises, the kind of noises that Simon was sure that cars really shouldn't be making if they're fit to drive.

Simon had decided that he'd had quite enough of God's shenanigans for one day so he was going to leave him alone to work out the last stage of their journey. And that was how Simon came to find himself watching the world go by, the boats on the canal, the cyclists going over the bridge, and, most importantly for Simon, the stunning blond lady a couple of tables over. She was with a man, but that didn't stop Simon deciding that she was the woman of his dreams and that he had to get to know her. Intimately.

"She's absolutely gorgeous," he said to himself.

"Yeah, she is isn't she?" said God's voice. Simon glanced around, panicked in case anyone had caught sight of the toilet but he couldn't see him.

"Stop looking. I'm invisible. I told you my powers were coming back," said God. "Of course, if people hear you speaking to me they'll think you're a nut job who is speaking to himself. And then you'd have absolutely no chance with that lovely lady over there would you?"

Simon lowered his voice so he was speaking in a barely audible whisper. He hadn't considered that God would actually be able to read his thoughts, and God didn't want to shock him by admitting he could, so he let Simon carry on.

"I need to get to know her. I need to find some confidence to go over there, tell that fella she's with to go away and then make my move".

"I could do that. Easy," said God.

"Yes, I've seen you in action. But unfortunately for me, I don't have the special powers you have do I?"

"You could do though," said God.

"Eh?"

"If you give me permission, I could put some of my essence into your mind. You'd be full to brim with confidence then, and there would be absolutely no way you could fail. I give you my holy being guarantee".

"Let me go for a wee and think about it" said Simon.

*****

31 miles (or 50.6 kilometres if you prefer) away In Knokke Heist, Franck slept. He was dreaming about a pier. Above the pier, the sky was blood red and the clouds seemed to be ablaze. He could hear people screaming in pain and feel that some sort of struggle, some sort of fight was happening behind him but he couldn't turn around to see what it was.

*****

Simon came back to his table. The lovely lady was thankfully still there, and now she was alone! _This is it_ , thought Simon. "OK God, I agree, give me some of your essence or whatever you called it and I'll go over there. She will be mine".

"OK. Here goes," said God. Simon felt his vision becoming cloudy. "Don't panic, everything will be back to normal in a moment," said God, "Everything that is, apart from your self confidence, which will be sky high. There's nothing you can't achieve".

"There's nothing I can't achieve!" repeated Simon, a little too loudly. The couple on the next table looked at him quizzically, but he ignored them as he stood up.

"Go get her tiger," said God. "If I had hands right now I'd slap you right on the arse".

Simon slid smoothly into the chair next to the lady. "Well hello there," he said.

"Hallo," she replied, and gave him a dazzling smile.

"Good start," whispered God in Simon's ear. Simon did his best to not let his face show that he was hearing things. In the next half an hour he discovered that her name was Marike, and he was the most dazzling, witty and seductive he had ever been in his life. The man that Marike had been with came back to the table but was so blown away by how suave and charismatic Simon was that he just shrugged his shoulders, turned around and left the pub.

Nothing could stop Simon. Absolutely nothing. After 30 minutes Marike had intimated that she wanted Simon to take her back to his hotel room, and he didn't have to be intimated to twice. She really was the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. His dream woman. He paid the bar tab for the drinks that they'd both had, without even thinking about how he'd been stung by Arthur Trimble for the bill in Brussels. They walked arm in arm in the direction of his hotel and they kissed passionately in the reception area, in the lift and again outside his room. Simon opened the door with his key card. As Marike walked in he whispered a very quiet "thank you" to God and followed her to the bed.

And that's where it all went blank for poor Simon.

Chapter 35

When Simon awoke he didn't know where he was. There were a lot of rubbish bins around and the place smelt like very stale piss. Simon groaned. What had happened? Had his drink been spiked by the most beautiful woman in the world? He tried to remember what had gone on, but he found he had no recollections of any events after going into the hotel room.

A flash of panic went through Simon's mind: I CAN'T REMEMBER IF I HAD SEX WITH HER!

He tried to look around to get his bearings, but found he couldn't move. "This must be hell of a spiking" he said, although he heard no words come out of his mouth. He looked up and saw the sign for the hotel. He was in the alley way out the back! "Did I fall from the window and I'm now paralysed?" he tried to say. He then tried to cry out to get someone to help him, but again he heard no words come from his mouth. He tried to call out for God, but nothing.

"I'm in a hell of a state here" said Simon silently.

Instead of continuing to gaze up at the hotel sign he looked down to see if he could look at his body and maybe move any of it. He didn't like the sight that greeted him. If his screams had been audible they would have reverberated throughout the whole of Ghent, and maybe even throughout the whole of Belgium.

He was a toilet.

He was a fucking toilet.

Simon became aware of a rustling sound from the other side of the alley way. A tramp emerged from a pile of newspapers and cardboard box. The tramp walked over to Simon and regarded the toilet warily.

"You need to help me," said Simon, but of course the tramp heard nothing. Instead he prodded at Simon with a stick.

"Ow! Stop that!"

When the tramp was convinced that the toilet wasn't a trap that was about to bite him or explode he turned around. Simon heard something that sounded suspiciously like a belt being unfastened and some trousers being unzipped.

"Oh no. No no no no noooo!" said Simon, soundlessly.

The tramp dropped his trousers and then his underpants. The smell was unbearable. Simon willed his toilet body to move but it stayed exactly where it was. Simon's vision was blotted out by a big smelly arse rushing down to sit on him.

"I'm not a real toilet! Stop! I'm not even plumbed in! Please stop Mr Tramp! Oh god please stop!"

Simon blanked out again.

*****

When he awake again he was back in his own body. He was still lying in the alleyway though, and he had an awful taste in his mouth. It hadn't been a dream. Simon threw up.

Ten minutes later, Simon marched up to his hotel room. The door was unlocked and Simon burst in, pushing it with all his might. It nearly came off its hinges but he didn't care. He slammed it shut after him and raced to the bathroom where he threw up again. Twice.

When he'd finished he brushed his teeth then stormed into the bedroom. God was sat on the bed waiting for him.

"I know what you're going to say".

"Oh, do you now, do you really? Have you any idea what I've endured?" shouted Simon.

"Well, yes I do know, that's one of the perks of being the supreme being" said God.

"Don't be a smart arse. That was the most traumatising thing that has ever happened to me. I'll taste it forever". With that he ran off to the bathroom and threw up again. He didn't bother brushing his teeth afterwards this time, reasoning that he was probably only a few minutes away from vomiting once more.

God was still waiting when Simon came back. "I want to know how that could possibly have happened" said Simon "Please tell me it was an accident, a horrible, horrible accident. And, more importantly, please tell me that I did have sex with Marike before the accident happened".

"Ah".

"What do you mean 'ah'?"

"Well, sit down Simon, this might be a little difficult for you to take".

Simon sat on a chair and looked at God with a mixture of expectation and worry etched on his face. God continued.

"There's no easy way to tell you this Simon, so I'll just come out with it. You sort of had sex with Marike. That is to say, it was your body, but I was inside it. So really I had sex with Marike. But I did it with your penis, so that's got to mean something, right?"

"You were in my body," said Simon slowly, as if he were hearing these words for the first time. It was fair to say that he'd never had them said to him in conversation before so he could be forgiven for being a bit surprised. "You were in my body," he said again, "and you did it with Marike, the girl of my dreams".

"Yeah. Sorry about that".

"Oh, you're sorry about that are you? Of all the horrible things you have done to me this is the lowest of the low. You shagged my girl and then let a tramp crap right in my mouth. You are disgusting. Plus, you gave me your 'holy being guarantee' whatever the fuck that was!" shouted Simon.

"Well Simon my boy, I did give you my holy being guarantee, but you didn't read the small print did you?"

"Small print? What fucking small print? There was no small print. You said some words to me, they sounded like a good idea and so I agreed to take my essence inside me. Which, now that I think about it does sound a bit dodgy, but if anything it makes it sound like you might be about to shag me, not Marike".

"Look, I really did want to help you. But when my essence went into you it was like there was a part of me inside you. And when you got up to the room the rest of me wanted to be inside you...well...wanted to be inside her. I am a sex addict after all. So I took over your body for a bit, and we swapped over. I didn't think you'd be out cold for so long though, and I certainly didn't expect a bloke to drop trouser and do what he did".

Simon wasn't listening anymore, he was up on his feet packing his suitcase.

"Sod you. I'm leaving. I have had enough of you. I really wanted to help, even after all the stupid stunts you've pulled, but you've blown it now God, you really have".

"No, you can't leave me, we're so close. I'll make it up to you, I really will. When I've met the One True Believer I'll have so much power that you can have Marike any time you want. And her friends. And her arguably better looking sister. And her mum too. And she'll never know that it wasn't really you last night" said God desperately. He made Simon's' suitcase float away from him into the air just out of reach.

Simon stood with his hands on his hips and tersely said "Put that back down on the bed". The suitcase slowly fell to the bed. Simon picked up a T-shirt and folded it, but hesitated before he put it in. He had come so far, and did still want to see it through. He looked at God and asked "Do you know where we have to go? I might as well finish this. But when it's over I don't think we should see each other any more".

"It's funny you should say that," replied God. "I have a very strong urge to visit the coast".

*****

On an inter city train speeding from Brussels to Ostend, Arthur Trimble, his wife Beatrice and the two black robed figures of Badiya and Bahir sat around a table. None of them were speaking, although only Arthur looked angry. He sat red faced, with his arms folded and looked out of the window. He'd resolved to ditch them somehow as soon as he got to Ostend so he could run off to Blankenberge and reveal the secrets himself. To hell with them, he thought, they won't steal my fame and glory from me.

Some passengers walked along the aisle of the train and gave Arthur's T-Shirt a puzzled look. It said "Jail Bait".

*****

Franck trudged down the stairs of the Prins Boudewijn Hotel in Knokke Heist and bid goedemorgen to the receptionist. He'd left his case behind in his room but had his little wooden box of prayers under his arm. It was a different receptionist to the previous day but she was still beaming as brightly.

"You would not smile so much if I knew what I was about to do," whispered Franck to himself.

He walked back over the main road near the train station but veered right away from it. Instead he headed to a small booth nearby, which sold tickets and passes for the Belgian Coast Tram, which ran every twenty minutes back and forth through the towns along the seventy kilometre stretch of coastline bordering the North Sea.

"Could I have a two zone ticket please?" he mumbled to the girl in the ticket booth, his voice barely rising above a hoarse whisper. The girl in the booth gave him an odd look. Franck was perspiring heavily. He looked down and away from her, trying to hide his eyes which he was certain would be glowing red again. He couldn't allow himself to be seen like this, he had to do what he had chosen to do. The girl hurriedly handed over the ticket and gave Franck his change, but as soon as he'd walked away to the small platform to wait for the next coast tram she picked up her phone and dialled the local police station. "Hello. Yes, there's a very odd man about to get on the next tram out of Knokke. He only has a 2 zone ticket so he can't be going too far. Why was he so odd? He was acting very agitated and had red eyes. No, not red rings around his eyes from crying, his eyes were actually red. And glowing. Yes, I suppose they could have been contact lenses. I still think you should send someone down just in case. OK. Forget it". She slammed down the phone in exasperation and watched Franck hop from foot to foot on the platform, mumbling to himself.

*****

Arthur Trimble's train arrived at Bruges on its way through to Ostend. Arthur clapped his hands and smiled broadly at the three other figures around the table. He spoke for the first time on the journey.

"Oh, look, it's Bruges! Wouldn't the three of you like to go and look at its magnificent medieval buildings and beautiful canals while I carry on and sort everything out ahead of you?".

Badiya, Bahir and Beatrice all regarded him with disappointment. Arthur folded his arms again and pursed his lips, and went back to looking out of the window. Clearly his ditching technique was going to need some work before the train arrived at the next and final station.

Chapter 36

God and Simon were back on the open road, the E40 to be exact, and heading North. The Cadillac looked far more beaten up that it had been when Simon had bought it, the bonnet was now sporting a massive dent in it from the collision with a bollard when they'd arrived in Ghent and the engine was making a very worrying rattling sound indeed.

Simon was back behind the wheel, having told God that he wasn't going to tolerate any more of his disappearing acts. "Do you hear that noise?" he said to the toilet "That can't be right can it?"

"We only need this thing to last for another hour then we can have the pick of any car in the world. I promise. Think of how you'd feel sitting in the luxury car of your choice with Marike next to you, driving wherever you want to go. Or on a private jet, the two of you flying off around the world?"

"Can you shut up about her now please, I'm trying to concentrate on driving," said Simon sulkily.

"Would it help if I told you that you do have a very nice penis Simon?"

Simon didn't answer, although he did think that was a nice compliment coming from a deity. Not that he was going to tell God that. Instead he asked "Are you one hundred percent sure that we're going to the right place this time? No ending up back in Asse or some other weirdly named place again?"

"No, this is it. I can really feel it" replied God.

The drove on another couple of miles before Simon asked "God, why were you so horrible to Job?"

"He was such an annoying man! Always so fucking pious".

"But isn't that what you wanted? People to worship you?" Simon couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"Yeah, well, that is true. But he was so smug about it. So I had his donkeys and oxen nicked by the Sebeans. I thought he might give up then, but on no, the silly old fucker wouldn't. So I destroyed his sheep, I had his camels stolen by the Chaldeans, I killed his children. I thought for sure he'd give up then. And what does the silly bastard do?"

Simon scratched his head. He didn't really know the story of Job properly, he just knew that he didn't have a very nice time of things but his faith has apparently never wavered.

"I'll tell you what he did, Simon," said God, "He ripped all his clothes off and started walking around in the nudey rude. Well that just got my back up even more. So I put boils all over his body. You should have seen his willy. Hahaha!"

Simon was very taken aback now. He squirmed uneasily in his seat. God went on.

"Then his three mates came around with a load of beer and sat him down to tell him he was being stupid. Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite. That was them. Bunch of drunkards. They got him to say all sorts of bad things about me, it was hilarious. But then I thought I'd mix things up by telling them that they were in the wrong and that I liked Job all along. I wish you could have seen them piss themselves in fear".

God let out the biggest, longest laugh that Simon had ever heard. He thought it may be better not to ask him about any more bible stories for the time being.

Simon was suddenly overcome with a fear "Everything is going to be OK when you meet the One True Believer isn't it? It's fair to say that things have been pretty weird for me over the past few days, so I could do with my life settling down a little bit".

"It'll all be fine. Here, hold up your right hand".

Simon did and felt the force of another hand slapping his in a high five. Against his better judgements, he couldn't help but grin at God.

"Bet you still can't turn water into wine though can you Mr Toilet?"

God just laughed. Simon changed the subject.

"What was it like having sex with dinosaurs? Did you do it with a Tyrannosaurus Rex?"

"Yeah, I did. Silly little arms on those things, not sure what I was thinking of when I designed them. She was good, much easier than a lot of the others. I think because the T-Rexes were always angry it made for some wild parties, if you know what I mean. I used to call them Tyrannosaurus Sex. My only regret is that I never managed to get it on with an Argentinosaurus. That was the biggest dinosaur I ever made. Now, I am a pretty huge guy where it matters, but this thing even scared me, there was no way I was going to satisfy it, so I didn't try. I should have tried".

Simon didn't really know how to respond to that. So he didn't.

*****

The coastal tram chugged slowly away from Knokke with Franck on board. He had found a seat near the back and tried to keep his face hidden by looking down at the floor. He was still sweating, his hair was soaked and matted on his brow and he looked very bedraggled and ill. When the tram arrived at Watoren, the next stop, all the people getting on took one look at him, and although it was busy and standing room only on the tram they refused to sit next to him. Franck gripped his small wooden box tightly, his hands so pale in comparison to his feverish face. He was mumbling away incomprehensibly, but not because he'd grown completely crazy but to in an effort to distract himself from anything the voices in his head might say. He reasoned that if he was able to concentrate on other things then their influence over him couldn't get any greater.

The tram set off and rattled on to Dunebergen only a couple of minutes after, letting even more people on. It was another sunny day and there were lots of families off to enjoy the seaside. An old man sat down next to Franck.

"Lovely day isn't it?" said the old man.

"You should leave me alone" whispered Franck "Please, I really need you to leave me alone".

"Not a lover of the sunshine then? You do look like you're burning up though. Maybe you should take your jacket off?"

Franck tried to shuffle along his seat further away from the old man but couldn't move much. He increased his grip on his wooden box, his knuckles white and even paler than his hands.

"What have you got there son?" said the old man "I hope you have sun cream in that box, ho ho!"

The voices in Franck's head had been building and building during this exchange and he was struggling to keep them under control. He began to murmur louder "You're not real, you're not real, you're not real". People turned around to stare at him, and parents moved their children away so they couldn't see him.

"Are you OK son?" said the old man, touching Franck gently on the arm and slowly gripping his wrist.

"Stop, just stop, you must stop. I can't control them" groaned Franck.

"I want to help you if there's something wrong" said the man again, increasing his grip on Franck's arm to try and get him to turn around and face the old man.

"Stop, I'm begging you" said Franck, raising his voice, but the old man was insistent.

Franck wheeled around, keeping his grip tight on his box with one hand but using the other to push the old man out of his seat with some force. He clattered to the floor of the tram. People gasped, others rushed forward to help the old man up.

Franck looked out of the window and realised he was where he needed to be. He jumped from his seat. As he ran for the exit he looked back at the old man and shouted "I'm so sorry, you just don't understand. You'll never understand".

As the doors of the tram opened at Heldenplein someone made a grab for Franck to try and restrain him, but he skillfully ducked out of the way, running on adrenalin now as people shouted after him. He leapt out onto the platform and ran off over a busy road causing cars to screech to a halt. There was a crash and more shouting as one car ran into the back of the first to stop, and people on the tram grabbed their mobile phones to call the police, or in most cases just to film the crash outside.

Franck ran full pelt up a road leading to the nearest beach, but stopped before he got there. Instead he halted in front of a short alleyway called Visserkappelstraat. He'd found what he needed, a small red brick chapel in the middle of this alleyway, barely 4 metres high and 3 metres wide, and dwarfed all around by high rise holiday apartments for locals and people coming to enjoy the summer sunshine. Above the doorway was a solitary circular window with a five pointed star in it. Franck forced a smile at this, a sight he had seen many times during his childhood.

He took a deep breath and opened the door of the Chapel of The Fishermen. It was empty. With a sigh of relief he walked in and closed the door behind him.

*****

Arthur, Beatrice, Badiya and Bahir piled off the train at Ostend station. Arthur's mind was whirring. The only advantage he still had was that only he knew that he had to get to Blankenerge. The other three had seen what he'd scrawled on the wall back at the hotel in Brussels but they didn't know that Blanckenberge was the only town with a pier on the coast. At least, Arthur hoped that none of them knew that it was the only town with a pier on the coast.

"Arthur, why are you walking so fast?" asked Beatrice in an admonishing tone. Arthur winced. He had no plan, no plan at all. So, in the complete absence of any better ideas he made sure he had his hand luggage containing all his research securely fastened around his shoulder. He took a deep breath, dropped his suitcase and ran. He ran as far and as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.

Which, as it turns out, wasn't very far at all. He got as far as just outside the station doors before having to stop for breath. A strong arm grabbed him on the shoulder and he was twisted around to look at Badiya,

"I do hope, Arthur Trimble, that after coming so far, and having us pay for your luxury hotel room, train ticket and getting your suitcase back as well as your wallet and credit cards, that you weren't thinking of running off on your own were you? Because the powers that be would not like that at all". There was something in her tone that terrified Arthur to the very core of his being. Badiya's mouth was twisted into a terrifying sneer. Arthur tried to reply but found that he was having to concentrate on his bladder more so that he didn't do something embarrassing in his trousers due to fear. He dropped to his knees, whimpering.

Bahir and Beatrice ambled over to find Badiya dragging Arthur to his feet.

"So, Arthur Trimble, where do we have to go?" said Bahir, crossing his arms across his muscular chest. It was a pose that he did a lot, Arthur thought.

Arthur sighed in resignation. "Blankenberge. We have to go to Blankenberge". He looked around him and noticed the taxi rank over the road.

"Cab?" he suggested.

"No," said Badiya, "Tram. It is much cheaper. I am getting bored of covering your every expense Arthur Trimble".

Arthur fumed silently once again as they trooped across to the coastal tram stop to buy some tickets.

"Look, it really would be much quicker in a taxi," said Arthur. He looked around at all the other people waiting on the platform "And it would be much less crowded too".

"You complain too much dear" said Beatrice "we're having a nice day out on the coast aren't we?"

"Oh bloody lovely," muttered Arthur. "You, me, your lover and someone I am beginning to suspect is far less nice than I previously thought".

A tram pulled up and Badiya pushed Arthur gently in the back to make sure he got on first.

Chapter 37

Simon and God were off the E40 and now on the N41 steaming past Bruges in the Cadillac. Simon had a sudden and ridiculous thought to turn off and go and do some sightseeing but as the car was still sounding very clunky indeed and smoke was beginning to rise from the bonnet he wasn't even sure it would last the trip to the coast, let alone let them go for a short detour.

Simon scratched his chin for a while. It was obvious that something was on his mind. At last he spoke. "God, why does it say in the bible that if you have crushed testicles you can't enter the kingdom of heaven?"

"Would you like crushed balls Simon? I can crush your balls for you," said God.

Simon shut up and then furrowed his brow in concern and sucked air through his teeth as he watched the smoke rising from the cars engine change colour from grey to black.

"Don't make that sound, it goes right through me" said God. "And stop furrowing your brow. You'll get permanent worry lines. You don't have to worry. Only about 8 kilometres to go now."

The sky was beginning to darken ominously over the horizon. If God had his own brow to furrow he would have done that now, but instead of telling Simon what he really thought he just said "We better get the roof up, looks like rain".

Simon pulled over onto the hard shoulder and the cadillac gently came to a halt so he could get out and get the roof up.

"So, you're not going to help me then?" he asked. God appeared not to hear him. "Hey Toilet! Are you going to help me with the roof? I know you can summon arms up now you've given me a high five so stop being a lazy bastard".

"Sorry, sorry," said God, "Lost in thought for a moment. It happens". Simon felt some invisible force on the opposite side of the car to him helping to lift the roof into place.

"You're not getting worried about something are you?" asked Simon, pausing for a moment.

"You'll get wet if you don't hurry up" said God, avoiding the question completely.

*****

In the confines of the Chapel of the Fishermen, Franck knelt in front of the small altar. There were only five rows of seats in there, and the walls were a brilliant blue in colour and adorned with model ships and gold stars, and lots of faded pictures of brave Belgian fishermen. The altar was protected by some silver bars, and on top of the altar, instead of a crucifix, was a golden anchor.

Franck had stacked up a few chairs in front of the doors so nobody could open the doors and follow him in here, and had opened his small wooden box of prayers. He had emptied the contents out onto the floor in front of the altar, spreading them out so that each one could be seen and none of them overlapped. He began to read them quietly in the order he'd set them out, ignoring the screaming and barracking of the voices in his head.

One voice made itself heard above the wailing of the others. It was deep and guttural. And very, very evil sounding. "What are you trying to achieve here Franck? These prayers won't save you now. Haven't you realised you were praying to the wrong thing all this time? We used you to get here into this world. Your faith means nothing any more. NOTHING".

Franck ignored the voice, he simply couldn't believe what it was saying was true. "No, this is a test, a test of my faith".

"This is no test anymore Franck. For so many years you believed you were praying to the one true God, the god that nobody believes in but you. But you are but a pawn in a game that has been going on for millennia and will continue to go on long after you are dead and your world has been burnt to a cinder".

Franck's breathing was heavy as he struggled to contain the voices and carry on reading his prayers. His body was in immense pain and he fell forwards from his kneeling position so he was lay prostrated on the ground. He pulled himself towards the altar and grabbed a handful of the prayers so he could carry on reading them, trying to shut out the agony that raced all the way through his body.

Outside, rain clouds rolled in and the sky became very dark indeed. The rain began to fall heavily. Franck heard the sound of people running from the beach to get out of the sudden down pour. He heard some try to push the door of the Chapel of The Fishermen open, but the chairs that Frank had placed there kept them out and they ran on. Franck heard their footsteps racing away as they splished and sploshed through puddles while running back towards the main street and the safety of the bars and cafes near the tram stop.

"Give in Franck," said the loudest voice, "Let us use your body to finish what we came here to do. To kill and destroy and win a great battle". The rest of the voices shouted encouragement in the background, louder and louder until Franck could barely hear his own thoughts any more.

Realising that his prayers were having no effect, Franck threw the pieces of paper he was trying to read to the floor and grabbed the silver bars in front of the altar and used them to drag his body to a position where he could reach over and grab the golden anchor from on top.

"There is only one way I can deal with this now" said Franck, aiming the sharp hook of the anchor at his own heart. He swung it back with the intention of piercing his chest with it as he brought it forward quickly towards him. He shut his eyes bracing himself for the pain and the salvation that would come afterwards, and the knowledge that he had given his life to save the world.

The anchor clattered to the floor out of Franck's grasp before he had a chance to hit himself with it. Franck's body slumped down and lay still and unconscious in front of the altar. A dark mist rose from it, and began to form a more solid shape. It was a black and terrible sight with red glowing eyes, a large gaping mouth with long frightening teeth and sharp claws on each hand. It regarded Franck's body silently for a moment and gave it a sharp kick in the ribs.

"We could not let you do that to yourself Franck. What has been prophesied must come to pass".

The dark terrible figure turned and floated from the chapel, passing right through the stacked chairs holding the door closed.

Chapter 38

Arthur looked out of the window and saw the torrential rain falling further down the coast. He saw the sky darken to become almost black all around but curiously he also saw it become blood red over the sea a few miles away. He knew that must be Blankenberge.

"We'll be too late!" he said loudly, "Look! Look at the sky!"

"Shut your mouth Arthur Trimble," said Badiya digging him in the stomach, "We do not want to panic other passengers now do we?"

They'd been on the tram for 20 minutes and it was just passing through the well heeled coastal town of De Haan. Arthur looked up at the route plan pasted above his head and counted down the number of stations to go until Blanckenberge.

"But we still have another 10 stops!" he squealed. "We need to get there now! Why did we not get a taxi?!"

"You're always too impatient when we travel anywhere dear. You need to learn how to relax," said Beatrice. This did nothing to relax Arthur Trimble at all, and he shook with rage as he peered over the horizon at the strange black and red sky.

*****

The windscreen wipers were working overtime on the Cadillac as Simon and God raced past the train station in Blankenberge and the last 200 metres of their trip. They'd both seen the strange red sky over their destination and noticed how it was black over the rest of the coast, and they'd barely said a word since the rain storm had started.

"We need to get to the pier, and we need to get there about 10 minutes ago," said God as Simon turned the car sharply left onto Prinsenlaan, the tyres squealing in protest. The rain was falling even heavier now and there was nobody on the streets. They turned onto Zeedijk, the road leading to the pier, but the rain was crashing so heavily against the windscreen that neither of them could see properly where they were going.

Simon braked, deciding he wanted to be alive for the end of their adventure, but even though he'd slowed down he managed to repeat what had happened in Ghent and the car crashed into another bollard. The black smoke that had been coming out of the bonnet since they passed Bruges started to plume out even heavier. Simon and God jumped from the car.

"Well, that's that fucked," said God, regarding the car sadly.

"Getting wet here," said Simon, running off up the pier towards a building at the end of it, reasoning that he needed to get out of the rain. Halfway up the pier he realised that the blood red sky was directly over the end of the pier in the direction he was heading and questioned whether he was really making the right decision.

Somehow, God had already got there in front of him and held a door open. "Come on Simon!" he shouted.

*****

The coastal tram thundered past Blankenberge without stopping as there had been nobody on the platform to pick up and nobody on board had pressed the stop button. Arthur and the others had been too busy looking at the sky to keep a track of how many stops they had before they had to get off, but when he saw the pier in the distance he threw his hands up in the air in a panic.

"We've missed the bloody stop!" shouted Arthur Trimble "Pull the emergency cord or something!"

He tried to get up but Badiya gripped his shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat.

"I will handle this," said Bahir, punching the fire alarm next to the door. The tram driver slammed on the brakes and all the passengers who were stood up promptly fell over, except for Bahir who calmly stayed vertical. He pulled open the doors with a strength that Arthur was surprised by, and they four of them jumped off and dashed in the direction of the pier.

Chapter 39

The building at the end of Blankenberge pier was circular in shape with windows all around, giving a 360 degree view of the town behind and the North Sea ahead. Simon and God strode to the centre of the structure, looking around cautiously. The room was full of tables and chairs but was devoid of people. Everything seemed a bit dusty but calm.

Simon looked at God as if to say "What now?" but his question was answered by the sound of the waves becoming more and more fierce. They rushed to the windows to look out and Simon cried out in horror as an enormous black creature rose from the sea. It was at least two hundred foot high, with glowing red eyes, a terrible mouth and sharp claws on each hand, and stood there in the water laughing.

"Jesus Christ!" shouted Simon before jumping back and grabbing the nearest table, turning it onto its side so he could hide behind it. He sat there shaking with fear for a few minutes until he realised God hadn't come to join him. He nervously peered around the edge of the table to have a look at what was happening.

"I knew you'd come! It is time!" the terrible figure was shouting. He was shouting this at God who had left the building to stand at the very end of the pier. He was still in the shape of a toilet though, which the tall black monster found very amusing.

"Is this the form in which you've chosen to fight me in this time?"

"Er...no. Can we wait five minutes, I'll reveal myself properly in a minute. This is a bit unusual, I would have thought I'd be OK by now," replied God.

It was the first time Simon had heard God being unsure of himself, and it scared him.

"We could just make some small talk for a minute?" said God. "How was the vessel you used to get here?"

The monster let out a big sigh. "He was a strange and faithful man. It was difficult to break him," it said. "But I pulled a great double bluff, I told him to go and get a gun and run amok in Brussels, knowing that he would go in the opposite direction and lead me here".

"That wouldn't have been much fun if he hadn't been strong enough to resist your will, and gone and shot a load of people in Brussels though would it?" said God.

"You were always a big wet blanket. It would have made things much more interesting. Think of you careering around the Belgian countryside in that stupid car while I'm back where you first started shooting at a bunch of stupid tourists. I tire of your chatter. Now change and fight me".

God stood still for a minute, his toilet bowl shaking but no transformation taking place.

"I'll just go back inside for a minute, hold on," he said.

Simon watched him come back in. He walked around the upturned table to where Simon was cowering and marched up and down in silence. "What's going on?" asked Simon.

"I just have to concentrate for a minute Simon, nothing to worry about".

"I mean, what the hell is that huge black monster? Is that the One True Believer?"

"Ah, well, I may not have been completely honest with you about everything," said God.

"I'm going to get eaten aren't I?" said Simon "I've followed a talking toilet across Belgium just to get eaten by a huge monster in the North Sea."

"Quiet now. You're not going to get eaten by Julius".

"Julius?! Who the hell is Julius? Is that huge scary monster outside who is going to eat us called Julius?"

"Yeah, that's Julius. I'll explain more when I've taken on my true form and beaten him up. Yes, I am about to change. I feel it". A bright glow began to emanate from the toilet bowl.

A door crashed open and four figures emerged from the rain. "Stop right there, you're not changing. It's taken us a little while to catch up with you again but this ends now. It ends for you Stan and for your mate Julius out there," shouted Badiya, striding up to Simon and God. The bright glow from God's toilet bowl began to fade slowly and disappeared.

"Who's Stan? And who are you? We're all going to get eaten! Somebody do something!" shouted a very panicked Simon, looking around the room confused. His gaze fell upon God. If ever a toilet could look sheepish then it was this toilet right now. A realisation hit Simon.

"Stan? Your name is Stan? What kind of name is that for God?" said Simon, staring intently at God. A fat man in a "Jail Bait" T-Shirt stepped forward, dancing around and grinning wildly.

"Yes, I knew it! Just wait until I expose all this! I cracked the code! I really did it!" said Arthur Trimble.

Realising who it was, Simon forgot all about the 200 foot high monster outside and jumped to his feet to grab him "You fucker! You still owe me money!"

Bahir separated them. "There are larger things at stake here than your bar tab" he said, and all of them looked back out of the window at Julius, who had grown even bigger and meaner looking.

"Get out here Stan, come on! Let's fight!" he roared, dropping one hand in the sea to push a wave onto the building at the end of the pier. Arthur screamed and hid behind Beatrice but the structure held firm. Just.

"Can someone just tell me what is going on?" asked Simon.

"It's really quite simple, these two here..." said God, indicating Badiya and Bahir, "...are two of the angels who imprisoned me, and they have been trying to get me back to purgatory".

"If only it was that simple, Stan," said Badiya. She took Simon's hand, and he felt immediately comforted. "For millions of years, Stan and Julius have been setting up these fights against each other. They're brothers you see. Always fighting. But too many innocent people get hurt along the way. We wanted them to stop. I suppose he told you he was put away in purgatory for being too good a lover or something?"

"Yeah, something like that," said Simon, giving the toilet a dirty look. Badiya continued,

"We in the Angel council had more than had enough of their antics, so we imprisoned them so they could learn the error of their ways. As people started to believe in other religions these two had less and less power, but could always squeeze through based on the prayers of their handfuls of followers. This time the One True Believer had so much faith that both of them escaped our prison. It is unfortunate, but thanks to Arthur Trimble we have been able to track them both down to put a stop to this before anything gets worse".

"Way to go Arthur" said Simon "Not only are you someone who runs away from paying their fair share of a bar bill, you're also a filthy grass as well" said Simon.

Arthur peeked out from behind Beatrice. He looked very upset "So what is the Gospel According to Stan really?" he asked miserably.

"Haha! Julius wrote that one! It's a great read isn't it?" said Stan. "Julius and I arrange these fights but don't tell each other where they're going to happen. Instead we take it in turns to write these stupid little books with a code in that we have to break, telling each other where the next fight will take place. But I lost it when I got imprisoned which is why I had to work out where to come this time. Thanks for finding it my rotund and bearded friend".

Arthur sat down on the floor with his head in his hands, his dreams of fame rapidly disappearing. Nobody was going to believe this.

Julius tapped on the window with a big claw. "Er...are we going to do this or what? Because if it doesn't happen soon I'm going to start killing people in the town instead". As if to illustrate his point he lifted the roof off the building, letting the wind and rain roar in. He threw the roof into the sea, dangerously close to a fishing boat that was bobbing about on the fierce waves. He let out a loud and terrifying roar. The fishermen on board screamed and scrambled around trying to make sure they didn't fall into the water.

"Alright, alright, here I come," said Stan, beginning to glow again.

"I think not" said Badia, waving her hands in an intricate and complicated pattern, making the glow stop once more. "We cannot allow you to change shape. If you do you will be too powerful and we would not be able to contain you. We had hoped to get here before Julius had broken free of the Believer".

"How are you going to stop me?" asked Stan.

"We already have," replied Badiya, "You cannot change can you? Our powers are coming from a greater source".

Something in the tone of her voice stopped Stan dead in his tracks. "Oh no. Not our Mum?" he said.

"Yes, your mother," said Badiya. "She is the one who has decided that these fights must be stopped once and for all, and sent us after you".

"Aww balls," said Stan, deflated. "But how will we stop Julius now if I can't change?"

"Right, I'm going to kill the fat man first," shouted Julius outside. Arthur started to cry.

"We have to do something," said Stan, "He's not messing around, he's not right in the head. He really will start killing people". Nobody moved. Stan sighed and marched outside. Julius laughed another evil laugh at the toilet. "Come on then you fucker!" shouted Stan "I'll take you on like this. I'm not afraid. I can beat you easily". Julius paused and gazed at his brother. Simon felt some hope, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Stan's words had got through to his brother and it could all be over.

Julius scratched the back of his head, sighed and reached down to flick Stan with the tip of one sharp clawed hand. Stan came crashing back through a window, landing on the floor next to Simon, broken glass scattered all around him.

"Hmmmm. That wasn't too successful," he groaned.

"Come on, there must be something you can tell us about how we can beat him?" screamed Simon as he watched Julius pick up the fishing boat from the sea and begin to eat it, fishermen and all.

"Well if they won't let me change shape, then the only thing that might stop him is someone doing something truly disgusting. He can't take that kind of thing, he is extremely prudish. Unlike me".

Everyone stood around looking at each other shrugging as the sound of Julius crunching on the boat reverberated around the walls.

Then it hit Simon. He knew what he had to do.

Chapter 40

Simon marched out onto the end of the pier followed closely by Stan the toilet. The rain soaked him to his skin but he stood firm.

"Julius!" he shouted. Julius peered down at him, and bent over to get a closer look. His eyes shone a brighter red than ever before. Then he laughed. It was a terrible sound.

"Is this the best that humanity could do?" he said. "Stan, why are you listening to those two angels in there. Stop messing about, change form and let's get this fight underway".

"I can't. Mum would kill us," mumbled Stan quietly.

Julius laughed again. "Mum? Like I have ever listened to her".

"Shut up!" shouted Simon again "I am warning you!"

"And what are you going to do little man? It's a good job you are amusing me so much otherwise I would have eaten you already," said Julius with another laugh. Simon took a step back and then crouched down next to Stan.

"I'm going to lick the rim of the toilet bowl. Arthur has already had a wee down here and I'm going to clean it with my tongue".

Julius stopped laughing. "What, really? I don't think that's wise". He sounded very worried. "You shouldn't do that. It's horrible".

"I'll do it! I'm going to lick the toilet bowl!" shouted Simon, and he stuck out his tongue.

"Nooooooooooooooo!" screamed Julius and there was a mighty explosion.

*****

When the dust had cleared and the sky had brightened, Simon opened his eyes. Arthur and Beatrice were locked in a sweet embrace, but they quickly let go of each other when they realised everybody was OK. The fishermen, whom Julius had swallowed whole, were clambering out of the sea and panting for breath on the beach.

Simon looked around for Stan and Julius but instead of a great black creature with red eyes and a talking toilet he saw something very different. Badiya and Bahir were stood over what looked like two traditional cherubs, with little fluttering wings. One had brown hair and the other a brilliant blond. Badiya and Bahir had tied a rope to their arms to stop them flying away.

"This is Stan" she said indicating the blond, "and Julius is the brown haired one. I'm sure you'll agree they look much less offensive in their real forms. And we must take them away very soon".

"Can I have a minute with Simon?" asked Stan. Badiya let Stan fly over but made sure she had a firm grip of the rope.

"I've had a great time Simon, you're a true friend" he said, reaching out a chubby little hand for Simon to shake.

"Well, this is a bit weird, talking to a flying baby, but I suppose it's no weirder than talking to a toilet" replied Simon. He felt a sadness "I have enjoyed myself Stan, I really have. But I think I know what is important in life now. You've shown me that I can have some adventure in my life, that I need to not be so hard on myself control of my situation. On reflection though, you're hardly the best role model for somebody to have".

Stan laughed. "You're probably right. But, you will be happy Simon, I know that. But if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to purgatory for a bit and while Julius and I work out the venue for our next fight. But just one more thing - you would really have done it wouldn't you? Licked my rim if Julius hadn't exploded straight away?"

"Don't flatter yourself" said Simon with a grin "I know where you've been".

Stan smiled. A golden glow surrounded his head for a moment, and he said "Look, Simon, someone is here to see you".

Simon turned to see Marike stumbling into the building. She was obviously a bit confused about what she was doing here, and Simon realised that Stan must have teleported here somehow. He didn't care. The world was safe and he was going to be with the woman of his dreams, as promised.

Marike noticed Simon and walked straight towards him. He smiled a broad smile, ready to accept her embrace. Instead she slapped him right on the cheek.

"You tried to do some very disgusting things to me the other night you pig!" she shouted.

Simon grabbed his reddening face and stood there open mouthed as Marike walked away and out of his life. He looked over at Stan who just shrugged.

Badiya and Bahir turned away and moved in the direction of the pier leading the two cherubs with them, but they stopped by the doorway and Julius looked back. "I recommend you go to the Chapel of The Fishermen in Heist" he said "There's a man there who is going to need some help".

Chapter 41

Franck rubbed his head. He felt awful, and he was trying to piece together the actions of the last few days. He looked at his prayers strewn all around the floor of the chapel. Gingerly, he stood up and dusted himself down. He felt far from average. Remembering the evil voices in his head he concentrated for a minute. Nothing. There was nothing there. He began to smile.

"Weee?" said a number in Franck's head tentatively.

Just then he heard a splintering sound by the door. The chairs that he had piled up to stop people coming in after him fell to the floor and Simon, Arthur and Beatrice walked in. They eyed Franck warily but he just looked back at them with a confused and expectant expression on his face.

Simon pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fished around for something. He brandished the object in the air.

"Is this your pube?" he said.

END

###

Thank you for taking the time to read God-Box! I really hope you enjoyed reading this book, and if you did please consider leaving a positive review on Smashwords and your favourite retailer.

Many thanks,

Pete Collins

About the author:

Pete lives in Manchester, England. It rains a lot there. It used to rain a lot in his head too, but he's slowly getting over that. You can see other bits and pieces of Pete's writing on the Music blog Both Bars On , and on the retro gaming themed blog "I Only Did it For The Timex Calculator Watch". As well as writing, Pete plays bass for the band Flange Circus and he loves to travel.

Pete is currently putting the finishing touches to the follow up to to this novel, entitled "Before The Moon Falls"

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter: <http://ww.twitter.com/peterpotato>

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