Jim Morrison’s Adventures in the Afterlife . Copyright © 1999 by Mick Farren. All rights JIM MORRISON’S ADVENTURES IN THE AFTERLIFE reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010. Design by Jane Adele Regina Farren, Mick. Jim Morrison’s adventures in the afterlife : a novel / Mick Farren. —1st ed. p. cm. ISBN 0-312-20654-2 ISBN 978-0-312-20654-3 1. Morrison, Jim, 1943-1971 Fiction. 2. McPherson, Aimee Semple, 1890- 1944 Fiction. 3. Holliday, John Henry, 1851-1887 Fiction. I. Title. PS3556.A7727J56 1999 813’.54—dc21 99-33279 CIP First Edition: November 1999 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 This book and its completion is dedicated to Felix Dennis, Captain of the Hispaniola, who, more than once, sailed to the rescue in the nick of time. The only completely consistent people are the dead. –A H LDOUS UXLEY Jim Morrison’s Adventures in the Afterlife 1 Say what you like, folks always make a big deal over death. A imee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the landscape of Heaven. For perhaps the two millionth time since her death, her rage at the manner in which God had betrayed her boiled to one of its cyclical peaks. How dare He, if indeed He existed at all, treat her with such unconscionable treachery? She had done so much on His behalf. She had avoided temptations, bypassed indulgences, forgone the pleasures of the flesh. She had sacrificed to the maximum in His name and, from her perspective, He had cynically betrayed her. Her entire life had hinged on a single belief in which she had placed absolute trust. He had promised a Heaven when she died. That He then so totally reneged on the deal transcended the criminal and took the burden of guilt to a new level of divine iniquity. Aimee McPherson had arrived in the Afterlife only to discover that, if she wanted a Heaven, she was expected to build it herself. God Himself had failed to put in even the most cursory manifestation, and she had begun to doubt that He actually existed at all. If there was a God, He appeared to believe that this psychic erector set would be ample reward for a lifetime of love and devotion, of prayer, praise, and supplication. He had presented her with a blank celestial slate and left her to make it up for herself. After all the promises, the only Heaven she had received or perceived had come directly out of her own imagination, without help, without encouragement, without even the benefit of an instruction manual. Aimee McPherson stood on the terrace and stared balefully across the landscape of Heaven and knew that it was entirely her own creation. This should have pleased her, if for no other reason than that of pride in accomplishment. Pride in accomplishment, however, counted for little beside abandonment by God. This Heaven had been torn, at a great cost of emotion and energy, piece by