The security guard shuffled her through the swelling crowd. As they passed a group of four leering teenage boys, he confiscated a digital camera to their loud and angry protests.

All a mistake.

Huge.

She got in a taxi and left MarineLand headed for the Paradise Inn with three things to her name. A complimentary BOOM BOOM THE KILLER WHALE oversized T-shirt, the security guard’s home phone number (“we should get together for drinks when you’re feeling better”), and the absolute, unwavering determination to get back to Heaven as soon as humanly possible.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Val thought with despair. Is this part of my punishment, too?

The taxi had let her off in front of a run-down motel just off the main strip of Niagara Falls.

She stood in place in her oversized T-shirt, her long, wet blond hair hanging like a drippy curtain over her right shoulder, clutching the wallet against her chest, and just stared at the

Paradise Inn.

All Val had ever known in her existence had been Heaven. And Heaven, as was common knowledge, was perfect. Whatever one’s idea of perfection was, that is how Heaven became to suit them. Beauty as far as the eye could see, clean and comfortable and flawless in every way.

This, however, was a whole other story.

The Paradise Inn had seen better days. To say the least. It was run-down, with roof tiles missing and a big crack in the tacky fifties-style sign. It looked tired and old and only days away from being demolished.

Val closed her eyes for a moment and tried to think of Heaven. It wasn’t cold there, for one thing. Always the perfect temperature. She never felt alone because there was always someone with her or very close by. She felt needed there, not discarded like a bubblegum wrapper. She knew what to expect and that there was nothing to fear there. And, also . . . also—