Yesterday's Winning Vote:
Option 3 - Grab the hand and pull.

Before the hand can retreat back into the light, you grab a hold of it with both hands and pull. The hand doesn't budge. Instead, the bright light from the cabinet seems to pour forth into the room, covering you and blinding your eyes.

When the light recedes, you find yourself standing on top of a surprisingly sturdy cloud. In front of you, a man wearing what must be a staggeringly expensive suit is sitting at a stunning mahogany desk. Carved into the sides of the desk is a beautiful mural of a garden being tended by cherubim flitting from flower to flower.

“Would you care to sit down?” the man asks, extending one hand to indicate a leather chair. Seeing that there is no sign of where you came in and that the cloud only extends a dozen feet in any direction, you sit down.

“I'm guessing you know who I am, but who are you?” you ask.

“That's not for you to know.” The man opens up a small box on his desk, pulls out a cigar, and extends it to you. “Do you smoke?”

“I wouldn't know,” you reply.

The man's brow furrows for a moment before his smile returns. “Oh, yes...tragic, that, but life does go on.” He moves to toss the cigar back into its box but you snatch it out of his hand. He glances at you strangely as you pocket the cigar but continues. “I must say that your record is very impressive, and we've been very happy to have had you on our team.”

“My record, huh?” you say, pulling the cigar box over to you and flipping it open. “If it's so amazing, why can't I remember it?”

“Well, you know...actions and consequences, checks and balances, the whole 'repercussions' thing—please don't steal my cigars.”

Out of the handful of cigars you now have, you pull one out. “'It's a boy!'? Who's the lucky father?”

Chuckling, the man tells you, “He was so excited. Confused the heck out of everyone when He handed those things out.” He slaps the desk, laughing even harder. “I mean, we had no idea what they were. We'd never seen them before! He just couldn't grasp the concept of some of us existing in a linear time frame.” The man chuckles some more.

Noticing how he emphasized some words, you ask, “And, by 'him', you mean?”
“Oh, God, of course.” The merriment in his face starts to drift away.

“So this here is Heaven, then, and you'd be an angel?” You pocket the cigars before he can take them back.

He pulls his cigar box back to himself and thinks briefly before answering. “Technically no and no. This cloud here is actually adjacent to Heaven. Heaven is over there on your left, but you can't see it because you're—” He makes air quotes with his hands. “—'living' and all. For the angel bit, it would be more accurate to call me an archangel. Earned that title long ago.”

Curious, you ask him, “May I see your wings?”

“Not unless you want your eyes burned out of your sockets.”

“Alright, then, why am I here? I'm assuming you didn't stop time for nothing.”

Completely serious, the man puts both hands flat on the table and leans forward. “I have been authorized to offer you a full-time position working for Heaven.”

Mirroring him and leaning forward, you ask, “What if I'm not interested?”

“Then you can leave.” He points behind you, and you know that the portal back to the clinic has reopened. “All I ask is that you hear me out and listen to what I have to say.”