The Fallen and the Elect

by Jerry J. K. Rogers

  * * * *

  In front of the airport terminal, the incessant honking of a horn caught the attention of Michael, Sister Justine, and Father Hernandez as they were getting out of a taxi and gathering their luggage from the trunk. It was Jose’s VW Pointer horn blaring. His Pointer weaved through the maze of taxis and cars in the roadway, navigating his way a car length away from the three and then jamming into an open spot just as a taxi pulled out. Jose jumped out of the car, left it running, and grabbed the three’s luggage, carelessly throwing the pieces into his trunk.

  “Father, Sister, come with me right away,” he said in his native tongue in an agitated and excited tone.

  “Jose, what are you doing here? What’s going on?” Father Hernandez asked.

  “We must go now. There is someone you must talk to, someone who has talked to your witness during the first visit,” Jose stated, forcing the final piece of luggage into the car trunk.

  The three stared at each other, amazed and puzzled. Not one of them could think of a reason not to go with Jose. They hurried into Jose’s car. Before the doors were fully closed, Jose darted into the airport traffic without looking back or into his mirrors, which caused a taxi to swerve and nearly hit another vehicle as well as an ensuing chorus of honking.

  “Jose, be careful!” Father Hernandez barked.

  “Sorry Father. I go to church to see if you still there, and Father Dominguez tell me you decide to take earlier flight. I need bring you back into town as soon as I can,” Jose responded.

  “So what’s this you said about someone talking to the witness of the first event?” Sister Justine asked from the rear seat, leaning forward to make sure Jose heard her question.

  “Si’ Sister. I go over my brother’s house to visit him and his wife because one her family members passed away. We plan on going to the funeral later. Of course, we all talk if angel show up. We not want one to come, especially what happen in Los Angeles. Well, we talk and I mention I help escort you three around to see into the event…the one ten years ago…many don’t believe an angel do such a thing.”

  As Jose continued to talk, his driving became more erratic, with him concentrating more on attempting to recall the course of his conversation with his family than on skillfully driving through the chaotic array of cars. The queasiness of motion sickness came upon Father Hernandez with the swerving from lane to lane on the divided road. All three cried out in unison for Jose to watch out. He wasn't paying attention to the small rusting pickup truck cutting in front of him and then hit the brakes because of the immediate slowdown of traffic. Jose was able to slow the vehicle enough to miss the truck's dangling rear bumper.

  “So Jose, what's so important for us to miss our flight?” Michael asked, wondering why he was driving so recklessly. “Are you sure someone talked to the El Refugio witness ten years ago?”

  “Si’,” Jose answered. “He was an, what you call, orderly for clinic.”

  “And how would he remember what happened anyway?” Father Hernandez added.

  “He may be old, his mind still young. He recently was very sick. He use to tell me and his grandchildren the most enjoyable stories. His grandson was mi mejor amigo.” The three knew it meant his best friend.

  A question occurred to Sister Justine. “So how come he didn't tell anyone anything about what happened before now?”

  Jose focused on his driving for several more minutes before answering Sister Justine. She was patient, watching him navigate through the increased activity of cars, bicyclists, and scooters on the streets ahead of them. He’d reduced his speed from time to time to keep from hitting another vehicle. The two male passengers clenched their hands tightly, one on the dashboard, the other on the seat in front of him; all three passengers nervously watched their driver. When Jose had safely piloted his VW Pointer through the market section of town, and picked up speed unencumbered by traffic on the major thoroughfare, he felt comfortable answering the Sister's question. “Sister, he not want anyone think he cursed with virus. Just before quarantine, hear they to keep restricted everybody. He get worried not see his family and left right away. Knew he need work to support his family. Stay bad for him and family. They move to Mexico City hoping not being found. Even after disappearances, he still scared they come for him, he stay hidden. Only year ago he return back because of cancer and like to die in town he grew up.”

  Michael thought it interesting that, during the trip, Jose would attempt to speak in English with the team when he was nervous and revert to his native tongue during normal conversations. Michael butted in. “So you're saying that he talked to the same one we talked to when we were here the first time?”

  “Si’,” Jose answered.

  The three were no longer interested in Jose's driving now as much as wanting to arrive at their destination. While they had all thought they would be heading back with barely any new information, suddenly the possibility of new revelations awaited them. After several more minutes, they arrived at a set of newly renovated two-story apartments that contrasted with the weatherworn flats in the rest of the quiet street. The front entranceway had a brown-and-white-striped fabric awning, clean compared with the others on the street flaunting dirt, pigeon droppings, and tree sap. Jose led the three into a well-lit hallway and up the staircase in the rear. At the top of the landing, Jose knocked on the first door then opened it and announced his entrance.

  “Melinda?” Jose whispered, walking into the apartment at a slow steady pace, attempting not to make any extraneous noise.

  A short and thin, 38-year-old, Hispanic woman with a pale-complexion appeared from around the corner in the nicely furnished domicile. She came over and kissed Jose gently on the cheek. After he explained to her who the three were, she led the four down a short hallway to a bedroom with a television on but the volume turned low. Once in the bedroom, they saw a frail, elderly man lying in bed with a simple sheet and blanket, staring distantly at the television. Next to him on the floor lay an empty plastic bucket and bedpan. An odorous hint of vomit and urine lingered in the air.

  “Papa, it’s me, Jose,” he softly called out in his native tongue. The old man turned his head to the doorway and watched the four enter.

  “You bring the angel hunters with you?” the old man responded in Spanish. The three researchers, though well enough versed in Spanish, were a bit confused by the question.

  Father Hernandez responded first in English, “Angel hunters?”

  “Si’,” Jose said, “when I tell him who you were and why you here, he called you that.”

  The old man interrupted, weakly pointing to Michael and Sister Justine. “I remember you two from the first time you came down,” he noted in Spanish.

  “I'm sorry but we don't remember you,” she responded.

  “Of course you wouldn't remember me. You were more interested in trying to talk to your witness of the angel visit at Our Lady of Hope, Dr. Vargas. I’m Jose, I was the janitor and orderly for the clinic.”

  Michael advanced toward the bed. “I don't recall him being a doctor,” Michael said, intrigued by Jose’s comment.

  “We never got a chance to thoroughly talk to him. Unbelievably, he was still in a state of shock when we finally made it down, and before we could finish talking to him, we were sent home,” Sister Justine added.

  “Yes, you both left and it was at the same time they thought there was a virus outbreak. It was about that time the doctor was more clear.”

  “Doctor? Was he one of the clinic’s doctors?”

  “No...he said he was a...research doctor, working... studies viruses...for same company working with the Church,” the old man expelled with labored breath.

  “You all must leave now. He needs his rest,” Melinda said forcefully.

  “No,” the old man interrupted, “they must stay.”

  Melinda, beholden to her grandfather-in-law, capitulated.

  The ol
d man continued, straining with labored breaths. “The doctor felt he had to...confess a heavy burden on his soul. He went to...the church to look for... a priest…found a funeral was...in progress. He decided to wait and it was then when he said they all smelled something so sweet and flowerlike, no one could explain it. Then he told me he witnessed the angel…all of a sudden...appear during the middle of the funeral service. It then began to talk about...the life... of the man who died. The doctor said they were...all in amazement. Next, in the middle of the service...everybody already shocked by what's going on, giving rosaries, Hail Maries...some even praying...crying...another angel shows up, interrupting the first. The two have a staring contest. He then said it was almost as if they had an argument…the second almost like it was commanding the first…to leave, ...most no one there understanding anything said, but he thought it said ‘the Lord rebuke you and depart’… the first leaving, the second remaining…and mention his name is…”

  “Abriel?” Michael interrupted. “He mentioned the name when we could to talk to him before we were recalled. He never mentioned anything about another angel. We took it for granted the first angel was this Abriel.”

  “He could have been in shock,” Sister Justine injected.

  “So how come he didn’t mention any of this to anyone else at the time?” Father Hernandez asked, jumping in a questioning.

  The old man answered, “When it was mentioned a possible virus...they thought the doctor’s story was… because he was going loco from the virus … the doctor mentioned the second angel … appeared before.”

  “What?” the three investigators all said nearly in unison.

  “The doctor didn't...say where...the angel...appeared before...death would follow.”

  “Appeared where?” Michael asked.

  “He wouldn't say...just that he wanted to confess to a priest.”

  “You mentioned something about the doctor wanting to confess, did he give you any idea what he wanted to confess to?” Father Hernandez questioned.

  “He felt ashamed...of research he...was working on...in a nearby lab. He felt he...he needed to confess...to clear his conscience.”

  “He didn't mention what type of research?” Michael asked.

  “No...he said Aurora.”

  “Aurora? Who's Aurora? Is that the name of the other angel?” Michael asked.

  “He never said.”

  “How did he come to tell you all of this?” Father Hernandez asked.

  “I don't know. Maybe…because I was nearest at the time when he...decided to talk. Anyway...that’s all I know.”

  Melinda, listening in the doorway, made herself known to the visitors, making sure they understood the intention of the old man. The three felt satisfied they had all the information they needed from Jose and yielded to her request for them to leave. When they arrived at the car, Sister Justine pulled out her smartphone and began typing.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Michael interrogated.

  “I’m reporting back what transpired upstairs just now,” she answered.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Father Hernandez felt he needed to jump in, “You can't be that naïve, Mr. Saunders...”

  “Stay out of this, boy toy,” Michael sharply returned.

  “Michael, he's right,” Sister Justine exclaimed, “Remember who's paying for your trip down here. The Bishop has every right to know.”

  Michael didn't have a retort to the Sister’s comment, at least one he felt comfortable saying without offending her greatly. Sister Justine continued typing on her smartphone.