The Fallen and the Elect

by Jerry J. K. Rogers

  Chapter 33

  Father Hernandez and Sister Justine sat on the cold, plastic red and blue chairs of the emergency room without saying anything to each other. They felt the location was not the place to discuss their current investigation, especially with Bishop Grielle being examined by an ER doctor. After nearly an hour, Father Hernandez was allowed to go visit the Bishop, who was resting in one of the roomettes, to provide the sacrament of the anointing of the sick over his mentor. In the waiting area, Sister Justine, bored, passed time observing the activity of those entering and leaving. One man walked up to the receiving nurse pressing a wet, ruby-colored rag on the palm of his left hand. Crashing through the ambulance entrance, paramedics and nurses rushed a young man on a gurney hooked to tubes, wires, and IV drip pouches, one paramedic frantically on top administering chest compressions. Realizing she hadn’t prayed for the Bishop, she decided to recite a litany in her thoughts when Father Hernandez came through the ER doorway. The Father was thankful he wouldn't have to provide the last rites. Becoming hungry, he perused the set of vending machines opposite the open doorway of the waiting area. The variety of potato chips, corn chips, blue corn chips, cheese puffs, cupcakes, Danishes, and beef jerky didn't ignite any desire for a snack. The other machine displayed gum, trail mix, granola bars, peanuts, and several varieties of candy bars. The urge hit Father Hernandez for a candy bar. He was unsure if he wanted a Three Musketeers bar or the Almond Joy. He stood in front of the machine for a couple of minutes before deciding on a Milky Way. He noticed as a set of double doors at one end of the waiting area swung open and saw an orderly pushing Stephen, who was wearing a bandage and dressing on his head, in a wheelchair, his sister walking next to the two, all three moving through the waiting area back to the noncritical exam area of the emergency room.

  Father Hernandez called out to him. “Excuse me, Stephen I believe. I don't know if you remember me or not?”

  Brenda turned to see Father Hernandez and recalled who he was right away. The voice was somewhat familiar to Stephen but he couldn't remember where he’d heard it before.

  “Who is that?” Stephen inquired, the conversation distracting Sister Justine's attention from reading a Ladies Home Journal magazine.

  “It's Father Hernandez. I'm here with Sister Justine. We came to visit you at the hospital and later at your home a short while ago about what you witnessed at the funeral home.”

  “Really, you guys again. I don’t think there’s anything else I could tell you. Besides, I don’t want to talk anymore about ...”

  “Father, could you please leave my brother alone. He'd prefer not to have to discuss any more about that horrible situation,” Brenda interjected.

  “Look, I believe you may have misunderstood. I just came over to see how you’re doing. What happened?”

  A skeptical retort came to Brenda’s mind, but she decided to politely respond in case the Father was genuine. “Well thank you, he's doing fine.”

  “Uh...the bandage on his head would say otherwise?” Father Hernandez retorted. Brenda could feel her cheeks becoming ruddy from a quick flash of anger and she was especially now wishing she hadn’t made the terse remark. The orderly chuckled, which further infuriated Brenda. The look on her face made Father Hernandez regret his sarcastic comment. He remembered, through the years, the way some of his peers were considerate or sympathetic. And then there were his counterparts who were more abrasive just to strengthen the impact of their sarcasm, which sometimes upset the parishioners further.

  “Look, my brother just had a nasty accident and I'd like to take him home to rest,” Brenda retorted.

  “What’s that weird music?” Stephen asked, disrupting the strained engagement between the Father and Brenda, who both surveyed him with confusion. Keeping quiet and concentrating to hear over the audio of the television, they distinctly heard a cappella singing. Thinking this was the music Stephen referenced, due to the way it floated and echoed in the air, they both dismissed it as piped in over the public address system.

  “It's nothing Stephen,” Brenda responded.

  “Look,” Father Hernandez said, “I didn't mean to offend you; my only intentions were just to say hello. We're only here because we brought our Bishop, who may be suffering a heart attack.”

  Brenda was a bit remorseful, realizing she had been somewhat rude, but was still agitated at seeing Father Hernandez. “Well, I'm sorry to hear about whoever it was you said was here with the heart attack, but we'd like to be left alone,” she responded in a discourteous tone, her dislike of the Church leaking through.

  Sister Justine, who’d witnessed the exchange, walked over to try to pacify Brenda. As she came upon the group, Sister Justine saw, through the glass of the double doors, someone looking like Michael in the same hallway as Stephen and Brenda. Alicia accompanied Michael, supporting himself with crutches, his ankle wrapped in a compression bandage. Right away, Michael identified Father Hernandez and Sister Justine, paying no immediate attention to Stephen in the wheelchair, escorted by his sister and an orderly.

  “I’ll be damned,” Michael blared, those in the waiting area turning toward him. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

  The look on Sister Justine's face told Michael she didn't appreciate his expletive.

  “We're here because we believe Bishop Grielle was having a heart attack. They're getting ready to take him upstairs to run some more tests,” Father Hernandez responded.

  “You mean that snake actually has a heart?”

  “Do you hear that?” Stephen asked, forcefully interrupting the conversation. He heard something that didn't sound normal and wanted to make sure everyone was listening.

  “It's just the television or music someone’s playing Stephen,” his sister responded.

  As everyone paid attention to the muffled music because of Stephen's strong reaction, they thought it sounded inappropriate as the melody was extremely melancholy, which made for a somber atmosphere in the emergency room. They noticed the singing didn't emanate from the PA system because the otherworldly sounds didn't cut out when an urgent page broadcasted to request that the senior maintenance supervisor report to the first-floor chapel. Michael now became aware of Stephen and his sister.

  “Someone just has their radio or MP3 player turned up loud, that's all Mr. Williams,” Sister Justine noted.

  “No, it's more than that,” Stephen replied. The more he heard, the more disturbed he became and then he recognized one of the voices within the saintly choir. His face became flushed and he began to get out of the wheelchair.

  “You gotta take me to that music sis,” Stephen demanded.

  The orderly was visibly angry. “Sir, you need to sit back down so that we can finish discharging you.”

  “Stephen, you're going to stay here like the orderly said,” Brenda repeated.

  Stephen ignored both of them. “Damn it sis, help me or get out of the way.” He pulled his retractable cane from its holder, extended it, and started probing his way toward the double doors in the direction he believed the sounds to originate.

  Father Hernandez and Sister Justine observed several other people in the waiting area themselves rubbernecking, also curious about the source of the music. A spry elderly woman requested that the receptionist turn down the volume on the television. The only background noise now was the distinct singing, its audio levels increasing, and several people murmuring while trying to guess the source. The emergency room door that led outside, boomed open and interrupted the concentration of patients and visitors in the waiting area. A young maintenance tech was moving speedily while fumbling with a ring of keys to the set of double doors at the end of a hallway that led deeper into the bowels of the hospital. The distracted janitor almost knocked Stephen down. Stephen sensed someone had brushed past him but continued working his way through the doorway with Brenda catching up. Father Hernandez and Sister Justine both followed Stephen. Micha
el decided to finish processing his discharge from the ER. He and Alicia worked their way over to the reception area.

  The murmuring in the waiting area intensified, with one woman garnering a husky feminine voice blaring out for someone to turn up the television volume. The admissions receptionist complied with the request. Several other people in the waiting area had their eyes locked on their smartphones to absorb streaming media presented by their news apps. Regardless of how they watched or read, there were special reports about strange happenings around the world. Haunting vocalizations and singing had begun spontaneously at abandoned or closed churches and other religious sites. No one could explain their source. With the exception of Michael and Alicia, individuals were extremely focused on the news reports and didn't take notice to the distinctive audible harmonies drifting into the waiting area from an unknown source.

  Michael watched as a man carrying a little girl rushed into the emergency room from outside followed by a panicked young Hispanic female carrying a young toddler. He recalled it was the same fellow they’d met when they went to interview Stephen Williams. As soon as the thought of Stephen Williams came to mind, while looking at the hallway double door, Michael's eyes widened as Stephen Williams was passing through into the hallway. Turning back toward Alder and his wife, he saw they were anxiously attempting to garner medical attention for their daughter. Snapping his head back and forth between the hallway double door and Alder several more times, he decided it might be more interesting to follow Stephen, Father Hernandez, and Sister Justine. Being here with those involved with the previous tragic events, even those on the periphery, seemed out of the ordinary, maybe even extremely coincidental, especially as Michael had thought, for all intents and purposes, he wouldn't be bothered with the Father or Sister Justine again.

  “Where’re you going?” Alicia asked as she saw Michael crutch away from the gaggle of patients and their companions in the waiting area hypnotized by the televised and streaming news reports.

  “Just wait here,” he responded.

  Michael expected to see his earlier traveling associates passing through the swinging double doors. Entering the hallway, he saw it was empty audibly flooded. Following the sound, the crutches impeding his speed, he ignored his temporary handicap. Michael hurriedly traveled to the end of the corridor, turning right to where a small band of curious spectators gathered around a set of closed double doors. Above the doors, a small hanging sign displayed “Chapel 2.” The maintenance tech Michael had seen earlier in the waiting area was fumbling through the collection of keys on the silver hoop, trying each one in the door lock. He nervously appeared to retry the same key multiple times, distracted by the noise of the small throng of those anxiously waiting to enter. The singing originated from inside the chapel. Several hospital employees in the mini crowd that had formed around the entrance knew the chapel was locked and had been unused for several years, the primary one in another wing of the facility being used for services. The small mob anxiously anticipated the doors being opened, excited from hearing the recent news of similar events across the country. Father Hernandez and Sister Justine stood patiently along the edge of the small group. Stephen and Brenda stood just in front of the two clergy members. Michael perceived Stephen to be visibly agitated. Brenda reassuringly held her brother’s hand and attempted to calm him. A small-framed, bronze-skinned, middle-aged Latina with a mole over her right eye, dark hair streaked with silver, wearing a disheveled, tattered outfit with many layers walked into the foyer area and stood off to the side unseen.

  Sister Justine caught sight of Michael approaching out of the corner of her eye and gave him a chiding smirk. “No girl toy with you?” she asked, not sure why she decided to make the quip.

  Michael ignored her and suppressed the many witticisms that flooded his stream of consciousness, some of them not so nice. Father Hernandez heard her comment and resisted chuckling.

  Stephen whispered several words; they were incomprehensible with the activity around him. Brenda leaned in closer to her brother. Father Hernandez and Sister Justine attempted to understand Stephen's remark. Michael stayed focused on the activity at the door.

  “What'd you say Stephen?” Brenda asked.

  “It can't be,” Stephen responded, slightly louder.

  “It can't be what?”

  “A voice in there singing sounds familiar.”

  Father Hernandez couldn't resist injecting a question due to Stephen’s odd comment. “What sounds familiar?”

  “I've heard it twice before, once at Thomson and Thomson, then again at the television station.”

  Michael became interested in Stephen's observation, and it was then that the service tech found and inserted the correct key. The lock on the door clicked and the doors swung open. The singing stopped. Several members of the small crowd stood in place disappointed. Some of the others followed the service tech into the chapel. When he turned on the lights, the only items to be seen were mundane, ten dust-covered rows of marginally warped bench pews, and an altar with cracked and stained varnish standing erect upon a small dais, raised up one-step, opposite the entrance. A crumpled maroon velveteen curtain covered the entire back wall ceiling to floor. A large crucifix hung suspended by a single support wire fastened to the ceiling, cocked at an angle just in front of the curtain and spotlighted by a recessed light in the drop-ceiling panel. A set of six fluorescent light fixtures with soft, natural light bulbs illuminated the chamber, one of the fixtures randomly flickering. Faded white paint on the walls was transformed to a muddy shade of ivory. Four large wood-framed faux-stained-glass windows lined each of the side walls, a light recessed behind each to simulate side lighting as if coming from outside and through the window to evoke a religious experience.

  Most of the spectators were unsatisfied to find only an abandoned chapel and left to return to their previous activities; many wanted the singing to return. Father Hernandez took a quick scan and requested that the doors remain open after seeing Stephen guided to the doorway clenching his sister's hand tightly, his face flushed. Knowing him to be blind, Father Hernandez thought Stephen's eyes widened as if something he was staring at troubled him. The service technician himself dismissed anything enigmatic and was ready to shut down everything.

  “I'd like to close up everything, so could you all go ahead and please leave?” the janitor said to those remaining.

  The last of the stragglers became disinterested, leaving Father Hernandez, Sister Justine, Michael, Stephen, and Brenda alone in the chapel with the service tech.

  “We'd like to stay for a few minutes please?” Father Hernandez asked. The technician gave a disapproving response. Father Hernandez pointed to his priest's collar. “Don't worry, you can trust us.”

  Discounting Stephen and Brenda still standing in the doorway, the janitor reluctantly showed Father Hernandez how to lock the door and darted off to answer another page.

  “Stephen, are you all right?” Father Hernandez asked, observing Stephen’s strange body language and perusing the room to determine if he could find anything that might be causing his uneasiness.

  Stephen wasn't sure how to answer. His surroundings appeared hazily visible to him, illuminated by the radiance of a figure standing in front of the altar. Stephen wanted to faint.

  “Does anyone else see that?” Stephen uttered in a shaky voice.

  “You can see?” Brenda answered excitedly.

  “The same angel that I saw earlier,” he responded, his voice quivering even more.

  Everyone froze. Father Hernandez glanced back toward Stephen from halfway down the aisle. Stephen was now trembling. The wafting scent of cinnamon, roses, and a blend of other flowers assaulting their noses was apparent to everyone. With a sense of foreboding, at the same time, a foundation of awe and excitement began to build.

  “What's that sweet smell?” Brenda asked the group.

  Sister Justine approached
Stephen. “Stephen, what are you saying? Abriel is here now?”

  “That’s exactly what he’s saying,” a feminine voice, with a refined Spanish accent, said as she came through the doorway. Michael, Father Hernandez, and Sister Justine recognized her. It was Ashere. She stopped next to Brenda and smiled gingerly, touching her on the side of her upper arm. “Be a dear and go and grab me a bottled water?”

  Brenda found herself wanting to refuse the request. Looking into Ashere’s eyes, Brenda beheld a sincerity she never experienced before. The urge to comply nearly overcame her impulse to ignore the unknown woman. Brenda stood fast.

  “Don’t worry; your brother will be fine,” Ashere tenderly added.

  As much as Brenda wanted to stay with her brother, when she looked into the compassionate eyes of Ashere, her resistance melted, she found the desire to go and retrieve the water for this stranger to be more powerful. She gently released her grip on her brother’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes Stephen.”

  Hearing the voice of a female he had never met increased Stephen’s anxiety while still looking at the angel standing magnanimously in front of the altar. He didn’t feel the sense of apprehension he anticipated from his sister leaving. In some ways, the voice of Ashere pacified him, muting the swelling uneasy emotions washing over him.

  Michael, Father Hernandez, and Sister Justine couldn’t think of anything to say. They were hesitant to ask any questions of Ashere as she sat down in the third pew from the rear without wiping away any of the undisturbed lingering dust. Alder came running up to the doorway not expecting to see anyone he personally knew in the chapel.

  “Stephen? Father? Sister?” Alder had forgotten Michael’s name and ignored the courtesy of reintroducing himself. He focused on the middle-aged Hispanic female sitting on the bench pew looking straight ahead. “And you, you were in the park the day I met everyone here.”

  “Alder, is that you?” Stephen asked, focusing his question in the direction from which he heard the voice.

  “Yeah, and what are all of you doing here?” Alder answered.

  “What do you mean she was in the park the day you met us?” Sister Justine asked, bypassing Alder’s question.

  Stephen minutely adjusted to the image of the angel. “What’re you doing here Alder?” Stephen inquired.

  “Michelle was sick so we brought her here. When we came into the emergency room, I briefly saw him,” Alder replied as he pointed to Michael, “over by the television. Several minutes later, I saw her,” Alder pointed to Ashere, “and I thought this was all too weird, so I followed her here. And what is that damn smell? It smells familiar.” Alder inhaled the same aromas as those in his and Maria’s bedroom from Michelle’s mysterious guest.

  “Well I see we’re all here now,” Ashere interjected, capturing the attention of the room’s occupants.

  “And why are we here?” Father Hernandez asked, watching Sister Justine attempting to assist Stephen safely between the pews.

  “Because you all have become distracted in finding out all that you need to know.”

  Father Hernandez was becoming a bit irritated. “What do you mean, as if we’ve given up? We found what we were looking for.”

  “Have you found all the answers you were looking for? Then why do the angels sing?”

  “How the hell are we to know why the angels sing?” Michael retorted. “And just who in the hell are you?”

  “I told you before in Mexico, my name is Ashere.”

  Michael rolled his eyes, annoyed with her answer. “Then how in the hell are you able to seem to just pop up out of nowhere?” he asked.

  “When no one is looking for you, you’re not seen,” Ashere responded.

  “What the hell are you talk …” Michael tried to continue but was interrupted by Sister Justine, who felt she needed to step in.

  “Please tell us, first off, are you an angel?” she asked compassionately.

  Ashere chuckled. “Why would you think that? I’m no angel. I’m nothing more than a simple servant, much like your friend Stephen there.”

  They had all temporarily forgotten Stephen, who was himself so consumed with the image of Abriel standing before him that he was completely oblivious to the conversation until he heard his name.

  “Why are you here? I imagine it’s no coincidence all of us being here either,” Michael questioned.

  Ashere smiled. “How astute. I see you still understand the providence of the Father.”

  “What does providence have to do with all of this?”

  “So much seems like it has been coincidence; so much before you will seem like it is coincidence; all things work together as the paths cross before you.”

  “So why the sad-sounding singing?” Sister Justine quizzed.

  “They lament what is to come,” Ashere answered.

  “And what is to come?”

  “It is those who are the source of Aurora that you should be troubled by.”

  No one observed Stephen’s skin turning pale as he watched the angel’s luminosity intensify with each pronouncement of the name Aurora.

  “Wait a minute,” Father Hernandez injected. “We thought Aurora had to do with a cloning project?”

  “That’s all you’ve been able to learn? It was thought you may have known more than that by now,” Ashere responded.

  “What are you saying? Then who should we be worried about in Everest regarding Aurora?” Alder asked, considering the possible employees involved with the project.

  “Who said anything about anyone from Everest?” Ashere countered.

  “You said we should be worried concerning the source of Aurora,” Michael probed.

  Ashere launched out of the pew into the aisle and stood glaring at Michael. “Do you understand what is going on?”

  Michael was irritated again. “I understand that for about three weeks now, hell, I don’t remember, these two come standing on my doorstep, tell me an angel who I attempted to chase down over ten years ago returned killing everyone at a funeral; then we end up in Mexico. Then we find out there seems to be a connection between those who died; somehow, they’re all associated with the same company. Now we come to find out this same company is somehow involved with a cloning project, which is the reason the angels are pissed, killing people willy nilly. End of story.”

  Alder peeked out into the hall through the doorway. No one paid any attention to the elevated voices of those in the chapel. Hospital staff members, future patients, and visitors were passing by the opened doors to the chapel oblivious to any noise emanating outward. When what appeared to be a thin Indian man walked by with a little girl holding his hand, Alder remembered his daughter.

  “Look, I gotta go. I brought my daughter here and my wife is probably mad as hell I’m not there with them in the emergency room. I told her I was only gonna be gone for a couple of minutes,” Alder commented, deliberately stepping backwards. Brenda returned with a half-liter bottle of water.

  Stephen witnessed the majestic creature radiate intensely and wondered why no one else in the area couldn’t see such a spectacle. He sensed this was in response to Alder’s desire to leave. “Alder, you need to stay,” Stephen requested, awestruck, still staring in the direction of the altar.

  “No disrespect Stephen, my family is more important right now than some silly mystical fantasy stuff that everyone here is talking about. If these angels are around, then …”

  “Your daughter will be fine Alder Dennison,” Ashere commented, “compared with the chosen.”

  “What the hell do you know about my daughter? Just because you say she’s gonna be fine doesn’t mean that she is gonna be fine.”

  “Don’t worry; all things are under the Father’s control. Just like the way traffic was heavy on the day of the funeral you were to attend when your friend went blind, what has happened then has led up to what is happening now.”

  Alder became u
neasy.

  The glowing and shimmering angel locked its gaze with Stephen. He responded subconsciously by becoming rigid and tense. Even though this was the third time encountering Abriel, the repeat of the television station routine made him queasy. He sensed the entity was going to charge toward him again. The angel stood still.

  Brenda attempted to nudge her brother to turn around, wanting to guide him out of the room. He remained steadfast, uneasiness settling over his sister. “Stephen, we should leave. This is all worrying me,” she pleaded.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Alder remarked, as if answering for Stephen.

  “There are more important things than your daughter,” Ashere said in Alder’s direction.

  Alder felt the rush of blood filling the vessels in his face; hearing the comment from Ashere infuriated him. “You know what, the hell with you!” Alder erupted, no longer willing to remain in the chapel. He darted out, not wanting to communicate with anyone, now thinking they were all just chasing fanciful events.

  “Ashere, you may have crossed the line. He’s a father who cares a great deal about his daughter,” Father Hernandez noted, trying to sympathize with Alder.

  “His child is not as important as Aurora’s child,” Ashere said with her face hardened in her response to the Father, conveying the staunch impact of her comment, “Especially as the child has been spiritually taught to have an enmity against the chosen of God.”

  Michael and Father Hernandez were both extremely curious about her statement. “What do you mean Aurora’s child? And against the chosen?” they both asked.

  “The clone, the child, Aurora’s child; you both should have heard of neph’ shamah.”

  Michael smirked, the word not awakening any memories. Father Hernandez’s expression showed he did recall a sliver of information. The linguistics of the word sounded familiar. “Isn’t that Hebrew?” he asked. “I remember a little from seminary.”

  “Yes. It is Hebrew for the ‘breath,’ ‘the breath of life.’ You see gentlemen,” Ashere responded, noticing a quick scowl on Sister Justine’s, face, and knowing she was irked at not being included with the men. Ashere continued to ignore her. “It is said that whenever a child is born of a mother from the union of a man, the two shall become one, and in a distinct way, the one being a distinct offspring genetically unique and derived based upon natural workings of God’s creation. As a result, you see, God is said to give unto each child neph’shamah, the breath or spark of life, yielding a human spirit. That’s the miracle of life. Otherwise, you just have a stillborn--a human biological mass.”

  “So is Aurora the mother who gave birth to the clone?” Sister Justine asked, making sure her voice was heard.

  Ashere’s stern expression softened. “No my dear, you do not understand. The child is the lone success to date worthy of a bastardized human spirit. At each birth of a potential enhanced clone, even though advances were made for years in the area of cloning for numerous animals, for some unknown reason, the human attempts resulted in nonviable fetuses and stillborns; that is, it was said, until an angel was witness unto the birth. It breathed life into the fetus that lived. It is an angel understood to be in league against the defender of the chosen. You see, the child is the miracle of the fallen cherub.”

  “An angel?” Father Hernandez asked. “An angel breathing the breath of life into this purported clone? And a miracle of the fallen? What you’re implying is that the Church is sponsoring the …”

  Ashere interrupted, “I know what I’m implying. The angel is called Aurora, a principality under the order of the Prince of Persia.”

  “How do you know so much about all of this?” Michael asked, curious about the way she came to know such intricate detail. He found a lot of the information she presented to be somewhat fanciful. Parts of it contradicted all he’d learned while in seminary, from what he could recall, and was counterintuitive to the religious studies courses he taught.

  Father Hernandez himself thought what Ashere presented was preposterous. It sliced through countless underpinning of his existing beliefs, especially to hear the Church was being influenced by a fallen angel. Her disclosure disrupted his notion of the infallibility of the Church, the prominence of the Holy Mother, and the preeminence of the Holy Father.

  Ashere stared long at Father Hernandez before continuing her comments. “I can say Stephen and I are kindred pawns by means of circumstance. I’ve been instructed not to reveal any more than I have. And just remember that our heavenly friends cannot become fully involved with the affairs of men to the extent as Aurora. To do so would be a severe transgression. We are now dealing with a much different church than the one before the disappearance of so many. There is nothing much more for me to say. I must go now.”

  “What do you mean there’s nothing more for you to say? I don’t think you said enough.” Michael furiously challenged.

  Ashere simply walked up to Stephen, who, feeling her presence, was distracted from the angelic visitor. She gently stroked his cheek with her extremely smooth, petite hand, smiled, and walked toward the double doors unchallenged, no one finding a reason to attempt to coerce her to stay and answer more questions.

  “And do remember this, there are no such things as coincidences, as you will find the city of the cross will be upon you three”

  Ashere walked out, and no one wanted to admit their having uneasy emotions. They all thought their anxiety would subside once she was no longer present.

  Stephen, not aware of Ashere’s departure, stayed focused on the angel. It decided to move after standing erect during the duration of the conversation. The personage, appearing waiflike, walked as if it glided up to Stephen. A powerful urge to kneel overcame him; his unexplained motions mesmerized the occupants of the room. As Stephen was ready to put one knee down, the angel spoke. “Do not bow before me,” the angel commanded to him. All anyone else could hear was the sound of a muffled trumpet. Everyone in the room became apprehensive unsure for the origination of the noise. For many, the accompaniment of a strong floral aroma assaulted their nostrils; a sense of unexplained fear flooded their emotions. “Your part is done,” the angel continued.

  “I don’t understand--my part?” Stephen asked, the chapel occupants bewildered by his question, thinking it was directed to them. Once again, the subdued sound of a trumpet echoed in the room; Stephen himself heard, “You were the vessel to bring all these together over these critical days so together they could learn of Aurora. Upon waking, seek the truth of whom I serve.”

  “Who do you serve?” Stephen queried, with everybody else now even more curious at the apparent one-sided conversation.

  “That not of whom Aurora serves,” the angel Abriel responded, with the occupants in the chapel extremely agitated by the trumpet sound after listening to Stephen’s question.

  “That not of whom Aurora serves?” Stephen repeated. “I don’t understand.”

  “Stephen, who are you talking to?” Sister Justin inquired, the others pondering the same question.

  The lights went dark. For an instant, the full radiance of an angelic creature materialized saturating the room in ethereal light, then disappeared. The ceiling lights returned to full luminosity.

  “Son of a ... did you see that?” Michael blurted out.

  Sister Justine kneeled down, made the sign of the cross, and began to pray. Father Hernandez followed his companion. Michael, himself feeling the urge to join the two, resisted.

  Stephen’s vision went dark. He collapsed into a coma.