The Chosen

by John G. Hartness

  “Adam, you always have had a taste for, shall we say, volatile women.”

  “We can say that. Myra’s coming with us. I just met this daughter today, so I can’t rightfully just swoop in and take her, can I? Don’t answer that. I know you’ve never been the most subtle of the Seraphim.”

  “Comes with the flaming sword, old chap.”

  “All right, all bullshit aside, where are we going? Where’s this guy who’s gonna decide the fate of the world?”

  “Well, he’s not the first of our concerns. First, we have to find Eve. She might not be as easy to persuade as you three. And she could be even less thrilled at my appearance,” the angel said.

  “So, how exactly do you propose we continue our little extravaganza? If you recall, I rode here on a motorcycle, and I somehow doubt you came rolling up in a minivan.”

  “I have a car. It seats four. I’ll drive,” Emily offered.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “No way, Mother. My car, I’m driving.”

  Myra looked as if she wanted to argue, but Michael piped up, “I’m sure there will be ample time for all of us to share the driving. After all, by my calculations, it’s somewhere in the neighborhood of a fifteen-hour drive to get to Eve. And since she is the closest, that should be our next stop, don’t you think?”

  “And where, exactly, is Eve?” I asked.

  “Well I don’t know exactly, but as far as I can tell, she’s in New Orleans.”

  “What the hell is she doing in New Orleans?”

  “She’s… working.” He picked some imaginary lint from his tie, looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “She has a job there.”

  “Michael, there’s obviously something you don’t want to tell me, so of course, that’s what I want to know. What is she doing in New Orleans?” I loomed a little, but the little shit was unperturbed. That came from being God’s Own Enforcer; he was a little hard to intimidate.

  “She’s working. And if you want to know exactly what she’s doing, then I guess we’ll have to find her.”

  “All right then, let’s roll. Emily, keys.” I was already heading for the door with my hand stretched out behind me, but Myra’s voice drew me up short.

  “Freeze, buster. You might be able to fly the coop at a moment’s notice without so much as a hairbrush, but us womenfolk are going to take a few minutes to pack. So why don’t you and your little friend just sit there and enjoy each other’s company while Em and I go pack a couple of bags. We’ll be right back.”

  I’m not going to say the thought of hopping on Lucky’s bike and rolling east didn’t occur to me, but I knew that would only doom me to a trip with a nagging Archangel as my only company. Besides, since her presence was evidently required, I figured the trip would be a good time to get to know my youngest living child.

  Michael and I stood around and avoided talking to one another, and after two or three lifetimes, the girls came out with a couple of bags. Emily had changed into jeans and a Reckless Kelly t-shirt, and Myra into comfortable-looking shorts and a polo shirt. Once we got rolling, it didn’t take us long to catch I-49 East and get the wheels on Emily’s Civic humming. We stopped for the night in Tyler, a little town on the appropriate side of Dallas, and got a couple of rooms at a Quality Inn.

  Michael volunteered to stay outside with the car to “better commune” with his Lord, since angels don’t really need sleep. Myra just laughed when I raised an eyebrow at her as I headed into my room.

  I tossed my backpack onto the other bed and stretched out to watch a little TV. I didn’t feel much like sleeping, and since there was always a Law & Order rerun on no matter what, I just kicked back and tried to process a day that, even in my nearly limitless experience, was pretty screwed up.

  Chapter 9

  I had processed myself into a nice solid sleep with my boots still on when I heard a soft knock on my door. I grinned and smoothed my hair into place as I crossed the room. I popped an Altoid before taking the chain off the door.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep with me lying just a few feet away…” My words trailed off.

  Emily stood there in a t-shirt and sweatpants, looking up at me nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I should just… I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, fuck, I’m such an idiot.” She turned and started to bolt, but I caught her arm.

  “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Come in, sit down. I’m sorry, I just…” I trailed off again as I realized I was rambling.

  “Just what? Just thought I was my mom?” She arched an eyebrow at me in a perfect imitation of the look I’d given her mother a couple of hours before. “Not bloody likely, as your divine friend would say. She’s out cold. I think today was a lot for her to handle.”

  “I know the feeling. I thought I was going to lie here and watch TV for a while. I didn’t even know I was asleep until your knock woke me.”

  “Oh, God! I’m so sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to wake you; I just assumed you’d be up. I mean, Michael doesn’t sleep, so I guess I thought maybe you didn’t either.”

  “Michael’s an angel. I’m human, or at least pretty much human. I do sleep, not as much as most, but I do. But I’d rather talk to you. I’m sure you’ve got a few questions for me.”

  “A few? Yeah, that might be an understatement. But I guess, I mean, I guess my only real question is why?”

  “Why?” I looked at her, waiting for the rest of it, but it never came. “Why what?”

  “Why did you make my mom fall in love with you? Did you love her? I know why you came back, you didn’t mean to, but why did you leave in the first place? And don’t give me that shit about not watching people die. I can see that lie in your eyes.”

  Sometimes I wish I had normal kids. All these years, and every child I’ve ever had has been special in some way, all the way back to Abel, who knew what our Father wanted almost before he did. And Cain, who was so quick and strong. They’ve all been amazing kids in some way. Take Matthew, my last son. He was the bravest kid I’ve ever seen. I didn’t want him to fight in the war. I knew better than to think that the Redcoats actually had a chance—free will has been winning out ever since Eve ate the fruit—but Matthew had a fire in his soul. He burned with so much righteousness that he would have blinded that little putz Michael, and he felt the injustice of the British rule so sharply that I never had a chance of talking him out of the war. I only went along to protect my identity, and in the hope that if I was with him, I could keep him from doing anything too terribly foolish. I was wrong, of course.

  It wasn’t even that much of a battle, really. We were far from any of the major incursions, just fighting with a bunch of patriots in Winnsboro, South Carolina, when a Loyalist group decided to follow up on the recent surrender of Charleston by wiping out the patriots throughout the state. Our ragtag bunch beat them back pretty handily, but not before Matthew was shot in the leg. It would have been easier on him if they’d hit him in the chest. The doctor, or what passed for one there, didn’t even try to treat the wound; he just hacked my son’s leg off above the knee with a crude saw. The doctor knew nothing of disinfectant, and all he had for a painkiller was a stick to bite down on and a little whiskey when Matt woke up the next morning, screaming in agony.

  Matthew lasted for six days before the pain, the shock, and the infection killed him. I sat beside his bed day and night with my musket across my legs, daring anyone to try and move him. I held him when he shook with chills, I mopped his brow when the fever started, and eventually, I wrapped my arms around him and cried into his sweat-soaked hair as he lay still. I looked down into Emily’s eyes, which blazed truth the way Matthew’s eyes used to glow with righteous anger, and I started to tear up.

  “All right. But if we’re going to have this conversation, I’m going to require some mental lubrication.”

  “Huh?”

  “A drink, kiddo. I don’t tell these stories sober. It’s a rule I’ve got. Think your mother will be good to sleep thro
ugh the night? This could take a while.”

  “After the day she’s had? Yeah, I gave her half an Ambien, so she’ll be out for a good eight hours.”

  “Then, let’s roll.” I started toward the stairs, heading for the bar a couple of hundred yards down the street. Emily cleared her throat. I stopped and looked at her standing there, barefoot, twenty-four years old, wearing sweats and a t-shirt that obviously served as pajamas. “Good point. You wait in there. I’ll go get us a bottle and a couple of glasses, and I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t ask her what she liked. I didn’t really care. The booze wasn’t for her; it was for me. She would probably need a slash or two before we were done, but I needed a couple good belts before we ever started.

  “That’s not good for you, you know,” Michael said as I walked past the car. He was sitting on the hood, leaning back against the windshield and looking up at what few stars he could see through the sodium vapor parking lot lights.

  “If I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “If I ever ask for your help, please stick that fiery toothpick you carry around up my ass.” I didn’t wait around for his response, if he even had one. I walked to the bar, flashed my best smile at the bartender, and asked her how much for a bottle of Jack Daniels Silver Label. After a few minutes of negotiation, I slipped her a ridiculous amount of money and walked back to the hotel with two highball glasses, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of good whiskey.

  Back in the room, I poured two fingers of amber firewater for Emily and knocked back a stiff shot of my own. I decided to dilute the second belt with one ice cube, then knocked it back, too.

  “Geez, Adam. Is it that bad? You’re hitting that stuff pretty hard.”

  I poured myself a third drink, added a couple of ice cubes to it, and sat down at the ubiquitous round table that graced every cheap hotel across the U.S. Emily sat cross-legged on the bed nearest the door, and for a long time, she just looked at me.

  “Well, go ahead. You wanted to ask me questions, so ask,” I said when I could no longer stand her looking at me as though she could see everything without giving me the benefit of lying about it.

  Her voice was very small when she finally spoke, but loud enough to bring the walls of Jericho down all over again. “Why didn’t you want me?” She looked up through a curtain of her own hair, and those eyes, those eyes that could see straight into the heart of the matter, were full of tears.

  I was sitting on the bed next to her before I knew I’d moved, and I held her as she cried little girl tears. She sobbed like the child I’d never known her as, and all I could do was sit stupidly, wrap my arms around her, and rock back and forth. After a few minutes, her crying slacked off, and I smoothed her hair out of her face and wiped her face dry with my shirtsleeve.

  I looked her straight in the eyes, and with all the sincerity in my soul said, “I never knew about you, baby. I was gone before your mom even knew she was pregnant. If I’d known you were coming, I could never have left you. And if I’d ever seen you, I could never have left you. I’ve had hundreds of kids over the years, and I’ve never been able to stand leaving after I’ve seen their eyes. It’s not that I didn’t want you; it’s that I never knew there was a you to want.”

  “I know. I mean, I’ve always known that. But it never mattered, you know? At least, not until you were here to say it to me.” As she studied the tips of her sneakers, I memorized every detail about my newest daughter. She was still high-school prom pretty, even with eyes red from crying.

  “I get it. But it’s true. You know that, right? I didn’t leave you. I just left. It might not have been the right thing to do, but it felt like what I had to do. At least then.”

  She looked up at me, eyes dry, with a little hint of the anger that I knew I deserved. “I know. So why did you make my mom fall so hard for you? You know she’s never had a third date in my life?”

  “Wow.” I rubbed my chin, partly to close my gaping mouth. “No, I didn’t know that. That wasn’t the plan. That’s not the way it was supposed to go. We were just supposed to be a summer thing, a couple of young people sowing oats, or at least one young person sowing oats and one person who still looked pretty good for a really, really, really old dude.” She laughed, and I knew we were good. If I could make her laugh, she couldn’t stay too mad at me. Also, it was harder to throw things accurately when you’re laughing.

  “So, you were supposed to just be a fond memory and maybe the face she saw every once in a while when she looked across the breakfast table at her husband?”

  “Something like that, although I’ll admit in my vainer moments to hoping I was remembered in slightly different situations than those taking place at the breakfast table, unless you have an unconventional idea of breakfast.” I arched an eyebrow of my own and got a punch on the arm and another golden laugh as my reward.

  “Look, your mom was pretty special to me. More special than I really let on at the time, and it scared me a little.”

  “I’m not even going to pretend to understand that little slice of male logic.”

  “Don’t. It’ll just make your head hurt. Let me put it to you this way. Your mom doesn’t hold anything back. Ever. She touched something in me that I had thought dead for a long time, and that scared me. I woke up one morning, looked over at her as she slept, and realized that if I didn’t hit the road right that minute, I’d never leave. And I couldn’t bear to watch another woman that I loved die. So, I got up as quietly as I could, pushed my motorcycle about half a mile down the road, and vanished. I figured she’d cry a little, swear a little, and eventually forget about me.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “No, she didn’t. I never claimed to be all that bright.”

  “Good thing. Now pour me another drink, Dad.”

  It felt good to be called that again. I grabbed the bottle and poured us both a drink.

  Chapter 10

  We talked through the night, mostly inconsequential getting-to-know-you crap, but it was nice to take the time to connect to someone, someone with whom I didn’t have to hide my true nature. By the time the sun came up and her mother came in from the room next door with coffee, we were friends.

  “I thought you two would make friends if I gave you a little time to get to know each other,” Myra said, leaning on the doorjamb. “Where’s the angel?”

  “Last I saw, he was lying on the hood of the car looking up at the stars. He might have taken off to get a better look at the sunrise, though. That’s the kind of thing they used to do.”

  “Take off?” Emily asked.

  “Yeah, you know, fly? They really can do that if they choose to take that form, but they have to make sure not to let anybody see them. It would be a little much for most humans to handle seeing.”

  “But not you?”

  “Nah, kiddo. Remember, I saw them in their natural form all the time back in the Garden days. It doesn’t bother me. It unnerves me a little more to see them in human form, actually. Especially Michael. He never was much of one to hang with us in the Garden, and I haven’t seen him, or any of them really, since they tossed us out.”

  “Does the Garden still exist? Could you go back there?”

  “No. It was more than a place; it was a state of being. Being cast out of the Garden was more being cut off from all the pure light of the world than being tossed out of a physical place. I guess it’s something similar to what Luck… er… Lucypher felt when his little revolution failed. It was being deprived of seeing the face of God for all eternity. We were cut off from our Father, who had held a pretty active role in our lives until then. And all our friends, the angels and animals, were gone. We couldn’t talk to the animals anymore, and they started killing each other. And the angels… well, between the day we were tossed out and yesterday, the only angels I’ve seen were either fallen or porcelain.”

  “That’s awful.” Emily reached over and put an
arm around my shoulders.

  “Moderately awful, yes.” I hugged her back as Myra sat on the bed on my other side.

  “Well isn’t this just fucking precious,” a voice from the door said. I went very, very still, the way I would upon hearing a rattlesnake’s buzz while walking through the desert. I knew the voice, even after all these years, and I knew that his presence was no more an accident than my picking that particular diner as I cruised east.