by Nola Cancel
She never saw him after that, and perhaps it was for the better. Joe knew about her brother, and despite who his father was, never let it come between them.
Struggling to get out of her 1992 piece of shit Cadillac Seville, another reminder of a past that no longer existed, Nan wondered where Joe was now. In her heart, she already knew—in that fucking basement, alone or with John, getting high and forgetting she was alive.
CHAPTER SIX
An angel had been here. After an eternity spent fighting with and against each other, there was no mistaking the signs.
The angel’s fragrance, like fresh cut grass and the particular blue of his essence—what the souls would have called blood—were all telltale clues of a heavenly presence on earth. The amount of the essence also told Michael that whoever it was, he was badly hurt and wouldn’t have made it far. At least, not by himself.
But the one distinguishing factor all angels possessed that made them different from each other was their feathers. Based on the feathers left at the scene of the accident, Michael knew which angel he was looking for— Azriel.
Long and luxurious, Azriel’s feathers were soft as snow and almost the same color. Only a pale shade of gray that laced the tips broke up the brilliance and purity of Azriel’s white wings.
Whatever had happened to his friend, Michael knew from these remnants left behind it had been bad, but not the end.
He could tell immediately when one of his own returned to the void of non-existence. From the moment an angel was destroyed, he could feel an emptiness deep inside as if he had lost a small part of himself. And, in many ways, this was true.
Before men existed, before there was ever a planet earth, and way before the fall, their numbers had been beyond any human form of counting. And since there was no individuality among angels, there was never any need to count.
When one angel grew bored of angelic life or wanted to know what more existed beyond their immediate knowledge, they were quickly drowned out by the voices of the many still loyal to God and there was never any further discussion.
It was only when those angels who wanted more control over their own existence began interacting with humans that a war was waged and battle lines were drawn.
Though time had no meaning where he came from, it seemed to last forever.
It would still be going on if the unloved had not directly interfered with a human, causing his destiny to be completely altered.
Once that happened, God put Earth off limits to all angels unless commanded otherwise. He forbid them from mingling with souls—as angels referred to humans—and cast out any angels that broke this rule. In addition, he took away their wings and forever banished them to the place that they had once been so curious about, to live forever without their heavenly powers or the ability to hear his voice or feel his love again. The fallen would never experience euphoria and their own angelic essence would be stripped away, leaving them forever incomplete, empty, and unloved.
Only those angels ordered by God to deliver a message to a true believer, protect a special soul till their purpose in life was carried out or, as Michael noticed more and more, to find an unloved who was doing great harm and destruction on earth, would be allowed on the planet.
Sixteen years ago, Simon had been sent to do just that and never returned. So had Castiel and Michael didn’t know why Azriel had been sent here but he knew this would not end the same way and was as certain of this as he was that an “unloved” had turned the corner and was looking right at him.
“Hello, Michael. Funny seeing you here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sixteen years ago
Nino DeFalco’s biggest mistake was trusting Belial and his pack of wild dogs in the first place.
Sure, they had worked together in the past, and when it came to finding new girls for the whorehouses or getting the best deal on a few pounds of heroin, no one was better than that creepy fuck.
And, when Nino needed a specific piece of work done—one that couldn’t be traced back to the DeFalco crew—Belial always made sure it got done and did it for a remarkably low price, as if Belial and his men enjoyed the work. He found out later they really did.
When the news came out that they found a couple of the NYPD’s finest—who had worked for Nino for over ten years—dead in Bay Ridge, Nino thought, Good, they got it done.
But those poor fuckers had been skinned alive and then set on fire one limb at a time. That was gruesome and unnecessary to even a stone-cold killer like Nino.
Recently, Belial had come to him with the idea of kidnapping some guy and draining his blood a little at a time. And he’d expected him to believe the fucked up reason he’d given as to why they should.
“He’s a fucking what?” Nino exclaimed, choking on his salami and provolone hero.
As always, when he got too close, the smell of burnt flesh radiated off Belial, assaulting Nino’s nose and making his eyes water. The cheap aftershave he used to try and cover the smell was even worse. When he touched him, Nino felt an uncomfortable pain in his chest and chills down his spine but his choking stopped immediately.
“An angel,” Belial answered.
“Are you serious? What the fuck is the matter with you? What are you, one of Jerry’s kids?” Nino asked, referencing Jerry Lewis’s poster children from the Muscular Dystrophy Association.
“Listen, Belial, I know you’re a little different. I get that you never wear a coat, even when it’s thirty degrees outside, and that I’ve never seen you eat or drink, but when you start talking about angels, I think maybe you’re a little oobatz.
Belial smiled and started threading a silver coin, back and forth, through his fingers.
“I don’t eat or drink because I find your food distasteful and without flavor. As for being different,” Belial sneered, “I think you presume too much. Whether you believe me matters not.” Belial looked directly into Nino’s eyes as he went on. “It is what we can do for each other that makes our relationship necessary and mutually beneficial.”
Nino stared right back into Belial’s cold, dead eyes, even though it became increasingly difficult to maintain his gaze.
“Hey, Belial,” Nino began, breaking the eye contact, “let me know if you’ve heard this one before. There were three guys that died. A black guy, a white guy, and a Spanish guy. As they’re standing in front of the pearly gates, Gabriel says, ‘Before you can come in, you each have to answer one question’. They all said okay and then the angel asks the white guy to spell dog. The white guy says, ‘D.O.G.’ ‘Alright’, Gabriel says, ‘you can come in’. Then he asked the Spanish guy to spell cat. ‘C.A.T.’, the Spanish guy answers. ‘Okay, you can come in,’ Gabriel says. Then the angel says to the black guy, ‘Spell Czechoslovakia.’”
Belial had no reaction but Nino’s men were laughing hysterically.
“Guess you heard it before,” Nino said, laughing, too. “So tell me again about this angel and what it has to do with me, and let’s go over my part of this deal one more time.”
Belial smiled an evil smile and told Nino DeFalco all about his new proposition. As he did so, without glancing once at his left hand, he continued to thread the coin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Joe…Joe…Joe…you down there?” Was that Nan calling him? It sounded so far away, as if he was swimming at Coney and she was calling him back to the sand.
Joe could practically smell the beach. A combination of cotton-candy, spilled beer, and Nathan’s Famous. In addition to Nan calling his name, Joe also heard the distinct cry of ice cold beer here.
The images varied as well. Nan in her black onepiece, her round bottom covered by a floral wrap to hide the thighs she considered too fat and the ones that he wanted to spend the rest of his life between. The warm gray water of the Atlantic ocean where Joe learned early on to keep away from spots where he felt sudden increases in water temperature, seemed to go on forever. Children and adults peed in the ocean all the time. In truth,
it was honestly easier just to let it go into the sea than walking through the hot sand trying not to kick any on someone else’s blanket or waiting on long lines at filthy public toilets.
“Joe…” It was Nan again. She was getting angry. The sounds of the shore grew less as her voice became louder, closer.
His wife had reached the last rung of the basement stairs before Joe forced himself to wake up from the drug-induced daydream he was enjoying.
He quickly jumped off the battered brown sofa and ran to stand in front of her.
“Hey, Baby, what’re you doing down here?” Joe asked, avoiding his wife’s eyes at all costs. “Baby my ass,” she spat. She moved past him, a loaded hamper full of laundry in her arms, and headed straight for the back room where the washer and dryer were kept. Only today, the appliances had company—an angel.
Joe stepped in front of her. “Here, give me that. I’ll do it.”
Nan held tight to the hamper and pulled away. “Okay, how much did you spend this time?” she asked.
“What?” Joe asked, his head still spinning from the drugs in his system.
“You heard me. How much did you spend?” Her voice was tinged with sadness and exhaustion. “I’m so tired of this shit. You spend all day down here getting high and not only do I have to work to keep the lights on and food in our mouths, but I have to come home to more work while you use any extra money on that shit.”
Joe stared at his feet like a child being scolded. This was not the first time they’d had this fight, and what made matters worse was she was right. She was always right.
“Listen to me, Nan,” he said, his eyes still on the floor. “I’ve got something coming up, something that’s gonna change our lives. In a little while, you’ll never have to work again and all our problems will be over. I swear.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” The sound of her voice became shrill and angrier as she continued. “You’re a junkie, Joe, and you’ll always be a junkie. You can’t work because you can’t stop getting high. You spend all day and most of the night down here, spacedout on God knows what and you don’t take a shit without John at your side.”
Nan turned around because she swore she’d never again let him see her cry.
“I’m tired.” She struggled to go on. “So fucking tired. Of work, this house, and of you. I can’t keep doing this.”
Turning his wife around to face him, Joe pleaded. “Just give me one more chance, just one.”
The tears on her face made his stomach turn. He knew he was the cause of all her misery and couldn’t stand it. Lifting her face with all the gentleness he could muster, he looked her square in the eyes.
“I’ll fix this. I’ll clean up. I’ll make things like they were when we were kids without a care in the world.”
Her face showed no emotion but her eyes betrayed the cold, disbelieving attitude she struggled to hide. “Sure, Joe, whatever you say.”
With that, the woman he had loved since he was sixteen turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving the dirty clothes and her piece of shit husband behind.
“I will turn things around,” he said to himself. “I can’t lose, I’ve got the angels on my side.”
CHAPTER NINE
Azriel didn’t understand what the people outside his prison were arguing about. The intricacies of human emotion were new to him, and from what he had heard, nothing he desired to comprehend.
Where he came from, personal problems didn’t exist. Being of one mind, the angels were blessed with the consistent, overwhelming warmth of God’s benevolent love for them. Because they all received this blessing equally, there was never any jealousy, anger, or hurt feelings. At least not since the war had ended.
Time was another human concept that Azriel never fully grasped. For humans, it was the most important part of their lives on earth. They kept track of it, marked its progress, and mourned the loss of any amount. To a man, each and every one prayed to God for more time at some point in their lives.
Please God, give me more time to watch my children grow, or to spend with my wife, or to get my life in order were their only requests when their time on this earth was almost over.
Azriel considered his current situation. With his wings clipped, his eyes and mouth obscured, and getting weaker by the hour, Az knew his own existence would soon be at an end. Without any way to share his mind with others, he didn’t stand a chance.
The sound of the machine withdrawing his essence was the only noise he could hear. In its own way, it was peaceful. The most peace he had experienced since coming to this orb.
Unlike so many of his brothers, he was not enthralled by the human race. In fact, he never found himself curious about any of God’s other creations, and maybe that’s why the council had chosen him.
After the war in heaven, the council was formed to make sure all of the Lord’s greatest creations were carefully monitored. It was the council’s job to assign different angels to earth whose various duties included making sure souls were not interfered with or harmed in any way, to keep an eye on all the outcast angels, and to provide individual protection to very special souls whose time on earth was crucial to God’s plan.
If any angels on assignment did not report in regularly, the council demanded answers. The only exception to this rule was Michael. Michael had a perpetual God’s Pass, meaning he could come and go on earth as he saw fit without reporting his whereabouts constantly.
Some time ago, a few angels went missing and no one knew what had happened. Michael was sent to find them and report back to the council. His report was never discussed among other angels.
Before Azriel left, he was told by the council to reach out to Michael and learn from him everything he needed to know about the souls.
He tried, he really did. But, Michael was always so hard to locate. He was the only one with the ability to block his thoughts from other angels, making him next to impossible to find. Besides, it was common knowledge among angels that Michael had changed. Except for a select few who had fought by his side during the war, his time with the humans had made him solemn and unapproachable.
The room grew darker as Azriel got weaker. He was losing consciousness. Soon all that he knew would be gone. Azriel could accept that, accept anything, but the thought of never feeling God’s love or hearing his voice again was a pain he wasn’t certain he could bear.
CHAPTER TEN
“Where is he, Belial?” Michael said, turning slowly to face his lifelong adversary.
“Where is who?” Belial stood there, eons worth of evil staring into Michael’s eyes.
“You know of whom I speak,” Michael answered. “He was sent by the council and—”
Belial’s body tensed at the word.
“Do not speak to me of the council. They have no more power over this meat factory than they do in heaven.” His voice seethed with anger. “They tend a store that no longer has an owner, a garden that reaps nothing but waste. They watch over a home in such disrepair that even the landlord wants nothing to do with it. They count for nothing, and who they send here or what they want of this flea-infested planet means nothing to me. I am an expatriate who no longer has a home to return to, and those of you who continue the charade of believing these meat-bags are better than his first creations have nothing to do with me or the people who represent me.”
Michael could feel the rustling of his own feathers beneath his coat. How easy it would be to rip this creature asunder and be done with it. However, at this moment, it would not help his friend who, from all the evidence, was in serious trouble.
“If I find out your behind this,” Michael said, his voice rising to almost a painful level, “I will destroy you and all who serve you. I promise this. I have not forgotten what is owed.” Michael turned to leave, feeling no imminent threat from Belial.
“Don’t you remember, Michael?” Belial asked, his voice full of malice and ill intent. “You already gave your word to someone else. Someone
who means more to you than any angel in existence. Be careful, now. You wouldn’t want any of your secrets getting out.”
Belial’s laugh sliced through Michael sharper than any real blade had ever felt.
“My God,” he whispered to himself. “He knows.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On a grass-covered hill overlooking the small town of Rigby, N.Y., population 7,500, Maria carefully examined the tomatoes she had been nurturing all spring for any signs of corruption or unwanted infestations.
There was a time when her life was not always so carefree. The only child of parents who’d died way too soon, Maria found her strength in the church. In fact, when she was younger, she thought she had heard God’s calling and became a novitiate with the Sisters of Mercy.
When she realized she didn’t really have a calling but a tremendous love of the Lord, she had been
disappointed but continued to value her faith.
She vividly recalled the day she first met Michael. Her dollar store alarm clock had failed to wake her up. She was running late for her job as an assistant actuary at Whole World Life Insurance in Manhattan, the third largest life insurance provider in the state, and the thirtyfirst in the country.
How ironic, the little girl who was terrified of death had grown into a woman, still afraid, but one who now predicted the probability of its certainty on a case-bycase basis. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but she wasn’t the most glamorous young lady.
Wiping the shower steam off the small bathroom mirror, Maria took a look at the woman in front of her. She was petite, like her mother before her, with long, curly dark hair and almond shaped eyes the color of charcoal.
She never considered herself pretty. Her nose was too large and her lips too small, but she’d been told her whole life that she had a smile that could light up a room.