by Nola Cancel
“Just tell me where he is.” Michael’s voice remained calm and steady as he moved even closer.
As if waking from a dream, Joe asked, “How do you know about any of this? What do you want with it?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” Michael said. “Just give me the gun and I’ll answer all your questions. I promise.”
“Huh? What? Joe began to speak but the ten Tylenol he had swallowed earlier were just hitting, making him speak and move as if in slow motion. Before he even remembered he had a gun, Michael grabbed his good arm and took the weapon away.
Joe got on his feet. “Give me back my fucking gun,” Joe demanded, menace in his tone.
“Take it easy, Joe. Don’t do anything rash.” Michael said, attempting to calm the human down.
As if on cue, Joe did the exact opposite, and using all the strength he could muster, ran head first at Michael.
Joe’s nose splattered the second it came into contact with Michael’s knee. Michael never moved.
He could taste his own blood as it poured out of his nose and into his mouth. The warm metal taste made him sick to his stomach.
“I told you not to do anything rash. Now look at you,” Michael said. Joe sat cross-legged on the floor, his good hand clutching his broken nose.
“Are you ready to listen to me or do you feel the need to break something else?” Michael asked. “Just tell me where Azriel is and I’ll take care of Belial.”
The mere mention of Belial’s name made the pain from Joe’s broken nose and wrist quadruple and sent his already sick stomach into spasms. In an attempt to prevent the vomit he now tasted in the back of his throat from rising any further and puking all over the place, he brought his head as close to the ground as possible. Without looking up, he offered Michael the letter he was still holding in his hand. Michael took it and began to read.
Joe, this letter is very hard for me to write, but probably one I should have written a long time ago. I’m leaving you, Joe, and I’m taking that poor creature you kept hidden in our basement. In our basement, Joe!
I’ve known for a while you were not the man I married but I never wanted to believe you could be capable of such cruelty. I loved you, Joe. Maybe a part of me always will but I can no longer live like this, and I shouldn’t have to.
If you ever loved me, don’t look for me. You won’t find either one of us. I’m sorry I was never enough.
Nan
Joe couldn’t stop it any longer and got sick where he sat. He needed to get off.
“Where would she go?” Michael asked, getting more annoyed as each second ticked by.
“What—I don’t know,” Joe answered, resignation beginning to sound in his voice. He was distracted by the thought of getting high and drifting away into the peace of forgetfulness.
“What difference does it make? She’s gone and she’s not coming back.”
“Listen to me, you living piece of human garbage.” Michael let his raincoat fall from his shoulders and his wings began to unfurl. “I couldn’t care less about you or your personal problems.” His voice, which had started at a normal timber, became as loud as a trumpet blast. “But I will not let Belial destroy another one of my own.”
Joe sat in his own puke. Terrified, his whole body shook.
“You’re going to get up, clean yourself off, and really concentrate on where she might have gone,” Michael ordered, the soothing sound of his voice totally gone. “Then, you’re going to take me to her and pray she’s still with Azriel.”
“She wouldn’t hurt him,” Joe said defeated in every way. “Nan wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“It is not only Azriel I am worried about.” Michael’s voice became cold and hard. “I am worried for them both. If Belial finds them before we do—” Michael stopped speaking.
For the first time since he walked into the house and read Nan’s letter, Joe was afraid, really afraid. And for the first time in a long time, he was not frightened for himself. He no longer cared what might happen to him but remembered Belial’s phone call with vivid clarity, specifically what he said he would do to Nan. The more he thought about the sick malice in Belial’s voice, the less afraid he became and the angrier he got.
Standing up, covered in his own blood and waste, he looked directly into Michael’s startling blue eyes.
“Okay, Michael. Let’s find your missing friend—and my wife. But listen to me and believe it. I don’t care who or what the fuck you are—Belial is mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nan drove down the interstate, her sister’s Ford Taurus doing 65 mph. She felt unbelievably calm and clearheaded and wondered whether it was her newfound freedom that made her feel this way or her special passenger resting in the back seat.
“What the hell am I doing?” she asked herself for the hundredth time. She hadn’t gone anywhere without Joe, except for work and food shopping, since before they started dating.
Nan put the electronic cigarette to her mouth and took a long pull. The mechanical substitute for good old tobacco had been her best friend for ten years, ever since she had that health scare with her heart. The doctors told her she should give up and that’s what she did—to a point.
Joe, on the other hand, never gave up smoking and even when she was in the throes of a nicotine fit, would stand in front of her and puff away. That was Joe.
Nan glanced at the next green highway sign— Valhalla Exit 32B 4 miles.
“Valhalla—wasn’t there something in Greek mythology about Valhalla being the place Gods went after they died?” She seemed to remember something like that.
The beautiful creature in the backseat began to stir. What would she do when he woke up?
His hair fell limp across his eyes. He was weak and had barely been able to make it to the car from the back door of the house. Nan’s lower back still screamed from the effort it took to move him.
But, through it all, she had remained calm and serene.
When she started dancing in her seat, once again, she knew her bladder would no longer wait. Pulling into the very next rest stop, Nan parked as far away from prying eyes as she could get.
It would be difficult to explain the half-nude, unconscious man passed out in her back seat and she didn’t want to try.
“Hey, pretty lady, what are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Nan turned to see who made the comment. Standing too close for comfort was one of the scariest men she had ever seen. He was tall, at least 6’3”, and weighed a good 280 pounds. He wore a leather vest, the kind typically associated with biker gangs. His hair was dirty and unkempt with a scar across his face that extended from the corner of his left eye straight through to his mouth.
Instinctively, she clutched her purse tighter and silently cursed herself for not taking Joe’s gun.
“I’m not alone.” She tried to sound confident and assertive. “My husband is waiting in the car.” Praying he would believe her and just go away, Nan turned around, walked towards the gas station, and left Mr. Scary where he stood.
Inside, where it was bright and there were other people around, she picked up a few essentials— toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, shampoo, a couple of prepackaged ham and cheese sandwiches, and various pieces of chocolate candy—her favorite, and a must-have in every situation.
After she paid for the items with her debit card, she waited by the door a few minutes looking for any sign of Mr. Scary.
No motorcycle, no smell, and no discernible six-foot animals. Good, she thought to herself. Maybe he left.
Nan walked around back with the key she borrowed from the seventeen-year-old attendant who had been deeply engrossed in the latest trials and tribulations of Captain America. She smiled as she recalled all the old comic books—some of which were number ones—that she and Joe had sold on eBay. The money would go towards preparing a nursery and buy some muchneeded supplies for the new baby. Those had been happy times. Where did they go? Gone like her dead son and failed marriage.
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Perhaps it was the tears welling up in her eyes or her thoughts so far away that prevented her from seeing Mr. Scary until it was too late.
As soon as Nan turned the key in the bathroom lock, she felt the full force of his body against her own. Before she could scream, his hand was over her mouth. It smelled of grease and grime. and Nan couldn’t breathe. She felt his spit on the back of her neck as he grunted, “You’re all alone now, bitch.”
With his hand still blocking her screams, he pushed her to the ground and began ripping at her clothes. Her head hit the ground with a sickening thud. It took all the effort she could muster to stay conscious.
As she felt herself slip away, the door burst open from the outside and she was temporarily blinded by the most brilliant light she had ever seen.
When her eyes had finally focused, Nan was shocked by what she saw. Standing above her and Mr. Scary was the most beautiful vision of perfection she could have ever imagined. There in front of her eyes was an angel, Joe’s angel. No longer sickly and weak but strong and magnificent.
His wings filled the entire expanse of the bathroom. Their majesty took Nan’s breath away.
With a speed that could never be measured, the angel grabbed her attacker by his throat and lifted the 280 lb. piece of shit off the floor.
“I will destroy you if she but asks it to be so.” His voice was loud and fierce but induced a calming effect on her at the same time.
“No,” she pleaded, “you can’t.”
“Why? He would not have spared you,” the angel said, staring directly at Mr. Scary.
“I know, I know, but if he dies or mysteriously disappears, there will be a lot of questions that I can’t answer.”
“What shall we do with it then?” the angel asked.
Nan thought quickly. “I have some rope in the trunk. We’ll tie this motherless fuck up and drop him a few miles down the road.
“Believe me,” she continued, looking directly at Mr. Scary. “When and if someone finds him or he makes it back to the road, he’ll have a hard time explaining how he tried to rape a woman at some rest stop, and an angel with wings stopped him.”
Nan picked herself up off the ground, washed her face, and straightened her clothes. Her attacker, meanwhile, dangled two feet off the ground, securely trapped in the angel’s steel grip.
Nancy DeFalco, previously Romano, had never been a pushover. Growing up in Brooklyn, you learned young to always be wary of strangers, watch your back at all times, and as the good sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope had taught her over and over, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’
Truth be told, she always preferred Joe’s version— ‘Do unto others and then split.’ And with that thought, Nan grabbed Mr. Scary by his balls and squeezed until he passed out from the pain.
Not so scary now, she thought.
After disposing of the human garbage in a ditch a few miles down the road, Nan and her angel/protector sat in silence with only the radio playing her favorite classic rock station to mark the passing of time.
When Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven was followed by Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, Nan got the message and figured it was time to say something.
“Thank you, for what you did back there.” “I am sorry he hurt you,” the angel said, turning his head to look directly at her.
“I’ll be okay. It’ll take a lot more than some low-life, piece of gar—” Her voice started to break as the events of the whole day, and especially the past hour, came roaring to the forefront of her mind.
She began to weep.
“Please do not cry,” he said, his voice like a salve that immediately dulled her pain. “The Lord will always love you.”
“Huh…what? Oh, you’re an angel—right,” Nan said, making no effort to hide her disdain for true believer talk. “I’m sorry, it’s just that God and I aren’t really on speaking terms as of late. You get it, right?”
The angel looked as if he’d been struck.
“Guess not,” Nan said.
“My Lord speaks to you, too?” he asked. “And you do not speak back?”
“It’s not like that. I’m sorry—what’s your name?” Nan was genuinely curious.
“I am called Azriel.”
“Well, Azriel,” Nan tried to explain, “God never really talked to me, and if he tried, I didn’t hear him. When I said we’re not on speaking terms, I just meant that I haven’t prayed to the big guy in the sky for a very long time.”
Azriel still looked hurt and confused. “Why not?
“It’s not that easy to explain,” she started, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “A while ago, I needed something from him, something that meant more to me than my own life. So, I prayed to God for his help, and I don’t think he was listening.” The tears she had tried to hold back, once again started to flow. “Or maybe, he just didn’t care.”
“He heard you,” Azriel said quietly.
“Then why didn’t he answer me?”
“Perhaps he did and the answer was not what you wanted to hear,” the angel said.
Nan was quiet and considered Azriel’s answer. After a while, she reached down to lower the volume on the radio. The knob felt hard and real, reminding her that she was not dreaming and was really sitting in her car talking to a heavenly creature.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Don’t you guys usually stay in heaven or aren’t you supposed to be invisible or something?”
“I have been sent to Earth to watch over one of God’s treasures,” Azriel answered, turning away to look at the road. “I appear to you as I am now, because it is necessary. As you have correctly stated, usually our presence is unknown to humans.”
“Treasure, huh?” Nan laughed at the absurdity of the situation. “Then how did you wind up with Joe? What did he want from you?” she asked, saving the question that had stayed with her ever since he rescued her from the bathroom for last. “Why didn’t you stop him from hurting you?”
Azriel was silent for a long time. With his eyes shut, he seemed to be a million miles away.
When at last he spoke, there was a genuine sadness about him. “I have been sent to protect him and keep him safe.”
“But why?” Nan asked. For the life of her, she could not fathom why someone like Joe would need heavenly protection, or for that matter, why he would be more worthy of divine intervention than her innocent child.
“I cannot tell you that, Mrs. DeFalco. I do not know,” he answered.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” She was getting angry. “You’re an angel sent from heaven— whatever that means. You’re supposed to know everything. Aren’t you?”
Nan started to shake. The weight of all that had happened combined with the number of questions that still had no answers threatened to crush her. She was hanging on to her sanity by a thin thread and wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She reached in her purse and fumbled for her cigarette.
As she found it, she felt Azriel lightly touch her arm. Instantly, a sense of peace washed over her and she was, once again, calm and clear-headed.
“I am sorry you are troubled,” he said. “It is not my intention to cause you distress.”
Nan composed her thoughts before she went on. “It’s not your fault. It’s—it’s a lot to process all at once. I mean, if you were watching out for Joe, why did he hurt you?”
“He did not know we were watching him,” Azriel said. “I had to reveal myself to him the other day in order to save his life. When I woke up, I was bound and blindfolded and growing weaker by the hour. Then you found me.”
“I’m sorry he did that to you,” Nan apologized. “Joe can be mean as hell, but I’ve never known him to be intentionally cruel.”
Azriel was sad again, as if he knew things she did not. “What happens now?” she asked.
“I will see you get to wherever you are going and then I must leave you.” Azriel replied.
“What abo
ut Joe? What do I tell him?”
“Do not worry, Mrs. DeFalco,” Azriel said and she believed him. “All will be made clear soon enough if you simply have faith.”
Faith, Nan thought, was a luxury for people who hadn’t lost a child or given their life away to a junkie. It would take a lot more than faith for Nan’s life ever to be okay again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Joe was getting sick again. His guts tightened with each minute that passed. The closeness of Michael was helping to slow some of his withdrawal symptoms but if he didn’t get high soon, his body would rebel and he would be rendered fucking useless.
As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open and every time he thought he might sleep, the inability to get comfortable along with the constant leg cramps made rest a total and complete impossibility.
For what seemed like the hundredth time that hour, he wondered if Michael would give him a little of his blue essence, if only to get him straight. He considered asking, took another look at Michael’s focused and determined face, and thought, Nah.
One thing was certain, this silence was not helping to take his mind off his jones.
“Where are we going?” Joe finally asked.
Michael never took his eyes off the road. “Upstate,” he answered.
“Upstate? What are we going upstate for?” Joe’s nerves were shot and his voice was becoming shrill.
“You tell me,” Michael answered, starting to sound annoyed.
“How the fuck should I know.” Joe was getting upset. “This is your party, remember. I’m only here for the ride.”
“Azriel is getting stronger,” Michael said. “I can see more images of his surroundings. I saw a sign that said Valhalla. What’s in Valhalla?” he asked.
“There you go with the fucking questions again. You’re the fucking miracle worker.” Joe spat out the words. “And what do you mean you can see images of his surroundings? Can you see Nan? Is she with him?”
“We are not without some abilities here on earth,” Michael said, his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel tighter, his patience growing shorter with each passing moment. “As long as someone doesn’t obscure our vision—” He stopped for a second to look at his traveling companion. “I can see where another angel is located.”