Though the Brightest Fell (The Brooklyn Angels Series Book 1)

by Nola Cancel

  Not only did he strip Belial of his wings and ban him from heaven, to live for eternity without ever feeling his love or hearing his voice, he sent him to live among those creations that he despised the most.

  In addition, because one angel’s sins were considered the sins of all angels, God cursed the tree Judas used to kill himself and left it as the only weapon on earth that could kill an angel thus reminding one and all that no one was above the Lord.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Belial threaded the silver coin back and forth through the fingers of his left hand. In his right was the ragged remains of an angel feather covered in dried angel essence.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this excited. Not since his fall so many millennia ago had he been so eager to engage his brothers in battle. Inflicting pain had become part and parcel of who he was, his very being. But the idea of destroying God’s fiercest warrior and his constant opponent filled him with a pleasure that he hadn’t felt in forever. This time the suffering would be special. This time Michael would suffer for all their sins, starting with his female’s.

  Belial looked over at Maria. She was tied to a wooden chair, her bloodied face a testament to how easy it was for humans to be brutal to each other. At her side, like an obedient watch-dog, was the meat-bag who had caused her pain.

  The piece of glass still stuck out of his eye because Belial considered it a vast improvement to his appearance and forbade its removal. He was still in the thrall of the angel essence Belial had given to him so he could perform his tasks without the hindrance of any additional pain.

  Belial smiled. “I may have some more use for you yet.” Mr. Scary grinned stupidly.

  The three of them sat in the back of his office behind the famous Hell-Hole amusement ride.

  The place had been shut since the last owners went out of business and Coney Island lost most of its attraction. At one time, it had been wildly popular, offering spine-tingling chills and incomparable thrills.

  The ride itself was just a circular stand that humans would be held up against by centrifugal force as the false bottom dropped out from beneath their feet. It was supposed to emulate the depth and despair of Hell. If only they knew.

  Belial loved Coney Island and had used its ruin and disrepair as a place to conduct his business.

  Tonight, it would be the back-drop for settling some long standing scores.

  Belial heard the creak of the old wooden floor boards as Mal walked in the back door.

  “Is everything ready?” he asked, never turning his way and continuing to thread the coin.

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” Mal said.

  “Good, I’m sure our brothers will be here soon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Joe and Nan had a lot to talk about as they drove home.

  Mainly, Joe did an enormous amount of apologizing for the fuck-ups of his past and made a lot of promises for their future.

  When they were finally home, they walked hand in hand into the cozy house they had shared for more than twenty years. Once inside, Joe knew there was only one thing left for him to do.

  “Hey, babe,” Joe said, smiling, “how about you make a nice pot of the good coffee and I’ll go to LaTorre’s Bakery and get some of those mini-pastries you love so much.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Nan said, disappointment oozing with each word, “but we still have so much to talk about. Everything that happened today—why us? A lot of things, Joe.”

  “I know, I know. And, we will, I promise. Just as soon as I get back with the cake. “C’mon,” he smiled, “tell me you couldn’t go for a cannoli with your coffee?”

  “Chocolate?” she asked, grinning like a kid again.

  “Is there any other kind?”

  Joe started for the basement and Nan’s heart skipped a beat. She stared at the floor and with a voice close to tears, said, “That’s not the way to LaTorre’s.”

  How could he be so stupid? Joe tripped over the coffee table as he ran to take his wife in his arms. Holding her tight, afraid to let go, he said, “Oh God, Nan. I’m sorry. But you gotta listen to me. I’m through with that shit. Through with the lies, through with all of it.”

  He held her face in his hands and kissed her eyes, salty from crying.

  “I made you a promise to never do drugs again and I’m going to keep it,” he said.

  “But, the basement… You were—”

  “I left my wallet down there. Gotta pay for those chocolate cannolis with something. I know I’m good looking, but Mrs. LaTorre is like 86. Besides, I hear she only puts out cannolis for the younger guys.”

  Nan started to laugh. It felt so good to laugh again. “I’m sorry, Joe,” she began. “I thought—”

  “It’s okay, Babe. Everything from now on is gonna be okay. I know you have no reason to trust me or anything I say but, I swear, as God is my witness, I won’t hurt you again. Okay?” he said, looking and finding forever in her eyes.

  “Okay,” she answered as they kissed each other long and hard, with a passion neither of them had felt in too long.

  “Wow,” Joe said with a loving leer, grabbing a quick feel of his wife’s round bottom. “Maybe, I’ll get the cake later.”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up and get out of here,” she said, playfully pushing him away.

  “Alright, but if I’m not back in a while, Mrs. LaTorre has me hostage.”

  They both laughed as she made her way to the kitchen and he headed towards the basement.

  Stopping one last time before he went in, Joe looked at the woman he had loved for almost his whole life and said, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  He meant that from the bottom of his heart. The real problem was convincing his head to believe it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Michael and Azriel studied Joe’s map of the Hell-Hole like generals plotting their next strategic move.

  Once Nan and Joe were safe and secure in their car, Azriel and Michael had apparated to this spot and started to wait.

  They had been standing on the corner of Stillwell Avenue and 12th St. for the better part of two hours, watching for anyone leaving or entering the building where Maria was being held captive.

  The only one they had seen so far was Mal. His huge body was unmistakable.

  Many ages ago, Malachi had given up one of his heavenly brothers to Belial, who had already been cast out and living on Earth. Subsequently, Belial tortured and destroyed him.

  Malachi was immediately cast out and had his wings taken away. But, anyone who had known Mal or fought with him knew that punishment was exactly what he had wanted.

  During the great war in heaven, Mal was primarily absent, waiting in the background to see who would win. He had no preference, one side over the other, but insisted on being part of the winning side. His actions would have gone mostly unnoticed if he hadn’t enjoyed killing so much. So, when Belial told him he could kill as many humans as he wanted if he just helped him destroy fellow angels, Malachi thought it was a pretty sweet deal.

  Since then, the two expatriates inflicted all types of pain and suffering upon humans. Truth be told, Mal enjoyed the torment even more than Belial because for Mal, there was no reason like vengeance or jealousy involved. No matter who died, he simply enjoyed the destruction. He particularly took great pleasure in their faces. In fact, the only piece of human technology he couldn’t live without was a cell phone camera. With it, he would capture all the grotesque, pitiful, last living images of all those he murdered. His phone was so full of these pictures he’d had to purchase something called more memory and have it professionally installed.

  “What do you think Mal had in the bag he carried?” Azriel asked Michael as they stood in the shadows of a burnt out building.

  “I do not know,” Michael replied, “but my guess would be a weapon of some sort.”

  Azriel looked pensive and worried.

  “Do not concern yourself with these things,”
Michael said, looking once again at the map to see if they missed something.

  “I am not worried for myself. God will protect me. I am worried about you, my friend. When the council finds out about this woman, you will be banned from earth or worse—you will become one of the unloved.”

  “I will handle that problem when the time comes,” Michael said, lowering his head as if in prayer. “My only concern is for Maria’s safety. I can handle anything that comes afterward as long as she is safe and secure.”

  Azriel looked at his friend, trying to find a way to ask a question that was on his mind for quite some time. Finally, he simply asked, “What is it like to love a human?”

  Michael smiled. “It is impossible to explain,” he said, trying to find the right words. “While I have felt the Lord’s unwavering love since the beginning, and as an angel I have never been without my brothers, there was still a part of me that was lonely. After eons of watching these souls, I longed for that which I saw. The embrace of someone you love, soft lips pressed against my own, and the physical warmth of being close to someone you care for more than anything else. This is what I experience within Maria’s arms. She is everything.”

  “What about God?” Azriel whispered, afraid someone might hear.

  “I love the Lord with all my heart and always will,” Michael replied. “I will praise his name and do his work until the end of eternity. But, I refuse to believe that these feelings I have are wrong or forbidden by the one who gave them to me. He is my creator and all that I know and love comes from him. How, then, could my love for Maria not be blessed?”

  “I can’t say that I understand,” Azriel said, looking directly into his friend’s eyes, “but I will fight for your right to love as fiercely as I will fight Mal and Belial to return whom you love.”

  “Thank you, Azriel,” Michael said sincerely. “It will not be easy.”

  “I am ready,” Azriel said. “Are you?”

  “I have been ready to destroy Belial for ages,” Michael replied, a darkness descending upon him. “The real question is, will he be ready for me?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Joe turned on the basement light. For a split second, his senses were bombarded with the sins of his past. Too many years had been wasted down here trying to forget his life and forget how he had failed at being a son, a father, and a husband.

  He had a lot of making up to do to all those that had suffered because of him. Tonight, he would start.

  Joe entered the room that had once been his father’s office, the one they had both used to keep an angel prisoner.

  The walls were still lined with vials full of forcibly obtained angel essence. Gone, however, was any temptation for the false euphoria or the all

  encompassing need to get high on anything.

  Scattered haphazardly on the floor were some of Azriel’s feathers. He wondered if the damage he had caused the angel would reverse itself and silently prayed that it would. He couldn’t bear the idea that he had permanently altered one of God’s own.

  Standing behind his father’s old desk, Joe reached under the middle drawer looking for the hidden key his father had kept there and the one he had discovered so many years ago. He hadn’t thought about this key or what it opened in ages, but this seemed like the perfect time to see what was in there and whether or not it could be helpful in the situation.

  Once he had the key in his hands, he walked over to the middle of the room, careful not to step on any feathers.

  Reaching down, he pulled up the old throw rug, exposing a few wooden floor boards that were a slightly different color from the rest. He then picked up the boards and threw them into the corner.

  In the hole that remained, Joe fished out a metal container about the size of a tool box.

  The first time he had seen the box in his father’s office, he had been sixteen years old. Joe had, once again, gone downstairs to see the angel and experience the euphoria that only the creature could bring.

  When he got there, however, the angel was not alone. Belial was down there with his old man and they were arguing.

  Joe could remember it all like it was yesterday.

  “Listen, Nino, I don’t give a damn about your phony Catholic guilt or your reluctance over hurting an angel.” Belial was angry. “You knew what you were getting into when I brought him here.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Nino DeFalco spat, staring at Belial with pure hatred in his eyes. His face had turned a brilliant shade of red and he was shaking. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Nino, please spare me your typical Godfather bullshit.” Belial casually brushed by him and specifically sat in the old man’s leather chair. “I am not one of your guinea soldiers that do whatever you say. I am Belial, fallen from grace and unloved by God. I could end you and your entire line before you could say lasagna.

  Belial reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his silver coin. As he played with it in his hand, he continued, “I have been killing your kind since your time began. Now, you can do as I say or you can rest assured your wife will be a widow and your son will be just another headless corpse. Your choice.”

  “Why you miserable, little cocksucker,

  motherfucker,” Nino DeFalco said in a tone that could turn rain to ice. “I don’t care what the fuck or who the fuck you think you are, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, threatens me or mine.” Nino pulled the nine millimeter from the side holster he always wore and shot Belial in the chest.

  Belial stumbled backwards and began to laugh. “Stupid humans. You never learn.” Reaching out, he took the gun from Nino’s hand and placed it on the desk between them.

  “No matter how many times you are put in your place, you all still believe you are greater than your superiors. You have just signed your own death certificate, Nino. However,” he continued, rising from Nino’s chair and brushing him aside once again as he walked past him towards the door, “before you die, you will drain that angel until he is no more and give me all the money. If you try anything—anything at all—before that task is complete, I will cut off your beloved son’s testicles and shove them down your wife’s throat. Do you understand, or should I say capiche?”

  “Yes, ” Nino answered, barely able to breathe and still in shock by what he had just witnessed.

  “Good,” Belial said, as he walked up the storm cellar stairs. “See that you don’t forget. And one last thing, as the characters in one of your favorite movie once said, ‘It’s not personal, Nino. Strictly business.’”

  The heavy metal doors slammed shut but Nino didn’t hear them. Instead, he fell to the floor and wept.

  Joe watched his father cry for a little while longer before the old man got up, went for the secret key, and opened the locked box. From his vantage point, Joe couldn’t see what his father had put in there but he seemed more at peace when he was done.

  Now, it was Joe’s turn. He opened the box and was immediately struck by an acrid burning smell. Inside, he found his father’s nine millimeter, a .45 revolver, and a pump action, sawed off shotgun.

  Still searching, he uncovered a dagger wrapped in a very old felt cloth, the likes of which Joe had never seen before. The blade was silver and shined to a pristine luster while the handle was made of a wood he didn’t recognize and had a single word chiseled into it. Joe could not make out the word. He was pretty sure it was a very old language and one hundred percent positive that it was way beyond his schooling.

  It was far easier to understand the burning smell. As soon as he touched the blade, he pulled his hand back in agony, leaving some of his skin upon it.

  Sucking on his wounded finger, Joe kept looking through the box for anything else he could find. On the bottom was an envelope with his name clearly written on it.

  He recognized his father’s old school cursive and opened it. With shaky hands and a stomach full of nervous butterflies, Joe began to read.

  Joey, If you’re reading this, then I’m dead.
I’m pretty sure what, or to be more accurate, who killed me, but in the end, make no mistake, it was this stinking lifestyle that did it.

  I’m writing this letter to apologize for all I’ve done, ask for your forgiveness, and give you a warning.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t be the father you needed. I never wanted my choices to affect you but I know they have.

  I also want you to know that I knew it was you that let the angels go. I killed an innocent man to cover for you and I would have killed a million more to keep you safe. What I really should have done was let them go myself. But, I was never that brave and the fear of losing you and your mother to that cocksucker Belial was more than I could bear.

  You did good, Joe. People like me talk about our love of God, go to church every Sunday, and even donate money to the church to make up for our multitude of sins.

  But some things, like what I done to that angel, are beyond God’s forgiveness. I’m not afraid of being damned. We all get what we deserve, but I want you to remember what this life cost me—my soul. I pray you make better choices for yourself.

  I have placed a very old dagger and some guns in my box along with this letter, hoping one day you would find it and learn from my mistakes.

  The dagger is special. I had it made from the silver coins Belial’s always playing with. Had a couple of my guys rob them from his office safe in Coney and replace them with perfectly crafted duplicates. After all, your old man was never without some gifted friends, and if I was going to take him out, I was going to use something that he loved very much.

  I’m leaving this weapon for you in case that fuck-face is still around and you have become involved with him.

  If that’s what happened, then you fucked up, Joe—big time. So, before he hurts you or those you love, take the motherfucker out.