by Adam Ingle
When Stephanie returned to the motel, Mestoph and Leviticus were in the midst of a heated debate over whether or not abortion was a sin, a topic courtesy of the news. Mestoph seemed to believe that murder was murder, regardless of whether it was something a day old or a hundred years old. He argued that if abortion was OK, then the logical extrapolation was that it should be OK to kill the kid up until it was eighteen. This set Leviticus off, and he was in the process of explaining how that kind of arbitrary extrapolation was what started wars. At the sight of food they both quickly gave up their arguments and jumped to snatch bags out of her arms, digging through them and tossing aside what wasn't theirs.
Stephanie looked at Marcus and he just smiled and shrugged. They both waited for the frenzy to die down. During dinner they had gotten in the habit of turning down all the TVs, though they never turned them off. Even late at night, someone would be up and giving them all at least a cursory glance.
They all sat around the small circular table in the kitchenette of one of the rooms—whose room was whose had long since become a pointless differentiation. Despite the fact that they had only been together for a little less than a week, they had bonded into a sort of dysfunctional family, and dinner at least had a semi-formal ritual of sitting at the cramped table and discussing things like they all imagined a normal family did. Mostly it consisted of asking Mestoph and Leviticus questions about the afterlife. To Marcus and Stephanie, they seemed to have markedly different perspectives, though they never outright contradicted each other. They assumed it had to do with the different lines of work in the Angels were in. Leviticus was rather straightforward about his menial administrative work while, Mestoph was more vague about exactly what his job entailed. It seemed to be more along the lines of Heaven's equivalent to the CIA. Stephanie even suspected that Mestoph had actually spent a bit of time in Hell on his assignments.
Seemingly contradictory views and lifestyles hadn't gotten in the way of their friendship. If nothing else, it seemed they got along better because of their differences. The constant updates about Iceland on the Weather Channel had prompted a story about Thor trying to get both God and Satan to go in with him and the other Norse gods on some sort of cell phone deal.
“You mean Thor and the others are real?” asked Marcus.
“Yeah, most of the gods of old are, or at least were. The Norse are particularly stubborn. The Egyptian gods were pretty good sports about falling out of favor and retired voluntarily. I know things in Heaven were pretty tense at that time. We were prepared for war,” said Leviticus.
“War?” asked Stephanie, shocked.
“Oh yeah,” said Mestoph, “There have been quite a few wars between the gods over the millennia. The Romans, or more accurately the Greeks, were especially troublesome. But they were fighting a war on multiple fronts and weren't remotely unified. Hades, easily the strongest and most organized, was focused solely on battling Satan for control of the Underworld. They were struggling to remain relevant while dozens of tribal, family, and newcomer gods skirmished on various fronts. There was in-fighting, double crossing, back stabbing, and sellouts. And then they all had to fight God and even Satan when he got bored with the battle against Hades. War is a way of life for gods. Where do you think you guys got it from?”
Marcus and Stephanie just shrugged.
“So what happened with the cell phones?” asked Marcus.
“Oh, everyone told Thor it was a stupid idea and that it'd never work, and even if it did no one would want to always have a phone with them everywhere they went. It appears that God and Satan were both wrong about that,” said Leviticus.
Dinner went on with other random bits of afterlife trivia or sharing the rare interesting things they had seen on one of the news channels. When they were all finished, Sir Regi proceeded to clean up after everyone, eating the leftover fries and bits of hamburger that no one else wanted. After he had licked every bit of cheese off the burger wrappers, which he dubbed cheese paper, he curled up on one of the beds, cleaned himself thoroughly, and then went to sleep.
Since Stephanie got to go out that day, it was her turn to pull the late shift of TV watching. She decided to get an early nap before a long night of regurgitated news and infomercials. She quickly fell asleep and found herself on the familiar path in the woods, which she hadn't seen since the nightmare almost a week ago. It was a bright, briskly cool day with more blue in the sky than clouds. It was a drastic change from the dry heat of the Truth or Consequences. She was dressed for the cool weather in an off-white wool pea coat and a light scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. The light wind tousled the end of the scarf playfully.
She wasn't used to seeing this place during the day, but then again she rarely slept in the middle of the afternoon either. Also unusual was the fact that her grandmother wasn't there waiting for her. She wondered if she had a life of her own during the day, visiting dead family members and talking about the good old days with friends that passed on before her. She also wondered if Grams would come back after what happened the last time.
Without a guide, she decided to explore the dreamscape on her own. Everything seemed peaceful in the daylight, and Stephanie wasn’t at all afraid. The roots and twigs that had grabbed at her in the nightmare now seemed nothing more than nature taking its natural course. Hopping from limb to limb were small winter starlings that seemed to look on with great interest, following her down the path in a slowly growing entourage. After fifteen or twenty minutes, she arrived at the graveyard her grandmother had shown her. Unlike the last dream, she didn't see her name on any of the headstones. She wondered if that was some prophetic power only her grandmother had, or if things had changed since then.
The graveyard was the furthest she had ever come in her dreams, and with nothing pressing or predatory lurking, she decided to venture even further. The path beyond the graveyard seemed much like what she had already traveled, though the branches hung lower and the worn footpath was a bit less worn. She wondered if other people used this place when she wasn't there.
Stephanie was lost in idle thought as she walked when she suddenly stopped. She thought she heard what sounded like someone clearing their throat behind her. She felt the sucking feeling she knew heralded one of those winged creatures, but she didn't feel the same overwhelming fear and danger. She turned slowly and saw that she had somehow walked past an older gentleman sitting at a small cafe table just off the trail.
Shimmering into existence behind him were two winged creatures. Although it had been dark the last time she had seen one, she knew one of them to be a Nephilim from its inky blackness. The other one—a Seraphim she presumed—was blindingly white. There was a subtle sound beyond or mixed in with the Seraphim’s soft but frantic flapping of wings that sounded almost like chanting. It was like a church choir singing “Holy, holy” repeatedly, but infinitely changing tone and overlapping impossibly. No noise save the insane flapping came from the Nephilim.
The man stood in the bygone way that a gentleman used to rise when a lady entered the room. He was broad shouldered and seemed to have an intense animal strength that he downplayed with a benevolent facade. He politely motioned to a chair opposite him as he moved to pull it out for her. She felt an overwhelming urge to comply with his friendly gesture—so she did. He slid the chair in for her as she sat at the table and then took his place opposite her.
“Let me introduce myself, if I may,” he said in an evenly paced tone. “I am St. Peter.”
Stephanie tensed up at the mention of his name. This was the man chasing them, not to mention shooting at them. He seemed to know the power of his name and left an appropriate pause while she absorbed the full meaning of it.
“What do you want?” she asked.
St. Peter smiled, his face suddenly taking on a gorilla-like quality she hadn't noticed before.
“I wanted to let you know what you're really getting into. I can't honestly believe that you would involve yoursel
f with the likes of Mestoph and Leviticus willingly. I don't think you understand the danger you put yourself in by associating with them,” he said.
Stephanie looked intently at St. Peter. He didn’t hesitate locking eyes with her; he was a man used to being in charge. In response to her attempted stare down, St. Peter rolled his shoulders, the thick muscles hidden behind the white suit he was wearing pushing at the seams He seemed to be saying to her that there was no way she could psych him out. He had been doing this for far too long to feel threatened by some little mortal girl.
“I know exactly what kind of danger I'm in. Being shot at by you and your goon made that abundantly clear,” said Stephanie.
St. Peter chuckled. “I'll be honest, I didn't know there was anyone other than Mestoph and Leviticus in there until you all poured out in a blaze of glory. And it wasn't until these guys got involved,” he said motioning to the two winged creatures behind him with something that Stephanie could have sworn was uneasiness, “that I even knew who you were. I'm still not sure who the guy with the dog is.”
St. Peter paused to let Stephanie smile at his admitted ignorance. “Don't worry, I will find out who he is. And once I have all the pieces, I'll have you,” he continued. “But you could save all the pain and heartache and just tell me where you are now.”
Stephanie surprised everyone, including herself, when she bolted from her seat, kicking the table at St. Peter in the process. The glancing blow from the table sent him sprawling. The Nephilim and Seraphim just floated to the side gracefully, avoiding the table and St. Peter.
Stephanie ran into the woods. The two creatures turned and followed her. They weren't fast, but they seemed to be able to avoid the trees and branches with an effortless grace. Stephanie had to run as fast as she could while avoiding the many obstacles the woods presented her.
Although it had been no later than noon when she had started her walk, it seemed as if the sun was beginning to set faster and faster the further from the trail she got. That and the suffocating closeness of the dense woods made it seem to get dark unusually quickly. She could hear the flapping and choir chanting still in the distance. It seemed that she had gained something of a lead on the creatures, but she couldn't bet on them ever getting tired while she was already beginning to feel her strength waning.
She began looking for a place where she could potentially hold off the Seraphim and Nephilim and survive until someone came to save her or she woke up. Sir Regi had defeated, or at least sent the Nephilim back to where it had come from, but she didn't know if they were vulnerable to physical attacks or if you had to be a laser-shooting dream dog.
As the light faded, she noticed a soft green glow in the distance. She changed her course and headed toward it. There was no way of knowing what it was, but if St. Peter and the Seraphim were behind her, then she figured it couldn’t get any worse than them. She steered around a large thicket of briars and jumped over a low log, landing in an unnatural clearing in the woods.
The clearing looked as if a perfect sphere of fire had evaporated everything in its way. The result was a charred sphere in the middle of dense, old growth forest. The sphere dug several feet into the ground, creating a perfect, glass-smooth crater. The globe of destruction extended twenty feet above Stephanie's head. Despite all the burnt wood, there wasn't even a hint of smoke, just the smell of the exposed earth, which she noticed seemed to be completely untouched by weather. It was either very fresh, or perfectly and permanently preserved. The green glow seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
After she had taken in the oddity of scene, she noticed that there were some objects at the bottom of the crater that clearly didn't belong there: random pieces of riot gear, a gas mask, and a futuristic looking rifle. She was startled from her cursory inspection by the sound of flapping and chanting, which had suddenly become loud and close. She jumped into the crater and grabbed the mask and futuristic rifle. She tugged the mask on and spun around as first the Seraphim approached the crater. It came to a quick but smooth stop at the edge and stood there, seeming to hesitate.
Stephanie did not hesitate. She pulled the trigger. A green globe of light, much bigger than the barrel it had come from, shot out of the rifle and traveled toward the Seraphim. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, so slowly she was sure the Seraphim would strafe to the side and easily avoid the globe. The Seraphim did try, but it took the globe full in the chest.
The Seraphim flew backwards like it had been hit by a cartoon cannon ball. Unlike a cartoon, the globe was burning the Seraphim, feathers singing in green crackles of sparks. She could now see all six of its wings moving slowly and clearly. She also noticed that her vantage point was shifting, as if she was moving up. She looked down, and her feet were no longer on the ground. She was floating upwards. It was all happening so slowly, but her mind raced in real time. She looked up and saw the source of green light above her. There was a rift in the air—paper thin, maybe even one-dimensional, so that when she had stood at the precipice of the crater she must have been seeing it edge on, which would have made it practically invisible.
As she drew closer to the rift, which she had no way of avoiding, time seemed to speed up. The Seraphim was burning up faster. The chanting had slowed to an ultra-low warble of notes that blurred together but was underlined by soft whispers that sounded like they were reciting scripture. The Seraphim continued to fly backwards, now a ball of green sparks and feathers, hurtling toward the Nephilim. She saw the Nephilim wink out moments before she did.
For just a moment, Stephanie winked back into existence inside what had been a small glassed in room, though most of the glass lay shattered on the ground. There were busted monitors all across one wall, and the body of a security guard was sprawled out on the floor. Just as she had taken in her surroundings, she felt herself being sucked backwards and the green glow of the rip in time began to grow and fluctuate wildly. As she drew near the rip and time sped up again, there was a soft bloom of what she thought looked like a supernova, but it vanished before it reached its peak.
When she popped back into existence again, she was back on the dream path in an eerily familiar scene. Standing across the clearing from Stephanie was another Stephanie. She suddenly recalled this moment from over a week ago. Standing behind the other Stephanie—though she considered at this point in her history she was now Other-Stephanie and was looking at Past-Stephanie—was a Nephilim.
Future-Present-Other-Stephanie, the one with the rifle, pulled the trigger and another green globe of energy sprang forth from the barrel. It ripped through the Nephilim's neck, almost severing it. Black feathers and blacker blood shot from the wound, and the Nephilim roared out in rage. Past-Stephanie disappeared with a shimmer, and then the Nephilim's body fell to the ground. It smoked and sizzled as it collapsed into a pile of ashes and black feathers.
Stephanie woke up. She was back in the hotel room.
“St. Peter just visited me.” she said to no one in particular; though it was Sir Regi who jumped up first.
Chapter 10
A cold day in...
Although dawn had come, it was only marginally brighter than it had been during the night. The shepherd had barely slept, and although the lamb had, it was hardly what could be called a restful sleep. The storm had only intensified in the night, and it had gotten surprisingly cold for this time of year. The shepherd had tried to start a fire with some of the wood that had once been essential to the structural integrity of the shabby barn they were hiding in, but it was rotten and damp and produced more smoke than flame. It only provided psychological comfort, and even that was marginal.
The shepherd pulled out the last of his meager food from a small sack he had tied to his belt and divided the rest of the hard bread and cheese he had taken from his home nearly a week ago. When Persephone had told him they were in danger, she had given him little time to pack. She had told him that “he” was after them and they had to run. She
had told him years before that their love was forbidden, but that didn't stop either one of them, and now they were supposedly paying the price.
He looked down at the lamb and sighed. He didn't look forward to a day of walking through the wind and rain through the wilderness, but she had insisted that they stay on foot as it would be harder for “him” to track them if they stayed off the normal paths. The shepherd sighed one more time before he shook Persephone awake. It would be a very long day.
Mestoph listened intently as Stephanie went over every detail of her dream for the second time. He and Leviticus were mostly interested in St. Peter. Sir Regi seemed much more interested in the Nephilim and Seraphim. Marcus was silent throughout the whole interrogation, but even Mestoph could see the concern in his eyes—and that Stephanie was comforted by his concern.
“And you're sure you didn’t say anything before running off?” Mestoph asked once again.
“No! I asked St. Peter what he wanted, he said that I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into. I’m starting to think he was right.”
“So you didn’t tell him anything about us?”