On Unfaithful Wings

by Bruce Blake

  “The back way.”

  We turned toward the altar. Mikey and Azrael were on their feet, stalking each other in a tight circle. Mike held his golden sword in front of him, poised to strike. Azrael held a sword, too, its blade formed of swirling black smoke. I led Poe along a treacherous path through the fire, past Father Dominic’s body dangling limp and aflame.

  As we passed, the priest’s eyes opened, his gaze met mine. My feet stopped moving as his glare held me enthralled, taking me beyond the awful events that molded him into the man he became to give me a glimpse of the horrible things he’d done to Phil, Marty, Todd and the others. I felt the hate and loathing buried deep in his soul. He growled and snapped his teeth.

  Poe gave me a push, prompted me on. The priest thrashed but the stake and the pipe held him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Keep going.”

  We crept along the wall as the fight between the Archangels raged. Azrael caught Mikey in the side with a vicious kick, doubling him over. The angel of death followed up with a haymaker; Michael dodged, the punch catching the corner of the altar and sending a shower of marble across the room. A piece struck my cheek, drawing blood. Azrael’s smoky broadsword lashed out toward Mike’s face and my heart jumped, but the golden sword came up in time, parrying the blow. Mikey followed up with a punch to Azrael’s solar plexus sending the angel of death flying across the room with God’s right hand leaping after him. I cringed as they came together in an incredible impact then disappeared behind the blazing organ, flames snaking up the crucifix as Jesus wept either for the sins of man or because being set on fire hurts like Hell.

  We passed beyond the pulpit and I glanced over my shoulder at Father Dominic once more. A cloud of smoke swirled before him, eddying and twisting in an unnatural manner, impossible to have been caused by the fire. It came together, solidified into something indescribable and lurched toward the dead priest. He screamed. We went through a door into the back of the church, the scene passing thankfully from view.

  The fire hadn’t spread beyond the nave yet; smoky but breathable air filled the presbytery. Relying on decades-old memories of searching for places to hide from Father Dominic, I guided Poe and Trevor through the short maze to the door leading out back to the detached church hall and rectory.

  “Through here.”

  I pushed the door open and exited into cold night air that slammed against me like an open handed slap. A plume of fog spilled out of my mouth bringing a moment of panic. It took a second to realize it was the breath of my own lungs, not the misty soul Azrael siphoned from me. I grabbed Poe’s arm and steered her toward the graveyard beside the church when a man stepped from the shadows into our path. At first, I thought the Carrions had found us. He wore a similar long coat, though lighter in color. Ultimately, the .38 caliber police issue service revolver in his hand gave away his true identity.

  “Hold it right there,” the tired-looking detective said in stereotypical cop-like fashion. I did what he said. He had a gun, after all.

  “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “No? I see a murderer and his friend carrying an injured teen-age boy. What do you think it looks like, exactly?”

  “Not good.”

  “You got that right. Destruction of property, kidnapping, multiple homicides and God knows what else. All committed by a man everything says died six months ago.” The detective scratched his head; the barrel of his gun didn’t waver. “You’ve got some explaining to do. What’s going on in the church?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  I sighed and felt Poe push close to my elbow. A jolt of static electricity shot up my arm.

  “The archangel Michael and the angel of death are duking it out over my soul.”

  For a second, I thought the cop might laugh, or at least smile. He didn’t.

  “Okay, you’re right. I don’t believe you.”

  “Told you.”

  Poe leaned toward me, her lips so close her breath stirred the fine hair on my ears.

  “Take the boy,” she whispered.

  Without hesitating to consider the consequences, I pivoted at the waist, arms extended to take Trevor. The cop stepped forward, his arm raised and rigid, threatening us with the gun.

  “Don’t move,” he said too late.

  Poe slipped Trevor into my arms as her golden glow began, dim at first, but increasing rapidly. I averted my eyes, unsure if her glamor would effect me and not wanting to find out right now. The cop didn’t have as much luck. The hard-but-tired look on his face softened to wonder. His arm fell to his side.

  I didn’t hang around to see what happened next.

  Awkwardly, I hopped the wrought iron fence separating the graveyard and the church grounds and made my way through the leaning headstones and gnarled trees. People shouted, but I didn’t pause to see if they were yelling at me. Sirens filled the night, pushing me to run as fast as my load allowed. The muscles in my already pained thighs burned with the effort.

  Two blocks away, Trevor still hadn’t stirred.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  We’d gone four blocks when the explosion shook the street beneath my feet. What they kept in a church that would explode, I didn’t know: boiler, gas lines, the body of Christ--could have been anything as far as I knew. Right then, I didn’t care. I had to do something to help Trevor, but didn’t know what.

  I zigged around a corner and lumbered across the street against the advice of the flashing orange hand. Eight blocks from the church and my arms felt like elastic bands stretched to their limits. My legs protested with every step, my lungs labored.

  “If we get through this, Trev,” I said to the limp boy in my arms, “I’m going to start working out.”

  He didn’t comment, no matter who badly I wished he would.

  The scream of sirens faded with distance and no one looked in hot pursuit of us. I hoped the tired-looking detective didn’t get hurt. He didn’t deserve to; he was doing his job. I didn’t worry about Poe, who--squashed like a bug, captured by the angel of death--had proven resilient. I glanced up the block stretching ahead of me and nearly stumbled when I saw the sign: ‘99 Red Balloons’. I stopped and looked at the closest street sign.

  “This isn’t right,” I said aloud. A guy wearing one of those winter hats with ear flaps looked at me like I was crazy--how’s that for irony? “We should be fifteen blocks from the toy store.”

  Tentative steps brought me to the door: same window, same closed sign, same brass knob. I fumbled to reach the doorknob and, as my fingers grazed the handle, the door swung inward. Whether convenient or menacing, I didn’t really care. If walking through the door meant preventing my shoulders from popping out of their sockets, then I was up for whatever challenge awaited me inside.

  Across the threshold, the sounds of night and civilization disappeared, smothered by the darkness in the store. My knees quivered. I took two more steps, looking for a place to put Trevor and the door swung closed behind us, the little brass bell jingling, startling a curse out of me. It took a second to collect my nerves. A display of bean bag chairs in one corner caught my eye.

  Perfect.

  My stumbling gait brought us to them in the nick of time as my back and arms gave way, spilling Trevor onto the cushiony seats. Good thing he was unconscious. My body felt like I’d stepped into an anti-gravity chamber after ditching the excess weight of his limp form. I brushed hair out of his eyes, checked his pulse at his throat. Still pumping.

  I hung my head, hand on his cheek. A fuzzy stubble that hadn’t been there before brushed my palm and I realized how much of my son’s growing-up I’d missed. My lips pressed tight together as a sob gathered in my chest--relief and regret rolled up in a ball that wanted to escape and bounce off the walls.

  A feeling we weren’t alone insinuated itself in my head, forcing the sob down into my gut where it sat like a lump. I straightened, stretched my pained back, and looked
around the room. The dim illumination filtering through the store’s tinted front windows silhouetted toys and stuffed animals, transforming them into hideous, unrecognizable shapes. Any one of them might have been a demon in hiding, waiting to take us to Hell.

  “Anybody here?” May as well take the direct approach; I didn’t have time for games.

  For a minute, no sound answered me. Then a movement behind me, a noise like the flutter of a bird’s wing. I whirled toward it.

  Nothing.

  “Gabe? Is that you?”

  My voice came out flat and muted in the room of packed shelves, the tone eaten up by soft furry bears and multi-colored blankets. No movement anywhere. I crept away from Trevor, hesitant to leave him but not wanting us left open to ambush, either. The aisles between the shelves were empty except for an odor which, at first, I couldn’t place.

  Cinnamon and cloves, like fresh baked pumpkin pie.

  “Mikey?”

  “Icarus.”

  I spun toward the sound of my name and the man standing over my son. At first I thought it Mike but quickly realized the hair was wrong. Other than the ’do, they were twins.

  Raphael. Thank God.

  “Not God, not this time. Thank Poe.”

  My heart skipped at the mention of my guardian angel’s name, reminding me of the explosion: she’d been too close to it.

  “Poe...Is she all right?”

  Raphael nodded then turned his back on me like our conversation had come to an end. I’d have pursued the topic further, but he knelt beside Trevor, placed his hands on the boy, and I forgot everything but my son.

  “Leave me to do my work, Icarus.”

  I tried to stay. A silvery-white light emanated from them, the too-bright glow making me shield my eyes. I watched until the archangel’s luminescence, the outward pressure it exerted, became unbearable, then took refuge amongst the toy store’s aisles, touching stuffed animals, examining packages, looking for anything to distract myself. A tightness squeezed my chest in realization the care of Trevor’s life was out of my hands and in the archangel’s now. I knew if anyone could be trusted, Raphael was the one, but...my son’s life.

  The effulgence of Raphael’s ministrations lit the shop, making labels easy to read. On one shelf I found a set of Tinker Toys: one of few toys I’d been allowed as a child. Hours of my youth disappeared playing with those sticks and discs, keeping me out of Father Dominic’s way, avoiding his temper. No matter what happened or how I acted, he always managed to find some imagined transgression against God to provoke punishment. Tinker Toys were the first toy I bought Trevor when he was old enough we didn’t have to worry he’d swallow the pieces. That was before the drinking started again, before things got bad with Rae. We’d lose hours, sometimes entire days, creating cars and dinosaurs, anything our imaginations dreamed up. Trevor giggled and laughed as I chased him with our latest creation and Rae accused me of buying the set more for myself than for him. Looking back, she was probably right, but he enjoyed them, too. My fall started soon after the Tinker Toys got kicked under a bed, forgotten. Trevor must have felt the same thing happened to him when I started acting like spending time with a bottle was more important than being with him and stopped showing my face at home during bar hours.

  I wiped tears from my cheeks and looked up from the canister in my hand. Raphael’s glow engulfed both of them, hiding them--a star burning in the middle of the store. If he pulled through this, I’d be a good harvester and collect all the souls. I’d get my life back and show him how important he was to me.

  I replaced the Tinker Toys on the shelf and continued my aimless wandering, awaiting the opportunity to rush to my son’s side. Fuzzy teddy bears, stuffed ducks in colors never intended by nature, moose with odd expressions sewn onto their faces stared at me, accusing me of being a bad father.

  I wished it could have been different.

  I tore myself away from the stuffed animals and rounded the end of the shelves, head hung, and narrowly avoided walking into my guardian angel.

  “Poe,” I gasped, my foul mood dissipating. “You’re all right.”

  “Yes.” She took one of my hands in both hers.

  “The cop’s okay?”

  She nodded.

  “What about Mike?”

  “Michael is powerful. Flames are nothing to him.”

  Not sure she’d answered my question, but she didn’t look upset. Given the awe with which I’d seen her look at the archangel, I took it to mean he’d come through it fine.

  “And Azrael?”

  She let go of my hand and took a few steps toward the back of the store. My gaze followed her, trailed past her. I saw the outline of the arcangel kneeling beside my boy through the diminishing glow. Pushing by Poe, I stopped a few paces short of Raphael, unable to get any closer--a force still accompanied that bright light, keeping me away. The archangel must have sensed my proximity because he looked up, his eyes green emeralds in a sea of silver.

  “Your son will recover,” the Raphael Tabernacle Choir sang.

  The archangel stood, his glow dimming as the light drew back into him like a vacuum sucking up smoke. The force holding me faded and I fell to my knees beside Trevor. Beneath closed lids, his eyes darted like someone in the midst of a dream. I brushed hair from his forehead, felt his cool skin, caressed his cheek with the back of my hand and relished the peach fuzz not yet thick enough to call a beard. No matter what Rae said, this was my boy and nothing would change it.

  Poe touched my shoulder sending sparks along my arm and up my neck.

  “He needs to rest.”

  I nodded and stared at Trevor’s beautiful, peaceful face. “Is Raphael gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I know he’ll be okay.”

  Her grip tightened slightly on my shoulder, comforting.

  “Icarus.”

  I looked away from Trevor into Poe’s golden eyes. Her expression was serious.

  “He is your son.”

  The muscles in my jaw bulged as I gritted my teeth, biting back the sobs of sadness and relief and joy threatening to tear out my throat. As if in answer, Trevor’s eye lids fluttered and opened. He glanced around the room, eyes unfocused until they met mine. Our gazes locked and I did my best to smile through fresh tears.

  “Ric,” he said. I’d hated when he stopped calling me ‘dad’. Now, the simple joy of hearing him speak overpowered everything else.

  “Sshh. Don’t talk. You need to rest.”

  He knows me.

  He licked his lips, swallowed with effort. “What happened?”

  “What do you remember?”

  His eyes closed for ten seconds, long enough I thought he might have drifted back to sleep, but then they opened again.

  “Two guys came to our house. They said they knew you.”

  “They did. Once.”

  “I don’t remember anything else except you carrying me. I thought I was little again.”

  I smiled. “Oh no. You’re definitely not little.”

  He looked at me for a minute, neither of us speaking.

  “Am I dead?”

  I shook my head and more tears rolled down my cheeks. No stopping them now. “No,” I managed through my constricted throat. “You’re not dead.”

  Confusion in his eyes. “But you are.”

  “Not anymore.” I put a hand on his cheek and leaned forward until our foreheads touched, the way we used to do when he was little, before the smell of booze on my breath made it so he didn’t want my face close to his, even before Rae wouldn’t let him near me. “It’s a long story.”

  He laughed a little and I pulled away to look him in the eyes. The thin smile on his lips gave the impression he might be too fatigued to hold that small expression for long.

  “I’ve got time.”

  I told him everything. Well, almost everything. I didn’t describe my first visit to Hell--I didn’t want him to get any ideas about experimenting with drugs. Hearing myself,
I realized how crazy the whole thing sounded and expected him to call bullshit with each revelation, accuse me of being a liar or back on drugs, but he didn’t. I introduced him to Poe, told him how Raphael healed him. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he looked concerned. As the story drew toward its conclusion, Poe went to the counter and used the phone to call a cab, indicating my time with Trevor was ending. When the taxi arrived, I helped him into the backseat and gave the driver more than he’d need to get Trevor to Rae’s house.

  “I can’t go with you.”

  “I know. Mom would be mad.”

  “There’s that, too.” I laughed. “It’s more that the cops will be hanging around. They think I’m one of the bad guys.” I’d left out the unpleasantries with Ashton, too.

  He nodded.

  “You can’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he said giving me one of those crooked smiles teenagers get when they think they know more than their parents. Once upon a time, that expression would have exasperated me. Not today. “Anybody I told would think I was bat shit, anyway.”

  “Don’t try.” I ruffled his hair and hugged him good-bye. He allowed the embrace to linger far longer than he usually would have tolerated.

  “Will I see you again, Ri...Dad?”

  Hearing him use the word again warmed me from the inside and I thought for a second Poe must have put her hand on me to bring about the feeling. She hadn’t. I looked at her before answering, but she showed ne reaction.

  “Yeah. You’ll see me.”

  I closed the cab’s door and waved through the window at him. As the car pulled into traffic I wondered if we really would see each other again, and whether he’d still recognize me if we did.

  A minute passed as I stood on the sidewalk staring after the taxi. Poe put her hand on my shoulder, but she didn’t have to say anything, I knew it was time to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A week went by before Gabe visited again, one of the longest weeks of my life. Poe came and went, keeping me company some of the time, off in Hawaii or somewhere with another client the rest. I spent those days sitting in my motel, whiling away the hours watching shitty TV shows and listening to the hookers in the next room providing their services. Poe had suggested I leave town, lie low while the cops were looking for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to be too far from Trevor, even though I couldn’t visit him. I’d waited years to have him back in my life, there was no way I’d jeopardize that by leaving.