The sensation that we’re sharing a private joke floods over me. In my first life, a private joke always came at someone else’s expense. But with Madeline, there’s no viciousness, only comfort.
Azbaugh is clearly not happy with our banter and instead turns to Sal. “Are you finished with this witness?” he asks coldly.
Sal nods and turns to Madeline. “Thank you for your testimony. You may step down.”
She slowly slips off the chair and looks from Azbaugh to me. I can tell she’s thinking about doing something but isn’t sure how the Tribunal will react. Finally, she makes up her mind and rushes around the table, throwing her arms around my neck.
I look at Azbaugh, my eyes wide with fear and surprise. And then the dam breaks. I stand and return her embrace. Once again, I’m struck by how peaceful I feel around her. I wish I could feel this way forever. But she reluctantly breaks away and I look up to see Yeats pulling her into the audience. His look tells me he’s sorry and with a slight nod toward the dais, he redirects my attention to Azbaugh, who looks none too thrilled with my emotional outburst. I guess the Angel of Judgment doesn’t like feelings clouding up the facts.
Sal comes back around the table and motions for me to sit. I tuck my hair behind my ears and do as I’m told. I’m too exhausted to fight anymore. Madeline was my last chance. And if her passionate witness doesn’t convince the three angels that my life deserves a second chance, well, then I doubt anything will. I prepare for my turn before them.
“Zachriel,” Azbaugh asks once the smattering of conversation from the galley dies down, “are you ready?”
I lean over and whisper to Sal, “What’s happening?”
He tilts his head slightly, not taking his eyes off the dais. “Zachriel is going to sift through your memories to see if there is any evidence that your soul has changed after the experiences you’ve had.”
“Wait, so I don’t get to say anything?”
“Is there a problem?” Azbaugh calls out, irritation creeping into his tone.
Sal gives me a thanks-a-lot look and stands. “If it would please the Tribunal, I would like a few moments to discuss the next phase of the Tribunal’s inquiry with RJ. Surely, my Brothers, you would have no objections.”
Azbaugh nods and makes a motion with his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I see the wall to my right begin to shimmer and a door appears. Grabbing my arm, Sal propels me from the room.
When the door latches shut, he whirls around on me, exasperation filling the air. “Geez, RJ, can’t you just sit there and let me do my job? The less Azbaugh hears your voice, the better. He doesn’t like you.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I snap. “This is my life they’re debating. I think I’m entitled to have a say or at least know when someone’s going to be poking around in my brain.”
“No, you aren’t. Believe it or not, Zachriel might be your best shot at getting out of here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He knows what your life was like when you first got here. He’s going to use that as a baseline and filter out what you have learned and predict with perfect accuracy what will happen when your conscious and subconscious merge again. He alone can give witness to the growth you have experienced.
“If all they care about is Zachriel’s projections, what was the point of the testimonies?”
“That’s what Azbaugh cares about,” Sal agrees. “But Marmaroth and Shepard are swayed by other variables.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for starters, most of the time souls are passive, preferring to cast off the chains of mortality and enjoy life after death. But several have temporarily relinquished their peace and entered into this three-ring circus. For them to become impassioned and take up for a cause will go a long way to get you the other two votes.”
His eyes are pleading with me. I want to argue but I can’t. I know he’s got a point. I run my hands through my hair, twisting a few strands when I get to the end. “What do you think my chances are?”
“Azbaugh is looking for any reason to turn you down, but you already know that. I don’t think he cares about whether you are a good person or not. To him, this has been handled wrong from the beginning and should be made right.”
“And Marmaroth?”
Sal looks a little less sure now. “He’s the wild card. You scored some major points with him when Yeats brought up the Akashic Records. All of those lives with questionable futures won’t sit well with him. Add to the fact that they are most likely based on you being sent back, making the outcome all the more questionable if you don’t, and I think he could swing the vote in our direction. But he may see sending you back as a slippery slope to more appeals being made by souls who are not ready to accept their death. That could be enough for him to vote with Azbaugh.”
I take a deep breath and realize the room smells like the gardenia garden my grandmother had behind her house. It’s not enough to make me relax, but my head is clearer. “After Zachriel does his thing to my head and gives his report, is that when they vote?”
“Yes, but Azbaugh will make them deliberate before rendering their verdict. You can bet he’ll have prepared a pretty compelling argument to deny your request.”
“And there’s absolutely nothing I can do?”
He’s quiet for a minute and then answers, “Maybe one thing. You’ve won over the crowd, but their opinion doesn’t matter. It’s the three angels at the front of the room that count. You have to make them realize that you recognize the seriousness of the situation.”
“I can do that,” I say with a nod.
“And you have to convince them that you’ve learned from your experiences. Make them believe your life and those of the people you harmed have value to the world.”
I want to yell at him to stop lecturing me, but I can’t. I know he’s right. “If I can do that, everything should work out?” I could really use some reassurance right now.
“I can’t promise you that.”
Not exactly what I was looking for. “But we can hope, right?”
“Hope is a pretty powerful form of prayer,” Sal says, his hand on the doorknob.
Absently I say, “I don’t pray.”
He pauses before responding, “Maybe you should.”
Chapter 28
My return to the Hall is met with a sudden hush falling over the room. The three members of the Tribunal are standing together behind the dais, talking in voices that I can only describe as quieter than a butterfly’s wings. When they hear us, they return wordlessly to their places.
Azbaugh doesn’t even look at me. “Zachriel, you may begin.”
I expect for him to come over and touch my forehead or something, but he doesn’t. He just closes his eyes. And then I feel him. At first it starts like a subtle tingle, but the deeper he digs into my memories, the more it feels like tendrils carefully picking over every inch of my brain. I shudder, trying to pull back, but I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance up to see Yeats standing next to me.
I don’t remember seeing him when I came back into the room, but I’m glad he’s here. His touch soothes me and I manage to stay calm through the rest of Zachriel’s investigation. When my mind feels like my own again, Yeats moves away. Taking a deep breath, I look to Sal for reassurance.
“You did good,” he says. “Not many people can go through such a thorough review without screaming. You didn’t even whimper.”
His approval does nothing to diminish the violation I feel. Since not all of my new memories have made their way to my consciousness, Zachriel probably knows more about me than I do. I look at him to find his eyes still shut. As though he senses me watching, they flutter open without warning.
Azbaugh looks at him carefully. “What say you, Brother?”
Zachriel is silent and still for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is flat, like he’s in a trance. “I have reviewed the memories of Rowena Joy Jones. I have seen her past and her present. I have filtered
out her memories of the Afterlife, though it was difficult as some of them have become embedded in her subconscious. According to all that is seen, I can say without hesitation that the unseen of her future poses significant improvement over the last timeline. The quality of her life has already been greatly altered by her actions.” And with that, Zachriel stops talking and slumps in his seat.
I don’t know what the Tribunal wants to hear, but all of that sounds good for me. I turn to fist bump Sal, but his eyes are still on Zachriel. I follow his gaze.
Can angels die? Because Zachriel looks dead. I mean, really, really dead.
Azbaugh doesn’t seem concerned about Zachriel’s sudden change at all. He isn’t even looking at him. Instead, his gaze is boring into my soul and any happiness I feel about my success is quickly receding. He scrunches his face up until his eyebrows come together and a snarl skips across his lips. “My, my, aren’t you a surprise.”
I can’t believe it. He’s mad at me because I did what the Tribunal asked me to do? It’s not like I’m trying to undermine his authority. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. I glance at Sal who reminds me with his eyes to stay quiet. I fold my hands in my lap and the coolness of Sandy’s ring takes me by surprise. Until now, nothing has felt hot or cold.
I focus on the ring until Shepard breaks the awkwardness settling over the crowd. “It would seem that we have all the information we need and the decision is in our hands, Brothers. Shall we convene for counsel?” Not waiting for Azbaugh’s answer, he stands up and slowly unfurls his wings to their full length. The flapping starts as a gentle breeze, growing steady as he rises. When Marmaroth joins him, the air begins to swirl, but at least he’s taking care not to stir up the wind too much. Azbaugh, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care about our comfort and shoots up, his wake leaving everyone struggling to stay upright.
“Oh, yeah,” Sal says. “He’s not happy.”
I turn to him, feeling the blood drain from my face. “He can’t refuse me. Not after what he just heard. How can he say I can’t go back when everyone, including the mind invader over there, says I’ve changed? Geez. Even the Akashic Records are on my side.”
“Because he’s Azbaugh,” Sal says in frustration. “Don’t you get it? The Tribunal was called because Azrael said it had to be. But he does not determine the outcome. The Tribunal can do whatever they want and there is no one to overturn their decision. Azbaugh doesn’t have to explain the reason for his vote.”
“So this has probably been a complete waste of time,” I sulk.
Sal shakes his head. “We were never trying to get Azbaugh’s vote. It’s the other two we’re working on.”
“Well, do you think we got them?”
Sal looks away. “I don’t know.”
I see Grams and Madeline huddling close together, whispering and giving me hopeful looks that aren’t very convincing. Around the room, I meet similar faces staring at me. People want to encourage me but deep down, they’re not sure what’s going to happen. I begin to prepare myself for the worst. Maybe the Lobby wouldn’t be so bad.
Turning back to Sal I ask, “What if they reject my appeal? What happens then?”
Sal doesn’t answer for a moment. When he finally does, I’m not happy with his response. “They will make a recommendation to Azrael. Basically, they’ll likely suggest you be hidden until your time is up.”
“Why can’t I just go back to the Lobby?”
“You’ve already proven that you have the ability to communicate with the newly deceased,” he answers. “Azrael will want you kept out of sight of souls going through processing.”
He’s talking about the lovesick biker. Why didn’t I leave that guy alone?
I force myself to pay attention to the rest of Sal’s speech. “However, you haven’t completed processing, so you won’t be able to enter Heaven or Hell, either.”
“Why does it have to be ‘or Hell’? At the very least, I should get a free pass to Heaven.”
He ignores me. “Something in between will have to be figured out.”
“Maybe I can work at the coffee shop,” I suggest, remembering how I was able to enter the space and interact with the barista. Wait a minute. What am I doing? Am I giving up? Am I seriously sitting here, contemplating what I can do to pass the time until my mortal time of death.
Sal seems to consider the idea. “It’s a possibility. But as I said, that will be up to Azrael.”
He glances over at Zachriel, who is starting to show signs of life again. “It’s hard on him, you know,” Sal says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me.
“What?”
He glances at me and then back to Zachriel. “Going through memories. It’s hard. I can’t imagine how it is to explore a mind that is neither dead nor alive.”
I glance at Madeline and she gives me an encouraging wink. Her support is a sad reminder that even if, by some miracle, the Tribunal sends me back, she will still be here. I won’t have my best friend.
As if sensing my sudden sadness, Madeline reaches over the wooden rail and squeezes my hand. Instinctively, I squeeze back and the heat coming from her takes me off guard. Everything up here is the same temperature, but right now, in this moment, I can feel the warmth radiating from her.
“You know,” I start, turning toward her, “I never asked what you do up here. I mean, other than helping me not screw up my future.”
She beams at me. “Oh, I don’t know yet. I haven’t found my place.” She pauses slightly. “But don’t worry about me. I will.”
A thought occurs to me and I turn back to Sal. “Can human souls ever become angels?” The question makes him uncomfortable and I watch him squirm slightly in his chair. “Can they?” I press.
“You know, you’re pushy,” he finally blurts out after I poke him in the arm to get a reaction.
“Well, you didn’t answer me.”
He looks up at Madeline, his lips puckering from clenching them together so tightly.
“You know,” Madeline begins, “I’ll just leave the two of you to talk about whatever.” She turns and walks back to her seat. As she does, Sal relaxes.
“What gives?” I ask, eyeing him with suspicion.
He looks around to make sure no one is listening. “Okay, yes, humans on very rare occasions can be elevated to the rank of angel, but it’s almost impossible.”
“Why?” I ask.
Sal really looks like he would rather explain how babies are made than how a human becomes an angel, but he dutifully launches into a brief explanation. I suspect he’s just trying to distract me from thinking about the verdict.
“There are several traits that a human must possess in order to become an angel. First, they need to be true of heart. Maliciousness is something that does not come naturally to angels.”
“That seems a bit unfair,” I mutter, my eyes drifting skyward. After all, from what I can see, Azbaugh embodies malice with some wickedness to spare.
Sal glares at me. “You cannot pretend to understand the existence we have endured since before the beginning of time.”
“You’re right,” I admit sheepishly.
I’m not sure if it’s my honesty or humility that surprises him more, but Sal recovers and continues his explanation. “They also have to be pure.”
“Pure? You mean like never having—”
“Yes,” he says quickly.
Turns out, there is nothing more awkward than discussing sex with an angel.
“Okay, so pure of heart and body. What else?”
Sal ticks off the rest on his fingers. “Empathetic, loyal, trustworthy, eager to serve others, and the survivor of a life unlived.”
The last one throws me for a loop. “Okay, I get the first four. Sounds like you’re looking for a Boy Scout, which I get. But I don’t know what you mean by a survivor of a life unlived.”
“It means,” Sal says, leaning closer, “that their life was cut short before the trappings of the human life could make the
m pessimistic toward the human condition.”
“Huh?”
Sal rolls his eyes. “They aren’t full of the societal desire to conform and be someone they aren’t.”
I nod my head. “You mean like me.”
“Yes,” he says, not bothering to sugarcoat his answer.
I look back at Madeline, her eyes bright and shining as she listens to something my grandfather is saying. “What about Madeline? She would be perfect.”
“I cannot discuss this with you.”
My eyes widen. “Is she a candidate or whatever you call them?” I grab his hand in excitement. “Oh, you have to make her an angel. Seriously, she would be perfect.”
He looks down at my hand before carefully lifting it off his robe. “Even if she was, I couldn’t talk to you about details.”
“Oh, come on. It makes perfect sense. First, she meets every single criteria … not sure about the pure of body one, but I would put money on it that she is. And then there’s the way Azbaugh reacts to her. I mean, I’m pretty sure the guy hates everybody and yet when she was giving her witness, he practically bent over backward to be nice to her.”
He looks away, unwilling to meet my demanding gaze.
“She is!” I squeal, clapping my hands together under the desk.
“Stop talking,” he orders.
I make a motion of zipping my lip and throwing away the key. “That is perfect. When?”
“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Yes, she is now being considered for elevation. But she has a choice to make.”
“What kind of choice?” I ask.
Now that the truth is out, Sal doesn’t seem to care about keeping the information to himself. “If she were to be elevated to the rank of angel, Madeline would have to agree to give up everything from her mortal life. When family members and friends arrive, she will not be able to greet them, at least not as human souls. Her memories will be sealed until such time as she wishes for them back.”
“They can do that?” I ask in surprise.
Sal nods. “It doesn’t happen often, though.”
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