by C. F. Waller
We find a small Italian place at 7th and 35th as we walk north toward the park. Our table faces the front window and we people-watch as we dine. Annie mows down lasagna that would feed at least two people. I enjoy a nice chicken parmigiana, but Annie finishes off the last of it when I cannot. Our waiter nearly losses a hand when he tries to clear my plate before she could snag it. I sip on a glass of wine, while she enjoys a slice of carrot cake for dessert.
“What time did the letter say?” I ask.
“But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only,” she recites from the gospel of Mathew.
“Twenty-four sixteen,” I reply, nodding my head when she looks up from her cake. “You’ve got a bit of frosting on your nose dear.”
“Oops,” she snorts, wiping a napkin across her face.
“Your considerable Bible knowledge aside, there must have been a time on the letter.”
“Noon,” she mutters, shoveling another bite in, then speaking in a mumble as she chews. “Noon, it said noon.”
“Then, it’s fair to assume the day is today and the hour is close at hand.”
I watch her eat, but am terribly worried for her. Or possibly it’s myself that I’m afraid for. While the section of the Agreement that would allow me entrance into the good place is attractive, it’s not the whole reason I am here. When Gabriel suggested that my beloved Beatrix might be awaiting us in Hell, it set off a firecracker in my heart. Annie and I have been very happy the past twenty years, but what will happen if I am reunited with my one, true love? What effect will this have on poor Annie?
“Are you excited?” she asks, pushing her empty plate forward and dropping her napkin on top.
“Worried, but also curious. I’m especially concerned for you however. Annie, you are in no danger of eternal damnation. As a matter of fact, you’re the only member of this little expedition who has nothing to gain by your participation. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”
“I wouldn’t say I have nothing to gain,” she scoffs. “My husband not burning in the lake of fire would be nice. I’d prefer that to the alternative.”
“As would I,” I agree, then pause. “You don’t owe me.”
“I most certainly do owe you. If not for you, I would have remained a shrunken corpse back in Greece,” she reminds me. “Stop worrying about it.”
“Well, I do appreciate your concern for my immortal soul.”
“Seriously, you embarrass yourself Edward,” she blurts out, fists tapping the table on either side of her plate. “You and I both know that’s only half the reason. I’d prefer it if you’d stop dancing around this as if I were a dullard.”
I swallow hard and look down at the table.
“If there’s even the slightest chance that Beatrix will still be there, then we have to take it.”
“It would seem to put you at a crossed purpose,” I mutter. “My wife and my lover in the same place.”
“Nonsense,” she chuckles. “I’m sure we would have much to discuss.”
“Oh, good lord,” I moan.
“Stop being so self-absorbed. It’s the end of the world for heaven’s sake. It’s not all about you.”
“Speaking of that,” I change topics, but a bright glow on her arm draws us away from the conversation.
When she rolls her hand over, numbers appear on the bottom of her forearm. Roman numerals glow yellow, ticking down as if it were a countdown. It would appear that the Almighty is providing us with a clock. Being that Annie is the only one of us who is in good standing, she appears to be wearing it.
“It’s counting down, but who reads roman numerals these days,” she huffs.
Before I can comment, the numbers blur then reform as more modern numbers.
“Much appreciated,” Annie sighs, glancing up. “Keep your phone line open Lord, this is going to be a long day.”
“Looks like only you know the time and the day of his return,” I joke.
“Yeah, and we better get moving.”
Chapter Three
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
I walk nearly a half mile, cigarette in the corner of mouth, the gun in one hand and the bottle in the other. There are two dozen cars in the vehicle storage lot. All the cars are electric with the exception of my battered white Mustang. The rims and tires are made of slick new composite materials, the old ones impossible to replace, but the rest is vintage.
A black power cable hangs unused, from a pipe near the front bumper. I should get a discounted rate for not running up their electric bill. A glance down the row reveals a perfect line of cables pulled tight, wedged in each car’s charging port.
“Good Morning,” a middle-aged man offers as he passes, but then see’s the gun and lowers his gaze.
“Right back at ya,” I grunt, nearly losing the cigarette.
The door sticks, and I have to lay the shotgun over the roof and pull it open with both hands. I slip onto the cracked leather seat, one foot on the pavement. On the dash sits a plastic water bottle. The label is peeled off, someone having written Drink Me on the side with a black marker. It’s is nearly empty, maybe an inch remaining.
Snatching it up with the intension of tossing it into the parking lot, I pause. Does this have anything to do with the day’s itinerary? Wouldn’t Gabriel let me know if this was part of his plan? For some reason, it brings to mind Lewis Carol’s famous book, Alice in Wonderland. In that case, no one told Alice it was safe to proceed.
“What’s the worst that can happen,” I shrug, twisting off the cap. “I wind up only ten inches tall.”
The taste is metallic, oddly warm. After swallowing hard, I toss out the bottle and slip the keys into the ignition. I take a sip of whiskey to clear my taste buds of the water, and then try to start the Mustang. It turns over and over, but doesn’t fire. I repeat the process, the grinding of the starter slower on every attempt.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, taking another sip. “I promise this is the last time you have to start.”
I crank it a few more times, then purple smoke explodes out the tail pipes, thunderous rumbling shattering the early morning quiet. The entire car shakes, rough at first, then smoothing out on its own. I play with the radio while it warms up, finding a playlist that matches my mood. Another swig, then I shove the bottle between the bucket seats and reach up to get the shotgun off the roof. My fingertips brush the stock, nearly grabbing it.
“Perfect,” I grunt as it slides down the windshield in front of me, landing on the wiper blades.
I step out, flicking a fresh smoke out of the pack, picking it out with my lips. I opt to put the gun in the trunk, then slip back in. I have to slam the door three times before it catches. I run my hand inside my jacket pocket, but find no lighter.
“Right, I knew that,” I nod, pushing the knob on the dash with the symbol of a lit cigarette.
After nearly backing over a woman passing through the lot, I fight the gearshift into first. Moving cautiously, I roll the rumbling sports car out of the parking lot and onto the two-lane blacktop. The knob pops out and the red coils of the lighter glow brightly, the burnt smells of past cigarettes fill my nose. Crackles pop on the tip when I suck in. I replace the knob and thank my lucky stars it still works. A hundred and thirty-three-year-old car and the lighter still works.
“Nice job Ford.”
Three miles down, a toll gate allows access onto the freeway. I wait behind a line of brightly colored electric cars. At the booth, the woman takes my card, but frowns at the smog belching monster.
“Beautiful day,” I remark sarcastically, tipping my sunglasses up on my head.
She nods through a haze of exhaust that perpetually hovers around the Mustang when it’s not in motion. After sliding my card down the side of her register a glowing screen facing me flashes, indicating that my payment was deducted from my account. I receive my card and a small stub. Lowering my glasses, I roll away from the booth, slowly gaining speed.
Jennifer Faust
In the center of Columbus Circle is a massive fountain circled by a paved sidewalk. A ring of grass separates the curb from a row of granite benches that encircle the entire area. A few dozen plumes of water arch out from the middle of the fountain falling lazily down into the blue water.
“Why is this called Columbus Circle?” I inquire, elbowing my father in the ribs.
“There used to be a statue of Columbus in the middle. They took it out and made it a reflecting pool back in 2035.
“Christopher Columbus, as in the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria?”
He nods.
“Why did they take it down?”
“The historians declared that Leif Erikson had actually discovered the New World four hundred years earlier.”
“Isn’t Columbus still a famous explorer?” I ask.
“Yes, but when the left-wing fanatics started applying twenty-first century morality to historical figures, poor Christopher got labeled as an oppressor of the indigenous people.”
“Kind of like how John Adams became a slave trader?” I snort.
“Yeah, and poor misunderstood Nero had an undiagnosed bipolar condition.”
“God bless America,” I chuckle. “Where the national pastime is putting people on a pedestal, then kicking it out from under them.”
Our cab makes one full trip around the circle, then stops in front of the gates to Central Park. My father uses his swipe card to pay, then we pile out. People mill about, the crowd lighter than I expected. A red DO NOT WALK sign flashes on the far side of the crosswalk to the fountain. I scan across the street, searching for Gabriel.
“Is he here?”
“Almost certainly,” my father assures me, checking his watch. “Angels have plenty of character flaws, but punctuality isn’t one of them.”
The light turns green, and we cross the street. The stone benches are lined with people eating an early lunch or staring at tablets. After a brief pause to survey the crowd, my father nudges me to the right. We stroll along, waiting for a sign from above. Halfway around, Gabriel stands holding a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing a grey suit jacket with matching slacks. A bright white shirt with a brick red tie leave him looking like most of the men milling about.
“Congratulations,” he exclaims, holding out a hand. “You’re the first to arrive.”
My father shakes his hand, but when he offers it to me I simply nod. From my limited experience, I find it best not to get too friendly with Angels. He looks the slightest bit offended, but my father breaks the awkward silence.
“Is there any reward for being the first?”
“Not in the classic sense, but your chances of spending eternity in Hell are greatly reduced.”
“Assuming the rest of the team arrive before noon,” I remark.
“Oh, I think they will be along.”
“And if they don’t?” I suggest. “We just go without them?”
“No, you’d never get anywhere without Annie and Miss Ben-Ahron.”
“Why are they so important?” my father asks.
“Your wife,” he begins, then pauses, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I meant your former companion will act as the map.”
“And Annie?”
“Dear, sweet, innocent Annie is the lantern to guide you.”
“I get that Rahnee’s been to Hell before,” I nod, “but how is Annie a lantern?”
“She is the only one who’s final destination is skyward. Her sins are already forgiven. Annie simply doesn’t belong in Hades and thus, will be your only method of escape.”
“If that’s the case, then why are the rest of us going?”
“All of you aren’t going,” he shrugs. “Only Annie, Miss Ben-Ahron and Edward are going down.”
“Why am I here?” my father balks.
“I suspected your daughter might not agree to help unless your salvation didn’t also hang in the balance. Including you therefore provides a clear motivation for her.”
“My being dragged into this nightmare by your own fallen Angel’s ineptitude not withstanding?”
“Dear Arron, you were condemned from birth by your immortal condition, not your debacle at the hands of Rhea. Treasonous witch that she is.”
“So, I just watch?”
“Trust me,” Gabriel grins, then takes a sip of his coffee. “You’re going to enjoy the show.”
Edward Grey
I catch the attention of the server and make the universal CHECK PLEASE motion with a raised hand. Annie goes to freshen up, while I swipe for the bill. We meet on the sidewalk out front, determined to arrive on time.
“How far is it to Columbus Circle from here?” she asks, tilting her pasty skinned face up to catch the sun.
“Half hour on foot, less if we hurry.”
“Do you want to hurry?” she asks, poking her toe on my cane.
“Depends on the clock,” I smirk, tapping the cane on her backside playfully. “I’d like to arrive a few minutes before the noon deadline.”
“It’s eleven twenty,” she declares. “Maybe we should we catch a cab?”
“Unless you’re going to drag me into shoe stores, we have time to walk.”
“Very funny,” she pouts, threading her arm through the crook of my elbow.
“We walk,” I announce, starting off down the street. “If it truly is the end of days, then this is the last opportunity we will have to do so.”
“No walking in heaven?”
“I do believe you’ll be floating like a cloud.”
“Our itinerary has a stop in the Underworld,” she points out. “No walking in Hell?”
“My dear Annie,” I sigh. “I’d guess there will be plenty of running on that leg of the journey.”
She slaps my upper arm, but then leans over and kisses me. We stroll up 8th Avenue, surrounded by unsuspecting men and women hurrying about their daily routine. How many will be stranded here after the trumpets sound? Is my understanding of the coming event even accurate?
I catch sight of Columbus Circle with fifteen minutes to spare, but we waste five minutes for our turn to cross the street. Jennifer and Arron are easy to pick out, twenty feet away with their backs to us. Before we can get to them, Gabriel sees us.
“Annie and Edward,” he beams. “I’m so happy you could join us.”
“Our other options being?” I mutter, before being captured in a two-armed hug from Jenn.
“Edward, it is so good to see you,” she croons, squeezing me half to death. “You never call me.”
“I remind him all the time,” Annie claims, before being captured in another Jennifer hug of death. “Oh, dear, you’re a strong one.”
“Edward,” Arron nods, putting out a hand.
“You look well,” I shake and try to smile.
“You too.”
“Your kind to say so, but I look old,” I complain, frustrated by the youthful appearance of my still immortal friends.
“What he’s lost in youth, he’s received back double in his beautiful companion,” Jennifer remarks, nodding at Annie.
I force a smile. It’s not that I regret giving away half my life force to bring Annie back from the dead, but times like this are reminders of what was lost. Arron and Jennifer are a thousand years younger than me, but remain frozen in time, as I shrivel on the vine. Annie joins Jennifer in cheerful conversation, but Gabriel eyes me over Arron’s shoulder. The look he’s giving me isn’t about my age.
“Edward,” he sighs, taking me by the elbow and walking me
a few feet away. “How was your trip? It can be tricky getting into the city these days.”
“It wasn’t bad. We came by train.”
“How is your dear Annie? Is she up for a little adventure?”
“Why does it feel as if you’re asking one thing, but the inquiry is about something else entirely?”
“Just checking the lay of the land,” he remarks, peeking back at Annie.
Gabriel is referring to my true love Beatrix Moffat, long dead these past ninety years. I only agreed to participate in this madness after he suggested I might have a chance to speak with her. While I am excited at the possibility, my thoughts always land on her ability to come back with me. Can she cross back onto this plane with no body to inhabit?
“Annie is well aware that Beatrix may be there,” I whisper. “I have her blessing.”
“Remarkable girl. Willing to give up her love so easily.”
“Possibly I am not worth the trouble,” I snort, scanning the crowd. “I don’t see Rahnee.”
“Yes, Miss Ben-Ahron,” he mutters rubbing his chin. “She will be along.”
“It’s a giant waste of time if she isn’t.”
“That would be a shame,” he mumbles, tapping a finger on his wristwatch.
“How long?”
“Six minutes.”
“Till the Rapture?” Jennifer booms, joining us. “Cutting it pretty close.”
“Yes,” Gabriel nods looking over my shoulder, “but in this situation, timing is everything.”
Chapter Four
Rahnee Ben-Ahron
Cars on either side of me enjoy the purple cloud of smog provided by the Mustang. I sit in traffic tapping a thumb on the steering wheel. Joan Jett blares from the stereo, but to me it feels almost silent. I have serious doubts Gabriel will honor his part of the Agreement. He will gladly send me down to save his precious fallen Angel, but admit me into heaven? I seriously doubt it.