The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  She shook her head. “Go right ahead,” she told him as he picked the Bible back up. For several moments, he moved pages until he had bookmarked three different places with his fingers, and then, he began.

  “I got to thinking about how all of us sin; every one, and I haven’t read any of these passages in a while, but let’s see what it says, shall we? This is from the thirteenth chapter of Luke; and as you can see,” he said, carefully lifting the Bible to show her the cover, “I’m using The Message tonight.”

  She nodded as he began, and she closed her eyes to listen.

  “About that time some people came up and told him about the Galileans Pilate had killed while they were at worship, mixing their blood with the blood of the sacrifices on the altar. Jesus responded, “Do you think those murdered Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans? Not at all,” he read, pausing for a moment to scratch his leg before continuing.

  “Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die. And those eighteen in Jerusalem the other day, the ones crushed and killed when the Tower of Siloam collapsed and fell on them, do you think they were worse citizens than all other Jerusalemites? Not at all. Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die.”

  “Whoa,” she said, laughing as he moved to begin another section. “Um. There was a Tower of Siloam? I don’t even remember reading that before, though I know we’ve read the book of Luke like fifty times or something together.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know it was there; the passages, as often do, just kind of… came to me. All I can think is the Holy Spirit put them on my heart. I can’t take credit for that,” he told her, smiling. “But how odd that, even though I’m thinking of the sin nature of people, and of forgiveness, that we would find something about Siloam, even if it isn’t the pool,” he continued before looking down to the Bible again.

  “This next one,” he told her, “is from Romans, the seventh chapter. I think I’ll just read the whole chapter, to put it in context.”

  And so, he read it quickly, pausing only when she had something to ask or add to it.

  “Finally,” he told her, “I wanted to read this passage from Galatians five; it wraps things together so beautifully. It says, “Christ has set us free to live a free life. So take your stand! Never again let anyone put a harness of slavery on you. I am emphatic about this,” he began, his voice filling with excitement. “The moment any one of you submits to circumcision or any other rule-keeping system, at that same moment Christ’s hard-won gift of freedom is squandered.”

  He paused long enough to turn the page, taking a deep breath even as Paloma’s heart began to gallop.

  “I repeat my warning: The person who accepts the ways of circumcision trades all the advantages of the free life in Christ for the obligations of the slave life of the law. I suspect you would never intend this, but this is what happens. When you attempt to live by your own religious plans and projects, you are cut off from Christ, you fall out of grace. Meanwhile we expectantly wait for a satisfying relationship with the Spirit,” he continued emphatically. “For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love.”

  Several moments of silence fell between them, and Paloma watched Edward close the Bible and set it back on the side table next to the others.

  “Is this about us, or about Quentin,” she finally asked him.

  “I think,” he said, “it’s about all of us.”

  She nodded as he took her in his arms, pulling her close. Everyone. Not just them; not just Quentin; not just the people they liked or disliked or were neutral about.

  And how could they call themselves followers of Christ if there were anyone in the neutral or do not like categories of their hearts? How could she, herself, not forgive the sins of others, when Christ had died for them as much as for her?

  How could she refuse to allow Quentin into her heart again after her time in Heaven? And how could they help him to understand that they want to embrace him into their lives, not because they relish the thought, but because Jesus Christ does?

  She sighed against his chest.

  “That’s what I kinda thought,” she told him finally. “And I’m alright with that.”

  Part Three:

  Change A’Comin’

  Twenty Nine

  Seal Beach, California… May 30, 2025

  Brice made his way to the hotel at the fastest speed traffic would allow, praying that Fritjof Axelsson hadn’t taken leave of his senses yet again.

  Had he ever had a client so stubborn?

  The tall, thin Swede had refused to undergo many physical changes that HUVA had prescribed, and was still pining for the company of his dog, making excuses for the family that was trying to kill him, and, for the sake of all that was holy, Brice prayed something would shift. Something drastic enough to help the man see the need for the makeover he’d signed on for but then refused; something that wouldn’t put his life – or anyone else’s – in danger, but would help him realize that nobody on the HUVA team was playing a game.

  And, well, neither should Fritjof.

  He seemed to treat this whole protection as if it were a right, and something he could take or leave at any moment, and HUVA could not well afford to keep him on if a single incident added to the others that had already occurred.

  Olivier Ramos Gerard had been far from happy with the last three reports, and usually, clients got one mess up.

  One chance.

  Not multiples of them.

  Brice couldn’t even fathom what this man had going for him that Mr. Gerard would put up with the shenanigans; that he’d told the rest of the staff to bear with it.

  Had they known one another previously, or did the man have deeper pockets than even Brice and his team could know about?

  Or was it that, in his growing older, that Mr. Gerard was growing softer at heart? Not that his heart had ever been hard in the time Brice had known and worked for him, but was it possible that he was cutting slack here because of something that had altered him but which he had not shared with the rest of them?

  Not that he had to share, but it was an interesting thought.

  Pulling to a stop in the closest parking spot, he grabbed his keys, his Bible, and the sack lunch he’d brought with him, locked up, and headed inside, quickly making it to room 216, where Tim and Randall were waiting with the client.

  Though he knew Olivier might not approve of this method he was about to utilize, Brice knew he had to do something, and soon. He, Tim, and Randall, as well as Jin Ae and Melody, had agreed that it was the best course of action they could take at the moment without sticking thumb to nose with the organization.

  “There you are,” Fritjof said, his low voice thin, and his thin lips even thinner than normal as he pressed them together in – what? Consternation? Disbelief? Well, some sort of upset.

  Brice had yet to figure out the man’s facial expressions when he had a bandage over his nose like that. His blue eyes were now brown, thanks to permanent lens replacement. And his hair, once palest blonde, shoulder-length, and turning white, was now a rich red-brown and in fine shape, neat around his head.

  So, he relented to change the hair after all, Brice thought, pulling up the remaining chair at the table by the window and sinking into it. He set the Bible down, noting the other men had brought theirs, and set his lunch underneath the table.

  “What’s all this about, bringing Bibles with you? You surely do not think me some sort of heathen, do you,” Fritjof began again. “Just because I live my life differently than some others doesn’t mean I’m a worse person, and just because-”

  “Would you shut up, already,” Tim ground out impatiently. “You’ve been complaining all morning and you aren’t even aware of what we’re going to do. Cool your jets, man.”

  “Cool my jets? What is this, the eighties? You’re telling me to cool my jets when all three of you come in here with B
ibles, like you’re going to gang up on me and read Scripture until I give in to whatever it is that you want?”

  The man moved to stand, and Tim and Brice each grabbed a wrist.

  “Nobody’s ganging up on you. We’re just trying a different approach to help you see that maybe, just maybe, there are some changes necessary for us to continue to protect you, since you don’t seem to be taking what we’re doing seriously,” Randall informed him, running a hand through his cropped black hair.

  Bits and pieces of the conversation he’d had with Justice flittered through Brice’s mind; he tried to imagine the angels and staircases that the man had encountered on the other side. This was the motivation he had going for him; this knowing that Heaven was absolutely real, even if the man hadn’t specifically described it all. He’d assured Brice that Heaven was beyond imagining and too beautiful for words, and that was enough for him.

  A sigh escaped his lips, and suddenly, all eyes were on him. He let go of Fritjof’s wrist, nodding at Tim to do the same.

  “What?”

  This, from Fritjof.

  “That was some sigh, man,” Tim agreed. “Something you need to share, or what?”

  Brice took a few moments to compose himself as he tried to think of how best to reply. Should he disclose some of what he’d learned, or keep it to himself? Surely, it would do them all good, but was it his place to share it?

  “Give me a moment, and I’ll be back with you,” he said, standing. “There’s something I’d love to share with you, but first, I must ascertain if it is my place and within good boundaries to do so. And if it isn’t, then I will continue as planned,” he told the men, looking Randall in the eye.

  The man nodded back, his deep brown eyes growing wider than usual within his angular face. Tim moved to stand, and Brice shook his head.

  “No, both of you stay here, and I’ll be back. It’s just a matter of – hopefully – a quick phone call to one of the Misters Morrison,” he elaborated softly.

  Taking his leave quickly, he moved into the next room over, where their staff held their meetings, and told his phone to call Justice Morrison.

  Within moments, the man’s dark, pleasant face, blurry at first and then more clear, showed up in the holobeam as he heard him answer. “Hey, how can I help you,” Justice asked immediately.

  “You know this client we’ve got here now,” Brice began, remaining discreet about whereabouts despite how clear and uncontaminated the lines were supposed to be. “Well, I think sharing a little of your story would be good for him, in terms of perspective, but I didn’t think it was my place to just…”

  He floundered a moment, looking for the right word.

  “To just steamroll through it without asking for permission or if I thought it was a wise thing to do.” his friend finished for him.

  “Precisely.”

  “Well,” Justice said, rubbing his jaw, causing the screen to go wavery for a moment, “I think the staircase bit would be alright if you’re not too specific, and even that angels guided us through the final one to the choosing doors, but anything aside from that, and the assurance that Heaven is absolutely real, even if it didn’t look, to me, the way I always thought it would, I don’t think…”

  Now it was Justice’s turn to cut his words short.

  “You don’t think it would be advisable to go beyond those parameters, then,” Brice said, trying to clarify, “but would be alright with vague descriptions that led to the point of Heaven’s existence, and therefore, God’s?”

  “Well, now that you put it that way,” the man said, his eyes moving to the side for a moment. “Izzie, I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” he said suddenly, then apologized for the interruption. “I think that’s fine. Maybe record it on your phone and send me the sound packet later on so I know what was shared, and how.”

  “Done,” Brice said, relieved. “I’m just not sure what else will get through to him. Randall, Tim, and I each brought a Bible – different versions, mind you, I’m sure – and the experience you shared with me would go a long way – I hope – toward helping Fritjof understand the seriousness of the consequences if he gets himself killed for being so… so stupid!”

  Wow, had he really just said it out loud?

  Fritjof was being stupid, and it was as plain as the nose on Brice’s face, and right now, he didn’t care if the man could potentially hear his outburst through the wall. The walls here weren’t the thin variety; they were a good nine or ten inches thick, but still. Brice hadn’t meant to get so thunderous!

  “Um, thank you,” he said finally, noting the silence on the other end of the phone. “And sorry if I blasted your eardrums. I know these things can magnify sound like nothing else sometimes,” he continued, chuckling when he saw Justice teasingly unplug an ear with a pinkie finger.

  “But seriously, just… you’re welcome. Just record it and send it on to me here on my Andromeda,” the man told him again. “Just don’t send it between three and five, or my lovely daughter will be miserably unhappy. She’s got a recital those hours, you know?”

  Brice nodded, thankful the man could see him.

  “Oh, yeah. I know all too well,” he said, chuckling again. “I’ll send it around nine. Will that give you enough time to wind things down to a dull roar?”

  Justice smiled. “That works. Now, get in there and don’t be too detailed. Talk with you later.”

  And so, hanging up, Brice pocketed his phone once more and, quickly rejoining the men in the other room, began.

  “Before we read to you, there’s something I’d really like to share. It’s a true story, and I know one of the five people who experienced it, personally. The others, I’ve met, and they’re all outstanding people I would never doubt the word of,” he began.

  “A story,” Fritjof repeated with a smirk. “What is this, story time? Am I a child, that you need to try to cajole me with stories from the lives of other people, that may or may not be factual?”

  “Now, listen here,” Tim put in as he unwrapped a sandwich in front of himself. “If Brice has something to say, you listen. I’ve never heard him tell a story that wasn’t for a very good reason, and each of them have either been truth or parable, and he always tells you up front which it is, so stop getting so defensive and just listen.”

  He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed it angrily, even as Brice began to tell of the staggered staircases and then, the angels Justice and his friends had encountered.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me? Beings with three sets of wings, and two of them twins? If everything this so-called “God” created is unique, how could there be twins in the angelic realm,” Fritjof interrupted before Brice could move on.

  He hadn’t even described them, really, at that point - just said they were sundry-winged and that two of them couldn’t be told apart. Nothing of their great height, or the sound of their voices.

  Should he even share more detail?

  He thought of the recorder going on his phone a moment and shrugged.

  “There are twins and other multiples in the natural, and each is different in some way because they’re different people, so why do people limit God to multiples on Earth when there most certainly are, by these fine peoples’ account, in Heaven. It makes them no less unique, just as we are all unique,” he told the man, trying to keep his voice even. “And any of the three of us can assure you – and many hundreds of thousands and millions more – that God is definitely real.”

  “Look,” Fritjof said, holding his hands up in defense. “Just because I don’t believe some fairy man called God runs the world doesn’t make me a bad person. I grew up in church. I know what they say. And I grew up with guilt trips every single day of my life, so don’t think you can pull one over on me.”

  He paused to scratch the bandage over his nose and winced before continuing. “That’s why I much prefer the company of dogs.”

  “Well,” Randall told him, “if you already know about God, then
why do you think He’s a fairy man, and how is it that you’ve let what other people said and did when you were a kid keep you from finding the truth now? I get it, this whole being hurt thing; even hurt in the name of religion, but being a follower of Christ isn’t about religion.”

  “If it isn’t about religion, then…. Oh, I get it,” the bandaged man said, his voice turning snarky. “It’s about a relationship, right?”

  Brice, Tim, and Randall all nodded, though not simultaneously.

  “What would you say if I told you those same people who encountered the angels encountered God Himself,” Brice said, swallowing a gulp of fear.

  He was dangerously close to giving away too much detail and prayed he wasn’t casting metaphorical pearls before swine.

  How could he explain that each of the people who belonged to Christ had encountered Him, on some level? That this was different; this was an experience before the throne, not inside one’s mind, but in a full and mysteriously glorious fashion?

  “Oh, come on, now, you can’t expect me to believe that-”

  “Believe it or don’t, that’s up to you, but the truth of the matter is that they had a very real encounter with angelic beings, and with the Creator Himself; the Triune God that you, prayerfully, at some point in your life, will take seriously before it’s too late,” Brice interrupted him, his words coming out quick and serious.

  Fritjof looked at him, startled.

  “Did you seriously raise your voice at me? You, a Christian?” He stood, and moved over to the sink against the other wall, on the other side of the bed. “You’re just like the rest of them, that’s what I think. Just as into yourself and what you see as best, thinking everyone else should kowtow to what you think is true as truth, or we’re damned,” the man continued.

  “Don’t you think I see what you’re up to? Can’t you understand, it isn’t going to work? So you and your partners there, get those Bibles, and your fancy stories and get out!”