“They do well,” the Father intoned into their spirits. “But it is time for you to go; join this party in the earth and appear as mortals. Without guidance, they will not find the way in time for either Kristof Sage or Lovan Quimby,” He continued. “And Lovan must know he is loved, before his time approaches. It is soon, unless the path he is on changes for the better. His appointed time is not yet. He must be saved from himself.”
Kalev nodded, trying to recall the boy’s features.
It hadn’t been many years, in human time, since he had been sent to the earth. And he had been among those caring for Lovan when Quentin was in jail, over and over again. He empathized with the boy, and had therefore been sent. The angel in charge of the unborn had agreed, as had the angel in charge of those who had lived little in the earth; those, as Earthlings would say, who had gone too soon.
Much, much too soon.
Resolution came over him, and he sensed in the way only angels could sense, he supposed, that the others were just as ready. They had watched for many Earth days, though it had seemed both moments and an eternity since the people had been sent twirling back into their homeland and true time.
“When do we leave,” he asked aloud, though he knew the Father could sense his thoughts.
“It is time.”
Kalev nodded once more, moved to set the tender jar back into its place among the trillions, and, making sure the others had done the same, clapped each set of his wings together simultaneously. He felt the familiar twirling within his belly, and then, he was falling out of the Valley toward the land of Time, and toward Vancouver, Washington. His second trip in over a hundred years,
These must be some very special people, with a very special assignment, and he, for one, was praising God even through the freefall. And then, he was landing.
Beside him, Arieh, Ari’el, Neriah, and Lemuel landed in disarray around him, and standing, he glanced around. Ah, yes, the same park he’d fallen to last time. They were in Portland, instead of Vancouver.
He checked the pockets of the jeans he’d been transformed into wearing and opened the wallet inside.
Finding the identification card given him, he checked to see what his Earth name would be this time, and what he looked like.
Dirk Mason. Five eleven, two hundred pounds, short brown hair, brilliant blue eyes – they always had brilliant eyes, no matter the color – a gold stud in each ear, and a tattoo of a Jesus fish on the side of his jaw, on the left.
He glanced at his companions and tried not to laugh. Each was doing the same thing, and they looked a ragtag bunch, to be sure. The twins were no longer look-alike, but one Spanish and the other Russian-looking. Neriah seemed to be mixed, but the origins, Kalev – that is, Dirk – could not even begin to guess, and Lemuel was covered with tattoos every available space that he saw.
“So, I’m Dirk Mason, fifty nine years old,” he told them. He looked through his wallet some more to find out more about himself. “Apparently, I’m a stonemason by trade, and out of work at the moment,” he said with a laugh.
That was the Father for you! Making a joke where it was least expected.
Lemuel spoke up, “Thirty seven, Proust Ludwig Ferris. I think I’ll just go by Ferris; safer than the rest of it. And it says,” he peered through the rest of his wallet and found his own card, “that I, too, am in the construction business; a framer.”
One of the twins – Kalev believed it was Ari’el, but wasn’t positive – announced that he was Arseniy Zolnerowich, a plumber from New Jersey, fifty one years old. The other, Agapito Casimiro Danilo Ibara-Mendoza, a zoologist recently let go by the zoo in Pittsburg, also fifty one; same birthdate. The reason stated on the card for his firing? Insubordination: he had chosen “too Christian” a prayer to say over the ceremony for their newest lion’s birth.
They decided on Zollo and Casimir for their everyday names while on Earth.
Finally, with reluctance, Neriah spoke, his large green-tinged brown eyes shimmery against his warm barely brown skin, as though with tears. “I’m apparently a Shakespearean actor, most recently in The Merry Wives of Windsor at a playhouse in Vermont” he said. “Really? An actor? Living in Vermont? And, yeah… Omega Illiam Brewster. He gave me the name Omega Brewster? That’s more ironic than Agapito!”
Kalev – now Dirk – did his best to stifle a laugh, without much success, and soon, the five of them were boiling over with laughter they hadn’t known in years. Not that laughter wasn’t permitted in Heaven’s beautiful valley, or any of the rest of the peaceful places of praise, but this was different; this was raucous and freeing and amazing. It made him feel he still had his wings though they were, indeed, gone for the time being.
People glanced at them and continued on as they made their way, still laughing, up the path toward Stark Street. They spotted but did not speak with Arthur Reynolds and Justin Hobson as the pair de-boarded a bus together, along with a handful of others, and made their way toward the church Justin had introduced Arthur to.
Dirk glanced at his time-date watch: June 17, 2025, 2:33 in the afternoon. Overhead, the sun was bright and getting hotter; there were no clouds in the sky within his line of sight.
They had lost seven Earth days in the tumble from the Timeless Now, and it was time, indeed, to set to work.
But where to start?
And how much time, exactly did they have to do the assignments set within their hearts? For now, they must interact with the Godhead as mere mortals.
Now, they must trust the guidance of the Spirit.
Ezer and Elihu looked through their mirror, watching to see how Dirk, Ferris, Zollo, Casimir, and Omega were progressing and acclimating to their new bodies and surroundings.
“How much time,” Ezer dared to ask aloud. “And how best to intercede before the Son?”
The Father intoned within his spirit the answers he needed, and suggested they ready themselves for their own reconnaissance mission.
Elihu’s head came up, somewhat startled. “We are to go where?”
“You must be preparing for them in Israel, in My holy city, Jerusalem. And you must prepare Jerusalem for the coming people, for this will not be an easy journey. For you, for them, for those who have gone before you into the earth. It will be fraught with emotion you are not used to; it will be intense. As your first journey to Earth in three centuries, I know you are wary. Do not be,” the Father intonated into his heart, “as I have said, and will say again, trust Me. Do not be afraid, as I am not only sending you, but will be with you. You know this. And it is time.”
Ezer clasped Elihu’s hand in solidarity. “We are ready,” he said, hope filling his heart. “May we do as is pleasing unto You, oh, Mighty Creator, All-Wise. We are ready.”
And at that moment, as if by whirlwind, they fell toward the earth; tumbled; felt their beings transform and collide with the hard ground. It was dark when they arrived; they were near the Western Wall. They fled together into the night to safety before any guards could come to investigate the noise their collapsing bodies must have surely made.
Upon finding an all-night café, they reached for their wallets, eager to find out who they were and, too, to begin interacting with locals and tourists alike, despite the late hour. Ezer’s watch read June 17, 2025, and the time was 2:33 in the morning. His name was Chayyim Harel, he was a short, balding, long-bearded man of forty-one years; a carpenter. In silence, he traded papers with Elihu to learn one another’s identities to find that Elihu was now Chesed Kravitz. Fifty years old, disabled, and the same height as Chayyim: five three. Full head of greying brown hair and beard; former restaurant owner.
They quickly glanced around, traded papers back, and checked their monetary supplies.
Good; sufficient for at least a few weeks, if not longer. Ezer – that is, Chayyim – smiled as he moved toward the counter and ordered a cup of peppermint tea and a roasted eggplant, hummus, pepper jack, and poached egg sandwich on rye. Elihu – now Chesed – followed su
it with a mild frown at the options – none of which he was familiar with, as times had changed so much since he’d last been on Earth - and added in some lentil soup, as well. They seated themselves near the restrooms; the only table for two left open.
All around them, college-age kids and a handful of elderly old men – Jewish and Muslim alike, as well as, possibly, a few Christians, for who could tell just by looking? – were engrossed in conversations. Several had earbuds in, plugged into holoscreens, microphones for whispering or murmuring their side of the conversation close to their faces, reminding Chayyim of little bugs.
When their orders arrived, he glanced at the sandwich – proclaimed as the café’s specialty, with fresh hummus made on-site – and silently prayed over it.
And then, when their meal was over and the crowd in the little café began to thin, it was time to live life as a human, discerning the will of the Father as any other mortal.
It was time to get ready for the travelers.
Forty One
Vancouver, Washington… June 17, 2025
“So, we’re all set for Friday, then?”
Paloma waited for a very surprised Quentin Quimby to reply. “Uh, yeah, we be there. I c’d meet Lovan at the place he stayin’ at an’ we come by, if that would be alright. Don’ work no Fridays, us’lly. So, um…” He paused, and Paloma could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “So I guess that work for me, an’ I can’t see no reason it won’ for him, too.”
“I know you think it’s some sort of trap, but really, it isn’t,” she began before he could say anything else. “We just have someone we’d like you to meet, and it’d be good to catch up with how Lovan’s doing and how you’re liking the new job. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on things,” she continued, knowing no truer understatement of the circumstances, “but we really do care about what happens to you both. And we always will.”
She hadn’t figured out yet how to approach his parole officer, or if he would even allow her to, but if he was meant to go with them to Jerusalem, and if Kristof was indeed, dying, as the doctor’s reports he’d shown her attested, then how were they all to travel together, and when?
What would it take to accomplish this, and was it for her to call the officer, or for him to approach his P.O., personally? And if not one of them, who?
The thoughts jumbled in her head, more curious than confusing, as she heard Quentin reply. She could see his face twist into an awkward smile on the holoscreen. “Is it a woman?”
Paloma laughed, in spite of herself, trying unsuccessfully to keep it at bay. “I’m afraid not, but I think it’s someone you’ll find interesting, nonetheless, if you open your mind to him. And besides, I’m making lasagna and I know how you enjoy it,” she told him, smiling easily at him for the second time since he was released from prison.
“Wait… lasagna? The one with seven kinds of cheese and four meats and-” She could almost see him drooling through the phone.
“The very one,” she said, interrupting him, glad she had his attention. “Any time after five is fine to show up, and we plan to eat at six. The boys began volunteering at the library downtown a few days a week, and they should be back by then. They’re excited to see Lovan,” she continued.
She didn’t bother telling him the kids weren’t too thrilled to see him, but agreed to give him a chance anyway. Though they had few memories of him personally, they knew the story well, and they had seen what it did to Lovan, who they saw as a big brother of sorts.
“We’ll have a few others here, but not a lot of people, I promise. Just Jason and his family, and our friend Justice and his, and the man who I want you to meet.”
There was no need to say that there would have been one more couple, but Masao and Anouk Chanel already had other plans. They’d have to get them over here with Quentin and Lovan separately, another time.
Hopefully, soon.
She could see sweat beginning to form on Quentin’s brow and he dabbed at it with a cloth. “Well,” he said, hesitating a few moments. “I guess dat be alright, considerin’.”
She nodded, and he pressed his thumb toward the center of the phone at the same time as she, causing the screen to brighten a moment before it fizzled back into nothing.
“So your friend is coming,” she heard behind her, and she whirled around.
Kristof Sage, with Confetti on his lap, purring, had just about scared her into a heart attack.
How had he gotten into the living room without her noticing? And without any assistance? The doctor Edward had taken him to insisted he walk with a cane, use a wheelchair, or be otherwise supported by a person to go anything more than a few feet. And here he was, a good fifteen or eighteen feet from where the door to his room was, the boys having been kind enough to move into Edward’s study to sleep.
“Quentin is coming, yes. Not really a….” No, she didn’t want to put it that way. “He’s an old acquaintance who recently moved back to the area, and his son will be coming, as well, I hope.”
The man nodded his nearly-bald head, a few wispy hairs beginning to grow here and there, reminding her of some of the older men she had known growing up. Only Kristof couldn’t be more than what, sixty five? She had never asked his age; never looked his profile up online. She figured it wasn’t her business.
“I look forward to it. And to seeing your brother again; delightful to talk with, as is that Malik fellow. Is he coming?”
Paloma shook her head. “Sorry. The Fakhourys aren’t coming to this one, but we can invite them for another night. This is more like… a meeting of sorts, because there’s something we’d like to discuss with you all. A proposal, if you will.”
She really hoped he would leave things at that, but instead, he continued to question her. What sort of proposal? Why me? Why this guy they hadn’t seen in ages, or at least, who had just moved back, even if they had seen him? What were they all up to?
And as she tried her best to explain herself without giving away details of the trip she and Edward had sketched in their hearts, she saw a peace come over Kristof’s features.
Even without saying there would be travel involved; even without mentioning Israel, or Jerusalem, or that they had a shared destiny, she could see that God was working on his heart. It seemed he had been working on Kristof’s heart a longer time than Paloma could imagine; she felt sure of that now.
And for that, she was grateful.
Tawny moved to answer the phone before it shut itself off.
She hated when it went on the fritz like this!
“Hey, Girlfriend, long time, no talk,” she said to Paloma as her face appeared on the holoscreen of her Andromeda as she answered on the last possible ring. “What’s up?”
“Quentin and Kristof. Need more info than that,” Paloma asked her with a laugh. Tawny could tell she was walking around outside, and it made her a little dizzy.
“What in…? Wow, Girlfriend, back up and start from the beginning. This, I gotta hear.” She cleared some of the laundry she was in the middle of folding over on the couch and sat down as Paloma began to tell her of the three letters she’d belatedly received, the vision Edward had of Jerusalem, and the words she had heard in Heaven. And then, about their trip to the airport to get Kristof, and how he was dying.
“He said I remind him of his wife, Tawny,” she said, bursting into tears. Tawny was thankful she had stopped walking, and could see the chicken coop in the distance, behind her friend’s drooped head. She could hear the hens beginning to cackle, but paid no mind as she waited patiently for Paloma to be able to gather her words.
“That’s how come he treated me badly all those years. That I remind him of his wife, who died giving birth to his son, who died when he was very young. He… he told us over dinner the second night he was here about what had happened. So heartbreaking… I would never have guessed.”
Tears now rolled down her own cheeks as Tawny thought back to the horrible letter he’d sent to Edward for his fiftieth
birthday, and of how he’d treated Paloma during his first visit. How he’d done his best to block her from award ceremonies and gaining the recognition she well deserved, and that her employees deserved. And as happy as she was to hear that Kristof seemed a changed man, she resolved in her heart she’d need to see it for herself.
“So when you want us to come over and help make things more cozy for this guy? Lord knows, if he’s dying he needs some comfort, no matter what he’s done in life,” she finally said.
Not what she wanted to say, but she refrained from using the terminology that had first come to mind. All of her how dare he thisses and thats. The sense of loss that came over her when she thought of all the years the man had purposely kept people at a distance made her sad, though, too.
He could have lived such a different life had he allowed himself to heal from his losses and embrace what blessings he might have had, had he not pushed them away.
“Well, the dinner’s on Friday, but if you wanted to see him before that; come by to say hello on Thursday afternoon sometime, or Friday morning, I should be here both of those times. The kids, Edward, and I are taking turns staying at the house in the event he needs something he can’t reach for or do himself, and he’s in the boys’ room, which, admittedly, needs some help in the adult-friendly department. But he hasn’t complained once,” Paloma told her. “And get this,” she continued. “A few minutes ago, when I was inside, he was sitting there in the living room with Confetti curled into a ball on his lap, happy as you please, purring away.”
“You’re kidding,” Tawny said, covering her mouth with a well-manicured hand.
Old Stuffy Sage, as she and Tom used to call him, apologizing to Paloma, being a good houseguest, and cozying up to Confetti? What would happen next?
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 84