by P. J. Day
“What? That tapping sound?”
“Yeah, what the hell,” Cindy replied. She tilted her head to the side and bobbed it as if she were draining her ear after a long swim.
The tapping turned to synthesized hums. Then the hums morphed into slow, female droning. “Sing, you fools. Sing the song dearest to your heart. Sing for love. The melody that plays in your head when you are at your loneliest. When courage absconds and vulnerability sets in.”
“Did you hear that?” asked Paolo.
Cindy smiled. “She heard my prayers. Do it...sing...”
Paolo closed his eyes and let out a single hum, an off-key and wretched sound.
Fisker who was standing behind the Accord, strategizing Thalia’s extraction, turned toward Paolo. “What was that?”
He hummed again, this time, stringing along a couple of intermittent notes, again, not pleasurable to the ears.
“Can you stop that?” scolded Fisker.
Then, like the screech of an owl breaking through the silence of a moonlit prairie night, Paolo belted out his first words.
“I’m wide awake...”
Cindy instantly recognized the song and joined in a duet with Paolo.
Like a time-filler, novelty act on some singing reality show, Paolo channeled his inner Katy Perry and crooned the unmistakable lyrics. Fisker, who was already on edge, yelled at Paolo, “Can you please shut up?”
Paolo and Cindy continued as they pranced around in circles, close together, like some powwow around an imaginary campfire, while their hands were still cuffed behind their backs. This was a familiar routine for Paolo, well, not the cuffed part, but the performance was sincere and from the heart and one that he performed countless times in front of his sympathetic and judgeless cat, Artie.
The Seraph nearest the back seat climbed off the trunk and backpedaled. Its partner joined its retreat. Both demons were uncharacteristically skittish. The grayness that covered Thalia receded as her body and clothing percolated with rich color. Paolo eyed the Seraphs’ reactions. Sensing vulnerabilities in the creatures, he sang louder. His and Cindy’s dance became more animated. His knees kicked into the air, and his body flailed about like one of those air-powered noodle men you’d see displayed in front of car dealerships.
Fisker yelled at Paolo and Cindy, “Enough.”
Paolo and Cindy ignored Fisker and ran out into the middle of the street and continued their dissociative trance dance. Fisker looked on with worry as he noticed a bright light emanating from the topless Accord. He stiffened. The backside of his outfit, just below his shoulders, began tearing away. Like a da Vinci sketch of a winged mechanism coming to life, Fisker’s wings sprouted effortlessly. He gritted his teeth and flapped his wings in Paolo and Cindy’s direction. In one powerful swoop, the short but powerful gust generated by the wings knocked both the dancing fools off their feet, hurling them through the air where they slammed against the scaffolding that covered the sidewalk. Fisker turned around and drew his attention toward Thalia who emerged out of the back of the car. Her features seemed renewed. Large, brown eyes, a sure fire sign of estrogenic divinity, were the highpoints of a gleaming and angelic visage. The skin on her body was like plasticine. Smooth, clean, without blemish. She glared at Fisker with judgmental eyes. Angry eyes. Fisker squared his body. “You can’t stop what has begun,” he said. “It’s too late.”
Across the street, Paolo gingerly stood up and was hunched over, with clear back pain. Cindy followed but appeared to be fine. “Are you okay?” she asked Paolo.
“My back...it’s messed up,” he said, wincing in pain. He used his shoulder to adjust his glasses. He then looked up and his mouth dropped opened wide in awe at Thalia’s radiant beauty as she climbed out of the car. “What the...”
Cindy whipped her head toward the commotion. “She...she answered our prayers.”
Thalia stepped onto the floor. Her dress shined as it were threaded with the bioluminescent cells of a comb jelly. Although Fisker’s stance was both rigid and warrior-like, insecurity riddled his face. Gone was the invincibility in his eyes, but he tried feigning courage anyway, using his role in the Prophecy as leverage. “I, as Uriel, messenger of Adonai, authority of Earth matters, command you back to the Kronotos’ lair.”
“You have no authority over me,” Thalia said.
“Jrue agreed to hand you over to save his own neck,” said Fisker. “To save Pit. You lost the war. You were sacrificed. If you wish to protect Pit, you must abide by the Accord.”
Upon hearing Fisker’s words, Cindy approached him and spoke up: “What Accord is he talking about? The one we were just in?”
Fisker took a quick glance over his shoulder and sneered, “Stay out of this, human.”
“No, inform her, Uriel,” commanded Thalia. “They are both powerless, they have no power to stop you or me. But I think they have earned the right to know their fate.”
“Why? They won’t understand.”
“Tell us what?” Paolo asked.
Fisker snapped at Paolo. “This is all pointless. The Prophecy has begun. There is no way you can stop Adonai’s son from returning.” Fisker looked up and stared into the dark, moonless sky and pointed. In the distance, high above the tall buildings that lined the boulevard, a ball of light streaked. Its trajectory was not that of a plane or helicopter. A sparked trail discharged at its back, like the tail of a pyrotechnic stallion. “There’s nothing you can do to stop this,” he said, looking down at Thalia. “The trumpet has blown. Chaos will rain down on humanity until every soul is prepped for absorption.”
Thalia immediately communicated with Paolo and Cindy telepathically. Run to me.
Without hesitation, Paolo and Cindy ran past both Seraphs and toward Paolo’s Honda. Thalia sparked a glowing, transparent dome, covering herself, Paolo and Cindy. The Seraphs turned their heads toward Fisker and Thalia, and moved quickly in all directions like the rapid and fluid movements of frightened finches. The ball of fire exploded a mile above everyone’s heads, the sonic boom leveling everyone down to the ground. Instead of one large flaming projectile crashing down to Earth, there were several small, fiery missiles which split apart from each other in midair. Paolo looked up through the translucent dome, the fireball hit the air directly above him and ricocheted off the invisible shield Thalia had conjured, and broke up into even smaller pieces which struck the Seraphs; one in the face, the other in its chest. Upon impact, the shield dissipated and Thalia collapsed to the ground, her color gone once again, but still breathing. However, the Seraphs appeared to have expired, their lanky bodies and cloaks shredded by the galactic missiles made of nickel and iron ore.
With a faint voice, Thalia alerted Paolo and Cindy. “There are more coming. Huddle next to me.”
As soon as Cindy and Paolo ducked against Thalia’s side, a few meters away, another meteorite struck a row of cars that had been parked overnight. Pieces of steel, concrete, and space rock blew in every direction like shrapnel. Fisker levitated into the air, pulled back his wings like a fighter jet prepping for supersonic flight, and darted into the dark sky. Flickered static— like the type which followed the Seraphs—enveloped Thalia and the couple.
Fisker hovered high above the ground where he could better judge the trajectory of the meteorites and glanced down at the group. They became translucent at first, and then vanished from the blacktop of the parking lot grounds. There was no need to worry about Thalia, he thought. Armageddon had begun. The Prophecy was in full swing. It was only a matter of hours before Caeli was renewed once again.
34
Thicker than Blood
Adam chucked his last remaining nineteenth century, Francesca chair that was given to him as a gift by his girlfriend, into the fireplace. It was a glorious piece of furniture made of beautifully carved solid oak, a decorative patterned seat cushion with gold-threaded welting that can no longer be found. The decorative chairs all were propped up by a set of whimsical tapir hooves. But since he was soon cross
ing the dimensional plane, he no longer had any use for them. He flicked the matchstick into the large stone hearth and stood still, waiting for the fire to take hold. Logan was in the kitchen crouched next to Keelen, who sat on the floor against the pantry door; wailing, trembling, and shaking. Losing Matt affected her, as he was no longer there to comfort her, or hold her against his rigid chest. She was also overcome with sudden mistrust and fear as she didn’t know who or what Logan was. She’d never seen a flying man before, let alone carried up to the stars by one.
On his knees, Logan bent over and gently caressed her scalp. “Look at me...Keelen, let me see your eyes.”
She didn’t respond. Her face was hidden beneath her arms which she occasionally used to wipe her nose.
Sirens blared in the distance. The city received a taste of Armageddon when the Grand Olympic Auditorium disappeared out of thin air, the opening act to the main event. Logan knew there was not much time left before the earth trembled relentlessly, before the seas rose and overflowed onto dry land, and the skies opened like the mouth of a dragon. “The end is near,” Logan said, with worry in his voice. “I need you to stay with me.”
Adam lumbered into the kitchen, his face shiny with perspiration from the fire he had just ignited in the fireplace. “Theolodus, come on, let’s go.”
Logan turned away from Keelen and said to Adam, with coldness in his voice, “I’m not leaving yet.”
“It’s over. All of this. My luxuries, your luxuries. Every single material thing you cherished will soon be gone. There’s nothing we can do to stop this. Once the sky reveals itself, all of Caeli will be descending upon Earth in a matter of hours and if they find us here Pit will be as good as done.”
“I need a little more time,” Logan said, as he stood up.
“Look at you. You look like you’re at death’s door. Pale, your eyes sunken—you gonna suck on that pretty girl’s neck to stay alive on this lesser plane?” Adam joked. “You don’t have time.”
“What the fuck are you?” Keelen asked, lifting her head from her arms, a combination of fear and defiance in her bloodshot eyes. “I want to go home.”
Logan immediately crouched at her side and looked at her submissively. “Remember how I said I would need you? Well, the time has come. I’ll explain everything to you as soon as we are alone.”
“Dammit, Theolodus, you cannot seriously think that that I’m going to let you screw the Prophecy up and let you roam around again, do you?”
“I promise to go back with you, but I need to do something first.”
“Did we not just lose this girl’s boyfriend to something obviously more powerful than us? That’s just the opening act. We don’t have that much time.”
Logan stood up and confronted Adam. With a puffed-out chest he said, “I request…actually, I demand that you grant me more time.”
When Logan had overstayed his presence on Earth, it was purely for selfish reasons. His human form was extraordinarily handsome, his talents were otherworldly, and of course, the special powers that came with being a demigod, made living on Earth seem as if he existed inside a sandbox-style video game. But Logan quickly learned what pain was. The lower rung of humanity had taught him suffering. Those who were randomly chosen to contract some horrible disease taught him what coping meant, those who were a paycheck away from bankruptcy or starvation taught him sacrifice, and those who had lost a loved one reminded him of his own pain: the loss of his mother. That is when things clicked inside his divine brain. Pain is pain, he thought. The suffering a being encounters, no matter how infinitesimal they might be, is suffering nonetheless, and should be mitigated at all costs.
“How can you live with yourself knowing that over seven billion people are about to be scorched, crushed, or drowned? The majority of them innocent? Children even,” Logan declared. “My mother’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”
Adam responded. “You don’t think I miss our mother, too. But her loss was necessary. Our entire existence hung in the balance.”
“Are you going to give me more time, or you going to make this more difficult for yourself than it should be?”
“It’s already more difficult than it should be.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning. Have the fire ready. Tell your father I’ve agreed to come back. But make sure that Pit is ready for an offensive.”
“It already is because of your desertion—I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to Jrue,” Adam relented and shook his head. “I have negotiated with the enemy for your safe return, and I’ve lived with this heinous physical form for much too long, a consequence of my failure to locate you sooner. I’m sick of all of it, Theolodus. I want to return with you. I want relive the conversations we used to have on the wheat field-lined roads that lead to Adrascus, where the divine beauties sprout every spring like grapevines after an ice-wreathed winter. Do not betray me.”
Logan bent down and picked up Keelen by her hand. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Lelantos,” Logan stated, with confidence. “That I can assure you.”
Keelen continued to sob, turning her back on Logan as he continued to converse with his brother.
“I guess there’s nothing more than I can do than to wait here?” said Adam. “What exactly is it that you’re going to do?”
“Make sure to have the TV on.”
“Do you seriously think you’re going to be able to stop this?”
“I don’t know,” Logan said.
“Then why don’t you want to go back with me right now?”
Logan nodded toward Keelen. “I made a promise to her. I need to keep it.”
Adam sighed. “You really have it hard up for humanity, don’t you?”
“Here, have this,” Logan said, as he opened Adam’s palm and placed a folded piece of paper on it. “Is the magazine published yet?”
“Well, it gets delivered tomorrow. Printing should be winding down this morning—if the process hasn’t been interrupted by all these events.”
“Make sure what I just gave you gets distributed with a third of the magazines. What’s the featured article about?”
“It’s about you.”
Logan smiled. “Tracy got her wish, huh?”
“Well, it’s about Logan Drake. The artist. I wanted to expose you to the world so you could no longer hide, which I must say you did a pretty good job of doing all these years.”
“Well, your earthly wish came true, too,” Logan said. He then squeezed Adam’s hand that held the folded sheet of paper. “I won’t stray far. You’ll be able to know where I am at all times. Watch the television, all right?”
“But you don’t show up on video...”
“...then keep an eye out for Keelen.”
Logan walked toward Keelen put his arms around her waist. She turned around, covering her face with her hands, still keeping her head lowered, refusing to make eye contact with Logan.
“If you want to see your mother again, you need to listen to me,” Logan whispered.
She turned her head upward and clenched her teeth. “Why are you threatening me?”
“This is not a threat. It’s the divine truth and we’re both going up against it.”
“I’m scared.”
“So am I. But are you going to give up and just give into fear?”
Keelen shook her head and let out a loud sniffle. “I need tissue.”
Adam who was standing behind her pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She took it from his hand and wiped her nose and eyes. “Thanks, who are you, anyway?”
“Well, have you heard of Estil Magazine? I’m its editor.”
“I don’t care about that,” she said. “Like what are you? I saw what you did to those things down there.”
“I’m Logan’s brother...a god.”
“A god?”
“What? You don’t believe in gods?” Adam said, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Keelen
said. “No offense, but why would a god look like you?”
Adam chortled. He walked up toward the drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a magazine and returned toward Keelen. He flipped through a couple of pages and showed her a picture of himself crossing his arms in a corporate pose, flashing his pearly whites, and profiling his defined jawline peppered with precocious blonde stubble. “This is a god.”
Keelen smiled and nodded in agreement.
“I was sent down to find your boy here and because I didn’t come through in a timely manner, this is the result.”
Keelen continued to look at the magazine and added, “I know you probably feel insecure and all, but you look kinda cute fat. Younger, in fact. The added weight on your face makes you look boyish.”
“But am I sexy?”
“Maybe...if you found the right-fitting outfits.”
“Guys, seriously. Enough. We need to go,” Logan said interrupting the inane superficiality. He asked Keelen, “You ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yeah, you do. You can stay here and watch the world burn right outside the window.”
Teary-eyed, Keelen offered her hand to Adam. “I know you did your best trying to rescue Matt.”
Adam gripped her hand. It was soft and slight. Usually, whenever he made contact with the kind of slight femininity Keelen exuded, it was full-body contact. The handshake was refreshing for Adam. It made him humanize beauty with a tenderness he always knew was always there, but was never fully explored because it was always overwhelmed by his insatiable appetite. It was generally difficult for a god to relate on a deep intrinsic level with a mortal. Not because they were selfish or indifferent, it’s just that omniscience has its own set of rules that adhere to its own set of needs, needs that a human could not understand nor could ever fulfill. He dug deep and mustered what he thought was a feeling close to human empathy and looked deeply into Keelen’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, with sincere regret in his voice. “He was a wonderful and strong warrior. I had the utmost respect for him.”