Following multiple arrests, former classmates and local people from town wrote Lucy off as just another screw-up. She had dropped out of college when she found out she was pregnant five months ago, but she could still be seen around the campus town doing odd jobs and scraping out a living.
She didn’t play up her struggles just because she knew the truth of their purpose; that wasn’t how it worked. She would’ve stayed in college, but that wasn’t how it worked either. What was needed of her just seemed to come about on its own and Lucy lived on as best she could.
When she wondered how something like her could possibly mother a child, her answer had come in the form of a painful miscarriage.
I should have known, she had thought as the doctors removed her daughter’s corpse from her womb. Mary’s son changed the world through his life, so mine was destined to change it through her death. Lucy had tried to catch a glimpse of her baby, but the nurse had rushed out of the room with the lifeless bundle and Lucy was too weak to call her back. But how is this a better world now? How could this possibly be His plan?
Again, oblivion had beckoned as she learned the agony of loss and felt the aching emptiness inside her that she could not escape from. Day after day the pain was with her, dominating all other thoughts and miseries. That was a month ago, now.
But Lucy knew there was something different about her.
She began to suspect the angel had known all along what was coming, that this was the reason he had visited her in the park that day, and not because of anything that had happened to her before. In time, Lucy regained her faith, though she was still haunted by an ache that had yet to begin to fade, if it ever would.
Her only solace was in her thoughts, but at times even these betrayed her. Times like tonight, when the ghost of the daughter she could have had holds hands with the human life Lucy might have lived and these specters refuse to rest, dragging themselves through her head over and over again instead.
She had so hoped that her life would be different.
Tonight Lucy sits in her one-room apartment, crying. Her darkness surrounds her and reminds her that she isn’t one of them. But unlike before, now that darkness comforts her, and reminds her of what she is and why she is here. It reminds her that every suffering she endures is for a purpose, that every struggle she is subjected to prevents another from having to endure such pain.
She thinks of the angel and of his gifts to her, he who was created for the sole purpose of protecting her and the others like her. She thinks of her choice, and of her own purpose, and she says her prayers to the setting sun.
* * *
In the morning, a dim light glows in her darkness. Lucy pulls a battered hoodie over her shoulders, raising the hood over her head.
Walking down the stairs from her apartment to the street, she sees some students heading towards campus. As she blends into the group, Lucy eyes the young men and women around her, and starts to guess at their sins.
I Loved You Once and Forever, pt. 1
-a binary tale of love and identity-
I LOVED YOU ONCE
“I think I want to take salsa lessons,” you told me. You said it so seriously I nearly laughed. But like every time before, it was at that moment when I realized you were no longer the woman I loved.
Even after all these iterations, I still don’t understand what happened. But people change as time passes, and I know now that each second carries with it the chance that your best friend will become a complete stranger. I used to love you, I know I did, but that was yesterday when you were still her.
I wonder if you ever think like I do. I wonder if you’ve ever looked over and wished for a different me back, just as I’m looking at you right now. Seeing you on the couch here, with my arm around you and your head in my lap and the steam rising off our mugs on the living room table, I suspect you’ve never had such thoughts. I can see in your eyes that you still love me, whoever I am, and you’re still happy. Happy the way I used to be, before she became you.
I’ve only ever loved one girl and I will always love that one girl. The problem is, you aren’t that girl anymore. I love the girl you used to be, and I always told you—her—that I’d do anything for her.
I hope you won’t blame me for this, but it’s what you told me you wanted. I remember when you said it. We were just walking out of the theater after seeing a play; a love story that ends with the girl getting her guy. You were hanging on my arm with your blue eyes wide open looking up at the stars. “If I have to die, I want to die for love,” you said. I hope that much hasn’t changed, because this is the only way I know how to protect the woman I love. The woman you used to be.
That first night when you became someone else, I panicked. I went into the basement to the machine I’d been building. You always called it “the Device,” the capital implied by the ways you raised your eyebrows every time you said it. I didn’t expect it to work. I didn’t really expect it to do anything, but it did. I still can’t believe it worked. The fundamental idea is sound, but it can only retrieve something from about one day in the past; just under twenty four hours. I used the machine and pulled her from your past into my present. But when I saw her start to appear I heard you start to scream upstairs so I cut it off. Is it safe to have two of you in the same time? That’s where theory breaks down, and I’m not willing to take that risk. Not now, not with her at stake.
So I had the means to get her back, but that meant I had to get rid of you; I had to kill the stranger to save my wife. The first time was the hardest, believe me. You look just like her and I thought you would be gone forever. That first time, the only reason I could force myself to go through with it was because I thought she would stay. But she didn’t.
That’s what scares me more than...than all the rest. Every time I bring her forward, no matter what I do, you always come back. Every night I go through the same struggle to save her, knowing it will only last for a day. You always come back. It’s always you. As if no matter what happens she is destined to become you at that moment. Why? What causes it? Was it a single moment that took her from me, or a thousand experiences, a million subtle decisions added together over a lifetime that bring you here each night?
It’s okay though, because I’ve realized that I’ve never hurt anyone. After all, your body disappears when she materializes. Maybe when the body goes, my crime goes with it. And if I kill you every day but you come back the next, I haven’t really killed you, have I?
Have I?
I’m scared too, you know. Her body stays the same age, but day by day I get older. I’m scared that one day she’ll realize I’ve aged too much; that now I’m the one who is too different than yesterday’s me to be the same person. Then she’ll look at me the way you are looking at me right now, with those big blue eyes and my hand over your mouth so you can’t scream.
On the day that happens, my time with her will be over and then you’ll have your chance. You won’t remember any of this, because it won’t have ever happened to you. The world will have passed you in months or years, and I’m sorry for that, but I have to save my wife.
I’m telling you all this because I think you have a right to know why this is happening. I know you’re frightened. I know you think I’m crazy. But it isn’t possible for me to prove to you that everything will be okay in the end, even though it already has been. I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I love her.
It’s time for me to go get her back now. Goodbye.
Oh, one last thing. I just want to say that when this is over and she and I are both gone, I hope you do take those dancing lessons. If anything is true, it’s this: When you find what makes you happy, you can’t let anything take it away from you.
Not even time itself.
The Last Report from the Front Line
A bar. A fitting place, I suppose, from which to watch the heavens burn.
May I sit down? Thanks. I have a story to tell you, but there isn’t much time so listen closely,
okay? Bartender! Beer for the two of us here, please.
Alright then, pay attention, human: this is the story of the end of the afterlife.
I guess I should start by telling you about Wyles. In the good old days—that’s what we call them, “the good old days,” just like you people—Wyles and I were close friends. The best, even. Almost as close as Him and the Other used to be, before it all—half of it, I mean—went to Hell. To be honest, I still don’t think that Wyles knew what he was getting into that day, but he’ll never admit it. Even if he did, it really wouldn’t change anything. For us, God doesn’t make exceptions. Sad, isn’t it? Yeah, forgiveness is a human exclusive.
Over the years, Wyles and I got into the habit of meeting up. I’ll tell you why in just a second. We met at night, though we both knew that our masters could see us despite the darkness. Guess that kind of reason-less behavior should have been our first warning that we were spending too much time among you humans.
So for me to be in the city by sundown, I had to board a train this afternoon, which is where my story really starts.
When I got off the train today, it was a sunny outside with big, puffy, cotton-ball clouds skimming the tops of the city’s skyline. I love trains. They’re the perfect place to help put things in perspective. Trains are where I do a lot of my work, actually. The natural self-centeredness of the human mind gets introspective as the world goes by those plexiglass windows. Any stimulus, no matter how insignificant, can be imbued with miraculous properties. For instance, if I pick up the dollar you dropped and hand it back to you, that little act can, in the right circumstances, restore your faith in all of humanity. You know what I mean, little stuff like that.
By the time the train stopped, it was almost dusk and the city was falling into darkness as the sun set. From where I stood at the station, it looked like the sun was being held hostage on the horizon, trapped in a cage of oxidized iron beams that was actually just a bridge over the river. I could see the little cars on the bridge scuttling home. I like cars too. Once knew a guy who could make his whole plan of damnation just by watching how a person drove their car. He was Fallen though, and might’ve been lying to me.
Hmm? Oh right, you don’t know what the Fallen are. Apologies, I keep forgetting this is new to you. The angels who followed Lucifer out of Heaven became demons, and we angels refer to them as Fallen most of the time. They aren’t all bad, but unless you knew them in the old days, you never can tell if a Fallen is trustworthy or not.
Anyway, as I left the station I put a five in a bum’s cup. He slipped it out and into a frayed pocket before the next passenger that passed by had a chance to witness the bum’s good fortune. I tell you that anecdote because it represents another lesson I forgot to learn down here: always hide your strength. I didn’t bother him about it though, just marched onward with a thick block of humanity around me. At the first intersection everyone else split off and I found myself alone and exposed to the city. I like trains. I like cars. I don’t like cities. Too many people in them. Too easy to stop caring about each and every soul that passes you by. Souls are like snowflakes, you know: unique, but very fragile.
Even though it’s late autumn, I was excited about seeing my friend again and didn’t notice the cold. This jacket wasn’t torn and burnt like you see it now; it was store-new then, deep blue with yellow piping along the sleeves and shoulders. As I walked it flapped a little in the gusts that hit me at every new intersection. My jeans weren’t as new, but they were cleaner than you see them now.
It was about then that I sensed someone’s misery nearby. I glanced down an alley and saw a human figure turn over under a newspaper, trying to get a little more comfortable on the sun-warmed concrete. I hated seeing humans like that, but I was off duty and out of my jurisdiction. I really wanted to help him, but unless something crucial to the state of his soul is happening, His Law says I can’t work outside of my area. I wasn’t far away from Wyles’ place; if I could just focus a little more and ignore the cries for help and mercy, I could make it to his apartment early.
I stopped. I had heard something, faintly. The sound made me feel like I’d just jumped in that cold river a few blocks to my right, shoes and all. Someone hurt? Dying? Damned? I wanted to be on time to my meeting, but I just couldn’t turn my back on that cry for help. Plus, this felt serious enough that the Law would allow my intervention in this case. With one lingering look towards Wyles’ building, which I could just make out by then against the colors of the twilight sky, just five more blocks from across the street, I hunched my shoulders and took off at a light jog towards the west side of the city. I prayed that there was still time to help.
Turns out, there wasn’t time. But I guess it really doesn’t matter now, considering that—well, you’ll understand when I finish my story.
I hurried back towards Wyles’ place after that. He buzzed me in and I took the stairs to the thirteenth floor since there was no elevator. The place wasn’t nice enough to have numbers on the doors, but he’d told me over the intercom that he was the fourth door on the right. The carpet reeked of cat urine and weed. The door looked solid enough though, despite the wear in the varnish where too many hands had pushed it open in a hurry. I knocked, and the door behind me slid open on greased hinges; that kind of precaution going on, I should’ve known right then that this would be no ordinary meeting.
I didn’t turn around until I heard the thunk-tap of his shotgun being leaned against a wall. I looked over my shoulder and saw him smiling at me, the fractured grin he’d had even before the Fall. I turned and we raised our arms as if to hug, but neither he nor I made any motion to actually embrace. Angels and demons are like antimatter; the contact of our opposite beings still isn’t fully understood and we suspect that, if tried, the result would be tragic for all those involved.
“I was worried you weren't going to make it,” he said.
I began to explain that I was going to arrive earlier, but he cut me off.
“Don't worry, I understand. All that matters is that you are here right now. Were you able to save the human at least?”
I shook my head.
“Pity,” he replied. He meant it, too. Humans got a few things wrong with terms: demons aren’t evil by definition. It was nothing more than the Choice—the day that Lucifer turned his back on Heaven—that made the Fallen the loathsome beings they are today. We call it the Choice because before that day, we angels never had an option other than to serve God. Wyles, like the rest of our species, had never had to make a choice before. The Choice happened fast though, and when it did we all had to make that decision. Like many, Wyles didn’t know how to respond. He chose wrong, so now he’s a demon. But he only damns enough to fill his quota so he can keep his station on earth. Or at least, that’s what he told me once. I believed him.
We stepped inside his apartment. He resealed the door with two deadbolts and a prayer. Looking around, I noticed that the place had changed very little since last I had been there. It seemed as though only the security had been stepped up. Other than that, the entry room and visible living room still looked clean enough but with a hint of stuffiness, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a few months.
He pulled the blinds down over the window. “Enough business for now,” he said. “Want something to drink?”
“Sure. What’ve you got?”
“Coke. With lemon?”
“Sounds good, Wyles. Oh, Corlissa told me to say hello and ask how you were doing.”
Corlissa, I should explain, is an angel and was the third in a group of four of us that were close friends, once upon a time. The fourth? Well, you’ll hear about her pretty soon too. Give me a second to get there, friend, I’m working up to dealing with her.
In Wyles’ place, books sat in stacks on tables and chairs and any other flat surface in sight. I followed Wyles with my eyes around the corner and into the tiny kitchen. It was decorated in the style of the 1970’s, and there were recently washed and stack
ed dishes by the shiny white sink. I scooped armfuls of books out of chairs so we could sit down. Wyles walked back in and set my Coke on the table near me.
“That’s nice of her. I’m okay I suppose. Still damned, but what’s a demon to do?”
His tone had been light, but I could see pain in his eyes over the lip of the bottle as he drank. It hurt me, too, to see my friend living like this and to know that so many others lived the same way. I didn't understand how crucial that concept of super-human empathy was for my species until later though. At the time, I just switched the topic and asked him if there was any news from Lorelei. She’s the fourth one, by the way: Wyles and Corlissa, me and Lorelei.
“Actually, yeah. She’s been promoted and is working on something official. I forget what she called it last time we spoke. It’s been a few weeks.” He looked at the windows with worry in his eyes even though the blinds stopped us from seeing outside. “Lots of activity lately, Brody.”
Something in his tone disturbed me, and I tried probing further. I tried to sound casual when I asked him if he knew what was happening.
He heard the change in my voice though, smiled, and let his pointed teeth show through his disguise. “Brody, Brody, Brody. Never forget that I’m not on your side anymore. You and I are old friends, and we’ve both got people that we still care about who were separated by this war. But we’re just foot soldiers, Brody; we can afford to meet over the front line like this. The generals and the admirals can’t. This is their war. I may be Fallen, but the Devil’s men have virtue too, and I’m loyal to my master. You won’t learn more from me than you already know.” He turned his eyes toward the wall, and when he looked back again he had recovered his composure as well as his disguise.
My cheeks were hot. “I’m sorry, Wyles, I shouldn’t have asked that. You’ve always respected the neutrality of our meetings.” I squeezed another lemon slice into my Coke and sipped without meeting his eyes.
In Sickness and in Hell: A Collection of Unusual Stories Page 3