Forty-Four Book Thirteen (44 13)

by Jools Sinclair

  “But you said he’s on borrowed time, so he can still cross?”

  “Yes, but not for long,” Samael said. “You see, long ago I gave him a gift. But he has refused it.”

  “What gift?”

  “A second chance.” Samael lifted his hand, showing me his tattoo. “I marked him like this. The symbol instructs the boatman to allow Jesse to cross the river once more. But the mark is fading. When it’s gone, Jesse will be trapped in this world until the end of days. I’ve explained all this to him, but he refuses to leave. You are the only one he listens to, Abby. You must make him understand.”

  A stampede of horses ran through my chest and I let out a jagged breath. I told myself to calm down. It could all just be a lie to divide and conquer, to get rid of Jesse. Why was Samael telling me this now, after all this time? It just didn’t fit. Samael had turned his soul over to Satan. I had seen it.

  I couldn’t trust anything he said.

  CHAPTER 14

  Over the next year, Samael and Rachel met in the garden daily.

  They walked and talked for hours. They spoke of the herbs and the flowers and the birds and the weather, of art and history and music and literature, of the city and its politics, of her family and his role in the Empire. They even spoke of her being a Jew and him an angel.

  And with each passing day, Samael grew to love her more and more. Everything was better when she was near, and when she wasn’t the time became bearable knowing he would see her again.

  Under her influence, he stopped neglecting his duties and began spending more time again in church, tending to his flock.

  Even his patience returned.

  She gave him back his eyes, teaching him to see the beauty in all things.

  On one particular afternoon the most terrible meowing and crying filled the garden and before Samael knew what was happening, Rachel had climbed a nearby tree, reaching its highest limbs.

  “Be careful,” he called, the fear pressing in.

  A few minutes later she was back by his side, holding a scraggly cat.

  She stroked its head and the creature began to purr, but then without warning it lashed out at her, streaking its claws deep across her wrist before leaping away. Samael made a move toward the cat, wanting nothing more than to smash it against the nearest tree trunk. But Rachel put her hand on his arm.

  “No, Samael, the cat was being a cat, just as God made it. It was simply following its nature.”

  The anger drained away from him faster than he would have thought possible and he reached down and took her hand. He kissed the scratch and his lips tingled before going completely numb.

  “How is it that you can see me?” he asked later as she plucked herbs and tied them in bunches to sell in the marketplace.

  She let a bundle of rosemary drop from her hand and moved toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her breasts hard against his chest. Samael’s heart pounded uncontrollably.

  “I don’t know why I see you, Samael,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes. “It must be God’s will.”

  He took comfort in the thought but did not know if the thing that happened next was also God’s will.

  He didn’t care.

  He kissed her.

  ***

  Spring turned into summer and Samael and Rachel were happy. He met her in front of her house before the sun came up one morning and they walked up the trail to the hilltop in darkness. It was his favorite place to watch the new day dawn. He wanted to share it with her. He wanted to share everything with her.

  It was quiet, the only sound the beating of their hearts as they climbed the rocky path.

  “Is the steepness too great?” he said. “You have not said much.”

  “No. I was just thinking.”

  “Thinking what?”

  “How much I love you.”

  Samael squeezed her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. He wrapped his massive arms around her and met her ruby lips with his. In a few minutes they reached the top just as the sun peeked up behind the mountains to the east. They stood for a long time in silence, just watching. It was the most magical moment of the day and now his true love was by his side.

  He had never felt so alive and happy.

  When God’s light was strong in the sky, he finally spoke.

  “I love you with my whole heart, Rachel.”

  He had been thinking, too.

  It began as a seed, showered by their love, sprouting up from his soul toward the sky. The thought that they would marry.

  She was everything that was good in this world. And it was only natural for him to want to be with her.

  Even if he was an angel.

  Samael had decided he would go to the Kingdom to ask for Heaven’s blessing. But would God grant his request? Would He turn an angel into a man? He had served loyally through the ages and never asked anything for himself. Surely, He would grant him this one thing. There were others who could and would eagerly take his place. Rome, after all, was the center of the “civilized” world. There would be a long line of angels ready to step into his role.

  But whether God approved or not, the truth was that Samael was already turning human. Human emotions now churned inside him like the sea during a storm. All he cared about was Rachel. All he could think about was being with her.

  “There is a journey I must take,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

  “I shall miss you, Samael. Hurry back, my love.”

  “I shall travel on the wings of an angel,” he said.

  He laughed at his own good cheer and brought her in to him, feeling her warm body on his chest, and kissed her again.

  CHAPTER 15

  I drove, I walked, I put in the miles and the hours, but at the end of the day once again I had nothing to show for it. Not even a whiff of Nathaniel Mortimer.

  I dropped Samael off at a church and headed to Curry Hammock State Park. I had been there a couple of times, but not after the sun had gone down and from what I had read, it was a good place to watch the stars come out. I walked for a while in the dusk, passing mangroves and a creek, and then went over to one of the large picnic tables and sat down.

  I whispered his name, trying to envision him walking up to me with that smug smile, his hair pulled back neatly in a thin ponytail. But he had even disappeared from my imagination and I couldn’t get his face right in my mind anymore. Instead of getting closer to finding him, it felt as if I was going in the opposite direction.

  I wondered if it even mattered.

  A little more light, a little less darkness? Or the other way around. The world after all was not black and white, but a million shades of gray. So what if the color bar shifted slightly in one direction or another?

  But I knew that was wrong. It did matter.

  Being human was a small thing. But it was the only thing. A little more light, a little less darkness. I had to believe that it mattered. That a lighter shade of gray was worth living, and dying, for.

  I put on my sweatshirt as a moist coolness settled in around me and closed my eyes and listened to the gentle surf lapping on the shore and the birds calling out.

  As night fell I glanced up and was blown away.

  The sky was ablaze with a million small specks of twinkling lights. I stared for a long time, finding the Southern Cross and tracing it with my finger. I pushed down the burst of sadness that surfaced as I remembered Ty and our camping trip up in the mountains.

  It was under a night sky like this that we had first slept together. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought of it, his lips on mine, his soft hair wrapped in my fingers as his body leaned in. Later when we sat by the fire, when he had told me the story of Andromeda and Perseus, I knew that I would love him forever.

  A star shot across the sky and exploded, scattering dust over the night.

  I was through with the guilt about loving both Jesse and Ty. Life was too short. I knew that better than most. Loving them both was just the way it was a
nd there was nothing to feel bad about.

  In a world so full of hate and death and destruction, love just couldn’t be wrong.

  CHAPTER 16

  All was in order.

  Samael left instructions with Gabriel on what needed to be done.

  “I will return soon, my brother. Try not to let the place burn down.”

  “You can count on me,” Gabriel said. “God’s speed, Samael.”

  He went to see Rachel to say goodbye.

  It was a beautiful day in the garden, a hint of autumn in the air, the leaves beginning to turn. But he could tell right away that something was wrong.

  “Why are you so sad, Rachel?”

  He saw that her eyes were red and swollen. He reached out a finger and traced the tracks of her tears that streaked her perfect cheeks. He felt her pain and it troubled him deeply.

  “It is my father,” she said. “He has been arrested.”

  She began to cry again.

  “What is the charge?”

  “Remember, we are Jews, Samael. Does there have to be a charge?”

  “I suppose not,” he said quietly.

  “They dragged him away in the middle of the night,” Rachel said. “They would not tell us why, but I know that he has committed no crime. I am certain of that. It must be because of our faith.”

  In the years following the crucifixion, the Christians had suffered much at the hands of the Romans. But now they were the ruling party. And it was time for payback. An eye for eye and a tooth for a tooth. They had destroyed the pagan symbols and persecuted the worshipers of the old Roman gods and now they were going after the children of Israel.

  He reflected again on the circuitous and torturous nature of human progress. Before she came into his life he had begun to wonder if there even was such a thing.

  He had been there for the sermon that day. Almost four hundred years had passed, but to Samael it felt like the blink of an eye. The words had a nice ring to them, but that was the extent of it. They did not penetrate the human heart. The Son of Man was a dreamer. Samael wondered what He thought of his dream now. He wondered if all this hatred was part of God’s plan.

  He once again reminded himself that it was not his place to understand. It was his place to love Him without question and to do His bidding without hesitation.

  “Do you know who has accused your father?” Samael asked. “Under whose orders he was arrested?”

  “I do not know his accuser, but my mother’s brother was able to learn that Natavius Cassius Bestia had him arrested.”

  Natavius.

  He was the Censor of Rome, charged with enforcing the morality of the city. He was a powerful man, rising in the ranks, growing in strength. Samael had seen him in church on more than one occasion. Natavius had bowed his head at the appropriate times during the Mass. He had said the prayers in hushed and solemn whispers. But Samael knew that behind those feline, almond-shaped eyes, under the long hair held back by a black leather tie, lurked darkness.

  Samael had strict instructions not to interfere in human affairs, not without direct orders from above.

  But this was Rachel.

  He must act.

  “Do not trouble yourself further over this matter,” he said without hesitation. “I will speak to this Natavius. Your father will soon be set free.”

  “Oh, thank you, Samael,” she said, covering his hands with tears and kisses. “You are kind beyond words.”

  How little she knew of him. She would not say that if she had seen some of the things he had done down through the millennia.

  There was much blood on his hands, so much blood.

  Rivers ran red from the things he had done.

  ***

  What was it with these Romans and their baths?

  The daily cleansing made them feel superior to the barbarians that surrounded the Empire, but all the while their souls reeked of neglect and of a thousand slop vases.

  Samael waited inside the bathhouse where he knew he would eventually find the man he had come to see.

  An hour later Natavius walked naked into the warm water, the oil on his skin mixing with the greasy layer already floating on the surface left there by other bathers.

  “Who’s there?” the Censor said, his entire body suddenly as tight as the sinews on a bull’s neck.

  Samael did not speak at first, letting the tension build, letting the moment linger like a grain of sand suspended in midair.

  “Is someone there?” Natavius quivered. “Show yourself.”

  “I have brought you a message from on High,” Samael said finally, his voice making the cobwebs in the corner of the bathhouse tremble. “Repent. Repent before it is too late.”

  “Show yourself, demon,” Natavius said.

  Samael did not attempt to correct the wicked man and ignored his request.

  “Magistrate, the day grows short. The Lord has been more than patient. But no more! The time is nigh. Heaven will be closed to you if you continue on this path.”

  Natavius was still for a long moment and did not speak. Then, slowly at first, he began to shake and convulse uncontrollably. He dropped to his knees in the water and cried out.

  “God, I beseech you. Please, no.” He looked around frantically, tears in his eyes. His voice was tight. “Please, Messenger, please tell me what I must do to save my soul.”

  It was always the same with these men, Samael thought. Easy to sin, easier still to repent, as long as they saw it as a way out. Always in search of the path of least resistance. Still, it was not every day that a human was in the presence of an angel. Perhaps the man was sincere.

  “Ask forgiveness and go forth and sin no more,” Samael said. “And as a sign of your repentance, show a little of the mercy in your own life that you ask of God. There is a man by the name of Saul you have falsely imprisoned. Set him free.”

  Natavius was quiet for a moment and then shook his head.

  “Ask me something else,” he finally said. “Anything else and it shall be done.”

  “I am asking you this thing,” Samael said.

  “But this man is a Jew. He and his kind killed Jesus Christ.”

  Samael had heard such talk increase in recent days and it troubled him. He thought back to that time. The night in the garden. The trial. The crucifixion. The Romans were in charge. And God was in charge. The Jews did not kill the son of Man. It was God’s will that He should die in that place, at that time, and in that manner. Without His death, there would be no Church. No Christianity.

  Besides, His message was forgiveness. Why then all this obsession with placing blame?

  “Christ Himself was a Jew. But you know this already just as you know that what you say holds no truth,” Samael said, looking into Natavius’ soul and seeing now only deceit, lies, and darkness. “You do not even believe the words that come out of your own mouth.”

  Again the Censor was quiet.

  “If it was up to me, I would do this,” he said. “But it is the people’s will. I put myself in great peril going against their wishes. I am truly sorry, but my hands are tied.”

  “Then so too is your fate,” Samael said, his voice booming off the walls, causing a sprinkling of fine dust and sand to fall.

  In the next moment the angel turned the water ice cold and Natavius began to shiver again. He looked down at the crystals forming on the surface and then around the room.

  “No, wait. Wait! I will do as you say. I will find a way. I will do this thing right away.”

  “See to it that it is so.”

  Samael took his leave.

  He did not feel he had done anything wrong. Just the opposite. He had helped a righteous man and frightened a wicked one, perhaps setting him on a better path. He moved quickly through the city, anxious to tell Rachel that her father would soon be released.

  The energy in the bathhouse changed and grew still, as if nothing had ever happened. As soon as Natavius felt he was alone again, he raised his head, a curious sm
ile playing on his lips.

  “Saul,” he whispered, having composed himself. “I know not how this has come to pass, what alchemy you have employed, but I promise you this, I will set you free! And you will rue the day.”

  He called out to his servant.

  “Clothe me, slave! There is much to do.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I hit the small bell on the counter.

  “Oh, hello there, miss,” the ancient motel manager said as he shuffled out from the back office. He had a two-day growth of thick gray stubble and small watchful eyes and reminded me of an old sea captain. His large, vein-streaked nose suggested a life of hard drinking. “Here for ice?”

  “Yeah,” I said, handing him the small bucket. “I’d also like to pay for another night.”

  “Marvelous,” he said. “But best be careful.”

  I squinted at him. Did he know something I didn’t?

  “Best be careful of what?”

  “It’s just that this place can really sink its hooks into you. Some people never leave. Just look at me.”

  “Oh, I see.” I let out a little nervous laugh. “Kinda like the “Hotel California.”

  I could tell by his confused expression that he wasn’t into the Eagles.

  “Never mind,” I said, “I’ll be careful.”

  “Good, and remember we have videos on the shelf there by the door for no extra charge. Lots of copies of Key Largo and Scarface. Be right back.”

  I thought back to that time with David, how we watched the Bogart and Bacall classic during a snowstorm huddled under a down comforter on the sofa. We had to pause it at one point because one of us had a wheezing attack, and it wasn’t David. I couldn’t stop giggling at his impression of Edward G. Robinson.

  I wondered now if there would ever be other moments like that for me again, where I could just laugh.

  Focus, Abby, I told myself. You don’t have the time.