‘I think we pissed it off,’ replied Mark as he sat shaking uncontrollably. ‘But trust me, it’ll be back sooner rather than later.’ He extended his legs outwards. ‘Jesus!’ he cried. The outer rubber of the soles of his boots squeaked as John’s blood began to soak into the suede-like material. He kicked out repeatedly as he tried to cover the red that was beginning to stain; he scraped the sides of his boots in the grease and dirt, desperate to hide the widening marks.
James slid down the wall next to the Professor. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted as he rammed his fists against the floor.
‘This isn’t happening,’ said Mark. He struggled to calm himself from the encounter. His terror turned into nausea as he noticed John’s pink fleshy tongue sitting in the grime, staring back at him. He kicked out furiously. ‘Fuck off!’ It took several attempts before he finally connected with it, sending the lump hurtling further into the mist and out of sight. He covered his face with the palms of his clammy hands as the tears started to run. ‘The look… The look on his face, he was petrified,’ he sniffled.
‘I know, mate,’ said James. He stared in despair at the Professor. ‘We need to stay calm. I need you here with me.’
Chapter 8: The Angelic Deceit – John’s Story
AN icy breeze whistled over the iron and concrete structure of London Bridge. Cars sped across, ignorant of each other on their single-minded journeys. The towers speared the night sky from afar as small snowflakes fell delicately from above.
John Chapman shivered uncontrollably as he tiptoed over the thick broken glass. He negotiated his way through the white criss-cross window frames. Once through, he stood upright upon the blue metal edging, in between the towers’ two high walkways. The wind ripped through the dark hair that framed his 39-year-old round face. He scowled uncomfortably at the effort. His hands were white, numb as they gripped the frames; he tried to steady his slightly overweight build.
His olive parka jacket draped heavily behind him. The navy denim jeans he wore clung to his already frozen legs, the wetness stinging them. He stood upon the icy ledge, sobbing hysterically as he slid his broken soul along its slippery surface. His right arm hooked the steel pillar that sat at the left, north west tower end. It held him in position as his brown eyes gazed out across the Thames; the water looked back at him – black, bleak. His open jacket invited the wintry breeze as the chill circulated his body. He sighed wearily. A heavy trail of breath flowed from his purple lips. He could taste the salty tears that raced each other down the sides of his face; they hung at the corners of his mouth before trickling along his chapped lips. He shuffled along the ledge inch by inch, slipping twice on the frosty steel.
‘No, not yet,’ he said in a quiet, jittery voice. ‘I’m going to try and do this right.’
‘Why are you doing this, John?’ asked a loud voice that rose above the thunderous sounds of the traffic below.
John slipped again, startled by the sudden intrusion as he looked downwards at his footing. ‘What – what do you want?’ he said aggressively as he tried to balance himself like a circus high wire act. ‘Leave me alone.’
He regained his composure as he turned his head up towards the voice. He narrowed his eyes in the disorientating snow. His hair – glued to his face – became intolerable as he struggled to peer through its matted wetness. A white glow began growing, expanding eerily from the top of the walkway. He raised his left hand, attempting to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Spreading his fingers, he stared through them, frowning as the glimmering ball grew into the silhouette of a man. He almost lost his grip again as his eyes struggled to focus. His breathing increased rapidly, he couldn’t work out if he was delirious or not. The light faded out to reveal a shadow, which began climbing down from the roof of the walkway. This unsettled him more.
‘Stay back!’ he threatened, ‘I’ll do it, I’ll jump… I will!’
The stranger leapt effortlessly onto the ledge next to him, forcing him to grip the giant steel pillar with two hands as he clung on.
‘Hi, I’m Michael. You might know me better as the archangel Michael?’ said the tall, handsome man.
John’s eyes widened as Michael began tiptoeing sprightly upon the ledge, like a pirouetting ballerina in jest. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked, his face pressed hard against the thick cold steel. ‘And how did you do that?’ He looked around, puzzled as he wondered why the stranger was there with him. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘I told you, I am Michael.’ The dark curly-haired archangel moved closer towards John. His three-quarter length black woollen jacket whipped through the thin air as he edged along the frosty ledge. The pleated black trousers that he wore flapped in the breeze, like pantaloons from a long forgotten era. Piercing blue eyes penetrated John’s ravaged soul. ‘So, I understand that you wish to die?’ he said jovially as the wind pushed his generous mop of hair back from his wide forehead.
‘Who are you, how can you do that?’ said John again, as his eyes travelled the length of Michael’s athletic frame.
‘Are you deaf? I’m Michael. Now come, you wish to die, do you not?’
With that, Michael grabbed John by his left upper arm, and leapt off the ledge.
‘No, no, no!’ screamed John as he tried to resist before losing his footing.
Several seconds had passed before John came to his senses. There, ten feet away from the paint-flaked blue ledge, the two of them hovered in mid-air. He turned frantically as he struggled to comprehend what was really happening. His fear multiplied as he stared at Michael. Two white feathery wings – each eight feet in length – slowly beat amidst the wind and snow. John let out a painful cry as the grip tightened upon both his upper arms.
Michael cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘Do you still wish to die, hesitant one?’ He flashed a seductive pearly white grin. He could feel the fear race through the human’s body. ‘Let me give you the choice.’
This failed to reassure his human cousin. They flew underneath the walkway, emerging on the opposite side. John wriggled, panicking over the bizarre situation. His heart felt like it was going to explode through his chest. He felt nauseous as he looked down at the dark, unwelcoming water.
Michael leant his head towards John’s wind-battered ear. His warm lips gently grazed John’s chilled skin. ‘Has your longing for death deserted you?’
‘Put me back, put me back!’ cried John as his feet danced, desperately seeking solid ground.
Michael shook his head, disappointed at having to deal with yet another potential waste of mortal life. He floated back under the walkway and towards the inside ledge. He let go of John’s arms, smiling as the human dropped onto the white criss-cross structure.
‘Christ!’ said John loudly as he hung on for life, shaking as he watched the archangel casually walk the edging.
Michael’s wings folded behind him, hidden like they were never there. He purposefully flicked out his jacket from his sides. He sat upon the thin ledge and leant back against the structure. He tapped the hollow metal, gesturing for John to sit next to him.
Still badly shaken, John gingerly inched towards the archangel. His wet clothes hindered the effort as he lowered his feet onto the ledge next to the celestial being. His frozen face stared at Michael’s warmth.
‘What are you doing here, and where did you come from?’ he said again softly, calmly. ‘Are you… are you an angel?’
Michael’s eyes pleaded to the heavens for common sense to prevail. ‘What is it with you humans? You’ve seen two feathered wings, yet still you question me! I’ve told you, I’m an archangel,’ he replied in a exasperated tone. He looked directly into John’s wind-stung eyes. ‘Yes. My Lord has sent me down to you in your hour of need. He is sad that you humans seem to suffer so, to feel the need to leave mortality so frequently.’
John turned his head away from Michael, feeling bemused, and a little embarrassed.
‘Look, why are we really here, John?’ sighed Michael, realising th
at he may have been a little too harsh.
John began to weep. ‘I can’t take anymore. I’ve no job, and my wife is sleeping with another man! My children hate me as they blame me for the things I can’t give them. I take out loans to provide for them, yet they brand me a loser when the bailiffs come calling.’ John dropped his head in shame.
Michael subtly shook his head, rolling his eyes at what he deemed “trivial” matters. ‘These are simple things that can be corrected, John,’ he said. ‘Go get a job. Find a new wife. Clear your debts and discipline your children on the rights and wrongs of your financial burdens.’
Watery drops fell from John’s wet hair as his empty eyes turned to Michael’s unearthly ones, which glowed through the darkness. He noticed for the first time how bright they actually were.
‘Do you honestly think that if things were that simple I would be sitting here now?’ asked John, amazed at Michael’s seeming lack of understanding. ‘You wouldn’t understand – you’re not human.’
‘No, I’m not, thank the Lord!’ exclaimed Michael as he looked to the skies, his arms held out in mock prayer. ‘Look down below. Look at all the hustle and traffic as everybody goes about their business. Do you think that you are the only one who has such problems?’
John glanced down and surveyed the traffic for a moment. Tiny yellow dotted headlights raced left and right as they burst through the slight mist.
Michael suddenly pointed to a black BMW convertible that sped through the traffic. ‘There!’ he said aloud. ‘See that driver there? He has it all. He has the model looks, the cars, the house and the trophy wife… the whole package. Is he happy? No.’
‘Well, he’s greedy then. I would kill for that life,’ said John with a jealous sneer.
‘Many probably would, John.’ Michael looked to the human and waited a few seconds before continuing. ‘But what his wife doesn’t know is that he has cancer – and they are penniless. All of his treatments cost thousands of pounds, for which he has been stealing the money from his IT company. He daren’t tell his wife as he wishes to keep her in the lifestyle that she is accustomed to. What he doesn’t realise though is that if he was honest with her, then she would give up everything material as long as he survives.’ He stared at the human’s reaction before they both watched solemnly as the BMW roared into the distance.
‘So he dies?’ asked John in a cracked voice. ‘How do you know all of this?’
Water droplets flicked through the air as Michael ruffled his black mane. ‘My Lord knows all, that is why I have been sent. But I only know these things once I am here on Earth.’ Michael paused again before entertaining a simpler example. ‘Think of a patient’s file that one would receive from a Doctor’s surgery, it’s sort of like a mental projection of that.’
‘But does he die?’ asked John again, pushing the question.
‘I can’t answer that. It all depends on whether the angel assigned to him can appeal to his soul or not.’ He looked hard into John’s eyes. ‘And how badly he wants to be saved.’
Michael gazed sadly at the moving sea of light below him. The traffic reminded him of lonely ships, lost in a murky ocean, floating aimlessly before crashing into the rocks of life.
The wind howled across the walkway. John struggled to protect his eyes from the now blizzard-like conditions. He pulled the jacket hood over his aching head; flakes of ice stuck to the faux-fur trim, a wetness spreading as they melted. He turned to the archangel, his eyes peering from underneath the fur.
Michael’s legs dangled over the ledge, swinging in a childlike motion. The loose, sodden laces of his black boots swayed from side to side like feeble pendulums. He cast his eyes out past the second walkway towards the water that rippled gently, as though itself shivering from the cold.
‘Do you read the Bible, John?’
John paused for thought. ‘No, well, some parts maybe. I was taught some stuff in school.’
‘What sort of stuff?’ came the slightly offended reply.
‘Stuff, you know, the old classics as I call them,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Like David and Goliath, Daniel and the lions, stories like that.’ John’s enthusiasm suddenly increased rapidly. ‘Did these things really happen? There must have been angels who witnessed these “events”. I mean, you must know, right?’
Michael smiled. ‘Yes, these stories are real, although not always in the context or the extremity as one reads in the Bible. Time has unfortunately turned the wonders of the Lord and his miracles into a shameful business. Did you know that religion is in the top three most profitable businesses in the world? Disgusting.’ More droplets of water flew from him as he shook his head angrily. ‘To answer your question though, time has distorted these events. Yes, David took on Goliath, but that wasn’t how it was portrayed in the Bible. Do you know what it was?’ he laughed. ‘It was a simple fist fight, that’s all!’ Michael’s body shook as he chuckled again. ‘Goliath was big, but a boxing match with a lucky punch nevertheless, as you might call such a thing.’
John raised his eyebrows at the admission. ‘Are all of the events like this – exaggerated?’
‘Pretty much,’ nodded Michael, his mouth curling downwards in frustration.
‘What about you, Michael. Is your story real?’
Michael turned to John sharply. His windswept hair blew sideways as he squinted. ‘You’d better believe it!’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘I led my Lord’s army of angels against our fallen brother, Lucifer. Gabriel and Raphael were my right and left wing lieutenants, and together we defeated the armies of darkness. I killed Lucifer myself and ended a millenia of war!’
Michael leapt to his feet from the ledge. He proceeded to gesticulate how he won the war, re-enacting the final moments – how he placed his foot upon Lucifer’s neck, and plunged his holy sword into the enemy’s heart.
John sat watching stony-faced. He wrapped his arms around his shivering rain-soaked body, fighting to keep warm.
The two sat there quietly for a while. Traffic provided the only sounds as they stared down at the world below them.
‘How many angels are in Heaven?’ John, broke their silence, intrigued.
His eyes surveyed the dripping feathery wings which had reappeared; they now offered him some protection from the continuous cold blasts.
‘There are thousands of us,’ said Michael. ‘Though not all angels are like me.’
John narrowed his eyes as the bitter breeze stung them. ‘I don’t get it, what do you mean?’
Michael exhaled a lazy breath. ‘Look, there are nine choirs of angels. You have three sets of three, each set containing three choirs. The top choirs are the Seraphim, Cherubim and the Thrones, these are the closest to God, the ones who are constantly within his presence. Next are the Dominions, Virtues and Powers, the middle ones as it were. And finally the Principalities, Archangels and Angels.’
John turned to Michael and laughed. ‘You mean to say that you’re in the bottom tier, second from last?’ He was both amused and miffed at the thought. ‘You, the slayer of Lucifer! How can this be?’
The archangel sighed with frustration. He began walking the ledge with his hands in his pockets as he tutted. ‘I know, tell me about it! I’m loved in Heaven for ending the war, yet here I am helping humans on this God-forsaken rock!’
‘You can’t tell me that you haven’t been rewarded for all that you’ve done in Heaven, can you?’ chuckled John in a disbelieving tone.
‘The only reward we seek is the reward of love from our Lord Almighty. Humans, not all, but most, thrive on the power and riches of your world. Most would do anything at any cost to succeed, to climb the ladder as it were. Don’t get me wrong, I can understand the end game for their logic. Most seek only the means to survive, to give their families a better life. But if only they knew of the love, the paradise and the peace that awaits them in Heaven. If they knew, they would think and act differently, of that I am certain.’
John pursed his lips. ‘
Michael, that’s impossible as no human can see Heaven. Don’t you think that if we could, then the world would run differently, perhaps perfectly?’
Michael clasped his soft hands together. ‘And that’s the point!’ he said smiling as he looked at John’s frozen face. ‘It’s called faith, John. It’s all about faith.’
The snow had turned into sleet, even though the temperature had remained the same.
‘What about people like me?’ asked John, his teeth chattering.
Michael appeared perplexed by the question. ‘What about you?’
‘Well, if I had jumped and committed suicide, would I have gone to Hell?’
Michael smiled again. ‘No, John. No matter what sins you have committed in life, God always forgives them, provided that you are repentant of course.’
John scratched his stubbled chin as he pondered his next question. ‘So, murderers, rapists and child abusers… they all go to Heaven?’
Michael puffed out his cheeks, his breathing becoming laboured as he did so. ‘Like I said, if they are repentant and truly sorry for what they have done, then the Lord shall forgive them.’
John’s shoulders dropped their stiff posture as he took in all of the information. ‘Okay, so if they don’t repent and are not sorry for their crimes, then what?’
‘Then they are not worthy of God’s love!’ said Michael, again looking up at the night sky. ‘This is how Hell gains its souls, though these are only in the most extreme of man’s sins – the most heinous crimes of humanity.’
John thought for a brief moment. ‘And what of those who have committed little sins like, I don’t know, telling lies for example?’
Michael picked at the dry flakes of paint from the steel ledge. ‘Trivial sins such as lies will not condemn you to the fiery lakes, I can assure you of that.’
There was another brief silence before the noise of angry car horns woke their separate trains of thought.
John turned quickly to Michael. ‘Ah, but what about an eye for an eye? It does say that in the Bible after all.’ He smiled, pleased with himself as he wagged his finger.
Blurred Vision: Seven billion voices about to be silenced Page 14