by L. J. Amodeo
“Elizabeth, that’s impossible! Are you positive?” Matthew became suspicious, turning the spoken angel frantic. He started worrying me.
“Matthew, I know what I heard! Armisael—they said the word Arm-isael!” Tension quickly crept through my body, making my limbs tremble. The angel sensed my tension and instantly put his arms around me, calming me with his energy within seconds, taking away the panic that began to mount in my chest. His warmth blanketed me; a gift all angels possessed, I was told once by my grandmother. I was instantly calm.
“Matthew, what does Armisael mean? Is it another dark force?” I asked, lifting my head from his chest. He stared at me, his eyes sagging with pity and confusion. “Elizabeth, let’s talk inside.”
I followed Matthew into the kitchen, eager to hear what he had to say. “This doesn’t make any sense to me. Armisael is an archangel; the protector of the womb.”
My inner voice chanted and crooned, wrapping itself tightly around Matthew’s words. Archangel? Protector of the womb? These thoughts spiraled wildly, making my head spin and abruptly, I leaned forward and vomited, missing Matthew’s foot by a mere inch.
Some moments later, Matthew helped me clean up the mess I’ve made of the kitchen floor. His kindness made me wish that Michael was with me instead. I never needed anyone as much as I needed my angel, especially now. I stood up, slightly unbalanced, stroking the sudden bump that appeared in my belly. The unforeseen wonder in Matthew’s eyes injected me with mounting hope—hope that we had defied the prophecy and forsaken Luca. This news consoled my broken soul.
“Elizabeth, lie down. I will call for the doctor.” I heard a swell of emotion in his angelic voice.
Angels descending, bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
~ Fanny J. Crosby
After a warm shower, I threw on a men’s white dress shirt and gray sweatpants. I sat on an oversized bed covered with a soft down comforter, combing through my wet hair. The bedroom was pale, matching the exterior stucco walls of the villa, combined with a few colored touches of blues, lavenders and sea-foam. Every so often, a burst of orange was placed tactfully to enliven the room.
Matthew was fussing in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled enticing. “Smells yummy. Do all angels cook like gourmet chefs?” I smiled.
“How are you feeling? Here you go. Eat up!” Matthew sat opposite me, handing me a bowl of barley soup. I lifted my spoon, taking mouthfuls of the delicious broth. Matthew sipped quietly with a ghost of a smile on his lips, watching me slurp my meal.
“Hungry much?” He winked playfully.
“Starving. I usually have an appetite, but lately, I don’t know what’s come over me,” I said mindlessly.
Matthew gave a stifled chortle. “Elizabeth, I’m not sure what happened back at Lake Louise, but I’m getting the feeling that you’re hungry because you’re eating for two.” He watched me suspiciously. A slight, embarrassed smile crossed my lips. It was the sudden realization that I was carrying Michael’s child.
The surrealism that I was going to give birth to an archangel’s baby made me drop my spoon, splashing the broth onto my face. Unsure of my emotions, I lowered my forehead onto the palm of my hand while splaying the other across my belly, feeling my stomach twist into a knot. I couldn’t decipher if what I had done with Michael was a good thing for humanity or catastrophic for the angels.
Matthew’s smile wavered, all signs of suspicion having quickly faded from his eyes. He knew for sure I was with child. He confirmed the truth of his suspicion with the stroke of his hand across my belly, “Don’t be frightened, Elizabeth. We will help you.” He smiled sweetly.
“May I ask one question?”
“Of course.” I replied. Matthew took in a deep breath of air before going on.
“It wasn’t Luca’s doing, was it?” His eyes narrowed with mounting concern.
“God, no!” I let out a gasp. Matthew’s shoulders slowly relaxed.
Pressing my lips in a tight line, I circumvented the chorale of confusion in my mind. Each pressing thought taunting me to ask about the lineage of the infant that grew inside me.
For several minutes I played with my soup, wondering about angels. I had so many questions dancing around in my mind. “Hey Matt? Do angels really fly?” I finally blurted out.
Matthew arched a brow. A slight grin crossed his lips. “They fly no more than you do,” he replied, sitting down again, taking a small sip of wine. I cocked my head, focusing my eyes on him.
“You’re an angel? Don’t you fly?” I gave him an inquisitive look.
“Flying angels are a misconception. Wings are mostly fabricated by artists trying to depict us and explain how we move in their art work,” he said. “Angels are not composed of physical matter, we are spirit beings, even though we can come into human form and take on characteristics of a man or woman, which also makes us vulnerable to human weaknesses and the seven deadly sins. But, no, Elizabeth, we do not have wings, per say, that flutter, as many believe we do. If you understand the scriptures, nowhere, where an angel is mentioned, does it say that we have wings. The stereotypical angels you read about in literature or admire on a canvas painting hanging somewhere on a museum wall, is a medieval farce that has no purpose in the scriptures. We are simply light-beings emanating at different frequencies with a different purpose and mission.”
“That can’t be true. I saw Michael’s wings at the hospital, the tomb and again at the Trinity. I touched them,” I argued.
“That’s because Michael is an archangel. Only high ranking angels will appear winged. Elizabeth, all spirits and angels move—and they move quickly. It depends on what dimension and time they find themselves in. Your idea and my idea of flying differ. We fly, like air moves. Michael, like all archangels, moves greater than the speed of light and in battle, has what will appear to be giant wings, but not like the wings of a bird; they are more like shields of energy, like power tools.” Matthew finished, with a smirk and a chuckle.
“I’m not following you—if you don’t fly, how do you get around? I mean, how do you get from one place to another?” I asked puzzled by this new revelation.
“By the elements—earth, air, fire and water. We are all interconnected and one with the universe and elemental powers that exist. We move from place to place like wind, simply by the process of thought . . . or we just drive whenever we can.” He laughed, plastering an adorable pucker on his lips. I giggled.
“Let me ask you this.” He tilted his head to one side as if considering his question for a moment. “I know you said you saw Michael’s wings at the Trinity and before that, but when you saw Michael and Freddie in your dreams, did both of them have wings?”
I gave some thought to Matt’s question. Michael’s wings were only visible in my visions, not Freddie’s. “No. I didn’t see Freddie’s wings in my visions. Only Michael’s.” I whispered, lowering my eyes as memories of my night with Michael drifted through my mind.
Matthew gave my hand a squeeze, bringing my attention to his face as he gave me a heartwarming smile. I could feel myself on the brink of tears as the sensation in my belly intensified—the exalted feeling that pronounced the coming of a life that was to be the greatest of phenomena. A child. Mine and my angel’s. The love story that many said would never be—could never exist. It was the life that now grew inside that made me grow emotional and left me suddenly breathless. With the love and bloodline of an archangel, I had changed the course of history and what had been prophesied. Instead, I’ll give birth to the most glorified infant in all the realms. If this were true, and I am indeed carrying the seed of Archangel Michael, then I needed to know everything about angels, and what was in store for us.
“Tell me about the fallen ones. How does one become a fallen angel?” I asked. Since Matthew had no problem sharing information of his so-called spirit world, my curiosity pushed forth. With the opportunity to find out more about their mystical sphere, I wasn’t holding back.
> “Most times by will, other times by force,” he replied curtly.
“Force?”
“Yes. If angels are alone, it is much easier to be ambushed and surrounded by Trackers and Watchers. It’s during this capture that the dark ones force them into captivity and eventually brand the angels with the mark of the beast called a Baphomet,” Matthew explained.
“What does it look like?”
“It’s an upside down pentacle, indicative of Satan.” He seemed to shudder at the mention of the demon’s name.
“What happens to the angel once he’s branded?” I asked.
Matthew’s thoughts floated away for a few seconds, biting down on his lips as he looked past the veranda. Then, without warning, Matthew jumped up, calling, “Dr. Magus!” as he greeted someone who had apparently walked into the room.
The doctor had slipped my mind. I was completely consumed by Matthew’s stories of angels that I’d forgotten that only hours earlier I was shaking and nauseous.
The doctor entered the room. He was a tall man with dark hair and matching dark eyes. He appeared to be a no-nonsense sort of man, with a serious lilt to his uptight walk and stern face. “Elizabeth, this is Dr. Magus.” Matthew introduced us, acting as a gracious host. The doctor extended his hand to shake mine. His grip was firm.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear. I hear you are not well?”
“I wasn’t feeling well earlier, but now that I’ve eaten, I’m feeling a bit better,” I said truthfully. The doctor kindly nodded, but all I could think about was Matthew’s last words on branded angels before the doctor interrupted.
“As a precaution, we’ll take a look to see how things are progressing. Matthew, is there a place where Elizabeth and I may have some privacy?” Hinting to Matthew, that he did not want him around for the examination.
My eyes suddenly widened in fear. “Wait, I . . . I prefer Matthew stay with me, if that’s all right?”
“Very well my dear, at your request, Matthew can stay.” Dr. Magus’ monotone voice made him sound emotionally disconnected. He was different from the vile Dr. Seth Bates, but in his own right, Dr. Magus was a weird man, whom in a strange sort of way had an extremely likable quality.
“Dr. Magus, you can go into the examination room down that corridor. Elizabeth and I will join you in a minute,” Matthew suggested. The doctor strolled off without saying a word—except for his humming of some flat notes.
I cupped my mouth, trying to repress my laughter. “Matt, does he know about the baby?” I asked stifling my laughter.
“Yes, he does,” he replied
“He is so weird!” I mumbled. Matthew, unlike me, let out a big, hardy laugh. “You’re absolutely right about that! He may be weird,” he replied, stressing the word ‘weird,’ “but he is ranked one of the best doctors in his lineage.”
His words cut my thoughts short, as well as, my laughter. “In his lineage? Is he an angel too?” I whispered.
“No, he’s mortal like you.” Matthew flashed a smile. “He comes from a sacred lineage called the Sorcerers of Light, who have been anointed as caretakers of the angels. Their primary mission on earth is to take care of angels when they are in physical form. There’s a long line of Magus generations. His son is also a doctor, but works a different quadrant. They are sworn to secrecy.”
I could do nothing but stare in bewilderment, shaking my head at all the secret organizations that exist in our world. Could life be any more complicated? my silent thoughts whispered.
“Come on, let the doc check you and see what’s going on. I want to be sure everything is fine with you.”
Matthew escorted me down a corridor that led to an intricate wooden door inscribed with symbols similar to the ones seen on the Trinity door.
We stepped inside an area of creamy sage and caramel-painted walls and arched ceilings that not only served as a medical room, but had an ambience indulging enough to spend endless hours lazily admiring the spectacular backdrop of sea and sky. It contained a special bed that I assumed would be adjusted for delivery. As we entered, Dr. Magus removed a machine from the armoire. He began plugging wires into outlets, as the machines lit up. Rummaging through drawers, the doctor pulled out gloves, tubes and scopes, placing each neatly on a metal tray. With a silent gesture of his hand, the doctor instructed me to lie down.
“Dr. Magus, as I was telling you on the phone earlier today,” Matthew interjected, “Elizabeth wasn’t feeling well. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
The doctor lifted his hand, silencing Matthew. He turned his attention to me, watching me curiously, as if trying to read my mind.
“I am going to lift your shirt above your belly. This will not hurt at all,” Dr. Magus explained as his cold hands slowly moved my shirt up. Nervously, my legs jerked.
“Do not be frightened, Elizabeth. I am going to do an ultrasound using this probe, or as some like to call it, a wand, to take a closer look.” I stirred uncomfortably under the slippery wand.
“Why are you staring at me? Is something wrong?” My voiced muttered with concern. The doctor didn’t respond. He looked down at the machine, pressing on its keyboard.
Matthew walked over to stand beside me. “Hey, sorry that Freddie hasn’t been found yet. I am sure you’d prefer he be here with you right now, huh?”
Freddie? Why would Matthew say that? Why would he think I wanted Freddie here, when it was Michael I needed here? After all he is the fath . . .
My mind halted abruptly, making me feel woozy and light-headed. Carelessly reaching for Matthew’s hand, I struggled to focus on the small computer screen that showed a blob of nothingness. My thoughts spun chaotically. “He’s not . . . the father isn’t . . .” The words would not spill from my lips, yet the voices in my head rejoiced, Nephilim.
“Elizabeth, calm down, you’re doing great. I’ll be here in Freddie’s place until he’s found.”
In a surge of irritation, I pushed Matthew’s hand off my shoulder and sat up, causing Dr. Magus to pull up the wand and press his lips into a tight line.
“Why do you keep mentioning Freddie?” I growled in utter irritation.
“Freddie hasn’t exactly kept your relationship a secret, Elizabeth. We all know how you feel about each other, and the night you went into his bedroom—we can only assume—” Matthew blushed, giving the doctor an awkward grin.
Angered and perturbed, I hollered at Matthew, “Freddie is my friend! How can you assume that I . . . we—” I gnashed my teeth at him, fighting hard not to spill the truth, worried that the repercussions against Michael would be severe if anyone were to find out it was his baby.
Yet the accusations sprung a new set of tears as visions of my friend being taken away from me by that she-devil started to affect me. Poor Freddie. I hadn’t heard anything, and I continued to worry about his safety.
“Dear, dear, please there is no time for tears. Freddie will be found and taken care of, that I assure you. We didn’t mean to upset you, did we Matthew?” The doctor glared at him.
“Elizabeth, I apologize for upsetting you. What happened between you and Freddie isn’t any of my business. My job is to make sure that you and the infant are safe and remain healthy.”
I felt terrible for lying to Matthew, and his kindness only added to my guilt. I considered telling him the truth that Freddie did not father my baby. Yet, if I were to tell him the truth, would there be consequences? What would become of us? Me, the baby and Michael? Debilitating questions hammered in my head.
“It’s fine, really. I am just tired and—”
“Nephilim . . .” the voice renounced like a whispering breeze. My eyes flickered and I dithered to react. Dr. Magus, perceptive to my reaction, immediately looked my way. It was apparent that he’d heard the voice, too.
“Did you hear it?” he whispered to both of us. I remained quiet.
“No, I did not. What is it that you heard?” Matthew glanced at me with a look of confusion.
“N
ever mind. Matthew, I am going to ask you to leave us for a moment. I’d like to speak to Elizabeth alone, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dr. Magus said, gently cleaning the probe with a cloth. Matthew cocked his head curiously, looking over at me for my approval—giving him the okay to leave us. Hesitantly, I agreed.
“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, Elizabeth.” On his way out, I grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Matt.” I smiled. He winked and walked out the door.
Dr. Magus turned to me. “Elizabeth, I’m going to be frank with you, and I’m hoping, as your physician now, that you’ll be honest with me. I heard what the voices have proclaimed. I can hear them just like you.”
I didn’t say a word. It was no use trying to fabricate something just to conceal the truth about the baby, if I could even call it that yet. According to the sonogram, it resembled a Planter’s peanut.
“Therefore,” the doctor continued, “when you’re ready to tell me who fathered the seedling you hold in your womb, the sooner we can decide on means of protection for both of you. This changes the entire game-plan.” He lowered his chin, waiting for me to respond.
“What does Nephilim mean? That is what the voices proclaimed, right Dr. Magus?” I asked changing the subject of the child’s father.
“Yes, it is, my dear. However, before I explain it, let’s continue with your honest confession,” he said firmly.
Dr. Magus pulled a stethoscope from his leather case, warming up the chest piece between his palms. “I will listen for the baby’s heartbeat. Therefore, lie perfectly still.” Slowly, he glided the stethoscope over the areas of my stomach, pressing firmly on each side as he listened carefully for a pulse. To my surprise, I clearly heard a beating sound; the rhythmic thumps of a heartbeat. The thumps started off softly but with each beat it progressed faster and louder each time. I gasped as I heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
As the doctor placed his hands on my belly, a siren-like sound started to mount slowly at first, developing to a loud, almost ear-shattering screech.