Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  The man behind the camera said, "Nope."

  Max smiled and nodded.

  But then Adam sharply asked, "Any word on your son?"

  It was as if someone had taken a knife and cut a hole in Max's heart. His shoulders hunched for a moment and he looked off to the ground. Blinking back his emotion, he resumed his cheery state and looked at Adam instead of the camera lens.

  "No word yet," he said. "If you hear from him, let me know."

  ***

  Jack

  The shot of Max quickly switched to that of an anchor room. Two newscasters took turns emphasizing that the rumor was false and quickly segued into the latest pregnancy gossip in Hollywood.

  Jack turned off the TV.

  He stood in front of it for several minutes, crossing his arms, deep in thought. When he realized his students were all silent and staring at him, he turned around. Melissa's eyes were darting from person to person, panic on her face. Before Jack could ask her if she needed to go get a drink from the fountain, Hugh raised his hand.

  Jack looked down at him. "Yes, Hugh?"

  "You gonna tell us about your dream?"

  "Oh."

  Jack had been thinking so hard that his head now hurt. But despite the dizzying pain, he smiled. His life, as he knew it, was on the threshold of something utterly incredible. Or so he hoped. He figured it might be best to keep his "dream" to himself for now.

  "I'm sorry, Hugh," he said, "but somehow, it's slipped my mind."

  ***

  Max

  "How dare you question me about Harry," Max barked at Adam.

  The cameraman placed his heavy equipment at his feet and smiled.

  "I'm sorry, dude," he said. "Just tryina help ya find Harry, that's all. Maybe the kid just needs to see that you give a shit."

  "Harry isn't even in this town. His note said that he was far away. And if you keep bringing it up, people will realize that he did run away. I don't want them to think that. As far as the public is concerned, he just disappeared, and we don't know where he is."

  "Yeah, but don't you want people to know that you're lookin' for him? You don't want people to think you're a bad father, do ya?"

  Max let out a big sigh, one that was full of regret and worry, one that his public would never see. He looked at the tall man in front of him. Adam was no weakling. Few people got to see the intimidating man who stood behind the Channel 3 camera. His short, spiky dyed-blond hair and tattooed biceps only furthered the intimidation he emitted when he looked a person dead in the eye and smiled his toothy grin that was just a bit large for his face.

  "So, where's the cash, man?" He slid a video from his black leather jacket and waved it before Max's eyes.

  Max pulled out his wallet and handed over three large bills. Adam took the money and howled with delight. It wasn't the first payment Mr. Edenton had made that day. He'd spent nearly all morning trying to console the owner of the clothing shop Noam had crashed into. He offered to pay not only for damages but also for any loss of business the store might have that day. He'd nearly had a heart attack listening to Bill Hodgeson's screaming about needing to be warned, damn it, before some damn fool Hollywood stuntmen were going to ruin his damn telephone poles. Max had to lie. He told everyone he had sent an e-mail memo that week warning them all of the coming theatrics but that his Internet service provider had been giving him some trouble and was probably to blame.

  Needless to say, his pocketbook was growing rather thin.

  He was just thankful nobody had actually gotten hurt.

  "Adam," he said, "you aren't lying to me when you say that is the tape?"

  "Nope, that's it. Angels flyin' away. Are you sure you want this destroyed?"

  "Yes."

  Adam's tone went serious. "Are they—are they real, dude? Because they sure as hell looked real."

  "Adam, I'm not saying either way. Now I want you to destroy that tape."

  "I will later."

  "You used to be such a nice, young man! Destroy that tape where I can see that it is destroyed."

  "Are you suuure? I mean this could be history, man! Edenton could be like, the next Loch Ness! Some tourist is gonna see a cloud and she's gonna be like"—he made a face and mocked a frightened girl's voice—"Oh, look, Mummy, an ANGEL! I saw it! They exist! I swear! Oh, happy day! Take a picture!" He laughed, his cigarette-stained throat, giving his voice a rasp. "Dude, just let me just keep it for a day."

  "NO. Destroy it now."

  Adam defiantly dropped the tape at his feet. He brought a hard black boot on top of it and crushed it into oblivion. Max nodded at the torn remains of the only hard evidence of angels' existence—at least as far as he knew. He looked up with sorrow into Adam's eyes.

  "You honestly haven't heard anything from him?" he asked.

  "If Harry wanted you to find him, he'd let you," Adam said. He suddenly sounded much older than the twenty-five-year-old he was. "Don't give up. I'm sure he'll come around. He's a good guy. My best friend, in fact."

  "I know."

  Adam reached in his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. He put them on his face and picked up his camera.

  "You tell those two actor buddies of yours that I'm onto 'em!"

  "Adam, we had an agreement—oh, by the way, where did they go?"

  "I think they headed up the road, that way. Probably headed to the church. You know how angels are."

  "Adam! Enough of that!"

  "I'm just kiddin' with ya. I won't say anything. I'm gonna be watchin' you, though. No weird meetings now, no secret calls to Washington, or I'm there and my buddy's comin' with me!"

  He gave his camera a little pat and walked to his car.

  Max shook his head and smiled. His pride did not want Adam to know that he always did lift his spirits. Adam was a complete scoundrel, yes, and one that just suckered him out of three hundred dollars, but underneath his bad boy reputation, he was a good person. That was why Max liked him so much. It was probably why Harry chose him as a best friend.

  Max smiled, remembering how Harry and Adam would make their little home movies, dressing up in sheets, pretending to be superheroes. Adam always stole the show, but in a way, Harry was the real hero for letting him have the spotlight. Harry always did worry about other people first. Now, Harry's mother, on the other hand…

  Max sighed, remembering his ex. Everyone said they were a perfect couple. The things he did for the eye of the public. He hadn't loved her, but found her to be the perfect trophy. She was drop-dead gorgeous, had an Ivy League education. But without love, all of that wasn't enough to sustain a relationship. He wondered what she was doing, now that she had moved back to her homeland of Great Britain. What a completely materialistic woman. She never had loved him either. Just his bank account. Max sighed, remembering her long, slender legs, her thick hair, her gorgeous smile.

  "Oh, what a pretty face can do," he said as he stood on the sidewalk outside the quiet, empty parking lot of Lektriks.

  ***

  Noam

  Where are you? Gidyon telepathically called to the Thanatakran.

  Shiny vehicles on the street next to Noam took the people of Edenton downtown to work or to go shopping or pay bills—he barely caught glimpses of their thoughts as they whizzed past.

  He was tired. Tired of the war. Tired of keeping secrets. Tired of fighting for people who didn't believe in his kind. Tired of it all. And so, for the first time since he had stopped talking, he spoke—not aloud—but to Gidyon's mind:

  We made a mistake by coming here. You or I need to contact someone. We need to admit we've been tricked.

  A fast car flew by, whipping his dark hair into his face. Parked cars sat peacefully outside of the double-storied business offices to their left and right, but no traffic at present. No pedestrians. His mind swam with Gidyon's inevitable reply:

  I don't think it's a mistake! I think being here is going to do you some good!

  Noam grinned sarcastically. Oh, yes, a lot of good it
's done us.

  "Would you relax?" Gidyon said aloud. "Enjoy Earth while we're here."

  Noam almost stopped walking. The healer was getting brave. Noam released a silent laugh and telepathically said to his comrade:

  You want to announce our identity to everyone around?

  "Stop worrying so much," he said, continuing to use his physical voice.

  Noam frowned, feeling his face tense. Stop worrying? Huh. That's your job, not mine. So you'd like to see a worry-free Noam? Keep dreaming. I'm the Thanatakran, remember? My job is to fight the monsters to which you refuse to raise a sword. It's taxing, Gidyon, risking my life for humans who don't believe we're real. It's frustrating.

  He could feel Gidyon right behind him now, racing on the sidewalk to catch up with him.

  "Some people here believe we exist," the healer said. "Our kind has made history here." Noam could feel a hand touching his shoulder. He heard Gidyon lower his voice. "There are recorded instances—"

  They still don't believe. Noam shrugged the hand away. They're far too concerned with the things they can see—their own petty experiences.

  "You don't know what they experience, Noam. Every person has his own hell, his own fears to overcome—"

  Oh, believe me. I know.

  Giving Gidyon a lightning-streaked glare, he held himself back from showing his temper. This conversation had gotten very tiresome very fast. He walked away from the healer once more and marched up a wide set of cement stairs that fanned out from the church. It was the same church that had saved them a few hours before. He sat down on the top step and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin dropping into his palms. Gidyon stopped at the base of the stairs. Noam let the lids of his eyes close halfway. He could feel the rips in his torn pants now, could smell on his coat the dusty debris of last night's fight. He sighed, looking up at the arch above the church doorway that made a rounded wooden frame for the sad piece of art that he was.

  "I didn't mean to bring that up," Gidyon said. "I was just so glad you finally said something, even if it was only with your mind."

  Noam closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was rest. He knew that he wouldn't be getting much of it tonight. There was a city of ignorant heathens to protect.

  "I—I'm sorry I took you with me to that place," Gidyon said, as he had done so many times before. "I never should have let you come. Can you understand that I never wanted you to—to experience that?"

  Noam closed his eyes even tighter. The healer just had to talk about it, didn't he? Noam didn't want to remember. Didn't want to hear Gidyon's apology. Every word said just made it worse. Gidyon may have healed many a human's aches, but there was no magic in the universe to soothe Noam's troubled soul.

  The warrior flinched as a sparrow landed on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned his bronze face toward the little, winged visitor. It cocked its head to the side and blinked, then ruffled its feathers. The angel reached up and stroked its feathered neck with the back of his bent pointer finger. The bird closed its eyes and leaned onto the knuckle.

  "Oh, there you are! Right where Adam said you'd be," Max said, frightening the bird away.

  Noam looked up.

  "Hello, Max," Gidyon said, facing the man.

  Max stopped beside the angel. "Ah, is Noam all right?"

  "Yes, he's fine. He just doesn't like cameras."

  Why don't you get brave and tell him why I don't speak? Noam said telepathically to him. The healer shot him a surprised glance. I don't care if he knows, Gidyon. I think you're too ashamed to admit that if it weren't for you, I'd still be talking.

  He could see in Gidyon's eyes that that one had hurt. Guilt began to weigh him down, but he would not relent.

  Well?

  "Max," Gidyon said, "there is a reason that Noam doesn't speak."

  Noam's heart jumped. Gidyon was actually going to explain?

  Max pulled his spectacles from his pocket and cleaned them with the front of his shirt, the act seeming more fidgety than dutiful.

  "I imagined so," he said.

  Gidyon looked straight into Noam's dark eyes and began:

  "God still corresponds with Lucifer—the Devil. He usually sends Gabriel to give him messages, but that day, Gabriel was very busy, handling an important affair. The Almighty told us it could wait, but I volunteered to go. The reason is I—I wanted to see someone, but that's not important. Noam and I were close friends, because we had both lost our soul-mate brothers."

  "You'd lost your soul-mates?" Max asked, putting his glasses back in his pocket. "Soul-mate brothers?"

  "Yes," Gidyon said matter-of-factly. "The closest thing I can relate soul-mate brothers to, in your terms, is human twins." He nodded again. "Yes, twins are very much like what soul-mate brothers are. They're actually a real part of each other and have been since before birth. Something is terribly wrong and missing in life when separated from them. They're profoundly connected."

  "I see."

  "I'm glad. Now back to why Noam doesn't talk."

  Max nodded this time, pursing his lips.

  "He said that he would go with me," said Gidyon, "to Hell. He didn't want me journeying there alone. I told him he didn't have to go, but he insisted."

  Uncontrollable fear crept into Noam's throat as he was forced to relive the time he had tried so hard to forget.

  "I was handed a scroll containing the Almighty's message," said Gidyon. "Then I was given directions to Hell's gates. We reached them in no time at all. And I won't describe them to you. You'd have nightmares for weeks."

  Noam felt his face pale, his eyes wide and looking deeply into Gidyon's. The images. The memory of sorrow, his sorrow. Hell had gotten inside of his mind, had dug up the one thing that hurt him most and had used it as a weapon.

  "I told the guards at the gate why I was there and showed them the parchment," Gidyon said. "They let us through and told me I had to give the scroll to one of the Elite, who in turn would hand the message to Lucifer. I wasn't allowed to see Lucifer because I'm not an Archangel. When we reached the door of the room where the Elitist awaited, I…" Gidyon cleared his throat. "I told Noam he couldn't come with me."

  "Why?" said Max.

  "Why?" Gidyon raised his voice. "That's none of your concern."

  Noam was taken aback by the healer's sudden show of defensive fury. He didn't know the reason behind Gidyon's desire to speak with the Elitist unaccompanied. Perhaps he never would, but it was of no real concern to him; the secret was Gidyon's to keep. Max, on the other hand, appeared hungry to know, but apparently feared to press the matter. Gidyon quickly went on with the story.

  "Noam waited outside the door. And while I was inside, demons latched onto him. Hell's demons are masters of illusion, specializing in finding out everyone's worst fears and phobias and forcing their victims to experience them." Max shuddered. Gidyon nodded his head. "I saved Noam from their clutches, but it was too late." He let his voice drop in regretful sorrow. "The damage was done. And he hasn't spoken since."

  Noam's heart trembled as he fought to force the screaming memories from his brain. Gidyon looked down to his feet.

  "He won't even go anywhere near Hell now," he said. "All missions to worlds in close proximity to that place have to be given to someone else because he just won't go."

  A lone white car ambled down the quiet road, slowing as it passed the figures by the church. Noam sent him vibes to hurry on, and the driver pressed on the gas pedal, stirring up a breeze that tousled Gidyon's hair.

  "I promise to become a member of the church board," said Max. "Maybe even serve as a deacon. I've wanted to, just haven't found the time. I'll even teach Sunday school. I have time now."

  Noam almost laughed, the lump in his throat tight, aching for release.

  "Anything," the man said, "to avoid that fate."

  "Max," Gidyon said. "Listen to me, for I am about to tell you something that is more important than all else I have said to you."

  The healer looked
up to the sky. Cumulus clouds lazily rolled across the blue. A cardinal swooped down, alighting on Gidyon's outstretched arm.

  "Tell me about this bird," said Gidyon, seeming to glow with respect.

  "Well, it's red, and rather pretty," said Max.

  "Yes. But do you feel its worth? Or if it fell from the sky, lifeless, would you be completely unaffected?"

  Noam looked at the red-feathered animal, at its shiny beak, its tiny, searching eyes, its nobly perched body. He easily saw its perfection and place in the great scheme of creation, and he wondered if Max could even begin to understand.

  "I suppose I'd be quite sad if it just fell and died," Max said, though uncertainty lit his tone. "Wouldn't anybody?"

  "No. Not just anybody. Most wouldn't even be paying enough attention to see it fall." Gidyon lifted his arm, cuing the cardinal to resume its flight. "But you're all right, Max. You're all right."

  Noam watched it fly away, the little bird flapping its wings as if renewed by the angel's touch.

  "I have some good news for you," said the healer in a brighter tone. "Noam spoke telepathically before you joined us. Maybe soon, he'll speak out loud."

  He and Max turned their full attention to Noam.

  "I hope 'soon' is now," Max said with a smile.

  It wasn't, but Noam did give them a shrug.

  "Oh, well, that's wonderful," Max said. "You just take all the time you need, Noam. I don't think any less of you, if that's what you're wondering. We've all got fears. I'm scared witless of needles. In fact, I can't even think about it right now or I'll faint."

  He's annoying, but I'll tolerate him, Noam dryly said to Gidyon's mind.

  The healer smiled.

  "You know," said Max, "I was thinking, gentlemen, since the people know your faces, I was wondering if you would rather come and stay at my home with me from now on. You are of course welcome to stay at any of the churches, but then it might cause suspicion. Nobody bothers me at home unless they have an appointment. The help won't question you. They're very kind. You'd be quite comfortable there, I assure you."

  "Great idea, Max," Gidyon said. "I was thinking the same thing."

  "Settled then. The only thing that worries me, though, is your black-winged enemy."