***
Hours later, Matt was standing over the same pile of clothes, alone. Abbie had come to live at the mansion. After she had informed everyone of the night’s events, Matt left. Elizabeth tried to stop him. Abbie tried to stop him. But he knew that this was something he had to do. He brushed the tears from his eyes and pulled out a gun. He had decided, looking down at the clothes, that his miserable existence had gone on far too long, anyway.
“It’s all my fault,” he told himself.
“Is it?” a male voice with a hint of an oriental accent asked.
He spun and saw Lao Shi standing there.
“He may soon be dead,” Matt explained. “And, if he isn’t, he’ll probably wish he was.”
Lao Shi walked over and picked up the clothes. He examined them, dropped them, and sat on the bed. “Maybe,” he replied, “but I am sure he would not wish you dead.”
Matt looked down at his gun. “I shouldn’t have left him.”
“You were angry. He was angry. I cannot think of a better solution than a little time apart.”
Matt shook his head fiercely. “No, I wasn’t going to come back.”
“I do not believe that,” Lao Shi responded, in his matter-of-fact way.
“Just go back to the mansion,” Matt told Lao Shi. He sniffled, not able to stop the flow of tears.
“No.” Lao Shi held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”
Matt laughed. “You can have it when I’m done with it.”
“Besides,” Lao Shi added, “maybe I am more to blame than you are for this.”
Matt would not be deterred, but he couldn’t help but wonder. “Why?”
“I knew it was going to happen, and I did not tell anyone,” Lao Shi admitted, looking away.
“You knew Alex would be kidnapped?”
“I did,” Lao Shi told him.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Matt demanded.
“I was told not to.”
“Who told you not to?”
Lao Shi looked back to him. “God.”
“I thought you don’t believe in God.”
Lao Shi rocked his head from side to side, deciding on the best way to phrase his response. “I do not see God the same way you do. ‘That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.’ Does it matter what I name It?”
“Why were we not supposed to know?”
“Some things are a part of a plan, whether we understand them or not,” Lao Shi explained. “If I would have told you, you would have tried to stop what had already been determined. It is better to simply accept that which is meant to be. Accept it when I tell you that you could not have stopped this.”
“I am still responsible.”
Lao Shi shrugged his shoulders. “So am I. So is God. Will you shoot the two of us before killing yourself?”
“This is serious,” Matt muttered. “I won’t even be able to tell him that I’m sorry.”
“Then,” Lao Shi surmised, “you have already decided that Alex will die?”
“Is there any other way? Jeremiah said that he won’t help Metatron, and he can’t beat him. Alex doesn’t stand a chance.”
“If that is true,” Lao Shi countered, “then we are going to need all of the support we can get.”
“We can’t win without Jeremiah and Alex.”
Lao Shi considered this for a moment. “Then, we must ensure that Jeremiah and Alex survive.”
“How?”
“First, give me the gun.”
Matt reluctantly handed over his gun. “You know,” he said, “I have more.”
Lao Shi laughed. “Yes, I do know that, but this is a symbolic gesture. If you want Jeremiah and Alex to live, then you will need to live to make it happen.”
“I presume you have a plan.”
Lao Shi nodded. “Oh, yes.”
***
When Alex awoke, he was on some kind of cushioned bench. He had been jostled awake. Through blurry eyes and a blurry mind, he navigated to find some semblance of order and reason. Instead, he saw a man he had foggy memories of—he may have called himself Enoch—and Jessica. They were sitting across from him.
“Sorry,” the one named Enoch said. “I was hoping that you would sleep through most of the trip, but it seems that the turbulence is a little rough tonight.”
“Jessica?” Alex questioned groggily. “Where are we going?”
Jessica smiled, got up, and walked through a door—presumably separating the cabin from the cockpit.
“Don’t worry about her,” Enoch instructed with a wave of his hand. “She’s inconsequential.”
“I don’t understand,” Alex told him.
“Well, you are going to join me at my home for a little while. I imagine Jeremiah will be joining us when he can. He and I have a lot to talk about, and I thought that your presence might make him more disposed toward civility.”
“So, you kidnapped me?” Alex was sitting up by this point, rubbing his head. “What did you do to me?”
“She put a little sedative in your food,” Enoch told him. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Your name is Enoch?”
“Yes,” he affirmed. “I was once a prophet, like you.”
“What happened?”
He smiled. “I ascended. God found favor in me and made me an angel.”
“Uh,” Alex groaned, still rubbing his head, trying to become more aware. He looked down at himself and realized that he was naked. “Where are my clothes?” He started getting frantic.
“Oh,” Enoch answered, “we had to leave those behind. I didn’t like the idea of Jeremiah being able to monitor our progress. My privacy is important. May I get you some clothes?”
“Please,” Alex said, covering himself with his hands. “You’re an angel?”
“I was.” Enoch laughed as he got up and began rummaging around in a compartment over his head. “But no more.”
“So,” Alex reasoned apprehensively, “you’re a demon.”
Enoch frowned and tossed Alex a pair of jeans and a shirt. “Yes.”
“Do you work for Metatron?” Alex asked as he pulled on the oversized jeans.
“Realizing that I am about to bias our relationship, I’ll be honest with you. I am Metatron.”
“That’s what I thought,” Alex confessed.
“Of course. What did He tell you?” Metatron pointed to the ceiling.
Alex was very calm, more calm than he had any idea he could be, given the circumstances. He pulled the shirt over his head and replied, “He told me that you would try to convert me. He told me that you would use me against Jeremiah.”
Metatron sat back down. “Did He? I guess our relationship has been biased. You see Alex, He doesn’t appreciate it when people work against Him, but He expects us to placidly accept it when He works against us. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“Maybe it isn’t for us to decide what is fair,” Alex commented. “I don’t think it’s fair that I’m on this plane when I would rather be at home.”
“Home?” Metatron mused. “Would you like to be at home? Kingstone, I mean. If Jeremiah will stop this feud, I would be more than happy to return you to your parents, who, I’m sure, miss you very much.”
“You’re a prophet killer. I find it hard to believe anything you say.”
Metatron sighed, as if he were very tired. He looked out a window of the plane. “I do what I have to do. It isn’t that prophets are my target, but killing them makes things inconvenient for Jeremiah. It causes him to reassess his position. I wish there were another way.”
“Jeremiah is seeking redemption. Maybe, you should, too,” Alex suggested.
“With all due respect,” Metatron scoffed, “I don’t think I’ll be taking advice from you.”
“I can understand that,” Alex replied, coolly. “But it’s not me who is advising you.”
Metatron looked back at him, surprised. “You are a very intriguing little boy, but your mouth might get you
into trouble.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Alex admitted sadly.
“No,” Metatron laughed, “but it could be the last.”
“I was wrong,” Alex said quietly into his lap, thinking back to his last conversation with Matt.
“What?” Metatron purred at him.
“Nothing.”
Metatron, perplexed, returned to looking out the window.
***
“Well,” Abbie said to the prophets who were gathered around the conference table, “we shouldn’t tell Jeremiah. He would not approve.”
“But you do?” Matt asked, hopefully.
“I guess we don’t have any other choice,” Abbie decided. “Jeremiah must live, and Alex must live. But what you and Lao Shi suggest may not be possible.”
Dylan, who was still a little sore from the previous battle, moaned. “I’m going to get a chance to die yet.”
Abbie smiled at him. “You don’t have to go.”
“I’m not sure it will work without me,” Dylan replied. “Besides, I don’t know Alex, but I’m not going to let Jeremiah die if I can do anything about it.”
“Then it’s settled,” Abbie declared with finality. “Matt, Lao Shi, Dylan, and I will go to Vienna. I will try to get the support that I can, but you must realize that we will not be able to realistically hold our own against more than three or four demons—even with Jeremiah’s help.”
“Wait,” Elizabeth protested. “I’m going, too.”
“Liz,” Matt stated, “we need you here.”
She shook her head fiercely. “Uh-uh. You aren’t leaving me behind again. You’re going to need all the help you can get. Leave Marla and Higgins here; they’ll be able to keep things in line until we get back.”
“You’re more optimistic than I am,” Dylan told her. “I have a hard time believing that we are going to come back. The last time I had a run in with demons, we were very nearly killed. And there were only three of them—none of those were Metatron.”
“Well,” Abbie concluded, “we all have a lot of work to do and a lot of praying to do. We should get to it.”
Epilogue
Raphael exhibited more control than he would have previously thought possible when Metatron took Alex onto the jet. Every second felt like days as he wrestled with his conscience. Should he save the boy, or stay out of it as he’d been commanded? Faith of an angel had to be unshakable; it was the very essence of a celestial being. Nevertheless, Raphael desired nothing more than to banish the errant Voice of God permanently for the audacity of kidnapping Alex, and he wanted to punish Jeremiah for being so foolish.
Though he guarded the abandoned farm house in Kingstone, he simultaneously stood inside the jet, listening to the conversation between Metatron and Alex. How he wanted to remove Alex and the pilot from the jet and burst the whole thing into flames.
A soft voice tugged his thoughts away from such destruction. “Is it prudent to torture yourself, thus? I can feel your anger.”
He knew the angel speaking to him instantly. Neither of them could be seen, heard, or felt by those inside the jet, but each was quite aware of the other’s presence.
“You need not concern yourself with me, Anapiel. I’ll be fine.”
He felt her concern keenly, but he forced a cool demeanor.
“I’m afraid that those of us with the responsibility of watching and protecting prophets may understand a side of the Father that other angels never will.”
Raphael laughed. “That is an interesting observation. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that your prophet has caused all of these problems.”
“Has he?” she replied. “Enoch is clearly mistaken, and he fell hard when responsibility was heaped upon his shoulders only to be suddenly removed.”
“By you.”
“I was the tool,” she conceded. “But it was always the decision of the Father, and it is unfair to imply otherwise. What we witness now is the plan of the Father as well.”
“That much is obvious,” he growled. “And I will not be lectured.”
“You don’t speak to a lesser creature, Raphael. It would be unwise for you to dismiss my wisdom out of hand. I have been where you are, watching in horror as the Father’s plans threatened to undo someone I cared very deeply for. But, by the grace of God, my faith was stronger than my fear, and the lapse was only momentary. We do straddle that line between compassion and fear from time to time, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Raphael admitted, realizing how close he was to that line before Anapiel’s arrival. “Yes, we do.”
“Alex will be fine, Raphael. The Father watches over him even now.”
“I can feel that now,” the archangel agreed, suddenly aware of the sensation she spoke of. “Thank you. Let us leave and have faith in the plan.”
Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) Page 34