When Angels Cry

by Marylu Tyndall

  But wait. Her eyes had been clear and sparkling, those lustrous sea-moss eyes he remembered so well. Her hair was still blonde but shorter, and she’d gained some rather alluring feminine curves. Plus, she had a son! Wow. She’d always been a wild spirit, carefree and untamable. But also naive. Apparently, she was still that way.

  After dressing in his casual Saturday jeans and T-shirt, Daniel passed through the sanctuary and stopped to gloat at the enormity of it—the hundreds of rows of cushioned pews extending as far as he could see and then up into two levels of balconies. How far he had come. Movement turned him around to see Rubio, his music director, walk out onto the stage with the band.

  “Hey, Daniel.” He nodded toward him. “We’re practicing for tomorrow.”

  Daniel ground his teeth. When would the man grant him the respect he deserved and call him Pastor Daniel? “How’s the play and the light show coming?”

  “Good.” Rubio approached as the band set up their instruments. One of the singers—Kathy, Daniel thought her name was—stared at him, smiling. Drawing female attention was the curse of being a single pastor, but it was a curse he rarely complained about. The difficult part was resisting the many temptations constantly flung his way.

  “The show will blow them away, Dan. And the play, it’s as good as anything on Broadway.”

  “Good. Senator Tames will be in attendance, and I want it perfect.”

  “You can count on me.” Rubio pointed his finger at Daniel and clicked his tongue. He was the best music director in the business, but Daniel always got the feeling the man would stab him in the back if given half a chance.

  Leaving the sanctuary, he made his way past the administrative wing to his office. He needed to go over his sermon for tomorrow. They’d picked up coverage on another national station, and he wanted it to be perfect for his new listeners.

  “Pastor! Pastor!” Harold Jake’s voice sent ice down Daniel’s spine. What was the man doing here on Saturday?

  Pasting on a smile, he turned to face him.

  “Pastor Daniel, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something.” His tone was so urgent, you’d think the roof was caving in. Daniel knew better.

  Drawing him to the side of the hallway, Harold leaned closer, the wrinkles on his face tightening. “It’s the music. Several members are complaining. It’s far too modern. Really, it sounds like heavy metal and sometimes too close to that rap stuff those African Americans sing. I really don’t think it’s acceptable in church, do you?”

  Daniel maintained his smile, though it pained him to do so. “Our goal is to attract young people who don’t know God. Having music they can relate to is a great way to do that, wouldn’t you agree, Harold?”

  “It just doesn’t seem very respectful. Or holy. I mean why can’t we sing those good old hymns, you know? At least some of the time.”

  When hell freezes over. Daniel had no intention of risking losing the younger crowd, as well as a possible lawsuit for the lyrics in some of those old hymns. “Tell you what, Harold. Send me a list of hymns that haven’t been outlawed, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Pastor. I knew you’d see things my way.” Harold winked as if they shared a big secret before turning and walking away.

  With a sigh, Daniel proceeded to his office. Last week it was the bathrooms that didn’t measure up. The month before that, it was the bulletin that wasn’t quite right.

  But Harold Jakes was a wealthy widower and one of the church’s biggest tithers. Daniel could handle him. Shoving aside thoughts of the annoying man, he smiled as he entered his office at the end of the hall. As big as a small apartment, it was elegantly furnished with the best leather sofa and chairs money could buy. Oil paintings of Old Testament saints lined the walls, while a huge mahogany desk stood in the center like a podium of power. An extensive library reached from floor to ceiling on his right and a small kitchenette stood on his left.

  He was about to close the door when the sound of heels click-clacking echoed down the hall, and Kimberly Monroe, the college-group pastor appeared. She looked up and smiled as she approached. Was it his imagination or did her body sway a little more when she knew he was watching?

  “Pastor, sorry to bother you on a Saturday.” She pushed past him and entered his office.

  “No problem. Have a seat.” Daniel wove around his desk, keeping the thick wood between them. And for good reason. With a shapely figure, a cherub face, and long blonde hair, Kimberly was a constant temptation. Not only to him, he imagined, but to most of the men who worked at the church.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Monroe?”

  “Well, as you know you are officiating John and Mike’s wedding next Saturday, so I wanted to make sure you knew to be here an hour early before the ceremony at 2:00. Oh, and the reception will be in the East Chapel, so be sure to be there, as well.”

  “Thank you, I am aware.” He stared at her, knowing there must be more.

  She swept her hair back over her shoulders and sighed. “But the real reason I’m here is that one of my college students is complaining about the neutral bathroom again. She says there are men in there, ogling women.”

  “She’s free to use the women’s bathroom.”

  “But she actually identifies as a man… you know that. You counseled her.”

  Ah yes, Georgiana or George, whatever. Nice enough girl. Polite, well-mannered, loved God. He did remember her…him. Ugh. Why did things have to be so confusing?

  Thomas, his associate pastor, strolled in wearing shorts, a T-shirt, a smile, and his eyes all over Kimberly. “Tell her to take care of business before she comes to church.”

  She waved him away playfully. “I can hardly do that.”

  “Still.” Thomas shrugged and leaned on the corner of Daniel’s desk, dangling a foot. “We have accommodated all gender identities. What else can we do?”

  Kimberly cocked her head. “She’s asking for a one-room bathroom with a lock. And you know what would happen if she took this to the press.”

  Daniel squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.” Rising, she smiled sweetly at them both and walked out the door, swinging her caboose as she went.

  Staring after her, Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t you like a piece of—”

  “Remember who we are,” Daniel interrupted sternly. “And Who we serve.”

  “Ah, lighten up, Dan. You’re still living by those archaic rules from the old Bible. That was just the culture at the time.”

  Was it? Daniel wondered. He glanced at the picture of his mother on his desk, framed in oak. She had not thought so, nor had they taught that in seminary just a decade earlier.

  “God can hardly expect us to go against the natural impulses He gave us, right?” Thomas arched a plucked brow. “You gotta get with the times, or you’re gonna lose church members.”

  Daniel nodded, knowing his friend was right. “Listen, I need to work on my sermon. Is there something you need?”

  “No need. But I have good news.” Thomas’ eyes flashed. “Word among evangelical circles is that your name is at the top of the D.C. list.”

  “Seriously?” Daniel grinned, elation sweeping through him. Only thirty-three and in line to be the next spiritual advisor to the President.

  “Who knows where you could go from there, bud? Run for the Senate, VP, who knows?”

  Daniel smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm. Thomas had always been in Daniel’s corner, always celebrated Daniel’s successes. How many people could say that about a friend? “Yeah. Just not sure I’m cut out for politics.”

  “Who you kidding, man? Think of the power you’d have. Making laws and policy that protect Christian rights. Who’s to say God doesn’t want you in a seat of power for such a time as this? Besides.” Thomas pointed at him. “People love you. You have a way about you that makes them feel at ease.”

  Nodding, Daniel kicked back and cross
ed his ankles on top of his desk. Senator Cain. It definitely had a ring to it. “You may be right. I guess we’ll see. Hey, you know who I saw today? Angelica Smoke.”

  Thomas coughed and pushed from the desk. “Smokes? Wow. How long has it been?”

  “I can’t believe you still call her that. Twelve years.”

  “Twelve years…Is she still hot?”

  Daniel cringed. Was that the only thing Thomas remembered about her? Daniel’s memories were filled with so much more…her zest for life, her carefree spirit, her kindness and love for those in need…the way she made him feel. He had truly loved her. Once. He pictured her in her one-piece swimsuit that clung to curves in all the right places, wet hair slicked back, water beading on her long lashes. “Yeah. And you’ll never guess this, but she was that crazy girl who came up to me the other day on the steps?”

  “Naw. Really?” Thomas walked away, suddenly interested in one of Daniel’s paintings.

  “Yup.”

  “So I’d guess from her clothes, she’s still a cocktail waitress.” Thomas’ tone was biting. “Incredible. Did you ask her what she meant?”

  “Didn’t get much of a chance. She turned me down for coffee.”

  Chuckling, Thomas faced him. “The great Daniel Cain, one of Newsweek’s top ten most eligible bachelors, rejected?”

  “Stop it.” Daniel tossed a pen at his friend. “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”

  “What? Are you nuts?” Thomas barked. “She’s a cocktail waitress! And probably a druggie. You can’t be seen with the likes of her.”

  Daniel cocked a brow. “I thought we got rid of those archaic rules?”

  Thomas planted fists at his waist. “Not the kind that have to do with reputation and status. And yours has to be pristine. Especially if you want to continue in this business and eventually make it to D.C. Stay away from Smokes. She was bad news twelve years ago, and she’s bad news now.”

  Daniel knew he was right. Angel had always been the crazy one, the throw-caution-to-the-wind type. She had nearly gotten him expelled from seminary. If that had happened, where would he be now? Probably working down at the docks with his drunken father.

  Yet, after Thomas left, Daniel struggled to focus on his sermon. Angel’s words haunted him. He had to know what she’d meant. He had to see her again.

  And if she wouldn’t come to him, he would go to her.

  Chapter 3

  A little while longer the light is with you. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness overtake you; he who walks in darkness does not know where he is going.

  John 12:35 (NKJV)

  Baliel and Nazare stood together at the far end of the long bar in the Mermaid Den. Two bartenders hustled back and forth, pouring drinks for patrons while waitresses carrying trays hurried about the dark room. Tables made to look like ship wheels littered the area, full of people laughing and drinking. Music blared from massive speakers, the thump thump of the bass pulsating through the chaos. Thick glass covered one entire wall, giving view to a pool beyond where women dressed in mermaid tails and tiny bikini tops swam around, smiling and waving at the crowd, luring lonely men like the Sirens of old.

  A typical Saturday night at the Mermaid Den. Men and women numbing their pain and their consciences with alcohol until they gave into every wicked impulse, opening the door to a multitude of demonic hosts lurking in the shadows around them. Baliel knew all the dark spirits too well. There was of course, Lust, a slimy-looking fellow, skittering about from table to table. Immorality and Homosexuality stood beside a group of college-age humans who were deep in conversation. Greed licked his lips by the bar, alongside Alcoholism. Then there were Jealousy, Envy, Strife, Depression, and Hopelessness, all pacing, eyeing the throng, ready to pounce at the first hint of an opening. Even Suicide had shown up tonight.

  And though they all cast spurious glances at Baliel and Nazare, they remained at a distance from the two warriors.

  Nazare adjusted the sword at his side and uttered a deep sigh. “When is the Father going to put an end to this wickedness?”

  “When every last soul He has called responds.”

  “We should fight these dark spirits now, kill them all, and put an end to it.” Nazare seethed, gripping the hilt of his blade. Though he stood seven feet tall, he was still dwarfed by Baliel, who gazed down at him in disapproval.

  “Patience, my friend. The time is not right. All humans must be given a choice between darkness and light. And they must do it soon, before it is too late.”

  A dark-haired burly man sold drugs to young woman in the corner, drawing the attention of the warriors. Nazare shook his head, his heart heavy. “The Father has told me that she will be dead by morning.”

  Baliel crossed arms over his chest. “Yes. And lost forever. But He gave her every opportunity, and she has made her choice.”

  “At least I don’t have to frequent such places as you do.”

  “I don’t mind. My job is to protect her.” Baliel gestured toward Angelica Smoke, delivering drinks to one of the tables. A column of light surrounded her wherever she went—the only light shining in the dark place. “See how she spreads the love of the Father wherever she goes.”

  They watched as she stopped before a table, casting a glow on the patrons. She spoke, and golden sparkles shot from her mouth and poured over them, disturbing the darkness and shoving it into retreat. But as soon as she left, it returned.

  “Why does the Father keep her here?” Nazare asked.

  “For such a time as this. She does much good, though she doesn’t know it. Last year, she helped three people find their way to the Father.”

  “You are fortunate to be assigned to such a one. Mine is on the way.”

  “Which is why we must be diligent tonight. She must make the right decision. She has been fighting the Father. You see how Fear circles her, looking for an opening?”

  Nazare nodded as his gaze locked onto the tiny gray shadow with the huge red eyes that hovered over Angelica. “Such a small demon for how great a torment he invokes.”

  “Indeed. If only humans knew that it takes but a word of faith to defeat him.”

  ♦♦♦

  Angelica’s feet hurt. And it was only 11:00. Three more hours to go. Just three hours. You can make it, girl. She halted before a table of men in their twenties, all mesmerized by the swimming mermaids, all drunk after three shots of vodka each. Two of them were singing to the song blaring from the speakers, one was face down on the table, while three more started to argue over which drink was theirs as she placed them on the table. Taking a moment, she sought God’s Spirit, looking for a spark of light, something she could use to start a conversation.

  Instantly, a dozen demons appeared slithering about the men, wrapping their tentacles possessively around their heads and chests. Fiery eyes shot her way. The spirits trembled when they noticed she could see them—not only see, but she could scatter them with a single Name. Yet they clung to their hosts, baring their fangs, knowing that if she did, these men would invite them back within a second.

  She shook the vision away and set down the last drink, hating that she’d given even a speck of attention to the devilish beings. They were mere shadows to her, wisps of emptiness. As long as she walked in the light, they couldn’t touch her. But she hated what they did to others. She hated the way they controlled unsuspecting victims and bound them in chains.

  One of the men faced her, his glazed eyes landing on her chest. “How’s about going out with me after work, babe?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “I could tell you all about Jesus and how you don’t have to waste your life away on empty pleasures.”

  He gaped at her, mouth so far open she expected drool to spill out. But then he chuckled. “Good one.”

  “Honey,” his friend said. “I’ll let you talk to me about Jesus or anything you want if you’ll come home with me.”

  “Tempting.” She pasted on a smile. “But no thanks. Will there be a
nything else…from the bar?” she clarified.

  “Naw. She’s serious.” One of them pointed at her with his glass. “She tried to shove that religious junk on me last time I was here. Told me I shouldn’t drink so much.” He snorted.

  “Waste of good looks, if you ask me.” Another one sneered at her. “You religious freaks are holding society back from progress.”

  Angelica gave a sarcastic smile. “I agree, that is if you consider sitting here getting wasted every Saturday night and taking strangers home to your bed ‘progress’.”

  Before they could respond, she spun on her high heels and left. Well, there goes another tip.

  And for what? Was she doing any good at all here? She seemed to bumble every opportunity God gave her to speak. And when she did, she was insulted, jeered at, and once even spit on.

  Making her way to the bar, she sensed Sal Romero staring at her before she ever saw him. Too late to avoid the man, she smiled and approached the forty-something owner of the club, who looked out of place in the expensive business suit that hung impotently on his spindly frame.

  He gave her an incriminating look. “I told you not to spread your Jesus crap here, Angelica.”

  “It’s not crap, and I was merely suggesting a topic of conversation for my first date with the man.”

  He shook his head and motioned for Greg the bartender to pour him a shot of tequila. “I don’t know why I keep you on.”

  “’Cause I’m your best waitress.” She raised a brow. “The only one who shows up on time, doesn’t call in sick when I’m not, and doesn’t steal money from the till.”

  He snorted and gave her a half smile. “But you’re scaring away the customers, and I can’t have it. No matter how much I like you. I don’t need the cops coming down on me.”

  Angelica handed Greg the order for table three. As he went off to prepare the drinks, Sal leaned toward her.

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, you don’t have to work so hard. I’d be more than happy to take care of you and your son.” A waft of spicy tequila coupled with too much aftershave nearly made her choke.