“And you’re completely human?” Mike says, narrowing his eyes. “What a weird thing to say.”
“I… I have my own abilities, I guess. I am a seer and have been putting…” I take a deep breath and spit out the word for the first time in front of them, “angels on their path to raise the vibration of the planet for the past, I don’t know, twenty years, I guess? But yes, for lack of anything better to say, I’m human.”
“Angels?” Braham repeats, blinking wildly.
“So, are we like, interdimensionally traveling or something?” Mike asks.
“It’s sort of like that, yes. We have the ability to walk between the various levels of existence. Dimensions are a good way to describe it, I suppose.” Gabe says. “You all have your own capabilities, and we just need to discover what they are.”
“Hang on. If we’re angels, or whatever, but have left to be in ordinary reality,” Braham says, leaning forward, “does that mean we’ll be able to see everyone again? My wife—is she still…?”
The unfinished question lingers in the air around us.
“Braham, I know this doesn’t make sense, but your wife—your old life from before—it’s no longer necessary. It was where your soul, or your energy, resided until you were ready to be called. You’ll need to find a way to let everything else go,” Morgan says softly. “Our plans are much bigger, and it will alter a good many things going forward.”
“Let her go? Why the fuck would we be angels who have these lives, who live and die and breathe as humans, only to walk away from everything and everyone who make us feel whole?” he laments.
“In order to oversee the world, we were put ‘to sleep,’ as it were. We were never meant to intervene—unless it became dire. Life or death. Humanity, or this version of reality, is on the brink of annihilation. It’s our job to set things on a different trajectory. Together, we have the resources to change things,” Gabe says, his shoulders stiff.
“I don’t get it. Change the trajectory? Of what, exactly?” Braham snorts.
“I’m not sure yet. We’re here to follow the signs left for us,” Gabe says.
“By whom?” Mike asks, placing his hand on the seat in front of him and leaning forward.
“God, goddess, the universe, the source. Whatever you want to call it.” Gabe shrugs.
“Well, that’s not vague at all,” Braham mutters.
“It’s not easily defined so it will make sense in your mind at the moment,” Morgan says. “I know I certainly don’t get it all. But I do know labels can’t encompass all it is.”
“Hmmm…” Braham nods absently. “I hope at some point it will make more sense, because right now, I’m completely lost, and all I can think about is getting back to my wife. I mean, there has to be a way…”
“You’ve begun the awakening process. Once initiated, it cannot be undone until our mission is complete. Things will start to make sense at a geometric rate, and the feeling of separation will dissipate,” Gabe offers. “As that happens, the emotions of loss and sorrow—of dependency—will all fall away. You’ll realize we are all the same, even if separate in this moment.”
“We’re here,” I say, putting the car into park.
“Where’s here?” Mike asks, trying to peer out of the windows. “Looks like an old folks’ home.”
“It’s an assisted living home, yes,” I say.
“And the next angel is here?” Braham asks, opening his door. His face scrunches in surprise.
“Yes,” I say, smiling softly.
In front of me, the line connecting me to the woman inside is strong—stronger than anything I’ve felt for any of the others. I don’t know if she’s more powerful or simply more aware. Either way, we need to get inside and find her.
“So, is this person a hospice worker or something?” Mike asks, stepping to the side of the rest of us.
I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. I can only sense her energy and can follow it to her. I suppose there’s one way to find out for sure. You all ready?”
Stepping forward, I bound up the first set of stone stairs, with the other three right behind me.
“You mean you don’t know? How does this thing work, then?” Braham asks.
“It’s like an energy cord. Before I know where to go, it lights up in my mind’s eye like an energetic GPS or something. It doesn’t let up until I’ve located whoever it is,” I say. “Sometimes I get insights, like time and place. Like I did with you.”
“Wow, that’s… pretty cool, actually,” Mike mutters.
“It is.” I whisper.
“Morgan is amazing at what she does,” Gabe agrees, resting a hand on my back and gently rubbing in small circles.
My face flushes. It’s not often he talks me up in front of others.
The plane we exist on right now is devoid of the ordinary vibration of humans and their dramas. It’s a strange juxtaposition—being in the material world, but also not a part of it. Kind of like using augmented reality, only the augmentation removes stuff instead of adding it in. We walk unencumbered through the doorway of the Hera’s Halls Assisted Living Center. No one sits at the front desk; no nurses or aids roam the halls. Instead, they have a ghostly echo as our footsteps break the silence of this place.
“I don’t understand. Why is everything so quiet here?” Braham asks, his eyes wide. “Why is everyone gone if we’re still here? How does this keep happening?”
I bite my lip, searching for the right words.
“No one is gone. Not technically—” Gabe begins.
“Sure as Hades looks that way,” Braham counters.
“True,” Gabe says. “As your essence continues to process what’s going on with you, things will be clearer.”
“You keep saying that. I feel like I’m on a weird acid trip or something,” he says, “and I’ve never done acid.”
Gabe laughs. “I imagine you’re quite right.”
“Come on, guys. She’s this way,” I say. The urge to move forward is practically dragging me along, and I’m unable to ignore its calling.
I take the lead, following the bright blue-and-white light guiding me like a cord to the next angelic soul. A sense of accomplishment and excitement starts to build inside me. If we find her—when we find her—there will only be one more. Then our mission can truly begin.
We may actually stop the potential future my visions have been warning me about. Peace washes over me, letting me know it’s entirely possible. I can’t even describe the relief. There was a time when I didn’t think it would ever be possible. I didn’t know if I’d ever find the final five. Yet here we are, at number four.
Thank you, Diana and Demetri.
I take a deep breath, pushing open the door to one of the small residence rooms. If I weren’t feeling this woman’s energy so strongly, it would be entirely possible to witness her fading in and out of this space. But as I walk into the small, ten- by-ten-foot space, it’s clear she’s not going anywhere.
Switching from a resting position, the elderly woman shifts to a seated one, giving us all a once-over. Her cheeks are a rosy pink, and she fluffs the gray hair slightly matted to her head.
“Well, it’s about damn time. I thought I was going to die in this sterile box waiting for you lot to get your asses in gear,” she says, chuckling.
We all exchange glances, but it’s Gabe who steps forward.
“Do you—are you aware of who we are?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “Why we’re here?”
“Of course I do, Gabriel. You don’t get to be my age without picking up on a thing or two,” she winks, wisdom and a dash of humor sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “Now, are you gonna get me outta this mess, or what? I don’t think I can stand another minute in this place.”
Mike steps forward, “Ma’am, I’m Mike,” he says, thrusting his hand out to her. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Very nice to meet you, Michael,” the woman says, taking his hand. “You can call me Bea.
Now, be a doll and help me get outta this bed and into some more comfortable clothes, would you?”
Mike does as he’s told, holding his hand steady as she pulls her legs up and over so she can rest on the edge of the bed. Her hospital gown is slightly tattered, as though it’s seen too many washes in its time, and she raises a finger toward the small chest of drawers beside the window.
“Pick anything outta there. I trust you, Michael,” Bea says, again running her hands through her hair to fluff it up. “I must look a fright. I haven’t been able to put on makeup for a year and a half, and I desperately need to visit my hair stylist.”
Braham stays back, hovering in the doorway and observing everything from a distance. His eyes are guarded, and I can tell he’s taken aback. Bea is the first angel I’ve come in contact with who’s in an older vessel. In all honesty, I figured it was a deliberate design that we were all younger—at least young enough to maneuver quickly when needed.
Mike walks back from the drawers with a pair of hot-pink capris and a lovely bright-floral-pattern button-up shirt.
“Will this be alright, Bea?” he asks.
“Do you see what I’m dressed in? Honey, you could pick up rags outta the dumpster out back and it would look better than what I’m in,” she laughs, urging him forward with an outstretched hand. “Come here, come here.”
She waves him over, taking his offering and bending down to cram her legs into her pink capris.
“Do you need some help?” I offer, walking to the bedside.
“There’s a good chance. This old body isn’t as agile as it once was,” she chuffs.
I take the capris out of her hands and splay them open so she can easily drop her feet inside the holes. Her legs are tiny, but you can tell by her muscle tone she still has some strength left in them.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Bea says, rocking back and forth to get herself off the bed.
Mike bends in, offering his arm, and she grabs hold long enough to scoot up to a stand.
Pulling up her capris, Bea sets the elastic band at her waist and runs her thumbs round the band to make sure it’s not twisted.
“Any chance you could find me a bra in that there mess, too, Michael? I’d rather not tuck my boobs into my elastic band, and I doubt you’d like any other alternative, if you know what I mean,” Bea says, taking the blouse from him.
“Oh, yeah. You bet. Sorry, I shoulda—”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. You’re a man. I wouldn’t expect you to think of it. I’ll forgive you—this time,” Bea snickers at her own joke, as she whips off the hospital gown, exposing her torso in all its uninhibited glory.
I divert my gaze, suppressing my own smirk.
Gods, I hope I’m as bold as Bea when I’m her age. Assuming we make it past all of this.
“Bea, how did you know Gabe’s and Mike’s names?” I ask, continuing to keep my eyes fixed on anything but her upper body until I hear her fingers pushing buttons through their prospective slots.
“Well, I s’pose it’s just something that comes naturally to me, Morgan. Kinda like you and your innate abilities. I’ve always been good with names.”
When the last of her buttons is in place, she plops back down on the bed, spent.
“That was a helluva lot easier when I was younger,” she says, exasperated.
I exchange a glance with Gabe, who merely grins in return.
“So, I expect you all know what’s at stake?” Bea says, glancing at each of us.
“Uh…” Braham begins.
Bea’s expression darkens, and she leans back on her hands.
“They don’t know?” she asks, eyeing Gabe and me.
“In all honesty, I don’t think any of us really knows the specifics. We’re simply following the signs and doing what’s asked of us. We only just found—” I spin around, suggesting Mike and Braham.
Bea snorts. “Well, we have our work cut out for us then, don’t we?”
Gabe takes a deep breath and steps forward. “There’s a lot here that is still vague to us. If you have new insights you could share, Beatrice, we would love to hear it.”
“How many of us are there?” She asks, avoiding answering his statement directly.
“Right now, there are six of us—including you,” Gabe says softly.
“Six? What happened to the rest?” Bea says, her eyes wide. “There are others, are there not?”
“There are. But many are off, following their inner guidance for what they’re meant to be doing,” I say. “But for this mission, there should be one more.”
“And I’ll bet not a single one of them knows what the real stakes are,” Bea mutters.
“Do you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Bea’s eyes go distant, and her eyebrows furrow. After a moment, she says, “The end is nearing—one possible end, anyway.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I believe it is.”
My mind strays to my latest visions of the darkness, the everlasting void, and I shudder.
“Oh, I know, Morgan. I know. But it’s gonna get ugly before it gets better. If it gets better,” Bea says.
“So what is it we’re meant to do to divert the end of days? I’ve seen the darkness. I’ve seen the all-consuming vacuum we can become if we’re not successful,” I say, taking a step closer.
“Wait a minute. What are we talking about here?” Braham asks, entering the room for the first time.
Bea grins slyly. “You’re still not a hundred percent converted yet, are you, Abraham?”
Braham flinches. “It’s just Braham.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Bea says, tapping Mike’s arm and pointing toward her shoes in the corner. “Wanna grab me those, too, honey?”
Mike complies, grabbing the shoes and rummaging in the chest of drawers for a pair of socks.
“I swear, I must be losing my mind,” Braham mutters, walking back to the doorway and raking his hands through his dark hair. “I’m really beginning to think Thea has the right idea.”
“Oh, I’m sure it feels like that,” Bea agrees. “Especially when you’re still in denial of what’s happening. I’m surprised. I would have thought you’d be the first converted fully. You’ve always been so faithful.”
“How could you possibly know anything about me?” Braham spits.
“I know a helluva lot more than I look like I do, sweetheart,” she says, raising her eyebrows knowingly. “Don’t let this gray hair and droopy skin fool you.”
Braham’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t retort. Instead, he walks out of the room with a look of shock across his face.
Bea turns to me, reaching out a hand. I extend my own, taking her cold, frail-looking hand in my own as I step up beside her.
“There’s a lot we need to discuss. But if we’re not all together, what I have to say can wait. Are you prepared, Morgan?” she asks.
I quirk an eyebrow, “Prepared? I don’t know that any of us are really prepared. I think we’re all just along for the ride.”
“Well, let’s see about that,” she says with a grin. “Michael, can you be a darling and grab me my cane? It’s over there in the corner,” Bea points to a stylized cane with carvings along its side.
“Sure thing, Bea,” he says.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she beams, patting him on the shoulder.
Mike walks over to the corner and snatches up the cane. He hands it to her when he returns, and she smiles broadly.
“Thank you so much, dear,” she coos, rubbing her hand across the arch of the cane.
I flit my gaze to Gabe, who grins and casts his gaze to the floor.
“How’s about we go get our girl, Thea, and have ourselves a good chat,” Bea says, pulling herself up to a stand and hobbling out the door faster than expected.
“Well, come on guys. Let’s follow after her,” Mike says, smiling broadly.
He exits after Bea, sidestepping Braham, who watches us all from the doorway with his arms folded over his ch
est.
“Guess we’re following Bea now,” I chuckle, reaching for Gabe’s hand and heading for the door.
Braham locks eyes with me. He tugs in his eyebrows and frowns, but he doesn’t say a word.
Perhaps he’s not as close to the full awakening as I thought. If he doesn’t make a shift soon, I will have to gift him the visions from my dreams to coax him a bit.
Sighing vehemently, Braham follows behind us.
By the time we reach the outside of the building, Mike is already helping Bea into the front seat and returning her cane.
“Are you all settled?” I ask.
“As I’ll ever be,” she grins back. “Now, come on. I’m not gettin’ any younger.”
6
Mike
As I close Bea’s car door, Braham, Gabe, and Morgan make their way to their prospective seats.
“All right, guys, who gets the middle?” Gabe asks, slapping my back as he rounds the car.
Shrugging, I say, “I’ll do it. No worries, guys. I can check in on Bea better from there.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Braham says, tipping his head in acknowledgment.
“Don’t mention it.”
I’ve found it’s always best to be the accommodating one in situations that can be awkward. Besides, it helps alleviate my own anxiety to know it’s done and dusted.
Gabe climbs in his door, so I walk to the other side, sliding into the middle. A second later, Braham slides in beside me and closes the door.
We pull away in silence as Morgan puts the car into drive and maneuvers the empty streets.
Bea twists in her seat, eyeing the speedometer.
“You’re going a tad bit fast, aren’t you, Morgan?” she says, tipping her chin toward the dashboard.
Instinctively, Morgan slows down.
“Thanks, dear. I think you’ll find when you slow down, you’ll witness more,” Bea says.
I don’t know what it is about Bea, but I really like her. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my Nana. Maybe because she just exudes a presence you can’t deny. Despite this being the absolute strangest day of my life, I feel more comfortable knowing she’s here with us.
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