Chapter 10
Journey to Chattanooga
Troubling LA
Apollyon’s face twitched viciously from watching what happened. He had no idea how the pieces of God’s puzzle worked together; he couldn’t figure it out. He started thinking that getting Aaron in the open by himself may not be near the problem as having this powerful little Grace hanging around. With what he had seen her do, she'd be hard to handle with much more experience.
He had several questions. Why is Irish going to Sewanee? What is so important about the writer he heard about? What was so important about this writer’s work that would make Irish make such a long journey to get there? There had to be more to it. He didn’t understand so he called L.A.
"L.A., I can’t seem to stop God's complicated plans as just happened, but there's way too much emphasis on this trip of Irish’s, and Aaron is hanging around way too much. The stakes must be terribly high. I want you to stir up some extra trouble for the girls. Let them know we’re still around. If they make it to Chattanooga, I want to square off. If they think it’s important enough to make it to the top of Monteagle, I want to make them work for it."
He's Still Here
Grace and Irish walked along the boardwalk in Denver, not quite out of the roughest part of town. There were signs of gangs, like vulgar graffiti and messages covering curbs, streets, windows, and walls. Street kids watched them with too much interest as they passed by. The afternoon bars were beginning to open for business, and the single’s crowds were gathering, moving up and down the strip on their mutual hunts.
Irish sensed trouble as three young men in gang colors started following them. Soon, there were five, then ten. Irish saw a small shadow leaning against the corner of an alley and realized that they were walking into an L.A. trap.
Grace looked over at Irish as she sent her a suggestion, "Let’s just disappear. Isn’t it easier?"
"No," she answered, "I’ll never run from any of L.A.’s trouble. The sooner he realizes that the better. He’s influencing these guys. He’s only trying to remind us he’s still around; that’s all. Let’s just play the hand out." Grace moved closer to Irish for comfort as they turned into a dead-end alley. The gang grew to fifteen and blocked the entrance of the alley behind them.
"Where are you going, girls? You seem a little lost," shouted a tattooed, Chinese kid, nicknamed Cat. He wore a brightly colored bandanna and flashed a knife. The gang moved around them, brandishing assorted homemade weapons, including several handguns.
"Lady, you’re the mouse, and I’m the cat,” said Cat.
He moved closer, and Irish pushed Grace away from her to let him gain an advantage. He jumped towards her, and Irish gave as he threw her to the ground, then pinned her with his knees while holding a knife to her throat.
"Now, what do you got to say, lady?" Grace was being held by three others who were dragging her farther into the end of the alley. Irish freed a hand and reached up to grab Cat’s face, then squeezed it in a terrible vice grip. His knife hand trembled from the pain.
She answered, "I’d say that I’m not alone!"
Other gang members laughed in taunting hoots that stopped abruptly and quickly changed to quiet whispers. Rows of angels kept appearing in the alley around them, 20, 30, and a 100. They drew their swords at the same time sending a screeching sound echoing around them, but they didn’t move. There was a murmuring filled with fear coming from the other gang members.
The three holding Grace let her loose, and another gang member pleaded, "Cat, I'd get off the lady if I were you."
Cat was so preoccupied with Irish that he missed the sound of the angels, and he hadn't looked up yet. He laughed at the suggestion; and for an instant, he put down his knife and tired to pry Irish's hand off his face to no avail. He felt her fingers digging deeper into his face; and when he lifted his face away from her in a final forceful move, she let go, causing him fall back against several angels' legs standing behind him. He saw the flash of the swords around him and looked up in shock.
Grace walked over from his blindside and tapped him on the shoulder saying, "You can leave now."
His gang was almost gone, having sneaked away through the angels. They had crawled out on their hands and knees while leaving Cat behind. Angels still continued appearing everywhere, including the building fire escapes and cellar stairs, packed so closely that Cat heard the last of his gang saying, "Excuse me," every time they bumped into one. Irish noted that there were probably 500 angels around her by the time Cat looked up from Grace’s nudging and realized that he was all alone.
He stood up nervously and shook from what he saw, then Irish stood up with her wings spreading out before him, "Crawl! Don’t walk!" she commanded.
He dropped to his knees and struggled slowly while crawling over broken beer bottles and trash still trying unsuccessfully not to touch the angels. From his vantage point, he saw hundreds of swords pointing towards the pavement from powers with long swords and the young angels holding their short swords only inches from the top of his head. When he finally made it to the street, Irish heard a loud wailing as he ran away.
Grace looked at Irish and said, "That went quite nicely. Not that we didn’t have a little overkill." The angels put their swords back in their sheaths and left the alley by walking out onto the street in long lines without their wings exposed.
Three girls out barhopping came out of a nearby joint complaining about the lack of good-looking men on the boardwalk today. "This is disgraceful," replied one girl. "It’s like every good-looking guy around is somewhere else. Let’s drive to Boulder, okay?" The others agreed and without watching where they were going ran into the group of exiting angels. The angels were so good looking that the girls gasped and staggered backwards.
"Where in the world did these guys come from?" asked one girl who grabbed her friend’s arm to help her from fainting.
The angels were wearing the same khaki pants with white-cotton, button-down shirts without ties. They sported a variety of necklace crosses and large crucifixes. They had rather smart looking Hush-Puppy loafers, and some wore running shoes of various kinds with and without socks, new, out of the box. They looked at the girls, and several stopped to let the others go by. The angels were walking down the street as if they were taking an afternoon stroll. As they rounded a nearby corner, they disappeared.
A small group of angels who stopped, said to the girls, "Aren’t you three a pretty lot. Abraham, haven’t you always thought that human women were prettier than some of our own angels?"
Abraham looked at the girls whose mouths dropped open in surprise and heard Abraham answer, "Yes, Timothy, but from the looks of these three; their hearts aren’t pretty at all."
The angels turned and walked together while following the rest leaving the girls heaving breathlessly in confusion, drooling spontaneously without restraint but thinking the same, "Why aren’t our hearts pretty?"
Willie’s Back
There was a loud blast of a truck horn at the end of the alley as Grace and Irish made it to the street—Hallelujah Man.
Irish saw him first and ran excitedly to the passenger's side of his truck saying, "What in the heck are you doing here?"
"Just a surprise. I’ve been looking all over town for you two. I saw you in the news beside that Ed Johnson guy. He may not have seen you, but I did. You had that big Cheshire-cat smile; like you had something to do with those jerks getting caught, right?"
"Grace was in charge. I was just following her orders. You okay?" Irish felt a warm place in her heart for Willie. She couldn’t wait for him to get to heaven. His character would certainly liven things up.
"Need a lift?" asked Willie.
"Sure, but I don’t have any instructions about our next destination. It might not be a long drive," answered Irish with Grace peeking her head over Irish’s shoulder and waving at Willie.
"Jump on in,
but I want Irish next to me this time. It’s not often I can have a pretty women like Irish as company. Climb on in and make my day, girls." As the door slammed shut, he headed away from the downtown area.
Grace was babbling about the recent events, excited over her first assignment’s success. Irish knew that Grace was ready. She had progressed far more than expected. Suddenly, Irish received a message, which sent their hands into the air.
The Lord spoke about Chattanooga. Irish knew now that she was going to be targeted by Apollyon to delay her from her Sewanee rendezvous. From what she gathered, legions of dark angels were milling around the Lake Nickajack area, miles before the Monteagle climb to Sewanee. She frowned about Apollyon’s gathering and was given a choice to go by airlines or just appear in Chattanooga but move fast. The Lord was already pleased with Grace’s progress. She would be heir-servant before she reached heaven. Grace smiled happily while listening.
"Willie, take us to the airport, will you?" asked Irish as Willie pulled up a ramp onto the interstate and headed towards the airport bypass.
"Why are you flying when you could probably just appear somewhere?" asked Willie, which was what Grace was thinking.
"Just one more adventure before Grace goes home. One final experience, hopefully uneventful."
Willie drove up to the departure lines at the Denver Airport. He turned to Irish and Grace saying, "I love you guys. Where can I find you if I want to look you up sometime?"
Grace smiled, "You’ll have to wait a while before you see me again." She pointed enthusiastically towards heaven.
Irish reached over and planted a big kiss on him saying, "I’ll be on the top of Monteagle Mountain at Sewanee for a little while. If you’re in the area, look me up. Just honk a Gospel tune. By the way, if you ever need help, call on Joseph. He’s one of my favorite powers. He looks like a big bull but has a heart of gold. I give you permission to ask the Lord for his personal assistance when you need it. Just don’t forget about all of your guardians. They aren’t exactly whimps, you know."
"Wait a minute, Irish. Have you ever flown?" asked Willie.
"Actually, twice, but my husbands took care of everything. I think the last time was over ten years ago. Why?" asked Irish, wondering if she had missed something.
"I’m going in with you. You need to be able to figure out the schedules and talk that airline talk. You might miss a flight without my help. Get out and wait here. I’ll be right back."
Willie let them out and parked in short-term parking, then sprinted back to meet them. Irish was actually glad to have the help, and they all walked towards the ticket counters together.
They neared a lady pushing a bundle of luggage with a sack of Florida oranges slung over her shoulder. As they passed her, she accidentally bumped up against Grace and pulled back like she was stung by a bee, then hissed loudly at her. Grace was completely surprised, and Irish saw Grace squinting narrowly at the lady while trying to understand the problem, then suddenly, they both did. The lady squared off with Grace like a wrestler in a ring.
"What’s wrong with her?" asked Willie, caught totally off guard by her strange behavior.
"Demons," answered Irish. "Take care of it, Willie, will you?"
Willie was shocked, "What do you mean, 'take care of it'? What do I know about demons? You take care of it! That lady looks like she’d claw my eyes out." He couldn’t believe Irish would suggest such a thing.
"That’s exactly what she wants to do to all of us. In fact, she’ll probably try to kill you if she gets a chance. It’s your problem not ours. You cast them out of her, and my angels will take it from there." She was dead serious.
The only question Willie could think about asking was, "How?"
"You know better than that. In Jesus name, okay?"
Irish pushed him towards the lady, which put him in between Grace and the lady’s snarling. Grace ran back towards Irish and hugged her waist as she shuddered in waves of mixed-up emotions. This was a first for her, and she didn’t like any of it. She hadn't received any demonology training yet. Irish let her know that believers had the authority to handle this in Jesus name. Willie was using the on-the-job training program now.
Willie sweat profusely as the lady moved closer to him, and she continued to spit and cuss him. She growled so much that all her teeth were showing. The airport police called for a padded wagon and some specialist to assist them. They were all too scared to venture any closer.
Willie started praying for the anointing to flow over him and from him. He spoke to himself in half convincing tones, "If Paul could do it, I can do it. No, no, if Jesus can do it through Paul, Jesus can do it through me."
He looked back at Irish, and she winked at him confidently—a YOU-GOT-IT WINK. Willie felt the anointing pushing him forward; and with great decisiveness, he stepped briskly within the lady’s reach, pushed his palm out on her forehead before she could take a swing, and shouted, "Out, in Jesus name!"
She fell to the floor with spit and drool coming from her mouth while writhing in terrible contortionist movements in a fit of exaggerated proportions. Irish saw the demons leave her and shouted so loudly that Willie jumped up two feet, almost having a heart attack, "There they are! Take them, now!" Irish was pointing to the floor under the Northeast ticket counter.
Irish gave Willie the eyes to see what she saw. He saw ten grotesque and monstrous-looking beings of all shapes and deformities. They were crawling along the floor, literally cowering from Willie’s stare.
Irish commanded again, "Take them apart!"
Willie saw angels with short and long swords surrounding them, and he heard the demons' ear-piercing screams as they were butchered and cut asunder by at least fifty angels.
The airport police were fast approaching with a stretcher, and one doctor carried a strait jacket. Upon Irish’s mind-command, Grace ran over to the lady, knelt down next to her, and cradled her head while kissing her forehead as her eyes came open.
She whispered to her, "Surrender to the Lord, now."
The lady nodded and stood up calmly filled with great peace as if nothing had happened just as the doctor’s arrived. Grace backed away and allowed the medics to intervene.
The lady looked towards Grace as they administered a sedative and mouthed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
The three walked off towards their American Airline's ticket counter while holding Willie up (weak-kneed) this time. "Do you understand, Willie? Believers have the authority of the anointing to take care of these things, if they will use it."
Willie answered still shaking, "Yes, but I never thought about it that much. Can you give me warning the next time you throw me to the wolves, so to speak?"
Irish laughed, "Sure, but that’s why the scriptures ask you to be, 'instant, in season and out of season.' You must be ready on a moment's notice."
They reached the ticket counter, and Willie remarked, "Gives a whole new meaning to being ready, I’d say."
Irish laughed replying, "I’d say."
The ticket line was rather long, which gave Grace time to take in the hustle and bustle as people rushed from one flight to another. Grace couldn’t take it all in at once. She kept trying to focus on single events, amazed at all the activity. Heaven was not a place of such intense activity, except worship, other than that, its lazy rivers and quiet, tranquil scenes made earth look like an amusement park, and it all made her dizzy.
"Slow down, Grace," said Irish. "Willie is going to help us find the right flight." Irish moved to the side and left Grace in line while they both looked at the computer information screens.
"You’re going to Chattanooga, right, Irish?" asked Willie.
"Yes," replied Irish, "as soon as possible."
Willie wrote down connecting flights and cities; and by the time he was done, Grace was next in line. They hurried over to the ticket counter.
"May I help you?" asked the American Airline's ticket lady.
Willie
proudly announced, "These two need to get to Chattanooga as fast as possible, just as fast as you can schedule them. I've sketched out my suggestions so far. Can you verify the connecting flights?"
Irish was impressed by Willie’s effort, and she stepped up to the counter while putting Grace up on it with her legs dangling freely.
"Well, let’s see. We have a flight leaving in an hour from Denver, arriving in Chattanooga at eight o’clock this evening. You have a short layover in Dallas. Will that work?" The attendant watched the girls intensely, aware that she felt a great sense of peace from their presence.
Grace was astounded, "When we fly, we do it like the crow. Why do you have to treat flying like you’re on a bird migration route?" Irish and Willie nudged her to keep quiet and noticing how rapidly Grace was talking, almost at a staccato speed.
"What a cute little girl. Now, what would a nice little girl like you know about flying."
Irish shook her head "no" for her not to answer, but Grace barreled into it again, "We fly from the time we're created. What’s not to know? You spread your wings and you fly. You want to go straight, and then you fly straight. You want to go low, then you fly low. What’s your problem, lady?"
Willie got tickled by her outburst and whispered to Irish, "I didn’t know angels had attitudes. You’re more like us than I ever imagined. Chips off the same holy foundation stones."
Irish finally said to Grace, "Hush, will you? You're drawing too much attention to us. These are planes not feathered routes. Why are you babbling so much?" Irish looked up to see a mystified look on the attendant’s face; and figured, they’d better get on with this before someone locked them up.
Irish pulled out a small stack of hundreds wrapped in a rubber band. She counted out the money, and then Grace started again, "You should let me pay. I need the practice, don’t I?"
Grace pulled out her own stack of neatly wrapped hundreds, and the lady abruptly stopped her, puzzled what a little girl was doing with so much cash, "No, Grace, is it? I believe your mother has it taken care of."
Grace couldn’t keep quiet, "She’s not my mother. Angels don’t have mothers. We’re created. You talk so silly, lady."
"Ma'am, there are others in line. What names will be on these tickets, please?" She was convinced these two were on drugs.
"Irish and Grace, ma'am? Sorry for the delay." She had her hand over Grace’s mouth to keep her quiet.
"Your last names, ma'am? " she asked,
Grace pulled Irish’s hand away, "Angels don’t have last names!"
Irish blurted in, "Aaron, Irish, and Grace Aaron."
"Good now, you two angels have a nice day," she answered sarcastically. She was so flustered with Grace's incessant rattling that she forgot to check their identification and literally shoved the tickets towards them.
It was Irish’s turn, "You too," and she popped a contact off and winked at her as her rainbow colors lit up the counter and invaded the ticket lady’s mind in a brilliant flash, then she bent over as if she lost something and put it back on. They didn’t waste anytime getting away.
"What's wrong with you, Grace? You’re turning into a blabbermouth," replied Irish while slightly cuffing Grace across the top of her head.
Grace looked rather flustered by her rebuke, "I found these candies in Willie’s glove compartment, and I just chewed a box of them. They tasted terrible. I’m sorry. They made me feel funny. Do you think?"
"No-Doze! Grace, don’t you read the labels on anything?" asked Irish.
"What are labels?" asked Grace. Irish and Willie rolled their eyes and shook their heads together in disbelief.
Willie got one last kiss and hug from each of them, and it was his time to cry this time. He felt like he was losing his own family. A clear thought offset his grief; he’d have all eternity to be with them.
They passed the check-in gate and walked towards their connection. They finally got to the moving sidewalks. Irish jumped on casually and looked back at Grace. She was standing on her right foot, her left foot in the air.
"What in the world are you doing, Grace?" asked Irish, totally mystified.
"Doing what the sign said. It said, 'Walk on the left and stand on the right.'"
Irish shook her head and moved several yards ahead of her, not wanting to claim any association with her. She mumbled to herself, "She goes two steps forward and one back. Lord, help me."
They boarded the plane without incident. Grace was squished and mashed by the crowd, especially from all the personal luggage being carried on board. A very obese man with an exceptional amount of carry-on pushed with all his might at the overhead compartment just above Grace while trying to get it all in. Grace was getting sick from all his excessive sweating. He smelled like a footlocker from all his effort. Suddenly, a strange look came over his face. Out the window draped across the wing were his clothes falling like large, woven rain. He looked at the overhead compartment, then back to the wing, then reached for his luggage in puzzled panic.
Grace ordered him, "Don’t even think about it? Sit down!"
Irish asked, "What did you do?"
"I moved his clothes so his bags could fit," she whispered.
"Stop that, will you?" Irish gave her an A+ for ingenuity.
The man sat down still puzzled about the clothes but afraid to ask. He was even more confused why he responded to this little girl’s commands. The airline hostesses were doing their routine instructions. Grace watched intently as they pointed to the different items that included the emergency doors. Grace took a pad of paper and pencil from the back-seat pocket and started writing furiously.
Irish looked at her strangely, "What are you doing, now?"
"Taking notes," replied Grace.
"Will you please stop it? There's not going to be an exam, you know."
She snatched the paper from her and tossed it into an airline attendant's trash bag as she walked by. Grace finally got the picture. She must be getting on Irish's nerves.
She had heard Pretzel say, "My last nerve," once to her. Could it be? She tapped Irish on her shoulder and confessed, "I'm sorry. Your last nerve?"
Irish repented of her impatience, "Yes, it's okay. Yes, my last nerve."
As soon as the plane was airborne, Grace started to comment, "Hey, Irish, someone's got food up in front."
"Yes, that's first class, we're coach," replied Irish.
"That's not fair," responded Grace.
Irish felt the "last nerve" shredding again, "Get over it, Grace." She turned towards the aisle and closed her eyes while pretending to sleep.
Grace didn't stop, "Do you know how long it's been since I've eaten?"
"No. Whatever it is, I'm proud of you," said Irish, not caring, then she noticed a little six-year-old boy in front of them, which was peeking his head above the seat cushion in front of her.
"Hi, I’m Henry. Are you first-time fliers?" He was so enthusiastic that Irish giggled.
She whispered to Grace, "Don’t answer that."
"Well, I am a frequent flyer. Are you?" replied Irish.
"Yep," he answered, "but Mom gave me a throw-up bag. Do you have one too?" He had his bag in hand, and Grace remembered.
"Actually, Grace here doesn’t need one since there’s no chew tobacco around," said Irish as she winked at Grace.
"Irish, stop that! It was an accident!" Grace blushed lightly and noticed something about the boy. "Where are you going, Henry?" she asked while trying to confirm her suspicions.
"We’re going to St. Luke’s Hospital where they're going to make me better."
His mother interrupted him while she leaned back and tried to pull him into his seat. "I’m sorry if Henry is bothering you. He’s so full of himself," she said apologetically.
Grace whispered to Irish, "He’s full of death, Irish."
"I know. Now buckle up," replied Irish still feeling the sickness in Henry and sensing the very depths of his illness.
Gra
ce said, "You have liver cancer, don’t you, Henry?"
His mother looked back at her over top of the seat, "How could you know that? Don’t talk about those kinds of things to him!" She pulled Henry down into his seat and firmly buckled him in.
"I’m sorry, ma'am. But wouldn’t you rather go to the Lord first, doctor second?" Grace felt an anger rising up in her spirit concerning man's consistent resistance to God.
"Ma'am, can’t you keep your little girl quiet? We have enough to think about rather than being preached to by a little know-it-all girl."
Irish answered flatly, "Some things Grace knows a lot about, and she’s right, but I’m sorry it bothers you. She’s just trying to help."
They kept quiet and thumbed through the magazines while the plane leveled off at 17,000 feet. The little boy drifted off to sleep, more from fatigue than sleepiness. Grace looked at Irish; and without a word, Irish nodded "okay." Grace rested, closed her eyes, and entered the little boy’s dreams. In the dream, she appeared to him with her wings exposed and took him on a journey to the heavens through the galaxy of stars and planets. It was one of Irish's favorite journeys, which she suggested.
She talked to him about his sickness. "You don’t have to be sick if you don’t want to."
He answered, "Why?"
"God didn’t do this to you. He didn’t give it to you. He wants you to be well."
Henry turned to her almost begging, "It hurts so bad, but I don’t tell Mom because she gets upset. Can you make the pain go away?"
"When you wake, come back to my seat and sit with me awhile. Before that, I want you to look out the window and tell your mom what you see. We’ll make sure she can see it too." She brought him back to his own dream world and let him loose. She sat up waiting for him to wake.
Henry yawned and stretched, climbed into his mother’s lap, and peered out the window. There were hundreds of angels flying alongside the plane. Their massive swords draped down their backs, and they flew while pushing powerfully with their wings to keep up. It was evident that they could go much faster. This was like a walk in the park for them.
"Mom, the little angel in the seat behind me was in my dream and said to look out the window. Look, Mom, look at all the angels!"
Most passengers, except the children, looked out and saw nothing. His mom stared politely while trying to humor him. Bit by bit, she saw them. First, she saw glimpses, flashes, of light from their star-eyes, then wings, and finally powerful, beautiful angels with the hilts of their swords coming into focus. She rubbed her eyes and continued to stare while waiting for them to disappear, but they didn’t.
Henry jumped up and said to Grace, "Do you know their names?"
Irish nodded "okay" to Grace so she answered, "I see Joseph. He’s the one who looks like a big bull near the tip of the wing; Caleb is the most beautiful of all powers. I see him to the left of Joseph; Timothy to Joseph’s right, then your own guardians are here, all ten of them, under the others, wearing bright, gold bandanas on their heads. Watch them wave to you."
Henry’s mother was spellbound, and Irish saw her following the descriptions with her finger against the window as Grace pointed them out, then an impulsive wave at the guardians. She turned around dramatically, and Irish nodded saying, "Yes, we are," to her question before she could answer.
She asked a humble but pathetic question, "Can you help my Henry?"
Grace answered, "Only if you want. You must ask the right person, first."
Henry’s mom knew exactly what Grace meant. In the meantime, Henry climbed out of the seat and into Grace’s lap and curled up in her small arms. Grace acted as if she was covering him with her wings.
"I’ve been so angry at God?" Henry’s mom said, her voice quivering. "I blamed Him for it, for allowing it. Henry doesn’t deserve this." She was crying, trying not to show it.
"Mom, God didn’t do this. Apollyon did!" proclaimed Henry. Even Grace didn’t tell him that but knew the Lord had.
"Apollyon?" asked his mom.
Irish answered, "Guess whom?" Irish pointed down.
"Oh, oh, my. But, that makes sense, doesn’t it? Why would God do this? When it happened, I was so angry that I didn’t want to come back to Him again. I felt betrayed. Could my feelings of betrayal have stopped God from helping?"
"Big roadblock," said Irish, "big, big roadblock."
Henry’s mom was silent for a long time as she sought a secret place in her own privacy to find God’s voice. She finally looked up and stated, "You can help him now. I got the roadblocks out of the way."
Grace held Henry while rocking him back and forth. She hummed a little praise song at a whisper; and instinctively, her eyes glowed stronger and brighter of their stars. Irish noticed; and knew, she would need contacts soon enough. The measure of Grace’s comfort was so great that Irish noticed her own wings pushing backward uncomfortably against the seat back. Her own eyes were showing their mighty colors at the edges of the contacts, lighting up the air around her. Still, she didn’t resist or stop Grace from soaking up the pain and sickness. Grace quietly moaned several times as she felt the sickness in Henry. She stopped and kissed him, but both she and Irish were soaking wet. Sweat was pouring from them as if they had just taken a swim. This was spiritual work.
"Okay, Henry. Go to your mom," whispered Grace.
Several on the plane noticed and felt God’s presence. They heard a little girl singing and humming to a little boy. To those believers, they felt a special Godly event was taking place without knowing why. In first class, several travelers had their hands in the air in their own praise gestures. A young priest came back; and as he passed them going to the bathroom, he stopped beside Grace and Irish. He looked at Grace’s sparkling eyes, her Godly bright stars, and the boy in the arms of the crying but joyous Mom.
He took off his cross and asked Grace, "Bless this for me, will you? Give it to the boy, please."
Irish and Grace nodded, reached for it together, and squeezed it in their hands between them for several moments. "You give it to him," replied Grace.
When he touched it, he felt the warmth of the anointing flowing from it into him, and his own tears welled up. He kissed it and handed it to Henry’s mom, and put the sign of the cross on Henry’s head with a slight Episcopal bow.
The plane slowed and the buckle-up lights came on for their only layover stop. The landing was uneventful, and Dallas was lit up like a Christmas tree against the early-evening sky. As they got off the plane, an ambulance pulled up to pick up Henry and his mom. Before they got in, Henry’s mom looked over to Grace and Irish, doing a big okay sign with her fingers. There would be only one medical test, and then they would go home.
Grace started smelling the airport food and looking at the different restaurants as they walked by. "Okay, okay, but no onions, remember?" replied Irish in anticipation of Grace's upcoming question.
Grace jumped in a circle, "Oh, goodie," and ran towards the hotdog stand, then over to the hot pretzel display, followed by a visit to the Pizzaporia. Irish waited for her to finish gobbling down her food from a nearby lounge. She was still distancing herself. The way she dived into food embarrassed her a little. After she was done, she came over and sat between Irish and a businessman who was ordering a double shot of wild turkey.
"Well, little girl, are you and your mom going somewhere very important?" he asked as he sipped on his drink.
"Yep," said Grace, "we’re going to Chattanooga to kick some dark angel butt."
Irish jumped, "Grace, mind your tongue and stop talking like that."
"Lady, it looks like your kid has been into some wild turkey too," and he laughed at her spunk, not understanding anything of what she really meant.
"Ma'am, hold my seat for me, will you? I’ll be right back." He got up and ran to the restroom a short distance away.
"What’s wild turkey?" asked Grace.
"That stuff he’s drinking?" she asked.
"This stuff?" said Grace w
hile grabbing the shot-glass and drinking it in one large gulp.
"Grace, no, don’t!" she shouted but was too late.
The businessman returned just as Grace got down from the stool. He caught her as she spun around and passed out in his arms.
"She didn’t, did she?"
"Yes, she did. I’m sorry. She's just so impulsive when it comes to food and drink. Here, take a hundred for your trouble."
Irish got down, grabbed Grace, and threw her over her shoulder like a sack of flour. She walked back to catch their next flight. She was mumbling as she walked, and it sounded like, "Fracken, racken, fracken, bracken, stupid kid."
Irish boarded the plane as others let her pass as they avoided Graces legs sticking out in front of her. She just mumbled to the flight attendant, "Too much Dramamine."
Once at her assigned seat, she tossed Grace casually into the seat beside her like an old coat, sat down, folded her arms across her chest, and dared anyone to say a word. Finally, after the plane took off, Grace came to.
"What happened?" asked Grace as she looked at where she was sitting, not remembering getting there.
Grace felt sick to her stomach and without any hesitation started her green shades again. Irish grabbed several throw-up bags and opened one and put it over Grace’s mouth. She hurled violently, making travelers sick at the sound.
Moments later, she turned to Irish saying, "Irish, I’m hungry again."
Several people heard her and ran towards the bathrooms and fought over who would get to use them. The flight attendants were handing out extra bags for the travelers. The attendants were so upset with Irish and Grace that they ignored them, walking by them in disgust. This was a thankless job without having something like this happen.
Nickajack Storm
As they neared Chattanooga, there were ominous storm clouds gathering. When Irish spotted them, she knew since angels could be fire and wind as in the Book of Job that this weather looked like a "Job" storm, not of nature. There were too many dark angels in the area for it not to effect weather this way. The pilot announced that everyone needed to prepare for turbulent weather. Grace looked at Irish to see if she was going to say anything.
"Grace, you know who’s responsible for this weather? These people might be in great danger if they don’t get this plane landed soon."
She looked out and saw her small army staying close by. She hadn’t seen Aaron and doubted she would with so many dark angels around. She was right. With three legions (almost 18,000), he wouldn’t take a chance being caught here alone. When he showed, he would have his own legions. This building of Apollyon’s forces could change the face of Chattanooga into a small Armageddon.
"Can our army hold this plane together?" whispered Grace.
"Sure, but it will take some cooperation from the pilots to make sure it works. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that."
Irish sent messages to her angels to prepare for some weather skirmishes and to beware of the dark winds. They were already onto it and managed to help by assigning hundreds of angels to each wing trying to stabilize the plane, but it was getting more difficult. The passengers were starting to realize the danger. There were increasing severe wind shifts that hit the plane at various angles, and it was being buffeted like a toy from the onslaught.
The pilot warned the passengers, "Folks these wind shifts are way off the chart. Please keep your head low against your knees. We're trying to go to a different altitude in order to compensate. Please keep calm!"
Grace asked Irish, "What do the pilots have to do in order to cooperate?"
"You don’t want to hear the answer to that." Irish shook her head because she knew they’d never get the pilots to do it.
"Come on, Irish, stop blocking your thoughts, how?" Grace kept nudging her with the insistence on knowing.
"Okay, okay! They have to turn off their engines and let our angels, all 1100, handle it. Every time they power-up to compensate for the wind shifts, they just make it worse. Our angels must have total control. Now, how likely are these guys to let something like that happen?"
"You’re really sounding like a whimp, Irish. Since when does someone who's been alive as long as you get bummed out over Apollyon’s dark winds? Just handle it." Grace was sounding more like Aaron than Grace.
"It’s not that serious, yet. Maybe it won’t be," she answered, knowing it would.
Suddenly, the plane nose-dived and threw the angels off to the sides who were unable to hold on. It was so violent that the luggage compartments flew open and the oxygen masks fell down in front of the passengers. The food carts at the back of the plane broke loose and rolled haphazardly towards the front while slinging bottles and food in all directions including several flight attendants who fell, rolling head over heels towards the front of the plane.
Irish heard them exclaiming, "Oh, no! Oh, Lord! Ouch! No more! Oh, that hurt!" as three of them ended up at the front in a mixed-up pile.
Irish commanded every angel to support the plane as much as possible and promised that she would get the cooperation they needed. She asked all the angels to show themselves. No one was to stay hidden. No one was watching except the pilots who looked up to see hundreds of angels fly past them in the dark, and hundreds more, as they grabbed the nose of the plane with all their
Strength and forced it up a foot at a time. Not taking time to comment, they worked with the angels and pulled the nose up as hard as they could.
"Captain Armstrong, do you see what I’m seeing?" the copilot shouted above the screams of the passengers, just as the plane leveled off.
"No, I don't see anything," replying in complete denial.
The copilot commented again, "How are we going to write this up in a report? How many are there, hundreds?"
He contacted the tower, and there was absolute chaos. There were so many planes in trouble that some of the controllers were running out of the air terminal building, not wanting to stay around for the disasters that lay ahead.
Irish got up, steadied herself, and walked briskly towards the cockpit. A flight attendant, belted in the front row, yelled at her to stop. Irish faced her and said, "If I don’t get to your captain, you'll all die. Do I make myself clear?"
"You're crazy, lady! What do you have to do with us making it in safe? This storm is trying to tear us to pieces. Sit down, now!" The attendant got up and blocked her way.
Irish grabbed her and turned her around by her shoulders, then pointed her face towards the outside wings while shoving her only inches from a window.
"What is it that you're seeing out there, right now?" shouted Irish.
"Oh, my goodness, angels!" she gasped loudly.
"Yes, my angels, 1100 of them," said Irish, and several passengers booed Irish when they heard her say it, not having looked outside.
Irish cried out for Grace, "Grace, help me explain."
Grace knew what to do, but she didn’t know if she had enough room to spread her wings all the way out for a short flight. She stood up with her wings spread and let her feathers roll over the tops of the passengers’ heads and seats as she walked towards Irish.
Irish expanded hers too, "Now that I have your attention, is there anyone who wants to stop me from helping the pilot bring you in safely?" The attendant fainted, and Irish pulled her wings into herself as she barged into the pilot’s cabin.
"Who are you? Get out of here! Can’t you see what's going on? Attendant, get this lady out of here!" The captain was reaching back and trying to push Irish back but couldn’t quite reach her.
"Shut up, captain!" commanded Irish. "I noticed you appreciated the help of my small air force. Now, if you want to live through this night, you’ll have to turn off your engines and let my angels take over. Everything you try to do is making things worse."
"Lady, I don’t know what planet you’re from but get out of here!" The captain got up from his seat and pushed Ir
ish back towards the passenger section.
Irish immediately popped off her contacts and grabbed his face while turning it towards hers. "Captain, I'm not from a planet. I'm from heaven. I’m a 5000-year-old angel who is going save your sorry butt, if you let me." Her eyes filled the cabin with her glorious rainbow light, so bright that the angels outside noticed and waved. Her wings came out draping everyone in the cabin with her feathers.
She immediately pulled them back into herself and said, "Do you believe me?"
The copilot reached down and turned off the engines as he watched the horrified face of the captain, still not believing. The plane lurched in a deadfall, and the passengers screamed and wailed. Slowly, the plane started leveling off, and without any more abrupt lurches, began a moderate descent.
"I have over a thousand angels handling this plane now. Get the flight plan from the tower or get me one you want. We can handle it either way. I’d rather go in as soon as possible. Stay as far away from the Nickajack area as you can. That’s where the trouble is coming from. Give me the coordinates, and I'll communicate it to my angels. Do it!"
The copilot jumped on the communications saying, "I need a short landing pattern away from Nickajack, now!"
The tower responded, "No, we need you to route over the Nickajack because of the wind sheers."
"Tower you have to trust me. The problem is any area over and near the Nickajack. There's a weather anomaly that's disrupting airflow patterns."
A minute later, the tower thanked the copilot. It seems that the majority of difficulty was coming from that area—Apollyon's triangle. They started rerouting all the planes around it, and some that were square above it pulled away as fast as they could, which eased the forthcoming disasters.
The tower ordered the copilot, "Number 787, you have permission to start a moderate descent on a route north of the city."
The pilot responded, "So, if I tell you my engines are off, are you going to ground me and lock me away?"
The tower came back, "Hey, tonight, if it works, do it! Good luck!"
Irish forgot all about the pilot and still had a firm grip on his face, which now left her finger marks in his face. She thought that she needed to stop all this face squeezing. It was beginning to become a habit. The captain was locked up by fear, completely frozen up. He didn't speak, even after they landed. The copilot took care of everything and left the captain in his shocked stupor. The passengers were getting a wonderful angel show, and cameras were flashing as they caught sight of them working the wings in a coordinated effort. Grace walked up and down the aisle while talking with the children who "ooowed" and "awwwed" over her wings. The whole plane was enthralled by her angel presence.
As Irish came from the captain's cabin, the passengers clapped and gave her a standing ovation. The copilot came up from behind her and couldn’t resist putting his hand in hers. She turned around and kissed him hard on the mouth. The applause went up even greater. Irish and Grace bowed slightly and disappeared.
The airport was in chaos, but this plane was full of the happiest tragedy victims they had ever seen. The airport authorities ignored the angel talk as stress-related hallucinations.
Apollyon's Strategy
Apollyon enjoyed the chaos of this Chattanooga night. He watched as Irish’s plane surrendered to the power of her small army but still didn’t displace any more of his legions, not wanting to break ranks right now. He wanted to prepare them for the upcoming battle. Also, he wanted to delay Irish from her Sewanee arrival. If her mission was this important, he wanted to delay it for months or even years. What he didn’t know were how many angels the Lord would send against him. He knew that God had most of His legions tied up in some very fierce battles that should keep them unable to send very many, he thought; he counted on it. If he was lucky, he knew that Aaron would be there, and they might be able to disable him too.
Apollyon changed his mind at the last moment about letting L.A. handle this. He sent a message to Dar-Raven. "I want you and five of your Sudanese legions along with seven legions of long-sword regulars to join us in Chattanooga. Bring only your most experienced warriors. We have a chance to stop a Godly event from happening, and you have a chance to catch Aaron by surprise. I don’t want you to show yourselves since I have three shown now."
Dar-Raven was surprised by the orders, "My Master, I never question you. Is this Godly event that important?"
Apollyon’s rage boiled over, and Dar-Raven felt the heat of his thoughts overpowering him. "You’re right, don’t! However, since you asked, I believe that Aaron is not protecting Grace but Irish. We know she’s headed for Sewanee to start a chain of Godly events. We've picked up that much from her conversations that whomever she is trying to influence will be a major player years from now. We've heard the words, ‘end-times’ mentioned five different times. This means that this person, whoever they are, will be responsible for winning many people to the Lord. That’s enough for me. If we can just delay or stop her, we can stop it from happening. It’s worth it to me and should be to you."
Apollyon licked at the blood drool in the corners of his mouth and became distracted by the screams of the great tailed-ones calling out to him to set them free on earth. He stood up and looked into the abyss and sent out a message of comfort and savage encouragement, "Soon, my scorpion angels, soon."
God’s Taxi Driver
The weather worsened as Grace and Irish walked towards an outside airport exit. Irish knew that a great battle was brewing, and all her senses told her that she and Grace were part of the reasons. She knew that it was getting time for Grace to go back to heaven. Grace’s star-eyes were becoming more prominent and from time to time attracting attention. Irish decided that they needed to wait until daylight before heading towards Monteagle.
"Let’s catch a cab," said Irish while waving her hand towards the long, yellow line-up. A cabby pulled up, jumped out, and opened the door for them.
"Hey, no luggage?" a deeply dark-skinned black man said smiling. His face was offset by a big, white-toothed smile.
Grace whispered to Irish, "He’s a believer. He’s really filled top to bottom with the Lord."
"I know, don’t humans look great that way?" answered Irish.
She answered him, "No luggage, just us." They jumped into the car, and he closed the door after them.
"My name is Gaafar. I am so glad to have you with me. Where would you two beautiful people like to go?" His speech was exaggerated with perfect diction. Irish noticed his identification. He was from Sudan, and she felt sadness for him, but glad he wasn’t there now. She figured he was Dinka from his accent.
"Where to, now?" he asked again.
"What’s the best hotel in town with the best indoor pool, and of course, food?" asked Irish, looking at Grace and winking.
"That be the Marriott downtown off of Third Street. Is that where you want to go, my lady?" He had pulled off the road and parked at the curb while waiting for instructions.
"Yes, the best in town before we have to tackle that mountain," said Irish thinking about what lay ahead.
"What mountain is that, my lady?" asked Gaafar, pulling out onto the street for the hotel.
"Monteagle to Sewanee," said Irish.
"Oh, isn’t it wonderful up there with the white cross and everything? I love it. I be going that way tomorrow myself to join some more family coming in." He was excited about the arrival of his aunt and uncle in Nashville.
Irish got a terrible premonition, "Don’t go, Gaafar! You will be killed."
Irish had broken a rule. She wasn’t supposed to prophesy to someone’s harm without direct orders from God, and it just slipped out.
Gaafar pulled off the road, "Your speech bothers me, my lady. I have goose bumpies all over my arms. You are a prophetess, yes?" He was scared by what Irish said; and from a country so full of superstition, one did well to
listen when people spoke like that.
"Gaafar, I'm sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say anything against your harm. It’s just that tomorrow the road from here to Sewanee will be a very dangerous place to be unless you have an army of angels with you. I didn’t mean to frighten you."
Irish felt badly, and Grace could tell that her heart was in the right place; but still, neither of them felt a condemnation from God for it. It was as if it was preordained that Irish would say what she did, could it be?
"Well, my lady, do you know where a believer like me can get the company of an army of angels?" He smiled just joking but keeping his fingers crossed. He felt in his spirit that this lady was somehow telling the truth, even about the angels.
"You’re determined to go, aren’t you, Gaafar?" asked Irish while thinking how to handle this.
"Yes, my lady, I'm obligated to pick up my aunt and uncle at the Nashville airport to bring them back here. We will be a complete family once again." Gaafar put the cab in gear and moved out into traffic while waiting for her response. He knew she knew things.
Grace poked at Irish, "Irish, are you thinking what I’m thinking?" Grace and Irish looked at each other, and then looked out at the dark skyline above the Nickajack.
"Yes, he’s going anyway, and so are we," she replied.
"Gaafar, how much would you charge to take us to Sewanee tomorrow?"
"To Sewanee? Oh, that’s a good fare! That would pay all my expenses and my parking at the Nashville airport. How good that would be!" he said excitedly. "But what about that army of angels?" His fingers were still crossed.
"I’ll take care of them. You just show up at the Marriott around ten tomorrow morning. Little Miss Grace will probably sleep in if I know her."
Irish felt she had to protect him, and the only way was to go with him. She wondered if she might be putting him in more danger; but at least, she could order her angels to keep them safe and request more if needed.
"Oh, no," said Irish, "I forgot. Do you own this cab?"
"Yes, my lady, I bought it brand new just two months ago with money my uncle sent me. Isn’t she a beauty?" He waved his hand around the cab, which was unusually well-kept with some of its new car smell still lingering.
"I have some good news and some bad news for you," said Irish.
"Oh, my lady, I don’t like those kinds of words. Give me the bad news first, please. You don’t have any money, right?"
"No, I have plenty. The trip may get your cab damaged. I can’t promise you what shape it will be in when you reach Nashville." She was thinking about being attacked by angels who could cut open the cab like an aluminum can.
"That’s very bad news. How bad?" he said, sounding most depressed.
Irish reached into her rubber-band stash and counted out all of them, then with an open hand towards Grace, took half of what she had. She rebound them all in the rubber band, throwing it on the seat beside Gaafar. "Here, in advance, forty thousand dollars to replace your cab brand new and to equip it for cabbing with a little extra."
He swerved off the road in surprise almost hitting a light pole. "Oh, my lady, you really know how to impress someone. You have all my full attention, my lady. If the trip be that bad, I believe I will need to drive the new car back from Nashville. What are you some kind of angel?" he asked jokingly.
"Yes, some kind of angel," she answered as she watched him pull through the circular covered parking at the hotel and running around to let them out, then bowing to them slightly in politeness and respect.
"My lady, I will be here waiting at 9:45 a.m. If I am to have so much trouble, should I bring anything to help in the trip?" He was thinking of an AK Assault Rifle.
"A tank might help," she answered as she walked away.
"Oh, my lady, you are scaring me again," then he jumped back into the cab and threw the money into the air, which covered the dashboard and seats, then went home early.
"Why the best in town, Irish?" asked Grace.
"I just want to take a quiet swim. The more expensive the place, the less likely we are to have many neighbors. I want to dive into the water and pretend I’m at my pond in heaven. I just need a little break; that’s all." Irish looked dreamily at the pool after they checked in and headed for their room.
"Like I need room service, right?" asked Grace, hungry again.
"Yes, but you now have added to your list of things not to eat and drink, right?" asked Irish as she remembered the wild turkey.
"Yes, my lady," mimicking Gaafar, "I not touch. By the way how did you get me into the plane last time?"
"Like a sack of beans!" exclaimed Irish.
Grace replied sarcastically, "Now, that sounds righteously classy."
Preparing For Battle
Aaron heard the Lord speaking, "There are less legions in Sudan effective a couple minutes ago."
"How many, less?" asked Aaron.
"From the lack of activity, probably, too many. We estimate from the size of the Nickajack storm, at least two to three dark legions. This could turn into a major offensive. I'll give you whatever you need, but we'll have to temporarily close down some other regions' assaults. I want Irish to get to Sewanee. I don’t want any delays."
"How many legions are you thinking about using?" asked Aaron.
"One hundred!"
The number dropped like a weight against Aaron’s heart. He knew this was much more important to God than he ever imagined. A hundred was equal to all the angels in many major regions now assigned to an area only a mile in circumference.
"That important?" asked Aaron, afraid of the answer.
"That important," replied the Lord. "I want to show only three legions. Take a total of ten with you. It will take me some time to gather the rest."
"Can I take the time to visit the girls without jeopardizing our position?" asked Aaron.
"You mean, Irish, don’t you? Yes, the battle lines are already drawn over Nickajack. They won’t start something elsewhere till this battle is over." The Lord knew how much Aaron loved Irish; and He also knew how they had kept their angel oaths. He had set an example for all the heavens to watch. "Tell her how much I love her too."
Aaron whispered a short, "Thank you."
Tender Swim
Soon after arriving in the room, Irish left for a swim. Grace already had room service delivering food, which left several empty trays sitting outside the room as Irish left. It was now late, and no one was around. It took all of Irish's resistance not to dive in without clothes, including expanding her wings for a feathered, wet stretch. She succumbed to modesty in a scant one-piece swimsuit that showed her muscled but subtle frame parting the water in a splash of expert and coordinated precision. She stayed under for almost fifteen minutes: spinning and rolling in acrobatic moves, surfacing only to make sure no one else was still around.
Finally, she decided for one more luxury by taking off her contacts. Her eyes felt restricted from their heavy blue tint. She wanted to see her colors illuminating the water around her and to move through their reflections. She wanted to watch her own colors reflecting off the turquoise-tiled bottom and pretend she was swimming above the crystalline pond sand of heaven. She really missed heaven tonight and missed Aaron as much.
The pool was filled with the colors of her radiance; and in an unexpected move, she expanded her wings while on the bottom of the deep end, then let their rainbow colors spread completely around her. She pulled them back into her again in a moment of paranoia but felt intoxicated by it and free for just a minute. It was worth it; she thought.
As she resurfaced, she saw someone enter the water and covered her eyes, hoping they didn’t see. She turned away from them; but instead of hearing a shout of shock and surprise, she felt Aaron's familiar arms encircling her. She fell back into them as they reached and held to his long hair flowing down his back. They surfaced together, and Irish turned to fac
e him. They didn’t say anything for a long time but only looked at each other while enjoying each other’s presence. Irish pushed some hair back away from his neck and gently touched his face. She reached up with a touch of a nurse and, pushed off his contacts to enjoy the light of his star-eyes. His eyes filled her with such great joy; hers did the same to him; they still didn’t say anything.
"The Lord gives his regards," he said as he kissed her tenderly on her lips.
"And you, my old friend?" she asked, knowing the answer.
"More than all others," replied Aaron, kissing her again.
"Can you stay long?" asked Irish, kissing him back.
"I could, but I’d better not. I have my oath to protect. If I stay too long, I won't be able to resist your beauty, your love."
"And I yours," she answered, then kissed him passionately as they went under the water together. As they came up, Aaron told her something she already suspected, "A great battle is getting ready to take place. You must prepare yourself to make it to Sewanee. Once Apollyon is defeated, Grace must return. She doesn’t need to go with you to Monteagle. The Great Fisherman will take her back Himself."
"I need protection, Aaron, don’t I?" she asked, kissing his eyelids tenderly.
"I'll give you five legions of my finest warriors," he replied, waiting for her to show her surprise over so many.
"Aaron, Aaron, how can you afford so many? How great is this battle? That means that you will have many more than that to meet Apollyon." She was surprised and startled, trying to calculate the extent of it.
"Many more than you can ever imagine," he said quietly while nibbling on her ear and kissing her neck. She made small sounds of delight and slid back under the water in another embrace. As they came to the surface again, Aaron expanded his wings, encircling her, not wanting any of this to end.
"Dar-Raven will be there, won’t he?" she said nervously as they came out of the water again.
"We believe so. He'll be looking for me. But, I'm ready. It's been over a thousand years, but I’m always ready for him. I've fought and won against too many of his best warriors, too easily. It will take him a year to repair after I get through with him."
Aaron heard a message as did Irish, "My legions are here. I must go to prepare them. I'll see you tomorrow, love. I understand you’re taking a cab. That sounds so silly when I say it. He won’t be harmed, I promise."
"Aaron, kiss me again for New Jerusalem," she replied, and they kissed, holding each other, clinging to their touch, knowing that New Jerusalem was not long off but still too long. Aaron was gone, leaving a tearful Irish alone. She continued to swim for several hours, not wanting to forget their meeting.
"It’s midnight!" she thought in a start. "Oh, no, Grace!"
She wrapped herself in a towel and made her way to their room. As she approached, she saw a hall full of trays and room service tickets. There must have been fifty trays. She opened the door, and Grace was on her back, holding her stomach while asleep with a big grin on her face.
Irish: An Angel's Journey Page 15
