Fall of the Angels

by Josh Raymer

  My heart catches in my throat at the thought: my dad is here. Until now, I hadn’t fully confronted that truth. I haven’t seen my dad since I was twelve years old. I realize, with a swelling sense of sorrow, that I’ve forgotten what his voice sounds like. I think I know what it sounds like, but I can’t say for certain, and it kills me that this vision won’t allow me to rediscover Malcolm Ford’s voice. I will get to see his face, though, which I’ve only seen in photos, memories, dreams, and as Gregori’s chosen form when he appeared at Colin’s house.

  This is it, though—no haze of memory, distortion of dreams, or phoniness that Gregori brought to the role. I’ll get to see my dad, just as he was on that fateful day thirteen years ago. I breathe deep and try to steady my nerves. It doesn’t work, though. My hands are shaking, and my throat is dry.

  I take one step, then another, working my way slowly toward the middle of the carnival grounds. I don’t know where Dad and Malphas will be, but I’ll start there. Whether or not this actually is an out-of-body experience, it feels like one. It’s as if I’m floating above myself and looking down as I wind my way through rows of red and white striped booths advertising twenty-five-cent games and crazy prizes.

  I emerge from between two rows of booths into a large clearing, the center of which houses one of those octopus rides where the cars go up and down as he waves his arms. Malphas and my dad are nowhere to be seen. Sound would be helpful right about now. I might not remember exactly how my dad’s voice sounded, but Malphas’s growl is still fresh in my memory.

  I walk left around the octopus ride, my eyes scanning the area behind it, which is lined with a semi-circle of wooden booths where food and drinks are sold. Signs for lemonade, cotton candy, hot dogs, and deep-fried candy bars jump out at me. I laugh, thinking about the time when we were kids, and Peter ate five of those deep-fried candy bars in one night. We didn’t even make it back to the car before he puked. Mom was mad, but Dad and I were doubled over with laughter.

  Behind the food stands is a large, two-story tent that’s about fifty yards wide. It’s covered in purple and green fabric, with stairs on the front leading up to a walkway that offers a door on the far right side and plunges down a looping slide on the left. A flashing sign with tilted letters above the walkway reveals it to be the Haunted House of Mirrors. I remember that place from when I was younger. It always gave me the creeps because it felt like my reflections were other people watching me as I worked my way through the twisting, confusing hallways.

  It would also be the perfect place to confront a demon. Every other place at the carnival is either a ride, a booth, or a portable toilet. Meeting at an abandoned facility gets you away from people—meeting inside a covered structure gives you an extra layer of protection if a worker comes back to grab his favorite jacket.

  If I were my dad, that’s where I’d want to meet Malphas.

  I walk past the octopus ride, in between two booths selling pizza and beer (no surprise at a Sherwood carnival), and make a beeline for the staircase at the front of the tent.

  My hands are still shaking, but for a different reason now. If my dad is in there, I’m presumably about to watch him die. Or lay down his weapons and become Malphas’s prisoner. I’m not sure which is worse.

  I can turn back now, I tell myself. Just think, time tree, take me home, and keep my memories of my dad intact. Happy, alive, and thriving. Not sprawled out in a pool of blood or torn to bits by Malphas. Or dragged to Hell to keep his family safe.

  This is going to suck. But if I turn back now, I won’t be able to live with that unanswered question in the back of my mind. Not knowing what happened is worse than seeing it happen.

  My body must’ve known what I was doing before my mind sorted it out. I’m standing on the threshold of the door that leads into a maze of dimly lit rooms, all lined with mirrors designed to twist and distort the viewer’s reality.

  My reality has been distorted long enough. It’s time for the truth.

  I take a deep breath, step across the threshold, and plunge into the darkness.

  Chapter 10

  10. Forty Years of Kicking Ass

  If I could smell this place, I imagine it would reek of body odor, fake smoke, and cheap paint. What little light is coming from the incandescent bulbs lining the ceiling is the same washed-out variety we had outside, giving this place an even more unsettling vibe. I feel like I’m walking into a horror movie. At any moment, Jason Vorhees is going to pop up behind me while I’m staring at my reflection.

  I’d almost prefer that to seeing Malphas again. Picturing his face—especially those soulless red pits where his eyes should be—makes the hair on my neck stand up. Just the thought is putting me back into fight-or-flight mode. I push forward, running my hand along the wall as I wind through one hallway after another, each one covered with a mosaic of different-sized mirrors.

  Sometimes, as I round a corner, a monster will jump out from the shadows, its eyes aglow and its hands outstretched as if to grab me. Without the sound, it’s a surreal experience, like I’m watching TV with the sound off.

  My heart drops as I round the next corner and come upon a large, octagonal room with a different mirror on each of the eight walls. Spotlights shine down from the corners and bathe the room in a sickly, oversaturated white light. Standing in the middle of the room with his back to me is my dad. I can tell just from his posture, outfit, and the back of his head. In his left hand is a machete. In his right, he grips a sawed-off shotgun. His sleeves, like always, are rolled halfway up his arms.

  Standing in front of him, glowing like an angry furnace, is Malphas.

  This is it. This is the moment of truth.

  I walk from behind my dad and step to his right, angling to see his face as my heart hammers. It’s the loudest sound in this silent room.

  I’ve always been told I look like my dad. Frankly, I think he looks more like Peter. But standing here now, I appreciate the resemblance more than I ever have. Malcolm Ford has kind brown eyes, a wide smile, and dimples. His wavy brown hair is combed, but his goatee (which I could never pull off) is more unkempt than I remember. Dad used to keep his facial hair perfectly manicured.

  The longer I look, the more I see how disheveled my dad appears. Dark circles lay under his eyes, his clothes are wrinkled, and there’s a giant hole in the right knee of his blue jeans. His knuckles are bruised, and there’s blood smeared on his neck. You don’t have to be a genius to deduce that my dad has been in a fight recently.

  I shift my focus from my dad to Malphas, who towers over both of us. I recognize the look he’s giving my dad—it’s a smirk. The last time I was here, Malphas gave me that same look. It’s an indication that he thinks he has you beat, but in truth, it’s a surefire sign of overconfidence.

  I take a step back to better see the interaction these two are having. My dad is calm, resolute, his weapons by his side but not dangling. He’s ready to use them should the moment call for it. He never gets a chance to, though.

  There’s a flash of light so bright I have to shield my eyes. When I lower my arm, my dad is already dead. There’s a man standing behind him with a glowing red fist shoved through my dad’s back, so it juts out his chest.

  That man is Augustus Shaw.

  ***

  Obviously, Augustus did not kill my dad.

  I’m back amongst the time trees now, running along the path toward the vanishing point. A replay of what I just saw runs on a loop in my mind.

  I don’t need multiple guesses to know who my dad’s killer is—it’s the same person who wore my dad’s face when he showed up on Colin’s security system.

  Not a person, though…an angel. That traitorous scum, Gregori.

  Augustus told me Gregori had been scheming with Malphas long before I was born. My guess is that Dad’s interference wasn’t part of their plan. He was merely a problem that needed to be deal
t with, so Malphas let Gregori do the dirty work. Colin’s story wasn’t the truth, but only because he didn’t know Gregori was at the carnival that night. He knew my dad was confronting Malphas, so when he found Malcolm’s dead body, he assumed Malphas was the one who killed him.

  Malphas couldn’t tell me the truth because it would’ve revealed Gregori’s involvement. Besides, he took too much pleasure in lying to me.

  Now that I know the truth that’s eluded me for more than a decade, I feel…empty. Nothing inside me has changed after witnessing that memory firsthand. I thought there would be a sense of relief or a feeling of peace would wash over me once I finally knew what had happened to my dad. All I feel now, though, is anger. To think that I was duped by an angel who not only was working with Malphas and tried to kill me but was also responsible for taking my dad away—it’s too much right now. The white-hot rage licking at my insides doesn’t serve me. I need to push it aside and focus on my next step, which is getting to Augustus and Bron.

  Once I reach them, we can make a plan for activating Lightfall. With the guesswork and guilt removed, I have a level of clarity that wasn’t there before we met with the archangels. Every muscle in my body crackles with renewed purpose and strength.

  By the time my mind detaches itself from the vision of Malphas and my dad, I’m shocked to see that I’m already standing in Bron’s canyon. Last trip here, the compression tunnel nearly fried my brain. Now I just passed through it without even realizing it, like when you pull into your garage without the faintest idea of what your commute home was like.

  I break into a sprint, tearing up the path that leads to Bron’s home. As I near the crest of the hill, I hear voices echoing off the stone walls. My heart leaps at the thought of finally returning home. The first step to reaching that goal is reuniting with my friends—something that wasn’t guaranteed just a short while ago when Raphael punched me into a pocket dimension.

  “Guys, it’s me!” I yell as Bron’s home comes into view. The last thing I want is Augustus cutting me down because he thinks I’m a rogue angel.

  “Was that Silas?” comes a muffled voice from inside Bron’s home. There’s a great clattering and a flurry of footsteps that precedes Augustus and Bron’s appearance at the threshold of the house. Augustus smiles as wide as his face once he sees me.

  He runs down the path to greet me and sweeps me into a bear hug. I smell the aftershave and cigarette smoke and savor it even more than I did before. We pull apart, and there’s Bron, down on one knee with his arms spread wide. His expression is so goofy that you can’t help but love him. I walk happily into the hug and try to wrap my arms around his chest, but I only get about halfway around. Bron doesn’t seem to mind. He pats my back with a massive hand.

  “I am overcome with joy at your reappearance, Silas Ford,” he says.

  “It’s good to see you too, buddy,” I tell him as we separate. “It’s good to see both of you. When Raphael sent me packing, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you all again. Hell, I didn’t know if I’d see anyone ever again.”

  “Where did that smug bastard send you?” Augustus growls.

  “To a place outside the city limits of Heaven,” I explain. “Cut off from all living creatures. That’s why I couldn’t contact you all. My telepathy was fried.”

  Bron is deep in thought as I tell them this. His hand is under his chin, and his eyes are scanning left to right like he’s reading a book. Finally, he speaks.

  “I do not know of the place you speak of, Silas.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” I tell him. “It was some sort of pocket dimension God created. Seems like a place a lot of outcasts ended up. I met one of them: Lilith. She’s actually the one who helped me escape.”

  Augustus stiffens at the mention of Lilith’s name. I figured this might be his reaction, and I was right. His eyes burn bright, and he stares at me.

  “You saw Lilith?” he asks. “Did she escape with you?”

  No reason to lie to him. I told Lilith I’d go to bat for her.

  “She did,” I say. “That was part of our deal. She’d show me where the exit was, and if I could spring the lock, I’d take her with me. I know what she did—at least the version she told me. It wasn’t ideal, but I was short on time and options, so I made the best choice I could. She said all she wanted to do was clear her name. I told her if that wasn’t true, I’d find her and kill her myself for lying to me.”

  “You’ll make good on that promise,” Augustus says in a low voice. “The stories I’ve heard about Lilith and what she did in the Garden…well, let’s just say I’m not surprised God locked her up.”

  Before I have a chance to offer a rebuttal, Bron actually speaks up.

  “You made the right choice, Silas,” he says. “Time is our priority right now, and if we examine the broader picture, Lilith is the least of our worries.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Augustus adds. “I don’t want you to think I’m giving you shit for letting her loose, Silas. I just haven’t heard that name in a very long time. It drug up some old memories. Bron is right—we need to focus on what comes next.”

  “It’s funny you should mention that,” I tell them. “When I left Lilith’s pocket dimension, I was dumped out by the time trees. I took the fruit and went to the future. I saw the end of this conflict, and it ends with us activating Lightfall.”

  I pause, taking in the looks on their faces. Augustus’s is a mixture of surprise and bittersweet realization. Bron, as usual, is harder to read. I continue:

  “I know I was all in favor of diplomacy and trying to avoid that option, but my time is short. I’ve got to get back to Sherwood yesterday, and now that I’ve seen the future straight from the source, I’m all in. Let’s make it happen.”

  I don’t tell them about the other vision. That one is just for me. The only people I’ll share it with will be Colin and Peter when I get back to Earth.

  Augustus nods solemnly. This was his plan, but he admittedly knows it’s fraught with risk, collateral damage, and untold consequences down the road.

  Augustus turns from me and looks up at Bron. Our large bronze friend again is deep in thought, but this time I can actually read sadness in his expression.

  “Bron,” Augustus starts, “do you accept the plan that I suggested and Silas is now in favor of? We can’t make it work without you, so if you’re out, we’ll find another way. I won’t be mad either if you object. I want your honest assessment.”

  Bron doesn’t respond right away. Augustus and I look at each other, and between us passes an unspoken acknowledgment that this decision is far tougher for Bron than it is for us. He helped God construct Heaven and was there when angels were created. As humans, we view angels differently than he does. He also has a different appreciation for what Lightfall will do to Heaven and Earth.

  Simply put: he’s coming at this situation from an entirely different angle.

  “I don’t like this option, as I made clear the first time you brought it up, Augustus,” Bron says at last. “However, I cannot argue against the case you made, nor the future that Silas has seen. This moment has been coming for thousands of years—perhaps since the dawn of time. I know this only because God allowed for Lightfall to be created in the first place, and the Creator does not do things by accident. If he created it, he knew it would one day be used.”

  “Do you believe that day has come?” I ask him.

  He looks at me, unblinking for a couple of seconds, then nods.

  “Good,” Augustus says. “Now that we’re in agreement on how to proceed, what we need is a plan. That’s where you come in, Bron. You were there when Lightfall was created. Do you know how it works?”

  Bron nods again, then turns and walks back toward his home. He ducks to get through the doorframe and emerges a moment later with a rolled-up scroll in his hand. The paper is yellowed and frayed. It rem
inds me of the US Constitution, which I saw in person years ago at the National Archives in Washington, DC.

  Bron spreads the scroll out on the ground and places two rocks on either side, so it lays flat. It’s about the size of the posters I used to hang on my bedroom walls as a kid, except this doesn’t have basketball players on it. Scrawled edge to edge and going in various directions are crazy symbols, some large and others small. It’s unlike any kind of writing I’ve ever seen before. The closest thing I could compare it to would be hieroglyphics, but at least those had some kind of order.

  “You’ll have to excuse my handwriting, Silas,” Bron says bashfully. “When I get excited about a subject, my notes tend to go off in different directions.”

  I laugh as I look at him and shake my head. He continues.

  “What you see here are directions for activating Lightfall,” he says. “I dug them out of my files right before you arrived. This is the first time I’ve seen them in several millennia, so please allow me a moment to refresh myself on how it works.”

  “OK, that sounds goo–” I begin.

  “Done,” Bron interjects before I can finish the sentence. Augustus and I both laugh. Nobody else would’ve begged our pardon for taking two seconds to review his notes, but that’s part of what makes the big bronze guy so unique.

  “The first part is simple,” Bron tells us. “We need to find out the location of the three zones that God established as part of this protocol. Once we do, we can communicate with our comrades on Earth to begin the process of activating those zones and turning them into traps. That just leaves the final step.”