An Archangel's Ache

by Leo E. Ndelle

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A TINGLING!

  DONALD GOT INTO the truck and headed back home. He could not stop smiling. His little angel friend always made him feel that way. She was too cute. No matter what he was going through at any time, if his little angel showed up, nothing else mattered. The McCoys were a great family, and he had had dinner with them twice over the past year. The McCoys were friends with Newman and had taken an instant liking to Donald from the first time Newman had introduced Donald to them. The icing on the cake came when Meredith, their daughter, had played with him for over an hour and called him an angel. It was the first time in Donald’s life, or the life he could remember, that anyone had called him an angel. It made him feel good, especially coming from a child.

  He was undecided on telling Newman about his dreams. Some were recurring and involved two recurrent characters. He would either dream of seeing angels or being with angels in a world that was probably their home. The dreams felt too real, like a memory. There was a female angel, and she had the kindest eyes and most loving heart. She also had a bracelet on her left wrist. The other recurring character was a male angel with a golden bracelet on each wrist. He exuded strength, authority and leadership. But in them, there was also a lot of sadness and even pain.

  Donald stopped at a traffic light as it turned from yellow to red. He tapped on the steering wheel with his left index finger and hummed a tune. Dreams. Memories. Donald was unsure. But why did he entertain the possibility of the dreams being memories in the first place? If these dreams were memories, then the implications were as dire as they were irrational. But in that blend of dire and irrational, his gut feeling told him otherwise. The line between dream and memory was blurring out, and quickly too. He wanted to have a conversation with Newman. Newman was the one who had ‘found’ him. So, Newman was the last person to see or know what could have happened to him. That would be a great start, he thought.

  Someone honked their horn, and Donald realized the light had turned green. He released his foot from the brake paddle and waved a hand outside his window to apologize to whoever was honking. Donald continued his drive home, but was it really home? Granted, Newman’s house was the only place he could call home or the only place he could remember as home. But he must have come from somewhere else. Newman had come up with his cover story. Given what he understood of the society, Newman could easily have called the police, and they would have most likely helped him find his home and even help with his identity. But no! Newman had chosen not to go to the police. So, either Newman was insanely foolish for harboring a complete stranger, or Newman was trying to hide and/or help him. Maybe not hide, Donald guessed. Based on Newman’s personality, he was certain Newman was trying to protect AND help him.

  He had about three more miles before he arrived home. Donald pulled over to the curb, killed the engine and waited for a few minutes. He wrestled with the idea of telling Newman about his dreams. The debate was over as quickly as it started. He was going to have a conversation with Newman. The next big thing now was to decide on the best approach and time. For these, Donald had no concrete answers just yet. Whenever it feels right, he thought. And right now felt like a good time to talk to Newman.

  Donald restarted the car and drove home. He focused more on the road this time.

  His plan, however, came to a standstill eight minutes later when he saw a very pale and sickly-looking Newman come into the kitchen as he was putting away the groceries.

  “Is everything alright, Mr. Weinberg?” Donald asked.

  “Yes, everything is fine. Thanks,” Newman replied.

  “You look a little ill, that’s all,” Donald continued, trying to see if he could get Newman to talk about what was bothering him.

  “Not enough sleep last night,” Newman lied. “And ya know these old bones need their beauty sleep, don’t ya?” he added and managed a weak smile.

  “When I grow up, I wanna be as strong as you are now, Mr. Weinberg,” Donald joked and smiled. “Told you before, you don’t look your age at all.”

  “Well, thanks for the compliment, young man,” Newman said and walked towards Donald. “A compliment always brightens one’s day!”

  “You don’t say!” Donald chimed in. “Speaking of compliments, guess who I ran into at the gas station today.”

  “Who?” Newman asked.

  “The McCoys,” Donald said.

  “And sweet little Meredith, I presume,” Newman said.

  “Yes, sir. They’re inviting us for dinner, by the way. Tuesday at 7.”

  “Did they invite you or us?” Newman asked.

  “Well, they said ‘you should stop by for dinner sometime.’ So, I’m not sure if the ‘you’ was used in the singular or plural,” Donald explained. “But I’d prefer to think they meant us.”

  “They weren’t specific, Donald,” Newman almost whined.

  “And now I’m absolutely convinced something other than lack of sleep is wrong with you today, Mr. Weinberg,” Donald rebutted.

  “And what makes you think that?” Newman asked.

  “You’re whining about accepting your friends’ invitation to dinner at their home. That’s why,” Donald replied as he stashed the last of the groceries away.

  “Am I that whiny?” Newman asked, managing a weak smile.

  “Yep,” Donald replied.

  “Okay then, I’ll get my happy pills,” Newman joked.

  But Donald did not laugh.

  “You don’t gotta go if you don’t wanna,” Donald offered.

  “No, no. I’ll go. Sorry, it’s just been a tiresome day so far,” Newman was almost sincere. “But I’ll be fine. The feeling will pass.”

  Donald had learned over his time living with Newman that he still struggled with the loss of his wife. Donald hated when Newman got in that sad and lonely state and wished he could do something to help him, but discovered it was best to let Newman deal with his pain and sorrow as he saw fit. Whenever he was done, he would return to his usual self.

  “So where were we again?” Newman asked.

  “Huh?” Donald seemed a little confused.

  “Something about compliments and brightening of one’s day, I think,” Newman replied.

  “Oh yes,” Donald remembered. “Meredith kept insisting on calling me an angel,” he chuckled.

  As he turned around to take something out of a cabinet, he did not notice Newman wince visibly at the mention of ‘angel.’

  “She sounded so convincing, asking her parents if they could ‘see my wings’ and all that.” Donald continued as he returned to the kitchen island with a can of tuna and an opener.

  “She sure is a cute one,” Newman managed to say, pretending to pick up a non-existent piece of lint from the floor as he tried to hide his expression from Donald.

  “Needless to say, that made my day,” Donald added. “I’m looking forward to seeing her more than to having dinner with her parents.”

  Donald winked at Newman as he spoke so that Newman would not feel he was the only one who did not really want to have dinner with the McCoys. The McCoys were nice folks. But sometimes, they could be a little too much.

  “And you’ll be playing with Meredith while I’ll be stuck with them,” Newman chimed in, smiling at the notion that Donald already had a way out.

  “And that’s what I call a fair trade,” Donald replied, emptying the contents of the can of tuna into a frying pan.

  As Donald prepared his lunch, Newman excused himself claiming he needed a nap. When Newman entered his room and shut the door, he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew he was not going to be able to get some sleep; at least not with his thoughts going Formula One in his head. He had been so close to telling Donald, or Eliel, everything. At first, his initial hesitation stemmed from the uncertainty of the unknown. But as the days turned into weeks and months, he realized that he was hesitant for another reason.

  Fear! It was not the fear of Eliel possibly being a dark angel. It
was the fear of being alone once again when Eliel returned to wherever he came from. Over time, Newman had grown quite fond and attached to this fallen angel. Eliel had become like a son to him. Eliel respected and treated him like a father. He was not ready to let go, but he also realized that though his motives seemed harmlessly selfish, a good parent knew when it was time to let the children leave the nest. And so, Newman Weinberg made up his mind. He would have a conversation with Eliel very soon.

  Donald stretched lengthily across his bed as he yawned and let himself succumb to his post-lunch food coma. He remembered his first day on this bed and the dream he had after he met Newman. He remembered seeing two angels, a male, and a female, standing over him in that same room. They were watching him and having a conversation. They were the same angels who had reappeared in many of his dreams within the past year. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized it might not be a dream after all.

  It felt too real to be a dream. There was a difference between how he felt that day and how he felt recently. On Day One, the dream felt more like a presence, as if those two angels were, in fact, right there in the room, staring down at him. No, not staring down at him. They were WATCHING OVER him, as if they were trying to make sure he was doing alright, as if he were one of theirs. His other dreams felt more like a memory, like his subconscious was trying to tell him something. His guess was that these memories must be of a recent past. He could be wrong. But his gut instinct begged to differ.

  Someone once told him to trust his instincts. Donald could not remember who, but it was like a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Right now, he would trust his instincts, and his instincts dictated that that his dreams were not just dreams. The logical conclusion was clear. But he feared this line of logic. Why did he fear? Anything was possible in his opinion. He was either a very special human being, or he was not human at all; and if he was not human at all, then what was he? An angel from heaven? Please! He was anything but an angel. Are angels not supposed to be pure creatures, serving in the presence of God for all eternity? A few girls in town would question his purity. For what it was worth, he might just be a very special human with ties to angels, maybe? Well, he could either lay on his bed and run scenarios in his head all day, or he could have that conversation with Mr. Weinberg. Donald chose the easier option.

  ***

  Michael watched from his domain. He was pleased to see that Eliel was starting to go through an awakening. He took a moment to relive his own period when he was rousing from his slumber. He could remember how he was first plagued by confusion. That confusion gradually morphed into curiosity and curiosity had birthed comprehension. When Michael’s memory had returned, and the sleeper had finally awakened, it was like he had been reborn to a whole new kind of archangel. Perhaps being the first in Celestia to fall helped to solidify his status as archangel supreme. He remembered the feeling and every time he did, it still felt like the first time. Michael was pleased to know that there was, at least, something good he could turn to during his dark moments. There were many good memories and situations he could turn to. But most others left a bitter feeling afterward.

  “Still thinking of your glory days as a fallen archangel?”

  Uriel’s words yanked him back to reality. She had teleported to his domain, and she was getting more adept at sneaking in without him noticing. Michael did notice her, though; but at this rate, she might eventually be able to evade his detection entirely.

  “You’re getting better at being stealthy, my friend,” Michael said, without turning around to face her.

  Uriel summoned a chair next to him.

  “You’re also getting better at reading my mind,” Michael added.

  “What’s on your mind?” Uriel asked jokingly.

  “You don’t want to know,” Michael replied and smiled dryly.

  Uriel sat down and took his hand in hers. They interlaced their fingers and she could tell he was more than just grateful she was there.

  “He’ll be fine, you know,” Uriel tried to reassure him.

  “I’m more confident than I was before,” Michael assured her.

  “But not confident enough,” Uriel interjected.

  “As it stands, his inclination is towards our side. That is good news,” Michael replied and sighed. “But he still has to go through his tests.”

  “If I know him well enough, and I think I do, he’ll make it,” she said.

  Her confidence in Eliel was as strong as her heart was for Celestia.

  “I’m not saying he’s weak, Uriel. He is very, very strong indeed. It’s just that he has not yet had a taste of the other side. And that is my concern,” Michael explained.

  Uriel nodded. She relaxed her grip on his hand and Michael did the same, though unwillingly.

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Uriel. But you’ve not tasted the other side either,” Michael said. “Honestly, I’m glad you haven’t. I’m sure you’d handle it wonderfully. But that does not take away the seduction and addiction that could come with the other side. Eliel is humble and is dedicated to Celestia. But who knows what will happen when he goes through the tests?”

  “No offense taken, Michael,” Uriel said and gently took his hand in hers again. “And thank you for your confidence in me. Now, you and I must focus on believing more in Eliel. He may need it after all.”

  Michael nodded almost imperceptibly. Uriel smiled weakly, reached across and kissed him on the cheek. He felt her reassurance and encouragement, and he deeply appreciated it. Uriel’s hand rested on his cheek as she turned his face towards hers. Uriel gazed at Michael deep in the eyes and the most beautiful smile Michael had ever seen appeared on her face. She had been with him from the very beginning, through the Great Rebellion, through the rebuilding process and even in his darkest hour. Ironically, maybe Eliel falling was Michael’s darkest hour. After all, the prophecy spoke of The One rising to the highest rank of angels, did it not? Who knew? Maybe Uriel was with him right now to keep him in check; to make sure that he, Michael, did not do something stupid upon Eliel’s return. As likely as that was a possibility, Michael still thought it was unfair to think of his closest friend as such. Regardless of whatever her reason was for sticking around, he was glad Uriel was always there.

  In his mind, Michael reprimanded himself and felt guilty for thinking such thoughts. If anyone had ever stood by his side, it had been Uriel. If anyone had ever had faith in him when no one else did, it had been Uriel. If anyone had ever been wise when everyone else seemed foolish, it had been Uriel. If anyone had ever been loyal to him even when his most trusted brothers, sisters, and lover had betrayed him, it had been Uriel. So why was he mentally tainting her personality right now? Perhaps this was only an echo the betrayal he had suffered during the rebellion, a rebellion which Uriel was not a part of. Uriel certainly did not deserve his distrustful line of thinking. If anything, he needed to appreciate and reciprocate.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael murmured.

  “What are you sorry for?” Uriel asked.

  “For not reciprocating your faith in me,” Michael admitted.

  “I know that already,” Uriel said. “I also know that you’ve had a change of heart,” she added before he could say anything else.

  “You know me too well, Uriel,” Michael said.

  Michael leveled his gaze at Uriel. Uriel was pleased with what she saw.

  “If that is what you think, then you must also know that my answer is no,” she said.

  “No? But I didn’t even ask you anything,” Michael was surprised.

  “No, you didn’t, but you were about to,” Uriel said.

  “You’ve lost me,” Michael admitted.

  “I’ve seen that look too many times to know what it means, Michael,” Uriel explained, smiling softly. “It was the look you gave her every other time you were not talking about Celestial affairs. Does that help?”

  It did help. Without even realizing it, Michael was actually falling for Uriel.
It was always there, albeit subconsciously. But now that Uriel had mentioned it, Michael realized just how true it was. He had gone weak in the knees when she had taken him by the elbow and led him away from Eliel’s room right after the fall. He had wrapped his fingers around hers involuntarily. He had felt a certain warmth in his chest when she had kissed him on the cheek and placed a hand on his cheek. The list went on and on, and Michael realized that either Uriel was taking advantage of him or she was actually working for the good of Celestia. Michael’s raging thoughts were justified, though. The last time someone had that effect on him, a rebellion had ensued.

  “You may have trust issues right now,” Uriel continued in a calm, soothing voice. “But I assure you, I am not like her. There are many other female angels and archangels here who are not like her, and you just have to learn to trust again…”

  “But none of them is you, Uriel,” Michael said without even thinking. “None of them is you! Despite my history and everything else, I can trust you, and I do trust you!”

  Michael made his decision and he wished Uriel would do the same.

  Uriel was deeply touched by his words. She could see and feel his sincerity. She slid off her chair, knelt in front of Michael and took his face in her hands. She gazed into his eyes, and for a moment, their beings merged into one. Uriel closed her eyes, inclined her head and kissed him deeply and passionately. Michael reciprocated. In that moment, the two archangels glowed in unison as their beings became intertwined. In that moment, flames spewed from the corner their closed eyes and locked lips and their passion burned even more. And in that same moment, a sad truth was birthed to both parties. Michael and Uriel slowly peeled away from each other.