“I appreciate you trying to avoid another slaughter,” Jamael said. “Another senseless war is pointless and a total waste! However, I’m unsure how you’ll achieve this, Kazuk.”
This was the first time Jamael had used Kazuk’s Hell-Realm name, and Kazuk was pleased. Jamael was starting to warm up to him.
“And your wisdom is most inspiring, Jamael,” Kazuk returned the favor. “Your questions reflect the mindset of one who is analytical, smart and wise. I could certainly use your skills in my council, should you be willing.”
“A most generous offer,” Jamael replied. “And thank you very much. Two things though; the first is that I have not yet agreed to join you and the second is that you have not yet answered my question.”
“I apologize, Jamael,” Kazuk said. “I did not mean to ignore your question, and I felt a little too confident that you would be a part of our team. But to answer your question, we plan on achieving this feat with your help. You see, you, Jamael, hold a very vital key to the success of our mission. And, without your help, there will be no way we could eliminate Michael, without the high possibility of another all-out war.”
Over many cycles, Kazuk had become adept at manipulation and schemes. He preyed on a few of Jamael’s weaknesses and strengths. He preyed on the fact that Jamael did not want another slaughter. Jamael was still haunted by the massacre, like many of his brothers and sisters who survived the last rebellion. He preyed on Jamael’s new-found hatred for Michael and a desire for vengeance. And finally, he preyed on Jamael’s low self-esteem and seeming lack of purpose by insisting that the mission would not be successful without Jamael’s help. The truth was that Kazuk was not lying. The mission was hugely hinged on Jamael’s cooperation. He was just fortunate other factors served as huge motivators, and Kazuk capitalized on them.
“So, what do you say, Jamael?” Kazuk asked.
“I’m in!” Jamael replied.
“Thank you very much and welcome to the team, brother!” Kazuk exaggerated his elation at the news; after all, in the end, Jamael would just be a pawn.
“So, what is my mission?” Jamael asked, seemingly unfazed by the prospect of just joining Kazuk.
“Your mission is simple,” Kazuk replied. “When the moment is right, we will give you a set of instructions, and you will proceed to obtaining the Zarark for us!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A GOOD DEED
DONALD WAS A reckless mess on the road, until the last string of normalcy yanked at his psyche. He slowed down to safer levels. Sunset was nigh, but it was a little early to hit Sara’s bar, by his drinking standards anyway. As such, he took a detour to the only park in town and perched on one of the benches. He breathed in and out slowly as he tried to still the raging storm in his mind. In the past, focusing on his breathing had helped with his Zen. But right now, he would need a lot more than just a breathing exercise to tame the beast in his mind.
Donald was the only one at the playground. There was a small forest to the north of the playground and children always played hide-and-seek in there sometimes. He focused on the calmness around him. He could hear the chirrups of millions of insects desperately trying to get laid as the sun slowly sank in the horizon. Gradually, the night slowly stretched its hand over the town until finally, Donald had a dark, moonless and starless night for a sole companion. And while on his solitary promenade through the turmoil in his psyche, Donald was oblivious to everything around him.
Donald continued to sit in silence. He could even hear his own heartbeat. It was not the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, but in that moment, it offered some solace to his psyche. He stared into the night, at nothing and everything. For a moment, his mind was no longer racing. He was no longer confused. He was no longer afraid. He no longer felt like he was going insane. For the first time in a few hours, he smiled. He took in a lungful of the warm air of the night and exhaled. He felt even better. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked very slowly. He recalled listening to a Buddhist teaching about mindfulness and being mindful in everything you do; from washing dishes, walking, driving and all that. No time like the present, he told himself and continued with his mindful walking, focusing his attention on each and every step he took.
As Donald did, he felt a calm, peace and serenity spread through him like he had never experienced before. Nothing else mattered in that moment. It was as if his mind had extended from zooming in on one thing to welcoming the vastness of Creation. He felt as if he were infinite space and everything else were just specks of dust in the vastness of the space that he was. They did not matter so much anymore. He was bigger than all that; bigger and larger. He smiled and continued his mindful walking. When he reached the end of the playground, he turned around and continued walking towards his car.
Donald was so focused on his mindful walking that he never noticed the other presence close by, blending perfectly with the shadows. The presence was waiting for him, patiently. The presence wanted him to get close enough to the truck before the presence made its move. When Donald was close enough to the truck, the presence emerged from the shadows and walked silently towards Donald.
“Donald Smith!” the presence called out to Donald in an unholy voice.
Donald was so startled he stumbled and fell to the ground. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a dark silhouette in the darkness of the night. As Donald stared in fear and confusion, two orbs suddenly flashed where the silhouette’s eyes were supposed to be, and light coalesced in its right hand into a huge, four-foot long sword.
“Your time has come!” the presence said and attacked.
***
Patrick shielded himself in invisibility and kept a watchful eye on Newman’s house in case the old man tried to act stupid or do something even more stupid. Even the other agents did not know he was there. They assumed he had left town to handle some other business. They still did not know that Patrick was capable of things like teleportation, telekinesis, invisibility and almost everything else that the apprentices of Yeshua were capable of. But the agents were to keep Patrick apprised promptly. Patrick could tell there was some urgency afoot, but he could not lay a finger on it. After all, these were heavenly issues, if that was where angels dwelled for real.
Well, whatever the case, this fallen angel had to return whence he came. For him to return, he must remember. For him to remember, he must be helped. But what kind of help would the angel need? Patrick had no idea what to do and, unfortunately, neither his mentor nor the other apprentices had an answer to that question. Yet, his mentor had decided to place such a huge responsibility on his tiny shoulders.
Now that did not make sense at all. Shi’mon had even tried to access the Akashic Records. But every piece of information regarding this particular fallen angel was off limits. The records were not erased, just shielded. This meant that someone up there, wherever ‘up there’ was, had this particular fallen angel’s best intentions, or the opposite, at heart. But why? Now that was the million-dollar question. Right now, it felt more like a seven-plus-billion-dollar question; a dollar or so for every creature that lived on the planet. What was he even thinking? Patrick reprimanded himself. Focus! What could he do to help jog this creature’s memory? Then Patrick had his epiphany.
Patrick recalled a mission he was on in Serbia, once. It had been raining nonstop for four days. River Danube was already overflowing and there were concerns about other possible fallouts from the heavy floods, like mudslides. Amidst the terrible flooding in every city along the river, a mother was trying to wade her way through the water to get to higher ground, with her toddler son clinging to her back. The boy looked like he was no more than six years of age. Suddenly, a powerful current knocked her off her feet and both mother and her son were at the mercy of the raging currents. The cause of the ‘sudden, powerful current’ was a giant, thirty-seven-foot long, four-foot broad serpent that had made its way through a portal a black magician had unknowingly opened. The serpent wa
s using the flood as cover to swim its way to the ocean. Patrick was not going to let that happen.
Choosing between saving the boy and executing his mission was easy for Patrick. However, when he was about to zip for the boy, the unexpected happened. The boy’s mother sprinted through the waters at Olympic speed as if she were on dry land, rescued her boy and walked on top of the water to higher ground, leaving onlookers with mouths agape as their minds tried to rationalize what they had just witnessed. When asked later how she did it, she said she had no recollection of anything other than wanting to save her son. Patrick had taken care of the unwelcome, serpentine visitor.
Patrick had to admit that this display of superhero tendencies certainly beat that of the nine-year-old girl who flipped over a car that was crushing her father, while he was doing some repairs under the car. Her father had ended up with a few broken ribs, but he was alive. The little girl had said that the only thing she could think of at that moment was saving her father and that she had done the first thing that had come to her mind. Needless to say, the little girl was no longer bullied in school from that day forward.
So, apparently, an overdose of adrenaline and something else seemed to be possible reasons why there were reports all over the world of seeming displays of impossible acts of bravado. Thus, Donald needed a sudden burst of adrenaline, and something else, to help jog him back to becoming Eliel. Patrick scratched his trimmed goatee pensively. As ridiculous at it may have sounded, he was truly running out of options and certainly running out of time. He had to act fast but what could he do? Well, he could think of many possibilities. But he had to make sure that it had a chance of working. A few hours later, he saw Donald burst out through the front door and towards the pickup truck. Patrick knew he was about to head somewhere. He zipped towards the truck and snuck his invisible self into the back seat. He could tell Donald was either very upset or very troubled.
Then Donald had pulled into the playground and started doing mindful walking. Who could have known that an angel was into Buddhism! Patrick chuckled at the situation. But when he noticed Donald’s colors change from reddish gold to almost white, he knew Donald was undergoing some kind of inner transformation. He waited to see if wings would pop out of Donald’s shoulder blades or for Donald to do something fancy and angelic. Nothing happened. He was disappointed. He concluded that Donald was just probably going through a moment of realization, but not enough to jog his memory. It was time to improvise, and he did the first thing that came to mind. Patrick stepped out of the truck, sparked the ethers and clothed himself from head to toe in pitch-black gear. He blended perfectly with the shadows.
Patrick waited for Donald to start walking back toward the truck. When Donald was close, he called out Donald’s name and made his eyes flash brightly. At the same time, he sparked the ethers and made a sword manifest in his right hand. The bright eyes and sword manifesting were for theatrics; all part of the ploy to help trigger something in Donald. He had no idea if his move would work or not. He was going all-in, hoping to trigger some kind of supernatural reaction from Donald.
Donald was under a lot of pressure, and Patrick was hoping the fake attack would trigger an adrenaline overload and jog Donald’s memory. It was also possible that his theatrics could cause the fallen angel to have a psychiatric meltdown; worth the risk. It was now or never. Patrick zipped towards Donald and attacked with a downward strike of his sword.
From Donald’s perspective, everything moved in very slow motion. His eyes blazed, and flames spewed from them. Donald stared down at his wrists as two golden bracelets lit up on them. He returned his gaze in his attacker’s direction. His attacker’s sword was halfway down its arc. Donald stood up from the ground and stepped to his right. He was out of the path of the sword and standing parallel to his attacker. The sword was three-quarter down its arc. He looked at his attacker with flaming eyes, balled his left hand into a fist and crashed it into his attacker’s solar plexus. His attacker was moving at superhuman speed. But to Donald, his attacker might as well have been a baby crawling.
Patrick was not sure what happened, but he felt his body slam into the side of the truck. He felt the air being forced out of his lungs and pain radiated across his torso. He involuntarily let go of the sword, which disappeared by the time it hit the ground. He gasped for air as he grabbed his tummy and balled himself into a fetal position. He made a mental note never to frighten a fallen angel again. Patrick noticed Donald did not continue attacking and he was truly grateful. There was no way he could last more than a blink with Donald, or Eliel, or whatever the heck his name was. He coughed some more and managed to lift his eyes towards Donald. What he saw both frightened and left him awestruck.
Standing above him, was a creature with bright, golden bracelets on each wrist, flames where eyes should have been and wings! Oh, my God, he saw the wings! Patrick almost cried with pure joy! It was such a beautiful sight! Wings of light! Pure, bright, golden light! And then, the wings of bright, golden light flared into wings of fire! They spread out from each shoulder blade. They flapped once, twice and a third time. Gone was the pain, gone was the fear, and gone was the mission! He had just seen an angel in the flesh! Patrick could not believe it! But just as his excitement was getting the better of him, the wings of fire disappeared and so did the bracelets. The flaming eyes remained, though. Donald stooped over Patrick and stared at Patrick dead in the eyes. Patrick swallowed and made no move to either flee or attack.
“Whatever you are,” Donald said, “return whence you came. The only reason you’re alive is because I don’t sense any evil in you. Rest assured that if I did, I’d have ended you already. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I do,” Patrick replied with the same voice he had used right before he attacked Donald.
“You will do no harm to anyone in this town,” Donald continued. “Understood?”
“Yes, I do,” Patrick replied.
“Now make yourself disappear before I change my mind!” Donald’s voice was taking a strange turn into something else.
“So, you ARE a protector after all,” Patrick said, rising to his feet.
Patrick was glad Donald still did not recognize him.
“You are the town’s guardian angel!”
At the mention of the word ‘angel’, the flames in Donald’s eyes vanished and were once again filled by the same worry and confusion of moments past. Patrick cursed under his breath. He thought he had succeeded but he was wrong. Shi’mon would have his head for breakfast once he apprised Shi’mon. But it was not his fault. He had tried his best, and he had seen that he could trigger certain things in Donald. But only Donald could get himself out of his state of amnesia. Patrick made himself disappear, but he stayed close. He watched Donald as Donald seemed to be nearing what looked like a mental meltdown. Now he would have to keep an even closer eye on Donald. Donald climbed into the truck, turned the key in the ignition and drove off. Patrick hoped he was heading towards the bar and his hope panned out.
Donald pulled up at the bar and waited for a few minutes before stepping into the bar. He looked like a healthy, clean and well-dressed zombie. Patrick appeared in the restroom and walked out casually. He waved at Sara, and she waved back, knowing better not to ask him how he snuck into the bar without her noticing. But she used her imagination. Donald was hunched over the bar and nursing a glass of whiskey. Patrick walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. When he noticed the tired looked on Donald’s face, Patrick faked sincere concern for his friend, and decided he was not going to head back to the motel anymore.
“What da hell happened to you?” Patrick asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost!”
“Hey, Patrick. Long day, that’s all,” Donald lied weakly.
“You don’t fool me that easily, man,” Patrick said and pulled a chair next to Donald. “I was just about to head back out, but then with you looking like this…” he shook his head.
“Thanks, man, but it’s really okay,
” Donald lied again.
“Is that why you’re still nursing that glass of holy water?” Patrick tried to lighten the atmosphere. “Come on now. It’s holy water. It’s supposed to cast away all demons, including ‘tiredness.’”
Patrick formed a cross with his index fingers.
Donald smiled and took a swig from his glass. The liquid burned its way down to his stomach walls and Donald smacked his lips together.
“Feeling better now?” Patrick asked lifting an eyebrow.
“Yeah man! Thanks!” Donald smiled and raised his glass.
“I knew I shouldn’t have stopped to say hi,” Patrick said jokingly. “Now I gotta partake in this unholy deed.”
Patrick waved at Sara. She poured a double shot of whiskey into a glass and brought it over to him.
“You chocolate boys behavin’ yaselves?” she asked.
“It’s his fault,” Patrick complained playfully. “Was on my way back to the motel and then he starts waving his glass in the air and all that.”
Donald burst out laughing.
“Like I whooped your butt into coming here,” Donald countered.
“He actually did whoop my butt, Sara,” Patrick said telepathically.
“I knew something was up,” Sara replied in like manner.
“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” Patrick said as he laughed at Donald’s weak attempt at cracking a joke. “But our boy here is very special.”
“You don’t say,” she replied as she waited on a couple.
“My place later?” he asked.
“Thought you’d never ask,” she replied and from the corner of his eyes, he saw Sara grin at nothing and no one.
God, she was beautiful! 26,000 years old and she was still so freaking beautiful! Patrick hoped crossing his legs would hide the hardness in his pants.
Patrick and Donald drank and chatted the night away. Donald was still deeply troubled, Patrick could tell, and he understood why. He could sense an awakening taking place in Donald. But at the same time, his ‘human’ nature was a major hindrance. Unfortunately, it seemed as if there was nothing much else that Patrick could do. Donald would just have to work things out for himself. Patrick actually felt a little bad for Donald. Sara tended to her business and around close to eleven pm, the two men parted ways.
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