A Deafening Silence In Heaven

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  He wanted to make the forever man understand that he was not as unique as he believed.

  But Simeon was too busy trying to kill him.

  Good luck with that, the Fossil thought as Simeon smashed him in the face with the butt of the golden gun. He went down hard, the scabs that already covered most of his body ripping away and causing the blood to flow.

  “What a horrible-looking thing you are,” Simeon said, looking down at him. “Are you one of Chandler’s friends? His backup, perhaps? My, the pickings certainly were slim.”

  The Fossil pushed himself up, his face awash with flowing blood. “Well, after all these years, you managed to get being a smug son of a bitch down pretty good,” he said, enjoying the surprised expression on his opponent’s face.

  “I asked you a question, worm,” Simeon sneered. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I’m somebody who should have done something about you a long time ago,” the Fossil said as he wiped blood from his eyes. The wound was already scabbing over, and he was able to see and appreciate Simeon’s annoyed expression.

  “Do I know you?” Simeon asked, pacing before the bloody old man. “I’m sure I would have remembered someone in such grievous condition, but then again, I have been busy.”

  The Fossil collected himself. “We’ve never met, as far as I know,” he said. “But we do share quite a bit in common.”

  Simeon stopped, smiling a nasty, predatory grin. He still held the pistol and tapped the butt against the side of his leg. “Do we now?” He leaned menacingly closer. “Pray tell.”

  Just a little bit closer, the Fossil thought. “We’ve both been around long enough to make mistakes,” he said aloud. “A lot of mistakes.”

  Simeon studied him intently, tilting his head to one side ever so slightly.

  “I spent the majority of my time trying to figure out my place in the world. Why the hell was I still here?” The Fossil shifted so he was a bit closer to Simeon.

  Almost there.

  “I kept making the same mistakes again and again. It got bad for me for a while. In fact, I actually believed that contributing to the end of the world by bringing about the Apocalypse would take away my pain.”

  The Fossil smiled as Simeon’s eyes widened.

  “Sound familiar?”

  Simeon quickly stepped away, pulling back the hammer and aiming the pistol at the Fossil. “Tell me who you are or . . .”

  Now or never, the Fossil thought. Then he lunged at Simeon, wrapping his scab-crusted hands around the man’s throat.

  “I will tell you who I am,” the Fossil said, squeezing with all his might.

  Simeon struggled wildly, his arms flailing as he tried to aim and fire the pistol.

  “And you will come to understand the meaning of this moment.”

  Simeon managed to fire the pistol, filling the place of Unification with the sound of thunder, but he missed the Fossil, who continued to squeeze the life from the forever man’s throat.

  Frantically, Simeon tried to break the Fossil’s grip. He thrashed and flailed, and pulled his attacker across the broken stage of the Golden City. And still the Fossil stuck.

  The back of Simeon’s foot connected with a piece of stone that floated three inches from the ground, tripping him up, causing him to fall backward with the Fossil atop him. The gun skittered from his grasp, out of reach.

  Simeon was desperate now, reaching up with clawed hands to rip at the man’s face. But the Fossil knew pain, and this was no worse than anything he’d endured since the fall of Heaven.

  Simeon’s struggles were growing weaker, and the Fossil leaned into his grip for last of the act.

  For the murder of Simeon.

  The Fossil lowered his face to within inches of Simeon’s, being sure to look directly into the man’s bulging, oxygen-deprived eyes. The realization should have been dawning on him that this time it would be different.

  That this time he would not be coming back.

  “Who?” Simeon managed, a pathetic squeak, filled with fear as the reality of the situation settled in.

  “Lazarus,” the Fossil said, letting the name sink in. “I am Lazarus.”

  Simeon made a last feeble attempt to overpower him, but it was all for naught. He should have known that he would be powerless against another like him.

  That it would take a forever man to kill a forever man.

  • • •

  Remy let go of oblivion’s hand and rushed swiftly to the surface of consciousness just as his head was slammed once more against the ground.

  He opened his eyes, looking up into the madness-etched face of his friend.

  “Enough,” Remy ordered.

  The former Guardian appeared surprised that the angel was suddenly conscious—still alive.

  And Remy took that opportunity to act. He allowed that horrible, burning madness to bubble to the surface and flow from his hands. Blasts of fire hit Francis directly in the chest, lifting up and propelling him back through the air.

  Francis bounced off a floating piece of Paradise and fell to the ground with a grunt.

  Remy rose to his feet, the power that he fought to restrain seeking further release. How easy it would have been to set it free, to allow it to flow from his body and out into the accursed world.

  What’s a little more fire and insanity? he thought as the miasma of fire formed a writhing corona around his head.

  Francis lay still for only a moment, then sprang up, ready to continue their bout.

  Right then, Remy was more than happy to oblige, but a body dropped from above, landing with a sickening, wet thud between them.

  Remy stared in shock at the body of the man called Simeon, eyes wide in death, his tongue thick, black, and protruding from his mouth.

  “It’s done,” announced a voice from above.

  Both Remy and Francis looked up to see the blood-covered Fossil peering down at them.

  “It’s time that you finish what you came here to do,” he added, looking squarely at Remy.

  Remy looked away from the Fossil to Francis. The former Guardian seemed confused now that Simeon’s hold was broken.

  “I’m going to fix this,” Remy told him.

  Francis glared, but for a moment Remy saw the madness dissipate and the old intensity of his friend return. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m your friend, and I’m asking you to.”

  Francis looked away. “Sorry I tried to kill you,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t myself.”

  “A lot of that going around,” Remy said, turning away from his friend and beginning his ascent to God.

  • • •

  The Fossil stood before the frozen moment of Unification, his robes soaked with blood.

  “Are you all right?” Remy asked.

  “I haven’t been all right for a very long time,” he said, swaying slightly. He turned to look at Remy. “But I think that might be about to change.”

  “You killed him.” Remy looked out over the edge of the ruins to where Simeon’s body lay. The forever man still looked shocked that he wasn’t alive anymore.

  “I did,” the Fossil said. “And I think that might’ve been the reason why I’m still around.” The blood was really flowing from his wounds now, actually forming little puddles where he stood.

  Remy focused upon the man. “You look worse than usual.”

  “Yeah, I think this might be it.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” Remy asked. “Before you . . .”

  “Die?” The Fossil smiled widely. “I can almost believe it’ll happen now.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Lazarus,” the Fossil told him. “I’m Lazarus.”

  Remy studied the bloody man, trying to find something that he might recognize, but it remained hidden beneath the blood and scabs. “I don’t see it, but all right.”

  Lazarus chuckled. “So are you as pissed off at me as the other Remy was?”

  It was far away in h
is thoughts, almost as if he were remembering a dream from a very long time ago, but Remy recalled the Lazarus from his own reality—how his obsession with death had led him to befriend some bad-apple angels who wanted to see the Four Horsemen bring about the end of the world. Remy had managed to stop the Horsemen and the bad angels, but Lazarus had been washed away in the deluge of the conflict and hadn’t been seen or heard from since.

  “Yeah, I think I am,” Remy said.

  “Well, hopefully that makes up for it,” Lazarus said, pointing at Simeon’s corpse.

  “It’s a good start.” Remy shrugged.

  They both laughed, the sound of their humor tapering off as Remy found himself staring again at the body of God, Lucifer in flight coming to his aid.

  “He brought you here to make this right,” Lazarus said. “He brought us all here.”

  “But what do I do now?” Remy asked, walking toward God as he hung in the air, in the midst of death. “Simeon said that You were still alive . . . still suffering. . . . Give me a sign. Show me how to make this right.”

  There was a hole in the Creator’s forehead, and Remy found his gaze transfixed on the bloodless opening for some grotesque reason.

  Then he saw the light.

  At first he thought it might have been a trick of his eyes, what little light there was in the ruins of the Golden City playing with his vision, making him see things that weren’t there.

  But there it was again.

  Remy moved closer, his eyes never leaving the black hole in the Almighty’s forehead.

  “Is this it?” Remy asked Him.

  From the darkness within the hole, Remy saw flickers of light, reminding him of lightning flashes over the waters of Cape Cod on a hot summer’s night. For a moment he was transported there, smelling the ocean, the air charged with a coming storm.

  “What is that?” Lazarus asked as he, too, stepped closer.

  “It’s a sign,” Remy said.

  He stepped up on a piece of stone so he could stare directly into the circular opening, studying the flashes of white light as they seemed to intensify. And suddenly, he was compelled to do the unthinkable.

  Remy reached out, raising his fingers toward the hole. The flashes grew brighter as his hand grew closer, and he pulled back, unsure if he should follow through.

  But he did, reaching into the hole—the skull—of the Lord God Almighty. Remy’s eyes widened as the skin and bone around his fingers grew more malleable.

  He felt it before he saw it, his finger and thumb closing around something that caused an incredible warmth to flow through his body and fill his mind with thoughts of things to come.

  Carefully, Remy withdrew his prize.

  “What is it?” Lazarus asked.

  Remy stared at the object as it flashed and pulsed with a power that he recognized as the inspiration for creation itself.

  “The future,” he said.

  He stepped down from the stone upon which he stood, mesmerized by the slug as it gradually morphed back into a bullet.

  He sensed Lazarus’ approach and managed to tear his eyes from the object he held.

  “I think you’re going to need this,” Lazarus said, holding out the Godkiller.

  “I think you’re right.”

  Remy took the gun from the man’s bloody hands.

  Lazarus stepped slowly back, then sat upon a piece of floating stone. “Go ahead,” he said to Remy. “Load it up.”

  Remy flipped open the cylinder, staring into the chambers. Then he slipped the bullet into one of the black holes. The weapon thrummed in his hand as if it had somehow gained a pulse—a heartbeat. He looked to Lazarus, who was slumped upon the rock.

  “It won’t be long now,” Lazarus said, slurring his words.

  And Remy could feel that he was right. It was time for him to do what he’d been brought to this hellish reflection of his own reality to do.

  He was going to fix things. He was going to make things right.

  Looking out over the edge of the Golden City, he saw Francis standing below, looking sadly up at him. Waiting.

  Waiting, as this very world was waiting.

  Remy raised the gun, and Francis gave a barely perceptible nod of acceptance.

  The Seraphim turned away and gazed upon the Lord God as he hung frozen in time and space. He took a deep breath, walking toward the moment, remembering how it had all played out, Simeon’s commands rattling around inside his head, the ring of Solomon compelling him to do exactly as he was told.

  Now he awaited another command. Standing before God, he waited, pistol in hand. He was about to ask his Creator what was expected of him now, when his eyes were again pulled to the circular black hole in the center of the Almighty’s head. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, his stare becoming more and more intense—the hole seeming to grow larger the harder he concentrated upon it.

  Soon all that he saw was the hole.

  There was nothing but the lonely darkness.

  And that was when he knew what he had to do, raising the gun that had once been called Pitiless, before it was a Godkiller.

  Pitiless to all who fell to its bite . . . pitiless now to the void before it.

  Remy aimed the weapon into the dark and placed his finger upon the trigger.

  “Let there be light,” he said as he squeezed and fired.

  Murdering the darkness with light and what would follow.

  And there was light.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The world was ending.

  At least, that was how it seemed at the moment.

  Ashley held tightly to the trembling Marlowe, trying to be strong for him.

  This strange place somehow connected to Remy was coming apart.

  Did that mean Remy was gone?

  Where there had once been a sprawling park and a playground, there was now only gray static, and it was quickly finding its way toward where they waited, pushing them closer to the hole, which also continued to grow larger.

  Soon there would be no place for them to go.

  Ashley looked to the sky above them and, instead of blue, she saw only the salt-and-pepper snow of static.

  “If you can hear me, Assiel, it might be a good time for you to reach out,” she said, hugging Marlowe all the tighter.

  Marlowe seemed to be getting more nervous, struggling in her grasp.

  “It’s all right,” she tried to soothe him.

  But the dog shook off her arms, pushing her backward onto what remained of the grassy area.

  “Marlowe, no!” Ashley yelled as she scrambled to her feet.

  The dog had positioned himself at the lip of the spreading black hole and had begun to bark crazily, as if calling to their friend.

  “Marlowe,” she called again, crawling across the grass toward him. “Come here, boy.”

  He looked up, but his attention seemed to be captured by something behind her. He began to growl, and instinctively she turned around to see the wall of crackling white sweeping toward them.

  Moving far faster than it had before.

  Marlowe darted between the static and Ashley, barking and snarling wildly as it moved inexorably toward them.

  Such a brave boy, Ashley thought just before the wave covered them both.

  • • •

  The world was ending.

  Linda stood on the beach in the midst of the raging storm.

  The dark waters churned and boiled as hurricane-force winds whipped. She watched in horror as waterspouts formed in the air above the angry waters and jagged bolts of lightning stabbed from the heavens, as if attempting to agitate the storm to an even greater fury.

  She’d never experienced anything like it and doubted very much that she ever would again, for there was no doubt in her mind that this was the end.

  Her end.

  There was an instinctual part of her that was urging her to run, to seek cover and survive, but she knew there was nowhere in this world that she would be safe. This world wa
s ending, slowly coming apart at the seams, and to hide from the reality of the situation was pointless.

  Instead, she stood there cold and frightened, drenched by the crashing waves and torrential downpours, watching the world coming to an end and wondering what it all meant.

  Is he all right? Is Remy still alive, or is this a sign that . . .

  Lightning flashed, brightening the darkness of the sky, and though she had raised her hands to shield her eyes from the searing white light, she thought she saw something in the turbulent skies above the raging waters.

  She thought she saw a man, hovering in the eye of the storm.

  A man that she knew . . . and loved with all her heart and soul.

  Linda found herself wading into the dark waters, the pull of the shifting currents taking hold of her eagerly and dragging her away from the protection of the shore.

  She struggled to keep her head above the water, to see past the shifting, boiling cloud formations, to see if she could catch a glimpse of him.

  To see her Remy again.

  • • •

  The world was ending, and he was responsible.

  Remy Chandler floated in the eye of the cataclysm, at the center of a cosmic storm.

  He was the end . . .

  And the beginning.

  The Alpha and the Omega.

  It was up to him to pick up the pieces, to shape the new, to wield the stuff of creation. To make a better world from what had come before.

  For all intents and purposes, he was God, and the forces of creation bent to his beck and call.

  He would reshape this universe in his own image; he would be a part of all that was and will be. He would be in the sky above, and the earth below, in each and every drop of rain that fell and every single grain of sand that was trod upon. He would be in the sun and the moon and all the stars that shone down upon the multitude of worlds that he would form.

  He would be part of everything, and everything would be part of him.

  And gradually, little by little, the being that was once called Remy Chandler . . . Remiel . . . Seraphim . . . angel of Heaven began to go away.

  To forget what he had been.

  To become something far greater, until . . .

  There was a voice . . . little more than a whisper.