by Anne Conley
She had caught Tiffany living on the streets once, the second time she’d lost an apartment. Heather had been riding her bike to pick up something from the grocery store and had seen her sister begging for money on a corner. Fate must have intervened that day. As large as this city was, it was pure chance that she had run across Tiffany before she managed to get into a car with a stranger for money.
She had brought her home with her right then. Not that it had worked out. Eventually, they had come to the current arrangement, which worked out for Tiffany, though not so well for Heather. It did keep her sister off the streets, though, which was her goal.
“What all do you do for her?” Uri inquired, breaking her reverie.
Heather waved her hand, dismissively. “Oh, I pay her rent, buy her food, try to get her to eat, bathe her, make sure she has clean clothes to wear. Nothing much.” She was trying not to be bitter and sarcastic, but it was hard to keep the emotions tamped down.
“Why?”
She looked at him, surprised. “Because she’s my sister. As many mistakes as she has made in her own life, I still love her. I can’t seem to help myself.” She looked down at her lap. “I know I’m enabling her in her addiction, all the self-help groups say so, but I can’t let her live on the streets. She would kill herself.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to fight back the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. “I’m not going to lose her that way.”
Uri reached for her hand and held it reassuringly. She felt comfort radiate from him, and she let him pull her closer, so that she was laying her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, and the serenity that emanated from him calmed her down.
“Do you have other family?” He asked, quietly.
“My mother has early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. She lives in a home near here. I used to have her living with me, but it got to where I couldn’t take care of her. She burned down the house. She was lucky to get out alive.”
“I’m sorry, Heather. I didn’t know.” His hand stroked her back, like she was a child. Heather admitted to herself it felt really good to be in somebody else’s arms, to have somebody else comfort her for a change. She decided to go ahead and tell him everything. Something about him made her feel at ease. Besides, she must be drunk. He'd just told her he was an archangel, and here she was spilling out her life story, something she'd never done with anybody else.
“We used to be such a happy family." Her voice was quiet, as if talking too loudly would make all her demons appear here in her living room. The tears that were threatening to spill had gone, but she felt the need to tell him everything.
“We went on family vacations. We went to church. We had dinner at the table at six o’clock every night, as a family.” She took a fortifying breath. “Then Dad and Bryan went on their annual hunting trip. Man time, they called it. Bryan had just turned sixteen.” She still had her head on his chest, and was looking at his legs. “Dad let Bryan drive and nobody knows what happened after that. But the accident killed Bryan instantly, and Dad died at the scene.” She wiped her nose with her hand. “That’s when Tiffany started smoking pot. We had just turned thirteen. Mom stopped cooking meals for us. Not on purpose, I don’t think. But she just went into a depression that spiraled out of control. We started living on Ramen noodles and TV dinners. Mom and Tiffany never fully recovered. Tiff’s pot habit turned into more serious stuff, and the next thing I knew, she was in bad shape. Mom never got out of the depression...then the Alzheimer’s hit. It was slow, at first. She would forget little stuff. Stuff that I thought was the depression, like laundry or not going to the bank. A whole bunch of checks would bounce because she forgot to deposit something. Little stuff.” Heather sat up, running her hands through her hair. She couldn’t stop now. She had to finish telling him.
“Then she started cooking more than one dinner. As soon as we’d finished eating, she would do the dishes and start cooking again. She’d forget where we kept stuff, like the coffee. By this time, Tiff and I had graduated high school but were still at home. Tiff was scarce, her addiction having taken over her life. I was taking classes at the community college where we lived. I was going to start dancing at the club and live at home. I took Mom to the doctor, thinking maybe she needed stronger anti-depressants or something. That’s when she was diagnosed."
She looked at Uri, tears brimming in her eyes. He was staring at her, wide-eyed, a sympathy in his face, a downward twist to his mouth. "She was forty-eight years old, diagnosed with a disease that hits people twenty years older. It was so unfair. And it progressed rapidly. Two years later, I had forgone college to stay at home with her. I was still working at the club because Dad’s SSI checks didn’t last all month, and the life insurance money was gone. She was waking up in the middle of the night and doing stuff around the house. At first it was safe stuff, like watching TV in the nude, stuff like that. One night, though, she decided to make a batch of fried cauliflower for some reason. She burned down the house. I had to put her in the home after that.”
She stopped talking, and Uri was silent, but his hand was still stroking her hair. The gesture was unbelievably comforting, and Heather found herself turning her face to his hand, so it cupped her cheek. She looked into his eyes. “I’m not sure why I told you all that.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a surprisingly intimate gesture, coming from him. “You are the light of your family, Heather.” His voice was soft, and Heather was struck again by the intimacy of it.
“Yeah, well. Whatever.” Her head dropped again to his chest, and he continued to stroke her hair. His breathing was even, warm on the top of her head, and his heartbeat was strong in his chest, lulling her into a sense of peace. Before she realized it, her eyelids were droopy, and her own breathing eased.
“Uri…”
“Yes, Heather?” He murmured quietly, his breath warm against the top of her head.
“I’m tired. Would you mind?” She started to sit up.
“No, not at all. I should go.” He rose from the couch, and reached for her arm. “Thank you for telling me that. I know you probably don’t trust everyone with that information.” Clasping her hand in his, he squeezed once before letting go.
“Well, aside from all that angel business, you seem pretty okay. Compared to the rest of the people in my life, you seem normal.” She giggled, a nervous sound coming from within her.
He laughed and pulled her into a hug. Surprised, she froze an instant before relaxing into his powerful embrace. The warmth that emanated from him seemed to intermingle with the heat in her belly and infused her with a satisfying comfort that she hadn’t known since her father was alive.
She inhaled deeply of his spicy scent and released him. “Thank you, Uri. For coming over and…listening to me.”
He looked at her steadily. “And thank you, for feeding me. I can’t remember when I’ve had a meal as good. And thank you for listening to me. Maybe someday, I can do something to make you have a little faith.” Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss across her forehead, turned, and walked out her door.
Locking up behind him, Heather felt a strange sense of loss at his absence. He was definitely a strange man, but something about him brought her comfort. A comfort that she hadn’t realized she needed.
Heather had never told anybody the things that she'd told Uri tonight. She'd never felt comfortable enough to let anyone into her life like that. She'd never trusted anybody the way she trusted Uri. It was weird that he thought he was an archangel. But there was something about him that made Heather feel comfortable in his presence.
Chapter 11
Uri sat in his sparse apartment surrounded by the items that he’d collected through the millennia. He thought back to his various assignments. He remembered each one, since Eden. Once he and his brothers realized that times were changing, they needed to change along with them to fit in, so they each got some sort of storage system.
For Uri, it was a box car. He kept it load
ed with clothing, books, and mementoes of certain assignments. He kept the items until they were hopelessly out of date, no longer of use, or rotten. It was a weakness he indulged in.
When he began a new assignment, the box car was shipped to him, and he unloaded it into new lodgings. It usually worked out well for him and kept him from having to start over from scratch each assignment.
This assignment was still a puzzle, though. He could not figure out what this woman’s destiny was. The fact that the Boss wouldn’t tell him, was an enigma in itself, although Uri knew from millennia of experience not to question the Boss. He knew best in all situations, and it did no good to question.
Heather was special, though. Uri could see that. He just didn’t see any special talents, or ideas, or world-changing events in her future. He didn’t see anything in her future, and that bothered him. Not that that meant she didn’t have a future. It just bothered him that he couldn’t see it. He could usually see some sort of future for his targets. That was the point of his job here. To show the target their future, if they chose a certain path…
Heather’s admissions to him last night about her family had managed to stir something inside Uri that he hadn’t felt in thousands of years. Empathy.
He used to empathize with the humans long ago. But their sins became too numerous, too vicious, too immoral. Humans had become corrupt, greedy, and weak in Uri’s eyes. He continued to do the work he was created to do because he didn’t know anything else. But while his motivations were ethereal, his targets' motivations were much less so. It had been a long time since one of his assignments had fulfilled their destiny to please God, instead of going for the fame involved. Uri longed for something more, but he had no idea what.
He could see what He had been talking about with her sacrifices though. Heather had the compassion that most of humankind, in his experience, was lacking. She housed her addicted sister, who surely didn’t appreciate her efforts. She took care of her addle-brained mother, who would never be in her right mind again. She grieved for the lost father and brother, silently, so she could continue to care for the others in her family and make sure that they survived. And she did it without question. There was no other option for Heather. Uri could see that this was a sacrifice that she would make, given other choices.
But she did it by stripping for money.
Reconciling the two personas, compassionate Heather with sinful Heaven, was difficult for Uri. Granted, he hadn’t asked her much about the stripping, so he didn’t know the whole story there. He knew he was generalizing with her.
Her stage name was Heaven. How ironic.
She was the closest to Paradise that Uri had ever been with a human’s touch. He didn’t understand it.
When she had rested her head on his chest last night, he had found himself enveloped in a cocoon of pleasure. Pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known before. He longed to feel it again.
Uri stood and paced around his cramped apartment, fingering relics he’d held onto for one reason or another. He had a lock of Anne’s hair, held together by a decaying ribbon. He had letters, papers, and books from various authors and composers, which needed to be packed away in some of that acid-free paper before they rotted into oblivion. He had a telephone from Mr. Bell, just as he had an iPhone from Steve Jobs. In fact, Steve had given him the phone because Uri had one from Alexander. He hadn't wanted to be outdone. Uri had a piece of a conveyer belt that Henry Ford had created, enabling him to mass produce his automobile so cheaply. He had a shirt from Dr. King.
They were souvenirs. That’s all. He didn’t particularly need them to remember each target, but he kept them nonetheless. Today, he was glad that he had souvenirs, because he wanted to give Heather something. He’d never felt the desire to do that before and wasn’t sure what it meant.
The Boss had told him to follow his instincts. And here he was looking through his knick-knacks for something in particular. Once he found it, he breathed a sigh of relief and set it aside for the next time he saw Heather.
Chapter 12
Heather decided to enjoy a rare day off by soaking in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and then reading a book. She had seen Tiffany yesterday and knew what today would be like. So she decided to spare herself the trouble of nagging her sister for not having changed clothes or eating. She wasn’t due to see her mother again for another few days, and she didn’t have to dance tonight, so she was free.
She ran the water as hot as she could stand it, adding bubble bath that smelled like lilies. Making sure she had her fluffy bathrobe handy for getting out, she undressed and sank neck deep into the steaming water.
Uri filled her thoughts.
His assertions of being an archangel, sent here to help her fulfill her destiny were absurd. She was angry that things had to be this way because she felt like she had finally met someone that she could like.
They had a connection, the heat told her that. She could feel his nearness, even if she couldn’t see him. The flame in her belly told her.
The physical comfort that she got from being near him was another connection. Last night she had almost fallen asleep, immediately after telling him her life’s story. She couldn’t sleep after thinking about that stuff, much less talking about it.
And he’d enjoyed watching her dance. Her ballet. He’d preferred it. Heather liked that.
She closed her eyes, and remembered that first night, in private room number two. He had hummed Swan Lake while she danced for him. She could tell from the look on his face that he enjoyed it. That memory was quickly becoming a favorite of hers, something that she would lock away and save for dark times, to pull out like an old note, to finger and re-read until it was worn and frayed around the edges.
She wanted to dance for him again.
Heather finished washing and stood from the tub, drying her body with a towel. She wrapped herself in her robe and went to choose a book from her shelves.
Trying to decide between Paradise Lost and On Nature, a knock at the door interrupted her.
She opened the door a crack, then wider, as a smile formed on her lips. “Speak of the Devil and imps appear.”
Uri stood in her doorway, a funny smile on his lips. When she opened the door wide, he came inside her living room. “Were you thinking of me?” He looked proud of himself.
Shyly, she answered. “Yes.”
His eyes took on a hungry look that rocked Heather to the core. Like a predator, he advanced, his athletic build coming closer. “You are all I’ve been thinking about, Heaven.” In an instant, he was on her, pushing her against the wall behind the door. “I want you.” He kissed her.
Her senses overwhelmed, Heather kissed him back. His cool, wet tongue was in her mouth, warring with hers, as if her very soul was at stake. She moaned into his mouth, eliciting a primal growl from him.
His hands went to the belt of her robe, and yanked on it, roughly. His fingertips brushed the robe off her shoulders, in one chilly stroke. His hands were all over her, lifting her against the wall by her rear, pulling her against his arousal. Her hands slipped under his tee shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest, scratching with her nails in her desire.
She was surrounded with the essence of Uri, the feel of him, the smell of him. She breathed deeply, inhaling the burnt smell.
Shock opened her eyes, as she realized she wasn’t kissing Uri at all. She tried to push him off her, but this one was too strong.
“Stop.” She mouthed against his mouth, still insistently kissing hers. Heather recognized him, the dichotomy of the cool touch and burnt smell. It was Damien’s frigidity. Not Uri’s spicy warmth.
“Damien! Stop!” She pushed against him, with all of her strength but realized it was in vain. She was no match for him.
She closed her mouth, biting the tip of his tongue, causing him to finally retreat. He looked at her with a smirk on his face.
She watched stunned, wrapping her robe around herself tightly, as Uri’s golden featur
es melded into something truly horrifying, before morphing again into the dark handsomeness of Damien. His eyes were the last to transform, fading from the scaly red evil into the black orbs of apathy.
Tears sprang to Heather’s eyes as she realized exactly what Damien was and why he'd seemed so evil to her.
"Yes, Heaven. I am." His voice was smug. "It's a relief, actually, to not have to pretend anymore." Damien advanced on her, pinning her to the wall again, this time completely against her will. His cold body rubbed against hers.
"My entire existence, I've been blamed." His tongue snaked out, licking Heather's neck, before slinking back inside his mouth, which covered her neck in cold open-mouthed kisses. He spoke between contacts with her neck. "I've been blamed for bad luck." Kiss. "For war." Kiss. "For disease." Kiss. "Famine." Kiss. "Bad dreams." Kiss. Each clammy press of his lips to her skin sending a shudder throughout her body.
He raised his head, and looked Heather squarely in the face. "I used to be like Uri, you know. But then He got mad at me, and threw me down, and now, I can't have anything good." His hands were on Heather's hips, and she squirmed under his touch as his icy fingers slowly made their way up her rib cage, cupping her breasts.
Heather gasped at the icy contact. "Damien, please."
Damien's eyes caressed her lips. "I want something good, for a change. I want you." His gaze locked on hers. "I will have my Heaven." Giving her breasts a hard squeeze, he released her abruptly, stepping back. "One way or another, willing or unwilling, I will have you."
Heather found the strength to open the door, wide. “Get out, Damien.”
He sauntered past, slowly, antagonizing her with his movements. “See you later, Heather.”
Fingers shaking, she locked all of the locks on the door, then moved her wingback chair in front of it, feeling incredibly vulnerable. Expelling wracking sobs, she sank to the floor in a heap.
