by Anne Conley
“Um…no.” Actually, she had last week, but Heather was feeling agreeable and didn’t want her mother angry because she couldn’t remember a conversation.
“Well, I was pretty good. But your father didn’t like for me to paint when I had Bryan. When he was a baby, he kept getting into my supplies, and your father said that I was taking crucial parenting time away from Bryan. I hated him for it.”
“So, you wish you had kept up with your painting?”
“I’m not sure now. I know that at the time, I resented the fool out of him for insisting that I stop, but in retrospect, I can’t imagine what I painted that would have been more important than my children.”
“What if your painting had been your only source of income and your family was dependent on you for it?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m not sure if I made the right choice or not, but I do wish I had fought him on it. I would have enjoyed having something just for myself. It's something you need to talk to him about. There may be a compromise you guys can come up with.” Her eyes looked over Heather’s shoulder. “Have you seen Bryan? I think he’s stopping by for a visit today.”
After an utterly confusing visit with her mother, Heather went to the rehab facility to check on Tiffany. She had gotten a voicemail that her sister was clean; she just needed to stay the mandatory six weeks to go through the program and the counseling. But she was free to receive visitors.
“You look like hell, Heather.” Her sister greeted her from behind greasy hair, but at least she was wearing clean clothes. They were sitting on a concrete bench in the courtyard. There was the sense of being outside, yet they were still surrounded by four walls covered with dying ivy.
“So do you. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Not my boyfriend, and I don’t know.”
“That’s a shame. He was cute.”
“You sound like Mom now.”
Tiffany laughed, and it was such a foreign sound to Heather’s ears. It sounded rough, guttural, and delightful and brought back long-forgotten memories. She smiled at her sister, for the first time in years.
Tiffany nudged Heather with her leg. “So what happened? He already have a girlfriend?”
“No, he just is too…perfect. I’m not the right girl for him.”
“Heather, look at yourself. You support your deadbeat sister and your delusional mother…”
“By stripping. And he doesn’t like it.”
“So, do something else.”
“Like what? I don’t have any education, Tiff. It’s not that easy.”
“What are you good at?”
“Dancing. That’s all.”
“So, give dance lessons.”
Heather looked at her sister as if she’d just grown a second head.
“I mean it. You could give pole dancing lessons in my apartment; it’s the perfect neighborhood.”
Heather had to admit, some parts of the idea had merit, but she was pretty sure that Tiffany’s apartment was not the perfect location.
“I’ll think about it.” Trying to change the subject, she asked, “So, all clean? You ready to finish the program?”
“Yeah. The counselors all seem pretty cool, and they say I’m through the worst of it, so…”
“So you just have to keep on keepin’ on?”
“Don’t lose him Heather.”
“What?”
“He seems special. Don’t lose him.”
Chapter 20
Heather left the club, slinging her purse over her shoulder. After giving Robbie a quick peck on the cheek, she began her walk home. As usual, she handed Sam about fifteen dollars, wishing him luck on his races.
She had befriended Sam about five years ago and knew that he liked to play the races. Only the horse races were entirely in his imagination. He used to gamble on them, and Heather suspected that he’d made himself homeless from the habit, but he was a nice man otherwise. She had sat with him, while he relived a race once, and it had been eye-opening for her, listening to his impassioned play by play of the event, as if he were actually there.
“Have fun at the races, Sam.” She said to his inert form, before continuing home.
As had become usual, Heather's thoughts turned to Uri to occupy her time on the walk home. As much as she tried to put him out of her mind, he was an ever-present entity, stalking her consciousness. It had been almost a week since they'd had the picnic, and she had tried in the last few days to simply forget he ever existed, thinking that would be easier than harping on what could have been. But his memory wouldn't dissipate, and she caught herself remembering the feel of her hand in his, the comfort that he brought her. His embrace had carried her to a warm serenity that she hadn't felt since her family was whole. He made her feel as if everything could be okay again. And she missed him.
Her mother's and her sister's words echoed in her head. Could they be right? Of course, they didn't know about Uri, and neither one of them were in their right mind. Although when she had spoken to them, her mother had been lucid, and her sister had been clean…But their minds were still damaged, weren't they? Did they really understand what they were talking about?
Heather wanted them to be right. She wanted nothing more than to be with Uri, but she couldn't bring herself to let him make the sacrifice for her. He was so perfect, in every sense of the word, and she was so…not perfect.
Almost stopping in her steps, Heather realized that both her mother and her sister had improved vastly since Uri had come into her life. Was there a connection? Could his presence be causing them to improve? He had said he didn't have any healing powers, but they were both better in her eyes. Although, maybe Uri being here was just helping her deal with things better.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't immediately hear the footsteps behind her, until they were close. She increased her pace, trying not to panic. Typically, this time of the morning, she was alone. Even the bad guys had gone to bed by now. The footsteps increased pace with hers, and she felt her heart rate increase. In the three years that she’d been living in her apartment, she had never felt threatened on the way home from work. In fact, when she'd first started living where she lived now, she'd had to fight with Mama for the privilege of walking home. Mama had wanted somebody to give Heather a ride for safety's sake, but she had insisted she would be okay. Tonight, though, she felt the crackle of danger in the air.
As usual, her surroundings were deserted, and she threw a quick glance over her shoulder to see who was following. She didn’t see anybody, but the second set of footsteps continued to plague her. And they sounded close, she should have been able to see somebody behind her.
Heather started jogging to the safety of her home.
Certain that the speeding footsteps behind her weren’t a figment of her imagination, Heather let out an involuntary gasp when they came closer. She increased her pace to a run, breathing heavily. Grasping her bag in both hands in front of her to swing at an attacker, her breath came in ragged gasps as her heart pounded faster. She swallowed down the panic gripping her, reminding herself not to lose it. She needed a cool head.
Suddenly, she was locked in an iron embrace around her neck. Her attacker whispered in her ear, “Heaven, it’s so nice to be near you again.” She was overwhelmed with the smell of burnt matches, the odor, she now knew was brimstone. Damien’s voice came to her again, as he pulled her body against him. “I wish you had been more accommodating. I loathe using force.” The low, throaty chuckle contradicted his statement though, and a rising panic threatened to overwhelm her as he started dragging her into an alley behind an abandoned convenience store. She knew nobody would see her, or hear her screams, not at this time of morning.
Damien spun Heather around and threw her against the wall, his eyes transforming to the scaly red demon eyes that she had seen the other morning at her apartment. As they came nearer to her face, Heather choked back a scream of horror. Screaming would do her n
o good, not now.
As she looked at Damien through fear-filled eyes, she realized that he wasn't just after her. He was after everything good in the world. He knew about God's plan to let the archangels fall, and she was nothing more than a pawn to Damien, a way to foil His plans for Uriel. Suddenly, she was filled with a scorching need to impede his designs on Uri.
Clasping her purse in one hand, Heather found the strength to break out of Damien's grasp and swing with all her power, hitting him in the head, whipping it back.
He swung around, and looked at her. His scaly red eyes were filled with hate and an unnamed evil, older than time. A smug smirk that resembled a snarl came to his lips, as he stalked towards her.
She gripped her purse, ready to swing again, as he said to her, "Fighting just makes me want you more, Heaven." The snarl on his mouth left her chilled to the bone.
"Stop calling me that." Her breath was ragged with fear.
Damien threw back his head and laughed, a truly demonic sound. Of course, he was the original demon, so Heather shouldn't have been so shocked at the sound, but she was. Terror coursed through her, and she looked around wildly for a weapon that would save her.
"Surely you see the irony in it, don't you? God has chosen you for Uriel. You, of all the people in this world; He has chosen a stripper for one of his favorites. A temptress, one step away from a whore." He spat the words as he spoke them, and Heather could see the depth of his hatred for anything holy. She shuddered.
Suddenly, a blinding white light flared in her peripheral vision, and she felt the familiar white heat of Uriel, although when she looked around, she couldn’t see him anywhere. Damien used her distraction to press himself against her again, the smell of brimstone bringing bile up her throat.
"Last chance, Heather. Come with me, or I'll kill everyone that's dear to you. Mother will suffer from a stroke, Tiffany will overdose, and Uriel will be gone forever. He's human, now. Can't you tell? He's mortal. I can kill him."
Heather's heart climbed to her throat. Was it true? Could Uri die now? As if in slow motion, Heather imagined her life without Uri, going on exactly as she had up until now, and she found that it was a life she no longer wanted to lead. Life without Uriel was nothing for her. A sob escaped her throat, as she realized what Damien was asking of her. Either way, she wouldn't have Uri. Either she went with Damien, and Uri lived, or she didn't, and Uri died. At least in one scenario, she wouldn't be killing him herself. Not outright, anyway.
But if Uri was human, that meant that he'd fallen in love with her, and what would it do to him, to know that she had gone with Damien?
Tears streamed down her face, as she looked into the scaly crimson eyes of the demon pinning her against the wall. He was patiently awaiting her answer.
"Where?"
"Where ever you would like, my love." His voice was seductive again, soft and husky, but his eyes were still terrifying to her. She could still feel the heat in her belly, and her eyes darted around, searching for Uri. He was here. She could feel him.
Uri's incredible blue eyes flashed in her mind, and then his voice, He's lying, Heather. He's called the Deceiver for a reason. Don't listen to him.
"I-I don't believe you." Heather summoned every ounce of courage she could find to hurl those words at him, as terrifying as his presence was. It didn't matter if he told her he would send a plague to wipe out all mankind on earth, she couldn't go with him.
Then the blinding white light that she'd only had a sense of until now, became more prevalent, until it was a force behind Damien. Heather squinted over his shoulder into the light and saw the outline of a figure in the middle of it.
Damien must have sensed the presence behind him, because his beady eyes narrowed, and his grip on her arms tightened. Heather let out a blood-curdling shriek as Damien shed his human form and changed into the red demon, covered with scales. "Your hero has arrived, Heaven. Let's see how well he fights as a human." The voice coming out of the body sent shuddering chills through Heather's body.
The white-hot angel threw himself at the now red demon, and they fought a battle of strength, pushing against each other, emitting low, tonal growls that reverberated off the bricks surrounding them.
Damien quickly attained the upper hand, pushing Uriel against a dumpster with a resounding boom.
"I will not have your leftovers, Uriel. For once, I will have what I deserve!" Damien's voice was deafening in the cramped alley.
Recovering quickly, Uriel ran at Damien, shoving his back to the wall of the store next to Heather, sending shards of brick and mortar crumbling to the concrete. She ducked out of the way, hiding behind a pile of boxes.
She heard Uri's soft voice, a menacing whisper, "You don't deserve her, you foul menace."
Damien roared, a wholly inhuman sound, while his eyes flared in anger. Instantly, Uriel held his hand heavenward, mouthing a silent plea, and a sword appeared, bathed in the same white-hot incandescent light of his body. Heather could see Uri's eyes, filled with anger and something else. Fear? Why would he be afraid?
Heather was overwhelmed by the smell of brimstone, combined with Uri's distinctly spicy scent. It was so strong in the air that it seemed to permeate her pores, and she wasn't sure she would ever recover from it. Fear had gripped Heather, and paralyzed her. She couldn't move to help Uri, nor could she move to help herself. Helpless, she could only watch, as equally matched, they fought a battle of wills.
Seeing the weapon, Damien feinted right, before dodging left, while Uriel’s sword swept across the wall, leaving a ragged cut in the bricks. He turned to face Damien, whose outstretched hand made contact with Uriel’s shoulder with a sickening crunch.
Uriel’s voice could be heard over Damien’s roaring, as he spoke toward his heavenly guardian, “Lord, deliver me from evil, for thine is the kingdom…” His sword flashed impossibly bright, and Heather had to look away. When she looked back, Damien was gone, and Uriel’s angelic form had been replaced with a slumped, very human, very bloody, Uri.
Heather ran to him, and put her hand on his forehead.
“Uri?”
“Hmmm…”
“Come on.” She tried to help him up, but he was too heavy. “You have to help me a little here. Can you get up?”
Slowly, he tried to stand, and Heather was able to get him to his feet. Together, they limped to her apartment, which wasn't far but seemed to take hours. She managed to get him inside and helped him to her bed.
She took his shirt off to see his shoulder, and was horrified at the gash that had been ripped into it.
“Oh, Uri!” Cursing her meager first aid kit, she ended up listening to Uri scream in pain while she poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound, before wrapping it in a clean tee shirt that she had ripped apart. She didn't know angels could bleed.
“It hurts…” Uri whimpered, as she handed him some aspirin and a glass of water.
“Shh…I know. Shh…” Heather tried to calm him the way that he calmed her, by holding him and imagining an shroud of peace surrounding him. She had no idea if it worked. Eventually he fell asleep.
Heather lay down next to him, reaching her arm around him, imagining herself a calming blanket, before she finally fell asleep too.
Chapter 21
When Heather awoke, she looked over at Uri. He was hopelessly beautiful. She ached when she looked at him, his blond hair falling over his forehead, his large, full mouth opened slightly in sleep. Looking at him now, she could hardly reconcile the angelic beauty with the fierce warrior she'd seen last night. She remembered the hate and fear in his eyes and the strength radiating from his form, as she watched him sleep in her bed, healing his wounds.
Tentatively, she leaned over him and kissed him softly on his mouth, reminding herself of the feel of his lips. Warm and soft. Leaning back, she remembered the kiss they had shared in the park, when he had told her about God’s offer.
The truth was, Heather had fallen in love with Uri the first time she had d
anced for him.
Speaking of dancing, she had to get to work. She had slept longer than she realized, and needed to get into the shower. Uri was still asleep, so she left a note telling him to make himself comfortable and that she would be home as soon as she could after work. She wanted to talk to him.
Heather had been at the club a few hours and was up on the stage for her second performance, when she saw Uri walk over to a spot in front of the stage to watch her. She was surprised to see him, thinking that he would wait for her to come home after she finished tonight.
He looked awful. His ordinary healthy complexion was waxy and gray. Dark shadows colored the skin under his eyes, which looked at her with anxiety. She tried to convey the question “Are you okay?” to him silently and was rewarded with a slight shake of his head.
After her dance number, she went straight to him.
“Can we go someplace private?” He asked her with a desperate tone in his voice.
“Sure, give me a minute, let me talk to Mama.” She replied, gently squeezing his uninjured shoulder.
When she found Mama in the back room, she asked, “I have a client who wants a private room. Is there one available?”
Mama turned to look at her squarely, her mouth turned down at the corners. “Heaven, I know who it is, and if he’s a client, I’ll eat my shoes. You watch yourself, girl. You’ve been pretty good the entire time you’ve been here. Now isn’t the time to start breaking the rules.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She looked at Heaven, sadness in her eyes and said, "You've been a wonderful dancer, Heather." The rare use of her given name brought Heather up short.
"Are you firing me?"
"No, I can tell when I'm about to lose a girl, and I'll be sorry to lose you. But you'll go on to better things than this. I just know it."
Heather was dumbstruck; she didn't have a clue what to say.
“Room six.” Mama said simply and turned her back to Heather.
“Thank you, Mama.”
Heather led Uri by the hand to the nicest private room in the place. It was larger than the rest and had a couch in addition to a stool. It was generally used for high rollers, or bachelor parties, times when there would be more than one girl in the room with the men.
