The Immortals Trilogy Books 1-3: Tales of Immortality, Resurrection and the Rapture (BOX SET)

by C. F. Waller

  “And I have seen her raised as many times,” I sigh under my breath as Balthazar comes my way wiping sweat off his forehead.

  “I understand why the Apostles were so impressed. That is one hell of a trick.”

  “Shouldn’t you be going,” I complain, sick of being in the presence of Satan’s errand boy.

  “Errand boy,” he scoffs, offended, reading everyone’s thoughts including mine.

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “You should be nicer to me,” he raises an eyebrow. “When you come down you might need a favor.”

  “Maybe I am going up?”

  “How quaint,” he grins. “You’re not aware of your predicament.”

  “What predicament?” I reply, perfectly aware of what Arron and I previously discussed,

  “You’re on the Naughty List,” he explains. “All of you are on the Naughty List.”

  “Naughty List being?”

  “The Almighty has been trying to eradicate you for thousands of years. His own Angel suffers in Hell because of your disobediences,” he cries gleefully. “The very act of resurrection is offensive to a degree heretofore unreached by even my Master. None of your names will appear in the Book of Life and you will be judged roughly, then, turned over to me.”

  “Maybe I will repent my sins.”

  “No, no, no,” he jeers, tapping his pipe on his nose, then, pointing it at me. “You have been shown the truth and as such, can never possess absolute faith.”

  “So we all stay alive as long as possible, then join you for eternity?”

  “Probably,” he shrugs.

  “Probably?” I huff. “You seemed pretty sure a minute ago.”

  “On two occasions we thought Miss Ben-Ahron had joined us for eternity,” he shrugs. “It would seem that etching words in stone is a thing of the past.”

  “But when she dies,” I toss out, then pause. “I mean when she dies again.”

  “Straight to hell,” Balthazar chuckles. “The poor woman’s going to need a bus pass for the river Styx.”

  Rahnee meanders over, followed by her family. She’s holding the leather jacket together in front to compensate for the ripped blouse. I recall her carefree, almost whore-ish attitude toward others seeing her naked at the cottage, then it dawns on me. She’s fully returned this time. In truth, I have never met the real Rahnee. She and Balthazar wander back to the door in a deep conversation. They speak in a dialect unfamiliar to me. One must take into account her considerable time spent down below. Who knows what skills she may possess, including whatever language this is. Lord knows she can play chess. In the end, she shakes his hand and holds the door open for him. It’s an odd visual looking at her next to the bloody stain on the door punctuated with a hole where the sword passed through it. What tales might she tell or would she even want to speak them aloud?

  “Let’s get out of her,” Arron elbows me in the arm.

  I start to go, but then turn slowly in the center of the room. Voices can be heard down the left corridor. I put up a finger to the group and approach the hall slowly. As I peek down the left corridor two maids rush past me babbling. They clearly have their heart set on escape.

  “Wait,” I beg, grabbing the closest one by the upper arm.

  She scowls at me and fights to pull away.

  “Annie,” I mouth slowly. “Where is Annie?”

  She shakes her head frantically, then jerks away, following her counterpart out the door.

  “You coming?” Jenn calls from the door where the two maids are filing past.

  “I’ll just be a second,” I explain. “Promise to hold the elevator for me.

  “Don’t be long,” Rahnee shouts. “I’m starving.”

  “A good sign to be sure,” I remark and receive a half smile in return.

  They slip out the door into the courtyard, leaving me alone. I have never been down any of the passageways on this side of the hall before, but push forward slowly in poorly lit corridors. Peeking in many door-less rooms as I pass, none appear to be living quarters. After travelling past over a dozen, water begins to puddle on the floor. It smells of rot the way a stagnant pool does. Cracks on the ceiling indicate that this is a low spot in the complex and water is dripping in from somewhere. Two rooms lay at the end of this hall and in the second, I find Annie.

  An inch of putrid water stands on one half of the unevenly leveled floor. A single bed and a wash basin are all that reside here. On the disheveled bed lies what remains of the poor girl. I cannot be sure how much time has passed since she expired, but more than one day at minimum. She lay in the fetal position under two blankets, the cut under her eye hanging open, unhealed. Possibly she’s been dead more than a day given it has not improved in the slightest.

  I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, trying not to breathe through my nose. So often people look at peace in passing, but Annie looks as if in a struggle. Eyes clenched shut, cold fingers gripping the blanket. It’s horrifying to witness and I turn away, a tear running down my cheek. My deeply held disgust with Rhea’s penchant for gambling on people’s lives puts a foul taste in my mouth. Even Helen partook of these abominations.

  “Who was she,” Jennifer’s voice startles me from the doorway.

  “Just a girl,” I remark, wiping my eyes and trying to collect myself.

  “She’s so thin. What happened to her?”

  “She was starved to death as part of a wager,” I explain, running my hand over her head and the sparse hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenn offers, coming up next to me and draping her arm over my shoulder.

  “I tried to intervene on her behalf, but—,” I sigh unable to finish my statement.

  “Would you like me to intervene for you?”

  At first I am elated, but then recall my conversation with the Devils little helper. He had stated beyond a doubt that resurrection was a sin of the highest magnitude. While Jennifer’s and my own name are entrenched on the Naughty List, where is Annie headed? If Jenn should manage to wake her, would we steal eternity from the girl? I already stole her hope with a cake knife. I must drift off, as Jenn tweaks my ear.

  “Edward?”

  “Even if I did, we seem to have run out of donors.”

  “I still have a bit of Zerk floating around in here,” she offers, tapping her chest.

  “Enough to—,” I ponder aloud, gazing on Annie’s troubled face.

  “Hard to say. Mom was embalmed one time and stabbed to death the second. This poor thing just looks asleep.”

  “Looks as if she’s trapped in a nightmare.”

  “I can try,” Jenn whispers. “Close your eyes and don’t look.”

  I do at first, but wind up watching. A very soft blue light dribbles down Jenn’s fingertip onto Annie’s cheek. A few ragged breaths give me hope, but then the light flickers and moves back and forth between them. Jenn gazes at me and shakes her head slowly, lowering her forehead onto mine. I take her free hand and hold it between both of mine, squeezing.

  “Take what you need.”

  “No,” she advises, shaking her head. “I won’t”

  “You have received all you desired,” I beg. “I stayed with you, then assisted your mother. Just today I ran carelessly across the hall to deliver you the key. I would never claim you are in my debt, but do this one thing for me.”

  “No.”

  “Am I somehow less deserving of a wish than you?”

  Jenn wants to argue, but whatever look I wear on my face seems to have stymied her for an argument.

  “Promise to help her when she wakes up,” I plead. “If I am unable.”

  Jenn nods, a tear now on her cheek. When she begins, I’m frozen. The feeling is akin to an electric shock only there are no muscle contractions. I do see Annie’s eyes open before mine close. When asked, Balthazar had compared Hell to New York? It could be worse; he might have said Los Angeles.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aspen Colorado

  Twenty-three
years later…

  The doorbell rings, jarring me from a pleasant dream. I awake in my favorite recliner and wipe drool off the side of my face. I toss my body forward to get the leg section of the recliner to retract, struggling to stand. The scent of meat and potato’s fills the room. It’s warm, a fireplace throwing shadows on the walls. The doorbell rings impatiently, ding, ding, ding, as if an unknown finger holds it down deliberately.

  “Are you getting that?” Annie’s voice chirps from the kitchen archway. “Edward, are you even awake?”

  “Yeah, hold the phone,” I complain fumbling with my cane, then hobbling through the living room.

  I flip on the porch light and squint through the peephole. After trying this twice, I fail to find the aggressive bell ringer.

  “Who is it?” her voice begs.

  “No one. Just a prank,” I advise, pulling the door open to make sure.

  “Not a prank Edward. I’d say it’s more of an opportunity.”

  On the other side of the door is a smiling man in a long black coat and gloves. A red scarf is tucked around his neck as he bounces up and down a bit as if trying to stay warm. Without explanation, he puts out a hand and shakes mine hard.

  “You are?” I scowl, pulling my hand back. “Have we met previously?”

  “Gabriel, but we haven’t met in person. My, my, you are far greyer than the picture in your file.”

  I half close the door, unsure who this person is. What file?

  “What can I do for you Gabriel?”

  “Might I come in so we can discuss a most interesting proposal?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t know you. Ask me what you need to and be on your way.”

  “They were right about you Edward,” he rolls his eyes. “You must always see, to believe.”

  My decision to slam the door is complete, but before I can take action, the man on the porch looks both ways down the street, then leans to one side and winks. His confidence is off putting. The door is only inches from latching shut when a sudden gust of wind blows it in, knocking me back. On the porch Gabriel is wiggling a medium sized wing of pure white feathers. It’s more of a piece of a wing, which makes sense as Rhea’s were enormous. He wiggles it a few more times, then, it disappears in a loud snap.

  “You’re an Angel?”

  “Keep it down will ya,” he jokes, pushing past me and into the house.

  “I don’t care for angels,” I complain, slamming the door.

  “Nice place you have here,” he offers, pulling off his gloves and rubbing his hands together.

  “State your business quickly?”

  “Your hair is terribly grey,” he mutters touching the side of my head. “And looks like you need to eat a salad and take a walk.”

  “My full figured appearance aside,” I complain, sucking in my stomach. “Tell me what you want or out in the snow you go.”

  “Take it easy grandpa,” he jokes, then raises his hands to indicate his apology.

  “Well?”

  “We are going to need you, Jenn, Rahnee and Arron to help us out with something,” he explains. “I think we can make it worth your time.”

  “I haven’t seen them in years, a decade even. What do you want with them?”

  “In short, the time of the Son’s return is upon us and the Big Guy,” he pauses to point up. “Would like you guys to pop down to hell and bring Rhea back.”

  “Pop where and do what?”

  “Hell,” he repeats loudly, as if I am deaf as well as fat. “He would like to get her topside before the whole Tribulation and Rapture debacle starts. Once he pulls the trigger on that, whatever’s down there stays there.”

  “Why don’t you go?”

  “Angels are not permitted admission into Hell.”

  “Rhea got in,” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “What I mean to say is that my brother Lucifer would never allow such a thing.”

  “But we can?”

  “Think about it Edward. Rahnee has already been there twice. She knows her way around. Jennifer’s got the whole resurrection getaway car down pat. It’s a smash and grab job. In and out, quick as a whistle.”

  “Fine, they can go. Why do you need me?”

  “I doubt Annie would go unless you do.”

  “Annie what?” I stutter, pausing to gather my thoughts.

  “Edward, who’s at the door,” she calls out from the kitchen.

  “No one dear,” I shout back, then lower my voice to a whisper. “Why do you need Annie. Is it because she was dead already? She and Rahnee know their way around.”

  “Of course not,” he whispers, peeking around me to make sure Annie remains cooking. “Annie has never been to Hell. She’s a member in good standing up top,” he explains, pointing up.

  “Then why her?”

  “Once you grab Rhea there’s a good chance Lucifer will notice. If that happens Jennifer can’t just tap the ruby slippers together and wish you back. God can’t just reach into the underworld and grab a bunch of sinners,” he lectures. “There are rules you know.”

  “Fine, why Annie.”

  “Annie’s not a forsaken soul. It’s within the rules to latch onto her and pull you all back,” he sighs. “Besides she will have certain abilities down there. You’re going to need her.”

  “Outside of that fact that you’re crazy,” I huff, pushing him towards the door. “Why would any of us agree to help you?”

  “They already agreed,” he reveals. “We offered them a standard Repentance Agreement.”

  “Repentance what?”

  “Agreement, Repentance Agreement, it’s boilerplate stuff. If you go and bring Rhea back, we take you off the Naughty List. You’re all redeemed.”

  I ponder this, as not burning in hell, does have a certain appeal. Given my now mortal status since loaning half my life force to Annie it’s often on my mind. Avoiding an I told you so from Balthazar is also a high priority. Any desire I might have to better my situation has to be tempered with the fear of bringing harm to her. Given a choice, she would never deny me. My sacrifice has left her indebted to me, if only in her mind. I don’t feel that way however. I knew what I was doing.

  “No,” I answer, but am cut off.

  “Who’s this?” Annie asks, adjusting her apron over her cherubic figure in the kitchen archway.

  “He was just leaving,” I insist, pulling the door open.

  “Gabriel,” he bows his head. “You would be Annie.”

  She grins and puts a hand up on her head, adjusting her tightly rolled bun. Her face glistens with the perspiration that comes from toiling in a hot kitchen.

  “Where do you two know each other from?” she presses.

  “We don’t,” I insist.

  A buzzer goes off in the kitchen. It’s impossible to tell what dish in progress requires her attention, but she turns just the same. Last I was in the kitchen, she had fresh bread, a cake, and a full on turkey dinner going. It’s a miracle I don’t weight 400 pounds.

  “You two hold that thought,” she mutters, heading back in the kitchen. “And Gabriel, you’re invited to supper if you want.”

  “Fantastic girl,” Gabriel sighs, leering at her backside rounding the corner. “So, we were talking a standard repentance agreement?”

  “No, we weren’t,” I argue, pressing a hand on his chest and backing him out onto the porch. “Wish the gang luck for me.”

  I slam the door and lean my back on it. This is not what I need right now. A hand raps on the door incessantly as I try to think. I have met two Angels in my life and I do not care for either. I open the door a crack and wince at the snow hitting me in the face.

  “There is one other reason you might want to go?” he whispers, looking both ways as if he’s a spy in a movie. “I mean; I think you’ll be inclined to reconsider.”

  “There’s nothing you could say to make me agree to this madness, but tell me so I can go back to my life.”

  “I figured you might li
ke to see Beatrix.”

  I slam the door even before I process what he said. Did he just suggest I could see my beloved? In retrospect, our own damnation would infer that she and Dorian are already setting a place at the table for us. If they reside there, could we find them? A more curious question would be their ability to leave.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” I call out, jerking the door open.

  On the porch snow blows past, but the Gabriel is gone. I rush to the sidewalk in stocking feet, having abandon my cane. I scan the street in all directions. There is nothing but snow and dim street lights afoot this evening.

  “Come on,” I shout into the night air. “At least let me see the bloody agreement!”

  THE END

  THE AGREEMENT

  A Tale of the Rapture

  A novel by

  C. F. Waller

  THE AGREEMENT

  Copyright © 2017 by C. F. Waller

  The right of, Charles F. Waller to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with The copyright, Designs and Patents act of 1988

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.