by Laury Falter
Finally, Battersbee stopped rocking and turned to look at me. His face was impassive, but the way he whispered the answer chilled me.
“The Fallen Ones. You’ll know them when they show up.” He tapped his head with his finger. “We have built in radar.”
My jaw fell open as images flashed through my mind, instantly switching from Achan to Sharar to Sarai to Gershom. I noticed even though none of them were with us, simply as a result of my thoughts, the hair on the back of my neck responded.
The strangest, most unexpected thing happened. I was flooded with relief. It made complete sense. I had known who they were before I understood it. The hair rising on the back of my neck told me so. I wasn’t dealing with some odd affliction to my nervous system. I was sensing when they were around. This reaction had mystified me – a feeling that I hadn’t been able to shake since the first time I saw Achan – or rather when Achan first saw me. It was as if I’d been walking around with a tack in my shoe, and each time I met any one of them, the annoying tack would land straight up as I stepped down. Battersbee, without even intending to, had just removed the tack.
I gasped in reaction to my realization.
“Hadn’t known it, eh?” Battersbee chuckled.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “I couldn’t figure out why the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up when they’re nearby.”
Battersbee grunted. “Huh, they make my skin crawl. That’s how I know. Everyone’s different….”
I drew in a deep breath, feeling as if I had just finished a long, important exam.
A moment later, my relief was swallowed up by alarm. My dilemma had now changed from one of irritation to anxiousness, the kind you feel when you know someone’s coming after you.
“They can be stopped though, right?”
Battersbee chuckled again. “You’re one of them optimists, ain’t ya?”
“Are you saying they cannot by stopped? That once they find you…you’re dead?”
“That’s about right,” said Battersbee, indifferently.
“Are you sure?” I refused to believe there was no way to survive.
Battersbee reached over, lifted the coffee mug to his lips, and drew in a deep swig. A few seconds later, he dropped it to his lap and continued. “Knew a guy in Tulsa who’d been spotted. Thought the same thing. Surrounded himself with weapons, all kinds. In the end, they found him dead, weapons right beside him. Unused. They strike when ya least expect it. Nothin’ ya kin do to stop ‘em.”
I laughed wryly. “I can vouch for that.”
“Had some dealings with ‘em, eh?”
“In a way.”
Battersbee shook his head. “Best thing ya kin do now is run.”
“Running isn’t in my nature,” I said, knowing I was being obstinate.
Battersbee glanced at me pointedly. “Is dyin’?”
I didn’t bother to answer. It was a rhetorical question meant to make a point, and he’d made it just fine. But I did want to know more. Battersbee was the first person I could talk to about this situation, and he seemed knowledgeable.
“Where do they come from?”
“Been here long before any of us.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Used to be hundreds. Not so many anymore. Died off I suppose,” he replied, thoughtfully.
“They can die?”
“Oh, yeah. In their own way.”
“How?”
“Depends. They all come with their own defenses. Some kin be burned…some stabbed…some beheaded. None of ‘em die the same way. Ya have ta figure it out durin’ the fight,” said Battersbee, candidly.
“But they have vulnerabilities…,” I said, eagerly searching for something positive, something hopeful.
Battersbee took another loud slurp from his coffee mug and said, “They’re a lot like us from what I kin gather.” Sighing heavily, he added, “N’ not so much either.”
“So…if they’re similar to us there must be some good and some bad, right? Just because we’re reacting to them can’t mean every one of them is dangerous,” I said, though my instinct was telling me that I already knew the answer.
“Radar was given to us fer a reason,” Battersbee stated, plainly allowing his answer to be implied.
“So don’t ignore it…is what you’re saying, right?”
“Do what ya want,” Battersbee said, shrugging, “It’s yer life…yer death.”
Felix emerged from inside the shanty carrying a thick bundle wrapped in white butcher paper.
“Alright, Mags, we got a couple of beauties!” Felix grinned widely, holding up the bundle as if I could somehow see through the wrapping.
I smiled, complimenting his choices, though I wasn’t at all interested in the alligator.
“You ready?” Felix called out, already down the steps and heading for my bike.
I wasn’t, but it didn’t look like I had a choice.
I paused, shifting slightly in my chair to face Battersbee. It was disappointing that this man, who had such a significant impact on my life in the few minutes I had known him, would be passing on. “Could I…visit you again?”
He must have known my ability without having it explained, because he didn’t seem the least bit surprised by my request. He simply nodded once and said in his gruff voice, “Any time.”
He stuck his pipe back in his mouth and began rocking again, as if this pivotal conversation had never taken place.
I smiled at the woman as I passed her, but she was focused on Battersbee, sending him a questioning stare.
“Come on, Mags!” Felix called out, eager to get home and cook his alligator meat.
By the time we were backing up, the woman had taken a seat next to the old man. Both were watching us. I nodded, and they nodded back. I cautiously turned the bike and started down the dirt road.
Inside my mind, in case he had some extrasensory ability to hear my thoughts, I called out. “You take care, Battersbee….”
I would bet money that I heard his thick southern accent reply in the back of my ears, “You too.”
I was thankful our drive home was going to take nearly an hour. It would give me time to think. My mind was busy sorting the information Battersbee had just given me.
I wasn’t able to shove aside the realization of how foolish I’d been. All along this internal intuition had been trying to send me a signal, warning me against danger, and I completely ignored it – even tried to prevent it at times. To my defense, it wasn’t like I could figure it out by simply studying the faces of those who elicited this response from me. Whenever they looked at other people they were impassive and showed no real joy or disappointment or anxiety, but when they looked at me their expressions grew dark and bitter, instantly reflecting what could only be defined with one word…hatred. Gershom was the only one who remained emotionless when focusing on me. Even if my sensor inside was triggered the same way with him as it was with the others, I never felt fearful of him.
Something didn’t set well with me, like a piece missing from an otherwise complete puzzle. If all of the Fallen Ones were bad, that would include Gershom, but I couldn’t comprehend how Gershom…who was so timid…so praising of me…and seemed so frightened of everything…could be dangerous.
Even if Gershom had wanted to hurt me, somehow overcoming his evident morality, he hadn’t done so yet. There had been plenty of opportunity too, especially during every lunch period we spent together, and yet I remained unharmed. He had never even touched me. In fact, it always seemed like he went out of his way to make sure our fingers didn’t connect, either when we both dug into a bag of chips at the same time or when I handed him half of my muffuletta sandwich. I took this as a sign of respect or a hidden message, indicating he was strictly interested in friendship. Still, I knew there must be some reason my signal went off whenever I was near him. Even if he didn’t harbor the same ill intent as the others, there was no doubt in my mind that he was a Fallen One.
Knowing what he was, forced me to decide whether we could be friends. The level of danger involved automatically escalated beyond that of traditional friendships. With Gershom, the concern wasn’t whether I could trust him to keep a secret but whether I could trust him with my life. Yet, Fallen One or not, Gershom’s intentions always seemed to be in support of me. He had done nothing to prove himself to be anything less than a genuine friend. If I rejected him or his friendship, simply because he was a Fallen One, that would be just as prejudice as the other Fallen Ones’ disdain for me based solely on my ability? I would be forced to consider myself equally as discriminatory as The Fallen Ones.
By the time we reached the house, I had decided firmly that until Gershom proved himself to be anything less, we would remain friends.
Tonight, I would still deliver Gershom’s message. Fallen One or not, Gershom is my friend and he had asked me to do this.
Beyond that, there was one other reason I decided to follow through in delivering the message for Gershom. A reason that made me cognizant of how involved with Eran I was becoming, and I would take any chance I could to see him again. A part of me hoped, pleaded with the cosmic forces that made things fall into place that Gershom’s Eran and my Eran would be one in the same.
CHAPTER SEVEN: DELIVERY
As I was getting ready for bed, I noticed how nervous I was. I should have been concentrating on how to keep myself alive considering the recent infiltration of the Fallen Ones, but all I could think about was Eran.
It took three tries just to get my toothbrush through the little hole in the stand, and I hit my hand so hard against the wall, trying to hang my towel, I was sure it was going to leave a nasty bruise.
You’ve done this before, I told myself. Many, many times before.
I knew delivering a message to someone in the afterlife tonight wasn’t what had my heart racing. It was the prospect of who that “someone” was.
It made me feel ridiculous, but I kept considering whether the Eran I knew and the one Gershom knew were the same. I had to keep reminding myself the Eran I knew existed here on earth or I would never be calm enough to fall asleep.
On the way back to my room, Rufus was coming down the hall with his towel and soap in hand. He must have noticed my nervousness, because he stopped.
“Are ya doin’ okay?” he asked, in his thick Irish accent.
“Yeah…have some things on my mind.” I shrugged.
“Hmm. If it’s ‘bout classes rememba that ya won’t care in ten years if ya miss a question or two; if it’s ‘bout friends ya got plenty of ‘em in this house; and if it’s ‘bout a boy…give him a shot. Take pity on us wankers.” He winked at me and continued his stroll to the bathroom.
Strangely, Rufus’s advice made me feel a little more relaxed. When I got to my room, I closed the door, turned off the lights, and slipped into bed. It only took a few minutes before I was asleep.
I’m not sure if others enter the afterlife the same way I do. I’ve heard of tunnels and bright lights, an arched gate, even relatives greeting you. Any of that would be nice. I always wake up on a concrete bench in the middle of a large, stone hall lined with scrolls. Not the most welcoming way to arrive, which is why I figure it took me a while to realize I was actually visiting the afterlife in my sleep.
I picked myself up, giving a fleeting look to the clothes I had on. While most people believe everyone wears robes in heaven, I’ve never actually woken up in one. Oddly, I’m always wearing the same clothes in the afterlife that I’d dressed in that day. I went to school today in faded jeans, a band t-shirt, and my biker boots, so that was what I was wearing now.
A warm wind brushed past me and I glanced up in time to see someone flitting by. She was hovering a foot from the ground with her back arched and her feet dragging behind her. The purple dress she wore flew out behind her in waves as she moved through the hall, stopping only a few feet away.
Although she spoke in a different language, I understood what she meant. “Are you lost, dear?”
“No,” I said, in English.
She smiled and nodded, moving on again, barely skirting the ground.
I watched her enviously. Since I was never given the ability to fly when visiting here, I enjoyed watching those who could. It was beautiful.
Snapping from my admiration, I quickly got to work.
Since I have to start my work in the Hall of Records anyway, it is efficient that I always wake up here. The hall contains the records of everyone’s existence on earth, alphabetized by place of death.
I moved down the long corridor, finding the G’s midway, and prepared myself for the climb.
One thing I could do in the afterlife very well was climb. For some reason, I had amazing strength and agility. I can haul myself over mountains as large as Everest, never breaking a sweat or needing to stop and catch my breath. That strength gave me some leverage. I could climb any wall in the Hall of Records in seconds whereas on earth it would have taken me hours and required cumbersome equipment. I rested my finger tips on the coarse edges that stuck out like very small shelves and slipped the toe of my boot into the lowest one, beginning my climb. It only took a few seconds to reach the place on the wall where I found Gettysburg.
Once there, I gripped the wall with one hand and pulled a scroll from its pocket with my other. I held one end and let the other end drop down.
Scrolls are made of liquid concrete. They are so light you wouldn’t know it if one floated down and came to rest on you. They are flexible, moving with the fluidity of a flag dancing in the wind, while still retaining the durability concrete offers. If I could figure out how to create this material on earth, I’d be very wealthy.
A single list of names, written in cursive, stretched the length of each scroll. Some scrolls’ names lasted only a few inches while others – in places where many had passed on – stretched down several feet. When this one unraveled it nearly reached the floor about five stories below.
I took a deep breath, noticing how shaky I was as I exhaled. “Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, July 3rd, 1863…Eran Talor.” A lump gathered in my throat, as I spoke his name.
The scroll slipped up through my hands until Eran’s name rested just above my thumb.
Eran Talor – Died Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, July 3, 1863
Previously Jacques Lafayette – Died Paris, France, July 14, 1789
Previously William Whitlock – Died London, England, April 13, 1665
Previously Thomas Jurgen – Died Muehlhausen, Germany June, 5, 1525
Three things struck me at once while reading down the list. First, Eran had gone back to earth only once each century; second, he’d lived in different places each time; and third, he’d gone back during eras of turbulence.
History was my favorite subject in school, so I read as much as I could on all cultures – far exceeding any of my teacher’s requirements. If it wasn’t for this, I would have missed the significance of the dates of Eran’s deaths. From this list, it looked like he’d died during the Battle of Gettysburg, during the Storming of the Bastille in France, during London’s Black Plague, and during the Peasant Wars in Germany.
As I surveyed the list, I knew I was delaying. What came next was the part of my delivery I could never quite get used to. I held my breath and drifted my finger over the name of his last time on earth, whispering to myself, “Eran Talor…”
A moment later, the stone wall I’d been holding dissolved from my grip, but I didn’t fall. Instead, I was being carried – swiftly – as if a gust of warm wind had picked me up. Below me cities, forest, and oceans passed. Other people’s heavens…There was no sound, just silence. The wind slowed, and I began to fall toward a distant territory.
This time, I was standing on the edge of a clearing, encircled by boulders. Instantly, I wondered if I’d made a mistake or something went wrong. Most people’s heavens were typically constructed using simple reminders of their favorite things on earth, like spending a peaceful
day at the beach or vacationing in tranquil Tuscan villas. I’ve even visited one designed around an amusement park with hot dogs appearing out of thin air by snapping your fingers and soda pouring from straws suspended throughout the park. But this heaven was definitely not typical.
All around me, bright, white lights flashed back and forth through the clearing, mimicking giant bolts of lightning. Some of them collided, resonating fantastic booms, but it seemed that most were evading each other.
I noticed with a slight amount of apprehension, the boulders surrounding me were too close together. A piece of paper couldn’t be wedged between them.
It didn’t take long to realize that despite the storm of lights swirling around me, I was going to need to climb out. I turned, gripping the jagged part of the rock, and hauled myself up. I was halfway to the top when I found myself being pulled back into the middle of the clearing. I landed nearly twenty feet away from where I’d been, hitting a hard dirt patch that would have broken bones if it had been on earth. One of the bright, white lights was hovering over me, and I realized I was in trouble. I grabbed a reed, conveniently lying at my side, bringing it up to defend myself just as the light came down on me. The entire instance – from the boulder to being attacked – took less than a second. Whatever these things were, they moved fast.
That’s when I heard a deep, rumbling laugh a few feet to my right. I had closed my eyes without knowing it, and suddenly, they snapped open. Staring up toward the sky, I found Eran standing over me, where the light had been just a second ago.
His blue-green eyes were wide and intense, focusing on me.
Something in the back of my mind registered that the light had been Eran. With all that action, I would have thought he’d be heaving for breath, but he wasn’t. In fact, his mouth was pinched – again, showing disapproval.
I avoided his stare and sat up, quickly noticing I was surrounded by men, each wearing clothes from a different era and holding a staff. Eran was wearing clothes I was more familiar with…a flannel shirt, dark jeans, hiking boots, and a baseball cap. The staff he held was made of brass with a purple jewel at the top and looked out of place next to his informal attire. I’d never seen him so casual, yet despite the impracticality of it, he still managed to look like a model from a sporting goods catalogue.
