“Sir,” the angel at the door said timidly, “what do you want us to do?”
“Go and get her. Bring her to me.”
“Ah. . .?”
Lucien turned the full force of his displeasure onto the nervous figure. “Are you questioning me?”
“No! Of course not, sir.” The angel swiftly disappeared.
Jezebel handed Lucien the bible, and he flipped instantly to the back, to the books that told the stories of the final times. The Revelation.
He began silently to read.
They had reached the edge of the shadowed city.
“How will we find him?” asked Stephen.
“Keep walking. It will become clear.”
Doria Abernathy was startled by a knock at her door.
If asked, Doria would never have counted herself among the righteous. Raised Catholic in New Orleans, she had moved to California with a friend who had insisted it was the place to be. The friend having long since married and moved to Wyoming (now the place to be), Doria remained in California alone, except for a large orange tabby she called Kasey.
As the insistent knock sounded again, Doria glanced at her apartment window and caught her own haunted reflection suspended there against the darkening sky. Storm clouds were building, the twinkling skyscrapers pushing against them defiantly like people crowded into a room where the roofing is too low, and so they strive to stand as tall as they can, even to the point of butting their heads and shoulders against the ceiling as if they have a hope to break through. It occurred to Doria then that something might be very wrong--she seldom had visitors, and she suspected it might be bad news.
She answered the door anyway.
Stephen looked up and around at the towering buildings. He looked at the people on the sidewalks, some of them rushing to wherever they had to be, others with no place to go resigned to a life on the street. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and his heart went out to these children of the Creator who had no clue as to what they were facing this night.
“How will it end?” whispered Stephen.
Andrew walked ahead, swiftly, never bothering to stop and take in the marvels around him. They meant little in the greater scheme. “The storm is coming. The rain of fire will drown the city.”
Stephen looked up again. The sky above them was dark but cloudless. Yet looking back he could see that out over the bay the storm was advancing towards the land. The angel gave a little shiver and felt another pang of remorse for these hapless souls who had no idea they were going into battle, much less were they prepared for it.
“Miss Abernathy,” Lucien said, reclining comfortably in his desk chair, “I have had my eye on you for quite some time.”
Doria shifted slightly in the chair she’d been shown to. The place was dark and unbelievably warm for a room made of so much glass. What made her the most nervous was that she could hardly see the man in front of her.
There was the soft creak of leather and springs as Lucien rose and came around the desk to lean over her. “That better?” he asked. But she would not look directly at him, so he rose to full height to tower over her instead.
“Did you know, Miss Abernathy,” he began, suddenly very interested in his fingernails, “that you are the only righteous person in this city?”
Doria allowed herself a brief glance at the man, then looked away quickly, blushing.
“You’re frightened of me,” Lucien said with the vague nod of an analyst. “There’s no need to be. I’ve gone to great pains to bring you here safely. I need you here. As long as you are here in my city, nothing can harm me or it. Now, would you like a drink?”
This time, Doria allowed herself an extended look at the man as he gestured to someone who’d been standing in a corner of the room near the bar. It was dark, but as he turned toward the windows to look out, the lights of the city brought his pale features into better focus. He was attractive, she decided, in an aristocratic way. The dark suit made his silver-blond hair appear to shine of its own accord, as if lit from something inside. But for all his beauty and manners, she still didn’t like him.
The shadowy figure came over to hand her a glass of something that might have been wine. It was a woman in a tight dress, copper hair falling to her waist. The woman scowled at Doria, handed her the drink, and returned to her corner.
Doria looked into the glass, glanced again at the man’s stiff back as he stared out the window at “his city,” bit her lip and began silently to cry.
Andrew’s head swiveled suddenly to the right and his lip curled.
“We shouldn’t have told them why we are here,” said Stephen quietly.
“As if lying were an option?” snarled the increasingly irritated Andrew.
“Silence might have been,” the younger angel suggested, though there was little conviction in his voice. “Still, I don’t suppose there is any way we’re going to lose. . .” He gave a little sigh that might have signaled regret, if angels feel such things.
“This way,” Andrew instructed sharply, setting off in a new direction.
“Miss Abernathy,” Lucien sighed without turning, “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
Doria only sobbed harder in trying to stop. After a long moment, Lucien finally turned and crossed to her. Shoving a handkerchief at her, he said more harshly, “Stop that!”
She took the handkerchief and sniffled into it, not looking up but very aware of his frown as he towered above her. Slowly, however, the displeasure melted into something more like curiosity. He leaned against the edge of his desk and tilted his head. “Were you never tempted to do anything wrong?” he asked abruptly.
The woman in the corner of the room stirred, and a strange growling noise came from where she stood. “Quiet!” Lucien shouted at her over his shoulder.
Doria dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s not right,” Lucien said, standing again, starting to pace. “It’s not. . . human.” He whirled on her suddenly. “You are human, aren’t you?”
Doria opened her mouth, but she was too startled by the question to speak.
He came close to her, bent over her, took her chin in his hand and began to peer into her face. “You’re not an angel. What else might you be?”
Doria started to draw back, but his firm hold prevented it. His grip felt as if it could break bone if he so wished. “Please, I don’t understand.”
He let go of her, began pacing again. “What good is it? Not that I’m not grateful, mind you. I am in need of a righteous person at the moment and you are the only one qualified.”
Doria cleared her throat a little. “Can I ask. . . I mean, do you mind if I ask what this is all about?” Her voice was a thin, silver string in the darkness.
“It’s about the end of the world. And I’ll bet you didn’t even know you had a starring role.” He stopped in front of her, leaned in again, cornering her in the chair by putting his hands on either arm. “Now, let’s talk about temptation.”
Andrew stopped so shortly, Stephen nearly ran into him. They lifted their eyes to the building in front of them; it was higher than any of the others they’d passed. The elegant brass sign over the door announced it to be “Ames Enterprises.”
They went inside.
“Lucien, don’t!” Jezebel’s voice was ragged and hoarse with a mixture of fear and rage. She took a step forward, but that was as far as she dared go.
He turned to her with a sneer. “Jealous, pet? Don’t you like this new game?”
“If you tempt her--”
“It will all be over. Go ahead, I’d like to see you try.”
Lucien’s head turned towards the door; the rest of him was perfectly still. A slow, cold smile creased his features. “Andrew. How long has it been?”
“Not long enough.”
"And who is your friend? Come, be polite. Introduce us.”
Andrew did not move or speak. Stephen stood next to him, studying his expression, trying to unders
tand the depth of the hatred within the older angel. He couldn’t. He’d never seen anything like it before, and he hoped to never see it again; it hurt him physically, made him squint against the darkness, not of the office, but of Andrew himself.
Stephen’s gaze then moved to Lucien. Strangely enough, he looked like any other angel. But of course, Stephen reasoned, he would. Lucifer had been the angel of light and music, and here they all were in a dark, silent room, with nothing but the city lights and moonglow to give them anything to see by.
“DoyouthinkIcan’ttempther?”Lucien demanded. “Don’t you think I could, if I tried?”
“Pride, Lucifer,” Andrew warned smugly. “Do you remember what it goes before?”
“A fall. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it will be mine.”
Stephen’s eyes widened slightly at this outrageous twisting of scripture. That’s how he does it, he thought. That’s how he confuses people about what to believe.
In her chair, Doria had pivoted to watch the proceedings. “Get the girl, Stephen,” the one called Andrew said. The other one moved towards her, but Lucien stepped into his path.
“I wouldn’t.” The voice was low and smooth and deadly.
Stephen looked at Lucien, then back at Andrew. He looked at the girl. And suddenly, he couldn’t see.
The storm clouds had blocked out the moon. They had blocked out all light from the city. The office was pitch black.
In the corner, Jezebel struck the lighter and lit some candles that were sitting on the bar.
Outside, there was a crack of thunder. It was low, but it was building, like a large cat growling in its throat.
Lucien shook his head. “No. I will not lose this game.”
Jezebel strolled over, lighting a cigarette. “I think you already have, babe,” she said with the cigarette between her teeth. She shoved the pack and the lighter back into his suitcoat pocket.
Lucien shoved her away and pointed to Doria. “I have her here! There are rules, even to this! As long as she is here, nothing can happen to this city!”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean nothing can happen to you,” said Andrew.
One of Lucien’s long, white hands went to his forehead, fluttered there a moment. It was the only sign that might convey something like desperation or panic on his part. “You know, Andrew,” he said after a long moment, “you should have come with me. I could have used a wit like yours. I’m sure it’s less than appreciated where you are.”
“The girl, Stephen,” Andrew said flatly.
Stephen moved forward again, but Lucien caught at his arm. The pain and anger in Lucien’s eyes made Stephen wince, not in fear, but in pity. Stephen understood that it was as close to begging as Lucien would come--he would not speak it, but the expression pleaded with Stephen not to do it.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Andrew barked, breaking the momentary connection. “Disobedience is not an option.”
“It was for me,” Lucien said. “And several others.”
“And you’ll pay the price for it,” Andrew pointed out.
Gently, Stephen removed Lucien’s hand from his arm. Lucien did not protest. His eyes were searching the office for something, some way around this, some loophole in his contract. He finally focused on Andrew, his eyes narrowing in thought. He smiled slightly. And then the room became excruciatingly bright.
“Good Christ, Lucien,” Jezebel exclaimed somewhat dryly as she turned her head and shut her eyes as tightly as possible, “you still have it.”
Stephen gathered Doria to himself to protect her, although he wasn’t exactly sure she needed it. The light did not bother him at all; Heaven itself was a thousand times brighter. But, he noticed, it bothered Andrew a great deal.
Lucien’s light had thrown Andrew’s being into darkness. If a black hole had passed by a supernova, the contrast could not have been greater. Stephen found himself unable to look at his companion.
“I have won, Andrew.” The voice seemed to echo through the office. Stephen found it easy to imagine the foundation of the building was quaking in response to the sound. “I’ve made you hate.”
Andrew gave a low growl of pure fury and shouted, “Get her out of here, Stephen!”
The young angel braved a look at his elder, but he could see no expression, only blackness. He began to tug Doria towards the office door, but something caught at his arm.
It was Jezebel. “Take me with you!”
“Oh, no,” Lucien said evenly, turning to her. “Changing loyalties so quickly? The battle isn’t even won, and you’re already collecting on bets!”
Jezebel ignored him, tugging insistently at the sleeve of Stephen’s robe. “Please! Whatever you want, it’s yours! Just take me with you!”
Stephen surprised himself by laughing; he’d never done that before, and the shock of the realization of it startled him into abrupt silence. Then, quietly, he said, “It isn’t reached by bribery but by true change of heart, and somehow I sincerely doubt yours.” And he started for the door, Doria firmly in his grip. He stopped only to wait for Andrew, who waved him on.
“Go!” Andrew roared. “Get out of here!” And before Stephen could voice a protest, Andrew launched himself at Lucien.
Stephen towed Doria out into the hallway and towards the stairwell without looking back.
Once out in front of the Ames Enterprises building, Doria pulled herself free of Stephen’s grasp. “That’s it!” she declared suddenly, startling the angel into backing up a couple of paces. “I’ve had enough for one night! I’m not going anywhere with you until you explain this to me.” And she began to sob uncontrollably.
Stephen glanced up at the dark clouds above them, then returned his gaze to Doria. “We really don’t have time--” He moved towards her again, but she skittered away.
“No! Why should I trade one kidnapper for another? Give me one good reason!”
“I’m not trying to kidnap you. I just need for you to come with me.”
For a long moment, Doria only stared at him, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed, everything in her expression suggesting to Stephen that he’d said something foolish or strange. But then, with a huff she only asked, “Why? Where are we going?”
Before Stephen could answer, the glass room at the top of the tower exploded outward, raining glass onto the sidewalk below. Doria shrieked and Stephen grabbed hold of her, hurrying her away from the building and back towards the bay.
Thunder continued to rumble as they walked, and lightning licked at the city. They had gone more than halfway before she dared ask again, this time in a harsh whisper, “Where are you taking me?”
Stephen glanced behind them, as if afraid someone might be following or listening. He could see the Ames building, the top of it gone, with nothing remaining but a great radiance, shining like a misplaced lighthouse beacon in the center of the city. On the far side of the city, small drops of fire had already begun to fall like strange rain.
“There is no reason for concern,” Stephen said in his quiet way, although the faint wrinkle of his brow denoted something like worry or maybe perplexion. “We must simply make it to the water.”
Doria turned to look over her shoulder. A far-off, fiery glow haloed the farthest side of the city. “What. . .?” Stephen pulled sharply on her arm. “Don’t look back.”
She cast a quick glance at him then started to turn back to the burning metropolis, so he took her head in one strong but gentle hand and twisted it to face forward. “I know you know your scripture. Think of Lot’s wife.”
She raised her eyes to him and gave a little nod to show she understood. A few minutes later, they stood on the shore of the bay.
Out over the water, the clouds were a bruised and sullen violet. The waves were choppy, slate gray, pushed by a brisk and unrelenting wind. Doria gazed out at the dark horizon and gave an involuntary shiver. “Now what?”
“We keep walking.”
Her eyes searched for a boat, footprints in the s
and, any clue as to where exactly they were going to be walking to. “But--”
“Straight ahead, into the water.”
“Listen, Steve or whatever your name is, I’ve been kidnapped, held in a dark room by a lunatic who thought he was, I don’t know, Satan or something? The whole damned city is burning, and you want me to walk out into the bay, no boat, no life preserver, just out into the storm on what, my faith?”
The silver eyes studied her expression carefully, his own face still and blank. “I understand this is difficult for you. It is a true test of your faith.” Stephen held out his hand. “Either come with me now, or stay with your city.”
Doria started to turn again for one last glimpse but stopped herself. She looked at the water. She looked at him. She took his hand.
They walked until the water was nearly to her knees before she protested once more. “This is getting ridiculous. Where are we going?”
Stephen’s eyes roamed the horizon restlessly. “It will be here. Soon.” The last word sounded tacked on, as if it was more to persuade himself than her.
“What? The Pearly Gates?”
The angel grimaced. “I’m not sure I would describe them as such exactly.” But the furrow on his brow was deepening. He gave her hand a slight tug. “Come, let’s go a little farther.”
Doria groaned but relented. She was rewarded for her patience only by another frown and the rather worrisome words, “Could it be that we are--”
And then the water parted and a tall man with a mane of dark hair appeared. He wore armor that flashed even in that darkness and held a great golden key. Stephen’s eyes grew wide at the sight of him.
“Michael,” Stephen said, unable to completely disguise his surprise.
“The angel Michael?” Doria asked him lowly. “Archangel,” Stephen corrected just as quietly. And his grip on her hand tightened somewhat.
The World Ends at Five & Other Stories Page 6
