by Tim Greaton
“God loves you, Nathaniel,” he said to me.
It came almost as a shock to be reminded that there was a God other than the glowing being in front of me. It would have been so easy to believe he was the One and Only.
I was still awash in affirming emotions when the archangel turned his attention to Ricky. My friend’s young body was curled into a near-catatonic ball. I could hear his quiet weeping, and my emotional high was immediately replaced with sympathy and worry for my friend. Knowing how the demon had horrified me, it must have been many times more devastating for Ricky to know that creature had been there for him.
The archangel knelt and lifted my friend’s frail body. Upon his touch, Ricky’s shirt and pants turned white again. Only his sneakers retained their dark coloring.
“As for you, little one,” the Godly creature whispered, “I’m going to bring you home and stand guard outside your door.”
“For me?” Ricky said. His eyes filled with tears.
A tender hand brushed back Ricky’s red hair.
“I pity the twisted creature that thinks he can pass by me this night. By my word, you will be safe.” The air resounded with the authority of his oath.
Ricky began sobbing again, but this time with joy. Then suddenly the sobbing stopped. I braced myself, because I knew what was coming next. I held my breath as Ricky said the words.
“And tomorrow?”
“We’ll see,” the archangel said. “Salvation must come from within, little one, but I have faith that you can find it if you will only look hard enough.”
Ricky nodded and hugged tightly against the archangel’s powerful chest. Every eye in Under-Heaven watched as a warrior of the light carried one of the doomed back to his home. Forgotten but not at all resenting it, I realized that something rare and important had just happened. Even the colorful girl Ricky and I had spied on earlier was watching in rapt attention, her clothing having turned bleach white.
Grandma Clara hugged and kissed me affectionately on the forehead when I made my way back into my own kitchen.
“Why today?” I asked.
Grandma Clara led me to my bed where I slowly crawled under the covers. She tucked the blankets under my chin.
“I think Ricky has been avoiding the demons for so long that they decided to grab him the second his color was right. I imagine they didn’t want to take the chance he would lighten again by nightfall.”
I had so many questions, but at that moment her hand on my arm was enough. I think I cried before falling into a deep and much-needed sleep.
13
Family Ties
For quite a while, I’d known the fountain pool was a window back to Earth, and since my memories were no longer hidden, I realized that I no longer feared using it. The truth was I longed to see my sister Vicky, the sole survivor of the Thompson Family Massacre. My Whiskey had given his life to ensure her safety, and I wanted to see her living a good life—at least one of us deserved that.
There were a few other souls leaning over the pool when Grandma Clara brought me out for my first viewing lesson one morning. The cherub statue towered above us, much taller than I had imagined, and the soft patter of four streaming columns of water had turned into a splattering roar that made it hard to think, forget hear someone speak. A faint mist hovered over the pool and formed a series of competing rainbows, each one more beautiful than the last. As I took in the beauty of it, I couldn’t believe that just days before I had been terrified of this place.
“Are you ready?” Grandma Clara said loud enough to be heard over the cascading water.
I nodded.
“First you have to smooth the water,” she said, “like this.” She gently ran her hand along the top of the ripples. Though the rest of the pool undulated with small waves, the water beneath her hand settled and became perfectly still and smooth. I saw her mouth move but couldn’t make out the words. I pointed at my ears and shrugged.
She leaned close and said loudly, “Look into the portal and think of Vicky.”
I moved closer to the water’s edge and stared down at the mirror-like finish she had created. I tried to envision my sister as she had been that last morning at breakfast, hair snarled, eyes still drooping with sleep, face split with a tiny grin. Suddenly, the clear surface of the pool became a murky white with thousands of faint yellow dots that flickered like candles against a backdrop of snow. Though the lights were dim, one in particular stood out. I knew with certainty that it was Vicky.
“You’re seeing her life force,” my grandmother yelled. “From this far away, all living people look like that.”
“What about the red ones?” I asked.
Though they numbered only in the dozens, the red flickers were easy to see among the hundreds of yellow ones.
“Those are people who will die soon,” she said. “Fate marks them a few hours or sometimes a day before it happens. The brighter the red, the closer they are to their last minutes.”
I studied the two brightest red spots and wondered how near they were to death. Were they elderly, sickly or just on the wrong side of a fishing dispute?
I glanced away. Though not cynical by nature, the emergence of my memories made it hard not to think like that.
“At night the background turns black, and the lights are bright and beautiful,” my grandmother said. “It’s amazing to know that all those souls are growing and experiencing life right below us.”
“Can I see her up close?” I asked. I was anxious to know how Vicky was doing, how big she’d grown. And I also wanted to get my eyes away from the doomed red lights before one went out. I had experienced enough death to last me an eternity. I didn’t think I was ready to watch even a single red light disappear from my view.
“What?”
“Can I see her up close?” I hollered to be heard. I was now beginning to understand why souls tended to visit the pool without their angels. It was much too difficult to talk this close to the rushing water.
“Concentrate again, Nate,” my grandmother said, leaning close to my ear. “Focus on Vicky’s light and think how much you’d like to see her.”
Butterflies filled my stomach. How long had it been? Six months? Eight months? It felt like much longer.
I focused, and Vicky appeared in the water. Taller now, her brunette hair was neatly brushed and at least an inch longer than it had been. I smiled. She and I had never been hair people, and I was pleased to see someone was taking good care of her mop. Staring at her radiant smile, I couldn’t believe my mind had been willing to block out her memory. No matter how horrible my last day on Earth had been, something good remained: a gem in the form of a little girl was gleaming at someone; I only wished it were me.
“Your Aunt Donna and her husband took Vicky in,” Grandma Clara said. “She’s living in Rhode Island with them now.”
I was ecstatic that my sister was no longer in that angry Maine village. Though I knew most of the people in Coldwell were decent, the few bad ones had made a lasting impression on me—though lasting impression might have been an understatement considering I was dead at their hands. At least Vicky was safe among family and in a town where she would be accepted.
Vicky all of a sudden ran forward so I could only see only her backside. Her dress was light green with a cloth belt of the same material. The belt was sewn into the sides of the dress and pulled back where the ends were tied. The dress’s half-sleeves were puffy and fringed with the same white lace that adorned its collar. The tiles on the floor were alternating red and black squares that glowed with cleanliness. I could see the chrome legs of several chairs and a table next to a gray wall on the right. From Vicky’s low vantage, I watched her approach a woman from behind. I could only see the woman’s legs where she stood beside a white cabinet and the lower portion of a refrigerator. My view ended at the bottom of a yellow skirt.
“If you concentrate, Nate,” Grandma Clara said, “you can change your view.”
I wanted to get a
better idea of where Vicky was, so I tried to imagine I was backing up. Sure enough, my sister shrank to the size of a healthy three-year-old. Above her, my Aunt Donna stood beside a red kitchen counter, which was contrasted above and below by white cabinet doors. She had one cabinet open and was saying something to my sister. Vicky shook her three-year-old head vigorously. I didn’t have to hear to know what was going on. “Cereal,” she would be saying. “Oatmeal with maple syrup.”
It’s impossible to describe how great it felt to see her, and not just to see her but to see her smiling, so obviously happy and well adjusted to her new life. I remembered that horrible night and was thankful that Vicky’s door had been closed during most of the violence. Given her age, it seemed unlikely that she would remember even the gruesome noises…noises that were the inevitable result of killing innocent people in their home!
I hated how the thought sent chills across my back. Would I ever be able to accept what had happened to me—to us?
As I watched Vicky pull herself up into her highchair, I wondered how long it would be before she forgot us: my mother, my father and me. It made me sad in a way, but I also knew it would be best. The less she knew and remembered, the more likely she would grow up happy and healthy, without all the ugly emotional baggage.
As my aunt positioned a bowl of cereal in front of Vicky, I looked over at my grandmother and could feel a tear rolling down my cheek, but Grandma Clara politely ignored it.
“How do I shut it off?” I asked.
Though I doubt she heard me, she understood and reached down to tap the surface of the water. Suddenly the portal to my aunt’s kitchen was gone, replaced with tiny ripples of water chasing each other to the shore. Mentally and emotionally exhausted, I followed my grandmother back toward home. The splattering roar of water had faded to barely a whisper by the time we reached my front stairs.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I had become the sole caretaker of my family’s memories. The pain and responsibility would be mine alone to bear.
Grandma Clara had been my only family visitor since my arrival in Under-Heaven, but many times she had mentioned I had a lot of other relatives anxious to meet me, so it came as no surprise when guests arrived. It had been about two months by my figuring since the demon had come for Ricky, and I had been in Under-Heaven for maybe eight months in all.
When I heard the knock at the front door, I figured it was Ricky trying to sneak a day off, but instead it was a rugged-looking man with snow-white hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore a white suit that had a rumpled, lived in look. On Earth I might have guessed him to be in his sixties.
“Hello, Nate,” he said with a broad smile. “I’m your Uncle Albert, and this,” he stepped to the side so that I could see a thin, angular woman in a white ballroom dress and a white bonnet, “is your Aunt Alice.”
She nodded.
“Good morning, Nathaniel,” she said through pursed lips that seemed anything but friendly. She had a strong accent that I couldn’t place.
“It’s wonderful to see you in person, Nate,” my Uncle Albert said. “I’ve been watching you ever since you were a baby, and you’ve made me very proud.”
It was a little weird, I thought, to know people had been watching me for so long. But I said, “Thanks.”
“And that incident with that demon and your friend,” Uncle Albert continued, “was well-handled. It was touch-and-go there for a few moments, but you thought quickly, knocking him over and saving him the way you did. Nicely done.”
My Aunt Alice slapped him on the shoulder. It wasn’t a light slap either.
“Now, Albert, you know better than that. What are you thinking? This boy could have been delivered right into Satan’s arms, and you found the event nicely done!’”
Uncle Albert winked at me then said, “Alice, obviously you and I have different ways of seeing things. And that’s okay. But couldn’t you allow that I might be at least half right?”
“I could if you happened to be half-right, but you’re not.” She jutted her chin out and ignored my uncle’s impish grin. I immediately liked him.
Aunt Alice, with her severe manner, however, was obviously going to take some getting used to. She was tall and thin, almost to the point of being gaunt. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly and tucked beneath a gossamer white bonnet. Long white pyramid earrings dangled to the top of the tall lacey collar that rose up from her white gown. The delicate silk material was pulled so tightly around her narrow waist that it seemed she should have been in pain. From her hips down, the dress swelled out into large hoops that dropped like a bell to the floor. She could easily have stepped out of the ballroom picture in my sister’s Cinderella picture book.
“You have been here for a long while, Nathaniel, haven’t you?” Her question seemed like an accusation.
“I guess.”
“You guess,” she said sternly.
Not knowing what kind of response she wanted, I shrugged.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Why are you here then, Nathaniel?”
“I don’t know. To learn, I guess.”
“Again, you guess?”
“Yeah. Yes. I know I need to learn.”
“Which is it? You guess or you know?”
I wondered how fast anger might add color to my clothes. I didn’t dare to look down for fear it was already happening.
“I know I need to learn,” I said.
“What about that troublemaker friend of yours?”
I didn’t like where this was going. This woman had gotten no more than three feet into my house, and already she wanted to choose my friends. Grandma Clara often asked me to be careful around Ricky, but never once had she said anything bad about him. Apparently kindness toward others was not a prerequisite for getting into Heaven.
“What about Ricky?” I asked defensively.
“The demons are waiting for him,” she said, leaning down to stare me in the eye. “And if you keep fraternizing with him, they’ll likely come for you as well.”
“Now hold on a second, Alice,” Uncle Albert intervened. “Our boy here has a healthy white color.” His gaze settled momentarily on my sneakers, then rose to meet Aunt Alice’s glare.
“For how long?” Aunt Alice snapped. “Clara has barely gotten this young man to realize there is a path. It’s no wonder he’s yet to follow it?”
Who was she to make these accusations? My Grandma Clara had been teaching me lessons nearly every day since I had arrived. What more did this woman expect of her…or me? I was rapidly growing to dislike my Aunt Alice.
I tried to pinpoint where and when my Uncle Albert and Aunt Alice might have lived. I had studied past cultures with Grandma Clara because, as she explained, “Earth’s history is even more important in Heaven. Up there you actually meet people from all periods, and its best to know something about them when you do.” She also said that our genealogy could be traced through every continent and every historical period spanning from Stone Age Asia, Roman Era Europe, Medieval England and ultimately modern day America. And, she said, the further our lineage goes on, the more all-encompassing and interrelated to the rest of the world we become.
I knew that Grandma Clara had died in 1935, three weeks after I was born. From the look of Uncle Albert’s suit, not unlike my father’s one suit—only white, I guessed he had died in the early 1900s, but Aunt Alice’s formal dress suggested they might be from an even earlier period. I couldn’t be sure. There was only so much Grandma Clara’s history lessons could do.
“Have you made any decisions, yet?” Aunt Alice asked.
I was unsure what she was really asking, so I shook my head. Time hadn’t seemed all that important to me in Under-Heaven, but just then I found myself wishing I could speed it along. Angels seldom stayed in Under-Heaven overnight, and the sooner this woman left my house, the happier I would be.
Uncle Albert came up beside me and put an arm over my shoulder, coincidentally placing himself between Aunt A
lice and my sneakers.
“Alice, I’d like a minute alone with my nephew here, if you don’t mind.”
I took the moment to glance down. I knew it: my sneakers were black as charcoal. Soon, I expected the color would spread to my pants. Who would have believed my own aunt would be my biggest challenge in Under-Heaven?
Aunt Alice gave my uncle a withering glare, then harrumphed and stormed out onto the front porch. Her wide petticoats brushed both sides of the doorway as she left.
“Quite a piece of work, that aunt of yours,” Uncle Albert said with a chuckle. “Don’t let her frazzle you though. She means well.”
“I didn’t think someone like her—I thought Heaven was where nice people went.”
Uncle Albert gently squeezed the back of my neck.
“Watch yourself there, young one. It’ll be more than your shoes turning colors if you keep up that sort of talk. It’s not your place to judge.”
“I’m sure she must be nice,” I said, “being from Heaven, but she has an odd way of showing it.”
“Ever hear about the Wizard?” Uncle Albert asked me.
“You mean the Wizard of Oz?”
He squinted at me. That’s when I noticed how bushy his white eyebrows were.
“Not that one. I’m referring to the Wizard of Menlo Park.”
“I never heard of that one,” I answered honestly. “Was it a book?”
“Not a book, Nate, a man. He was a man that everyone called a wizard because of all his great inventions. His real name was Thomas Edison.”
“Sure, I learned about him in school. He invented the phone, I think.”
Uncle Albert smiled.
“That was Mr. Alexander Graham Bell. No, Mr. Edison created hundreds of inventions, but his version of the light bulb and the phonograph were two of his most famous ones.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Your aunt and I lived only a short walk from the Edison laboratory in West Orange, New Jersey.”
