by A. J. Norris
Her mouth felt like cotton. “Light’s good, right? He’s not ash. He didn’t turn into ash.”
Max looked away. “Yes, but you won’t see him.”
Panic set in. “You mean…forever?” She loved Elliott; wanted him with her. Always.
“I dunno. It’s not up to me. He’ll move on. He completed his final task.”
“I’m not a task, you asshole! I’m a person with feelings!” She tried to push his shoulders. He bounced backward out of the way before she made contact. The lurch forward, jarred her broken wing. The intense pain which normally accompanied a fracture was dimmed by the emotional hurt. Fresh tears overflowed her eyes.
Max stayed silent. His serenity had a calming effect on her. Gradually, the weeping stopped.
“Your wing is broken, please, let me fix it,” he said.
Remembering the how Elliott “fixed” her previous broken bone, Amalya shook her head. The angel put his palms up. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”
“Okay,” she sighed.
Max ran his glowing cupped hand over the crest of the broken wing, skimming the feathers. The wing reacted. Although she wasn’t in any discomfort from the healing process, the pressure caused her back to arch. She could almost feel the bone knitting back together. “Thirty more seconds and you’ll be able to fly again.”
“Are Healers the only ones that can do this?”
Max’s hand returned to its normal color. “On Earth. Listen, Amalya, I didn’t mean to say you were a task and—”
She waved him off. “It’s all right. I know that. Just so you know, I did all the work, the tasking.”
The angel in white wings stood and smiled. “Not surprised. You were supposed to. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. You did a great job.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Max put his hand out to help her off the floor. In her former life, she would have batted it away; right now, she could use the crutch. The angel pulled her up by one strong, steady arm and held on. The embrace meant for propping was more like a hug than something utilitarian and she needed it.
“There were several tasks, actually, and you completed them with ease.”
Amalya furrowed her brow. Her angel was gone and once again, things turned to shit, except…not everything this time.
“I can see you’re confused. There were three to complete. Elliott’s job was over the second you left Netherworld.”
Really? Elliott had stayed for as long as he had, for her. “Oh…you mean…wait, did he know this?”
“It’s hard to say. Not everything was made clear to him. Deus is like that.”
She curled into his chest, shivering even though she wasn’t cold. “So, the other tasks…were mine?”
“Uh huh,” Max answered, resting a cheek on the top of her head. His warmth and calmness relieved the tremors. The ache in her heart however, remained.
“Does that mean I’m a Redeemer?”
Max chuckled and let go of her. “I would say so. You got Elliott to care about something again, which was—”
“One of the tasks, and the other was Brandon.”
“Now you get it. Except as far as Aba knew, this was only about Brandon’s soul. Deus knew Elliott needed an intervention, so when he saw you, he knew you were the only one who could help him.”
She put the tip of her finger up to her lips. “Um…what if I was only able to redeem Brandon?”
“You would stay out of Netherworld and still be free of Aba, of course.”
Ah. Amalya held a hand up. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” Max said, shrugging.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Would I just wander around Earth aimlessly?”
Max chuckled. “Maybe. I think Deus makes this stuff up as he goes along sometimes.”
Well that’s comforting.
“What? That doesn’t sound right. What if I failed in helping Elliott?”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I could’ve.”
Max grinned. “Don’t worry about. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Excuse me,” Brandon said, still sitting with his butt planted on his heels. The angels turned their heads. “Um, what’s this about me being a task?”
“Can…somebody…untie me? I…think…I need a doctor,” Montgomery croaked.
Max glanced at Amalya. “Don’t worry, reinforcements should be here shortly.”
Scanning the area, she could see blood and bits of Angela Bishop all over the place. And the pieces left scattered were soup or…more like stew—chunky. “Good, because somebody needs to clean this crap up. Poor old lady.”
“Nah. Not poor old lady. Bitch killed her husband. Poisoned him. She got what was coming to her. You don’t even want to know what she did with the body.” Max shivered.
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Amalya
The reinforcements arrived carrying mop buckets, a wet vacuum, trash bags, and lots of sponges. Max referred to the angels as Soapers. They had radar for messes caused by other realm natives.
The four Soapers started with Montgomery, who was covered head to toe in gore. They cut him free of the ropes and vacuumed him. Everywhere the hose sucked that portion of him or his clothes became completely spotless. He stood in awe, watching two of the angels work. He’d seen too much in the last hour to be shocked by much.
“Thank you. Can my wife get one of these super vacs?”
“Not a chance,” the two said in unison.
When the vacuum artists were done with the first human, they gave Brandon the same treatment.
Amalya wandered over to Max, who sat at the bottom of the basement steps, and plopped down next to him. The dark and light angels both had their wings pressed tightly to their backs, feathers squashed under their bottoms.
“Elliott will be all right,” Max said.
“Don’t, or I’m liable to lose it again,” Amalya said. She didn’t want to hear Elliott wasn’t really dead but had moved on. He’d moved on to what? And why couldn’t she go with him? Okay…too late, the tears started flowing. Max placed an arm around her shoulders. Sobs shook her entire body. For the first time in her life she didn’t want to run. There was no reason to, she felt free. A Soaper came over and handed her a tissue.
“Thanks,” she said.
As she mopped up her tears, the last of the old lady’s entrails were bagged. Using the laundry tub, the Soapers filled the four wheeled yellow buckets with water and put them in a row. An angel with golden blond hair produced a vial of purple liquid. He squeezed three drops into each bucket. Sponges got tossed into the first two buckets and mops in the remaining ones. Back and forth, side to side they swabbed the floor, while two of the Soapers washed everything the mops couldn’t reach with sponges.
“What’s the purple stuff for?” she asked Max.
“Body fluid neutralizer, so if police ever investigate the scene, any evidence would test negative for blood.”
“Wait, would they?”
“Doubtful, though you never know.”
“What’s going to happen to Brandon and Montgomery over there?” She glanced in their direction. The two were talking together in the corner by the laundry area, out of the Soapers’ way.
“Memory wipe for Monty. Brandon, I dunno, not my department.”
“Whose depart—?”
“Yours.”
“Mine? Why?”
“You’re the Redeemer. At least on this one.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to give it some thought.”
“I won’t. You should though.”
“I know, I should but, I don’t know…” And just like that an idea popped into her head.
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-NINE
Damien/Reed
Tluck.
Tlock.
Tluck…
Water dripped in single, steady drops. Reed couldn’t move. His wrists and ankles were trapped in iron spiked shackles. The more he
struggled against the binds, the deeper the sharp barbs dug into his flesh. Twice he’d had his hands and feet cut off. Painfully. And each time the extremities grew back in an instant. Excruciatingly. A suffocating force would hold him to the ground while dark shadows would come off the walls and re-shackle him. The mistake wouldn’t happen again, if he could help it.
Now he lay on the warm stone ground inside a small cavern in Netherworld, trying not to breathe too much. Welcomed, considering the strong rotten egg smell, he now understood to be sulfur. A lone flame flickered against the wall near his feet. He’d noticed the fire was the only light during his earlier fits to break free. Shadows of his two sets of severed feet were cast on the floor by the orange and yellow blaze.
Tluck.
Tlock….
He wanted to scream, but the action involved more movement than he could spare. Where was the water coming from? The ceiling shrouded in darkness hid the source. Of course, this didn’t really matter as the drips seemed to relocate every few hours…or years…depending on one’s perspective.
He flinched. Water hit him in the eye. “Ow! Nooo…shit!” Another drip pelted him near his mouth. And another. The drops seeped into the crease of his lips. His thirst took over and he parted his lips for the sweet taste.
A spray of nasty liquid and spit shot up out of his mouth, splattering his face and neck. Whatever it was—not water—coated the inside of his mouth. The smell invaded his sinuses. The metallic after-taste lingered.
“Oh, God.”
Gasoline.
So focused on spitting, he failed to notice the line of drops made down the center of his body. When the direction reversed, spilling more fuel up the middle of him, he saw.
A shadow flitted into the cavern.
The flame sparked, licking further up the wall and starting toward his crotch. He screamed and tried to close his legs. The shackles reacted by tightening their hold but stopped before slicing through.
“Oh shit!”
The fire jumped as it continued the path, igniting the gasoline. His clothes blazed and his vision started to go black.
“Oh no, you’ll be a wake for this one,” Aba growled.
Large claws seized him on the sides of his jaw. Reed tilted his head back and screamed. The fire, like a blade, tore through his body, starting between his legs.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Brandon
Charles Montgomery had no memory of the basement incident. Brandon parked in the man’s driveway. Out for a drink with new friends would be the only thing he’d remember. He’d called his wife on the drive home. She waited for him at the front door with her hands on her hips.
Even though Charles didn’t have a clue what had happened, his emotions and the expression on his face told a different story. You could wipe away the events, but not the feelings generated. He was grateful to be alive, exhausted, and more in love with his wife than ever before. After waving goodbye to Brandon, he approached his porch steps with caution. His wife stood behind the front screen door and folded her arms across her chest. Then she uncrossed them and opened the door.
“What happened. Are you all right?”
“Never better.”
“Sure about that?”
He reached for his wife. She giggled as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Brandon drove away, smiling to himself.
“Boo!”
Brakes squealed. The car swerved. “You just won’t quit doing that, will you?”
Amalya laughed. “No. It’s too funny. I’ll tell you what though, this will probably be the last time you’ll see me.”
“Good. Thank God for that.” Brandon smiled.
“Nice.”
The dark angel sat quietly beside him, either lost in thought or enjoying the car ride. He couldn’t tell. The rising sun peeked over the horizon, causing him to squint. Trees in the distance filtered the rays. They both flipped down their visors.
“So, uh…I have something to ask you. And I want to you think about your answer before telling me,” she said. “I think you should be the one to decide for yourself.”
“Decide what?” He put his blinker on, checked his blind spot, and merged into the next lane. “Listen, I got some shit to do before I leave town and—”
“Do want to remember me, your crappy childhood, tonight, any of this?” she asked cutting him off.
Brandon puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “Hmm…”
“Like I said, think about it.”
Glancing at her, he noticed her wings had changed; the color looked brighter. Although, how was this possible? They were black.
Her lips were ruby red. Full. Had they always been?
Knock it off.
He sighed and remained quiet until they reached his home. On the ride there, he pondered the pros and cons of remembering versus a memory wipe.
Brandon pulled into the garage of his house, put the car in park, and closed the bay door. He turned to look at her. “I want to remember.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay.”
“Wait, I want you to know why.”
She nodded. “Please.”
“I’m afraid of making the same mistakes. I want to remember where I’ve been, what led me to where I am now. These things, experiences, whatever you want to call them, have made me the person I am. I’m far from perfect. I know, I know, hard to believe right? Oh, and you were right.”
Her brow furrowed. “About?”
“I’ve used my past as an excuse for the shitty decisions I’ve made.”
“I would think that alone would be the reason you wouldn’t want to remember.”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be real. I wouldn’t be me.”
She didn’t say another word, just looked at him, understanding in her eyes. He wondered if she felt the same as him. Would she change anything if she had the choice?
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“Skip town. The dude with the pink hair gave me some money. Not enough to pay my debts, but enough to start over someplace else. I actually have a friend who lives…” He let his words trail off. The less someone else knew, the better. Even if she was an angel. “What’re you going to do? The white haired angel that came in, who was he?”
Amalya shook her head. “My…angel,” her voice caught as she wept. “And, I dunno, just hang out, try to help others facing a crossroad in their life.”
“What’s it like? Heaven? Or, er, did you go there?”
“Cloudy. Full of angels.” She shrugged. “I didn’t see much of it. And they don’t call it Heaven.”
“Did you see people there, loved ones?”
“No, I had the impression they went someplace different than what I saw.”
Brandon pursed his lips and nodded. He had a ton more questions, but decided only on one more. In a sense the same question she’d asked him. “Amalya, if you could, would you wanna have a do-over? In life, I mean.”
“Not unless I could know what I know now, otherwise it wouldn’t be worth it.” She smiled and evaporated before his eyes.
CHAPTER
EIGHTY-ONE
Hazel
Being one of the first to come to work had perks. Hazel enjoyed the quiet before her co-workers began arriving by the herd. During the early hours she could work on the web layout and designs for her latest client undisturbed. She could get more done now than any other time of the day.
This ritual always started with a fresh cup of cinnamon flavored coffee and a donut; vanilla crème filled and powdered. Picking up her treats, she headed for her cubicle, set in a high open ceiling workspace with about twenty more just like hers. She rounded the beige panel, taking a bite out of her donut.
She gasped, inhaling powdered sugar into her lungs. A puff of white expelled when she coughed. Coffee splashed over the rim of her mug.
Amalya stood next to her desk wearing a black sleeveless gown, partially sheer and flowy, that sparkled in some spots. The halter top was tied around her grac
eful neck. Her wings were shiny and almost colorful, reminding Hazel of a ravens, with highlights of dark greens and blues.
“W-Wow, y-you’re g-gorgeous,” Hazel sputtered.
Her aunt giggled, “What? Wasn’t I before?”
“Yeah, but your wings were so dull and flat. Your dress is awesome.”
Amalya found something interesting to look at on the floor. A speck of lint or a loose staple stuck in the carpet perhaps. “You know, it’s okay to take a compliment.”
The angel sighed and glanced at her. “Thank you. Sorry, I have trouble with that.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again. Your last words had me believing I wouldn’t.” Her aunt nodded, her lips forming a flat line. Hazel sighed, wishing her mother could see for herself that Amalya was real. Her mother, Genevieve, wasn’t ready to acknowledge the truth. Except when she’d called her a mule for being stubborn, the steel expression on her face melted.
“I just wanted to say goodbye and that I wish I could’ve gotten to know you.”
“You still can…please.” Hazel’s voice cracked.
“Your mother should be proud of you. Seems like you’re a decent person. Good soul.”
“Wait, can you let me call Mom?”
“I think, I might already be breaking the rules.”
“What rules?” Hazel’s brow crinkled.
Amalya’s eyes lit as she smirked. “I’m dead, Hazel. And you’re not.”
“Where will you go? Where will you be? Please, let me call your sister.” Hazel fumbled through her purse, searching for her cell. The thing was always in the last compartment she checked. Pulling out her phone, she looked up and focused on the spot where her aunt stood. A shiny black feather floated in the air, drifting to the floor. Tears rolled down her cheeks. If her aunt was so determined to stay out of her life, then she was as determined to see her again. The question was…how?
CHAPTER
EIGHTY-TWO
Aza’zel
