The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  It all sounds like something out of a Brothers Grimm story. Murdered parents, orphaned girls, babies being spirited off by demons... “What do you mean by 'savior child'? You never said why this baby was so important to them.”

  “The child, it is said, would grow to be a powerful and crafty warrior. He was to be the catalyst. The soldier who managed to infiltrate Heaven and incapacitate the archangel Michael, bringing down the barrier between the living and the dead. Inciting the Great War.”

  “Are you saying that could actually happen?” I gaze out at the children swinging on the playground equipment, listen to their carefree laughter, and wonder with a pang of sadness what kind of world they stand to inherit.

  “We can never rule out the possibility.”

  “And the girl...the real source of the prophecy. The mother of this child. Where is she? Do you know?”

  “That I can't say. The prophets could offer no specific timeline. For all we know, it may not happen for another hundred years. But what I can tell you is this. Heaven is ready. The angels, the protectors of humanity, they are strong. And they will not stand idly by and watch evil defile God's creation.”

  I wrap my arms around my middle, shivering a little despite the warm day. “What can you tell me about my baby?” I ask, deflecting the subject to something more positive.

  “Other than the gender and that he's healthy, not a lot. His future depends on you. Teach him right from wrong, raise him with patience and love, and the results will speak for themselves.”

  “And Loc?” I feel traitorous for asking, but I need to know that he's okay. He did rescue me from Hell, after all. In spite of everything, in spite of all his lies, there is a part of me that will always care what happens to him.

  “Leraje wanted to roast his soul over an open spit after his betrayal, but I'm afraid the commander has his own problems at the moment.” Stifling a giggle, Avery swings her red shoes back and forth cheerfully. “In case I didn't mention it, Lucifer was unaware of his little scheme. And he's pissed, if you'll pardon my language. Leraje didn't win any brownie points by going behind his back without consent. Lucifer's worst vice has always been his pride, and he most certainly does not appreciate being made to look the fool.”

  I smile as well, satisfied that Leraje has been knocked off his self-serving pedestal. I can only hope he's been demoted. “You're saying Loc's off the hook then?”

  “Not exactly. He still had to be punished for treason, regardless. In the end, it was determined that he should be banished from Hell. Permanently.”

  That's it? I'm relieved, though surprised by what seems uncharacteristic leniency. “But that's a good thing. Isn't it?”

  “For others, surely. But for the son of one of Hell's highest commanders...” She hitches her shoulders in a shrug. “Let's put it this way. He would have been considered royalty and as such, immune from the sufferings that others are forced to endure. And now the quandary is, what happens to his soul after the death of his mortal body? If he isn't permitted into Hell, and Heaven isn't an option, then all that is left for him is Purgatory. And that, for him, would be worse than Hell.”

  “Is there no chance of Heaven?” The thought of him suffering, after what he sacrificed for me, is a knife in my heart. “Say he were to repent. Do you think that would be enough?”

  Smiling wistfully, Avery pats my leg. “I know he saved you. And that does count for a lot. But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't go far enough toward wiping clean a slate as dirty as his. His hands are bloodier than you know. There is forgiveness, of course, but the heart must truly be remorseful. And with him, I don't know if such a thing is possible.”

  Is he capable of remorse? Maybe I'm wrong, but I fully believe that he is. He must be. His face is burned into my memory, the conflicted look in his eyes as he struggled with his conscience.

  I can't do this. I can't.

  I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this!

  “But there's still hope for him,” I continue to insist. “Right?”

  “There is always hope.”

  That's about as much as anyone can ask, I suppose. The rest is up to him.

  I look over my shoulder, sending a reassuring smile to Max. I can't see him through the tinted truck windows, but I have no doubt that he sees me. Sweet, loving Max. He's become my rock. My best friend. I don't know how I could make it through this without him.

  I never did take him up on the offer to move into his apartment. Instead, he's been spending all his free time at my house. With the baby coming, I figure I'm going to need all the help I can get. Between the four of us, this kid is going to get a lot of attention. And with all my fears unfounded, the only worry left will be the prospect of him ending up spoiled rotten.

  “He's in love with you, you know,” Avery murmurs surreptitiously.

  I look back at her, surprised. “Really? You think?”

  Her laughter sounds like the tinkling of tiny bells. “No, I don't think. I know. Hello...psychic, remember?”

  I bite my lip, my heart swelling with the confirmation. I think I knew all along – after all, actions speak louder than words. And his actions are those of a man with a heart of the purest gold.

  “Why hasn't he said something?” I can't help asking.

  “I can't say for sure. But I think...I think it's because he's giving you time. Time to heal from Locryn. Time to get used to the idea of being a mother. He knows you've got a lot on your plate right now and he doesn't want to pressure you.”

  Typical Max. Always putting others before himself.

  “Can I ask you something, Avery?”

  “That's why we're here,” she teases.

  “How do you know all this? I mean, we've never even met. How could you possibly know so much about me? About all of it?”

  Sliding down from the bench, she brushes off her skirt before turning to face me. Once again, it strikes me what a pretty child she is. It's like looking at a little doll, a doll with golden hair and blue eyes that dance. “I'm sure if you think about it hard enough, you'll figure it out. Anyway, I hate to rush off but I'm afraid I have to go now. I can hear my father calling.”

  I don't hear anything.

  “It was very nice meeting you,” she adds politely.

  I wish she didn't have to go. There are a million other questions I'd like answered. So many things I want to know. For a moment I consider asking for her address, but some intuition tells me I'm not supposed to know. That it won't do any good to ask.

  So all I say is, “It was nice meeting you too, Avery. I can't thank you enough.”

  “Don't mention it. Do me a favor and kiss the baby for me, will you?” She takes a few steps before pausing to look back. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message from your mother.”

  My mother?

  “She says to tell you the wildflowers are still blooming.”

  With a bright smile, she hoists the Barbie backpack over her shoulder and makes her way across the playground, her red shoes sparkling in the sunlight.

  It takes me a moment to compose myself.

  Even then, I have to brush away tears before I climb into the truck. The last thing I want is for Max to see me crying.

  “Did you make a new friend?” he jokes.

  “Yes. I guess I did.”

  “Too bad this Avery person didn't show up. I know you were hoping to get some answers.” Shaking his head, he sticks the key in the ignition but hesitates before turning it. “Did you want to wait a little longer, just in case?”

  “Oh, she showed up.”

  His incredulous expression almost makes me giggle. “You're kidding! Her?”

  “Yep. That was my little psychic.” I look for her through the window, but she's already disappeared from sight.

  “You can't be serious! That little kid?”

  “She knew everything about me. About the baby.” Resting a hand on my womb, I smile serenely. “He's okay, Max. Healthy and for the most part, human. It's a
strange story, but I'll go ahead and tell you one thing up front. Just to put your mind at ease. Everything is going to be just fine.”

  “You're sure?”

  “I'm positive.”

  His silver eyes shine warmly, and I wonder how I never saw it before. The love there. Was it because I never believed myself worthy? Or maybe I just wasn't looking hard enough. It's been there all along and I failed to recognize it. Now, it's as plain as day. And I make a solemn vow to myself that I will never take it for granted.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something small and white clinging to the front of my dress. I pick it off, thinking it's just a bit of fluff, but I know as soon as I touch it that it isn't thread. It's soft as gossamer. Delicate as dandelion. I hold it up and blow gently on it, parting the white down with my breath. It looks like a tiny feather from a fledgling bird.

  Or the wing of a newborn angel.

  From out of nowhere, a fragment of a bible verse comes to me.

  And a little child shall lead them.

  She's right, I think. Eli would be a nice name.

  Max reaches for my hand, and we lace our fingers together. I've never felt more at peace than I do right now. This is where I'm supposed to be. Where I'll always want to be.

  “I love you too,” I tell him.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Epilogue

  Locryn

  He's a fine boy.

  I cock my head, staring with curious fascination at the tiny bundle. Swaddled in a striped blanket and tucked into a clear bassinet, all I can really see of the child is his scrunched-up little face. But it's a handsome face, a robust face, and I dare anyone to say otherwise.

  His name I already know. I saw it on the blue wreath hanging from her hospital room door. Welcome to the world, it reads, and below that, Elijah Bryce Fallon.

  My son bears the surname of another man.

  A jealous hatred simmers in my blood, but I suppress it by reminding myself for the hundredth time that it's better this way. Better for her. Better for the baby. As for Max, I'd just as soon string him up and watch him bleed. It's an unreasonable hatred, I know, but I despise him nonetheless.

  And yet I will entrust him to replace me as father for my son, because I do not want this child to grow up the way I did.

  This love, whatever strange emotion it is...I want him to know it.

  I want his mother to know it.

  I caught a glimpse of her as I was walking past, when one of the orderlies was coming out of her room. Just a fraction of a moment, but it told me all I needed to know. She's happy. Sitting up in bed, her chestnut hair tumbling loosely across her shoulders, she was smiling at something her husband said. Something witty and tiresomely altruistic, no doubt. We should all dedicate a shrine to his tedious benevolence.

  His wife, my Jude...she looked tired but radiant. Beautiful as always.

  It isn't the first time I've seen her since that night in Hell.

  June. Her wedding day. I watched from a distance as she emerged from the church, the same one where her father once addressed his congregation. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn there out of the same morbid curiosity that brought me here.

  Heavy with my child, dressed in white despite that fact, she came bursting out of the chapel on Max's arm like a snowflake borne on the wind. Cheeks glowing. Flowers in her hair. Eyes sparkling with joy.

  I left in a hurry. Didn't trust myself not to do something stupid.

  I've always prided myself on my restraint. But it was all I could do not to invade her dreams that night, just to remind her that it was my arms that once held her.

  I'll never do that, though. No, the best thing I can do for Jude is to let her go.

  Reaching up, I finger the little brass key I wear on a chain around my neck. Why I keep it, I really don't know. What is it supposed to represent? Freedom? Captivity? Is there even a fucking difference? All I know is, it reminds me of her. And so I keep it and I wear it, sentimental fool that I am, and torture myself with her memory.

  It helps keep me human, somehow. A talisman against the dark thoughts that plague me.

  I shouldn't have come here. I run the risk of being seen by someone. That idiot brother of hers, for example. I'm sure he'd love nothing more than to bury his knife in me again.

  A rotund man sidles up next to me, cooing and waving through the nursery window as if any of those infants can even see or hear him. Buffoon.

  “That's my daughter,” he tells me, though I never asked and frankly, do not care. “That beautiful little girl right there. Almost ten pounds, she was. Her mother says she felt every ounce. Lordy, she's a chunk, ain't she? Look at all that hair! You ever see a head of hair like that?”

  “Maybe on a bison,” I mutter.

  “Pardon?”

  I merely shake my head.

  Jethro Bodine keeps yammering away, oblivious. “This is my first. Hopefully won't be my last though! I'm shootin' for a boy next time. Gotta have one of each to even things out, ya know? Gotta keep things even!”

  It's on the tip of my tongue to suggest that if he is interested in evening things out, he might want to start with a good dentist.

  “This your first?” he wants to know.

  I turn my head to eye him with disdain. “My first what?”

  “You know, man! Your first kid!”

  “Once, when I was traveling through South Asia, I made the acquaintance of a man who bred goats. I, myself, have never dabbled in animal husbandry.”

  He scratches his head, puzzled. “Uh...well, which one is yours?” he persists.

  My first instinct is to point out my son, wallow in pride just a bit – have a look at MY son, you dolt, and then go drown yourself in your inferiority – but I resist the urge. I mustn't forget. This child doesn't belong to me. He'll have a better upbringing than I did. He won't have a father who ends up using him as a pawn to further his own agenda, only to disown him and threaten him with every form of torture in the book.

  Fuck you, Leraje.

  And now, thanks to him, my only recourse is to try and make amends. Do you know what it is to have to curtail your very nature? Try denying yourself water while crawling on hands and knees through a blazing desert. All this do-gooder crap is nothing short of nauseating. Donating to charities, volunteering at homeless shelters...faugh! I'm almost convinced that Purgatory would be a better option.

  “None of them,” I say quietly.

  “Oh. You must be an uncle then, huh!”

  “No.”

  The man gives me a strange look. “But you're here visiting someone, right?”

  “No.”

  “You...work here?”

  “No.”

  Sensing my dark mood, the blowhard finally shuts his hillbilly trap and moseys on his way. I observe, however, that our conversation did not go unnoticed. One of the nurses – the big, husky one whose face resembles that of a warthog – rises from her seat and lumbers on over. She's been eyeing me suspiciously since the moment I set foot on this floor. What is her problem? I'm wearing Armani; I certainly don't look sketchy. Is she afraid I'm going to try and kidnap one of the babies?

  What an absurd notion. I'd just as soon make off with a stack of insurance forms.

  “I don't recall seeing you come in with any of the mothers,” she announces.

  What a brilliant deduction. Brains as well as beauty. All the men must be clambering over one another to get to this one. For shade, if nothing else.

  When I fail to reply, she attempts to incite a reaction by pointing out, “Sweet little things, aren't they?”

  “I suppose so. If you like naked mole rats.”

  Her bushy eyebrows draw together in a disapproving scowl, making one long caterpillar out of two. “If you don't mind my asking, exactly which one of these newborns are you here to see?”

  Smiling, I shrug.

  “Do you or do you not have a reason to be on this floor?”

  “Depends. How do you think they'd tas
te sautéed with scallions and white wine?”

  Huffing, the warthog crosses her arms over her ample bosom. I'm impressed that she's physically able to do it. “Oh, a comedian! Sir, if you don't have family here then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Naturally, my dear! I was just on my way out. May I offer you a lift to your appointment...” I glance surreptitiously at her name tag. “...Beatrice?”

  She hesitates, her guard lowered for one delightful moment. “What...uh, what appointment are you referring to?”

  “With the animal sanctuary, of course. Their proboscis monkey is missing his giant schnoz. I assumed you were going to do the right thing and return it.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “It helps if you can retain a sense of humor, Nurse Ratched.”

  “All right, Mr. Funny Guy.” She grabs my arm with a meaty paw and gives me a shove. “The elevator's that way. Get going.”

  “Aren't you coming along? I'll treat you to lunch. Tell me, do you prefer oats or hay?”

  “Get out!” she hisses.

  “I beg your pardon, Bossie, is it milking time already?”

  Seething with fury, she jabs the button for the ground floor. “Listen, you – don't let me catch you hanging around here again! If I see you, I will call security!”

  “Good idea. You might want to have them do something about that.” I point to the floor beside her clunky white shoes, where the wolverine I just conjured is crouching. He looks frightfully angry. Teeth bared, foam dripping from his jaws...funnily enough, it's her scream that sets him off. He tears into her leg like a monkey on a cupcake.

  Who would've guessed that bovine Beatrice possessed the agility to leap on top of the nurses' station? Not me. Ah, I do love surprises!