A Hideous Beauty

by Jack Cavanaugh

  With more conviction than I felt, I said, “I’ll stop the assassination. You know that, don’t you? But then, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? What do you plan to do, Myles? Get your buddies to tie me up and stick me in a closet until it’s over?”

  Semyaza sniffed indifferently. “You know they hate you, don’t you?”

  I glanced at the two angels behind him. “They don’t even know me.”

  “Not them. Abdiel and the others. They despise you because you’re one of us.”

  “I’ll never be one of you.”

  Semyaza chuckled wickedly. “Oh . . . I beg to differ, Grant. I do beg to differ . . .”

  The room grew dark and the ceiling began to stir. I glanced up to see it populated with demons, just as the ceiling in Myles Shepherd’s office had filled with hideous gargoyle things. They clustered in the corners, straining as though on a leash.

  “You don’t choose family,” Semyaza said. “That’s what they are. Your family. Think of this as a family reunion.”

  The flesh on my arms and neck began to tingle.

  “This is your destiny, Grant. Because of who you are, you have no hope of a blissful afterlife. Your future is with them, elbowing for ceiling space, in constant torment, aching for a moment of peace, pleading with the God who has turned his back on you for annihilation so the pain will stop.”

  Above him the activity increased like a beehive disturbed. Gargoyle mouths twisted in silent cries.

  The thought of being one of them . . . of writhing among them on the ceiling . . . chained . . .

  “So that’s the plan, is it, Myles? Because I learned the truth, now you’re going to kill me?”

  “The truth?” He laughed hard. “The truth? You’ve read the ramblings of an ancient fool and you think you know the truth? I’ll show you the truth.”

  When would I learn not to goad Myles?

  At his signal a lone demon dropped from the ceiling onto the bureau. I recognized him from Myles Shepherd’s office. It was the same demon that had dropped onto the file cabinet and clutched the tennis trophy.

  “Call me sentimental,” Myles said, “but I just love family reunions, don’t you?”

  I was too horrified to reply. My eyes were locked on the tortured soul on the bureau. It stared at me and drooled like I was a T-bone steak.

  Semyaza said, “Grant Austin . . . meet your father.”

  Before I had time to blink, the demon hit me in the chest and clawed its way inside. I clutched at my clothing, ripping open my shirt, as though I could go after it and tear it out. My fingers ripped away the shirt and began clawing at the flesh, digging deep red channels. But I made no progress. My own flesh, my own rib cage, kept me from getting at him.

  I could feel him inside me. Restless. Stirring. Gnawing. I could hear him in my head, whimpering and moaning. He babbled words I couldn’t understand, but I understood his anguish . . . oh, how I understood his anguish . . . an anguish so thick, so heavy, it dripped inside me and coated my soul with an oppressive, oily depression.

  I dropped to my knees, my hands clenched helplessly in fists as I fought the torment and the mounting anxiety.

  Semyaza stood over me, grinning that insufferable grin he’d perfected as Myles Shepherd. His cohorts flanked him. Above them, on the ceiling, gargoyle demons danced with glee at the thought of one of their number finding a measure of satisfaction at my expense.

  “Let’s leave Grant and his father to get better acquainted,” Semyaza said. “I’m sure they have a lot of catching up to do.”

  The three rogue angels disappeared. The ceiling cleared. I fell onto my back, clutching at my head, writhing on the floor.

  CHAPTER 24

  It was night when my demon father vacated me. The hotel drapes were open and from the floor I could see stars. I don’t know why he left when he did. Maybe he had dinner plans. All I know is that he left me completely exhausted. I felt like I’d spent the afternoon wrestling a grizzly bear.

  I lay on the floor, my arms and legs splayed, my chest rising and falling as if I’d run a marathon. Not until the ache of lying on the floor was greater than the ache of moving did I get up.

  Crawling to the bedside table, I reached for my phone and punched through the list of recent calls that had been made to my number. I found the listing I was looking for, the call that had reached me at Christina’s apartment. “Sue Ling, this is Grant.”

  “Grant . . .” Her voice was hesitant.

  “I need to reach the professor. Do you have a contact number which I could use to . . . oh, hello, Professor.”

  I don’t know why I was surprised. Sue Ling was never far from the professor. I told him I needed to speak to him, tonight if possible. He gave me an address in North Park.

  A small corner house, 3198 Landis Street appeared to have been built in the late thirties. It had a front porch with wooden pillars on each corner that looked like a thin Egyptian pyramid. A long, wooden ramp for handicapped access indicated I was at the right house.

  My knock was answered by an invitation to let myself in. The screen door creaked as I opened it. The door had been left open a crack. I stepped into a cozy living room lined with bookshelves. Two floor lamps with shades provided soft light. The absence of a television, or the sound of one, made me feel like I was stepping back in time.

  “Come in, Grant!” the professor said cheerily, wheeling himself into the room from the more brightly lit kitchen.

  Behind him I could see Sue Ling whipping a dish towel around an appliance. Shoving the appliance into place, she continued wiping down the counter and putting dishes away in the cupboards. Her movements were automatic. She didn’t have to think, let alone ask, where anything went.

  The professor offered me a seat on a soft sofa—blue cornflowers on a maroon background. He wheeled to a position facing me and gave me a good long look. “Rough day,” he said.

  It wasn’t a question. I guess I looked even worse than I felt.

  “Still wrestling with the news?” he asked.

  I laughed.

  “Something I said?”

  “The news is wrestling back.”

  I described what had happened in my hotel room. As I spoke, the professor closed his eyes. He listened as though he was in pain.

  Sue Ling’s voice preceded her entrance. “Coffee will be ready in a . . . Grant, you look horrible!” she cried.

  “Thanks. I’d hate to feel this lousy and nobody knew.”

  It took half an instant for Sue to put the pieces together. She’s quick. I was impressed not only with the speed of her deductive reasoning, but with the fact that she hadn’t been listening to our conversation from the kitchen.

  But what she deduced scared her, and the expression of horror on her face reminded me that I had demon blood racing through my veins. All of a sudden she couldn’t look at me.

  Her gaze laboriously avoiding me, she inched closer to the professor and placed a hand on his arm. The professor didn’t acknowledge it. He seemed comfortable with it.

  “Anyway,” Sue said to the floor, “the coffee will be ready in a minute. I set out sugar and spoons. If you want creamer, it’s in the refrigerator. Oh, and there are some cookies on the shelf beneath the toaster oven. The shortbread kind. They’re the professor’s favorite.” She gave his arm a pat.

  “Thank you, Sue,” the professor said, reaching for her hand. Squeezing it.

  “It’s been a long day,” she said. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  Her next move was of great interest to me. Which direction would she go from here? To the back of the house? Or out the front door?

  She bent over and kissed the professor on the forehead. “Good night,” she said.

  “Sleep well, Sue,” the professor replied.

  Sue Ling then reached behind a chair, retrieved her purse, and let herself out the front door. I smiled. I think it was the first smile I’d smiled all day.

  Now that we were alone, I said, “How do I fight a
ngels, Professor?”

  Hands clasped in his lap, he thought a moment. “Have you read the narrative accounts I sent you? The ones Abdiel dictated to me?”

  “One of them.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Two. Are there more?”

  The professor’s eyes lit up. “Oh my, yes! Accounts of Lucifer’s attempt to corrupt the kingly Davidic line from which the Messiah was promised; heaven’s major offensive through the incarnation of the Son; the three years of head-to-head battle between Lucifer and Jesus; the battle of the cross; the raid on Sheol with the release of the captives. All of it. It’s fascinating.”

  “Will it help me fight them?”

  “Those narrations are for you.”

  “Me? I thought Abdiel didn’t like me.”

  “He doesn’t. That’s why he’s dictating the narrative to me. Heaven has taken an interest in you, Grant.”

  “I guess I should be flattered.”

  “If you had any sense, you’d be scared.”

  The comment reminded me how scared I was. I got up and paced.

  “So how do I fight them?” I asked again. “I’m tired of being Myles Shepherd’s . . .”

  It was going to take a while to adjust to his new name.

  “Of being Semyaza’s pawn. How do I fight him?”

  I was eager to get my hands on something I could use to pummel Semyaza.

  “Listen carefully, Grant. Reality is comprised of two parts, that which is seen and that which is unseen. Don’t think of them as separate worlds, but as a unified cosmos. The world in which we live is comprised of the natural and the supernatural. Actually, even the term supernatural is misleading. It implies that it’s not natural, when in reality it’s just as much a part of the natural world as—”

  “Excuse me, Professor.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re sounding like a professor.”

  “Are you saying you don’t understand?”

  I slumped back on the sofa. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but right now I don’t need a lecture. What I need are weapons.”

  “I see.”

  “Semyaza has all the weapons. I can’t stop him. I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Weapons.”

  “Yeah. Something I can use to defend myself . . . something that will hurt him, or at least threaten him and make him back off.”

  “Like a sword.”

  “Exactly!”

  “And maybe a shield.”

  I was getting through to him. “Yes! Or if you have something more modern, maybe an automatic weapon or nuclear device.”

  “A spiritual machine gun.”

  “Now we’re talking!” The image of me leveling one of those babies at Semyaza and pulling the trigger played in wide-screen format in my head, complete with surround sound.

  The professor was nodding. He understood now. “Here it is . . . ,” he said. He leaned forward. I leaned forward, as though we were huddling under a super-secret confidential security bubble. “Truth,” he said.

  I waited for more. Blinked. “Truth,” I repeated.

  “An upright heart.”

  “Professor, maybe you didn’t understand me—”

  “Faith.”

  “I need something I can use to—”

  “The Word of God.”

  He nodded and grinned knowingly as though he’d just handed over an arsenal of weapons.

  “Professor, what I need is—”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “After all you’ve been through and you still don’t grasp the concept.”

  “What I understand is—”

  “Your enemy is not human!” the professor shouted. “He is a supernatural being with cosmic power of evil proportions which you cannot begin to comprehend! And for reasons unknown to us, he is stalking you, and he will annihilate you unless you find a way to fight him off!”

  “But that’s what I’m trying to do!”

  “No you’re not! You’re searching for an enchanted supernatural sword that will intimidate and possibly kill him, a weapon forged by someone else that will swing the balance of power in your favor.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. That’s exactly what I wanted.

  “Well, I have news for you. It doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to look elsewhere, Grant. I’m all out of magic swords. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming out here tonight.”

  He wheeled himself back to give me room to stand.

  At the front door I turned back. “You can teach me how to fight him?”

  “Yes.”

  I closed the door and took my seat on the sofa. “I believe you were telling me about the true nature of this universe,” I said.

  “If you don’t understand the nature of the cosmos, you understand nothing,” the professor said.

  He gestured with a book containing a collection of ancient texts that was old and worn with use. As he spoke he sometimes patted it for emphasis, but rarely did he open it. He gave every indication of having memorized it. “The Bible unashamedly portrays a world that is at once natural and supernatural, a cosmos that is inhabited by both natural and supernatural beings. The spiritual realm is not something that is far away, it is here and now. It is part of the very fabric of the universe.

  “Jacob is a wonderful example. The Bible describes how one day he took a journey and on his way stumbled into an encampment of angels. He called the place Mahanaim, which means ‘two encampments.’ The next day, he got up, and continued on his journey.”

  “What was the encampment of angels doing on earth?”

  “The Bible doesn’t say.”

  “Does it say where the angels went after Jacob left them?”

  “No.”

  “Did they deliver a message of some sort, something useful Jacob recorded that has been passed down to us?”

  “Nothing.”

  I was stumped. “So the angels were just vacationing on earth?”

  The professor laughed. “We don’t know what they were doing. That isn’t the point of the story.”

  “What is the point?”

  “That they’re here. It’s that simple.”

  “If that’s true, why don’t more people know about them, or act like they’re here?”

  The professor sat back in his wheelchair and mulled a moment. “The level of awareness of the supernatural has varied throughout history, by design largely, whatever suits the purposes of Lucifer. God has always been up-front about its existence. Maybe it would help to think of Lucifer and his bunch as the Mafia . . .”

  “That’s easy to do,” I said.

  “A person can drive through downtown New York and never see the Mafia. That doesn’t mean they’re not there. People can live all their lives in New York and never knowingly encounter the Mafia, though they have probably been affected one way or another by the Mafia’s presence. Just because they don’t operate out in the open, or people don’t talk about them often, doesn’t mean the Mafia doesn’t exist. But when it is in the Mafia’s best interests to make themselves visible, they are more than capable of making their presence known in dramatic and powerful ways. Does that help?”

  “So the cosmos consists of natural and spiritual. One is as real as the other. Both are present. Got it. Now what?”

  The professor sighed. “The hard part.”

  “How come there’s never an easy part?”

  “If I was talking with anyone else at this point, Grant, I would tell you the good news.”

  “Which is?”

  “For a person in Christ, the good news is, ‘He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world,’ meaning that, for the Christian, God has placed His Spirit within him to protect and guard him against the devil’s evil schemes.”

  “You’re talking about salvation, right? And because I’m Nephilim, I can’t be saved.”

  “Correct. If God’s Spirit was inside of you, Semyaza’s demons would no
t be able to possess you.”

  “So God’s Spirit is unavailable to me.”

  “I have nothing that says otherwise.”

  “Which means?”

  “You’re on your own.”

  Before I realized it I was on my feet, pacing and fuming. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said. “And I didn’t do anything to deserve it either . . . at least, I don’t think I did anything to deserve it. There was that time with Karen in the backseat of her father’s Buick, but . . . No! I may not be perfect, but at least I deserve a chance, don’t I? It seems like I don’t stand a chance here.”

  “Grant, your anger is understandable.”

  “Is it? Is it? Well, that’ll be helpful the next time Semyaza sics his demon hounds on me! Or the next time he turns himself into a supernova and levels me. It’s not fair, Professor! I’m not an angel, so I can’t disappear or walk through walls and whatever else they do. And I’m not a human, so I’m not protected by God. And then, for good measure, when I die I go straight to the ceiling with a mess of shadowy green gargoyle demons, and I have done nothing to deserve any of this!”

  I had lost the professor halfway through my rant. He stroked his chin in thought.

  “What?” I asked him, hoping he’d remembered he had a magic sword in the back of his closet.

  “You are part angel. Is it possible that you may have some of their powers?”

  “I like this line of thinking. How do we find out?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you’re the man with all the answers.”

  “I’ve never encountered a Nephilim before.”

  Falling onto the couch, I said, “Well, I have. Trust me, you’re not missing anything.”

  It was late. The professor rubbed his eyes. “The only thing we can do right now is to continue with what we know.”

  “Which is?”

  “Weapons.”

  It was late and I was tired, too tired to get excited over the weapons the professor mentioned earlier, but at this point I was willing to try anything that might give me an advantage over Semyaza.

  “Truth is a powerful defensive weapon,” the professor said, “especially when you’re dealing with an enemy whose chief offensive weapon is deception. Stay alert. Don’t let Semyaza trick you. And whatever you do, don’t help him by deceiving yourself. It’s more common than you might think. See things for what they are. Be honest with yourself. Face your challenges head-on and make your choices with your eyes open.”