Chapel of the Morning Star 9500words

Dust rolled over the eternal, empty highway into town.

         Sitting in that tree, waiting, waiting, always waiting; looking for something more than dust and ash to blow my way. Hours, days, years? I couldn't be sure when the last lost soul had strayed down that lonely road, or if there ever would be another.

         Ghostly clouds limped across my view, at once still and achingly fast, watching for the lost souls to wander through.

         My stomach clenched as I looked to the hill. Not for me the chapel full of fools begging for redemption at the behest of an angry angel. No, I knew all I had done for king and country–how much worse I would have dared. In that line of work, mercy often comes in the guise of neglect.

         My heart leaped to life as I saw a woman stepping out of the darkness. Like a newborn colt she stumbled toward the gate. I tensed against the urge to carry her over the threshold. Already, the angel we call Morgen slithered toward her. Dressed in navy blue, he looked wholesome and perfect: quintessential Morgen. I had more interest in watching from afar, so I told myself. 'Less worry' might be more accurate. In either event, I held my position.

         “Susan.” Morgen's soft voice carried across the way as he adjusted his tie. “Welcome. We've been waiting for you.”

         “Where?” Susan swished her head about, dizzy, eyes catching nothing. “-am I?”

         “What do you remember?” Morgen's serpentine gaze locked on her wandering eyes.

         Already I felt myself losing her as every nerve in my body prepared me to jump into action, to tear that old devil apart. I ached for the old days when someone would tell me whether to fire and whether I had won or lost. This woman was safe for the moment, though, and I had intel to gather. I glared at my decision to stay and shifted to be ready to move.

         “Driving. Kylie, getting loose. Crawling about the car. My poor baby! Had to close the window.” Susan paused, held her head in her hand. “Oh, I lost control!  I, uh, lost control.”

         Morgen stepped in front of her, and prompted, “Go on.”

         “My baby. Kylie.” She turned about, waving her arms. “I've got to go find my baby.”

         Flat and matter of fact, Morgen said, “That is not an issue right now. Continue with your story.”

         “No, really. My baby needs me.”

         Morgan swooshed in front of her. “Her welfare is out of your hands now.”

         "Why are you…" Susan tried to walk around Morgen. “...keeping me from my baby? She could be hurt.”

         “You will be of no help. I can assure you.” Morgen sneered. “For reasons that, soon, will be clear, if you only continue with your story."

         “What is wrong with you!" She tried to walk around him, but he slid in front of her.

         “Clearly, you do not yet understand what is going on. Therefore, the best course of action–”

         She raised her hand to stop him. “Okay, alright." She paused to think.

         Her voice fell almost to a mutter. “It was dark. Walking in a tunnel, a voice. C-calling me deeper, away from the light. Your voice? Maybe. I don't know. And, oh, I get it. I'm dead. That's it, isn't it?”

         Morgen's voice glowed. “I'm sorry! You didn't make it.”

         That ungodly monster! I clenched my fists. She would never be happy here unless I got her away from him.

         Just then, a black bird swooped in, landed on the fence, eyes glowing bloody red.

         Whenever Morgen got the better of me, the birds always appeared. I groaned at my loss of discipline, took a deep breath, and relaxed my fists.

         "I know one thing." Susan looked around.

         That day, softly lit mountains broke up the horizon. The ground was dust; the sky, glossy black; the moon, oversized and fluorescent. The air was warm, not hot, and dusty, but without any disagreeable odors. “This isn't any Heaven I ever heard of."

         Morgen's chest puffed out as his wrinkled face grinned. “No, I suppose not."

         “I guess they oversold this place too.” She kicked up a little dust. “Or, did the furnace go out?”

          I chuckled at that.

         “You know, I admire your sense of humor, Susan.” Morgen waved his finger under her nose again. “That kind of thing will give you strength in the trials that follow.”

         “Trials?"

         Here it comes, I thought, and groaned.

         “Yes, Susan.” Morgen ran his fingers through his slick, black hair. His voice rang with delight. “There's been an error. You're not supposed to be here: nobody is.”

         “Where should I be? How do I get there?”

         “Oh, Susan, if only it were that simple.” Morgen winked at me. “You have no compass, no guide. Simplistically, we might call you a 'lost soul.'"

         “Oh.” Susan nodded and looked down, thinking. “But, that doesn't mean anything, does it?”          

         “In here,” Morgen said, sweeping his arm around to indicate the whole universe, “it means you are, to put it mildly, in a world of hurt.”

         “What's to be done?”

         “I have no answers for you." Morgen flashed his palms, then hid them an instant later. “I can tell you, the others like to pray.”

         She cocked an eyebrow. “That do any good?”

         "Oh, it is quite meaningful." Morgen leaned back as if he expected to be flooded with a fiery halo or at least a spotlight. "The Father hears your prayers; help will come if you have faith.”

          I coughed with disgust. In all these years, nothing good had ever come of their prayers, unless being scooped up and taken to Hell qualified as 'good.'

         “Right. I'll keep that in mind.”

         “There's more. You see, others listen, including 'The Other.'” Morgen nodded dramatically.

          The time to step in drew near. I took to my feet, balancing on the tree branch.

         "Ha,” Susan scoffed. “You mean 'the devil?'”

         “This matter is serious, Susan." Morgan puffed out his chest. “'The Devil' as you call him, listens closely to your prayers. The choices you make here are all-powerful. The Devil lives to twist those choices against you.”

         She cast her eyes down, nodding gently to herself.

         “Mark well everything I have said! For you are besieged by lies in this place of untruth and unrest."

         I cursed the branches and stones about–none would do anything to Morgen. As the old snake prattled on, I slipped to the ground and began to stalk them.

         "Whatever truth you can divine, whatever lies you accept, will determine your destiny.” The speech he makes every time a soul arrives.

         “That's nice, Mr. Morgen.” Susan looked up to him in defiance, as if at a dragon. “You got a last name?”

         “Yes. It is Stern. Means 'star,'” Morgen answered, watching to see if Susan caught some inside joke. “Means, I belong in the heavens, not crawling around in the dirt with you dead animals.”

         In an awkward attempt to change the tone of the conversation, Susan slapped Morgen on the back.

          Her hand slipped through his ghostly body.

          “What the- ?”

         “My punishment, from The Father,” said Morgen, shrugging. “I had a bit of a 'falling out.'”

         “Oh, so, the only angel God can spare is a reject,” Susan said, shaking her head. “That's a royal welcome.”

         Morgen's nostrils flared and he opened his mouth for an instant. He hesitated and took a long, deep breath.

         First time I saw Morgen lose his temper. I chuckled quietly.

         He adjusted his tie and suppressed a flicker of a sneer. “Truly, you have been wronged, given all the time you gave to the Father in life."

         Susan's face turned sour.

         She had nothing to be ashamed of; nobody here had been sincerely spiritual. I stepped behind a bush.

         Morgen leaned his shoulder in to her, and projected a whisper that could be heard across the town. "You did make the Father a priority, didn't you?”

         She looked down and mumbled, “Not really.”

         The way Morgen toyed with people. I shook my head and stepped up the hill behind him.

         Morgen wagged his finger under her nose. “Well, there you go. Perhaps, in this life, you can make better decisions."

         Susan looked sick, ready to fall to her knees and cry.

         I sidled up behind her.

         "Perhaps, you will even attend our prayer group. Certainly, you will want to avoid Mr. Seefer.” He pointed at me.

         That was my cue. I stepped out of the shadows and slapped Susan on the back. My demon blackbird cawed and flew away.

         “Mr. Seefer believes our prayer group is more trouble than it's worth. Isn't that right?”

         “It is for me.” I stepped up to him and looked him directly in the eye, the only way I knew to wrestle a phantom.

         “And, of course,” Morgen's voice rang with sarcasm, “he has a great deal of evidence to back it up.”

         Other souls gathered about, hanging on Morgen's every word. Susan looked at me and shrugged. Then, to Morgen, the question of questions: “So? Is he right?”

         “Ah, that would be telling!" Morgan straightened his tie and strutted. "I will not debate the merits of your little lives.”

         The other lost souls murmured.

         “Just mind your choices. There is nobody, in Heaven or Earth, who can put your mind right for you.”

         Then the chapel bells rang, and the townsfolk headed for the hill.

         Susan reached her hand out. “Hello, Mr. Seefer. Pleased to meet you.”

         “Call me Lou.” I smiled too much as I took her hand. “My parents had a strange sense of humor.”

         “Huh?”

         “Louis Seefer. Say it six times fast.”

         "Oh!" She laughed. “Should I be worried?”          

         I shook my head, no. “I would.” I winked.

         She turned to stand beside me. “What do you do for fun around here?”

         I looked up the hill. “Annoy the people in the chapel.”

         “Then, you don't mind if I go?”

         “Might be awkward, being escorted by me,” I told her. “What will the neighbors think?”

         She shrugged and motioned for me to follow.

         

         I hung back when we entered.

         “Come in, come in." Katrin grabbed Susan's hand. "Your name is Susan? Mine's Katrin."

         Susan opened her mouth to speak.

         "Please, we've much to show you before prayer." Katrin pulled Susan by the arm, over to a shelf holding several matching devices, which I knew well. Taped together lunch boxes sported a lens sticking out one end. Hoses and wires stuck out at all angles. “These are the Hell Lanterns.”

         I elbowed in front of Katrin, and grabbed one, shining the Lucifer Light on each of us. Susan's soul showed black, a shining velvet with violet wrinkles. Mine had black marble finish, streaked with red and blue. Everybody else had blobs of glowing color, except Morgen–who avoided the beam.

         Susan raised an eyebrow at me.

         I leaned in to whisper, "Safety tool. Shows the true face of whomever you shine it on."

         Gingerly, Susan picked one of them up  and played with a few dials. The light flickered on.

         “It's for the angelics. So you won't be fooled!” Katrin said, nodding so hard she seemed sure to get whiplash.

         “It's a toy Morgen invented,” I explained, pointing out the dials. “You pray for help; these demons come. But they look like angels, till you spotlight them.”

         "Is it just me?" Susan paused, taking a deep breath. “Or is Morgen a little, I don't know, unfriendly?”

         Such flair for understatement! I chuckled.

         “Shut up, devil boy.” Father Karlen pushed his walker into the room. “Morgen's just a little riled. He was an important angel. Now he's not even allowed to touch human souls til we make it to Heaven.”

         Susan scratched her nose. “I saw."

          As the good Father Karlen made a show of using his walker to get to the pulpit, I wondered, once again, how anyone could trust in a preacher that fell short of Heaven.

          “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome."

         The congregation of the lost took their seats.

         Father Karlen droned on about safety. "Do not go alone. Do not lose faith."

         Every one of them sat in rapt attention, save me and Susan. I let my knee brush up against hers.

         Father Karlen raised his hands toward the ceiling. "Even a moment of weakness stands to cost us eternity.”\          People gasped as if they had not heard this a thousand times.

         “Each of you has one of the Lanterns of the Light, constructed according to the word of our patron angel, Morgen."

         I made a flashlight gesture.

         Susan smirked and waved me down.

         Karlen's voice rose in volume as he pounded in the message: pray, hope, but do not trust what comes in answer.

         It took most of my will not to scoff at the nonsense as all the little sheep bowed their heads, even Susan.

         I sighed. Nobody stays long, but I had to hope Susan would be the exception. I elbowed her in the ribs.

         She shrugged. I figured she was right. Who was I to say she should abandon her hope for mine? She probably had little reason to fear judgment. Few have the training to ignore an aching conscience. Of course, I had my doubts about the meaning of Morgen's movies. But, I had to admit, it was far from the first time I manipulated evidence–or people. I eyed the beautiful, brown-tinged woman who sat beside me.

         She caught my gaze through her knitted eyelashes.

         Maybe I would not be driven back up that tree. At least, not without action. I grabbed my lantern.

         The angelics are visionary things, visible through the walls of the chapel. Soon, I spotted the first one, and elbowed Susan.

         “What!” she exclaimed. “What do you want?"

         I hoisted her by the arm and pointed at our would-be attacker. “Now, we run!”

         The flock scrambled out of the chapel, racing through the tiny, one-body-wide door like choreographed dancers–far better than a world-class regiment of dancing soldiers–as if the door bent to accommodate us.

          We were off, through dusty streets, as fast as Susan's civilian legs could take her.

         No matter how slow we ran, the angelic hovered behind us, a car length away, a shadow we could not shake until the sun went down.

         Today the road out of town was not only dusty but also rocky and uphill.

         Susan was good, and here we were literally tireless, but she tripped and fell, rolling in the dust.

          She looked back, apprehensively, and took her first look at that angelic face.

         “He's so beautiful, Lou!” She  reached toward the angelic. “How can something so...”

         “Don't look at his eyes!” I cried.

          My rival slowed its approach.

         My heart clenched. He had already ensorcelled Susan, leaving me at most an instant to break the spell. I snapped the hell light on him.

         Morgen's magic movie showed a twisted, bubbling, tortured monster.

         Susan gagged at the sight, and looked away, turning in front of her.

         “Oh! We're trapped!”

         We had come to a cliff, a thousand-foot drop before us.

         I shoved her off the cliff and turned to face our assailant, planting my gaze safely on the bridge of his nose, to avoid his arresting gaze. (The things one learns in a life of cloak and dagger!)  “She's mine." I dove backward off the cliff.

         Maybe it is needless to say, but if a fall could kill the dead, my afterlife would be long-ago ended. I smiled as the dust settled.

         Susan brushed off her pants and punched me in the arm.

         I winced, for as long as I could hide my smile.

         “Could have told me,” she said.

         “No time.” I winked. “Besides, it's more exciting that way.”

         “Oh yeah?”

         “Yeah." I rubbed my arm. "But remind me not to get on your bad side.”

         “Remind yourself,” she said, giving me a playful shove.

         

         It was almost dawn. Susan lay sleeping.

         Sleep never forces itself upon the spirit body, but many people court it. They hope to escape the reality of this dream plane, though the sleeping mind lacks control. It reaches out for help, attracting angelics. Many a dreaming soul has slipped away to face whatever torment fate intends. That's why she needed me.

         I loved to watch over Susan. On these nights, I feel Heaven gather around.

         A smooth, menacing voice intruded on my reverie. “Good morning, Louis."

         “Morgen. Or should I say, 'guten morgen.'”

         “Ah! You speak German?”

         “As if you didn't know,” I said. “What did they say? The Morning Star shines brightly but it can never outshine the Sun?”

         “Very clever.” Morgen adjusted his tie. “Look, you're not going anywhere. There's no angel coming to take you, to Heaven or anywhere else–unless you invite them. Why don't you and I work together?”

         “What do you need me for?”

         “You are empowered to lie. A talent I greatly envy.”

         I scoffed. “What good might that do? Nobody believes a word I say.”

         “It's a reputation we both work hard to maintain.”

         “True." I stared out into the distance. "Don't like to build rapport with morons.”

          “In all this time, you are the only one who recognized my hint. So few people reach my level, here.”

         Was it a hint or a self-aggrandizing lie? I smirked. "You remind me of the people I worked for at the agency.” I invaded his space in an attempt to push him out.

         He adjusted his tie and gave me a left-handed smirk.

         I stepped closer. “And no, that is not a compliment. I have more in common with the 'serpent in the field.'”

         “So, we do have something in common.”

         “Out! Morgen, out. For the love of..." I caught myself, drew a deep breath. 'The Father's name,' the only taboo here, had a habit of drawing unwanted attention.

         “Oh, my,” Morgen taunted. “For a moment, I almost thought you were going to pray there.”

         “Go!” I wished I could throw him out or at least slam a door in his face. “Now.”

         “I leave you to consider my offer."

         I edged him away from our camp.

         He shrugged. "Given the full force of eternity, we will come to an agreement. Unless you take a 'magic angelic ride.' With that, he slithered away.

         As he vanished I thought to grab the lantern for a glimpse of the old devil's true face. “Go to hell, Morgen."

         “Coming with?” His voice came around a corner.

         The morning bell rang, and Susan roused.

         Relief washed over me. Even as I enjoyed watching over her, I dreaded every moment. “Sleep well?"

         Blinking the dreamy look out of her eyes, she nodded.

         I took her hand. “Let's skip this one.”

         “Lou, we talked about this. It's something I've got to do.”

         “Really? I mean, is it so bad here?”

         “Yeah. It's–" she paused, thinking, sitting up against the whitewashed gazebo wall. “No. It's just, it isn't right. I've got to try.”

         I wished I could find words that would make her see how things should be. We two souls might be adrift on a sea of nothingness, but this world belonged to us. Like the song said, she could offer me the world in a cup. We–I needed her to want it.

         She grew uncomfortable in my gaze.

         One step could turn her down a different path. This is where it started. I knelt down. “Susan, please? Just one.”

         “I'm sorry.” Susan pulled her hand away. “I don't want to lose you, either. Join us.”

         Susan could not imagine the burden that kept me out of the prayers. I never wanted her to see that deep into my soul. I laughed, a harsh little abbreviated noise, and shook my head.

         “You're still welcome to run with me." She reached out her hand.

         Hoping to hide my urgency, I slowly took it. “All right.”



         Karlen nodded, pushing those silly, round, green glasses back up on his nose. Of all the souls, he was the only one that showed any sign of age. I think it must have been his wish. “Come to join us in prayer?”

         “Don't want to face the Old Man, Karlen,” I said. “He and I have issues.”

         Karlen sighed. “All can be forgiven, my son."

         “You don't know that."

         “I do. Morgen told me."

         This was news–or would be, if I got it firsthand. I turned and gave Morgen a hard look.

         Morgen held still, maintaining a gambler's grin.

         That creepy, statuesque smile told me exactly nothing. I figured, even if Morgen could not lie, Karlen could: I had to test him. “Why would you lie about a thing like that?"

         Karlen seemed startled, as if telling the truth. That, or he had been playing preacher so long, he began to believe everything he said. Holy robes work wonders for a professional liar, I knew; I had worn a few in my day.

          Either way, I could not be sure. Nearly everybody had taken their seats, so Karlen waved me off and started struggling toward the pulpit.

         “Even as you dream of Heaven,” Karlen preached, “Please, remember that more than some so-called 'soul' is on the line. Here we do battle for eternity. In case you're wondering, that's a long time.”

         The congregation laughed nervously.

         They remembered.

         “So we bow our heads and beg for mercy, and more, for entry into the white gates of Heaven.”

         Then, I flicked the lantern on Karlen.

         The light showed green moss on black stone. The third trace of soul-darkness I had seen. I wondered what that meant, but had better things to do. I stood up. “Hey, Morgen, I was thinking about last night.”

         Morgen scratched his forehead where his horns would surely grow.

         I cleared my throat. “You wanted me to counsel the faithful, isn't that right?”

         Morgen's lips thinned, his face went white. “In a manner of speaking.” I could tell how desperately he wanted to lie.

         “That's beginning to sound like a good idea. And we discussed something we had in common, something about our names.”

         “This is not what I wished you to discuss,” he said, glaring at me.

         “But the fact remains: your name means something very important. These fine people need to know. It means 'Morning Star,' isn't that correct?”

         Karlen threw his bible at me.

         I caught it and started for a moment. The book was written in some ancient language. Aramaic, maybe?

         “For the love of Marduk, devil boy! Be quiet." Threads of power wrapped about my mouth.

         I choked on my answer.

         "If you can't respect our service, then get out."

         How old was Father Karlen, that a Babylonian god-name had power for him? I struggled, and failed, to say anything.

         Noting my silence, Karlen raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you."

         With that, the spell released me,  I took a deep breath. Perhaps he had been using that name in vain.          I cleared my throat of the last of Karlen's curse. “And what is the Latin name for the morning star? Anybody?”

         The room got so still you could not hear one lost soul's breath.

         “That name is Lucifer, isn't it? Lucifer, bringer of light?”

         One of the young men yelled out, “Get him!” and the crowd pressed in on me. They grabbed and held me.

         I slipped out of one hold after another. I punched and kicked in all the right places.

         They never so much as flinched.

         Of course, they felt nothing. I knocked them down time after time.

         Eventually, somebody got a proper hold and started to drag me out.

         “People!” Morgen cried. “This man believes the words he speaks."

         The crowd stopped to listen.

         "He is no different from you. You have nothing to fear in the words of a fool.”

         Like a bag of stolen money, they dropped me. Silence gripped the room.

         Confusion gripped me as it did everyone in the room. Why did Morgen stop them? I assumed, if they knew his identity, this foolishness would end. I believed that people, living in the shadow of Hell, would not attend a prayer group organized by the devil himself.

         “But you do have something to fear, listening to him!” I yelled as they took their seats.

         Everybody ignored me.

         Embarrassed silence: I was telling them something they already knew.

         Karlen cut in. “So now, heavenly Father, we beseech thee, open the vault of heaven that we might find entrance to your domain.”

         The flock chimed in with their "Amen."          

         My stomach lurched. Even Susan joined in. I began to understand. Morgen shed light, however corrupt. I had forgotten the desperation of that need for light.

         The first angelic arrived instantly. For the first time, I noticed Karlen did not flinch, did not intend to run. He caught my gaze and mouthed the words, “Take her.”

         I nudged Susan's shoulders and we bolted.

         This run differed. Something wondrous stirred the wind in our hair, the rising cloud of dust. When I let myself forget the stakes, like a choir of trumpets and harps, joy filled me.

         As if being lifted to my doom, I cringed. Not even for a complete second would I forget my place. I focused on the run.

         The way led across gaping cracks in the earth, through flaming rivers of lava that sizzled against our shoes.

         I refused to let anything break my stride or my focus.

         “Do you wonder why we do it?” Susan asked.

         “Do what? Call the angelics?” I only hoped that could be her meaning. "All the time."

         She ducked under a tree and long-jumped over a chasm, clawing her way to the other side. “No! Run. I mean, what do we know, really?"

         “Just what we see. You want to touch those things?”

         “But is it the truth?”

         No! This thought, I could never allow. “That's not the question we need to be asking,” I said, ducking under a stray branch.

         She followed without ducking.

         I chided her, “We have to be strong.”

         “I know,” Susan leaped over a few small bushes. “But does it ever bother you?”

         “Please, keep running. Keep away from these things.”

         “Don't worry. ” She shoved me in the shoulder.

         “And whatever you do, don't meet their eyes.”

         “Who are you, my mother?”

         “Guardian angel,” I shot back.

         She tripped then, fell to her knees and, horribly, looked behind in fear.

         “Again?” I screamed, wheeling around and bathing the angelic in Morgen's lucifer light.

         Susan remained transfixed.

         Too late. I shuddered in horror.

         Katrin, believing in the buddy system, trailed us by a few seconds. “Back off!” She screamed, leaping on the angelic, but slipping through and grabbing Susan instead.

         “Let her go!"I threw a stone, but it sailed through the angelic and ricocheted off Katrin like a marshmallow.

         “For the love of God, will you take me?” Katrin yelled: the magic word.

         Then the spirit spun about to face Katrin. I don't know how she avoided locking eyes with Susan's captor, but she slipped away and ran, now chased by two winged ghosts from the heavens.

         As the two spirits chased Katrin away, I approached Susan. “What is wrong with you? Do you want to be captured?”

         “Amazing!” Susan's eyes glittered. “Never felt so safe, so wonderful. Not in my entire life.”

         “Crazy talk, Susan. You know what those things are.”

         “Yeah, I guess,” Susan looked down and kicked a rock. “I remember thinking, 'Oh, man, what would it be like, if the real angels came for us?"

         I stepped in closer to her.

         She stepped a half step closer. "How would it be different than the angelics?'”

         “I can't lose you, Susan. Please, don't flirt with disaster.”

         Her copper hair flickered in the moonlight. “I want it to be over.”

         “The whole campaign goes to this.” I traced my finger about and finally pointed to her heart, gently touching down.

         Copper eyes smiled into mine.

           I leaned in, forehead to forehead. “You make peace with this place. It's the only way.”          

         Susan's eyes remained locked on to mine.

         She gazed at me as if at an angelic of death. In truth, I needed to sweep her up and drag her home. As she considered my words, my hands trembled; we lingered, as the pressure grew. I stared longingly at her lips.

         She tilted her head slowly to the side.

         I kissed her.

         Her laughter, like a chorus of bells, echoed out in the night.

         My skin burned; she must have felt the fire on my lips. I vibrated with one thought: thank you. The chill of it ran in my hair and in my toes, into the rocks and the bushes.



         Susan had settled down to prepare for her nighttime nap when Katrin stamped into our little gazebo and shoved me back a step. She yelled, “Where were you!?”

         Favoring my conscience, I met her gaze only gingerly yet refusing to let my guilt fester.

         “I was alone on that run!” Katrin yelled, stamping her feet. “What is wrong with you?”

          What could I say? I listened.

         She strode up to me and pushed me back again, screaming in my face, “I do not want to go to Hell!”

         I deserved this. I stood my ground.

         “I saved your precious Susan when you were just, what? -dumbfounded! You couldn't pick up the race and run with me?” Tears welled up in her eyes.

         We had been comrades in arms, however distant our personal feelings. She had risked herself to save us. When she needed me, all my skills–painstaking years training to be a perfect monster–had slipped my mind like a dream. I had acted like an amateur, a common civilian, less concerned with the war than the moment. I blushed and looked at my feet.

         She broke, looked down. In a softer voice, she said, “I wanted to sleep tonight. You're the only one smart enough to watch over me.”

         She gave my shame far more credit than its due. Another mercy raining upon me.

         Cross-legged, Susan patted the boards beside where she sat. “There's plenty of room. Join us?”

         Katrin found a spot on the boards. To a lost soul, even rough-hewn oak feels soft as a velvet couch. The women reclined and eventually fell to sleep on the weathered planks.

         This situation unsettled me. I cast about for something to occupy my mind.

         The silent enormity of the afterlife glittered down in an impossible moon and a scattering of stars.

         This called for music; a guitar. The Agency trained me to play. They taught that the synchrony of rhythm would inform my martial art, as would the understanding of harmony and the discipline of melody. The students laughed; the surviving agents nodded wordlessly.

         Meanwhile, I needed a guitar.

         Around here, when the mind focused on what it wanted, things had a way of turning up. Like real life, but much faster. I looked around in the grass, in the empty windows of the cardboard buildings. When that failed, I had another trick few people understood. Prayer works here. “Please, Father?”

          I looked around for a moment, found nothing. “God?” I said, turning around to head toward the gazebo.

         Underfoot lay a black and silver acoustic instrument. As I held it, the guitar hummed with power. I walked back up and knelt down in front of the sleeping girls, strumming a tune that brought to mind the softness of the morning fog and the dark blue of the evening sky. Everything came together, and my blue-eyed raven appeared on a light post.

         Morgen's voice rang with irony and approval. “Aha! You've the gift of sorcery!”

         I didn't look back at him. “Just observation.”

         “Well, be careful, my friend.” Morgen stroked his blood-red tie. “You may not be the 'pied piper,' but music does things.”

         “Then why don't you–"

         He conjured a violin, black with red highlights.

         "Oh.”

         “Accompaniment?"

         I continued my strumming.

         "Something with a less heavenly pedigree?”

         “You're not welcome here.”

         “You don't have to trust me; we share a purpose, keeping these sheep from the dogs in the sky.”

         I noticed his choice of words, thinking that 'wolves' might be more appropriate, if the angelics had such hostile intent. “Go away, Morgen.”

         “Have it your way.” Morgen lifted his fiddle and positioned it on his arm. “Gone, but not forgotten. Say hello when they pick up your friends.”

          He drew back the bow and played deep, resonant notes full of warning and seduction: a siren song.

         My head swam, and his music infected my own. “Out!" I cried, then carefully strummed the girls back to sleep.



         It could not have been long after that when I heard Katrin mumble in her sleep. “Take me!” she said and started to rise, ever so slowly, off the ground.

         Morgen's warning had come true before my eyes. I jumped on Katrin, yelling, “Hey! Knock it off!" I knew what Susan would think if I let Katrin go–not to mention what I would think.

         Katrin shook for a moment but failed to wake up.

         Susan coughed. “What is it?” she said, alarmed.

         “They're taking her, in her dream!" Katrin's face had the blissful expression of one who had met a reaper's gaze.

         “We've got to wake her up." Susan tried to jump on her but slipped off.

         “Katrin! Wake up!" I screamed, slipping off.

         No noise could break the spell.

         By now Katrin had floated up above our heads. Susan flashed the Lantern on Katrin.

         Katrin's green soul struggled and thrashed. Her fingers clawed at her throat as though she were choking.

         A pang of guilt engulfed me, and Susan was on her knees, coughing and gagging.

         I shut off that terrible lantern. The words came to mind, but I would not say them: 'For the love of God, come to me instead.' Instead, by strategic cowardice, I stared at Katrin as she was dragged into the stars. Unwilling to help Katrin, I set down the lantern.



         The next day, I picked up my guitar, right where it landed. “You sure you want to do this?”          

         “No, Lou. Don't know anything, anymore.” Susan sat down at her sleeping place.

I joined her.

         “What happened? How'd they get her? You were supposed to wake her up.”

         "Too late, by the time she spoke." As I forced a deep breath, the blue-eyed crow cawed and flew away. "Guess it came in her dream.”

         Susan shook her head, agitated. “They can do that?”

         “How do I know? Guesswork and Morgen's word.”

         “How ca.." She choked on her tears. "Can they do that? It's sup–s'posed to be fair.”

         “You get what you ask for. That's how it goes, in the stories.” And, in the afterlife, it seems.

         Susan nodded, holding her breath to still her sobbing. “I never got to know her. The woman risked eternity for me, and...” Susan sobbed into her hands.

         I strummed a soft rhythm. Susan leaned back, and let her sentence trail off, staring off into space. I kept at it, not knowing her intentions. Let her make her own decisions, whenever permissible.

         After a time she closed her eyes, and I continued to play in rhythm to her breathing. I saw her twitch, her eyes rattle beneath closed lids: dreams. Though my fingers continued to move they slowed down, as did her breathing. Hours seemed to pass between each note as I went, invisibly, to attention, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

         After an age, I saw it: a tear. Then, she moaned in horror.

         “Susan!  Wake up!" I grabbed her by the collar, jolting her head to rouse her.

         She struggled, still asleep.

         My heart cramped. The dream reapers had come, and I had no idea what to do. I picked her up by her shirt and shook her.

         Her eyes opened slightly, rolled back in her head.

         “Come on, Susan!  Stay with me!”

         She didn't answer.

         Panicking, I shook her still more violently, knowing that it would mean nothing–enraptured, she would feel only the slightest movement.

         Then she woke up fully and pushed me away, running to hang over the wall of the gazebo, coughing. “Took long enough."

         “What was it? Were they coming for you?”

         “No.” Awkwardly, she clutched the gazebo, still leaning over the rail, dry heaves shaking her from head to toe. “Everybody else. Everybody I loved. Little Kylie, my father, all dragged kicking and screaming away from me."

         I rested my hand on her shoulder.

         "Nothing I could do.” She stood up slightly, face ashen.

         I put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm here for you.”

         She put her hand on mine. “We're all alone here." Tears flowed over the corners of her full, brown lips.

         I pulled out a handkerchief.

         “We can take comfort in each other, but there's nothing anybody can do for us.”

         I turned her around and set her back against a pillar. “At the Agency, they told us, relying on our fellow agents made us weak. But individualism didn't make us powerful; it made us vulnerable. To the enemy, even to the Agency. To everybody.”

         Susan knitted her eyebrows together, but they rose at the center. The stern set of her jaw came with clenched teeth.

         Susan faked a hard look but only managed to show fatigue.

         That state either hardened an operative or drove her into disaster. I wanted nothing more than to take that away, to chase away her demons, deliver her home. In that moment, the words formed in my heart, against my will, even as I denied them: Please, God, take me instead.

         She watched me, brown eyes opening.

         It looked as if they read something beautiful inside me.



         She led me to the Chapel.

         “I will follow you into Hell itself.” I touched her shoulder to stop her, as she reached the first stair in front of the chapel. “But I am begging you: abandon this quest.”

         “Can't give up now.” Susan brushed my hair out of my face. “It would kill me.”

         Giving up false hope tears every organ in the body. I have been there many times. “But I can bring you back from there." The hardest part is admitting that it needs to be done.

         “I'm sorry.” She laid her hand on my cheek. “I don't have your faith."

         “It's easier than you think. You're just scaring yourself.”

         She paused, staring into my eyes. “You don't have to come with me, Lou.”

         “Yes, I do.”

         “I know." With a sad smile, she dropped her hand, turned, and walked in the door.

         As we sat down, Karlen nodded.

         Every face in that chapel had appeared in Purgatory since we did. I had lost count of how many runs we had done. We were the first to appear and the last to walk in the door.

          Nobody said a word. The parishioners all bowed their heads and mumbled their petitions, then rested, looking about.

         The first angelic had fiery, ginger hair.

         As we ran, the door bent wide open for us all to pass at once and we were off, gazelles ahead of wolves. Or, sheep herded by dogs, running to the wolves.

         Like mad, we ran, all to our own private corners of madness. We leaped over giant boulders and scrambled up sheer cliffs.

         The run had an eerie feel as I chased Susan, spurring her on. I felt none of the ordinary rules applied—a crazy thought in the smoke-and-mirrors of a dream world.

         My nemesis seemed stronger, more certain than any before. Each step brought us closer to the teeth of our fate. I lost all sense of time as I focused on each passing second.

         At last, Susan faltered.

         It looked like a stone grew up out of the ground and sent her sprawling, rolling in the shimmering red grass, face to face with her hunter.

          I stood probably ten feet past her before I turned to see. The angelic hovered above her, passed over her already. Her eyes seemed riveted to mine, but still, I had to be sure, had to take action.

         The words formed in my mouth before my head. “By God, you will take me instead!” I locked my gaze onto the angelic woman like a fool and stood. Rather than let Him take the one gift he had ever sent me, I stood ready to embrace whatever punishment God had in mind for me. I was not enchanted, not ensorcelled or enspelled. In fact, it felt like I had hypnotized the soul that came for me.

         I didn't flinch as she swooped into me, lifting me in her sweet, soft embrace, away from Susan and through the roiling, orange clouds above.

         I looked down with regret as I realized the truth.

Susan grabbed the lantern, pointed it in my direction, and dashed it to bits.



         When the angel set me down, I saw a doorway.

A white veil of neither water nor fire, with properties of both, sat in a wall of pearly bricks with golden mortar. Knee deep in clouds, weightless, I stood in midair.

         Behind me, the white bank of mist continued for several yards before dropping off. I shook my head in disbelief.

         Turning back to the ledge, I looked down to see Susan, on her knees, crying.

         I could hear her, despite being so far away. “Lou, I'm so sorry," she cried.

         I stepped forward, trying to fall to her.

         "If only I hadn't been so selfish; if only I had honored your one request. Well, I will now. No more runs for me."

         “Oh, no,” I mumbled. “What have I done?”

         A deep, resonant voice answered, “All is as it should be. You have resumed your journey." The veil in the gate rippled as the voice spoke.

         I stared at the gate.

         “Now, you must enter. Complete your journey.”

         “No! I can't leave her. I've got to tell her, help her, bring her with me.”

         “In her time, she will rise,” the gate replied. “You must now honor your own journey.”

         “I'm going back down there.” I never looked away from Susan, still kneeling in the dust. “I will bring her back, kicking and screaming.”

         The gate sighed. “She is sovereign. The decisions must be her own.”

         I ran to the edge, only to find that the cloud continued to hold me even as I ran beyond where it should end. “It's hopeless,” I cried, slamming down on my hands and knees and rolling about for a moment before finally righting myself.

         “Hope remains, always.”

         “You have to say that. You're on the side of the angels.”

         “Hope lies forward, beyond my veil.”

         I would not abandon her. I shook my fist at the gate. “No. You can't make me.”

         “You are correct,” the gate replied. “I cannot; would not. You transcend only by choosing the veil.”

         I neither understood nor cared about the voice's preaching. “How do the angelics get down there?”

         “They await the call.”

         “If Susan prays for me, then I can visit her?”

         “You must not. Think how the angels have frightened her. Strangers. How much worse might you do, if you answered her call.”

         “'Must not.' That means, I can.” I nodded, smug in solving the riddle, and crawled to the edge, looking down on Susan. “Then I wait.”

         “Peter's right, you know.” Morgen appeared from nowhere. This time, I could see the horns, tasteful little brown-and-black thorns nudging his hairline.

         “Peter?”

         “Don't be a rube,” Morgen said, indicating the door. “Congratulations on solving the riddles.”

         He was leaning against the wall, so I balled up my fist and eyed him.

         “Ooh, yes,” Morgen said, nodding at my fist with genuine approval. “Maybe this isn't the gate you really want? There is a dark door, a path of vengeance. I would be delighted to deliver you there.”

         I forced my fist to relax. “I didn't solve any riddles. I just couldn't lose her.”

         “Well, you lost her good,” Morgen said, disappointed. “She's determined never to see this place. You can't make her. You can't even talk to her. Now before I lose my lunch, why don't you just mosey through Peter's veil?”

         “That's what you want me to do, isn't it?”

         “Oh, Hell, no,” Morgen said, slapping me on the back. “I love to see a soul in misery. It's my only joy.”

         “Then what do you want?” If he could slap me on the back, then could I hit him? My knuckles itched to find out.

         “I came here to expedite this fool's errand you've got in mind.” He smiled like a crazed clown and stood there.

         “Go on.”

         “I'm hurt you wouldn't help me down there, but I forgive you. Say the word, and I'll tell her to make the prayer you're waiting for.”

         “I must protest,” the portal guardian said.

         “Can it, Peter,” Morgen said. “This is between us.”

         "I…" My stomach warned me to listen to Peter, but it might be the only way. “I don't know.”

         “You don't know when this offer might be revoked.” he taunted. “I'll guarantee five minutes. After that, it's whatever I feel.”

         “The character of the angel you call Morgen surely warns you away from his plan,” the gatekeeper stated. “Remember, you are sovereign; nobody can tell you what to do.”

         I scoffed in disgust at both of them, but Morgen had the only game in town. “What are you going to say to her?”

         “I'll tell her she can pray for you, and that she will get you.”

         “What's the catch?”

         Morgen laughed a frightening tone. “It's going to be me that tells her.”

         I knew then that Peter the Gatekeeper was right; my mission fell far out of achievable bounds. But I still believed one lesson the Agency taught: many times the day has been saved by a doomed agent on a hopeless mission. “Do it.”

         “Gotta love you self-destructive mudsparks!” Morgen smiled, pushed the horns back into his forehead, and vanished.

         “You don't have to answer,” the gatekeeper said.

         “Stuff it, Pete.” I turned my back on the gate.

         “You cannot lift her up if you let her weigh you down.”



         I count only two ways to mark time at the gateway. I could track my footsteps, which soon became like the drips of the water-torture routine, so I decided to stay still. The better measure was to count the daily flights of the angels. A thousand missions of mercy for each soul rescued. In stony silence, I maintained my stakeout as two hundred-sixty-seven souls walked, or were carried, past the gateway.

         One day an old man stood at the doorway, and he looked at me.

         “You're Lou, ain't ya." He took off his hat and wiped his brow. “That fool what got hisself saved throwing in Susan's way.”

         “Yes,” I said.

         “Stubbornest jackass ever I saw, that girl. You know, she built a statue to you.”

         “You don't say.”

         “I do. Preaches against the run with a passion like none you ever saw. Got quite a few converts, too." He stared down over the ledge.

         After a moment of silence, he sighed. "But we all slip away, sooner or later.”

         I nodded.

         “What you think you're gonna do? The only going is forward.”

         “I can't. It's against everything I stand for.”

         His big, dark eyes stared at me for a moment. Sadly, he said, “Reckon you gotta do what you threw in for.”

         After a few moments, he walked in closer and whispered, “This punishment: it as bad as you feared?”

         I looked away.

         “Well, each his own.” The old man huffed. “Be seeing you, when you rejoin your senses.”

          The old man plunged into Peter's fiery veil.



         Twenty-seven souls later I saw a face that burned my nerves to the core.

         Her face resonated like only one other. Her black  hair curled madly about and covered her eyes.

         They were Susan's: the girl had her mother's eyes. “Kylie."

         “Lou.” Susan had told her about me. She looked at the portal. “Is that Heaven?”

         My stomach churned as I looked in doubt at Peter's white gate. “I guess so.”

         “Why didn't you go?”

         I ran my fingers through my hair and shrugged. After a long few seconds, I sighed. “Can't give up on her.”

         “You must have loved her very much.”

         In answer, I touched her arm at the elbow.

          She returned the gesture. There seemed nothing to say.

         “Goodbye, Lou."

         Kylie stopped and waved at me, or motioned me to follow, before disappearing into the veil.



         Another fifty-one souls passed before I heard the gatekeeper's voice. “Lou.”

         “Stuff it.”

         “Can you feel it? Your bridge. It's ready.”

         I reached out with my feelings. I do not know how many times Morgen hounded Susan's private moments, but it worked. I felt it. She had prayed for me–silently, in the quiet sectors of her heart, never out loud. Her vow had been far too important for that. I would have heard. But in time, her heart's desire had reached out to mine and formed a bridge.

         My heart thrilled and threatened to leap away in horror. “How?”

         “Leap. Make the decision.”

         I walked to the brink, looked down on that strange world, and decided. As I did, something within me moved, and I fell.

          I felt, for an instant, like I was riding the heart of my blue-eyed raven. It fluttered about me and I landed, softly, before Susan.

         “Morgen told me you would come.” She reached out, her fingers hovering above my heart, afraid to touch. “Thought he was lying.”

         I took her hand in mine and smiled. “I don't think he can lie.”

         She reached up and hugged me. “I'm so sorry. What did they do to you?”

         “It's not like that.” I held her in my arms. “The angelics, they're the real deal. Angels, bonafide angels of mercy, not judgment.”

         She pushed me away, a look of horror on her face. “Oh, my God, you're one of them. An angelic, sent to entrap me." She grabbed a lantern, then thought better of it.

         No! What would that show? "Please, Susan, please don't.”

         “So beautiful." She touched my cheek. "To see your face, even if it is a lie. Will you stay? Just for a while?”

         I took her hand. “Susan, please. Come with me.”

         “You don't understand the guilt. It's more than one soul can carry."

         My heart filled to overflowing as I stood there. How could I help her to know this was real?

         She turned her back on me. “If only I had listened! If only I hadn't been so… so….”

         “It was me that was selfish." I pulled her into the hug from behind. "I couldn't bear to lose you; the thought was so harsh that I threw myself...”

         “Well, I'll never make that mistake again. I will stay here; I will hold the line against Morgen and his horde of avenging angelics. I will do what is right, just like you did."

         She watched me a moment.  "Like, uh, Lou did.”

         “Oh, Susan, no–you don't understand. All you have to do is trust. We will help you. If not me, another. Just ask, just take hope.”

         Then she flicked on the Lantern and saw me in my soul's pattern, black with blue and red streaks, a small reflection of her statue. “So, it just shows what Morgen wants us to see.” She pounded it against the statue until it crumbled to bits.

         The same black-and-red veins in the marble, in the same configuration as on my actual soul. I touched it. “It is a lovely statue."

         "Really?" She dropped her head, and bit her lip. “What are you trying to do to me? Soften me up?”

         “I'm trying to help you.”

         Her face sickened. “That's nice. Can you bring Lou back? Can you ease my guilt or give me some kind of closure, some kind of meaning?”

         “You have nothing to feel guilty about.” I put my hand on her shoulder.

         She knocked my hand away. “Don't touch me!"

         I stepped back a half step.

         “It won't work!" She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “I've been sparring with Morgen for, I don't know how long. You can't even compare.”

         “You really have nothing to feel guilty about. The angelics are the real deal. You have got to believe me!”

         “I do, do I? What I have to do is remain strong, to save these people from temptation, like you–like Lou did."

         “Susan, I mean it. You're in a very dark place, but I–if you let me–I can bring you back.”

         For an instant, her features softened, then she bristled with rage. She fought my words with every fiber of her being. She shoved me. “Get out of here,” she said, slapping me in the chest.

         I stepped back. "Don't do this."

         She advanced. “Get away from me. Leave me alone!  For the love of God, get out of here!”

         The name threw up a barrier; the entire world shimmered. As the connection crumbled, the wind rose around me. It was like looking at her through a wavy glass.

         She moved farther and farther away, even before I left the ground. I floated helplessly to the sky.

         As her decree pushed me away, I could see her fear shift focus, from the fear of trusting me, to the fear of losing me. “Come back soon!” she cried.

         “Pray for me!” I said, floating farther away. “I will come when you call!”



         Each time Susan dismissed me, by the gateway I waited for her to call again. I could no longer tell if she called me for comfort or torment; at times, I thought she must seek both.

         Morgen twisted our own personal power against us. Yet each time I remained, to wait for her. I lost count around the time of the ten-thousandth soul to cross over in front of me.

         That final time.

         “Deny her call,” Peter repeated. “Until you do, no good can come from this misplaced faith she has in you.”

         I looked down, and I looked at the veil. “What awaits me on the other side? How can it be Heaven without Susan at my side?”

         “I don't know,” Peter said. “Only when you arrive, will anybody know.”

         “Even God doesn't know?”

         Peter, for once, failed to answer a question. I walked to the veil, felt its cool, rippling touch. “Can you guarantee that I will be happy on the other side?”

         “Free will. No guarantees.”

         I looked back, one long last look. “What is there, then?”

         Again, silence. I had to make the decision, and I made it, plunging past the veil.

         What I saw shook me to the core: Susan, in front of me, crying, at the foot of her statue.

         She looked up, and away, afraid to meet my eyes. She blinked away the tears. “I thought you weren't coming."

         I stepped up behind her.

         "That's not fair. You're supposed to come when I call; you're supposed to torment me in person when I ask for you.”

         “This is different.”

         “It's no different–just another way of tormenting me.”

         “I made it,” I said. “I crossed over. This is supposed to be Heaven.”

         “Oh, shut up,” she said. “In the Father's name, I banish thee!”

         Nothing happened. “Don't you hear me? God, take him away!”

         She walked up to me and touched my face. “Is it really you?” she said, tears filling her eyes. “No more of Morgen's tricks?”

         I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. “No tricks. That I can tell.”

         “I gave up on you.” She let her chin sink deep into my shoulders. “When you didn't come, I couldn't wait. I called, I prayed for an angelic."

         She held me as tight as she could and cried, for what must have been an eternity. At that point, I did not know if I was supposed to take her to the gate.

          I no longer cared.

         Judged worthy, at last, even by our own standards, this world beyond the veil belonged to us. Eternity stretched out before us, offering time to shape the mountains and arrange the stars. Meanwhile, needing for nothing, we savored one another as aeons fell around us like leaves from the great tree.



Edited: July 18 2024 02:13