Angel Warriors - HellBound: Section 9

***
Numb, he supposed, was what he felt; or perhaps denial would be a better term. Too much to assimilate, too much conflicting information…. He had always thought – had allowed himself to think – that his son’s death had been more or less instantaneous. The telegram had only said that he had been killed in combat, a soldier’s ultimate sacrifice for his country; hoped, prayed that it had been quick… And now, to learn that it may have been otherwise…

But, something like that wouldn’t happen; an angel wouldn’t cause the death of someone just to gain a point—and God wouldn’t sanction that action, would He? Lucifer insisted that the angel had committed the sin of omission of truth, could, in effect, lie to suit their purpose; then, insisted just as fervently, that Mihdael wouldn’t lie to him if asked. That in itself was a conflicting statement.

Maybe Lucifer had given him a partial truth and a partial lie—but then, what was lie and what was truth? How could he separate the truth from the lies? He could only go by what Mihdael confirmed, or didn’t confirm. If each substantiated the other, he could get the truth that way…

He crossed toward the warrior, but McConnell intercepted him.

“What was all of that about, Stoney?”

He didn’t answer, and Mark followed him, feeling a sense of unease as the Judge faced the angel. There was a remoteness in his voice, as if he was reciting a carefully memorized speech, “I’m gonna ask you something, and I want you to answer with the truth.”

Mihdael looked up at him. “Tell me what he told you, then ask your questions.”

Stone repeated the story, watching as Mihdael’s expression remained unchanged. “…and then he told me to ask you,” he finished up, “and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Is it true?” He wanted the warrior to prove the lie, to give him reason not to believe all the terrible thoughts demanding his attention…

But the response was a calm, and unevasive, “Yes.”

And that one simple word unleashed the pent-up emotions, locked away so securely, so completely, for so many years… Years of grief, of guilt; and of having no one to blame, no one to call to account—not the Marines, not the war, not even himself. Years of believing his son had been another of casualty of war, that his death could not have been prevented…

A cold fury swept away the numbness, and his fists clenched tightly, as he managed another question. “How long? How long would he have lived, if you hadn’t--?”

“Two days, perhaps three, but no longer.”

“Dear God…” He turned away, thoughts and emotions in a turmoil of rage and grief. Two days, possibly three…? He could have been there; he could have lent some comfort, and not have let him die alone, in a God-forsaken hell thousands of miles from home and family… Could have told him that there was nothing he had to prove, no one he had to measure up to; could have told him what he couldn’t say before: How much he loved him… “Damn you…,” his voice was hard, cold with a fury he couldn’t express, but couldn’t contain, “What right did you have, to deny us the chance of sharing the time he had left together?!

“Does it mean that much to you, this…taking…of souls, that you wouldn’t even let him have that time, those few hours? You heartless, uncaring, son of a bitch—“ He swung then, needing an outlet for the rage that tore through him, leaving only emptiness and despair.

And his fist continued in its arc, unchecked, missing the warrior completely. No, not missing him; going past him, harmlessly. The bastard wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of striking back, to feel the satisfying impact of knuckles against flesh… He didn’t care if he broke his hand in the process, didn’t care what happened to him; he just wanted to strike out at someone, anyone… He stepped back, took an unsteady breath, his voice and body nearly shaking with anger and grief, “You stay the hell away from me!”

Mihdael reached out for him, only to have his hand knocked aside, “I regret your sorrow, your grief, but—“

“But what?! It doesn’t matter? It isn’t important?! And don’t you even dare to presume that you know how I feel; and don’t give me any of that ‘the reasons will be made clear to you at the proper time’ bullshit, either!” Mihdael actually paled, and flinched back. Stone turned the full force of his fury on him, almost as much a physical impact as his fist would have been, maybe more so. “You don’t care, really care about our welfare; if you did, if you had even the remotest idea of what humanity is, you would never have done that to me… And just how many other lives have you destroyed, hoping to gain favor in Heaven? Well, I hope to hell that He is satisfied with His Number One Bounty Hunter; and that the price that others paid was worth your gaining His favor, because you’ll never gain mine. And I want to know what it is that makes you think that you are any different, any better, than any demon that ever crawled up from the slime of Hell?”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, if there even was an answer. All of Hell was open to them, and he wanted, needed, to be as far away from this…this being…as he could possibly get.

***
“Judge…Judge, hey, wait…!” McConnell caught up with him, grabbed his arm. “Where the hell are you goin’? Figuratively speaking, that is.”

Stone pulled away, “Leave me alone, McConnell. I don’t need your advice, or opinions.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t give ‘em. But come on back; you can’t just go wanderin’ all over Hell’s half-acre.”

The Judge looked at him coldly, “You think this is funny, McConnell?”

“No, Judge, I don’t think it’s funny. I just think… that it’s not a good idea for you to be…alone, that’s all.”

“I’ve been alone most of my life, kid; I’ve managed.” He sighed then, running a hand across his eyes. “I don’t want to be around him; I don’t want to be reminded, every time I see him…”

“Stoney,” McConnell interrupted gently, “listen to me. There’s something not…right about this…”

“Are you taking his side, McConnell?”

“No. But we’ve only heard one side. Mihdael only answered your questions, without giving an explanation for what he did.”

“Did it ever occur to you that there isn’t one?”

“No. You know there’s always two sides to every story—sometimes three. Doesn’t he at least deserve to be heard?”

“Then, you listen to him. I’ve heard all I want to hear for one lifetime.”

***

After a considerable amount of cajoling, and not a few threats, McConnell managed to convince Stone of the necessity – for safety’s sake, if nothing else – of the three of them staying together.

He led the way back to the open chamber. “Look, Stoney, you don’t have to share the same space with him, or anything; just…stay where I can see you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,…”

Mihdael glanced up briefly at their return, but said nothing as Stone remained just outside the chamber, several yards away from him. He smiled faintly at McConnell. “Thank you for bringing him back. It is difficult to protect both of you when you are separated.”

Mark dropped to the ground next to the warrior, sitting cross-legged; he studied the other man carefully, seeing definite signs of stress. The glow wasn’t as bright, for one thing; it was just a bare outline now. “Are you…okay?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“It is not because of you – or your friend. His words…brought back certain memories…” he hesitated, a deeply felt and long-remembered pain darkening his eyes. “For I had said words much like them, before; and for very much the same reason. I know, now, how deeply those words cut when I reviled and cursed my Father – and Gabriel, how I unjustly accused him with words of anger, meant to hurt, to malign…

“How wrong I was; how selfish and cruel, thinking only of my wants, and no one else’s. I never realized it, until now… They forgave me, but I did not deserve it…” He leaned back against the rocky wall, his gaze settling on Stone’s stocky frame. “Despite his denial, I know his pain and grief – both are with me always. And because of my anger and pride, I am denied the comfort of the other angels; and he refuses the comfort I could give him… Yet, I cannot fault him for that.”

“I can’t help but think, that there must be more to it than just what Lucifer said. There has to be…”

Mihdael nodded absently, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “Nothing is ever simple. One of the first things I learned—“

“If you did take a soul prematurely, you must’ve had a reason; a good reason,” McConnell pressed, determined to get the entire story, not half of it, “Why did you do it?”

The warrior’s gaze looked past him, not only in distance, but in time as well. “There were so many of them,” he said quietly. “So many dead and dying. So many that were so young, too young to die before they had really lived…

“They were fellow warriors. I was there, as were other angels who were not warriors; but even I could hear their screams and cries, and could not ignore it.

“We waited until their dying bodies released their souls to us, to be taken Heavenward. We waited for all of them… except one…” He stopped, not wanting to continue. For he not only could see, and recall, every detail, every sound, but re-lived it as well; once again experienced all the pain, torment, and despair that a battlefield is heir to. Especially Earthly battlegrounds, for nowhere else did blood flow so freely, and passions run so deeply…

“I found him, near several of his fellow soldiers who were then also with me. And…he could see them, and me… But he still lived… He still lived, even as his soul struggled to escape…”

“Then… he was alive; would have lived…?” Even with the angel’s self-damning words, McConnell found it difficult to accept, to believe.

Avoiding McConnell’s intent gaze, he looked away, eyes closing in an effort not to recall the images, but to block them out. “He lived. His mind lived. But there were no eyes left for him to see with, no legs to carry him to safety, no arms to defend against the horror descending on him… All had been burned away—were burning still. He could only scream in agony; agony that was driving him to insanity before death… And, yes, he would have lived, for a few days longer, in great pain…”

“He cried out for God’s Mercy; he begged me to take him. I could not refuse his entreaties. He was a fellow soldier, his body destroyed by war; his mind soon to follow. So, with His Grace and His Mercy, I took his hand, and delivered his soul to God.”

The fact that his faith in this angel was vindicated was little comfort, knowing how the young man had died. He reached out, gripped Mihdael’s forearm tightly. “You have to tell him. You have to tell the Judge that his son was dying, and there was no hope for his recovery—of him even knowing anything if Stone had been there. That you spared him – both of them – unnecessary pain…”

“He will not listen to my words. He knows only his loss, and cares not for the reason for it.”

“But…he hates you for it. He sees you as the one responsible. Not the war, or the enemy that firebombed those soldiers, not even the whole, crazy situation itself… He sees only you as the one who took his son’s life.”

“It is not important what he thinks of me,” Mihdael interrupted gently, “Only what he thinks of God… and you.”

“Me?” His eyes widened, voice raising with surprise.

“Have you not wondered why I, a warrior, appeared to you that first time? It is not a common practice, as such duties are usually given over to Ministering Angels. But…I had already taken one close to him; I therefore wished to return one to him who was equally close—as equally loved. And this time not allow him to cross over before his time. That one…was you.”

“Me?” Then he smiled, pleased with the confirmation that had been silently accepted, but never put into words.

“And the other reason which I gave you. You will pull him from the brink of Darkness…”

***

CONTINUED IN SECTION 10 "Angel Warriors - HellBound: Section 10"