Better The Devil You Know - Chapter 2

1.2

Uriel was enjoying his evening.  He was alone but content, reading “The First Man” by Albert Camus, possibly his favourite book.  Whispy clouds drifted across the sky as the sun was gently setting into the western horizon.  He hadn’t moved much all day but then again, he didn’t need to.  It wasn’t as though he couldn’t be found if he was needed.

There was a commotion behind him but he didn’t turn to look.  The sudden wind rising and then dying, followed by the clattering of chairs and tables, the smashing of crockery and the blustered apologies told him all he needed to know.

“Evening Raphael,” he said without turning.  The newcomer stumbled in to the chair opposite Uriel, crashing down, breathless, flushed.

“Did you see what happened in Pittsburgh?” said Raphael.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”  asked Uriel without looking up from his book, a wry smile cracking across his angelic face.  A waiter approached the table placing a glass of golden liquid in front of Raphael.

“Bless you,” he said solemnly to the waiter who had already turned to go, “You know what I mean, what do you think?” sighed Raphael, rolling his eyes.  He took a drink and savoured the sweet nectar as it washed down his throat.  The moon was rising above the clouds, another beautiful night.  Sweet music on the air and that ever-present peace.

“I think Albert Camus was a fantastic writer, and not a bad goalie either,” said Uriel passively.

“Uriel!!” strained Raphael.

“I wasn’t aware of anything until it happened, I don’t think anyone was,” said Uriel smiling, his eyes sparkling.

“Excuse the pun but there will be hell to pay”

“Better believe it”.  Uriel folded the corner of his page and put the book down.  He glanced around the café, Afterlife was carrying on as normal, plenty of smiles, plenty of laughter and hugs. They were sat on a café balcony above the promenade.  It was a warm evening, a pleasant evening and this was the best place to be, even if it was a little boring sometimes.

“Does Gabriel know?” asked Raphael, breaking Uriel’s train of thought.

“Another rhetorical question?” smiled Uriel.  Despite being as smart as anyone on the astral plane, Raph was sometimes as dumb as a post.

“What has he said?” Another dram of nectar and Raphael put the empty glass down, signalling to the waiter to bring another.

“Nothing yet but you can see he’s not looking forward to having that conversation with the Boss.” Uriel looked out along the promenade, his eyes caught somebody coming towards them.  An old friend.  He raised his hand in greeting and smiled. 

“How many came here from Pittsburgh?” asked Raphael, oblivious to everything apart from his conversation with Uriel.  The waiter placed another golden class of nectar on the table, Raphael grabbed it and took another shot without even thanking the waiter this time.

“All but three.” Said Uriel, turning back to Raphael and smiling.

A puzzled look crossed Raphael’s brow, “Which three?”

“Considering who they were, considering where they were and why they were there,” Unbelievable, dumb as a post.  Uriel had been partnered with Raphael for thousands of years and he loved him, obviously but it wasn’t just a heavenly love, they were brothers, amigos, comrades.  They had drunk together, fought wars together, gone on jobs together and were considered inseperable in the eyes of the hierarchy.

“I suppose,” said Raphael, again oblivious to Uriel’s good-hearted mockery.

“I think we better make contact with the other side though, and sooner rather than later, just to see what they have to say about it,”

“Astaroth is the best bet then, I’ll make contact.” Raphael finished his drink and stood to leave.  His bright white wings, tipped with golden feathers stretched high above him.

“Let me know how you get on, I’ll keep Gabriel posted,” said Uriel, “And let’s try not to get Michael involved, you know what he’s like.  He doesn’t need much of an excuse to flip out.”  With two beats of the giant wings Raphael took off and flew off down the promenade towards the city.  The wind blew tables and chairs in the café over, sending debris all over the floor.

“Dumb as a post,” thought Uriel.

2.1

Poppy Charriott couldn’t believe what she was watching.  Sky News should change its’ name to Sky Bad News because that was all it seemed to show.  It was one terrible news story after another.  The shootings in Pittsburgh, the ‘round the world’ yacht crew lost at sea, the household name TV personality being investigated for paedophilia, hospitals under scrutiny for the high rate of infant mortality in their wards.

“No news is good news” her Granny used to say but this was ridiculous.  Shootings, earthquakes, absolutely mental weather, murders, rapes.  It was getting insane.  People were on the news blaming global warming, blaming Hollywood, blaming the parents.  Maybe this was just the beginning of the end.  A few people were saying that too but they were generally herded up by the police and shipped off.  So much for free speech.

She turned off the TV and walked downstairs.  Mum was in the kitchen and was singing along to Radio 2.  It wasn’t a bad song but her Mum was doing her best to ruin it.  She didn’t exactly have the voice of an angel.

“Hello sweetheart”, she said between lines.

“Hi Mum, you ok?” asked Poppy, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“As long as I have music in my life and a song in my heart I’m happy” she chirped and continued singing.  Poppy flicked the kettle on and made herself a cup of coffee.

“Are you working today?” sang Mum.

“Just 4 hours, from 10 till 2,” said Poppy.  She had been volunteering at the Royal St Luke’s Hospital for a couple of months.  It wasn’t much but she felt the need to give something back, also it would look good on her CV and personal statement when it came to applying for university.  Her friends had given her a little bit of grief, especially when it meant missing shopping trips or sleepovers but it was only light-hearted.  Poppy knew she was doing the right thing and that was important.  Too few had a social conscience these days and she was determined not to be a cold, unfeeling civilian.  After school she was going to help change the world.

She finished her coffee, washed the cup and kissed her mum on the cheek.  Then she went back upstairs to shower and dress.  In the bathroom she looked in the mirror.  Her red hair cascaded across her shoulders, eyes deep and green looking back.  She looked like she had just got up but then again, she had so that was ok.

“Today will be a good day” she whispered to herself.  A smile crept across her face, “a great day!”

2.2

A piercing voice hollered from somewhere else in the house, “Are you getting up at any point you lazy, good-for-nothing?”

Will Denison opened one eye and angled his head to the red neon light of his clock.  11.30. The eye closed again.  Another half hour and then he would get up.  The shrilling voice from downstairs continued hollering but Will didn’t pay any attention.  That voice was always going on at him for some reason or another.  He’d simply stopped listening and decided to live his own life.

As he lay there in a half awake, semi-conscious state, his mind drifted to what the day held for him.  Basically nothing.  He’d missed school.  Again.  But that was nothing new.  He only went to school now when the School Liaison officer caught up with him.  Then he’d go for a few days, see those who he called his friends and then bolt again.  His days were made up of cups of tea, the local amusement arcade, the high street betting shop were his aunt worked.  She wouldn’t let him make bets but he watched the racing, read the papers and talked to the old blokes.  Sometimes he’d head in to the city and wander the shops.  He looked older than 15 so no-one ever really questioned him.  One of the benefits of being six foot one.

But most of the time he was just at home watching TV, playing on his Xbox, texting people, eating and generally being bored.  Life was a waste of time, nothing happened and there was nothing to look forward to.

The voice continued railing him to get his lazy hide out of bed but he rolled over to face the wall, pulling the quilt over his head.  He’d get up soon.  Half hour, maybe an hour.  He sighed heavily under the quilt.  Surely he was meant for something better than this but surely everyone said that and surely most were wrong.  Another sigh under the quilt.

“Today is going to be another pointless day.”