PROLOGUE
Isaiah 62:6 I have set watchmen upon thy walls, O Jerusalem, which shall never hold their peace day nor night: ye that make mention of the LORD, keep not silence,
____________
There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors, and hail a materialist and a magician with the same delight.
--C.S. Lewis
____________
The desperation imprinted on her face was almost tangible, projecting her pain directly into my heart. Her ebony eyes almost penetrated the door on which her gaze fixated. Tears glistened and slithered like a snake down her porcelain cheeks. Not even for a second did her gaze shift from the door, even after it had banged with a finalizing slam. The only movement from her that offered proof that she was not just a beautiful, tragic statue, was the hand she lifted to her still flaming cheek. It flared red, with a distinct imprint of another's enormous hand. No, it was not the first time he had left a mark, his mark on her, but it seemed at least that it would be the last. Of course this gave her no consolation, she would have taken any pain inflicted by him because in her heart she so illogically loved him, her very worth was defined by him.
Her window displayed all of this, her apartment was on the first floor directly across from the park I often frequented. She had no curtains to hinder my view, her life played out before me as a horrid movie for which I longed to end happily. I sighed, wondering if today would be the day I could step forward and intervene. The enemy had stormed, ravaged and shattered her soul enough, it was broken now beyond repair. Her faith had once been able to move mountains, if she so desired, the purity of it had been like a child's. But now, she couldn't even pick herself up, and she dared not implore heaven for shame weighed down each weak attempt.
Johan had promised her much, but gave her nothing but debilitating doubt.
"I'm leaving you." he had said. Just like that, no explanation. Her heart's demise had taken less then a few seconds. Having said his piece, he turned his back and left her to reel from shock. Everything had been given and sacrificed for him, including friends, job, faith, all of it, and now she was nothing but and empty vessel.
Having been her silent neighbor I knew it had been inevitable that it would all crumble. This dark haired beauty had compromised and now she found herself alone, with no reason to go on. But she was wrong, I would always be here, I've always been close by, and God-willing I would help her find her way back. I determined this pearl would not be one to be tossed to the swine.
This day the sun shone deceptively as if all was right in the world. It had begun as a perfect day to sit in the park and absorb each word of my book, and of course observe. Always, patiently I would observe, knowing the time to act would come. Still, I had my doubts of the outcome. Reluctantly I set aside my copy of Jerusalem's Undead Trilogy, the world in the book completely captivating me. I wondered if the author, Eric Wilson realized how eerily accurate the world he had created was to this world we lived in.
I sighed, as if sighing could lift my burdens. When desperation as paramount as this filled another human being, every inch of me felt it. It was a curse, or was it a blessing--feeling each cutting emotion as if it was my own. But it didn't end there, if it did perhaps I could bear it with more ease, but my eyes had perfect vision, so much so that I saw what most humans were completely blind and ignorant of.
My heart picked up its pace at what was unfolding in her apartment. I could see her rummaging through her drawers, looking, looking but thank God her search turned up empty. Even so she became more and more weak as each second ticked by as her zeal for life became non-existent. She had already listened and opened her sweet soul to the Dark Ones and their persistent voices, believing them with a fearful completeness. The pills she had already ingested were beginning to take effect, and still I could not intervene.
Malevolent tears continued to storm down her cheeks. Love rejected, love scorned was as fatal as a cancer and from what could be seen plainly, she was once too many times rejected. Always another was chosen, never her, never ever her.
Holding on to the kitchen table she swayed, she had stopped her search for more pills and was now eyeing her kitchen drawer. Opening it she took out a sharp pointed knife, turning it over and over in her hands.
Dark Ones continued to whisper in her ear and I gritted my teeth at the sound of them. Vulgarities, lies which she readily believed, whispers of her worthless, unredeemable nature, they screamed that she was a blasphemy to God. They surrounded her, almost barricading her from my sight, if she only knew their hate for her she might not listen so quickly.
Then my eyes shifted to a different figure that appeared beside her. He was immense. His feathery, fearsome wings spanned out and filled the entire room, even so the Dark Ones held their ground. He was dressed in pure white that was not found anywhere on this earth, his robes flowed like a river, his face reflected the face of the Creator. At first I thought it was her guardian angel, here to put a stop to this ludicrous pain. But his chiseled face turned to me and his eyes blazed, aflame with fire and sorrow, and I knew at once who he was. From those fiery eyes came icy tears, a contradiction in itself. He was the one, the very one who thousands of years ago had visited God's wrath upon Egypt, upon each and every unmarked home, the mark of the sacrificial lamb. It was his call, his purpose and today he had been summoned. He stood as if awaiting a choice, or an order to be made or given, patient and sad.
Our eyes met, he knew I could see him, he knew what I was just as I knew what he was. He nodded, it was his signal to me, now was the time to sound the alarm. At first I began with a meek hum, soft and tender, but soon my humming took on a soft determined melody that grew in force and boldness with each note. Soon words took form and began to flow:
Redeemed how I love to proclaim it,
Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb,
Redeemed by His infinite mercy,
His child and forever I AM!
The sky exploded with a bang and a rumble, like that of thousands and thousands of trampling horses. But mortal eyes could not see, nor could they hear this wondrous response, people in the park continued about walking, or jogging, ignorant of it all. I looked once more to the fearsome Holy Angel and saw that behind him the dark shapes began to advance, in opposition to my battle cry. Their wings were not white like his, though they had a trace of beauty to them that had not quite faded. Still, they were dirty and dripping with the bloodshed of this world, accumulated from each age.
The Angel of Death unsheathed his sword, keeping them at bay.
"Not yet! You may not proceed!" He thundered as he searched the heavens, as if awaiting permission from the One he faithfully served.
Dark Ones began to growl, sounding more like hungry bears or lions than one time glorious angels. They were on the hunt, their numbers were massing together against this one soul that mattered so much. The sky rumbled increasingly as my song never wavered. Dark and light clashed with magnificent colors, both light and dark creating an other worldly hue, a deep violet.
More and more streaks of light began to rain down causing the Dark Ones to squirm in agony, but still holding on to her and to this realm. As the Holy Ones arrived it was a glorious sight to see.
Still, she listened to the macabre voices, she took the knife more firmly in her hands, all the while sobbing heart wrenching sobs. Her desire to live equaled her desire to rid herself of this senseless pain. The cold steel touched her delicate skin even as the angels tried to intervene, but the choice was hers. Longingly she fixed her eyes on an aged picture framed in dark weathered oak. Tears of shame cascaded from her ebony eyes. A determined yet still unstable look formed in them and I knew she had decided.
The sky crackled and exploded with light, a command was issued and the Angel of Death spoke with unquestionable authority.
"You may not! She has been marked!" With that the Angel of Death touched her hand causing the knife to clatter to the ground.
Dark Ones raged and began whispering anew with desperate intensity, to which she screamed as if an unimaginable fear gripped her. She swayed, the pills that had already been ingested were beginning to weaken her, she began to fade as she sunk to the floor. But now she held on to life, she gripped it, taking deep breaths, and with each one the battle raged. One side was determined to save her, the other was determined to destroy her. With every passing moment, and with each resounding note of my melody the Dark Ones began to tremble, through this unmerciful storm the Angels of the Almighty were now being rejuvenated by the purity of praise.
Clutching he stomach she got up and staggered to the sink and heaved, then sank weakly to the ground once more eyeing the old photograph. It was a picture imprinted in every fiber of her being, of martyrs from a long ago time, a time of communism, a time in which her parents had lived. Below the picture of her beautiful young mother was a verse, lovingly and boldly written: "For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father's family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?" Esther 4:14
Dark ones persisted with their whispers, but now the Holy Ones surrounded her like sentinels, their pure light emanated strength. One by one they unsheathed their swords, obliterating the Dark Ones. Another angel in particular captured my attention, for it covered her ears with so much love and tenderness causing the insistent whispers of the Dark Ones to fade from her mind. Each tear that continued to flow was caught-not one was wasted-in an alabaster bottle by yet another angel. Before this merciful angel took flight towards heaven it stroked her cheek bringing peace to her soul. Soon this careful angel would see the face of the Creator, placing that precious alabaster bottle before His throne. This angel's gift was mercy and it had been the same one who had delivered the cries of captive Israel to God on so many occasions both in times present and in times past.
Silently, her sobs subsided, strength returning to her along with clarity of mind. Rising she made her way to the window, our eyes meeting for only a moment before she looked towards heaven as if she was following the path that the mercy angel had taken. For that brief moment I thought she may have seen, or heard, or felt what I had. But she sighed and looked away, not fully grasping how even now the angels were ministering unto her as unto a queen, faithfully keeping at bay the hungry Dark Ones who roared as lions, seeking to devour their prey.
Yes, indeed, the battle had begun in earnest once more, beginning with the battle cry of a song. Yes, I would keep watch, for that is what I am, that is my gift, or curse, take it as you may. I am a Watchman, and as David sang to Saul causing each demon of hell to flee, so my voice would be lifted in a battle song, I would sound the shofar.
Vigilantly I will watch and sing and pray and be the very tool of the Most High to be used to rescue and pursue her. Until the dark haired beauty would see her worth that the Master put in her. Until her eyes would be fully opened so she could comprehend that she is this generation's Esther, a Hadassah who must go before the king for her people. My melody would continue on and on and on until her rescue and redemption would be complete. This is her song, composed by heaven to be sung by me, for I am Raphael. I am and always have been her Watchman.