"Heaven might shine bright, but so do flames."
― Neal Shusterman, Everwild
I was ready for the kick. That didn't mean it hurt any less. Michael's fist connected with my head. I sucked in air; the pain exploding and coming roaring back and I forced myself not to curl up, to not look submissive. Blackness surrounded me before I could utter another word.
The next time my eyes flew open was when an icy wind roared around me. The past, present, and future were all the same. Time had lost all meaning to me. Every moment felt stretched into eternity. I tried to calm myself, dragging in shuddering breaths, stilling my limbs.
My situation could hardly get any worse than it already was. Perhaps I shouldn't get ahead of myself. Samael could always join the party. Not that he was welcome here. Our brothers and sister saw us both as equals. Equally bad and flawed.
I still dreamed of him.
When I was awake, I had gotten very good at not thinking about Samael—at never mentioning his name—at pretending he just didn't exist. I had gotten good at avoiding the unwanted feeling of betrayal, and the voice in my head that kept reminding me it was Samael, who had been the betrayer, not the other way around. I had gotten good at ignoring the fear I felt at the mere idea of crossing paths with him again.
But when I slept... My brother still came.
Not every time, not by a long stretch, but he was never gone for long—unless I was on Earth with Amelia. My brother didn't haunt my dreams while I was preoccupied with chasing after and worrying over Amelia. With her, it was like the past didn't matter anymore. But as soon as I returned to Heaven, the familiar dreams came back.
Sometimes the dreams were sweet, beautiful even. Bittersweet memories I didn't want to believe I still longed to relive. Memories of a time when I hadn't a care in all creation, when I thought my family would always love me. Other times I had dreams of reconciliation, of having my brother back—an impossible, unfulfillable desire, leaving me when I woke with a cruel wanting.
I preferred the nightmares.
When I woke from those, I felt relief. Relief that the memory of being cast out and rejected by the person who mattered most to me was in the past.
Relief that I escaped from a dream of my brother taunting me as his face melted away to reveal him as the monster he was.
Out of the blue, scorching hands gripped my chin, wrenching my gaze forward. With much effort, I dragged my eyelids open and glared into the face of God as he materialized from nothing.
Shit.
Everything froze, and time stood still.
"Gabriel, you will repent," Father commanded. Creator, judge, and jury.
Bolts of lightning flashed, revealing shadows of God's true form. The wind was a blast of scorching air, like someone's opened an oven next to my face. Every exhalation made me feel as though I was breathing fire.
"Why, Father?" I asked, the words were a bare croak between wheezing breaths.
"Because I said so!" God roared with wrath and night turned to day.
I shook my head. It wasn't a good enough reason. Not for me, yet I was too weak to form a sentence.
My parched throat threatened to crack open at the seams. The chains twisted under my weight. I shivered as gelid fingers sank claws into my bones—Father's eyes blazed. The skin at my wrists broke open, sending pain sparking down my limbs.
What would happen when the last flame inside me flickered out? No archangel had ever died before. Would I spend eons in Hell? Or would I disintegrate unto dust and blown away, forgotten and erased from all history? Did it even matter?
"I cannot repent that which I do not regret," I replied, hating how weak my voice sounded.
"Maybe you need some encouragement, son," God said, his voice almost sing-songy.
I stumbled, my knees giving into an invisible force pulling me down. Behind my eyes, vivid pictures flicked almost too fast for me to understand. A vision.
Amelia was on her knees, half of her face bloody and broken.
She knelt before an altar, praying. The glass of the chapel windows shook, the very air vibrating around her.
I gasped. Instinctively, I knew that it wasn't some illusion concocted from pure imagination. It was real: as real as the guilt that ripped through me like a serrated blade in the wake of dredging it up. The guilt that I had left her, that I had lied to her.
More pictures this time, Amelia was inside a familiar church. The church where I had first fallen in love with Alydia, I realized. Right next to the place where they had killed me. Where my brother had rammed an archangel's blade into my heart.
Teary-eyed Amelia watched the flames of a fire climb into the sky before she whispered, "I need you."
Her fear tugged at my heart. I couldn't give up, I needed to get back to her. My protectiveness still the first instinct even now.
The vision changed and sped up. I didn't recognize Amelia at first with her back to me and short hair flying around her head. I reached out, turning her around towards me, only to stare into her lifeless eyes. Someone had sliced her stomach open, her broken body falling to the ground.
Always blood, so much blood. Was this the future?
I lay in the dirt, watching the images form and fade before my eyes, thinking it all over. I knew this was how Amelia would die.
The warmth of my blood flowed through my fingertips, and my brain mimicked a bass drum inside my skull. More images of her death played before my inner eyes. Then everything slowed down.
Amelia was gone, replaced by... shimmering angel wings. I saw them, so clearly that I could almost touch them. My brothers wearing their golden battle armor, clad in lapis blue silk, descending to earth, blades shining like stars in their hands... And all around me were cities blazing, children screaming.
A silent scream lay on my lips, but before it could leave my mouth, I was catapulted to another location.
I was now far enough away from the blast to recognize that the destruction was especially gruesome. The victims hadn't died instantly here. They had endured long enough to feel and understand what was happening to them. How could Father let this happen? I had seen my fair share of horrors, but nothing had come close to this.
Father knew... this was part of the Plan. But I couldn't figure out how that could be. These humans were not wicked. They didn't deserve to die this way.
I felt an unfamiliar urge to be sick as I took in the sight, frozen in time, and a part of me was screaming to look away. To avoid seeing what was happening... what Father had permitted.
Hell looked tame in comparison.
I turned around. Michael knelt by the dead forms of two human children, an older brother, clinging to his little sister. If I was to guess from their size, they were about four and seven. In a tender manner, Michael scooped up their souls and held them close to his heart. Then turning back to look at me, he said, "This is all your fault." He flew off, taking his precious cargo with him.
The soft crunch of approaching footsteps broke into the molten luminosity of my receding thoughts. I breathed in the air with greed.
My broken wings collapsed around me, the bone edges grating as they moved for the first time in too long. I shifted, trying to loosen my knotted muscles, but it only sent fire racing through me.
Weakly, with minor concern for what the next few moments in this reality might hold for me, I clutched something hard inside my palm. I could no longer lift my eyes, much less defend myself.
A pair of scuffed boots came into my narrow view. From across a vast distance, I could hear the gruff sympathy of a familiar voice.
"Believe me, son, all the other potential futures were far worse. The books aren't with their rightful owners." Understanding at last. This one incident was orchestrated to prevent something far worse. It was for the Greater Good.
Unexpected tears come to my eyes. I had never, not once, shed a tear for humanity, but the magnitude of what had happened in the vision was too much.
"Have you reconsidered, Gabriel?" The Creator of the universe asked in his all-commanding voice. "If you ask for forgiveness, you can join your brothers again and the future might be a different one."
A lengthy pause followed.
No, I would not give in this time. I would find my way. A different one.
I had enough of all this. Of being manipulated. A toy in the hands of our Father—always played up, like a puppet on strings. Yes, these wings, so glorious, were only strings attached to my limbs, kept by the Great Puppeteer, trying to steer me. But not anymore.
Keeping my eyes shut, I shook my head.
"You were dying, son. I saved you," his voice said. This time the words were spoken gently. "Your brother killed you, do you remember that?"
Why was he bringing this up now? Not once had he shown concern for my wellbeing. Michael had always been his favorite. His perfect son, created before the stars and planets, made before all others.
Archangels are made in pairs, and my other is Samael. My twin, my best friend, my other half.
This is how it should be. Perfectly balanced, a circle of love and fire and light and endless songs. Or so I thought. And until a point, I loved my brother more than anything but my Father. And then God disappeared, making new things, day by day. Then came Samael and his plan to visit Earth. Our selfish, conceited, egomaniac brother deserved to suffer for what he had done. Of that, I was certain.
I shook the dark thoughts away and lifted my chin defiantly. "Where are you going with this?"
"Oh, Gabriel," Father said, his voice so sticky with sympathy that I almost saw the words in the air above me, dripping syrupy letters. "You were always my favorite."
His weathered face was half-covered by an impressive greying beard, and his brown eyes crinkled at the edges charmingly.
Something in my chest tightened. "Shut up!" I retorted and my voice sounded so broken that I didn't recognize it.
"I can't. Because you are hallucinating," he taunted, an amused twinkle in his eye.
I glared at him.
"I'm the hallucination," the voice added.
As if there was ever any doubt. Father would never show up for real.
"I bet you'd like a glass of water. Or some food." His familiar voice crooned.
I could pray, I supposed. Pray to my Father for deliverance. I could ask for forgiveness. Maybe I should...
"You could. Any time now," he said, his voice rough.
Frankly, though, I'd rather not. At least, a choice I could still make. I wish I had any clue why he would do this. Because even though he wasn't here, he was controlling all of this. Testing me, pushing. But I was too far gone to understand, though, when an actual answer arrived.
"You'll see."
Hey lovelies,
I think we need some Death next chapter? Yes, no? 😉
I missed you guys. Please stay safe everyone and take care of each other. ❤❤❤