Finally at the door, I knock on it. “Come in son of Lucifer.” I am not Lucifer’s literal son. The call of us, depending on our place, either son of Lucifer, or son of Hades. It took some getting used to and normally it doesn’t bother me. Lately, my skin feels as if it is being peeled, raw and singed when I hear it.
“Sir.” I bow and enter. I must say I am surprised to see more than him at the table. Some I do not recognize, and I swear I can see light swirling at their feet. Before I can focus on it, my attention is shifted, back to the one who summoned me.
“How are you?” he asks, showing me to a seat.
“Same as I always am.” Just a little more anxious. I think to myself.
“That but a mere white tale. You have not been like yourself, Crane, son of Lucifer.”
“I suppose that is true. But I have no clue as to why.” He places his finger to his chin in contemplation and stares at me.
“Tell me, have you crossed any Angels in your travels?” What a peculiar question. We don’t move in the same circles of the Holy. Not to mention even if we crossed one, our gaze is forbidden from feasting on them. That is another part of our punishment. We are not to behold beauty.
“I would not know,” I tell him, confused by this line of questioning.
“It is true, my son. Very well. I shall find out what ails you.” He flips his hand and I'm instantly on the outside of the door inside of my chambers.
“Guess I’m dismissed.” I check the scroll and see no names on my list. “Finally. Perhaps I can rest.”
“Crane! Crane!” Pounding outside my door sometime later, tells me this is not to be true.
“Gherkin. To what do I owe the dishonor of your visit?” He is literally malfunctioning it seems with whatever he thinks is important enough to rouse me.
“I overheard those around the table talking once you were dismissed. It seems they know what is wrong with you, but they are hoping to move around it.” I want to take my rod and smash his face in right now. My patience is wearing thin.
“Well,” I ask him, moving closer so he knows I am in no mood for games.
“Seems there is a lore that not so often an Angel and a Death Angel cross paths on the same recovery. If those two are soulmates, their bodies will know it immediately and will begin to deteriorate in your case and dim in their case if they don’t consummate it. Since you cannot see one another when on a recovery, you wouldn’t know it.” My mind buzzes with this information. My initial instinct is to rebuff this nonsense. No one as dark and reviled as me would be meant for an Angel. Right? But, something about his words simmers inside.
A year ago, I went to the crash site to recover a life. There was a second passenger in that same crash who was not on my list. I wondered if another Death Angel was sent for that recovery. The thing is, I felt… something while I was there. Something akin to remorse, which is an emotion I have never been afflicted with. Could it be that this is where we crossed?
My hand touches my chest as another unfamiliar feeling assaults me. Longing. Loss. “It can’t be?” I stumble to my chair.
“Then it is true. You feel it.” Gherkin asks, standing by the door.
“What… what do I do?” I ask not necessarily him, but to the abyss. He answers me anyway.
“You must go to her.” My head pops up, a look of bewilderment and incredulity.
“What is this nonsense you speak about? You know we cannot..”
“If she is destined to be your soulmate, Crane, you should go to her.” Even if I could, I wouldn't know who she is.
“If what they say is true, she too is suffering. Go to her.” His words swirl around me, covering me in a blanket of something foreign. Do I dare, hope? Seek? Want? Could Christmas in the world above me, be granting me a wish I didn't know I wanted?
Two
LUMINESCE
“Lumi, there has to be something wrong. You’re not as… effervescent as you usually are.” Oh geez. I have been listening to Virtue and Charity whine on and on about this. Not that I blame them. I am freaking out as well, wondering day and night why my halo is losing its light and my wings are duller. But, no one seems to have the answer and it is worrying me as well.
Ironic really. When I was eighteen, carefree and thought I was living my dream, Heaven seemed like a dream. An apparition, really. You know? Something you believe in because the Preacher tells you it exists. Something you hope to one day see for yourself, when you’re like one hundred and tired. But never, in a million years did I think what was supposed to be the best night of my life, was going to turn out to be my last.