Last of the Mighty (18 page)

Guilty. Even in my state of trust, the word hit me like a cannonball. My lungs collapsed and my rib cage shattered. I stepped back to keep myself from falling. I couldn't hear or see or swallow. Everything was numb.

“Thank you,” Vero said to the angel jury. “Your service is appreciated.”

The angels eyed Gadriel and me for the last time, some beholding us with heartfelt sympathy and sorrow while others—especially Phaeus—put on faces approving the fact that justice had been served.

“Dothan.” Vero waved to the angel of the Ninth Choir to come forward. “Please stay. The rest of you may return to your duties.” Speaking softly, Vero asked Dothan, “Would you mind assigning someone to Augustine? Just for a short while. To ensure he returns at the agreed upon hour.”

Returns?

“Certainly,” Dothan said. “Iddo will accompany the boy.”

“Excellent,” Vero said to Dothan and excused him. Then, to me, he said, “Augustine, you will have six hours to tend to earthly matters, to prepare the world for your departure. It is often wise to put your finances in order, contact those you love…things of that nature.” He turned to Gadriel.

My father and I were still standing in front of Vero's throne and facing each other. His head was bowed. He seemed to be praying.

“Gadriel.”

He lifted his face to Vero. “Yes, my brother.”

“You are to remain in the custody of the Court until your son returns.”

“Of course.”

“I am truly sorry, my friend.”

“God's will, dear Vero.” Gadriel gave him a small smile. “Not ours.”

Vero grinned as well, a nod working its way into his chin.

Finally, my father's eyes came to mine. They were sad, but not without hope.

He was still Heavenside.

My heart was still beating.

For now, that was enough.

“Augustine.” Vero faced me. “Once ushered from this Court, you will be free to roam at will. Iddo of the Ninth Choir will make certain that you return to the ship by eleven p.m. Questions?”

I had a million. Couldn't think of one. “No, sir.”

“Very well. Your time begins now.”

In a flash, I was back on the middle deck of the concrete ship. Alone. For a second, I went into denial, refusing to admit I'd ever met Vero or seen his Court of Judgement. Yet the blood on the floor and walls and in the felt of the craps table told me it had all been true. In a few short hours, death would come for me.

I checked my watch. Five o'clock. Less than ten minutes had passed since Gadriel and I were hauled away to Vero's Court.

Three hundred and sixty minutes to live. What would you do? I advise you to make a list now. And do the things on it every day.

I called Merryn.

“What up Ognoramos?”

It was beyond good to hear her voice. My ears hung on to it. I didn't want to ruin the sound of her by speaking.

A moment later, she asked, “You there?”

“Yeah…” Didn't know what to say. “Hi.” How could I be gentle with the truth here? “You, uh, wanna go out later? Pizza maybe?”

“Yah. ‘Bout an hour?”

“Perfect.” Though I was hoping for sooner.

We talked for another few minutes. I didn't have a clue how I was going to tell her what'd happened. I'd made a promise to always tell Merryn everything, but this was too much. If I leveled with her, it would destroy the whole evening. She'd cry from the second I told her to the moment we said goodbye. It would ruin our last hours on earth together. If I didn't tell her, though, Merryn would hate me for the rest of her days. Hate me for not trusting her with the truth. For not being open and honest with her. No matter how brutal it was.

With an hour to burn, I went to Saint Perpetua's to find Amos. He was in his rickety work shed on the fringe of the cemetery, putting the finishing touches on a pearly white headstone. His back was to me when I entered.

I snuck up behind him and peeked over his shoulder. It was the prettiest grave marker I'd ever seen. The stone seemed to glow like sunlight was inside of it trying to get out. Amos had sculpted vines and leaves and flowers up the sides of the headstone. Two angels were blowing trumpets at the top of it. The Dominican shield, star, and surrounding banner were engraved between the trumpets. Inscribed into the banner was the Dominican motto—Laudare, Benedicere, Praedicare or Praise, Bless, Preach.

The name on the headstone read: Saint Sandrine Elizabeth Caffrey. Beloved Nun of the Dominican Order and loving mother of Augustine James Caffrey, Last of the Mighty.

Amos sensed me behind him, and said, “Took me some artistic license with the name there.”

“It's awesome.” My voice quivered and a tear cropped up in my eye.

“Sorry it took s' long.” Amos finally turned around, his smile fading when he saw my face.

I said, “You might have to start another one soon.”

I told Amos what'd happened at Vero's.

The guilty verdict confused him. He believed me, of course, but couldn't get his head around it. “It jus' don' feel over t' me.” He scraped a knuckle across his unshaven jaw. “Don' feel over at all.”

I helped him place my mother's headstone in the ground over her grave and thanked him for doing such amazing job. Asked him if he'd mind if I had a few minutes alone with my mom.

I knelt at her grave, made the sign of the cross, folded my hands, and prayed. Talked. Poured out my heart. I asked for courage, faith, and the strength to do my best. To die with grace.

I went back to the shed and told Amos I was off to see Merryn.

He sidled up to me, throwing a glance at the many relics from the CIA and NAACP that were piled in a corner. “Had some times, di'n't we?”

Over the past fifteen minutes, my impending death had become real to him.

“Yeah.” I smiled, laughing to myself. “Good times.” Like Amos nearly jamming a rusty nail into my head. Almost getting smashed by a landslide, and getting our butts whomped by Azazel and his crew on the concrete ship.

“Yer the closest thing I eve' had to a son, Og.” His lip shook. “An'…well…” Tears pushed into his eyes now. “I'm gonna miss ya.” He wiped the wetness from his face. “Tha's all.”

For Amos, so emotionally guarded and determined to keep all at arm's length since the day his daughter died, his words were a revolution. Love had finally seeped through the barricades he'd been building for decades.

I pulled him in for a hug. He was a man of the earth, and the scents of soil, mountain, rock, and tree were heavy on him. It felt good in my nose. So pure and honest. So Amos.

“Gonna miss you too, Amos.”

My chest hitched and my throat closed. I squeezed his shoulders, looked him in the eye, nodded, and took off for Merryn's.

Merryn opened her door and smiled. Crazy to think someone like me could bring a smile to a face like that. She was so much better than I could ever be. Yet here she was, smiling at me. My Merryn, the most beautiful thing in the world.

We hugged hello on the porch, but I slipped up and held it for a little too long. Could even feel her getting scared. You know how it is; too often the long hug is only used to soften the blow of bad news.

I wasn't ready to spill the beans to Merryn yet, so I followed up my long hug with a quick kiss and a casual greeting, hoping that would do the trick.

“Let's mosey,” I said to her wary eyes and suspicious lips. Then picked her up like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold and bounded down the porch steps.

Mistake number two.

“Your leg!” she reminded me, and tried to squirm out of my arms.

I put her down. “It's feeling better,” I said, avoiding the part about Phaeus healing me.

She stepped in front of me. Crossed her arms. Tapped her foot. Her stance and eyebrows demanded, What's goin' on, Og?

Of course, I was going to spill it. But not now. I promised to tell her later. She eventually agreed.

Mama G's wasn't too crowded, and we got a booth in the corner.

I couldn't stop staring at Merryn. I kept taking her hands and holding them on the table. I leaned over and kissed her a few times. Sweetly. Couldn't help it. Couldn't put a lid on the love that overflowed my heart.

People freak about that stuff. They call it PDA—public display of affection—always saying it like it's the most disgusting thing in the world. What about Jesus, huh? The cross was his public display of affection for the human race. We don't give Him any grief about that, do we?

So there.

“Would you stop!” She chuckled as I kissed her again.

“I'm sorry.” I smiled. “Really, I am.” I'd forgotten all about Vero. “I just can't stand not kissing you, okay?” I was actually having fun. I always did with Merryn. “And besides…”—the truth broke inside of me like a tidal wave—“what if…you know.” My words began to shake. “This was like our last…night together?”

My face fell and my heart melted.

“You saw Phaeus.” It was Merryn who grabbed my hands this time. “That's why your leg's better.”

I nodded. “Saw Vero, too.”

And out it came. Everything. From the ram's horn to Guilty! to my looming execution.

For the next four hours we said goodbye. It was far too heart-wrenching and beautiful, too tragic and private, and far too profound to put down here.

At her doorstep, we hugged and kissed and cried for too short and too long a while.

Time was running out. I had to go.

“Tell Uncle Will I love him.”

Merryn sensed the end, the real end, coming.

“And Aunt Laurel too.”

She crumbled, shaking and sobbing, rocking and weeping.

“And especially tell their daughter that I've loved her since I was ten. That she's the most beautiful person I've ever met. And that no one could ever love anything more.”

She launched into my arms, her body so soft and strong and lovely, and pressing into mine so firmly that we were one.

I kissed her for the last time, and said, “I love you, Merryn.”

She choked out something in reply. But her words came out so broken and bent there was no way to understand them. She may have said she loved me too. Or not.

It didn't matter either way.

What the heart knows, the ear doesn't need to hear.

I had just enough time to visit Saint Perpetua's before making my way to the ship. It was peaceful and wonderful with candles burning near the altar and moonlight filtering in through the stained glass to give the night's dust a place to play. I recalled my days as an altar boy, even going through some of the old motions, and felt proud to have served Saint Perpetua's in that hallowed position.

At a quarter till eleven, fighting the urge to run upstairs and say one last goodbye to Amos, I started toward the concrete ship. Passing through the graveyard, I waved at my mom's new headstone and sent up a silent prayer. Wondered if my invisible partner, Iddo, appreciated what an easy job he was having with me. I could've been heading for Mexico.

I gazed up at the stars and regretted how much I'd taken our incredible world for granted. I'd been guilty of it nearly every day of my life.

But not tonight.

Crickets played their harps, and I listened. A few nightingales joined the chorus; a crisp breeze rustled leaves, providing a percussive backdrop. Life was a symphony. God could have made it a silent movie. Instead, He lulled us to sleep with the rhythm of the ocean and woke us with birdsong.

Walking onto the beach, I was welcomed by the faint spray of the ocean. My face tingled beneath the soft sea mist. The smell of it was deep in my nose. The sand underfoot cushioned my every step. With my senses in overdrive, I wished my slow motion would kick in, award me a few more moments to enjoy the magnificence of earth's splendor.

I was on the pier when something unexpected pulled up beside me—gratitude. It slipped an arm around my shoulder and whispered into my ear. Reminded me of what a blessed life I'd lived. So many people got far fewer than sixteen years. So many never had a mother who adored them. So many died before knowing how much God loved them. Or how much joy Jesus could bring. And many died without ever finding their Merryn.

I hopped the fence at ten fifty-seven.

At ten fifty-eight, I was pacing across the war-torn deck of the concrete ship.

Below me, on the middle deck, Death waited.

At the stroke of eleven, a white vine of smoke slithered into the middle deck. It wrapped itself around my ankle, as harmless as fog. Then, with a sudden flash of brightness, I was once again in Heaven's Court of Judgement.

Vero sat in his wooden throne, Phaeus standing to the side of him. Gadriel was in the same place as when I'd left. The eleven-foot angel with the dark skin and the spear was also there. With a new weapon. A long-handled axe of sorts. The kind executioners used, with the elongated, curving blade.

“Thank you, Augustine, for your timeliness,” said Vero. “As well as your diplomacy. Iddo informed that you came willingly, without the slightest trace of resistance.” He considered me. “Unusually responsible for one so young.”

If only my punctuality and tact could reduce the harshness of my punishment. Was it possible to only kill me a little?

I tried to contact my father via The Committee, but was quickly reminded that Vero's Court was a dead zone.

“Shua,” Vero called my executioner, and the angel came forward.

My father cast his eyes to mine and hooked them. They spoke so clearly of his love and affection for me. Of the delight he took in calling me his son. Of the glories that awaited me in Heaven. Of how much he looked forward to finding my mother and me in the afterlife, where we would all be together again. Eternally.

“Gadriel.” Vero turned to him. “Part of the punishment for your crime of uniting yourself with a mortal is to witness the death of your offspring.”

Vero gave Shua a nod, and the angel advanced on me.

He gripped the axe tighter and held it out, his arms straight. He laid the hard steel against my throat, measuring me up.

I stood tall. Shoulders back. Eyes locked to my father's as the long, cool blade fingered my flesh.

Shua drew the blade away from me in a wide, slow arc.

His front arm was rigid, rear arm bending.

His every sense focused on my neck.

He paused as his backswing reached its limit, then loosed a piercing shout.

The blade shot forward.

My adrenaline redlined and the world slowed.

I struggled to stay still. To keep myself from ducking. To die with dignity.

The axe sped to my throat, its steel glinting as it cut the air.

With the blade halfway to me, a gauzy, cloudlike something appeared at my side. Little by little, the weird, white haze began to take shape. Maybe it was the angel assigned to escort my soul to Heaven.

Shua saw it too. Confusion washed over him. For a split second, his muscles relaxed, but the axe was moving far too fast to stop now.

The cloud thing was rapidly forming into something solid. Its outline got clearer—a manlike figure crouching down just beyond the weapon's swing path.

My death was a foot away now, the blade's momentum only increasing.

In the next instant, the materialization of the thing next to me was complete. It was another angel. Biggest one I'd seen yet. He was squatting, calmly watching, studying the axe head accelerating toward my jugular.

At the last possible moment, the just-formed angel thrust his hands forward and caught the blade between them. Sandwich style—one hand on top, the other beneath, the silver curve of steel in the middle.

He said, “Good form, Shua. You have been practicing.” He was still squatting with the blade between his palms. “I am impressed. Your stance is perfect. Your grip firm.” He pulled on the blade a little. “Your aim impeccable and the velocity of the cutting edge…outstanding!”

Vero stood, eyes wide, jaw dropped. “Michael?”

As in the Archangel Michael? As in the leader of Heaven's Army Michael? No wonder he was so obsessed with perfect killing procedure.

The archangel grinned, but wasn't yet finished with his review of Shua's axe technique. “The angle of the blade, however, is slightly flawed, my brother.” He tilted the steel between his palms a fraction of an inch. “This position would result in a cleaner kill, and a quicker death.” He finally rose up. “All in all, excellent work, my friend. Excellent.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Shua gave him one fast up and down of his chin.

But anyone could tell the dark-skinned angel was totally bewildered. Why had Michael stopped my execution?

Gadriel, however, looked like he'd expected the archangel to show.

“Vero,” Michael said, “summon the jury. A retrial has been requested.”

Behind Vero, Phaeus went pale. His face squirmed and his shifty eyes darted about the Court, as if searching for an exit.

Michael veered toward me now, holding out a hand. “Augustine, it is an honor to meet you.”

The archangel was a twelve-foot-tall Mack truck with wavy brown hair, dark chocolate eyes, a strong, swooping nose, and a full, wide mouth that liked to smile. He had an affable and gracious air. Yet, at the same time, there was something about him that said if you crossed him, you were done. He wore a white tunic, like my father had in the dream forest. Although he was an angel of the First Choir, Michael didn't have as many weapons as even Shua of the Third Choir. He wore the gold wrist guard and had only one long sword in the scabbard attached to his belt. That was it. Maybe that was all he needed.

Michael shook my hand and said, “What an interesting amalgam you are. The son of a nun… Kin to Jashobeam… Last of the Gibborim… A mortal man… An angel… And…my nephew.”

“G-good to meet you too, s-sir.” I was quivering.

And why not? The name Michael was used as a war cry by the good guys in the battle that saw Lucifer and his followers thrown from Heaven. He was the most feared of all angels and his name meant “Who is like God?” In the big War of Heaven, the name was used in the accusatory. Kind of like, “So you think you know better than the Lord, huh… Well, tell me then…WHO IS LIKE GOD!” And the swords would clang.

Michael seemed accustomed to others trembling in his presence. To put me at ease, he scruffed up my hair and said, “Please, call me Michael.” Then he turned to my father. “Gadriel,” he said, and laughed the most joyful laugh I'd ever heard.

The two hugged and spoke for a long while, enjoying each other's company.

As the angels of the jury streamed in, Michael greeted each by name. He'd already spent some time with Vero. But for Phaeus, who'd been fidgeting uncomfortably ever since the archangel appeared, all Michael had was a curt nod.

The jury took their seats, and Michael said, “Brother Vero, I have been sent by the Lord God Himself to defend the Watcher Gadriel and his son Augustine.”

Murmurs rose amid the jury.

Vero said a few words to Michael. A moment later, he clapped his hands and the retrial was under way.