The Dragon's Descent (3 page)

“The baby was born tongue-tied. Right now it will affect her ability to feed. But later down the road, if not detected, she'll grow up with a speech impediment, which could impact her self-esteem as a child and carry through into her adult years. I want to spare her all that and have a doctor look at it now.”

“What do you want me to do?” Vero asked.

“Wake the mother up and tell her.”

“Wake her up?” Vero repeated, a bit unsure. “I don't think I'm supposed to . . .”

“Have your friend come in here with the cart. That will do it.”

Vero looked to the angel as he thought for a moment, then turned and walked to the door. He opened it and called to Tack, who was still waiting in the hall.

“Get in here.” Vero waved to Tack.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Just bring the cart.”

Tack sighed. “Okay, but if we get fired on our first day, it's your fault.”

Vero held the door open. Tack struggled to push the cart through the door, running it smack into the side of the wall.
Crunch!
The baby cried, waking up her mother.

“Oh, sorry,” Tack said, his face turning red.

“See?” The angel smiled to Vero.

Vero chuckled.

“It's not funny,” Tack said.

Vero then realized that Tack had no clue the angel was in the room with them. Vero stood next to the bed and turned to the mother.

“Hi ma'am, would you like a snack?”

“Cookies or coffee?” Tack added. “Tea?”

“No, thank you,” the woman answered.

The angel motioned to Vero, who began to sweat. Vero snatched a cookie and held it to the woman.

“Would the baby like a cookie?”

The angel rolled his eyes.

“You idiot!” Tack slammed his hand to his forehead. “Everyone knows babies don't eat cookies!”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Vero's face flushed red.

“Everyone knows they eat soft stuff,” Tack said as he reached for a bag of candy. “Like gummy worms.” He held up the bag.

It was the angel's turn to slap his hand to his forehead.

“Thanks, guys, but we really need to get some rest,” the woman said over her newborn's cries.

Vero bent down to the baby. He smiled at her.

“She's really cute.”

“Thank you. This is Claire. She's about three hours old.”

As Claire cried, Vero moved closer to her. A concerned look clouded Vero's face. The mother noticed.

“What? What's wrong?”

“It sounds like Claire might be tongue-tied. I can hear it when she cries.”

Tack gave Vero a look. The angel breathed a sigh of relief.

“What do you mean?” the new mother asked, suddenly worried.

“Yeah . . . she ‘wahs' a little funny when she cries. It's not a big deal. It's easy to fix.”

“How do you know?” the woman asked.

“Oh, because I ‘wahhhed' really funny when I was a kid,” Vero said, thinking quickly. “I would just ask the doctor to look at it.”

The mother looked strangely at Vero as if trying to figure out something. She hesitated for a moment before she answered.

“Okay, I will,” she said, somewhat puzzled.

Vero turned to leave.

“Thank you, Vero,” the angel said.

Vero nodded to him and placed his hands on the cart. He turned to Tack. “Get the door, will you?”

Tack scrambled to open the door, and Vero wheeled the cart out. Once alone in the hallway, Tack turned to Vero.

“I never heard you were born tongue-tied,” Tack said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Vero. “Whatever that is.”

“I never said I was . . . I said I ‘wahhed' really funny. Tongue-tie is a real thing, and I think her daughter may have it. So she should have her checked.”

“I think you've been watching too many medical shows.”

Vero saw his mother standing in front of them, hands on her hips. “Boys, what are you doing?” Nora asked.

“Nothing.” Tack shrugged.

“I'm on break, you are not,” Nora scolded them. “Now get to your rounds.”

“We're on it,” Vero said, pushing the cart.

Vero and Tack walked from room to room, offering snacks and magazines. Everyone was grateful to see them. The little kids especially loved Tack. He taught them how to burp the alphabet, the proper way to shoot a spitball, and his favorite game—“The Nurse Kunkel Shuffle.” A
kid would press the call button, and when Nurse Kunkel walked in, he'd yell, “Psych!” After three rounds of the game, Nurse Kunkel had had enough and told Nora. Nora walked into the children's ward ready to fire Tack and Vero, but forgave them when she saw how it made the sick kids laugh—something they rarely did.

“You guys are done for today,” Nora told the boys as they walked down the hallway pushing the cart. “Return the cart, then get a snack in the cafeteria—I still have another forty-five minutes on my shift.”

“Okay, Mom,” Vero answered.

Nora walked away. “And stay out of trouble.”

“Come on,” Vero said as he pulled the cart while Tack pushed it.

“Vero, quick!” another voice said. “Hurry!”

Vero's eyes scanned the hallway.

“You just passed my room! Come back!”

Vero abruptly stopped. The cart smashed into him.

“What is your deal?” Tack yelled. “You can't pin that on me!”

“Go ahead without me. I need to use the bathroom!” Vero said. “I'll meet you in the cafeteria.”

“Whatever,” Tack said, and continued down the hallway.

Once Tack turned the corner and was out of sight, Vero slipped into the room. He saw an angel lying next to an elderly man in bed, cradling him with his wings. When Vero stepped closer, he saw that the man was unconscious and struggling to breathe.

“It's almost time. I need you to get his son. He went to the cafeteria for a bite. He'll be very upset if his father passes when he's gone!” the angel told Vero, urgently.

It was then that Vero noticed another angel sitting patiently in the corner of the room. He was brighter than most angels he'd seen. A kindness and gentleness emanated from the angel.

“Vero, now!”

“How will I know him?”

“Mr. Berger's son, Frank. He's wearing a red shirt, and has messy brown hair and glasses! Go!”

Vero tore out of the room. He ran down the hall, dodging a gurney pushed by an aide in full scrubs. A nurse walked toward him carrying a tray of food, and Vero nearly knocked it out of her hands.

“Hey!” the nurse shouted.

“Sorry!” Vero yelled as he burst through the cafeteria doors and scanned the room. It wasn't crowded. He saw a red shirt, but it belonged to a woman who stood at the salad bar scooping croutons onto her plate. Vero saw a middle-aged man who looked like he hadn't slept in days, sitting at a table drinking a hot coffee, rubbing his eyes. His shirt was a muted red, but he wasn't wearing glasses. Vero decided to approach him anyway.

“Excuse me.”

As Vero got closer, the man pulled something out of his shirt pocket—a pair of glasses! He put them on to see Vero.

“Are you Frank Berger?” Vero asked hurriedly.

“Yes.”

“It's your dad! You have to come now!”

The man sprung from his chair. With Vero on his heels, they dashed out of the cafeteria. The double doors flew open and nearly hit Tack, who was strolling in. He quickly jumped aside.

“Vero? Where you going?”

Vero didn't answer as he ran after Frank. They finally reached the room and ran inside, where Mr. Berger lay in the bed. His breathing was even more labored. Frank ran to his bedside and took his father's hand in his, then began to cry. The angel's wings wrapped tighter around the dying man. Vero turned to leave.

“Stay,” the angel told Vero.

Vero nodded. As Frank continued to hold his father's hand, the angel who sat in the corner arose. He gently flapped his wings and floated over to the bed. A bright pink light emanated from this angel, as well as a peaceful feeling that overtook the room. Vero looked into the angel's face and saw only compassion and love as he looked upon Mr. Berger. The angel reached over Frank's head and placed the palm of his hand on Mr. Berger's slowly rising and falling chest. Something Vero recognized as a soul began to rise out of his body. Mr. Berger's guardian angel rose with the soul, enclosing it within his wings, never letting go of it. Vero noticed the silver cord that tethered the soul to the body. When the soul was floating about two feet over the body, the glowing angel, with his other hand, tenderly squeezed the silver cord, severing it. Vero then realized who the angel was—the Angel of Death.

In the arms and wings of his guardian angel, Mr. Berger's soul grew more radiant. A nearly blinding light surrounded both the guardian angel and the soul, and enveloped them. Vero felt pure joy and elation from the soul and guardian. There was no fear. No anxiety. Vero never realized death could be so peaceful, so wonderful. The ball of light that was the guardian and soul shone even
more brightly as it floated toward the ceiling and then vanished. The Angel of Death looked to Vero, solemnly nodded, then also vanished.

Vero looked over to the bed. Mr. Berger lay lifeless. Tears ran down Frank's cheek. He looked up to Vero.

“Did you feel it?” Frank asked. “That feeling of peace when Dad passed?”

Vero smiled sadly. “I did.”

3

FAITH MAZE

V
ero walked down the basement stairs in his house, feeling tired. His first day in the hospital had been exhausting and all he wanted to do was eat dinner and go to bed. He saw his dad, Dennis, sitting at the worktable in the middle of the room, surrounded by red and green plastic storage boxes and an artificial Christmas tree with probably five seasons' worth of tinsel still stuck to it. Dennis was hunched over the table, building some sort of small model village.

“What's that?” Vero asked.

Dennis looked up. “Come to help?”

“No, Mom needs milk.” He crossed over to the old refrigerator that sat in the corner.

“Come here.”

Vero opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a gallon of milk, then shut it. He walked over to his dad and sat on the stool next to him, while placing the milk on the floor at his
feet. Glancing down at the model, Vero saw what looked like a town with several canals alongside of it.

“It's the project I've recommended for a village in Sri Lanka. During the monsoon season they can get torrential rains that completely flood the place. The people often lose their homes, their crops, even their lives.”

“So the World Bank is giving them money to build these canals?” Vero said as he ran his finger along the blue strip of painter's tape representing water.

“Yes, they've already begun digging, but for the canals to be really effective, I need to build another three, and the budget won't allow for it.” Dennis sighed weakly. “So the project's engineer and I have been trying to reconfigure what already has been started so it will work with the given budget.”

“What if you can't?” Vero looked at his father, unsure.

“I won't go down without a fight,” Dennis said as a determined look came over him.

Vero nodded, knowing it was true.

“Vero, where's that milk?!” Nora's voice rang down to the basement, muffled through the closed door.

Vero picked up the milk and ran up the stairs. But as his foot landed on the top step, it slipped off the edge of the tread, and he tripped and fell forward. His head smashed into the basement door as the gallon of milk flew out his hand, hit the stairs hard, and sprayed open. Vero then tumbled down the stairs to the basement floor.

As a massive stone door opened, Vero staggered inside. He face-planted into something solid. As soon as Vero righted
himself, he saw the angry face of the archangel Raziel glaring down at him. His features were harsh, severe—making him seem even more intimidating. Raziel never gave Vero a warm and fuzzy feeling. Vero always felt that the archangel didn't like him.