The Sunset Prophecy (Love & Armageddon #1) (8 page)

The Seraph outside the
window shrieked one last time, becoming transparent before disappearing, leaving only a brief pulsating static-like imprint in its wake.

“
I hate those fucking things,” stated Adam, before turning around and walking toward the elevator.

10

Fateful Relay

R
affi’s salt-and-pepper hair covered the top of his ears. His curled hairline extended halfway down his forehead, fulfilling his mother’s prediction that he would never go bald. At 65, it was time to close up shop, and move back to Tehran. He wanted to be at his ailing father’s side. He wanted to tend his mother’s plot, but he also had a nagging feeling that he was being observed from a distance. There was no history of mental illness in Raffi or his family, but he did feel the occasional breath feather the skin behind his neck on days where there was no wind. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew it was time to go.
Home
.

Cindy browsed the sparse shelves near the storefront.

“Raffi, what do you have for sale today?” she asked. She passed by a couple more shelves before her eyes gravitated toward a fresco hanging on the wall that depicted a raven-haired angel. “Ooh, what’s this?”

Raffi was hunched over a box. Sweat poured down his wrinkled forehead, even though it was the middle of March.
“That is Pairika. She’s a fallen angel. She’s been evil and is now good. Teaching us that even in the spirit world there are no absolutes.”

Cindy
’s eyes lit up. She sensed Raffi’s haste and pounced. “Please tell me this is discounted, too?”

“
Tell you what,” he said, standing up and slapping the dust from his hands. “You help me get these boxes into the back of my truck and I’ll let you have it.”

Cindy rushed the counter.
“Which box? Nothing over twenty pounds. I don’t want to break any of your stuff.”

“
The white one over there,” he pointed. “Leave the box with the funny writing alone. I need to talk to you about that one in a minute.”

Ecstatic, Cindy picked up the crate. She slumped forward as the weight of the box slightly passed her threshold.
“I said twenty pounds, Raffi.”

“
You want Pairika or not?” he smiled. “Come on, the truck is parked in the back.”

They both walked through the small warehouse that was connected to the store, which was now completely emptied. The old white bobtail truck was parked in the alley.
Its tailgate was opened and almost brimmed to capacity with most of Raffi’s unsold merchandise.

“
What are you going to do with all this stuff?” asked Cindy.

Raffi stepped back and placed his hands on his waist.
“If I told you, you’d hate me.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Cindy, you’ve been very good to my store. Your word of mouth kept me in business when times were tough. But we have to let go sometimes.”

Cindy stared
at all the unusual trinkets which begged for her touch and attention. “But all this stuff deserves a home, don’t you think?”

“
No, it doesn’t. Some of these things have haunted some and have made many irrationally paranoid. How do you think they all ended up at my store?”

A faint glimmer through a crease in a box caught Cindy
’s attention. “Can I at least have what’s in that box? The contents look shiny.” Cindy reached in and pulled the cardboard cube out from underneath a table. Like a kid on Christmas morning, she pried open the box with delight. “Holy crap, the diamonds on this medallion look real.”

Raffi raised his bristly eyebrows. There was no doubt, that by looking at them, he was part of the Mediterranean gene pool.
“That one paid for my trip back to Tehran. It’s sold. I need to tape it before FedEx gets here.” Raffi grabbed the box and sealed it with the tape gun.
[email protected]
was written on the box in Sharpie marker. “I’ll leave it right here, so the driver sees it.” Raffi left it in a nook by the door where parcel companies picked up and dropped off.

“
Where would something like this come from?” she asked.

“
I don’t know. Many people coming into my store strung out on some type of drug looking to pawn off their wares for money,” Raffi said. He placed his hand on Cindy’s back. “Hurry, hurry, follow me, let me show you something.”

Raffi escorted Cindy to the storefront. He picked up the wooden box with the funny writing on its side and placed it on the counter.
“Please, take this.”

“
The entire box?” she asked. She rotated the box and scanned the exterior. The mysterious inscription kindled her curious fire. “What’s this funny writing all over it?”

“
I really don’t know,” he said. “I sent a picture to my friend, who’s a linguist at USC. He said it might be an offshoot language of Koine Greek and Aramaic.”

“
What?” asked Cindy.

Raffi reached into his wallet and pulled out a tattered business card.
“Here,” he said. “If you wish to contact him...actually,
please
contact him. The contents inside, study them as soon as possible, please.”

Cindy picked up the box and held it in her arms.
“How much do I owe you for this?”

“
Nothing,” he said. A Dumpster-diving cat outside in the alley knocked an old metal shelf to the ground. The sound of tin hitting the concrete startled Raffi. His eyes darted around his surroundings like prey hearing the snapping of twigs on the jungle floor.

Cindy
’s eyes widened, matching Raffi’s panicked look. “What’s going on?”

“
Nothing,” he said. “Please, try to understand the contents of this box. Make sure to contact Professor Rivers. I really need to go.”

Raffi hugged Cindy.
“Don’t ever cease to be curious, okay?”

“
Yeah, of course. Thanks, Raffi,” she said, as she focused sharply on the door that led to the alley. “Everything okay?”

Raffi wiped away the sweat that was accumulating on his eyebrows. He breathed heavily.
“Go, please. Just go. Don’t come back here, do you understand?”

“
Raffi, what’s wrong?” Cindy asked. She looked around the store, wondering if Raffi was losing it.

“
I’m fine. I need to leave. I’m not good with goodbyes,” he said.

Cindy raised her eyebrows. She didn
’t know what to make of Raffi, who had always been friendly, caring, and showed the same enthusiasm toward the artifacts in his store, which she could relate to. “I’ll just go,” she said tentatively, walking backward toward the exit. Cindy scanned her surroundings with nervous energy. “Thank you, Raffi.”

“
Don’t forget Pairika,” he said, leaning on the counter with a nervous smile.

Cindy almost tripped. She recovered and grabbed the fresco from the wall.
“Bye, Raffi, good luck,” she said, before stumbling out the door.

She placed the box and the fresco in the trunk of her green Beetle. She clicked her seatbelt and stared at Raffi
’s store one last time before turning the key in the ignition. She observed Raffi lowering his head on the glass counter. She felt the sudden urge to re-enter the store and comfort him, but her imagination ran wild. Her gut churned up a feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
Was Raffi involved in something shady?

She swiftly came to an internal resolution. Raffi
would be all right, she thought. He’s leaving anyway, far, far away from whatever was spooking him in Los Angeles. Besides, she found what she’d been looking for. Something that could validate her beliefs, beliefs which others took pleasure in mocking.

As Cindy departed, Raffi
’s hands trembled. He stared at the shelves in his store one last time. There wasn’t any time left. The landlord would have to take care of all the items he left behind.

He picked up the last wooden box and rushed toward the alley. The bottom edges of the box dug deep into his skin, pressing hard on the bones of his long fingers. Nervously, he looked for the keys in his pocket. They were in the store.
“Dammit!” he yelled, scaring off the cat that was still scavenging the Dumpster. He went back inside and inspected the warehouse floor with a keen eye. He kicked the wooden pallets and wrapping paper that were strewn about. Nothing.

Raffi felt a sudden, burst of cold air tackle his back as he pressed through the doorway toward the front of the store.

The skin on his arm suddenly broke out in goose bumps. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. His urge to leave rushed copious amounts of blood through his heart. Palpitations increased. Raffi began sweating profusely as he entered the front of the store.

The glint
of keys caught his eye. They were sitting on an empty shelf. His sweaty palms snatched the key ring. Raffi paused as another mysterious blast of wind ran down his vertebrae. He gasped and held his breath. The walls of his store flickered like digital static. Raffi turned his head. There was nothing there. He let out a breath. He stumbled toward the exit. Tapping sounds, like the racket of a puppy’s claws scurrying about on hardwood floors, pulled his ears and head toward the metal beams in the warehouse ceiling above. A strange shadow that seemed out of place briefly caught his eye. Raffi backed up.

“
Go away,” he yelled, at the cold empty air. “There is nothing here for you.”

Raffi gazed above. The static returned this time on the ceiling, blinking wildly, finally revealing a medium-sized organic form.
A Seraph. The creature stretched its limbs, as it hung upside down like a spider. Its wings fluttered slowly like a fruit fly. Raffi peered into the monstrosity’s deep and dark eyes. Galactic spirals appeared to be in the center of Seraph’s eyes.

The winged beast dropped down from the ceiling
, slamming its black claws into Raffi’s chest, pinning him to the cold, concrete floor. Raffi fought back, bashing the creature’s ribs with his fists. The Seraph dug its claws deeper into Raffi’s skin, puncturing his fat, and then piercing the muscles surrounding his ribcage. “Help!” Raffi yowled, hoping that someone passing by would hear.

Blood began pooling around Raffi
’s torso. The creature opened a slit where a mouth would normally be. A small gumline with equally small, sharpened teeth emerged. Its synthesized growl modulated into a layman’s enunciation. “Where’s the Apocryphon?”

In excruciating pain, Raffi willed coherence.
“What Apocryphon?”

“
The Apocryphon? You roach,” hissed the Seraph.

Raffi knew what
the Seraph was intimating; the Apocryphon that was given to him by Father Gutierrez from a parish in Riverside County, the one that was in the silly box with the silly writing. Raffi thought Father Gutierrez was a quack, but sometimes, even the unbelievable rants of crazy people tickled the part of the brain where irrational paranoia lived. He gave in to that sudden and momentary feeling.

“
I...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stuttered Raffi.

“
The mortal apostate from the empire inland led me here through his death pangs,” said the creature.

“
I sold many things. Sacred things. Ancestral belongings. People pay cash. They trade. They barter. I don’t know what the backstory of everything that comes through here. Let me go, please, demon.”

“
I am no demon,” hissed the Seraph. “Anger, wrath, indignation, trouble, are my sanctioned syntax. Demons toil in deceit; I toil in truth.”

Raffi begged. His eyes wetted
in desperation. “My father is ailing. Mercy, please. He needs me. I must go to Tehran.”

The Seraph turned its head toward the large tinted window. People strolled by the store. Some with coffee cups in their hands, others walking their tea
-cup mutts. Traffic, as usual, was congested. Everyone was bent on heading home. A man wearing a tattered cowboy hat pushed a wheeled cart.
“Elotes, con chile,”
he shouted into Raffi’s store, through the door that was halfway open.

The Seraph, ambivalent to the action outside, placed its index claw into Raffi
’s mouth, forcing him into his first sword-swallower’s act. The
elotero
continued his route, oblivious to one man’s nightmare inside the store.

Losing patience, the Seraph barely moved its claw, tearing through the soft tissue that lined Raffi
’s windpipe. Internal bleeding commenced. Raffi’s eyes bulged. His squirm lasted as long as his final grunt. As his body went limp, his eyes fell to the side, an empty gaze toward his last resting place and his final memory; the hustle and bustle halfway across the world from where his father waited for his son to come home.

11

Failure’s Pride

B
reaking News from Patricia Garza, reporting from Riverside, at the scene of a bizarre homicide
, said the cheap imitation version of the national nightly news anchor. Local Los Angeles newscasts liked their male news anchors handsome, but with a plasticky, real estate broker’s smirk.

Miss Garza
’s unnecessarily augmented breasts matched her unnecessary over-enunciation of conjunctions.
That’s right, Alex; we are here at St. Matthew’s Catholic Church, where Father Mario Gutierrez, a charismatic and universally loved pastor, was murdered in cold blood, in such a way that officials are calling it heinously sadistic.