Author's Note: This story was written several years ago as part of a series. Thanks for the support, everyone.
He sat there in the dark, perched on the back of the chair with absolutely no regard for physics or gravity. The shadow he cast was long and dark, almost as dark as the expression he quietly wore on his unmoving face, his brow showing every bit of the weight that was now on his shoulders. The shadow travelled and thinned, laying quietly in wait at the doorway.
"You know why I'm here?" the perched figure asked quietly as the large, round man found his way inside the room, the huffing of his breath a stark contrast to the unyielding silence of the night. "Look, I've done everything you've asked. Why can't you just let me die? Just let me go to which ever place, Heaven or Hell. It really doesn't matter much at this point." As he lumbered into the room, a slat of light from a nearby street light came in a nearby window like a dagger, illuminating the man's dark, hollowed eyes, and the gunshot wound that continued to ooze dark blood from his temple.
"There will be plenty of time for that," said Raphael, hopping down from the chair in one swift, controlled motion. "Trust me, where you're headed, you shouldn't be in such a hurry to get there. Did you get the book?" Raphael's long, dark hair fell at shoulder length and reflected the light from the window as he drew close. He could smell booze and defeat on his helper, not exactly a reassuring thing at this point in his current gambit.
"Sure thing, Raph. Hold on and let me pull it outta' my ass, right along with the Easter bunny and my uncle Earl," he said as he searched in his pocket for another cigarette. The pack was almost empty, but he could have sworn he had one more. Raphael moved closer now, closer to his companion than he would ever care to be, almost whispering in the huge, rotting man's ear."We need that book," he said sharply. "And until we have it, you will not be visiting Heaven or Hell. You're going to stay right here, with me, on this spinning rock as what's left of your body continues to decay. Parts of your body will turn interesting colors, and even fall off, but you will not die. Oh no, Frank, you're going to stay right here with me. Like two buddies, inseperable till the end."
Frank began to sob quietly. The prospect of spending another 30 seconds in that room with a so-called angel made him want to vomit. The smell of his own rotting flesh caused him to gag, and the quiet sobbing quickly turned into coughing and spitting as something awful began to work its way out of his lungs and into his throat. As he spat the mass onto the floor, Frank was thankful it was dark.
"Look, I've told you a hundred times, I dunno' where that damn book is," said Frank between wretches. "Do you really think anyone around here would trust me with that information? I'm a drunk, for Christ sake!" He spat again and again, finally falling to his knees. He wasn't sure, but it felt as if his leg had popped out of joint during his short trip to the floor, but he couldn't feel any pain. In fact, he hadn't been able to feel a damn thing since he had pulled the trigger and placed a bullet in his brain with his service revolver. That's when Raphael had appeared, and Frank's real troubles had begun.
"Frank, you're beginning to bore me," said Raphael, his wings quietly spreading behind him. "And do you know what angels do when they get bored?"
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The moon hung there in the sky, defiant, as the sun began to chase it from the dawn sky with it's tendrils of light and hues of orange and brilliant red. Beside the quiet ebb of the surf, the only sound was the wind as it worked its way through the grass and the gentle feathers of his wings.
It had not always been this quiet.
There had been the endless stream of cars, trucks and every other mode of transportation imaginable, winding along the highway, dispersing each morning in the public access parking lots. The sounds of change dropping into parking meters, heels clicking on the sidewalk, busying off to work or some other world-shattering destination. Bicycle chains, as they stretched time and time again around cogs and gears, speeding riders off to the shoreline shops and businesses.
Now, as the dawn made its way up from the water and into the morning sky, there was only silence.
He drew in a deep breath, tilting his head back and smelling the salty air and the early morning dew. There was a hint of seagrass, maybe even a fruit or two, mingling in the mist as it made its way down his throat, filling his lungs. Thankfully absent was the harsh smell of exhaust, it's chemicals no longer splaying across his senses, threatening to choke the very life out of him. Those harmful carcinogens had long since been filtered out by the ocean, in all her majesty, and replaced with the peaceful scent of the sea, just as God had intended in the beginning.
Michael smiled. After all the wars, the treachery, the deception... After all the death the war in Heaven had brought to Earth, man had found a way to best its most dangerous foes. Gabriel. Lucifer. Pyriel. All of them had vanished like darkness before the dawn, brought down from their lofty perches by mankind. The monkeys. And while humans seemed to have divine favor on their sides, they could not defeat their greatest enemy, the enemy that would eventually topple their thrones and lay their race to waste: themselves.
The quiet was pleasing, he had to admit. However, Michael knew full well it wouldn't last. The end of war was only the precursor to the next conflict. The same, unfortunately, was true of Heaven.
War, it would seem, only slept. It never died.
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