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Send to FriendA pair of luminescent white feathered wings manifested themselves before her now, slowly yawning open, revealing a man, no, an angel standing six feet tall, its body perfectly chiseled like that of a Greek statue beneath its silken, fully naked, save for a fig leaf that covered his groin. His beard was neatly trimmed, perfectly manicured, and his ocean-blue eyes were solemn, yet his gaze was somehow comforting at the same time, as was the brightly translucent halo that hovered just above his crown.
When he spoke, his voice was thunder echoing throughout the cosmos, like that of God Himself, full of power, the ultimate authority figure, yet laced with love as well, someone who wanted to sooth your pain and anxiety and protect you from all worldly harm. "Jill Steagle, "you have lost so much and have suffered greatly."
And for the first time in this strange realm she was stricken, and the pangs of loss and morning stabbed her heart as she knew, as she remembered who she was and all she had lost. Images of her son Jimmy flooded her mind now, the boy playing with his fire truck on the sidewalk. His radiant eyes and exuberant smile glistened in the warm rays of sunlight. The image faded, replaced by one of Jimmy at the tender age of eight, lying on the hospital bed, his flesh pallid, his eyes sunken deep within their sockets as the cancer continued to eat away at his body, while his grief-stricken parents stood there, distraught and completely powerless to save him.
"Such a tragic loss," the Angel said, bowing his head with sympathetic sorrow as brooding shadows darkened his features, "to lose someone so young, so innocent. He has been dead for so long now, yet the pain still survives. You never were able to move on, were you, even after all these years. Memories of your son still haunt you, of the happiness you, he, and his father shared, and of how fate cruelly took him away from you, leaving both you and your husband in misery." The Angel lifted his head and his face brightened with renewed hope. "But I can make the pain go away. I can give him back to you, just as he was before the cancer, a perfectly healthy seven-year-old boy, full of hopes and dreams and innocence, with no memory of the illness, of the suffering he had endured. Things can be just as they were."
"How would that even be possible?" A faint glimmer of hope lit up within Jill's forlorn heart, yet it was a cautious hope, a yearning for healing yet very skeptical, not wanting to risk further pain, for the wound to be reopened further than it already had. "Please, don't do this to me; don't get my hopes up, only to shatter them all over again. I couldn't bear it, please—"
"I can bring him back for you, but first there is something you must do."
"What is it? Please tell me. I'll do anything."
"When the time comes, I will contact you again and you will know. It will not be long." And with that said, the Angel's wings folded inwardly upon himself, swallowing the rest of his body, like a Venus fly trap slowly closing its jaws upon its prey.
Thirty-five-year-old Jill Steagle awoke as the sun rose outside, its bright rays piercing through her window as it lit up the entire room. As she yawned, her sleepy eyes slowly fluttering open, the memory of the Angel did not diminish as that of a fleeting dream, but instead remained vivid, filling her with the grief of old wounds that never fully healed, yet with hope at the same time.
In the two years since Jimmy's death, Jill had dreamt that the boy was still alive, that the cancer that had taken him at such a young age had never existed. In the dreams, it was the cancer that was the nightmare, whereas this was the reality, where Jimmy continued to play, his warm heart filled with youthful exuberance and innocence, and Jill had believed in it with all her heart that this was real, that fate couldn't be so cruel as to take her pride and joy away from her. When she woke finally, she was in tears, for it was then that reality hit her, for Jimmy was indeed dead, and dead he would forever remain.
But this time, through the tears there was hope. Jimmy was still dead, yes, but there was a chance to fix that, an opportunity to correct fate's grave error. The tears that fell from her eyes this time were as much from joy as they were from sadness and mourning.
Sleeping naked next to her was her husband, thirty-nine-year-old Russell Steagle. Normally, Jill would allow him to continue his blissful slumber, and tread as quietly out of the room as possible when she awoke. This time, however, there was the frantic urge to awaken him and share with him the good news. He simply must know and share the joy with her as soon as humanly possible!
As she reached over, placing her hand firmly over his shoulder in an attempt to shake him awake, a name flashed through her mind in a bright neon sign:
Thomas Luther.
Jill had never before heard of the man, yet instinctively she knew that he would be involved somehow in Jimmy's resurrection. She couldn't yet understand his role in the procedure, but that would be revealed to her later. She would have to find him later, of course, to talk to him and find out what he knew about all of this. For now, however, she must remain here, to await further messages from the angel.
Throughout the day, Jill's mind weighed heavily upon the implications of her dream, if one could even call it that. She thought frequently of her lost son, but while such thoughts normally depressed her, making her feel distraught even now over his untimely passing, today she could feel nothing but deep elation. If indeed one could say she did feel anything akin to a negative or unpleasant emotion, it was the growing impatience that filled her, becoming more and more prominent as each minute dragged by. Jimmy was so close she could feel it, could almost touch the boy, hold him in her arms and cover his face with kisses. He was so close, yet so far away, for she felt this day would never end, but instead span onward, forever taunting her, teasing her. It was as though she were a child herself, waiting impatiently on Christmas Eve for Santa's visit, for dawn to come so she could finally open her presents.
Jill told no one of her visitation, nor of the anticipation that threatened to burst forth within her, and whenever possible she avoided human contact and conversation altogether, thankful that she had the night off from work. She couldn't risk being distracted, not now, not when the Angel could contact her any minute with new instructions. She ate and drank very little that day, only enough to satiate what little appetite that hadn't been silenced by another more potent desire. She spent most of today in front of the TV, though not really paying attention to what had been on, her attention devoted elsewhere, as she hoped, prayed, and willed for the Angel to return to her, feeling almost deserted when he would not come.
Jill knew that Thomas Luther was within the city, but where, she could not say. His name was not listed in the phone book, nor could she find his address on the Internet anywhere. Jill could feel the man's presence, somewhere faraway, yet reachable, present, as though he wore a tracking device whose signal had been blocked either by inclement weather or some other barrier. He was yet another piece of the puzzle, whose name taunted her, a piece whose puzzle she couldn't yet comprehend. Him and the Angel, those sons of bitches, holding Jimmy out before her, yet thrusting him away the very second she lunged forward to grasp him. She would have hated them both for it if she didn't love them for the opportunity they proposed.
And then, around 11:00pm, the Angel returned.
Jill couldn't see him, but felt his almighty presence throughout the room. His voice was a thundering echo, which startled her at first; making her entire body jolt forward in alarm, before once more she was soothed by his divine presence. "Jill Steagle, the time has come," he told her, and with that said, all anxieties, impatience, and turmoil melted away, replaced only by the eager anticipation, the pure excitement at the prospect of doing whatever he asked of her. "You have been given a name."
"Thomas Luther?" she murmured as tears of joy filled her eyes.
"He is the one."
There was a brief, fleeting sense of disappointment and anxiety as she blinked her teary eyes shut and bit her lip softly, her heart rate increasing steadily with the growing apprehension that she might not be able to complete the task at hand after all. "But I don't know who he is. I have no way of finding him. I checked the phone listings. I checked various sites on the Internet that give you people's addresses and phone numbers. But he wasn't listed anywhere."
"I will guide you to him, but we must hurry if we are to have your son back. He is a very important piece of the puzzle. The longer we wait, the less chance there is of restoring your son to the state he was in before the cancer."'
"I'll do what I can," she said softly, her lips quivering as she blinked the last of the tears from her eyes and brushed her hair from her eyes. She sniffled and swallowed deeply as she looked out through her bow window, up at the full moon glinting from the starry night sky. Upon the moon she could see Jimmy's chubby, boyish face, his dimples poking through his cheeks as he smiled warmly upon her. He was rooting for her, depending on her to do what needed to be done. She couldn't fail him!
"Jill, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" someone asked from the kitchen. Jill turned and saw that it was Russell, standing there.
In many ways, he looked a lot like the Angel: the same skin tone, the same color eyes, the shape of their noses and how their cheek bones were of the same height. The most prominent resemblance had been their flourishing long blown hair, which in both cases had dipped just below their shoulder blades. They were not twins, but perhaps the Angel could pass as Russell's younger brother, whose beard was fuller than the two-day stubble over Russell's face and whose body had been more finely chiseled than Russell's mortal frame.
Russell quickly approached Jill, at first placing a tender hand over her shoulder before drawing her tightly in his arms, squeezing her in a loving and comforting hug as his eyes met hers in a loving embrace. "What's wrong? Who were you talking to?"
"Jimmy," was all she could say.
An even greater concern grew within Russell's puzzled eyes.
"No, not Jimmy," Jill corrected herself, as tears continued to spill from her eyes, "but the Angel. He was here? Couldn't you hear him?"
"What are you talking about? What angel?"
"You couldn't hear him?" Jill frowned.
Russell shook his head with a perplexed gaze. "The only one I see or hear is you."
"It doesn't matter!" she exclaimed. "Jimmy! We can get him back! The Angel can give him back to us!"
With Russell riding shotgun, Jill drove at a steady speed, for the most part always keeping around five miles above the posted speed limit, gliding through each turn as if she had the route memorized, as if it were a daily commute. She knew instinctively every turn, every pass, and every exit the very second she approached them, yet still had no idea where her destination lay. It was as though she drove on autopilot, allowing the Angel, whose presence she could still feel but not see, take control of her arms and make the turns for her. Occasionally, she spared a glance toward Russell, and his features remained solemn through the grim shadows. She gazed at the rearview mirror, seeing a reflection of her taut gray eyes staring back at her, almost glowing with intensity. Yet for the most part, she remained focused upon the dark road ahead as she passed residential neighborhoods, shops, rural forest land, and then finally residential neighborhoods once more as she got closer to where Thomas Luther lived.
Although it was a short distance, the drive seemed endless, and in many ways perhaps it was for the best, for if she were to arrive at her final destination only to find it empty, that it had been a cruel trick all along, she would surely suffer an emotional breakdown the likes of which she would never recover. If indeed she continued driving endlessly, roaming aimlessly in the misguided belief that there was actually a purpose to this journey, at least she would be spared such sorrow. But no, the journey had to end, and the end couldn't come soon enough. The more she wanted to see Jimmy again, the more agitated she became, the faster her heart beat, and the tighter her stomach coiled inwardly into itself as her hands squeezed tightly against the steering wheel. And with each passing minute, the next one dragged even slower.
For the first twenty minutes or so, they rode in awkward silence, save for the banter about steroid use in Major League Baseball on the radio. Finally, Russell lifted his head, brushing a lock of his long hair behind his ear, and spoke up, softly, but firmly: "Where are we going?"
"I told you," Jill answered, not without a hint of restless irritation, "we have to see Thomas Luther."
"Who the hell is Thomas Luther?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"And what're we supposed to do once we find him?"
Jill shook her head with a sigh. "I don't know that either."
"Oh, wonderful, at least you got it all planned out." Russell threw up his hands with a bitter, humorless laugh. "This is crazy, you know. It's completely insane."
"Look, do you want Jimmy back or no?" Jill snapped at him, gritting her teeth in a sudden fit of rage. "Or maybe you like him better dead, is that it? Maybe you never loved him at all!" Venomous spittle flew from her lips and her eyes blazed with fury, yet she was filled with self-loathing as soon as the cruel words had escaped her lips, for she knew there was no truth to them whatsoever. If her cruel diatribe might help Russell see the error in his skepticism, then perhaps her cruelty might be justified, yet for now she felt only guilt pressing down heavily against her already aching heart, for the words were most likely unnecessarily cruel, bringing out the vile, hateful, manipulative bitch she had never wanted to become, regardless of her desperation or how important it was she get her own way.
"I loved Jimmy, goddamn it!" Russell hissed, appalled. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as his eyes glistened with tears of rage and sorrow.
"Look, I'm sorry," she said with great shame. "I-I didn't mean what I said, it's just that—"
"I would give anything to have him back again, but he's gone and there wasn't anything either one of us or anyone else could have done to save him."
"I accept that, but at the same time, we have a chance to bring him back now, to undo what happened. Isn't that a chance worth taking?"
"You can't just bring people back from the dead. It doesn't work that way. I'm sorry; I just don't want to see you get hurt by all of this."
"I am hurting, Russ, I've been hurting ever since Jimmy got the cancer."
"I know," he said, sighing as he placed a tender hand over her shoulder. "And it's tearing me up inside seeing you like this. But this isn't the answer. It's madness, Jill, and it's only going to make things worse."
"I have to do this, and I need you to help me."
"I'm here for you. I'll do whatever we have to do to get past this. Whatever it takes? If you need therapy, or whatever, I'll pay for it."
"Therapy? You think I'm crazy and need therapy?"
"I didn't mean it like that. I'm not saying you're crazy." He paused in deep thought, considering what he should say next, and then: "I'm worried about it you, that's all."
Maybe he's right, Jill thought grimly as tears filled her eyes, blurring the road ahead. She blinked frantically, trying to clear her field of vision as she applied pressure to the break to slow the car down enough until she could see clearly again. Perhaps she really was losing her mind after all these years of unendurable sorrow. Perhaps the dream, the Angel, and everything else was nothing more than a manifestation of her psych, fabricated as a means of giving her hope, to quell the forever swelling ache in her heart. No, I can't believe that, Jill countered. The Angel's real. He HAS to be!
Jill pulled the car to the side briefly, took Russell's hand and held it tenderly in her own as her glistening eyes met his. "Listen, please, I know it must sound crazy, but just give me the benefit of the doubt, okay? I need you with me on this. I need your help." She paused, her voice becoming distorted as a sob rose in her throat and fresh tears filled her eyes. "I need you to trust me on this one."
"We're here," Jill announced as she pulled the car to a halt by the curb, killed the engine, and extinguished the headlights.
"This is where Thomas Luther lives?"
Jill nodded.
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
"The 'angel' told you?"
"In his own way, yes," Jill confirmed. "Just let me do the talking."
"What are you going to tell him?"
Jill shook her head. "I don't know yet." She paused, pushing the driver's side door open, putting one foot outside, and then looked back at Russell, grinning, her face beaming with assurance. "But I'll know when we get there."
"Sounds like a good plan," Russell muttered bitterly.
They walked side-by-side up the sidewalk, looking up at the ranch home with white vinyl siding, a teal-green front door and window frames, and black roof, with the red Ford pickup parked to the side in the driveway. Jill wondered what kind of a man would greet her at the front door. No doubt he had been expecting her. Or perhaps he hadn't been aware of the prophecy, in which case she would have to persuade him of where his destiny lay. Whether or not that would be an easy task, there was little doubt in her mind that she would succeed in the end, for she simply must succeed. It was written in the stars.
"So, tell me again, what is this guy supposed to do?" Russell inquired.
"We'll find out when the time comes," Jill answered matter-of-factly. "Or maybe that's for him alone to know."
"I don't know about you, but personally, I like knowing what I'm getting myself into before I go out and actually do it."
"Just...have some faith, will you?"
"Sure, fine, whatever." Russell muttered a soft, bitter laugh.
Jill hesitated for only a second, then lifted her tremulous left hand and softly rattled against the front door, then knocked a little harder the second time. She waited a few gruelingly long seconds before hammering her fist against the door a third time, nearly panicking now over the prospect that no one might come to the door, that Thomas Luther might be either unwilling or unable to fulfill his destiny.
The door creaked slowly open, and Jill could hear a few snippets of The Colbert Report from the living room. The man appearing now before the doorway, reeking of booze, stood at about five and a half feet, probably in his late twenties. His coal-black hair and walrus mustache were neatly trimmed and well-manicured, which was in sharp contrast to the rest of his unshaven face, as well as the sweat-stained undershirt and torn and faded blue jeans he wore. Above his head was a neon arrow, with a bright red frame and pink interior, pointing directly below to his head, where there was a patch of thinning hair along the vertex. The arrow faded within seconds--here and then gone—yet the man's features continued to cast a silver glow, illuminating his importance to the cause, and Jill knew instantly that this was indeed Thomas Luther.
"Jesus Christ, you ain't no more of those fuckin' Jehovah's Witnesses, are ya?" he grumbled sullenly. "Don't ya think it's a lil much to be botherin' me this late? Christ, why don't ya bastards just fuck off and leave me alone. Nothin' but pains in the asses, is what y'are."
"We're not Jehovah's Witnesses," Jill reassured him.
"Then what the hell d'ya want?"
Okay, so the Angel hadn't visited him, Jill realized. That was okay; it just meant she would have to persuade him after all, which might have been an easier task, given his current state of intoxication. Jill opened her mouth, pausing for a moment to consider, then knew instinctively what to say: "We're having a little trouble with our engine. I was wondering if we could use your phone to call Triple A."
Luther looked at her quizzically. "Ya don't have cell phones?"
"Unfortunately not," Jill frowned and shook her head.
"Jesus Shittin' Christ, I thought everyone had those things these days."
From the corner of her eye, Jill could see Russell's left hand wedged deep into his pocket, no doubt gripping his own Samsung flip phone with a built-in camera. Jill shuttered uneasily, knowing just how easily it would be for him to pull his cell phone out from his pocket and expose her ruse.
Don't, please don't, I'm begging you, she willed him as her throat tightened. She could feel a sense of resentment for Russell building within him, could feel the anger boil within her heart for his skepticism. A sense of hatred spurning within her, because he would not only distrust her judgment, but betray her intentions. Yet Russell merely stood there, trembling, his eyes staring blankly at the ground while his face remained pallid. He said not a word, neither corroborating nor contradicting her story, but doing exactly as Jill had asked of him. Her anger cooled slightly, and she felt a renewed sense of loathing for herself, feeling like a hypocrite for not trusting him.
Jill briefly questioned the wisdom of lying to this man, knowing the difficulty—after he found out that their car had been in perfect working order and had just last month passed inspection—of convincing the man to undertake the assignment that Heaven had sent for him. Perhaps she should tell him the truth now, to spare whatever credibility she might have with him. Perhaps the Angel himself would materialize and convince Luther of his divine task. But no, Jill could almost hear the Angel whisper in her ears: Don't question it. Just go with it. And while her doubts still lingered, his words, his soothing voice gave her the push she needed to continue the charade.
"I guess I'm a bit of a technophobe," she told Luther, hoping he wouldn't notice her slight blush. The lie sounded completely unconvincing to her own ears, especially when she thought of all the gadgets and electronics sitting back home.
"Well, whatever, I'm a mechanic, so I guess I can take a look at your car and see what the problem is at least."
"You'd do that for us?"
"Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do."
"I would really appreciate that." Jill smiled graciously.
Luther headed toward the car parked by the side of the road, and Jill followed close behind him, frantically fishing through her purse until she pulled out her switchblade, her fingers closing tightly around the burgundy hilt. The one-inch blade sprang up with a soft click, which startled Jill, and she was barely able to suppress a gasp of alarm as her body jolted forward, yet Luther barely seemed to notice. The knife had always been a precaution, for Jill had always feared getting raped, should she be outside after dark for whatever reason, so the knife—whether it would actually be effective against a rapist or other attacker—served to give her peace of mind.
Jill immediately lifted the blade into the air, and without a second's hesitation, she plunged the blade deep into the base of Luther's skull. The force of the impact made Jill's arm and shoulder ache. Her fingers slipped from the hilt of the blade as Luther's arms flew outward. A final gasp escaped his lips as he fell forward, his knees grazing against the concrete as his face slammed against the sidewalk. He lay now, completely motionless, his arms splayed outward as the hilt of the knife jutted upward into the night sky.
Jill stood, her mouth hanging open in disbelief as she gazed down upon Thomas Luther's corpse. Since purchasing the switch blade, there were times when she wondered if she could ever actually bring herself to use such a weapon against another human being, even in great peril when her life or that of someone she loved was at stake. Yet now here she was, a killer not in self-defense, but a cold-blooded murderer. She supposed this realization should have horrified her, but the fact that she had taken an innocent life in cold blood was neutral to her, at worst a necessary evil. It didn't even feel as though she had committed the crime. Instead, it seemed her arm had sprung to life and then taken it upon itself to kill another man. She was a puppet, and the Angel had pulled the strings. Jill felt in no way violated by this, for she knew now that what had happened was right; it ended the only way it could end.
"Oh my God, what've you done?" Russell sobbed and gasped from behind. Jill turned and saw that his entire body had been trembling, almost to the point of convulsion. His eyes were wide with horror, nostrils flaring; quivering mouth hung agape, while his features had now completely whitened. He could barely speak above a stammering whimper as he took a reluctant step forward and buried his face in his tremulous hands. "Christ, I don't believe it. You killed him. I don't fucking believe it!"
"Don't you see? This is what had to happen," Jill explained, her voice still filled with great jubilation. "The Angel would give us our son back, but he needed something in return. It was a trade: One man dies so an innocent child can live."
Russell shook his head frantically as tears filled his eyes and streamed down his stubbly cheeks. At first when he opened his mouth, he could utter only a few hoarse, croaked sobs. When finally he could manage something coherent, his voice rose to a crackling squeal. "No, goddamn it, that's not how it works. It's bullshit! Goddamn it, you killed someone. You go to jail for that. They lock you up for the rest of your fucking life!"
"Are you gonna turn me in?"
Russell took a deep breath, hissed, then swallowed as he squeezed his teary eyes shut. "No...no, of course not. But someone else will, and then it's over." He lowered his head, squeezing his thumb and fingers into his eyes, grimacing as his temples throbbed. He groaned, and said: "Maybe...maybe we can get you off on an insanity plea." Russell was panting now as he laced both hands tightly together. "Yeah, why couldn't we, after all that's happened?"
"The Angel will protect me," Jill said matter-of-factly and knelt by Luther's corpse and lifted his shirt, leaving the small of the man's back exposed, before tracing her finger along the contours of his spines. With a moan of pure bliss that vanquished any remnants of sorrow and anxiety she might have previously felt, Jill smiled radiantly as her eyes glistened with tears of overwhelming joy.
The flesh along the small of Luther's back began to ripple, like water that was about to boil over. As Jill put her hand near the man's skin once more, she could feel a strong vibration, a surge of energy threatening to burst forth. The earth beneath her feet began to shake, startling her momentarily, enough to make her flinch back and fall, her buttocks grazing along the sidewalk.
As the force of the quake threw her head back, Jill caught glimpse of Russell, whose horrified countenance was now one of shear terror. He stood, frozen in panic for a few seconds, a warm patch darkening over his crotch, before recoiling sharply with a shrill cry as he bolted away. For a few seconds, she could hear his frightened cries, as well as his footsteps slapping against the hard concrete surface of the sidewalk, until eventually he had completely vanished within the darkness further down the street. As she watched him leave, Jill was dejected that he would abandon her rather than rejoice with her in this moment of triumph. "Come back!" she called him, but he seemed to have vanished within the darkness now and was beyond her pleas.
Jill turned her direction back toward the corpse of Thomas Luther, and before her now she could see the chubby, freckled, and innocent face of Jimmy Steagle. He was still seven years old and still stood at roughly three and a half feet, his face remarkably lighter in tone than it had been the day before he had been diagnosed with cancer, but otherwise he had been unchanged, as though the cancer had not simply gone into remission or been cured, but had been reset altogether, as though the illness had never taken place. He wore the same black Yu-Gi-Oh tee-shirt and the same blue denim shorts he had worn the day before his fateful diagnosis, not as a reminder of their last day of true happiness together, but representing a continuation of that day, of their relationship where they had left off three years ago. This time the cancer was not an unknown threat, silently eating away at the boy, but was an altogether nonexistent one. It was truly in the past as far as Jill needed to be concerned, and thankfully Jimmy would remain completely oblivious to its existence altogether.
"Oh my god, you're really here!" Jill exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around Jimmy, hugging him tightly, clinging to him as if the boy might vanish into smoke, as a fleeting image, an illusion meant to quell her pain momentarily before dispelling altogether and leaving her once more wracked with grief. As she retained her tight embrace, and as the boy hugged her back just as tightly, Jill pinched herself to ensure she wasn't dreaming. This wondrous night did not fade from view, nor did Jimmy. He remained alive, perfectly healthy. "Oh God," Jill said, sobbing happily, "I've missed you so much."
"What happened, Mommy, where did I go?"
"It doesn't matter now," Jill answered, covering his face with kisses. "The important thing is that you're here. You're back. That's all that matters now!"
"Where's Daddy?"
"Daddy couldn't make it, I'm sorry," Jill replied hesitantly with a tinge of sorrow. Oh Russell, she lamented morosely, trying to hide her tears from the boy, why couldn't you be here for this blessed occasion? Why couldn't you believe?
The boy frowned. "Oh...okay."
"Let's not worry about that right now, okay? I'm sure we can see him later. Let's just get home." Home, Jill though, as she wiped away an errant tear from her eyes, where Russell would hopefully return after a while, once his unwarranted terror had faded, leaving him feeling only empty, lost alone. And upon returning home, Russell's eyes would light up in overwhelming joy upon seeing his own son returned from the grave, perfectly healthy, as he realized the error of his doubts and skepticism. He would run up and embrace the boy, while apologizing profusely to Jill for not believing in her dream in the first place. From there they would once more be the happy family they were always meant to be. Jill's smile brightened further as she said: "I'm sure Daddy's at home waiting for us right now."
"Okay," the boy smiled, which warmed Jill's heart immensely. "I love you, Mommy."
"I love you, too, Jimmy," Jill answered as she blinked the tears from her eyes. "I love you so much."
Jill cringed and her heart ached upon seeing a runner of blood drip from Jimmy's left nostril, remembering that that had been the first sign that something was wrong with him all those years ago. She remembered that fateful day, when Jimmy had been overtaken by a harsh coughing fit, and how a few drops of blood had been found upon his fist, followed by a nosebleed. It had been on that day that Jill had rushed the boy to the hospital, only to learn the horrific truth: Jimmy Steagle had an inoperable brain tumor. Was history repeating itself once again? Had the Angel given Jill her boy back, only so she could lose him to cancer all over again?
No! Jill thought fiercely as she clenched her fists tightly. That bastard! He couldn't be so cruel, he just couldn't...
"What's wrong, Mommy?"
The boy's mouth widened, his bottom lip drooping, leaving his teeth and gums exposed as his lip hung limply below his chin. Blood continued to run from his left nostril, and now his right nostril as well. The whites of his eyes were now a sickly yellow. Jill placed her hand upon Jimmy's forehead momentarily, removed it, and the flesh along that area pealed away, revealing a skull gleaming with blood, two sunken yellow eyes, and the cartilage of his nose, now drenched in crimson. The flesh remaining upon the bottom half of his face remained, the folds dangling limply from his jaw line. The boy threw his head back with a fit of boyish giggles that soon grew into a thunderous, roaring, sinister cackle as the blood continued to flow into his brown hair, staining it a deep crimson as suppurations erupted from both ears.
This time it was Jill's turn to recoil in terror. She threw herself away, her feet staggering backward a few steps before she fell, her ass brushing hard against the concrete walkway as she looked in horror at what her son had become. Her heart raced frantically as her stomach churned and her bladder loosened. Throwing out her hands in a warding off gesture, she cried out shrilly as she struggled to rise to her feet.
"I love you, Mommy," the boy said, his jaw opening and closing mechanically, discharging a spurt of blood each time. He was much scrawnier now, with clumps of flesh hanging from each joint, like a formerly morbidly obese person who had just been given a liposuction. His arms were now a sickly gray hue, the fingers more like talons than human digits. The abomination that had once been Jimmy lurched forward, raising his arms to the side. "I love you this much." With a leering grin, he lunged forward, his hands closing tightly around Jill's throat.
His hands were cold and clammy, yet the fingers squeezed like pincers, digging painfully into the side of Jill's neck. Yet despite the vice-like grip around her throat. Jill was not suffocating; strangely enough, she had no problem sucking air frantically into her lungs. And since Jimmy's hands had not in any way hindered her respiration, she found herself unable to stop screaming, her shrill cries growing hoarse, yet never lessening in volume. She looked up once more at her assailant, and saw that a yellowish green froth now oozed from his blackened crooked teeth as what was left of the flesh over his entire body now began to ripple and boil.
When he spoke, his voice was not that of a seven-year-old boy, but was instead that of the Angel, whose thundering laughter echoed from within Jill's mind: "You fell right into my trap!"
The abomination that had resembled a butchered, mangled, and ghoulish version of her lost son Jimmy had loosened his hold upon her throat, and simply stood there, sallow eyes gazing blankly at her as his entire body stiffened. With a sharp hiss, the body evaporated into a noxious coral mist that drifted into Jill's nose, searing her throat and sinuses and making her eyes water profusely as she fell backward, the back of her head slapping hard against the concrete.
At first she lay motionless over the sidewalk; her legs splayed widely, her arms crossed over her bosom. Her eyes gazed blankly up at the full moon in the night sky while her field of vision grew distorted, turning that black sky into something garish who's designs and patterns were unrecognizable.
Jill lifted her head and her arms and legs flailed madly into the air, but her mind had not authorized these movements, for indeed her body was no longer her own, but that of her invader's. Her memories were now nothing more than vague, dwindling images and emotions whose meaning and origins she could no longer distinguish. A young boy, once healthy and full of life and love, lying on a gurney, his sallow flesh decaying until he was nothing. A long-haired man, holding her tenderly in his arms, comforting her as best he could, his own broken heart consumed with grief. Within seconds these vague memories were gone as well. And with the Demon now in control of her flesh, her consciousness was no longer needed. Like a candle's flame, it too was extinguished.
The end
May 18, 2006
May 28, 2006