Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (28 page)

“Do you really think your God will save you? He cares nothing for
you, old man!”

“I am already saved,” said Patrice.

“
Mapapa
!”

Eduard and Sascha had returned when they lost sight of their
grandfather.

“No, let him go…please!!” they cried.

Muller turned, looked at the children, and smiled.

“Come here, children…and I won’t hurt your mapapa…”

Patrice shook his head, but Muller shook his entire body,
disorienting the old man. Slowly, the children moved forward, never releasing
each other’s hands. Each held their pendants and Sascha wished that someone
would save them. She prayed to God that someone would save their mapapa.

Muller watched and when they were in reaching distance, he dropped
Patrice and took a step toward the children. Just as he was about to grab them,
the earth shook with the force of an earthquake and Muller almost stumbled. He
focused on the children, who had taken a step back, and narrowed his black eyes
to slits—once again reaching out to grab them and take from them the
prize his Master desired.

“Step away from my children, brother.”

Muller looked up into the forest as he recognized the voice behind
him. He slowly turned and looked into the clearing.

There staring back at him was Azar Engle. He stood eight feet tall
and his lean, muscular frame was dressed similarly to Muller, but his face was
kind and light, surrounded by a halo of long white hair. Eduard and Sascha ran
to their grandfather and dropped to the ground beside him.

“Hello, Raphael… It’s been a long time,” said Muller.

“Yes, brother…it has.”

“I need the relics, brother” said Muller.

“I can’t let you have them, Vassago. Nor will I let you harm my
children to get them.”

The fallen one, Vassago—the finder of hidden
things—smiled and held out his arm. From the nothingness, a sword
appeared, engulfed in flames.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to take them. As always, the
obedient child, Raphael…never questioning… Before I do kill them—were you
punished for creating these half-breeds?”

Raphael smiled and shook his head.

“No.”

“He allowed it?” Muller asked, his furrowing brow growing ever
deeper.

“He decreed it.”

Raphael placed his arm in the air as Muller had and another
flaming sword appeared.

“He would never… Not after last time!”

Raphael smiled and again shook his head.

“You never did understand him, Vassago…any more than you
understand humans.”

Vassago growled and then yelled—from his back sprang
massive, black wings. Like a black cloud made of torn leather, they flapped
back and forth, casually lifting Vassago’s massive form off the ground, his
feet hovering several feet above land. Raphael, the archangel of divine healing
and love, narrowed his deep, blue eyes and flexed his arms and
shoulders—from his back wings also uncoiled. Like a flash of lightning,
his wings expanded as if they were main sails on a clipper ship. Brilliant
white and silver, they moved with such strength as to compel the trees around
them to bend under the pressure of their force. The two giants circled one
another, floating above the ground, and then Vassago struck. With blinding
speed, he slashed at Raphael, who spun around. His wings engulfed him like a
shield as Vassago’s sword connected, sparks flying as if metal against metal.
Raphael’s wings opened and he struck with the same ferocity as his adversary.
With each strike of their weapons, the brilliant sparks mimicked the bombing
that plagued the European skies each night as fire rained down from the sky.
Vassago struck at Raphael and then brought his wings down swiftly across his
opponent’s chest, slicing through Raphael’s skin, causing crimson to pour down
his belly. As Raphael collapsed to the ground, the earth shook with monumental
force. Vassago flew at him, but Raphael beat his wings hard and fast, causing
his body to be lifted in the air just as Vassago’s sword struck the earth.
Vassago cursed him and stared at the heavens. Raphael wrapped his wings around
his body and began to spin, faster and faster.

Patrice and the children clung to one another, just out of reach
of the giants. They all prayed and held one another. Suddenly, the pendants
began to glow and, as they did, Raphael began to glow with the same brilliance.
Light radiated from every pore of his being as he spun faster. Vassago turned
his gaze to the children and grinned. He flew at them, his sword raised behind
his head, screaming furiously. The children clung to Patrice, who closed his
eyes and prayed. Just as Vassago was about to strike, Raphael disappeared in a
flash of light and reappeared in front of the children. The two angels stared
at one another for only a moment, and then Vassago dropped the blade behind his
head as Raphael withdrew his own sword. Vassago collapsed into Raphael’s arms,
his breathing labored as he grabbed his brother’s shoulder.

“Does he still love me, brother?”

A tear fell from Raphael’s glowing face.

“Of course he does, brother… Whomsoever asks for forgiveness with
truth in their heart, shall receive it.”

Vassago smiled, and then gasped as his head rolled back. Raphael
lifted his brother’s face to his own and continued to cry as he gently closed
his brother’s eyes, kissed his forehead, and then laid the fallen angel gently
on the ground.

“May you be welcomed into the arms of our father, brother.”

He laid his hand on Vassago’s chest; a great light came from
underneath and spread across Vassago’s body, then flashed as his appearance
changed. His hair lightened, his features softened, and his wings became silky
as they turned white. Raphael lifted his hand and Vassago’s body lifted into the
air. After it had risen twenty or thirty feet, there was a flash and the body
was gone. Raphael smiled as he turned back to Patrice and the children.

“Azar? Azar Engle?”

Raphael turned and looked at Patrice.

“Hello, Patrice.”

“You are what I think you are?”

“I am a servant of the Father. One of his messengers.”

“Could you not have saved my Miriam?” Patrice asked, bitterness
seeping into his voice.

“She did not need saving, Patrice. She is home…but I have little
time.”

Raphael looked at the children, who smiled and ran into his arms.

“Papa,” said Eduard.

“You are so beautiful—both of you are so strong.”

“Did you ever love her?” asked Patrice.

Raphael looked over at Patrice and frowned. He took Patrice’s hand
and, from the connection, a glow, warm as a fire, grew. Patrice felt his
bitterness and anger slip away, replaced by love and forgiveness.

“Well, at least now I know where they get it from…”

“Patrice,” said Raphael. “I loved Miriam from the moment I saw
her… It was the Father’s idea to strengthen your bloodline with the blood of
the Seraphim, but I did and do love Miriam.”

Patrice and the children looked at Raphael.

“What bloodline?” asked Patrice.

Raphael smiled, took the pendants the children wore, and held them
lightly in his giant hands.

“Have you never truly looked at these tokens? The age, the wear…
Do they not look like something else, fashioned into a piece of jewelry?”

Sascha took the pendant in her fingers and turned it over and
over. Then she looked up at her father.

“A nail… It looks like a giant nail,” she said.

The angel nodded.

“They held his hands in place as he died on the gibbet…then they
were given to his widow for safekeeping—and to each generation…to guard
from those like my brother, Vassago. For if they were to fall into the hands of
the Morning Star, a great darkness would descend on all humans.”

“Who is the Morning Star?” asked Sascha.

“Another brother of mine… He was favored above all others, but his
pride caused the Father to cast him out of His Kingdom… He is still very angry
with the Father for this.”

Patrice rubbed his head, his aged face scrunched into a confused
squint as he tried to understand everything he had seen and everything he was
being told. In awe, he looked at Raphael, the realization of his lineage now
reflected in his eyes.

“You don’t mean we are descendants of…?”

“Yes.” Raphael turned to his children and lightly touched their
faces. “You are the protectors of these relics, always keep them safe. You will
do wondrous things and your mother and I will always be watching.”

Sascha began to cry.

“You won’t come back?”

“Only once more, but not for a very long time,” Raphael said. “I
love you…always remember that. Patrice, please take the children away from this
place. Take them far away… They
must
be kept safe.”

The angel grabbed the children into an embrace and kissed their
foreheads one last time as they sobbed quietly. He took Patrice’s hand and they
stared at one another. Patrice nodded and smiled with understanding and
acceptance. Raphael released the old man’s hand and walked to the center of the
clearing. He smiled. Unfurling his mighty wings, he beat them twice, and then
shot straight up into the air with a flash of light, disappearing into the
night.

“Come, my dears, we must go,” Patrice said.

“Where, Mapapa?” asked Eduard as he wiped his eyes.

“You will see soon enough, Eduard…soon enough.”

Sascha opened her eyes and allowed them to become familiar to the
darkness of the room. She glanced over at the tiny round window and got up.
Walking over to the pane, she looked out. The ocean looked black in the
moonlight. The soft swooshing of the waves against the massive ship reminded
her of a little creek not far from their home in France. She picked up the
pendant and spun it around in her hand as she thought about what their new home
in America might be like. Would there be a little house? Lavender at the gate?
A little creek? Snow?

“Sascha…come back to sleep,” Eduard whined.

“Sorry.”

Sascha climbed back into bed and smiled. They were going to
America. They were going to do wondrous things. She closed her eyes and slept.

To my love for the written word.
 
The click of the keys as the story unfolds.
 
And the telling of a good story.

Eaton Thomas Palmer was born and raised in the Midwest, and
entered the business world because it was the thing to do. It has never been
satisfying to him. He has always been creative and finally realized that he is
a storyteller. He began writing when he was fifty. Writing is a passion for him
and he want to share his stories with people.

In a building adjacent to the maximum-security prison, attached to
the main facility by a corridor with five high security barriers, and manned
twenty-four hours a day by twenty highly armed guards, a select group of mass
murderers and various other psychopathic criminals resided in the isolation
wing for the criminally insane.

The group was growing larger and the state needed to do something
about it before they lost control. In their current state, these prisoners
could not be allowed into the general population under any circumstances.

After twenty years of private practice dealing with severely
troubled patients, Dr. Edgar Collins had a reputation for getting positive
results. Having written two books followed by a brief touring circuit, the
state approached him to design a special program in an effort to normalize some
of their more delusional prisoners and return them safely to the prison’s
general population.

The plan was to relieve some of the pressure from the doctors and
nurses who dealt with these people on a daily basis. Constant contact with
these prisoners was causing a lot of burnout and turnovers among the medical
staff.

Edgar was in his mid-fifties, bald, unassuming, and getting a little
paunchy. He had been assigned to test and evaluate these special prisoners and
delve into their psyche. These types of cases were his life. He felt that
anyone could experience reclamation of normalcy from wherever their disturbed
minds had taken them.