Forgotten Self (Forgotten Self #1) (9 page)

Two thousand years ag
o? I didn't even want to know when we'd been 'created.'

“
Uh-huh. Jesus' time, got it. So why were an angel of Death and a guardian angel working together?” I lower my voice as if sharing a secret. “It seems a little counter-intuitive.”

“
We shared a common
goal.” His lips set in a firm line and he says nothing more.

I sigh and lean back into the soft couch, terminating the intense staring contest we've been having. “You are one of the most obstinate people I've ever known.”

Jonathan doesn't smile. “So I've
heard many, many times.”

From me? I raise my eyebrows. It's weird to hear things like this about myself that I have no recollection of. This relationship of ours, whatever kind it was, must have been quite serious. I can see it in his eyes.

I realize somet
hing. “Jonathan, those people in black. The ones I keep seeing. The ones who tried t
o kill
me in the car accident. Those are demons, aren't they?”

“
Yes. Th
ey are here for you.”

“
Why?” Fear pings through my chest.

He frowns – and the clincher – clears his t
hroat softly. “As an angel living as a human on Earth, you are very vulnerable. And very valuable.”

What are you leaving out, Jonathan?

“
You're here for me, right? You're here to make sure nothing bad happens – like those demons. Those demons...who are he
re for me.” I take his silence as confirmation. “I know you care about me, Jonathan. I care about you too. I can feel, somewhere in the back of my mind, that we have been together a long time. I felt that way when I first met you in...this life.  Third gra
de, remember?”

His expression relaxes and he genuinely laughs. “I remember. You threw a crayon at my head.”

“
You tried to sit in my seat,” I accuse. “And by the way, if you've been here ever since I have, why didn't I meet you 'til third grade? Where were
you?”

“
Around.” He shrugs. “I eventually decided that being involved in your life would help me better protect you.”

“
Right, okay...So what I was going say was that if we've been working together so long, we must have made a great team. And two people can
only be a team if they tell each other the truth. Me
being in the dark isn't going to help. I need to know all of what's going on.” I almost cross my fingers, hoping this will get him to spill.

Jonathan lets out a long, slow breath. “You should enjoy this
life for a while, Abby. Being human, really human...there's nothing like it.” He reaches for my hand and I let him grasp it. His palms are soft, and comforting.

I don't know what to say to that. How would I? Instead I ask, “That's not really fair, Jonatha
n. This is my life. If you really care about me -”

“
I do care about you, Abby,” he interrupts. “That's why I...”

I give him my most intense look, one I use when I'm trying to guilt someone into something. He grumbles indecipherably under his breath.

“
Jon
athan. Everything in my life is so messed up right now. I keep seeing what are apparently demons, everyone and their grandma is glowing, and I spend my nights in a cemetery.” Whoops. Didn't mean to say that. I rush into my next point. “I just need someone
I can trust and talk to. That's you. But I can't trust you if you keep big, huge, gigantic secrets from me.”

Frustrated, he musses up his curls. Then he abruptly stands and paces the room for a good two minutes before dropping back into his seat.

“
You're r
ight. Everything is culminating now. I need to be realistic.” He pauses before groaning and sighing simultaneously.

He gives me a pointed look. “And don't think I'm going to let that cemetery comment drop.”

Damn.

There's another, more drawn out pause befo
re he reaches out for my hand again. “Alright. Let me show you what happened – why you're here.”

I walked across the wooden floor of an unfamiliar dining room, my footsteps making no sound. A man sat alone, eating a sandwich, reading the paper. He did not
look up. To him, he was alone. I pulled out a chair at the table and lightly took a seat. I watched the man enjoy his meal for a time. Then a voice came from across the room.

“
Abigail.” It was Jonathan. His glow illuminated the painting hung behind him.

I
gestured for him to take a seat. “Just waiting. Heart attack.”

He sat down and tapped his fingers slowly on the table's shiny surface. “Our time's almost up again.”

I didn't look away from the man. “Yes, I know,” I whispered.

“
I wish things had gone diffe
rently this time.”

Finally, I turned to look at him. “There's nothing we can do, Jonny.” My voice was hard, unforgiving. Then I looked away. “You know we can't stop them.”

The dim beginnings of what would become a high-decibel shriek could be heard. I glan
ced upward. “Here they come.” I stood and walked over to the man who was still calmly eating his lunch. He heard nothing; he knew nothing of what was about to happen. I laid my hand upon his forehead and he slumped over in his seat.

As soon as the man's sp
irit appeared I ushered him along quickly. “Trust me, Tom,” I told him. “I would love to explain more, but you don't want to be here when they are.” I pointed to the ceiling. The man could now hear the loud hum of archangels on their way. He gave me a quic
k nod and disappeared.

Finally, as the noise reached a deafening level, I looked at Jonathan and gave him a wry smile. “See you soon,” I mouthed. And then there was only bright, white light.

That dizzy feeling comes over me, and then:

A starry night sho
ne just enough light down on the scene to make it visible from a small
distance. A family of four, slaughtered in a field. Mother, father, young boy, and baby sister lay strewn not far from one another. I stood vigil by a tree maybe fifteen yards from them
.

Torches flared in the next field over while men yelled for the father of the slain family. I made no move. I was waiting for someone. I'd felt a summoning after guiding the souls on their way. A breeze blew lazily through the forest behind me, creating a
n eerie whistle. It didn't take long before a figure became visible next to the bodies. Not waiting for a greeting, I stepped out and met the stranger. He or she was black-robed and a shadow hugged their person. It was a demon.

A harsh whisper came from un
der the black hood. “You are Abigail, yes?”

I looked down my nose at this dark being and demanded, “Who are you to summon me, demon? If you know who I am, then you know I can send you back to hell with a snap of my fingers.”

The figure pulled back its hood
. “My name is Gaash. I bring you a message.” Her face was that of an exquisitely beautiful human – like any angel or demon's – but her demon affiliation was made clear by the number “666” branded on the side of her neck. I frowned in distaste - that ugly,
evil mark was only visible to otherworldly beings.

I snapped,“From whom?” This was a waste of my time. Even being near a creature of hell made my entire body burn with its unnaturalness.

She smiled. “Aram.” That was surprising. Aram was a higher-level de
mon. Those types never communicated with us unless in battle. “He asked me to pass this along to you.” She handed me a folded piece of paper and disappeared.

Loud voices began to wail as the searching men found the family. I didn't take much notice. Instea
d, I gingerly unfolded the message. Whatever this was, it wasn't good. After I read the words written within, I closed my eyes. This piece of paper, sent to me by a powerful demon, had just confirmed my fears.

This had been a time of great awe for the peo
ple of this land. Jesus Christ was in full missionary mode, performing miracles, speaking of the values of forgiveness and charity. It was a light in a darker time in the history of mankind. But we angels had not felt any of the hope that Jesus had bestowe
d on his listeners. Turmoil followed us closely. Demons were winning the war. Guardians were being killed; Death's angels were being delayed. All of this led to a massively scarred population, and worse, lost souls.

It was a horrifying ordeal for us as ang
els because of the despair of those lost souls. It resonated through us. And for those angels who truly loved mankind – which were many – it gave us reason to weep. I had become one of the bitter ones, forever asking why. Why had God allowed Lucifer's defe
ction? That, of course, had been the beginning of good versus evil. So people suffered before us, crushing our light, until some angels simply faded away.

And now, in my hand, I held a piece of paper that explained the angels' inability to effectively figh
t back these last few centuries. We had been betrayed.

9

The room in front of me swirls for a moment. “For the love of mahogany and pearl,” I spit at Jonathan. “Can we get rid of this side-effect?”

“
Sorry. When you reside i
n a human body, that's just sort of the deal.”

I glance down at our hands, still holding one another. “Were we together before I was here?”

He quickly lets go and scoots an inch back. “No way. Just an eighth grade thing. No eternal romance or anything.” H
e looks anywhere but me.

“
Ah-huh. Okay. Actually that brings up something I've been wondering about. If you were here to keep me safe, and we were 'business partners' before this human life,
and
there is no 'eternal romance', as you say, then why did you
date me at all?”

Jonathan grins guiltily. “I may have been here to protect you, but I get just as involved in human life as an actual human. Just because I'm an angel doesn't mean I'm not going to have some fun.”

“
Your past does certainly allude to that,”
I inform him in a dry, dry tone. “You know, in tenth grade some girls started calling you 'Just-Dumped-Her-Jonathan.'” I nod matter of factly and his eyes seem to smile all on their own.

“
Hey.” He holds his hands up in mock defense. “I was always very swee
t about it. I just wanted to experience all that I could...you know.” He grins again.

We share a humorous moment, but my smile quickly fades as my brain switches back to the very serious topic at hand.  His smile follows suit.

“
So that...vision you just sh
owed me, that was really my memory?”

“
Yes. They are all there.” He taps my forehead. “Just hidden.”

“
Thanks for translating that Hebrew or whatever that was. But, Jonathan, what was that message about? I don't understand.”

He looks down and talks to the li
ving room's carpet. “Yeah, it wouldn't make sense until you got everything back.”

“
So what does 'they are shifting the balance' mean. Who are
they
?”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up and, tightly, he answers, “Archangels.”

I'm filled with surprise
. “What? How many? Who? Why?”

His teeth grind as he clenches his jaw. “Just two. Raguel and Remiel.”

I think for a moment, trying to reach back into my scant memory of biblical knowledge. “Those must be some obscure archangels. I only remember Michael and
Gabriel.”

“
There are seven archangels,” he explains patiently.

I announce my one bit of sure knowledge. “Archangels are protectors of heaven.”

“
Exactly.”

“
So what are these two doing?”

“
Trying to give hell more power. They may or may not be working with L
ucifer.”

I'm shocked. Aren't these the good guys?

Noticing my expression, he continues, “Angels aren't infallible. Lucifer was once in the same position as them, was just as beloved.”

I stand up and start to pace the room. “Holy shit. This is all really c
razy.” I wave a finger. “Not that I'm just realizing this, of course. This has all always been crazy. But good lord.” I pause for a moment before getting right into Jonathan's face. Our noses are inches apart. Our eyes lock on to each other's. With the gra
vest voice I possess, I ask, “Are you sure I'm the right Abigail?”

He nods, the tiniest smile on his lips.