Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) (35 page)

“My dear Abrahm died nine years ago in a fire. He ran into a burning house to save a little baby. He didn’t have to do it, but it’s in their nature to save people. I was mad at God for a while –
Why?!?
I screamed more than once.
Why my Abrahm?
But every human will die at some point. Not because God wants them to die or their loved ones to suffer, but because they are needed in the other realm. Because God misses them, I think. I still miss Abrahm, but I know I’ll see him soon. I grow closer every day to joinin’ him.”

The two women – soul mates to elite Harbingers – sat and watched the ground around them slowly darken are night began to fall around them.

“Darby, how do I explain this to my mother? If Eli comes back, how do I explain? She thinks he’s getting ready to go into seminary.”

“
When
Eli returns, he will have been equipped with an identity and path. Maybe he’ll go to school with you. Maybe they’ll give him a degree and knowledge to take up a trade. Most descended angels enter into medical fields thanks to their knowledge of humans and their desire to save them. So, maybe he’ll be a doctor or a paramedic. But when he returns, your mother will be touched by His hand and she will be at peace with it all. She’ll be happy for you.”

“Why me, though?”

“Why not you? But you know, honey, I asked Abrahm that once myself,” Darby explained in her deep, old-Savannah accent. “Many angels are drawn to people who have something missing. That missing piece draws them in like a bear to honey. Take me, for instance. My daddy told people that I wasn’t his. He abandoned my momma and me just like your biological granddaddy did your momma. I grew up with that hole in my heart. You, too, dear, miss your  own daddy. You have that same mark.”

“Your dad was a dead beat, too?”

“My daddy was an affluent Baptist preacher in Savannah. He met my momma one day when he was going door-to-door trying to win souls, you see. My momma, as you must know by now, was a Wiccan. He visited her many times trying to convince her to change her ways. In the end, he fell for her and they began having a physical relationship. When she became pregnant with me, he feared that he would lose everything – his church and his status in the community.

“At first, he stayed with her. He loved her, but he wanted her to go into hiding. ‘For protection,’ he’d said. But she knew that it was out of shame. When she went public with the pregnancy, he ‘repented’ to his flock, claiming that she’d bewitched him with one of her spells. In the end, he was forgiven and she was run out of town, branded as a worshipper of Satan. She fled here to Walterboro, had me, and the rest is history. I will be here until the good Lord calls me home.

“That’s how I met Angela, actually. Back in those days, people talked about this house. Old Ms. Grayson was a batty as they came and they played many a prank on her. What a lot of people today don’t know is that several nights before she died, old Mildred went into a rampage over the ghosts that she thought was a-tormentin’ her. She set fire to the house, messed up a bunch of the walls downstairs. That’s why her boy had to have all that work done on the house before he could sell it. That rat Neil Jones hired a bunch of illegals to do the work so that the payments could be handled under the table, tax free. I remember them in town talking about the ‘fantasmas pequeños.’ There’d always been talk about this place being haunted, though, so no one took ‘em seriously. Most of these old homes have a story, a possibility for a haunting.

“When Angela moved in, I came over to welcome her to the area. She was far along in her pregnancy. She eventually confided in me, telling me about ol’ Luther Bosley and how he’d left her high and dry. Now, I never agreed with her idea to place your momma for adoption, but she thought it was best. I think she was just as afraid to raise a baby in a house that was, well, ‘active,’ as she was of the stigma they’d both have to endure. She was a wonderful woman, Angela was.”

They sat there for a long while, listening to the crickets chirp.

“Did you know that my momma was one of the women who originally smudged this house for Ms. Grayson? I’m two years younger than her son, Jack. I was seven at the time. I remember her talking about the house and how ol’ Mildred had paid her and her friend Imogene $50 for their silence – and that was a lot of money back then. Mildred was afraid of what the neighbors might think if they found out that she had resorted to witchcraft to help her out. Crazy ol’ loon.”

“Your mother was one of the witches? Then you must also know that the woman who painted that picture…”

“Ms. Lorrie? Yeah, that’s how we became friends. My momma talked about her momma quite a bit. When she came down to trace her momma’s steps, I’m the one who told her how to get where she wanted to go.”

“I love him, Darby,” Lindsey said, tiring the chit-chat. All she wanted to do was wallow. “I can’t explain it, but it’s real. I’ve only known him for a few short weeks, but the attachment is there. I don’t want to live without him in my life– how crazy is that?  But I also don’t want him to give it all up.”

“I know, honey. I felt the same way when I met Abrahm. If it’s that strong for us, imagine what it’s like to them. And trust me, he loves you, too. That’s why he’s doin’ what he’s a-doin’ right now. I hate to ask you this, darlin’, but can you let me in the house? I have to borrow your facilities for a minute.”

Lindsey unlocked the door and they entered the dark house. The air inside was light and cool again. It still smelled of fresh-cut roses. Darby went into the bathroom and Lindsey walked into Eli’s room. The bed was made, clothes still hung in the small closet. She grabbed the button up shirt that he’d worn yesterday; he’d draped it over the small wooden chair by the window. She held it to her nose and closed her eyes. She immediately jerked her t-shirt over her head and tossed it on the bed, then slipped her arms into his shirt.

Darby left shortly after she’d used the bathroom. She had patted Lindsey on the hand and told her to call if she needed anything.  Once she was alone, Lindsey walked to the French doors and gazed out across the backyard, out to the estuary. The light of the rising moon shone on the glass-smooth water.

In the distance, a heavy mist had settled low and heavy around the tree trunks and the banks of the water.

“That’s us,” Eli had said to her when she mentioned the mist.  It was a sign of angels standing watch over nature… and her. She knew that Eli would have left at least one of his brothers stationed here in his absence.  Oh, she knew that Carina was in the room with her right now, but she’d never seen any real proof of her presence. And for a human, visible proof, like that mist floating along the ground below, was reassuring.

The phone rang, it’s chirping echoed through a lighter, airier Retreat House.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl! We’re just got back. You want to come over and hang out? I want to hear everything about, well, you know. Oh, Mom says hi and thank you.”

Lindsey was ecstatic that her friend was home, but didn’t want to talk about it all just yet.

“Tell your mom that it was no problem, that I enjoyed being at the barn.  I’m tired though. I haven’t gotten much sleep over the past week. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but can we do it in the morning?”

Maddie giggled. “Is he there?”

“No, he’s gone.”

“Gone? Like … for good?”

“Yeah. Um, I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Lindsey. I’ll let you go get some rest. We’ll talk about it all in the morning.”

“No, no, it’s fine actually. I’m honestly just tired. Oh, I have a date with Brent tomorrow, but we can talk when I get back.”

“Wow! I have missed a lot. I’ll call you tomorrow night so we can catch up.”

They said their goodbyes. Lindsey hung up the phone and looked back at the estuary. She smiled sadly as she stared out into the misty night. They were still watching her. She hoped they’d managed to stop Eli before he could go through with his plans. As much as her heart wanted him to come back, to be hers, her mind wanted him stopped.

Tears began to pour down her cheeks as she turned and started to the stairs. All she wanted to do was to bury herself in her covers, to inhale the smell of him, to remember his touches from the night before. She would stay there, wrapped in the warm cocoon of memories and scent, until the morning sun rose and she could be sure that he’d listened … that he’d gone home to stay.

Epilogue

Axum, Ethiopia † St. Mary’s of Zion Church

The Chapel of the Tablet stood baking in the hot rays of the setting sun.  A nondescript, cube-shaped, two-story-tall tan cinderblock building, the chapel sits on a concrete platform with the arid Ethiopian landscape as its background. Two sets of tall, black, slender windows, each which with electric blue detailing crisscrossing the glass, stand on each side of the building.  A large, spherical dome with a large, gilded cross erected on top of it adorns the roof of the temple. 

The grounds were deserted with the exception of Alazar, the gatekeeper.

A cool, sandy breeze brushed across Eli’s exposed skin as he approached the tall, reddish-brown metal gate that surrounded the complex. He looked up at the curved spikes atop the fence. They were showy, but unnecessary.  Protection such as that would not be needed as long as Camael’s small band of Harbingers were on watch.  They had been there for nearly 400 years now, ever since the Emperor Gelawdewos had prayed for the Lord to send special protection to the church. 

The two men bowed at the waist, struck their breasts with their right fist, and then stood back up before speaking.

“Teanastellen, brother,” said Alazar.

“Greetings to you, too, Alazar. I need to see Camael. It’s of the utmost importance.”

Alazar didn’t say anything right away; he just looked at Eli with his penetrating gaze.  His bald head glistened with sweat, his ebony skin glowing in the last moments of sunlight. He wore a long, bright yellow cloak and carried a small cross fashioned like the cross on top of the church. 

Alazar wasn’t a Harbinger, but he was aware of their presence. All of the monks were.

For the most part, the Harbingers stayed in their true form, invisible to the human eye. But not Camael. He spent most of his time with the Guardian monk inside the chapel, both of them in constant adoration and protection of the Ark.

“Camael is with the Guardian right now,” Alazar stated, not moving to open the gate.  Eli could assume his natural form and go straight through it and to his commander’s side effortlessly, but he felt compelled to do this as a human, considering what he was coming to ask.

“I am well aware of that fact, but this is urgent. Tell him that Elion is standing here at the gate requesting an audience. He will understand and he will allow the interruption of his adoration.”

After a long pause, Alazar nodded once and moved from his post. He ascended the five steps to the plain wooden door of the church and disappeared through it. Eli glanced around. Night was falling and he could see a mist forming around the corners of the gate. They were watching, curious. The mist reminded him of Lindsey and the woods near her home. He wondered if she was thinking about him right now, if she was looking at the mist hanging low on the estuary and thinking about him, too. 

The thought of her gave him the strength he needed to do what he’d come here to do, to change the course of his existence – to descend.

“Camael will see you,” said Alazar, unlocking the gate.

The mist drifted along behind Eli and hovered around the base of the church. They, too, knew the significance of Eli’s appearance as a human and asking to see Camael.

Eli glanced at them, nodded his head, and entered the darkened sanctuary.

As the door closed, two black shapes began taking form on the steps. One grasped the door handle with a taloned claw.

The other cackled, “Oh Elion. You poor, blithering Harbinger. This is only the beginning of your journey!”

The End

Marla Rae Retreat Painting

 The painting of the Marla Rae really exists. Lorrie Gunn, Lowcountry artist extraordinaire, created the painting after reading a first draft of “Harbinger in the Mist.”  It was actually the original cover for the book.  When it was removed from the front, it made its way into the story.