Heather Graham (4 page)

“Our case?” Don said.

Gabriel groaned. “You are just here on her shirttails, bud. So pay attention and learn some manners.”

“I have plenty of manners!”

“Don!” Cathy snapped. She tugged on his hand until her nails dug into his palm.

“Ouch!” he protested, wondering why, if he was dead, his hand could still hurt so badly. “I have to be dreaming. I absolutely have to be dreaming.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not to be trite, sir, but at this moment I am afraid I can well be your worst nightmare.”

Don looked at Cathy. She hadn’t been paying attention to Gabriel’s snide words. She was spinning around once again, staring at the fantastic busyness of this place. A group of darling cherubs flew past them, chattering in melodic voices. A very long, incredibly graceful angel, in biblical dress, flew by thirty feet from them, to come down in the midst of the bathing-suit and cutoff wearers.

“Now there’s an angel,” Don murmured to Cathy.

“Rafael,” Gabriel said.

“Properly dressed,” Don commented.

“And so magnificent!” Cathy murmured. “There’s so much, of course, that we’ve read, so much from the Bible, so much from fiction. So many stories from the Old and New Testaments, and so many writers adding on to them! Milton! In
Paradise Lost!
” she said. “He wrote about Satan, before his fall from heaven, loving a seductress named Sin, and from their union, they created Death.”

“Milton, a man of incredible talent!” Gabriel said. “A remarkable man with words.” He smiled at her. “But Death is not evil,” he said gently. “Death comes to every man, woman, and child … and—”

Something suddenly brayed behind him, then knocked him forward. He turned impatiently to see a small, lost donkey. “Someone bring this creature to Francis, will you please!” Gabriel demanded.

A pair of little cherubs, naked and plump, suddenly swirled down with incredible speed, plucking up the little donkey.

“I just hate it when the animals get lost!” Gabriel exclaimed. “Where was I?” he asked Cathy.

“We were on Death.”

Don stared at them both. It might have been a singles’ scene. The two of them chatting over cocktails.

“Death is part of life,” he said simply. “Life is to be lived to the fullest, until it is taken away, as it must be from all men and women—and animals!—on earth. Satan, however, did have a tremendous fall from heaven I’m afraid. He was quite extraordinary, you know. But too proud.” He stared directly at Don.

“I’m not proud—I’m in the middle of a nightmare,” Don insisted.

“He’s in denial,” Gabriel told Cathy.

“Now I’m going to be psychoanalyzed?” Don demanded. “Do you have a supervisor?”

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, smiling grimly at Don. “There’s only a ‘One-In-Three’ step higher than me, sir. And I think you’d best take a little time before pushing for an appointment that high.”

“But—”

“Satan,” Gabriel said rather swiftly, “was a favored creation of God, beautiful in many ways, but too proud to acknowledge God’s love for his newer creation—man. And Satan fell, amidst revolt among the heavens, but in many writings you will find that the description of hell is the absence of God’s love. The absence of love itself is enough to create hell. Don’t you agree, sir?”

Another warning, Don thought. He had just a slim chance to stay with Cathy.

“Don!” Cathy whispered, begging him to keep silent. She was awed by everything around her, fascinated, happy, enjoying herself.

Enjoying old Gabriel.

“Cathy,” Don murmured, hurt.

“We have to listen and find out what is happening,” she said quietly to him.

“It’s already happened,” Don said dully. “We’re dead.”

“And together!” Cathy whispered poignantly.

“This is all just the beginning for you,” Gabriel said. “And I am here to help you.”

“Really?” Don inquired.

“Some do need help more than others.”

Don started to speak. Cathy stamped on his foot. Then Don smiled politely and rephrased his words.

“So, then, just what
is
happening?” he asked.

Gabriel drew a feathered pen and pad from his coat pocket. “Your wife, sir, has led an exemplary life.”

“Well I wasn’t exactly Jack the Ripper,” Don protested.

“Poor Jack!” Gabriel said, tsking as he referred to the list again. He stared up at Don. “Demented, ill!”

“Poor victims,” Don muttered.

Cathy gasped. “Jack the Ripper! Oh, my God! Don, we get to know things now! Gabriel, who was Jack the Ripper? I’ve always been dying to know. Montague Druitt, not the Prince, surely! Think of all the questions we can have answered now! Did creatures from another solar system come to ancient Egypt? Oh! Was there a conspiracy against President Kennedy, or did Oswald act alone? Jackie! How is she? She was such a lovely woman, I do hope—”

She broke off. Both Don and Gabriel were staring at her. Don cleared his throat, glad for once that he wasn’t the one with the angel glaring at him.

“There isn’t time for prying into the secrets of the world right now, Cathy,” Gabriel informed her. “And you, Don!”

Apparently, there wasn’t any way for him to be off the hook very long.

“Pay attention now, sir. If you’re a very rich man and you give a large sum to a charity, it’s good. If you’re a poor man and you give what you can to a charity, it’s much better. The rich man can afford it, the poor man cannot. Are you following?”

“‘The meek shall inherit’?” Don queried.

“Something like that. Cathy has never questioned Divine decisions. She, sir, has never lost faith.”

Don looked down at Cathy. “I don’t need an angel to tell me that my wife is wonderful,” he said.

“Don, that was lovely. Thank you,” Cathy said. “It was very sweet.”

“And wise, at the moment,” Gabriel said dryly.

“Hey!” Don protested.

“He always made me very happy, and stuck with me no matter what,” Cathy said in Don’s defense. About time, Don decided. She still smiled a little too easily at Gabriel.

“You’re going to get a chance to be angels,” Gabriel said.

“We are the Angels,” Don told him.

“
Real
angels,” Gabriel said without humor. “Perhaps you’d better come with me now, to my office. There’s a lot you have to understand.”

Don stared at Cathy, shaking his head. “The angel Gabriel has an office?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Fax machine, E-mail, you name it. I don’t think you begin to understand the importance of my taking your case personally.”

“We’re very grateful,” Cathy said.

“Ummm,” Gabriel said dryly, his dark gaze on Don once again.

“All right, why is it so important?” Don asked.

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head impatiently. “Angels are messengers, of course, sir, but I am
the
messenger angel,” he explained. “Don’t you know any of the scriptures, Don?”

“Well, of course, I do—”

“I am the main messenger angel, the messenger of Christmas; and angels under my supervision are perhaps the most important angels. I brought the message of the greatest gift to the world; now Christmas angels bring the gifts of miracles to those who can believe. As your wife believes, Mr. Don Angel. Being a Christmas angel is an incredible honor, an honor which I am not at all personally sure you deserve. There are basically nine angelic orders, sir, surrounding Divinity—Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones topping the order; Dominations, Virtues, and Powers following upon the middle tier; then the Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. You are striving to reach the last rung of the tier, sir, yet there to be among the most important, designated Christmas angels, for it is the time of the year when God’s Greatest Gift was given. Now come along. Follow me.”

Gabriel turned. Cathy tugged at Don’s hand again. He looked down into his wife’s pleading blue eyes. “You’ve just got to be nicer to him.”

“I’m being nice! He’s the rude one.”

“Don, he’s also Gabriel.”

“Right. I had a miserable day at the office, then a deadly accident kills me. Next, I get an angel with attitude to tell me what to do.”

“Don, please, we’re together!” Cathy reminded him.

He sighed. “Fine. I can be nice. I’m dreaming anyway. I know it. I have to be dreaming.”

“What if you’re not?”

“I have to be, I have to—”

“You have to be nice!” Cathy insisted.

“Right! I have to be nice. I have read the scriptures, you know. Well, some of them,” Don admitted. “You can’t just trust an angel blindly.”

“You can’t trust an angel?” she said doubtfully.

He straightened uncomfortably. “I remember something about a race of angels—giant, striking angels coming down and seducing the daughters of man.”

“That was at the beginning of time, and they were supposed to be a tenth order of angels or the like.”

“He is very good-looking.”

“Why… you’re jealous?”

“The thought of eternity with him around is just a bit unnerving.”

“You have to take a good look at what I’ve seen so far!” she said, lowering her voice. “We’re in a good place right now. Can you imagine if…”

Gabriel turned back to them. “Are you coming? Remember, the cloud you came in on can drop you down in a cloud of precipitation at any time.”

“What does he mean by that?” Don whispered to Cathy.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to find out,” she said. “Come on, let’s follow him.”

They hurried along the corridors. As they passed by a line of what must also have been “newly dead,” Don felt a little shudder rip through him, along with gratitude that he and Cathy had been able to manage on their own after the accident. This lineup had not done so well. They were waiting below a sign that read REPAIR in large block letters. One poor fellow carried his head in his hands. Didn’t seem to bother him, though. He was talking animatedly to the woman at his side who seemed to need her leg adjusted. Don didn’t mean to stop and stare; he just did. The fellow with his head in his hands was gesticulating as he talked. Strangest damned thing Don had ever seen.

“Quit the gaping. Hurry along, now, I’m an extremely busy angel, and it is Christmas Eve on earth, you know,” Gabriel said.

“Sorry, old chap,” Don said. “You’re really busy tonight, too, huh? And I thought you were called in on only the really big things.”

Cathy jabbed him.

Gabriel stared at him. He smiled pleasantly. “No, Sometimes I get the riffraff as well. Now, are you coming with us?”

“Don—” Cathy began.

“I’m right with you,” her husband said, his smile every bit as pleasant as Gabriel’s.

Cathy and Don followed along. They were led through a snow white doorway into an office containing a very handsome antique desk topped with the latest in executive equipment. Gabriel gestured toward the two leather-bound chairs before the desk, seating himself in the swivel chair behind it. Cathy and Don sat. Gabriel folded his hands before him on the desk.

“Are you quite ready?” he asked.

Cathy nodded. Don folded his own hands before him. “I’m all ears,” he said.

“That can be arranged,” Gabriel warned.

Don smiled, grating his teeth. “I’m listening,” he said.

And Gabriel began to talk.

“N
OW THAT WE’RE OUT
of the Christmas mayhem around us, I’ll try to be succinct and to the point. Wings must be earned. Again I tell you, there is no greater honor than being selected to be a Christmas angel, but no one—I repeat, no one—” Once again, he was staring at Don.

With that damned attitude again, Don was convinced.

“—becomes a Christmas angel without earning his or her wings. I may assume that my information is all correct, that you had a good marriage, that you do want to stay together throughout eternity?”

“Yes, definitely,” Cathy said.

Gabriel arched a doubting brow to her.

“Now, dammit—” Don began.

“Don!” Cathy said firmly.

“I just don’t know what the hell I ever did to offend this bas—”

“Don!”

He smiled around his clenched teeth once again, staring at Gabriel. “I wish very much to stay with Cathy throughout eternity. I am eager as all hel—”

“What he’s trying to say is we’re both very anxious to earn our wings,” Cathy cut in quickly.

“Yes, that’s it. Exactly,” Don said.

“Listen to the rules,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly. “Wings are earned through the completion of three Christmas miracles each. You have the power of suggestion, the power to move objects, the ability to appear and disappear at will. Do you understand?”

“Sounds like we’re Christmas ghosts,” Don said. “You know, ‘Christmas past, Christmas future, Christmas present.’”

Gabriel offered him a very stern look.

Don tried very hard to return his stare without expression. No sense of humor here, that was certain.

“You haven’t accepted the gravity of your own death, sir,” Gabriel warned him.

“We’re trying,” Cathy said. “It was just so sudden. You know, one minute you’re concerned with traffic and the day-to-day problems and then suddenly…”—she paused, looking at Don, smiling ruefully—“suddenly none of the little things matters at all. Not time, not traffic, not a dozen things that might have been important, irritating. Nothing on Earth matters.”

Don’s throat tightened. He wound his fingers more tightly around Cathy’s. He looked at Gabriel. It had to be a dream, he kept telling himself. He’d been conked on the head damned hard. He was hallucinating.

He was dead! A damned dead man. Did dead men have hallucinations, or was this really death?

“Things still matter,” he said. “People matter, Cathy matters—”

“Which is why you’re being given a chance,” Gabriel said, riffling through the papers on his desk. “Okay, were you paying attention? Three miracles each, three supernatural powers that will remain with you at all times—you can appear and disappear at will, you can move objects through simple mental effort, and you have the power of suggestion, do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so,” Cathy said.

“I’m lost,” Don admitted.

“You would be.”

Don determined to ignore Gabriel. If this was purgatory, then Gabriel had a boss.