Locked (The Heaven's Gate Trilogy) (12 page)

“Who are you?” I
whispered, pity and fear stabbing me through the heart.

“If I tell you, things
will never be the same for you,” he whispered, pleading with me.

You don’t have to do
this.  You can go back to ignorance if you say the word.

I paused, considering the
lure of the voice’s promise, but only for a moment.  “Tell me,” I asked,
brushing aside the warning in my head as I looked Michael in the eyes. 
“Please.”

Michael cocked his head
to the side as if listening to someone, and then sighed.  “I have no choice,”
he muttered to himself, before falling completely silent.  Then, when the only
sound I could hear was my own ragged breath, he raised himself up so that he
seemed to fill the entire room.

“I am the One,” he began
in a whisper.  “The first to worship humankind.  The defender of the People of
God, scourge of the Evil, protector of the Innocent.  I guided Adam and Eve out
of Paradise so that they should live.  I spoke to Moses from the burning bush
and delivered his soul to the hands of Righteousness.  I argued before the Lord
so that the waters would not wipe humanity from the face of the Earth.  I
brought the wrath of the heavenly hosts upon the Fallen Ones so that they were
cast forever from the Gates of Heaven.”

His voice had turned into
a quiet roar, the rush of a thousand voices joining his so that it sounded like
music.

“I am the Prince of
Light, the Captain of the Army of God, defender of Israel, judge and escort to
just souls, eternal enemy of Satan and his powers.  I am He who Is Like God.”

His eyes were closed now,
and his entire being seemed to glow.  A gentle wind swirled about him, tousling
his hair and clothes.

“I am Michael,
Archangel.”

The wind and light died
down, leaving him standing before my bed.  I clutched the bed sheets about me,
stunned.

All the denials I’d ever
made about God – the walls I’d built up to defend myself against my father’s
crazy rantings – all of it came crashing into dust as Michael’s words sunk in. 
I thought about everything I knew about angels, which filled all of thirty
seconds.  Didn’t angels come to people when they were dying? Or with messages
and tasks from God?  What did that have to do with me?

Then I thought about all
the time I had spent with Michael.  All of it was a lie.

“You’ve been lying to me
this whole time,” I whispered, the accusation in my voice unmistakable. 
“Pretending to be my friend.”  He hung his head, unable to answer.

“Why?” I asked, suddenly.

He opened his eyes and
looked at me with sadness.

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? What
do you want from me?”

He shrugged, looking
confused himself.  “I am sworn to protect the innocent.  Usually this means
intervening in the affairs of man when something horrific is threatening to
happen.”

“Like those refugees on
TV.”

“Yes,” he said, startled
that I’d made the connection.  “Like those refugees.”

“Is that where you went,
when you went away the other week?”

“Yes,” he conceded,
bowing his head.  “It was almost too late by the time I got there.”   Before I
could ask more questions, he continued.   “But over a decade ago, I was drawn
to protect something a little bit more unusual for me -- a little girl who was
in danger.”

Adrenaline shot through
my veins.  “You were there, in the motel room! I remembered your face when I
was falling last night.”

“Yes, I was there,” he
admitted, a dark look crossing his face.  “I wasn’t supposed to be there, but
somehow you caught my attention and I… I had to stop that monster.”  His mouth
twisted in anger.

“You killed him.”

His eyes flashed.  “I did
it to protect you,” he protested, his voice rising slightly as a vein started
throbbing on his forehead.

“But why me?”

“I don’t know.” He
practically spat the words, and I shrank back.  My hand drifted to the back of
my neck, touching my Mark like a talisman. 
Did he know about it
, I
wondered? 
Could he tell me what it means
?

Now is not the time
, the voice in my head told me, so I
stayed quiet, watching Michael intently. 

He began pacing across my
room, every muscle taut.  “It was as if I couldn’t help myself.  There was
something about you… I just knew I had to intervene.”  He rubbed his hand
across his face, looking desperate as he relived it. 

“Just like my dad,” I
murmured.  “Needing to protect me but not sure why….” Michael barely
acknowledged my observation as his confession poured out of him.

“God was displeased, but
no harm really came of it.  After all, it took barely an hour of time here on
Earth.  After that, I stayed away for a long time.  I had nearly forgotten
about it when the feeling returned.”

“What feeling? Why was
God displeased?”

He cocked his head to the
side then, as if considering what to say next.

 “I forget how little you
know.  But it cannot hurt.  Not now.” He threw himself down in my butterfly
chair as he continued.  “I am not supposed to bother myself with anything other
than God’s work.  As young and innocent as you were – you were not for me to
trifle with.”

I was not sure I was
following him.  “You mean you had bigger fish to fry?” I asked, knotting my
brows together as I puzzled it out.

He smiled wryly, then. 
“That is a good way to put it.”

He closed his eyes then,
rubbing his temples.

I bit my lip, considering
all that he’d said.

“You said the feeling has
returned.”

He drew his lips into a
hard, straight line and looked me straight in the eye.

“Yes.  It has.”

A pregnant silence filled
the room.  My heart seemed to skip a beat.

“You sent me that
Valentine, didn’t you?”

He nodded silently.  My
heart raced – first with excitement that he’d been my secret admirer, and then
with fear as I thought about the warnings held in the unfinished verses.

“Am I in danger?”  My
hand absentminded floated up to my neck again.  Whether it singled me out for
protection or harm, I could feel my Mark burning on my skin, and Michael’s tale
only made me more aware of it.

“If you keep doing stupid
things like climbing on top of mountains in the middle of the night, then yes,”
he said, his wide grin suddenly breaking across his face.

It was the first glimpse
I’d had of the old Michael,
my
Michael, and my heart leapt.  But even
then, I saw his eyes were sad.  I threw my pillow at him, but he expertly
caught it in one hand.

“I’m serious,” he said,
the grin gone, the sparkle of humor replaced by grimness.  “You can’t be taking
risks like that.”

“I wouldn’t have even
been there if you hadn’t disappeared, leaving me with Tabitha for my partner in
Contemporary Issues.” I pouted, crossing my arms to signal my displeasure. 
“Besides,” I went on, cutting him off before he could continue with his
lecture, “everything would have been fine if it weren’t for that hawk.”

“A hawk?” His voice had
an edge to it as he echoed my words.

“It attacked me out of
nowhere.  That’s how I fell.”  I shuddered as the memory of my free fall came
rushing back to me, and my fingers unconsciously gripped the side of my bed.

He frowned, his brows
furrowing deeply.  “That’s…unusual.  Two bird attacks.”

“Two?”

“The crows.  Remember?”

My fall, during my run
the other day.  The room seemed to spin as I made the connection.

“Do you know what’s going
on, Michael?” I whispered, barely able to speak.

He slumped deeper in the
chair.  “No.  No, I’m afraid I don’t.  I’m not omniscient, unfortunately.  I’m
more the muscle than the brains of God’s security operation.  When there’s
trouble, I get pointed in the right direction and go take care of it.  If I see
the trouble, I jump in without waiting for an invitation.  But this time, I’m
not even sure where it’s coming from.  All I have is this sense that I should
be here.  With you.”

We sat there in silence
for a long time.  My mind raced with all the questions I had for him –
questions about my abduction, my Mark, my father.  And of course, about him.

“How do you do it?” I
finally screwed up my courage to ask.

“Do what?” he answered,
distracted.

“Everything,” I
whispered, leaning closer to him.  “How can you be a teenager? How can you fly?
How do you get to where the trouble is?”

He looked miserable.

“How am I supposed to
leave now?” he snapped at the air, pounding his fist into he knee.

I sank into my bed
sheets, deflated.  “I didn’t ask you to leave,” I said, uncertain and scared by
his moodiness.

His face softened and he
leaned gently toward me.  “I wasn’t talking to you.  I was talking to Henri.”

“Henri?”

“Your guardian angel.”

I could barely process
this latest piece of news.  My jaw fell open in disbelief before I managed to
sputter, “My. Guardian. Angel.”

He looked at my
astonished face and roared with delight.  “The archangel, she swallows no problem. 
It’s the invisible watchdog that makes her skeptical!”

I crossed my arms and stuck
out my tongue.  I hated being made fun of.  Still, he’d piqued my curiosity.

 “Why are you arguing
with Henri?”

“He’s angry with me for
interfering.”

I raised my eyebrows. 
“Say more.”

A wicked grin crept
across Michael’s face.  “He believes I have violated his rights, and the order
of Angels, by intervening in his protection and guidance of you.  If it
continues, he is threatening to take it up to the courts.”

I was dumbfounded. 
“There are courts in Heaven?”

“Oh, yes.  And they will
enforce the rules.  By rights, only Guardian Angels can protect individuals,
with very few exceptions.  Though I must say, old Henri, that they may come
down on the other side of the law when they see how ineffective your methods
have been.”  He was openly smirking now, and I could sense a faint buzzing in
my mind.

I had a sudden epiphany. 
“Is he the voice in my head?” I asked.

“One and the same,” said
Michael, leaning back into his chair with satisfaction.  “Oh, don’t harass me. 
I didn’t tell her, she figured it out,” he spoke dismissively into the air.

“He
did
try to
keep me from teaming up with Tabitha and from going to Stone Mountain,” I said,
trying to be helpful.

“Fat lot of good that did
you,” muttered Michael.  In an instant, his humor had shifted; he seemed cross
and was rubbing his temples again.

“Michael,” I asked
timidly, “why do you always have headaches?”

He stopped rubbing his
temples, jerking his hands away.  “You’ve noticed?”

“It’s hard not to. 
Especially when they make you so moody.”

The vein in his temple
twitched again.  “I’ll try not to be moody.”

“I don’t care that you’re
moody.  But I’d like to know why.”

He took a deep breath and
drew his hands together in his lap, as if he were afraid of what they might
do.  “Remember when I told you God was displeased with me?”

“Yes,” I said, not sure
where this was going.

“Well, this is what
happens when God is displeased.  You see, in all of creation, he made two great
beings that are capable of holiness – angels and man.  We were both intended to
be in his likeness, but we have two crucial differences.  Only mankind can
create.  We angels can only praise, protect or destroy.  We can convey.  We can
escort.  But we can never invent, nor discover.” he continued, his jaw tense. 
“It is forbidden.”

I shuddered.  The more
Michael spoke, the more grave and formal his speech became.  In my mind’s eye,
I could see him as an ancient being, the fiery general of God’s army.

“And while we both, man
and angels, have free will,” he continued, “God did not trust the angels with
such a precious gift when he made us.  Not like you,” he said, a twinge of jealousy
entering his voice.  “We can disobey him and choose our own path, of course. 
That is what the Fallen Ones did.  But when they fell, they learned that to be
away from God was to embrace pain.    For God punished their disobedience with
great, physical pain.  The longer they strayed, the further they strayed, the
more intense the pain grew.  Nothing can stop it.  Nothing except their return
to God.”

His eyes seemed far away
now.  “Imagine, living hundreds of thousands of years in never-ending pain. 
Imagine what that would do to you.  If you hadn’t already been wicked, you
would surely go insane.”

The idea of it was
horrifying – especially when I realized what he was saying.