Chapter Three

Worst Western
The first hotel that Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael found was called the Saint Francis Arms, and it was tucked haphazardly into a block of run-down apartment buildings and liquor stores. The graveyard-shift desk clerk was put off somewhat when three young men dressed in rags came in at two in the morning and requested a room, but Gabriel quickly persuaded him that they wouldn’t cause any trouble. They managed to secure a room for the night free of charge, and fell asleep to the soothing sounds of sirens and car alarms.

When Michael woke up, Gabriel was already awake, sitting across the room and watching an old television show.

“Look at this,” Gabriel said. “A blonde, a redhead, and a brunette, running point for their boss on dangerous missions. Sound familiar?"

Michael rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked around. “What time is it? Where’s Raphael?”

“It’s about nine,” Gabriel replied without looking away from the television. “I think Raphael went out to get some coffee or something. Look, the brunette angel is smart! Did we visit the people who came up with this?”

“I don’t know,” said Michael. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I told you we needed to get started first thing in the morning.”

“I figured I’d let you sleep until Raphael got back. Sorry.”

Michael sighed. “It’s alright. I just don’t know how much time we have.”

“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel. “We’ll find her before anything happens.” He winked. “Have a little faith.”

Michael smirked and went into the bathroom to run himself a shower.

God had made it very clear that Michael was in charge of their trip to Earth, but Raphael had always been a little headstrong. Fortunately, his devotion had always been strong and uncompromising, and Michael trusted his brother. Besides, after Lucifer’s attack on the throne, no one dared to oppose God, even if they did have the will to. They had seen what could happen.
Michael’s shower washed away the last of his headache and fatigue, and the warm towel felt good on his bare skin. Whenever he visited Earth he was reminded that the human body was fragile, but not without its simple pleasures. The smell of the sea air, a nice shower, some good food; Michael promised himself that next time he came to Earth, he would remember to enjoy what it had to offer.

When Michael emerged from the bathroom, Raphael had returned. He was sitting with Gabriel, watching the television and sharing a box of donuts. They had gotten a t-shirts and jeans from somewhere, welcome improvements over the pilfered garbage from the night before. Michael wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure the teenager they scared had wet his jeans before Gabriel had a chance to put them on.

“I don’t get it,” said Raphael. “They do everything this guy says, but they never see him? How do they know he’s not a bad guy?”

“They just saved that scientist from prison,” said Gabriel. “How could that be evil?”

“He could be a mad scientist,” said Raphael.

“You’re such a cynic,” said Gabriel.

“I’m a realist,” replied Raphael. “I just see things as they are.” He turned to Michael. “Morning, boss. Donut?”

Michael shook his head. “No thanks. Where’d you get those clothes? Did you leave someone else lying in an alley?”

“Relax,” said Raphael, tossing an outfit to Michael, “I got them from the Salvation Army. Guy gave me a good deal.”

Michael examined the shirt Raphael had picked out for him, which screamed “Black Sabbath” in angry red letters. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

While he dressed, Michael relayed his plan to his brothers: They would work their way out from the middle of the city, Gabriel probing the minds of people they met to see if anyone could put a bead on someone who matched Abigail’s description. Michael was convinced that someone had seen Abigail in the short time she had been here; even if it was just a glance stowed away in the subconscious, Gabriel would be able to bring it to the surface. After they found Abigail, they would grab her and take her back to Heaven.

“What if she doesn’t want to come back?” asked Raphael.

“It’s not her decision to make,” said Michael. “This is what’s best for everyone. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Gabriel and Raphael.

Michael pulled on his trenchcoat and pulled it tight. “If she doesn’t want to come back,” he said, “we’ll just have to make her.”


Streets of Saint Francis

Sam hit the arts district on foot. First, he walked the three blocks from his apartment to the Click, keeping a keen eye peeled for any sign of Abbie. When he got inside he asked the man working the counter, Fitz, if anyone had seen her around since last night.

“Sorry, dude,” said Fitz, shaking his red afro. “Heard about her performance, though. Sounded bitchin’.”

“Did she tell anyone if she was coming back?” asked Sam. “Making it a weekly thing or something?”

“Nope. I wish, man, I wish.”

Sam spent the rest of his morning popping his head into the coffee shops that littered the district, even those that played smooth jazz all day. Everybody seemed to have heard about Abbie’s performance at the Click, but barely anyone at the other hang-outs had seen her, and nobody could point Sam towards where she had been since.

Next, Sam scanned the record and book stores – the independent, anti-establishment places that he figured a girl in a Che Guevara shirt who liked real jazz would go. When she wasn’t at any of those places, he stopped at the trendy lunch places where she might stop to get a bite for lunch. Again, she was nowhere to be found. It was like she had dropped off the face of the Earth.
After searching for so long that he felt he could navigate every street of the city with his eyes closed and his arms cut off, Sam gave up. He slumped on a snowy bench in Concord Park and thought of his next move.

If he went back to his apartment, he could get his car and search a wider area, but that was jumping the border of “romantic foolhardiness” into the realm of “obsessive stalker tendencies.” He put his head in his hands and tried to force Abbie out of his mind. If she wanted to see me again, he thought, she wouldn’t have left. It was a just a one-night stand. Take it for what it was and be happy that it happened. To have loved and lost is better than never having loved at all. Et cetera, et cetera. Look at the bright side: You got laid and didn’t even have to buy her dinner. Be grateful, you manic-depressive shmuck.

That’s when he heard her.

It was a Billie Holiday song this time, “God Bless the Child, sung over a single trumpet. Sam could barely hear it, but the voice was unmistakable. It was coming from somewhere nearby, maybe a block or two over.

Determined not to let her slip away, Sam yanked himself up and broke into a run. He leapt into the road, ignoring the traffic, and was nearly hit by a truck, but in almost an instant he was on the other side, running towards the voice.

She was standing outside of a black-tie restaurant, singing along to a homeless man whose trumpet seemed to be his most valuable – and only – possession. A modest crowd of well-dressed people clogged the sidewalk, listening intently. The owner of the restaurant was speaking into the beggar’s left ear in a harsh whisper, trying to convince him to stop pestering the customers so they could spend their money inside his establishment, but it was to no avail. They were entranced by Abbie’s voice.

When Sam reached the crowd he was out of breath, panting and leaning on a tuxedoed patron for support. He immediately gained a second wind when he saw Abbie turn towards him and smile. Despite the fact that he had spent all morning torturing himself to find her, Abbie’s smile made Sam melt into unmitigated bliss.

She closed her eyes and sang the last verse:

Mama may have, Papa may have,
But God bless the child that’s got his own,
That’s got his own.

The trumpet player ended the song with a small, tinny run down the blues scale, bowing his head as the notes faded away. The impromptu audience broke into applause and, much to the restauranteur’s chagrin, threw crisp green bills of tip money into the homeless man’s trumpet case as they filed inside. The musician grinned sheepishly at the owner and shrugged.

Abbie pushed her way around the crowd and threw her arms around Sam, planting a big kiss square on his lips.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she cried. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Me too,” said Sam dreamily. Her lips tasted like cinnamon. How did women do that? Maybe there was some secret store where they went to get their lips flavored.

“I just found this man playing here a little while ago,” she continued, “and I just had to sing again. I was looking for somewhere to sing all morning.”

Sam suddenly snapped out of his reverie. “Why did you leave this morning?”

Abbie put a hand on her hip. “I told you, I wanted to find somewhere to sing. Is there a problem with that?”

“Well, no,” Sam said, “not a problem, per se.”

“So?”

“So,” said Sam, getting a little angry, “I wanted to know where you went. I thought I deserved that.”

“What,” she said loudly, “just because we had sex last night?”

The fancy people still outside looked at Sam and Abbie, causing Sam to turn bright red. Abbie’s musician friend winked at him. Abbie seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

Sam looked at his feet. This was not going the way he had planned. After looking for Abbie all morning, he just assumed that she would apologize profusely for what had happened, that it would be some sort of misunderstanding, and they could start some sort of overly-romantic relationship.

“Listen,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. If you want me to leave you alone, just say so.”

“Hey,” said Abbie, putting her hands on Sam’s face and lifting her gaze to hers. Her expression had changed from irritation to sympathy. “I don’t want you to leave. I like you.”

“I like you too,” said Sam.

“Good.”

“Good. So why did you leave last night?”

Abbie sighed. “It was my first one-night stand, too. In fact, it was my first night with a man.”

Sam felt his stomach jump somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, vibrating wildly and twisting in a dozen directions. “Wha- what?”

“If I had known you wanted me to stay,” said Abbie, “I would have. I’m sorry.”

Sam stared at her for a moment. “That was your first night with a man?”

Abbie nodded, sweetly, like there was nothing strange at all about this admission. “Yeah. Did I do okay?”

Sam was sure he was going to faint, but steadied himself and said, “Yeah, you were amazing.”

Abbie smiled and hugged him. “Good,” she said. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” asked Sam, still trying to process what had happened in the last two minutes. “I don’t have any plans.”

“We should go out to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“I’ll meet you back here at seven o’clock, okay?”

Sam had always seen all women as somewhat confusing, but Abbie had to be the most mind-boggling girl that he had ever met. One minute, she’s dancing on a table in a coffee shop and seducing him; the next, she’s admitting that she was a virgin and sweetly asking him if they could go out to a fancy dinner. Sam didn’t know whether to take her in his arms or, in the interest of his health and sanity, run in the other direction.

Looking into her eyes, though, he knew there was only one answer.

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll meet you here at seven.”

Inquisition

Gabriel stood in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes closed, holding his palm to the forehead of a stocky balding man in a business suit. Michael and Raphael stood on either side of him, scanning the streets, trying to maintain a low profile. Gabriel whispered short Hebrew phrases intermittently as the man spoke in a far-off monotone.

“Walking down Concord Street, yesterday afternoon,” he said.

“Good,” said Michael. “Have you seen her since then?”

“No.”

Michael frowned. It had been like this all morning. People had seen Abbie at one time or another, so she was definitely in the city, but no one could tell them where she was now. After trudging around in the snow for a few hours, things were starting to look hopeless.

“Let him go,” said Michael.

Gabriel muttered another incantation and snapped his fingers. The businessman blinked confusedly and shook his head as if to clear it.

“Spare change, sir?” asked Raphael.

The man harumphed and walked away.

“Geez,” said Gabriel, “you probe a guy’s mind without his permission nowadays, the least he could do is throw some cash your way. Therapists are supposed to be rich.”

Raphael slumped on the slushy sidewalk, propping himself up on an iron railing. “I think that’s officially everyone in the city.”

“I thought it would go a little quicker than this,” said Michael. “Let’s find someone else.”

“Do you really think it’s going to do any good?” said Raphael. “We could probably start doing a door-to-door search of every building in the city and we’d finish a lot quicker.”

“Quiet,” said Michael. “Here, let’s ask this guy.”

A man with a short goatee and a dreamy look on his face was trying to make his way around them without stepping into the road. Gabriel grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey!” he said. “What are you–”

Gabriel closed his eyes and whispered a few words, shutting the man up. Michael cleared his throat.

Exploring a person’s mind was a delicate process. If you dove in too far too fast, the subject could become disoriented, hostile, and pretty much useless. Like peeling an orange, you had to get through the weathered outer skin before getting to the good stuff.

“What is your name?” asked Michael.

“Sam Baker,” the man replied in a distant voice.

“Where do you live, Sam Baker?”

“Saint Francis,” Sam replied. “151 Middle Street. Apartment 26.”

“What do you do for a living, Sam Baker?”

“I am an artist,” he said.

“I can tell by the clothes,” muttered Raphael.

That does it for the easy questions, thought Michael. “Sam Baker,” he said carefully, “my brother is going to project an image into your mind. Tell me if–”

“Abbie,” he said.

Michael raised his eyebrows and looked at Raphael. Raphael mouthed the word, “Abbie?”

“You know this girl?” said Michael.

“Yes,” said Sam.

“How long have you known her?”

“Since last night. We slept together.”

Gabriel sputtered, almost losing his concentration. Raphael smirked, and Michael clenched his fists. Through grit teeth he said, “What?”

“Last night,” said Sam. “We started out in missionary, and–”

“You son of a…” Raphael grabbed Michael’s arms before he could tackle Sam. The elder archangel was seething.

“Cool it,” said Raphael. “We need to find out where she is.”

“God’s going to hear about this,” said Michael.

“Fine,” said Raphael. “We can tell him when we get back.”

Michael steadied himself with a deep breath. This little bastard slept with her? In another time, he would have dealt with this blasphemer in a less thoughtful way, involving fire and curses and everlasting pain. But he had a job to do.

“Sam Baker,” he said. “Have you seen Abigail since then?”

“Better say yes,” said Raphael, “or Michael is going to be pissed.”

“Yes,” said Sam.

“Where is she now?” asked Michael.

“I don’t know,” said Sam.

“Shit,” said Michael.

“But,” Sam continued, “I’m having dinner with her tonight.”

“Tonight?” asked Michael. “When? Where?”

“Seven o’clock, at Bella Sera.”

“Bella Sera?” said Michael. “You’re sure? Abigail is going to be there?”

“Seven o’clock, at Bella Sera,” Sam repeated. “Tonight.”

“Good,” said Michael. “Gabriel, let him go.” He paused. “And make him think he’s a chicken or something for a little while.”

Gabriel smiled and finished his incantation, removing his hand from Sam’s forehead. Sam blinked a few times, then cocked his head to one side.

“Bawk bawk?” he asked earnestly.

“Boo,” said Gabriel.

Sam jumped and sped down the sidewalk, clucking as he went. The archangels watched him until he rounded the corner and went onto the next block.

“It will only last a few minutes,” said Gabriel. “Still funny, though.”

“A chicken?” asked Raphael.

Michael shook his head. “I should do worse, but we need him to show up for dinner tonight. We need him around to lead us to Abigail.”

“And then?” asked Raphael.

“Then,” said Michael, “I’m going to start looking for a big rotisserie.”

God Creates Man

“Where are its wings?” asked Lucifer.

“He has no wings,” said God.

“How is it supposed to get around, then?”

“He will walk,” said God, “or tame the animals and create vehicles with which to transport himself.”

“How many spells does it know?” asked Gabriel.

“None,” said God. “I will not teach him incantations as I have taught you.”

“And it’s going to live on Earth?” said Raphael.

“Yes,” God said. He turned to Michael. “What do you think, Michael?”

Michael thought for a moment, regarding the naked being held in stasis before him. “He looks like you, my Lord,” he said.

God smiled. “He is crafted in my image. I will call him, ‘Man’.”

“Is he going to be like the dinosaurs?” asked Raphael. “Like a pet in a cage for us to watch?”

“No,” said God. “I am going to give Man complete dominion over Earth. I will award him free will to do as he pleases, and divine intelligence so that he may learn and grow. I am also going to give you, my archangels, special incantations so that you may visit Earth and interact with him.”

“Why would we want to do that?” asked Lucifer. “We have all the glory and beauty of Heaven here.”

“Yes,” said God, “but Man is my greatest creation of all.”

The archangels bowed before God, in all His divine wisdom, and praised Him and His new creation.

Later, Lucifer brought Michael aside and conversed with him in secrecy.

“Did you hear that?” hissed Lucifer. “‘Man is my greatest creation of all.’ What about us?”

“What about us?” said Michael.

“We came first,” Lucifer spat incredulously, “that’s ‘what about us’.”

“God’s wisdom is infinite,” said Michael. “We can’t even begin to comprehend the power and responsibility that lie with the Throne. Do you know how He created us?”

“No,” said Lucifer. “Of course not. That’s not the point.”

“If God says that Man is the superior creation,” said Michael simply, “then we must respect Him and believe that it is true.”

“He has no wings,” said Lucifer earnestly, placing his hands on Michael’s shoulders, forcing Michael’s gaze to his. “He resides outside of heaven. He can never even know God. How can Man be superior to us?”

Michael was expressionless. “Because God says it is so.”

“Maybe God is wrong,” Lucifer muttered, turning away.

“What was that?” said Michael.

“Nothing,” said Lucifer. He spread his wings and flew away.

Michael was uneasy. He felt something that he had never felt before, even after spending so long in existence in Heaven. It was icier than the coldest wind, and clutched his stomach like a vice.

Michael felt fear.