Fall of the Angels Read online

  Copyright © 2021 Josh Raymer

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-5445-2183-1

  To my son, Paxton.

  I can’t wait to read the stories you write.

  Contents

  1. We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

  2. Time is a Blue Circle

  3. A Lovely Day for a Prison Break

  4. The Passion of Puriel

  5. Staff Meeting

  6. Take One for the Team

  7. Short, Pale, and Mysterious

  8. Heaven’s Garbage Disposal

  9. To the Future and Back

  10. Forty Years of Kicking Ass

  11. I Know Kung-Fu

  12. Reunited and It Feels So Good

  13. Never Too Late for a Change of Heart

  14. Fancy Seeing You Here

  15. Finish the Fight

  16. What Comes Next

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  1. We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

  I never thought death would be this complicated.

  When I was nine years old, our dog Scoot—so named for the way he scooted his butt across the rug in the living room—ran in front of a car while Peter and I were playing outside. Scoot was killed instantly. I can still remember the horrible thud that preceded our screams and the crimson pool that formed around his mangled body. It was my first encounter with death.

  Dad heard our screams and came running outside to see what was wrong. His expression was a blend of stoicism and heartbreak as he bent down to touch Scoot’s matted fur. Through the tears that rimmed my eyes, I saw Dad pull back a hand that was slick with blood. He discreetly wiped his hand on his pants and turned to confront his two sobbing sons. Peter trembled next to me. His wailing was only interrupted by his sniffling and the occasional pause to catch his breath.

  Dad put his hands on our shoulders and guided us away from the street and back toward the house. As we walked, I kept looking back over my shoulder at Scoot’s body. He seemed so small now.

  “Boys, what happened today was not your fault,” Dad said in that familiar tone of voice that always calmed his sons at their most savage.

  In this instance, it was like I was hearing him from the end of a long tunnel. I kept staring at Scoot and praying that he would miraculously start moving again. I knew this was a stupid thought to have, and yet, I kept staring at him expectantly.

  “Are you listening, Silas?” This snapped my attention back to Dad. His gaze was kind and concerned. I nodded, and he continued. “You and your brother couldn’t have stopped what happened to Scoot. Accidents, even bad ones like this, just happen sometimes. Bad things have no consideration for what’s fair or what’s right. We just have to deal with them as they come.”

  Dad bent down so he was on our level and looked first at me, then to Peter. He grabbed my brother by the shoulders and smoothed his hair with a steady hand. Peter’s chest continued to heave as Dad moved from smoothing his hair to wiping away his tears. My own mourning melted away as I watched Dad calm the waves that were engulfing Peter simply by caressing his tear-streaked face. When at last Peter stopped sniffling and Dad finished wiping away the tears, he spoke quietly.

  “How are you feeling right now, Pete?”

  Peter’s bottom lip protruded, and he stared at the ground. It took him a second to answer.

  “Sad,” he whispered.

  “It’s OK to feel sad,” Dad told him.

  “Scoot’s gone, Daddy. He can’t play with us anymore.”

  “He is gone, buddy. But do you know where Scoot went? Where he is right now?”

  I was pretty sure I knew the answer but wanted Peter to guess since Dad had asked him and not me. While I’d never experienced death myself, I had talked to friends at school who had family members die. They told me their parents, teachers, people at church—pretty much everyone they talked to—told them the person they lost was “in a better place.”

  Mom had mentioned during our nightly Bible stories before that the people who died in those stories went to Heaven. The way she talked about it with streets of gold and huge mansions sitting on clouds, it really did sound like a better place. I could only hope that Scoot was up there now, chasing tennis balls and scooting his butt across every rug he could find. Maybe he’d even been given a pair of wings.

  Dad waited for Peter’s answer but got none. Peter merely shook his head.

  “Scoot’s in Heaven right now,” Dad explained. Peter’s eyes lit up. A watery smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Dad continued, “There’s a special dog park up there for good boys like him. All the tennis balls and belly rubs he could ever want. He misses you boys, no doubt. But don’t you think that sounds like a nice place for Scoot to hang out until he sees you all again?”

  I nodded along with Peter, who asked, “We’ll get to see him again?”

  Dad straightened up but never broke eye contact with Peter. We waited breathlessly for his answer. The response he gave us is something I never forgot. Those words brought me tremendous comfort during the dark days following Dad’s disappearance and when Mom lost her cancer battle.

  “We sure will. Heaven is a wonderful place, boys. Everyone you know who goes there before you will be happy and healthy. We’ll all be dancing and singing.”

  This brought a full-blown smile to Peter’s face. He loved to dance more than anyone I’d ever met, even at five years old. He always stole the show during family dance nights at the house.

  “I thought that might make you smile!” Dad remarked upon seeing Peter’s reaction. “I hope none of us goes there for a long, long time, but when we all get there, it will be wonderful.”

  Dad, I hate to break it to you, but the Heaven you described is a far cry from the one that greeted me.

  After sacrificing myself to defeat Malphas and save Peter, violence and betrayal welcomed me into Heaven, not singing and dancing. An angel I trusted with my life tried to strangle me. I looked into Gregori’s eyes and saw cold, gray fury staring back as the oxygen was squeezed from my lungs. I was a nuisance that needed to be dealt with, the proverbial fly in the ointment.

  The only thing that kept him from ending my existence was a fist through the chest from my great-great-grandfather, Augustus Shaw, the most revered nephilim of all time who died the year before I was born.

  Augustus then explained that Gregori had been working with Malphas to free Asaroth and overthrow Lucifer for control of Hell. When Gregori wised up and finally realized that God knew of his plan all along, he ordered Malphas to kill me so that I’d arrive in his waiting arms suspecting nothing of the angel’s betrayal. The voice urging me to let go during my final moments, that I believed to be Gregori’s, actually belonged to Augustus. He’d been keeping an eye on me since the ambush in Wintergate Falls and meant to intercept me before Gregori could carry out his plan. Even with that advanced knowledge, he’d only arrived with seconds to spare.

  What happened next still hasn’t processed in my brain. I was standing there, ready to return to Earth and fulfill my promise to Peter that I wouldn’t delay in coming back. Then Augustus told me I couldn’t return just yet. When I asked why, he told me a war was raging inside Heaven’s gates. Gregori’s treachery was merely the first twinkle of sunlight before dawn. Other angels had been outed as traitors after his plan failed. Heaven, long regarded in my mind as a peaceful home to departed souls, was engulfed in strife so catastrophic that Augustus needed my help to settle things down. He hadn’t even asked if I wanted to help, choosing instead to teleport the pair of us before I could
finish objecting to his request. Even now, my destination is a total mystery.

  If Augustus was unwilling to take “no” for an answer, the situation must really be dire.

  The actual dying part of death had not been difficult. To quote Sirius Black, it had been as easy as falling asleep. I’m not sure when I succumbed to my injuries inside the fiery wreckage of the lumberyard, but I wouldn’t describe those final moments as painful. Contrary to popular belief, my life didn’t flash before my eyes, but rather just a single moment from my trip to the Grand Canyon with Mom and Peter. Perhaps that was a side effect of believing I’d be alive again soon: what I needed in that moment wasn’t closure but rather a chance to say goodbye to my brother. Either way, passing from that world to this one happened in an instant. I’d crossed the expansive void, arrived safely on the other side, and, in doing so, had answered the biggest question of them all:

  What happens after we die?

  Violence, secrets, and lies.

  I thought I’d left those behind when I drew my last breath. Turns out they followed me like a hungry wolf stalking its prey. Now I’m hurtling through a golden wormhole headed toward a pack of angels exactly like Gregori. I barely had time to draw a deep breath before being thrown right back into battle. I can still feel the sting of Gregori’s powerful hands around my neck.

  Had Augustus not stopped to consider that I wasn’t ready to fight after nearly being killed by someone I once trusted? “Out of the frying pan and into the fire” can’t begin to describe what he’s doing to me. The moment I knew Gregori was going to kill me, all I felt was fear. Its hold over me was absolute. There was no doubt in my mind Gregori would kill me. He was simply too powerful for me to stop. How, then, was I expected to fight an entire legion of rebellious angels?

  I am not bringing you along to fight these angels.

  In the weightlessness of the wormhole, my stomach drops.

  What are you doing back inside my head? I thought you tuned out.

  I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I simply thought you might have some questions.

  You thought right! Where the hell are you taking me?

  To meet with a friend I hope will help us. We’re almost there. I will explain everything shortly, Silas. I promise you that. But time is of the essence. We have to move quickly if we hope to gain the upper hand.

  Fine. But can you tune out now? I want a moment alone with my thoughts.

  Of course.

  My dad taught me how to handle situations that feel like they’re beyond my control. He knew that was something I struggled with growing up. I always wanted to be the person calling the shots, making up the plan, and deciding what happened next. Dad learned early on that in order for me to be a functioning member of society, I had to learn how to relinquish that desire for control.

  “Three deep breaths,” he told me. “Then push out with your palms like I’m doing.”

  I remember watching as he slowly pushed his palms out in front of his body like he was shoving someone in slow motion. I took three deep breaths and copied his pushing motion.

  “Good,” he told me. “Push the situation away from yourself. Let it go.”

  I can hear his voice in my ears as I draw three deep, slow breaths. My throat still aches where Gregori gripped it tightly, but I ignore the pain and allow the breathing to soothe my nerves. I close my eyes and quiet my mind as the golden light dances across the outside of my eyelids. I extend my palms forward and push the situation away from me.

  Perhaps I’m pushing it toward God. Or maybe Augustus. I’m not entirely sure.

  All I know is that in order to see my brother again, I have to give up control.

  Whatever comes next, I’m trusting that someone else knows what they’re doing.

  God help me.

  ***

  The wormhole deposits us in a place where the ground is firm. Angels might be used to flying around, but as a bipedal human being, I still appreciate the feeling of terra firma under my feet. Except, in this case, I guess it’s Heaven firma. Regardless, the instant my feet touch the ground, I begin looking around to gauge my new surroundings. This new area is a far cry from the breathtaking vista I first observed upon arriving in Heaven, the one Gregori had described as a masterpiece by God.

  The first thing I notice are the trees. The closest comparison on Earth would probably be a weeping willow, except these monstrosities stretch so high above us that I can’t see the tops. The thick, powerful branches are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They defy the laws of gravity—curling and uncurling like snakes locked in a rhythmic dance—and pulsate with a brilliant sapphire hue.

  At first, I think the branches themselves are made from this light. When I move toward the nearest one, I see the branches are actually lined with glowing blue orbs roughly the size of apples, their contents swirling as the light changes from delicately soft to brilliantly bright. The effect is mesmerizing.

  What if these orbs have the answer?

  They have to hold answers. Look at them—they’re beautiful!

  What if I’m not worthy to touch them?

  Of course I’m worthy! I’m God’s chosen nephilim.

  I should touch one to know for sure.

  My hand trembles as I reach for the nearest orb. The branch holding it seemingly complies with my desire and lifts itself into the path of my outstretched hand. My fingers are so close to the orb now that I can see the sapphire light reflected on my fingernails. Their warmth bathes my fingers…

  “SILAS!” cries a booming voice. Its echo is still reverberating when my hand is smacked away, causing me to jump like I’ve been hit with an electric shock. The tunnel vision I had is brushed aside like a puff of smoke. My face grows hot as I realize what happened.

  “What was…what are these things?” I mumble incoherently. It’s the best my brain can do. I knead my forehead with my knuckles, trying to regain the focus I lost during that surreal trance.

  Augustus chuckles at my embarrassment. It’s more of a baritone laugh, higher-pitched than Colin’s deep belly laugh. The smile he flashes me is all teeth and reminds me of Peter.

  “Boy, that thing sure did a number on you,” he says after the laughter dissipates. “We’re here all of five seconds, and you’re running toward that tree like a dying man to water.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” I confess. “Those orbs are hypnotic. I swear it felt like they were calling out to me. Like if I grabbed one, it would reveal answers to all the questions I’ve ever had.”

  “How do you think Adam and Eve felt?”

  Chapter 2

  2. Time is a Blue Circle

  There it is again—that “stomach doing a backflip” feeling. I should be used to it by now. In the past three days, I’ve had more mind-melting revelations thrown at me than the President on his first day in office:

  Silas, you’re a nephilim whose job it is to protect the whole world from demons, one of whom has kidnapped your brother in an attempt to bust his father—also a demon—from his prison in God’s throne room. Yep, that’s a real place. So is Heaven, which you’ll go to after you die. But don’t worry! You can come back and keep fighting as long as you want. Also, Hell is real and absolutely terrifying, and angels can hear your thoughts.

  I’ve got such a bad case of information overload that it will take years of therapy to sort out. Compared to the enormity of God, Heaven, and Hell, I shouldn’t do a double-take when Augustus tells me I was mesmerized by the tree that tempted Adam and Eve to commit the original sin.

  But that’s ludicrous, of course. I would have to be dead (which I guess I am right now) to not shudder at the enormity of this fact. If I ever grow tired of these paradigm-shifting moments that would make normal people keel over dead with shock, perhaps it’s then I’ll know the time has come to hang up the cape and call it a day. Nephilim or not, I’m s
till human, and humans should feel awe during moments like these. Their stomachs should be doing backflips for days.

  “This is the tree from the Garden of Eden?” I whisper.

  “The same one,” Augustus explains. “This tree was plucked out of the Garden right before it was destroyed during the Great Flood. All the rest you see here are just like that one. Time trees, every one of them.”

  He gestures away from us, and my eyes are drawn at last to the rest of our surroundings. I was so quick to focus on the trees that I missed the walkway winding between them. Unlike the dazzling blue of the trees, the path is a deep red. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s made of rubies.

  “You’re not wrong,” Augustus says.

  I give him a look that I hope communicates the exasperation I feel at him reading my thoughts. He smacks his forehead and offers his apologies. I’m not angry, of course. Just slightly annoyed.

  “I have to actively turn it off in here.” Augustus points to his head. “If my mind begins to wander, the switch flips, and there we go again with the telepathy and the eavesdropping.”

  I wave away his concern, tell him it’s no big deal.

  “Time trees,” I mutter. The term feels foreign and misshapen on my tongue. “What makes them so tantalizing? Don’t tell me they show you the future if you take the fruit?”

  “Quick on the uptake, I see.” Augustus grins. “That’s exactly right.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “What, you think the Bible called it the tree of knowledge because the fruit was tasty? Time is the ultimate source of knowledge. If you could see any point in the past, present, or future just by plucking one of these lovely orbs, you could unravel any mystery or uncover any secret that has plagued even the brightest of human minds. That kind of insight is the closest you and I would ever come to feeling like God. Could you have passed that obedience test in the Garden?”