E V O L
Love Has A Dark Side
By: Jacob D’Lallo
Published by Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Jacob D’Lallo
Find More Works by Jacob at:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JDLallo
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P R O L O G
When you think of Heaven, please, for your own mind, and to lessen the shock of when you finally get here, (if you finally get here), do not think of clouds and white on white… everything. Just think boredom beyond boredom, beyond ever so much more painstaking boredom. In a more physical sense, think an over abundance of population, mostly religious, crunched together in a metropolis surrounded by nothing… with nothing to do.
Think Salt Lake City, but more three dimensional. If you must, make the salt flats clouds.
In heaven there are many rules. There are rules beyond rules; rules, even on how to create more rules. A humble monarchy above a slanted and shifted hierarchy created only to over see the creation of the world and re-enforce bliss.
Our God, our King, the likes of which most have not had the privilege to see, and never will. Some say that he is a great man with his infinite wisdom and knowledge. He has a great plan for us. He is the beginning and he will be the end. Personally, the only person I see is Jesus, always wasted and hitting on the choir.
That is, of course, only my own point of view. I was created here. I went to school here. I just graduated College here.
My name is Jimmy.
My point of view on Heaven isn’t that of the masses, I still have a few friends that lend their ear from time to time. I get into trouble for writing on the gates in black pen.
I do know the rules, nothing I do is sacrilege.
I am a Cherubim.
During school sessions at one of the hundreds of Elementary schools I would sit and listen. You are a good boy, they would tell me, you are doing so well. This is something all teachers tell all students at that age. It raises their hopes and encourages them to do better as well as progress further and further up the chain.
I am Angelic.
By the time I reached Middle school I had made many friends but, throughout those long years, I quickly lost many of them. Heaven is a hard place to be sometimes. It’s like one of those midday soap operas on during the week; everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows exactly what everyone else is about. They know who’s up to what at what time and where. This makes it difficult to be a developing teenager. I knew that. So I didn’t get so angry about my friends practically forgetting about me.
I am the forgotten.
You might be thinking to yourself, “Wow, this is an awful lot like Earth.” I’d tell you that, yes, it is an awful lot like Earth, mainly Earth somewhere in Europe. I’d say England. I don’t really know what England is like. I do know that it’s on the underside of the planet. The South Side according to our globes up here, practically underneath--like Norway.
I didn’t really learn about the life on earth until my freshman year in High school. The teachers telling me that Earth is God’s creation. The life on Earth is precious and we are meant to protect it at all costs. All the souls on Earth are older than ourselves and we are here to protect them.
Most of them don’t know about us. And we’re supposed to protect them. I learned the truth about Earth in College, which ended up being more lies.
To say that an Angel lies, to some, would be sacrilege. It would be unholy. But, here I am, an Angel, a Cherubim, saying that other Angels lie. Would you say that I am a Liar? That would be sacrilege.
Angels don’t really lie. They speak the truth in a way certain ears needs to hear it; stretching the Truth.
I am Jimmy.
I am a Cherubim.
I am Angelic.
Yet, I chose to not sit around Heaven for all eternity. I chose to go to College. Put a title right next to the words “Cherubim, Angel, Jimmy”, but I didn’t want to fight.
Angelic Warrior Training. Sure it sounds cool but it’s not. Fifty long years of weapon training:
Battle techniques.
How to kill a demon.
How to resurrect a human.
Defend.
Destroy.
Conquer!
Not for me.
Something less competitive would be for me. Greeters for the Freshly Dead would be far less competitive. Four years of training, on your own time. I’d just be sucked into the Soap Operas again. Not only that but I’d be surrounded by old souls that just wanted to rest. All the easy jobs were meant for the souls that made all the right choices and got into Heaven on their own. Usually, if they’re bored, they go and try out a simple job that anyone could do.
My name is Jimmy.
I am an Angel.
I am a Cherubim.
I chose ACU.
I am a Cupid.
ACU stands for Angelic Cupid University. Sure it sounds fancy but I’d say it was one of the most dilapidated buildings up here, sitting in a pile of waste. I got my own dorm. I made more friends. I never paid much attention to what was going on up in the front of the classroom. They were always talking like “Pheromones are used for blah” or “arrows are only optional”. Every once in a while there would be a test and I’d barely limp by it with a low D, even with my book in my lap.
But it never lessened the boredom I was going through. Not one bit. For twenty years.
I was a natural at the shooting range. I had to put an object through one person then the other person and disappear. My job was done. Or I thought it was done after that. I didn’t realize it actually got more complicated. It’s probably why I graduated second to last in my class. The weapons handling saved me from being last, that honor went to my best friend Hank.
Hank.
Angelic.
Cherubim.
Cupid.
He could play a mean Ozzy solo. (Satanic my butt.)
He actually humiliated me pretty bad once, but we’ll get to that later.
C H A P T E R - O N E
Ian threw up. I could hear the heaving, sickly sounds he was making right before a chunky splash serenade coming from the hallway bathroom.
“Hey, Ian,” I yelled. “Get your ass out here! We’re gonna get goin’ soon!”
This was the fifth time I had to yell at him. Tonight was special. I had everything planed out. Tonight he was going to meet his future wife. That person he’d been longing for his entire life and it was my responsibility to get him to that club.
My first assignment.
Ian isn’t the easiest person to get out of the house. He mainly works on his computer in the bedroom. It’s what he gets paid for. He designs and maintains professional websites for companies, or bands, or pornography rings. Twenty Five and scrawny with no exorcise and no fun. Five and a half feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, some strange mix of Italy, Pakistan and Spain. His parent’s cupid was defiantly smoking something they “Needed for the Character”.
A little cleaning up and he would be attractive to whoever I feel like putting him with.
This being my first time I decided I would try to impress the powers beyond and do a fantastic job by setting him up with, who I believed, was his perfect match.
We shared an apartment together on the third floor of a four story building in Denver. No elevator. For four hundred bucks a month each, it still wasn’t considered a deal. I had met Ian after studying him for a while from a distance.
Reconnaissance: first part complete.
At the time Ian seemed cool, fun, outgoing, never in any real hurry to do anything, laid back. It was when I found his ad in the newspaper declaring a need for a room mate that I decided to move in just a little closer.
Now I’m in the house paying bills, watching TV, eating, going to the bathroom and talking on the phone, the typical human stuff. Most of the time I just hope Ian is buying my big act, it’s hard to tell with him.
A closer study of him showed that he was a deep hearted soul, someone that needs the seeds of love planted early and then showered and radiated for a long period of time before he can truly feel something. No such luck had happened so far in his short existence and it wasn’t going to happen now.
Her name is Stacie.
Stacie had been an art and psychology student for a good number of years and had been working with dogs and selling phones and magazine subscriptions to pay for it. Her demeanor may tell you to back off or walk across the street when she’s walking towards you. She claims to be “Gothic”, whatever than means. All I really knew about her was that she was alone and sad.
Ian was alone and sad and pale and obsessed with pornography.
Stacie drew naked pictures.
This was perfect.
I walked into the rust colored bathroom with a confident strut and stood over Ian as he revisited dinner.
The stench didn’t bode well with my sinuses and I almost gave a hurl. I’ve never done that before, I bet it feels weird.
“Ian,” I said. “I've been trying to get you out of this damned house for ages and you're saying that you've got the flu? Just get up. We’re leaving now.”
Picking Ian up and throwing him over my shoulder like a hefty bag wasn’t that hard. He weighs practically nothing at all. When it comes to angelic beings, humans aren’t exactly the most powerful foes or allies. If a human even figures out what we are, their minds go numb with fear then we can put them to sleep.
They wake up later thinking it was a dream they have to tell someone about, that’s how most of the Old Testaments were written.
That being said it was a piece of cake getting Ian into the car, buckled and ready to go.
The car itself was a 1977 Ford Granada with red leather interior and no built in radio of any sort. A drive was a drive and nothing more. Unless you spoke to yourself, in my case, I never did. I’d hear Ian muttering when he drove. I think they’re always lyrics to some song not yet thought up that will never be written down in their full glory, the way he hears them in his head. Every once in a while I get a sudden urge to take a listen inside that mind of his when he’s humming or singing softly, or even when he just seems to have a good rhythm in his strides.
Songs always seem better in his head than they actually were.
We had reached the club.
Hidden away to the eyes of the piercing public was a place called Dead May Dream, a club for the people who enjoyed the ancient form of forbidden dances. The kind of dancing you’d get burned at the stake for doing just a couple centuries back. You could here the music’s bass line inside your car outside without having to roll down your window.
I went in a couple of times so I knew what to expect this time, a hoard of scantily clad gentlemen and their masters or mistresses. I think it has something to do with sex. I really don’t know.
“Ian,” I gave a good jab to his side to wake him. He stirred and let out a whine. “Ian, get up, we’re here.”
I unbuckled my safety belt and did the liberty of undoing his as well.
His eyes opened reluctantly.
“Why’d you bring me here?” he asked half heartedly while yawning. “I’m sick.”
“You’re fine,” I replied quickly. “Get out.” I opened the door.
“Why’re you doing this to me? Why do you want me to go so bad?”
“We’re already here. Besides, there’ll be some major honeys in there.” My best bad boy, I’ve been working on it. “You want to go in there and snag someone that’ll help turn your bed into a double. I’m tired of hearing the bedsprings without a chick’s voice to accompany it.”
I have no idea what I just said. My learning channels are UPN and FOX when Ian’s not home.
“You know me,” he said pathetically. “I’d never be interested in someone I’d meet at a club, or a bar or a sports stadium…” He heaved a little. “They’re just not normal people.”
“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t find anyone you like in there tonight. I’ll buy you a steak dinner.” I declared. “But, if you do find someone, you pay the rent for two months.”
“Why can’t I get the ‘Two Months No Rent’ deal?” He asked.
looked at him for a split second and said, “’Cause I thought of it.”
For me buying a steak dinner would involve quite a bit of work. Truth be told, I have no real money. Anything I give to Ian is strictly in banking terms. Checks, Cashiers Checks, a wallet I found on the ground with no identification, all tools of getting the temporary rent situation dealt with.
“Now get out of the car,” I said feeling a bit hurried.
“Please, Jimmy,” he began to plea. “I don’t feel good! And the bass coming from the club isn’t helping.” He held his stomach as if stopping its contents from spilling out of his belly button and making a scene.
“Are you kidding?” I asked with a smile. “When you get in there you’ll be having such a good time you won’t even notice the upset stomach.” It seemed to help with the mood so I went on. “You’ll love the swirling lights, the body to body bumping, the smell of sweat and the…”
“OK!” He interrupted quite abruptly. “Stop! You’re making me sick!”
“Sick? I thought you were already sick.”
“I am.”
“Then how could I make you sick when you’re already…”
“Quit playing dumb.”
I really wasn’t.
“Fine… Stay here.” Perhaps reverse psychology would help. I saw it once on television. “More hot chicks for me.”
I got out, shut the door and walked toward the entrance. I didn’t understand what was going on in Ian’s head. Flashes of skin, flesh rubbing against flesh was happening at that very moment. I knew he wanted it. I even tried a couple more times while outside the car walking toward the door, waving him my direction. He just raised a single finger at me, and then curled into a ball after lowering the seat.
Waving my hand in a disapproving manor I made it so he could not fall back asleep. I didn’t know what the finger meant and I had a feeling I didn’t want to.
Inside the club was hot, humid and sticky in much the same way the interior of a whale’s mouth must be like. I’m just betting the whales mouth wouldn’t smell as bad.
The ripe odor seemed to be coming from one of the bathrooms on the wall closest to the bar next to the main entrance. There was a big out of order sign that stood their warning people not to go in or to curiously taste the sludge making its way under the door.
Needless to say, I didn’t get the hint until afterward. It tasted awful.
A swarm of humans gathered a mid the center of the dance floor. I even overheard a few of them talking about how they knew what CD the original song that was playing came from, when it was produced and when it was shipped to America.
I paned the dark walls and neon lights to try to find Stacie. I knew she was their. I felt her in my head. It was only difficult because everyone in there looked exactly like the next. Pale faces with dark around their eyes and all black attires streamlined with purples, greens, pinks and baby blues. Along with what seemed like never ending strands of beads and jewelry, each one trying to mimic death in their own offshoot sort of way and failing terribly.
Most people have come to believe that death is a morbid looking skeleton of a man in a long dark robe carrying a scythe.
This is wrong.
Death is more a composite sketch of what someone dying might look like after drinking a cup of 30 shot espresso coffee compressed into a single, one serving mug then charged with a car battery. Hyper, with an active pulse of 300+ bpm with a hairstyle plugged straight into the wall and an urge to go everywhere at once and back in a split second.
He’s more related to the group that call themselves Ravers than he is to the Goths, though the Goths do look like they would after he’s visited them. I’ll give them that.
I eventually found my target girl, Stacie Luvlin. She was surrounded by her friends as well as horny male and female gawkers. With the outfit she was wearing there wasn’t any doubt as to why. She wore a black and purple corset tied so tightly around her waist and stomach that the tops of her tits were just, sort of, sitting their like Jello in two serving cups. Underneath that was her short skirt fluttering about carelessly showing off the white underpants under her, also purple, fishnet stockings if she spun around too quickly.
With her short red hair and glorious green eyes, I just knew she was the one for Ian.
Her friends, I learned, were Tracy, Steph, Mel and Gremlin.
Tracy was the tall brunette that seemed to be the most involved in Stacie’s life. One of those friends that always has advice to give on any situation even if it isn’t the best. Her long black hair traveled down to her waist in a river of waves and sparkles. Her brown eyes were covered by neon green contact lenses that glowed under the clubs black lights.
Steph was what you would call a follower. Her chin length, formerly blonde hair was dressed up to sparkle and dance. Her blue eyes always seemed so distant from the rest of the world which was why Tracy was drawn to her.
Steph is a friend that went places because everyone else went dressed the way everyone else dressed, and spoke the way everyone else spoke. Tracy and Gremlin both say that they were the ones that saved her from a life of boredom and introduced her to the exciting world of S&M sex and bondage gear. Something she still knows very little about.
Mel was more of a tomboy than the rest. Her underlying lesbianism brought out a strong bisexual appeal to the rest of the ladies at any club. It was when she expressed her interest in them that they would stop talking to her.
Gremlin was the shortest of the bunch and never had much of her face showing at a time. It was either an eye with a cheek or her ear with her other eye. She didn’t like it when people looked at her but the mysteries lying beneath her black silk hair had always given the guys reason enough to approach her, or at the very least, think of her during their rituals.
The four friends talked and chatted and gave little notice to everyone else around them.
I leaned on the opposing wall while I watched and waited as time slipped by.
What eventually took hold of Stacie’s need to flee was a man named Harold who looked to be in his early forties. With graying hair covered up by shaving his head every day, scars on his cheeks from adulthood chicken pox and a tucked in gut forcibly covered by a long overcoat, he was not an attractive man… not to her.
She had told him that she wasn’t interested in one way or another about nine times but he kept offering her drinks, drugs and the most punctuated good time without even having the good decency of remembering her name was Stacie and not Boobs.
She darted out of the club so quickly I almost missed it.
“I can’t believe you set me up with that asshole,” she said angrily toward Tracy. Searching through her purse she had found some gum, mace, pare of glasses but not her wallet or her keys.
“He seemed like a sweet guy,” Tracy said defensively while stumbling over the snow in her knee high stiletto boots.
Stacie stopped with a turn and gave her friend a disapproving look of disgust. “Did you even see the same guy I did?”
“What’s the big deal?” Tracy shrugged and looked at the others for approval. “All you need is a good lay.”
Stacie sighed.
“I do not need a good lay,” she said in a worried tone. She leaned in to Tracy and whispered, “I need a great lay.”
“You’ll be fine,” Tracy gave in and hugged her back. It seemed that for some reason Stacie was depressed. “You’ll find someone. Don’t worry about it. If you don’t think about it, it’ll happen quicker.”
“I guess you’re right,” Stacie pulled away and scavenged her purse again. Her wallet was in a different compartment than where she usually puts it. She thought it might be that she shoved it into her purse without looking when she was storming off.
“I guess we’d better get home,” Tracy said. “Classes tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you all later.”
All her friends gave her concerned hugs and walked off to their perspective automobiles except for Steph who had car pulled with Mel.
Stacie stayed behind retracing her steps in order to find her keys. They were over by the front entrance.
By this Time I had been hidden inside a nearby trashcan studying my ACU class’s main book The Truth, Lies and Secrets of Love for about two minutes. The author of the book has proclaimed it the only source you will ever need to put two people together forever. About three thousand pages of material that I pull in and out of existence as I see fit.
Ian has been fiddling with his door handle trying to decide whether or not he should actually go in because of the growing chill in the air that night. He was beginning to see his breath.
There was just one verse in the book that I kept chanting to myself over and over and over again,
Before they see eye to eye directly
Straight through the heart to live happily
My shotgun was now loaded with two rounds.
Remember when I mentioned the fact that arrows are optional? Well, bullets are, too.
“Why the hell does he always do this to me?” Ian asked himself as he stepped out of the car and nearly slipped on a sheet of ice. Before he could slam the door I pictured their being a brick in the way, and there was. To Ian’s surprise the door slammed hard against the concrete object and bounced off hitting his thigh, which, in turn threw him off balance on the slippery ground and fell to his back.
Stacie with her keys and her wallet had started toward her car. I had to stall some more. In an instant her purse strap broke and spilled its contents all over the sidewalk.
Ian had discovered the brick, pulled it out of the door and closed it. He was limping his way to the front entrance when his stomach flu kicked in emptying his stomach in much the same way Stacie’s purse emptied itself onto the sidewalk. He just had enough control over the situation to direct himself into a sewer drain in the gutter.
Stacie looked over to him face down in the street and felt it would only be polite to ask, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he said never looking up. “I’m fine.”
I watched as Stacie started walking away again. There had to be more. Instead of a stall I would use their bodies against them. I pulled out small blue back with a rope string tied around the top, opened it and poured its powdered contents into the palm of my left hand.
Naturally I smelt it. It was rancid. I didn’t understand how pheromones could be such an attraction to humans. I could barely stand holding the stuff.
I lifted the pile up to my mouth and blew it across the stretch of sidewalk until it only reached their nostrils.
They both stopped what they were doing as if noticing something very important. Something they could not live without.
This next part is actually pretty cool when you picture it in slow motion. So, here it goes.
As they both turned toward one another I raised the riffle up to Ian’s chest and with a quick pull of the trigger it flew leaving a trail of pink and red dust in its path. As it reached his body it went through the skin and absorbed itself into his heart which began to bulge and pulsate like it was having trouble comprehending the situation as well. His heart turned to shades of pink, burgundy, blue, purple and turquoise before it stopped shaking and returned to its regular color.
I turned to Stacie and did the same thing. The bullet went out, went in and only half the shot hit her heart but it was enough.
They stared into each others eyes as if seeing their own soul for the first time. Beautiful, powerful… them.
My job was done.
I didn’t want it to be done. I wanted to see what happened next. I wanted to know exactly what I was going to be doing to people every day for the rest of my existence.
C H A P T E R - T W O
I was in the backseat of the car when Ian practically forgot all about me at the club and drove off, following Stacie to the nearest all night food emporium.
Perkins.
Denny’s.
IHOP.
Whichever was closest.
Perkins beat the other two by a half mile.
“Mint?” I offered Ian from the backseat. He jumped the same way gazelles jump when they first see a lion on the Discovery Channel.
“Jesus Christ!” He yelled at me. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Please,” I say, “you actually expect to be able to leave me behind while you go chasing some tail?”
“She’s not ‘Some Tail’”
“Who’s in the other car?” I ask.
“She’s… um… her name is…” His thought process hadn’t even got to the point to even ask her name yet.
Pheromones can be addictive.
“Let me guess,” I say smug. “Some Tail?”
“You know something?” he asked, aggravated.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he slumped down in the driver’s seat. He never could win a fight with me. But it never stopped him from trying.
“Take the mints,” I say offering him the package again. “You don’t want to be swapping fluids with yours tasting like puke.”
Defeated, he took the mints from me and pulled into the Perkins parking lot. It was around 11pm and there were about ten cars in the parking lot.
After parking, Ian forgets to turn off the car or shut the door and runs over to where Stacie had parked, just to open her door for her.
I watched.
A few words were said. She seamed impressed by his attempt at valor. He seemed embarrassed that she’d noticed.
I turned off the car and shut both doors after getting out.
“So… are we going in?” I asked, interrupting whatever conversation they were having.
Stacie throws the side of her head in my direction and asks, “Who’s he?”
“That? That is Jimmy,” He said giving me a glare. “He doesn’t have much respect for other people.”
Stacie whispers, “What’s he doing here?”
When I want, I can hear anything I want to.
Ian doesn’t quite whisper back, “I don’t know. I think he’s got abandonment issues.”
“Look,” I say in a half way defensive tone. “I won’t interrupt you two love birds. I’ll just sit at a different table as long as you,” I point at Ian, “pay to feed the cleaners.”
I walk past them to the front door and open it.
“Feed the cleaners?” She asks Ian again in a whisper.
“Don’t ask,” he says again not caring if I hear. Then he turns to me and says, “Sure.”
I walk in to find a table while they just stand outside, in the cold, staring at each other with confused smiles.
“So,” Stacie finally says. “Are we going in or ordering out tonight?”
Ian thinks for a second, having to leave his current train of thought to fully understand what had just been said, and excitedly but embarrassed he responds with, “Oh! Um… Yeah! Of course!”
He half jogs over to the door with Stacie a step behind him. He opens the door and she walks in smiling at him.
Feeding the cleaners.
Personally, I barely knew what I thought he thought it meant.
About a month back I was watching the news and eating some Fritos I found on the street outside the building. This taste I liked.
The news was talking about how some Russian Laundromat in the city was just opening. The family opening the store had been broke and hungry while in Russia. The struggle to get to America and start their own business was long and full of dead ends and terrible drama.
They had to eat their cats.
Ian looked at me and pointed out how it’s stupid the way all these foreigners come to America in search of grand new lives and decide to start a business that won’t make much money at all.
No matter how much money they think they’ll be making, they still won’t be making enough to feed their entire family. Or even for rent.
Quarters.
Quarters.
Quarters.
That’s all they’ll ever have.
I was thinking that Ian was being a bit too three dimensional at the time.
And he gave me an idea.
Time went by as Ian and Stacie got to know each other. The best part of my entire existence had been leading up to this moment, I thought to myself. I finally know why I’m an angel, of all creatures; this is what I was meant to do.
“So you tried to scrape it off, right?” I heard Stacie ask Ian from across the room. I must have drifted off for a moment. I didn’t even notice that my food had already arrived. The Sampler is a bit of everything on one plate. Pretty much every 24 hour food mart has one on their menu.
“Of course!” Ian answered very enthusiastically. “I really had no choice! When something sticks that bad, I mean, no one should be in that situation.”
“I would have burned off my eyebrows when I found out that it was industrial strength!” She laughed.
I looked around the room to see if any of the 20 people were glancing in my direction.
“Eventually I got it out with hot water and bleach.” He calmed and looked at his food.
I scraped all my food into a bag I always have connected to my waste. Not everyone can see it.
“Bleach?” She asked.
“That was the only way the doctor could get it out.”
“Ah, a doctor, of course. If I were you and I did it myself, I would be worried about it leaking into my eyes.”
“I’m not that stupid.” Their conversation faded. Both thinking of something new to discus, something new to say, a joke is always good in these situations.
“What about him?” Stacie finally says pointing her fork at me. “What’s his deal?”
I try hard not to look. I’m on the other side of the room. I’m not supposed to be able to hear. Think human.
“Who? Jimmy?” Ian thought for a second. “I’m not sure. He just, kind of, walked in off the street. No phone call or e-mail or anything. He just showed up at the door with my roommate ad in the paper cut out and he seemed like an alright guy.” He took a sip of his sprite. “I’ve never met any of his family or past friends. Just some people that call every once in a while or show up at the door.” His face gets serious. “They’re always real professional, like government types.”
“Ah…” Stacie said. “I’ve known a few guys like that; tripped out with a shady past. You never know what they’re really thinking.”
I pull out a pad of paper and a pen and start writing. Taking notes. Listening.
“Exactly,” Ian says. “And every time I ask about it he never has his story straight. I ask who the guy at the door was and he says he’s an old high school buddy coming for a visit. The next week the same guy comes to the door and I ask again. That time it was a guy he worked with.” He eats a fry. “He’s a good guy an’ all, as far as I can tell, he just never has his story straight. Plus, he’s always wearing those same clothes. Ever since that day he stopped by, I don’t think he’s ever changed them.”
Obviously I need to work on what I say and do, I thought to myself.
“Maybe he’s part of a witness protection program?” Stacie asks as a possibility.
I needed to stop them from talking about me. No more pondering about where I’m from or who I really am, it gets me nervous.
I got up and started walking over to their table.
“That’s what I think,” Ian responded. “Which is why I’m not kicking him out. I’m trying to figure out what’s actually going on.”
I reach their table and Ian says, “Speak of the Devil!”
“OK,” I said. “’The Devil’ goes by many names; Lucifer, Satan, Hades, Beelzebub, the Dark Lord, the Anti-Christ, George, and the old Bob Seger lyric ‘Disco’.”
“No, no, no…” Ian interrupted me. “’Speak of the Devil’ is a term used to point out that we were just talking about you and you suddenly showed… Disco?”
“Don’t ask.” I paused. “What were you saying about me?”
“Oh, nothing,” Ian smiled at Stacie. “I was just telling Stacie about how much you love that light in the fridge.”
“Oh, shit yeah!” I say then flinch a little, half expecting to be electrocuted.
Let me explain a little more about the Angelic rules when it comes to interacting with humans. Angels, either Guardians or Cupids or whatever they are, can take on a physical body of a human if it is necessary but they must remain holy. Some angels choose to go a little beyond this and give themselves character roles. So instead of the everyday bible thumper, we can be the alcoholic psychopath living down the hall swearing up a storm.
My point is that I just said the ‘S’ word. When an angelic being says or does something unholy a sort of shock collar takes effect and gives us a really bad time for a split second.
My point is, when we’re in character, we can actually be that character without any fear of consequences.
Recovering from the shock of what I just said, and not being electrocuted I continued with, “That little light’s an amazing invention. It comes and goes at your leisure! Where I come from there's light all the time... everyday and every night. Sure, there really is no night unless you want it. I wanted it to be night all the time because night was just magical.” I gazed out the window at the moon. “But day was magical too! It was like little sparkles floating in front of you all day but night, it was like you could touch the moons laid out in front of you so you can just play with them.” I sighed and turned back to see them both staring at me.
Quickly I say, “But now I'm here.”
They’re both still staring at me. “Seriously though, I need to go call my boss.” And I hurried to the pay phone just outside the lobby of the restaurant.
“See what I mean?” I can still hear Ian talking.
“You think he’s an addict?” Stacie says quickly.
“I’ve never seen, or smelt him do anything like that. But when you give him coffee, he goes completely off the wall!”
Keeping an ear on their conversation I dial a memorized 30 digit number.
“Maybe he’s a recovering addict.” Stacie continued here theory.
“Of what?” Ian asked. “What would permanently screw your head up that bad?”
Someone on the other end of the phone picked up and I recognize Tabitha’s voice.
“Thank you for calling the Angelic Cupid Assignment Center where arrows and hearts, non-violently, collide. This is Tabitha speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Tab. It’s Jimmy. Can I talk to Russ please?”
“Oh, sure Jimmy, please hold.”
The hold music for Heaven ranges in styles from Mozart to Leann Rhymes. I was currently listening to Tom Petty. Every once in a while the irony would hit me when they play Styx.
Going back to the conversation.
“Alright,” Ian gave into something. “Acid would do it. You think it might be flashbacks?”
“Speaking from personal experience,” she began. “They don’t happen often but, when they do you start acting almost exactly like that.” She paused. “It depends on the person.”
“But he always acts like that!” Ian: my own personal defense attorney.
“Maybe he’s always doing it?” She argued calmly. “Maybe all those mysterious people coming to your door are his dealers.”
“That’s starting to make sense,” Ian says and I secretly fire him from ever defending me again.
“This is Russ.”
A deep, full voice comes in on the other side of the phone. Whenever Russ spoke, no matter how, what, where or what device he was using to speak through, I always felt his deep pounding voice in my chest and gut.
So I don’t ruin any surprises that may happen after this point, I’m going to just let you know my end of the conversation.
“Hey, Russ.” I started nervously. “You'll be happy to know that it worked! Nope. No problems what so ever. I just hooked him up with a nice young lady named Stacie Loveland... yeah! You know her? Oh. Wow. That bad, huh? Well, I'm pretty sure I got them hooked up for good. I'm looking at them right now and their hearts are racing, their cheeks are flushed, those stinky, stinky pheromones are racing out of their bodies like it's no tomorrow. Hmm? I used the twelve gauge.”
“Back in College I did a lot of drugs,” Stacie said over her freshly poured cup of coffee sweetened with four packs of sugar and some of the house syrup stacked neatly on each table. “Well, at least the College I went to last year. This year I’m going to a performance art university and I’ll move from there to get my teachers license.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Ian said his eyes kept sweeping from her eyes to the top of her chest. Then back up.
“Well, not all of it,” she says just for the sake of argument. “There are a few bits and pieces I’m missing but I am happy with what I see for the future.” Her fingers brush across his hand.
Eyes locked they began to lean in toward each other with their heads tilting slightly to the right.
Instinctively I want yell from across the room, yeah! Go Ian. You rock, man! But don’t.
Ian ruins the moment himself when he reaches out to put his right hand on the table for support… hits a wet spot causing his hand to slip out from under him… slamming his chin hard against the plastic wood table.
Stacie leaned back and tried hard not to laugh.
“So, like I was saying,” I kept speaking into the phone. “Don't send anyone down yet! If you send someone down I.... I told you they just got together today so sending anyone to test is a bit premature. If I remember correctly the text books say,” I pull a large brown text book out of my bag turn a few pages as fast as I could and continued, “and I quote, ‘a couple must be together for at least a month before the power is tested, if done before hand the tests wont be accurate and may lead to dangerous situations. If a couple is tested too late the test would also hold different results. This may then present a number of complex situations that would test the power more severely resulting in break up or divorce.’”
I closed the book and placed it back into my bag proud to have proven my point so acutely. Russ didn’t see it my way at all.
“So?” My argument continued. “Who cares about statistics? We go by the book or nothing at all! Oh, right, you're my superior. What I meant to say was, ‘Yes, sir!’ and ‘Good day!’ But, I still think sending someone is a grave mistake.”
“You want to go somewhere more private?” I heard Stacie ask Ian quiet and seductively.
“You mean go somewhere where there’s no one around for miles and miles or at least not within ears or eyes reach, without Jimmy?”
“More or less.”
“Yes.”
They smiled at each other, each of them grabbing their coats and getting out of their windowed, booth seats. Ian grabbed the bill and paid at the front counter.
As he passed me by, heading toward the front door, he tossed me the car keys and said, “I won’t be home tonight. You know how to get home from here, right?”
“Uh…” I thought out loud but he left without waiting for an answer. They headed out to Stacie’s car and she lets him in. I watched carefully as they started to drive away.
Back to the phone I tell Russ, “No, I don’t need you to watch them! I can handle this!”
I hung up.
I walked outside onto the cold, glassy pavement and looked around. I hoped I didn’t have to wander the streets that night just to get me someplace warm.
So, to keep myself busy, I pulled out my shotgun and thought, At least I can still have some fun.
C H A P T E R - T H R E E
I was able to track them down on the run. On the freeway it's not hard to find any particular car driving in the dead of night between 12 and 4am. There's practically no one there.
Not to mention flying helped a great deal.
They ended up at Stacie's off campus dorm building, one of those buildings where you need a key card just to enter onto the premises.
It's for the protection of the occupants.
In this part of the story, I'm just saying what I see and hear. Technically I'm not even here, invisible to the naked eye.
Enter, third person mode.
They got to Stacie's apartment on the fourth floor. Stacie was already prepared with the keys by the time they got off the elevator.
She swung her purse over her shoulder as they reached her door, 46b.
"I just want to tell you before hand," she says, "mind the mess."
"Not to worry," Ian says, "There's no place messier than my room."
As she opened the door I was already inside, looking around, observing all the strange new sights and scents coming from different areas of the apartment.
Pictures, both sketched and painted, were lining the walls like wall paper. Paint droplets were speckled throughout the place. Cups of water with numerous amounts of brushes sitting in them, soaking, you couldn’t tell it was water anymore.
Books were off of the only bookshelf and scattered and stacked on the small kitchen table. Notebooks of poetry. Dead flowers. Anime movies. Johnny Depp movies.
You could find anything anywhere at any moment and all I can think of is how Ian was right; it's still not as bad as his room.
"I don't have people over much," she said carefully making her way through the piles of discarded artwork and around sculptures, tables, books and a single, earth toned lamp. "And when they do I usually know before hand so I can clean up."
Curiosity quickly took advantage of Ian as he looked around, touching everything. One particular piece of paper caught Ian's eye. He had stepped on it. So he lifted his shoe, reached down and picked it up.
It was a very interesting piece. Abstract would be the word. It had a heart as the center focal point. It was broken, with an arrow through it. To the left was the silhouette of a woman and along the sides of the heart were stanzas of what could be a song.
"What's this?" Ian asked.
Stacie stops picking up trash and throwing it all into a giant trash bag and takes a look at it.
"You like?" She asked.
"You made?" Ian asked back.
"That doesn't answer my question," Stacie gently took the paper from Ian to look at it closer, like it was a dying bird.
"You answer my question first so that I know the answer to your question," Ian, trying to be smart. Sometimes it fits.
Stacie laughs at his failed logic and says, "That's such a cop-out. Don't be afraid of your own opinions. Do you like it?"
"Yeah," Ian says softly.
"This one," she says back to the piece of paper, "I don't like very much. It's the fifth draft of a picture I never thought would turn out well."
Discarding the picture back to the floor she walks to the table and picks up a larger picture, the same picture, except with minor differences here and there.
"This is the current draft."
Ian was completely dumbfounded by this entire experience. He looked at the picture, colored, spotted, damp, it was still perfect.
"I love it," he said without even realizing it under his breath.
"You didn’t mention you were an artist," he said to her finally, without taking his eyes away from the picture. There were no words on this one.
"It's something about me that I don't like a lot of people to know about." She said pulling the picture away from his gaze.
"Why?" He asked. "It's so beautiful."
"That's why," she said.
"I don't get it," he continued, "You have a talent. You should show people! Get your own galleries!"
"Look," she said stopping him from going any further. "I didn't exactly tell you why I had to transfer colleges."
At her old college she was a hit. Everyone loved her work and in conjunction, loved her. On average she'd have crowds of about fifteen people following her daily. They'd each have a favorite picture, drawing, sketch... They each wanted to ask her what she thought about a certain tragedy that happened recently or if she could give them pointers on how to paint or sculpt.
This wasn't bad.
This wasn't good.
This was her life for three solid years.
No real friends and no real enemies, just people who knew her and easy fame.
She wanted to get away from it so she switched colleges. Now, no one knows her and she's perfectly content.
"People took everything I wrote, drew or painted a bit too literally." She made her way to the couch and sits down.
"How?" Ian asked. "How can you take a piece of art too literally? Or too not literally?"
"Let's just say I had a lot of problems with the psychiatric ward and the suicide hotline. But it was never me."
Ian got a confused look on his face and was about to ask something when Stacie beat him to it.
"Let's change the subject," she said. She got up off the couch and headed toward the back rooms. Ian fallowed.
Her bedroom was slightly different from the living room. It looked like most of the artwork plastered onto the walls were not her originals. Photocopied, cut out of newspapers, magazines or printed out from the internet, they each had something in common; the focal point of each one is something of a dark Halloween origin. Most of which seemed to be vampires. There was a couple that were signed 'To Stacie, I'll love you forever, yours truly, someone'.
Entering the room Ian was noticeably out of place.
Stacie pulled out a pen and paper and turned toward Ian.
"I'd like to test you a little on something." Ian didn't have time to respond before she asked a question. "First, have you ever been described as an oddball or weirdo?"
It took him a second but he finally answered in a stutter, "Umm... yes. Does family count?"
"Doesn't matter," Stacie said and continued to the next question on the page. "Are you, or have you ever been a religious person?"
"Yes?" He still seemed confused.
"Have you ever been rock climbing?"
"No..."
"Have you ever won an award?"
"Yes."
"What for?"
"What's this all about?" He tried to look at the paper but she pulled it toward her chest so he couldn't see.
"Please just answer," she smiled. "It won't hurt you. I promise."
"Umm.." Ian thought for another second. "I got one for first place chess at a bible camp."
She looked at him strangely. "I see."
Ian tried to recover from saying something wrong. "But, that's when I was ten."
"Everything we've done in our past is never forgotten but forgiven, right?"
"It's only forgiven if you forgive yourself."
Stacie put down the pen and paper on the bed face down so he couldn't read it.
"So," she started, "you're saying that you're your own god?"
"Who's saying anything about a god?" he said, again, trying to seem intelligent. "If you don't forgive yourself for your own past, then who else would forgive you?"
Stacie started fiddling with a tiny sculpture on her desk. "I'd like to think that you don't have to be forgiven... but..." She paused in deep thought for a second staring at a large framed painting in the center of the wall above the desk. "I don't know."
She broke her gaze and turned back toward Ian looking at the floor. "Never mind."
Throughout the night they grew closer and closer. They laughed at jokes I didn't understand. They sang songs and watched strange movies that I don't think I want to understand. Everything went well. I was ecstatic about doing something right for a change.
Now I had to go. I had to leave and never look back. I had to sign back into heaven and receive my next assignment.
I had to.
But, I didn't.
C H A P T E R - F O U R
A few hours passed. The morning sun began to peak over the nearby hills, just outside the city. It still wasn’t high enough to penetrate the building walls. I noticed that a fresh batch of dew had condensed itself into a thin layer on everything around me. I had only noticed after I was finished searching through the trashcan in the ally next to Lei Wing’s, a restaurant that severed up rare Asian delicacies, that were really stray animals that were going to be put to sleep by the animal shelter.
In my search through the trash can I had found a black blazer with some brown stains that fit me to a ‘T’.
I continued to wait.
Waiting was something I was use to doing. While up in Heaven I waited for eons trying to get the spot on the soccer team. Then I found out was soccer was, and I quit that same day.
Today I waited for someone I’ve never met. I recognized his name from some rumors in school but I’ve never seen his face or met him in person. Supposedly, he’s the best at what he does.
The dumpster in the ally way lit up like the sharp radiation of the sun. It hurt my eyes at first. It was quick to fade, and even quicker to dissipate.
A man with slick, perfectly sculpted, black hair, dressed in an all white suit, except for the black trim and the red tinted shades popped his head out to look around. Though his good looks would only be the second thing you, as a human, would come to notice. The first thing would be the two, short, pointed pieces of bone he had sticking out of the top of his forehead, one at each corner of his head, where his hair met his face. After you noticed everything else, if you were able to make your way passed his obvious physical charms, you might notice his two, small wings coming out of his shoulder blades. Unlike mine, they had no feathers, just useless pieces of flesh that dangled pointlessly from sticks of bone. At first glance, the way he held himself showed his cockiness from all angles. He was sure of himself. He had confidence.
He jumped out of the dumpster and landed on both feet at once, pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a green lighter, took a short drag, then finally looked at me.
“Take it,” he said in a thick Hispanic accent. He held the cigarette out toward me.
“No thanks,” I said cautiously, “I don’t smoke.”
“It’s ok.” He said and pulled the cigarette back. “I have never had the cravings myself. I only smoke in case I need to offer them to someone who’s never had one.”
He fixed his lapel, took another drag then threw, the still burning dried leaves, into the dumpster.
“Where have you been?” I asked trying not to show my nerves. “I’ve been waiting here for…”
“I am worth the wait,” he smugly interrupted. “I come to see and to conquer. But, who can you please say?” His voice began to sound like that of a preacher. Reciting something he’s said a million times, with passion, and certainty. “Tell me, who is it that I am to test the power of their love? For I am Pedro, the Demon of Love!”
He stopped for a second and looked me over.
“I can break up any love,” he continued. “Or create a lasting love triangle that I am not happy with.”
He lit another cigarette.
“Tell me,” he said sharply. “Is it going to be lesbians this time?”
It took me a few seconds to realize he was asking me a question and then actually paused for me to answer.
“Um… no…” I said eventually.
“Too bad,” he quickly replied. “For they are the fun ones. Have you ever tried to lure two very attractive women way from each other?”
He paused again, waiting for an answer.
“…no…” I said again.
“It is a skill many do not posses. But, I do, for I am Pedro, the Demon of Love!”
He took a drag from the freshly lit cigarette. While looking at the flames slowly worm their way over the paper, he continued, “Yet, the down side is that I must change my appearance into a female to attract the lesbians. You, as a man, would think that would be fun, yes?”
I thought he was giving me another answer point. I opened my mouth.
“No!” He interrupted with strong vigor. “Sure, you got the breasts and the fun areas that you can play with constantly for days but there are those days where the bleeding will not end! I tried to learn the tampons. I tried. But, it is unnatural.”
He thought for a second.
“Or maybe it is too natural?”
He shook off the thought, regained his composer then turned his attention back to me.
“Who are you?” He asked while taking another puff.
“I’m Jimmy,” I said. I couldn’t help but think about how I’ve never met a demon face to face, and the first one had to be this guy. Pedro. If the rumors at my school were true, then Pedro was an absolute genius at what he does, which would give him the right and privilege to be out of his mind.
He stared at me blankly.
“A cupid.” I followed up.
“Ah, yes.” He smiled. “Last time I saw you, you were in a dress.”
“What!? No!”
“You were!” He insisted. “I mistakenly made love to you!”
“Oh,” I said realized who he may have been thinking of. “That probably wasn’t me. It was probably my sister.”
Yes, I have a sister. I don’t want to talk about it.
“Well,” Pedro smiled again and began walking toward the ally’s exit. “Then it wasn’t a mistake. Come, Jimmy, Angel of Love, we shall test the power of the love you have bestowed upon two very fortunate people.”
I had to jog to catch up to his side while still remaining slightly behind his left shoulder.
“I’ve been living with this guy…” I began.
“Too much information for me to know,” he interrupted again. He seems to do that a lot. “I do not need to know about your flamboyant gay escapades.”
“What? No, no, no.” I corrected myself. “I meant to say that he’s my roommate and since he was my first assignment, I had to live with him for a while to know what kind of girl he’d like… and what would make him happy.”
Pedro stopped at the mouth of the ally to look at the surrounding streets, shops and buildings.
“And?” He asked.
“He’s very sensitive to emotional scarring.” I only said it that way to subtly convince him to take this job easy.
“Too bad,” Pedro responded with no remorse at all. “He shall have a gigantic huge one when I am done with his girl.”
“Are you supposed to be so mean about it?” I said, shocked at the casual cruelty in his voice.
“I am a demon.”
Pedro looked around some more and spotted some women getting out of their car. Business types. Probably about to get ready and open up shop.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said without taking his eyes off of them. “I need some practice.”
“Actually,” I interjected. “You might need to study.”
“Study!?” Insulted he stopped looking at the women and darted his dark eyes toward me. “I do not study!”
“The girl I picked for Ian is also a bit emotional and wont fall for fakes very easily.”
“I am not fake!” Pedro’s eyes showed that he was truly offended. “I am Pedro! I am successful at my job! I do not need to study!”
“But, you need to practice?” I pointed out.
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