Crushed Seraphim

  She stepped back into the depression again, slowly, agonizingly. When she got to the next respite of peace, she knew she had to change her tactic. The hall was so long. Her gut told her God would be at the end of the hall. That’s where she’d put him if she were the Devil. The expanse of cement looked to be far from an easy passage now.

  Internal obstacles. That sexy bastard.

  She couldn’t experience whatever Satan had laid out for her at a walking pace. She needed to run — take a chance that she could get through whatever lay ahead. Common sense said to go slowly because the test was surely too much. Whatever she would face in the next hundred feet would collapse her sanity like a broken tent — especially if she took it on all at once. But God was trapped, possibly being tortured by the same things she was feeling.

  I’m going to take the strength Jason prayed to give me, and I’m going to run — no matter what. I’m not going to stumble. I won’t fall. I’ll run.

  She rolled her head on her neck and took a deep breath. Her heart pounded, and her palms were slick with sweat. The space looked so innocuous, but she’d learned quickly that looks were deceiving.

  Go!

  Emma took off sprinting in her high-heeled, red leather boots. An observer would have been fascinated by the way she twitched and flailed at apparently nothing, but despite it all, she kept running.

  In her mind — in her quaking, reeling mind — there was only disaster. First was fear. Paralyzing fear. She ran even when she started to shake. When the reprieve came, she ran through it as well, refusing to relish the peace.

  Up next was anger. Devastating, murdering, raging anger. Her fingernails dug into her palms and she screamed as her wrath demanded she hit something, kill something. The moments of peace were growing shorter or she was running faster. She prayed she was faster.

  The confusion was horrible. Who am I? What am I doing? Emma was only able to keep running because she had so much momentum. Surely she’d have forgotten how to breathe had she been walking.

  She was close to the end of the hall now, and finally her brain made her feet stop. There were two doors against the back wall. She looked over her shoulder and wiped her mouth. Emma convulsed as if she’d been electrocuted.

  My brain is melting. Oh God. Please, just make it stop.

  She stepped toward the door on the left because it was closer.

  Love. She was filled with such overwhelming love. She felt like flying. Everything was prettier. She took a deep breath and felt replenished, rejuvenated.

  This is God’s door. It has to be.

  She reveled in the love and flipped the light switch, excited to see His face, open His door.

  Sam sat on the bed in the cell. The love overwhelmed her. Sam! Of course I’ll save Sam. My love, my sweet. His arms were so warm when I hugged him. His skin always smelled so sweet. Sam. Sam.

  She touched the door before reaching for the knob. Her fingers against the metal broke her spell, and the infatuation subsided a bit.

  He stood and came to the window.

  Sam, my Sam.

  “Emma, beautiful Emma. I’ve missed your face so much. Please, please let me out. I love you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted! I’m so scared in here. I love you.”

  His hair was the perfect color, and his deep brown skin begged to be touched. He looked so relieved and waited expectantly to be released from his cell. “But why didn’t you come to me?” Emma began. “You chose reincarnation — ”

  “You can only open one door,” Sam interrupted. “You can’t leave me here. I can’t stay here. I’m in pain all the time.”

  To punctuate his dilemma, a gunshot roared in her ears and Sam’s chest exploded in blood. He died all over again — the gasping, the gurgling, the light fading from his eyes.

  Emma screamed like she had when she was human — like she had when his death had killed the part of her that was innocent.

  The blood on his chest receded like the tide, the hole closing up like a film being rewound. He began to blink and wince. As he staggered to stand up, he put a hand to his chest.

  “Emma, that keeps happening. I get better just long enough to be afraid again. Please, I’m so terrified. Only you can save me, Emma.”

  The gunshot rang out again, and she grabbed the knob with both hands. Again he crumpled, again he died, again he bled. She could barely stop herself from flinging open the door. She had to think.

  Sam was getting up again. “Emma, take me with you. Let me be with you. I keep having to die.” Then her beautiful, brave Sam started to cry. After a moment he continued. “You’re not going to save me. I can’t keep dying. It’s Hell. It’s Hell.”

  Gunshot.

  The whole cell filled with his death again. It was a relentless loop of the worst seconds of his life.

  It’s Hell. It’s Hell. She tried not to watch as Sam breathed his last again and again. Daddy wasn’t real. Sam’s not real. This isn’t real.

  Emma hated her nagging conscience that told her it could be Sam. If his spirit had risen and received Judgment from Everett, this could be Sam.

  And what if the sign was a fake? What if I can open two doors?

  Gunshot.

  Sam experienced his death again before he came to the window and looked in her eyes. “Do what you have to. I do love you, my sweet girl. You’ve always been my warrior.”

  He was himself then, in that moment. She knew it in her soul. He really was behind this door, and she had to open it. But not yet. Carefully Emma stepped back, keeping her fingers in contact with the door.

  “Emma, don’t leave me! I’ll come with you.” Sam clawed at the window, trying to get to her, desperate to get out.

  “I’ll get God first. Then I’ll be right back. I promise. I won’t leave you — ”

  Emma gasped as the gunshot intruded on her pledge. He fell again. She let go of his door. The only thing giving her courage now was that God could do anything.

  She heard the Devil’s voice in her ear. “Then why isn’t He out of Hell, pretty child?”

  The overwhelming love hit her again. She clawed at her chest; her heart was so full of love for Sam. She dropped to her knees so she couldn’t hear his gasps or see his never-ending death. She had to crawl because she couldn’t trust herself to be level with the doorknob.

  The gunshots came faster, over and over and over. Soon it sounded like machine-gun fire.

  Sam, Sam, Sam. I’m so evil to leave you here.

  She crawled into the reprieve, the peace. But there was no silence here. The life-ending cracks kept her on her hands and knees.

  One last door. And if she was wrong, she’d have to go back to each of the doors she’d run past. There were so many. She’d never survive it on her own. She had to pray. She had no one else to turn to.

  In this time of need, strengthen me. You are my strength and my shield.

  Her mind filled with Jason’s face, and she saw his despondency at his future. She stood, and although the gunshot kept sounding, she focused on the last door. She reached her hand out in front of her.

  She screamed and pulled her hand back.

  It was fire. Invisible, perfect fire.

  Before she’d died, she’d gotten Feisty to a small hole in the barn’s shingles so they could breathe. It had been a useless bit of relief. The fire was so furious and hot. But Emma wouldn’t leave without her horse. She’d clung to Feisty’s neck, soothing the horse while her own heart pounded. She’d focused on her animal’s beautiful eyes. When the fire roared over Emma, her skin had melted.

  She looked at her hand now, and it was perfectly fine. This fire, though just as painful, was not going to burn her. It was just going to force her to relive her final moments.

  What if I get stuck? What if the door doesn’t open? What if my Hell is this Hallway and I never leave?

  She pictured Everett, the angels falling from the sky, the Parishes at the end of time. The gunshots kept sounding, fraying her to almost nothing.

&nbs
p; I’m going to lose my mind, and soon. I need to do it.

  She readied herself.

  Just touch the door. Touch the door.

  Emma pictured Feisty’s eyes and centered her fear. She took off, but the pain engulfed her immediately. She was burning. Emma couldn’t scream because the fire was in her mouth. She was dying again. When she took a breath, the flames filled her lungs. She clawed at her throat with burning hands. She was being incinerated, yet she would never die. She could walk no more; the bottoms of her feet were scorching. Emma fell in the direction she hoped mattered. She stretched her arm out and felt a finger come in contact with metal.

  The burning extinguished. Emma lay on the cement floor and sobbed. The gunshots still kept sounding. Her Sam stood before a firing squad again and again. Her skin felt fine, but her mind was like a petrified rabbit hiding from a ravenous fox. She could hardly use it.

  Emma kept her skin touching the metal and tried not to imagine the “what ifs.” She could never go through the fire again. If this wasn’t God’s enclosure she’d open the door and stay in the cell herself. She couldn’t face the fire.

  Her legs were wobbly, and she had to convince her hand to flip the switch. Seated on the cot was Santa Claus, complete with a jolly red hat. She cursed like sailor. Santa looked and smiled at her.

  She felt boneless with relief. It was Him.

  Only the memory of the fire would outweigh the instinct to fall to her knees. She pulled the door open, and it groaned in protest. She made sure to keep contact with the metal until her boots were fully inside God’s cell. He was peace and calm in the middle of agony. His brilliant blue eyes welcomed the sight of her.

  God removed His hat because a lady had walked in the room, but He didn’t get up, which was odd for Him. Short, blond hair spiked in every direction. He was gloriously good-looking, but Emma didn’t notice anything but His generous smile.

  She wanted to be cleaner, wanted to not be dressed like a hooker. She wanted to maintain all the decorum she so loved in Heaven. The best she could do was stagger. She fell in front of Him and held out her hands.

  He took them and kissed her palms. Her brain solidified from the quivering mess it had been, and she could breathe.

  God’s voice was honey even in Hell. “Seraph Emma, how did I know yours would be the face I’d see? Come from your knees and let me comfort you, my child.” He pulled her next to him and engulfed her in his arms.

  She snuggled deeply into His fuzzy red coat. “I was so afraid, Lord. I didn’t think I could do it. Sam? Is that really Sam? Please, we have to save him.”

  God petted her head and lifted her chin so He could smile at her. “Of course, Emma. Just sit on my bed and don’t get up. You have to stay put. No matter what.”

  Emma nodded, and God lifted himself from the mattress. He was out the door and back before she could even process why sitting on the bed was so important.

  “Sam is free, my selfless seraph. He’s been returned to his spirit and has taken flight.” Emma nodded and tried not to feel hurt that Sam had left again. He probably hated her for leaving him to be shot over and over.

  God sat next to Emma and put an arm around her shoulders. She sighed. Being under God’s care took all the pressure away. Now everything would be all right.

  “Okay, Sir, I need to update you on what’s been happening. Everett went ballistic and has been throwing angels from Heaven. I was sent, with only one wing, to be Jason Parish’s Christmas Angel. The future is grim and scary. We need to get back up there and put an end to this nonsense.” Emma stood and held out a hand.

  God gazed at her offering softly. “If getting up was that simple I’d never have let you experience the Hallway, Emma.”

  God pointed to a meter on the wall. Emma looked over her shoulder. It appeared to be a scale.

  “Sir, I’m not sure I understand.” Emma walked over to the device and tried to see its purpose.

  “My presence is required to preserve that soul. If this bed is empty, the Devil gets one of my children.”

  Emma wanted to pull her hair out. The situation was so dire, and God was worried about one soul? She knew there was no reasoning with Him. Every single entity was His to love. She had no choice. She crossed the cell and sat next to Him.

  Emma took His hand. “Sir, it would be my honor to take Your place. I’ll not move from this spot. Please go forth and save the world. Please.”

  Emma had a feeling that her specific Hell would be fire, the one she hated most. She was disgusted with herself when she thought maybe the Devil would free her from time to time to make passes at her.

  God touched Emma’s face. “I would not have you do that. This is my burden.”

  “Sir, whose soul is it?” Surely she could withstand the pain for an innocent child. She could pretend it was Jason’s soul she was saving, coloring his future black eyes green.

  God was reluctant to tell her. She could tell. “Emma, do you remember how often you begged Me not to play Santa at Christmas and be the one to parlay for souls?” God imitated her voice: “Sir, it’s a safety risk for You to descend to Earth, and You have no place in Hell. At least let some of the seraphim accompany You.”

  His kind blue eyes made her smile. He was playing with her. His attention was the most soothing balm.

  “And, Sir, You would always say…” Emma made her voice deeper to mimic His. “Seraph Emma, the risk is minimal. I need to feel the love of the season. The positive energy is such a warm bath. And Satan is a child of mine as well.”

  God held her hand again. “You were right, of course. I gifted you with so much common sense.” He looked in her face and for once she felt like someone was proud of who she was.

  “Sir, how could we deny You the beauty of being near Your children? I can deny You nothing. Never. But our time here must be short. You have to go, please. Remember my common sense?” She looked at Him expectantly. “It’s telling me You need to leave me here. Only God can fix the mess above.”

  Emma realized she had to put in a plug for Jason, this being her final face-to-face with God. “Sir, I’m not sure I finished my task with Jason Parish. But he’s a good man — well, a good being. He needs to be made to believe He’s worthy of You. Please, if it’s Your will, please let him know what he’s worth.”

  God closed His eyes and shook His head. “Of course I love Jason. But you, Emma, your bravery does not deserve to be rewarded with an eternity in Hell.”

  “I wasn’t brave, Sir. I was scared and I cried and I didn’t have a good solution for Sam, and I almost gave in to the Devil. And I cursed. A lot. I think this might be exactly where I belong.” Emma hung her head.

  “So much doubt, beautiful child. Do you not know the face of God?” He tilted her chin up and she looked at Him.

  “Maybe I’ve never been good enough at all. I mean, I got into Hell.” Emma’s doubt flamed in her heart. Was that this cell’s power or was her weakness her own?

  “You came here to save Me and the world. You are more than good enough. I can’t leave you here, and I won’t.” God seemed to settle in.

  Emma sighed. She loved that God thought she was so important.

  They sat next to each other for a moment. The cell door was open, inviting them both to leave the soul to the Devil and claim their escape.

  There has to be something. There has to be something.

  All of the sudden, Emma smiled. God turned to the goodness like a flower to sun.

  “Sir, will You be making me an angel again? I know it’s a lot to assume. I’m sorry for being forward.” Emma stood from the bed.

  God nodded. “Of course. I’ll return your wings and restore your glory before you leave Me here.”

  Emma nodded. “I was hoping You’d say that. Please, Sir, can I have them now?”

  God motioned for her to come closer. The ceremony was so much more beautiful in Heaven. The clouds would have been tinted with gold and the other angels would be standing by, resplendent in their nob
ility.

  God kissed Emma’s forehead, lips, and cheeks chastely, in the sign of the cross. She opened her eyes and looked into His benevolent ones. He recited the formal ritual.

  “I claim your soul back under my care, beautiful seraph. Your unique perfection was created under my watchful gaze, and now you have been returned to me. I have always been proud of you, my child. But right now my praise will become wings for your shoulders. Angel Emma, you are loved.” God hugged her to his chest, gently forcing her to bend.

  His love shot through her heart and bloomed. Pure, crystal love straight from her maker raced through her and solidified into wings on her back. Her glorious, white wings became an oversized feathery frame for her body.

  Tears fell from her eyes and she went to her knees before God. He smoothed her hair out of her face. The last time He’d performed this spectacular miracle, the stars had collided in huge, cosmic fireworks. The sun became brighter and rainbows danced in the sky. It had filled Emma with awe.

  This time it was just her and God, but the awe and gratitude were just as potent. She tested her wings, and God laughed as she caught the glitter that fell like fresh snow from her feathers.

  She looked down and her hooker outfit had disappeared. She wore her angel garb again. The white silk was butter soft. She was reinstated and proud.

  Emma shook her head because she would miss this, very soon. She knew it took a lot out of God to create a seraph. He had to restore His energy between each angel.

  “Sir, thank You.” She bowed her head and wings to Him.

  He nodded like the regal king He was.

  “May I ask another question?” Emma twisted her hair into a knot.

  She stepped a few feet away from God so couldn’t reach her from the cot. God nodded. He seemed anxious for her to leave so she could get back to His pained, fallen angels.

  “The half-breed, Jason, prayed to give me his strength. Was that emotional strength or physical?” Her hands started to shake.

  God knew what she planned then. He connected the dots. He gave each of His children free will, and it was a gift He never demanded back.