Chapter Two
“These
in white robes - who are they, and where did they come from?”
Revelation 7:13
Phoenix, Arizona
Thanks
for deciding to join me. I’ll fill you in and then you can keep up
with me the rest of the way. I’m sitting near the back of a
Greyhound bus, I boarded some seven hours or so ago. Mikey and I
arrived on Earth together; he said he had some business to take care
of in Las Vegas.
He’s most probably following
up a sighting of Satan. But from what I can gather, these sightings
are as regular as people saying they saw a dead rock ‘n’ roll
star working behind the counter of a burger joint. Scary.
Everything for my mission has been taken care of. I’ve got clothes,
money in my pocket, and even a tablet with an app especially
installed for heavenly beings. This app allows Heaven to contact me
24/7 and they can feed me useful information about my assignment,
amongst other things.
I also have a small gold
stud in my right ear, but it’s no normal piece of jewelry, it’s
a demon early warning device. But it’s a prototype, so they’re
still uncertain on its reliability. That’s the boooring
stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the exciting stuff, like
me.
My human form is that of a
seventeen-year-old male. I’m not too shy to say that I’m a
gooorgeous guy. Amigas, you’ll love me. You’ll love my buzz cut,
my piercing blue eyes, and of course my toned pecks and abs. I’m
not quite as tall as I would have liked, but hey, none of us are
perfect. Oh, I forgot to say, I’m a little tiger; grrr.
Amigos,don’t worry, you’ll like me a lot too. Why? Because I’m
a real cool dude to hang around with, that’s why. Need I say
more?
I’m feeling pretty exhausted, I’ve
got roughly an hour to go before I reach my destination and meet my
guardian, she’s called Sylvia Angell. I’ll be living with her for
now. The cover story is that she’s my Aunt and I’m living with
her because my parents are working overseas.
With me? Good.
I’ve got a little homework to do, you can read along with me, but
not aloud, because I need to concentrate. Information is downloaded
in story form on to my tablet, kind of like an e-book, and you’ll
be able to read what’s available to me. No pictures though, so I
hope you can read. Duh, that was a stupid thing for me to say, of
course you can!
Hopefully no little gremlins,
or devils as the case may be, manage to hack into my system and
tamper with my data. The IT department is working on security
software as we speak. Unfortunately for heaven, they have no software
available here as yet to secure their system.
Oh and another thing, if you see quotes from the bible dotted here
and there, well these are little messages sent to me by the Elders.
They have a couple of purposes, some are for my spiritual guidance,
you know; so I remember that I’m on God’s side and he’s on
mine. The others give me an indication, or as I like to call it; step
for a hint, as to what my day ahead may be all about.
The step for hint stuff is based on information gathered from Earth.
I suppose it’s what government agencies would call their
intelligence. Now I have no idea if this intelligence is gathered
from intelligencers, a bug in Satan’s chambers, or geek angels
analyzing incoming data.
All I know is that I
have to take some direction from these messages and act upon them
where appropriate. With me so far? Good. Right, eyes down, get
reading.
Paul’s Story
“Now
Paul, you take care walking home. Don’t detour, and use your cell
phone to call your pop at the first sign of trouble.” The small,
gray haired woman is full of concern and apprehension as she
addresses her grandson.
“Gran, stop fussing.
I’m a big boy now.” The six foot, one hundred and seventy pound
seventeen-year-old tries to make light of her anxiety.
“I know you are, but it’s not like it was when I was a teenager.
You could safely walk for miles and not a soul would bother you.”
“Gran, nothing’s like it was when you were a teenager. You’re
prehistoric.”
The old woman slaps the young
man playfully across the back of the hand. Then throwing her arms
around him, she hugs him with all her might.
“Goodbye, I’ll call you later,” says the teenager and he kisses
his Gran on her cheek.
“Goodbye, I love you
Paul.”
“I love you too Gran.” The young
man leaves his grandmother standing on the top step of her front
porch.
He stops before finally stepping onto the side-walk. He
turns around, blows her a kiss, and then goes on his way. She blows
one back and she continues to wave until he is out of sight.
It
isn’t just Paul Mitchum’s grandmother who’s apprehensive about
her grandson’s walk home, Paul has his own doubts. But his father
made it clear in their last man-to-man talk that he expected his son
to fight his own battles. He told him that “he needed to start
acting like a man.”
When his father, George,
went off on one, as he regularly did since Paul’s mom had gone,
there was no reasoning with him. There were regular heated exchanges
of words between father and son, caused by George drinking copious
amounts of liquor.
On these
occasions, Paul is left with no alternative but to lock himself away
in his bedroom. Only coming out when he hears his pop snore, after
him falling into a deep alcohol
fueled sleep. Paul’s only confidante is his Gran, but he doesn’t
like to tell her about his rows with his pop. After all it seemed
disrespectful, speaking to her about her own son.
Phoenix, Bus Depot
My bus draws
into the depot, and I’m feeling slightly nervous about the
challenges that lie ahead. There is only one man waiting, as the bus
finally draws to a halt.
I know this has to be
Aunt Sylvia’s neighbor Isais. I stand up and tug at my backpack; it
drops heavily from the overhead parcel shelf onto my seat.
Making my way down to the front exit, I notice the deep-set eyes of
the waiting man scour the length of the bus, presumably in search of
me. He hasn’t caught sight of me yet. I start to descend the steps
of the bus, and now he’s looking straight at me.
“Are you Sylvie’s ward, Daniel?” His Native American face
lights up, he sure is a good-looking man for an oldie. I mean to say
he’s over forty years old.
“I am, but call
me Dan. You must be Isais Bia?”
“I surely
am boy and you can call me Isais.” He chuckles at what he thinks is
a witty reply and continues, “Sylvie will be so glad
you’ve arrived safely. She’s been baking pies all day. She’s
even tackled a new ‘un, mango and banana. Hell knows what that’ll
taste like.” He slaps me on the back heartily. Putting his large
arm around my shoulders, he pulls me towards him and hugs me. My
internal organs feel as though they have just been squished like an
accordion.
According to my app, he’s six feet
five inches and two hundred and seventy pounds. His large frame
dwarfs all of my five feet seven inches, one hundred and thirty seven
pounds. I can’t help but like this guy, I hope we’re going to be
very good friends.
“Isais, I don’t care
what the pie tastes like, I’m starved.”
“Boy, you sure could do with some of Sylvie’s pies inside you.
Fatten you up a bit. Give me your backpack; it looks as though the
weight of it is going to snap you in two.” His arm remains tight
around my shoulders and I gladly hand over my bag.
His firm grip assures me that I’m in safe hands. As he guides me
through the large bus depot, my feet only make contact with the
ground on every second or third step I take. I must look like a
puppet or cartoon character.
Finally we’re
out into the warm July night, the parking bays across from the depot
are all taken. I couldn’t even take a guess at what this guy’s
going to drive. Whatever it is, it’s going to have to be big.
“That’s my truck over there.” Isais releases his grip on me.
His big long legs take such wide strides that I have no alternative
but to start running. We cross the street to an old battered Nissan,
Isais puts a key into the driver’s door, and the central locking
clicks. “Climb in boy, I’ll throw your bag in the back.” Isais
opens the rear passenger door and I hear my bag thump onto the
seat.
I climb up into the front passenger side
and look around. Brightly colored throws cover the leather seats of
the truck and a small leather bound dream catcher hangs from the
rear-view mirror. Its blue colored beads catch the street light and
its feathers move with a wisp from the warm breeze that’s coming in
through the now open driver’s door. There’s a picture of a kid
around my age fixed to the dashboard. I wonder if Isais has a son. I
wasn’t told about one, but then again maybe it’s for me to find
out.
Isais climbs in, the truck groans gently
under his weighty movement, then he starts the engine and we move out
into the flow of traffic and head North.
“How
long will it take us to reach Aunt Sylvia’s, Isais?”
“Twenty minutes ride to Wingate, boy,” says Isais cheerfully.
“How
long have you been a neighbor of Aunt Sylvia’s, or Sylvie as you
call her?”
“Sylvie is my pet name for her.
How long? Eh, I’m not sure exactly how long, because it seems as
though I’ve known her forever.” Isais scratches his head, as if
in a hope that he’s going to come up with the answer to my
question. But I think that’s one question he isn’t going to be
able to answer.
Isais and I continued to chat
non-stop, like long lost friends, for the journey. The kid in the
picture is his son. But it seems I won’t have the pleasure of
meeting him. The kid’s the D word, same as me. I felt like such an
idiot when I asked about him, but hey ho, I had to ask. We finally
turned into a small street located in what I am reliably informed is
the older side of town. The wide streets are lined with small single
story homes; cacti and palms fill the gardens.
The truck stops in front of number six, North Orange, Wingate,
Scottsdale. The porch lights are on and a woman I can only assume is
my new aunt sits on a rocking chair. As I jump out of the truck, she
smiles and outstretches her arms. I think I’m going to like her.
