Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

Protector of humankind.

Keller studied his face. The dog watched as he kneltbeside the boy, closed his eyes, lifted his head to heaven and gave thanks.

The angel Raphael.

He was cleansed in the light.

Sanctus. Sanctus. Sanctus.

Keller left, keeping the door open. The sleeping pillshe had ground into Danny’s pop would wear off soon. He had work to do. Climbingthe basement stairs, he heard a noise and froze. The dog growled. What wasthat? A scratching coming from a darkened corner. Could it be that little punk.No. Something lurking in the dark. Something with claws. He switched on alight-suddenly the thing came out of the corner at him. A rat. A large rat,it’s mangy fur scraping along the wall before it disappeared into a crack inthe wall.

It fascinated him. He squatted and whispered into thecrack.

“Vermin, if you contaminate my temple with your foulpresence again, I will taste your blood.”

Keller blocked the crack with a wooden milk crate.

Upstairs, he checked the front and rear doors. Eachrequired two keys from the inside to open. Satisfied they were sealed, he wentto the bathroom and showered. In his stark bedroom, he put on Levi’s and asweatshirt. From his night table he lovingly withdrew the silver crucifixchain, staring at the suffering Christ.

His will be done.”

Keller kissed the crucifix and slipped the chain overhis neck. He went to the kitchen and made a tomato sandwich and black coffee.He gave the dog a cookie. In the living room, a bookcase stood in one cornerjammed with the works of Conrad, Blake, Eliot, the Huxleys, texts onphilosophy, theology, death, resurrection, and angels.

When he first held Danny Becker in his arms, Kellerfelt the flutter of angels’ wings.

He selected the obscure work by Oberam Augustine Reingaertler,titled Struggle for the Light: The Truth About Angels and Devils, thensat wearily in the rocking chair. He read a passage, said to be centuries old,from a poem by a blind monk for a bereaved mother:

His angels first appeared as disease, despair anddeath

Yet when Heaven commands

Each to remove their dark disguise

Lo, we behold, the Seraphim,

Cleansed by the light of one million suns.

The glory of knowing the Face of God

Keller flipped through the book, studying theseraphim, God’s highest ranking angels. Isaiah had been blessed for he hadlooked upon their beauty, each with six wings, surrounded by flames. Sanctus.Sanctus. Sanctus. Dominus Deus sabaoth. Keller stopped at a passage he’dread a thousand times: angels can be summoned for almost any imaginableemergency and for any task …

He loved his books. They confirmed the Truth. Angelscome at times of desperation. Celestial fixers. It was revealed to him onenight in the institute where he had sought help. The answer came in a vision: your children are waiting. The angels will help you, if you find them. But theywere disguised. Wearing masks. Do not be deceived by their false identities.They belong to no one until you find them. And you will find them.

If you believed. It was a test of his faith. Kellersmiled and rocked. He had found the first. Danny Raphael Becker. Raphaelof the powers. Healed by God. He had still to find the others. Only thenwould God assist him in the transfiguration. Keller rocked in thought.

Prolonged severe grief reaction, the doctor at theinstitute had called it. What a fool. He could not comprehend that Keller’slife had been preordained. He did not know the glory of God. So many didn’t. Somany had been bereft of His infinite love. If only those in anguish knew thedivine truth as he did. It had been revealed to him.

If only he had spent more time with his children.

No, he had been chosen. He was the enlightened one whowould demonstrate God’s wonder. That was why he joined the university group.Not to obtain help, but to bestow it upon those in pain.

Keller rocked.

Maps, charts, diagrams, enlarged photographs,calendars, news clippings, and notes covered the living room walls from floorto ceiling. More papers, charts, maps, journals, and binders overflowing withnotes were piled on the large computer table near the far wall.

He focused on one picture-the fading snapshot of histhree dead children: Pierce, Alisha, and Joshua. Laughing, wearing colorfulcone-shaped hats, a half-eaten chocolate cake before them. It was Alisha’s sixbirthday. Three weeks before they drowned.

They never found the bodies.

Do not be deceived by their false identities.

Remember the will of the Creator.

***

The Will of the Creator.

It shone in Reverend Theodore Keller’s eyes the nighthe watched his rural California church burn to the ground.

“It is the will of the Creator, Edward,” his fathersaid to him as the wood crackled and the flames devoured the cross atop thesteeple. Edward was ten-years-old and took pleasure in his father’s tears. Noone would ever know that it was Edward who set the fire by igniting Bibles inthe pulpit, an act inspired by the whippings he endured at the hands of hisfather in the name of God.

“Spare the rod and spoil the child!” the Reverendthundered after Edward committed sins as heinous as spilling his milk at thesupper table, or failing to wash away a trace of dirt from his hands beforeinspection. “Edward, fetch the rod.” His father would command him to get theviperlike leather strap hanging from a nail inside the study near the paintingof Golgotha. Edward would tremble. He had long ago forsaken pleading for mercy.Begging was a sign of weakness, a failing to be expunged with more lashes.“Honor they father and thy mother!” his father would yell and Edward woulddutifully drop his pants, exposing his buttocks. The Reverend would twist himover his knee, raise the strap high over his head, bringing it down so swiftlyit hummed slicing through the air before thwacking across Edward’sscarred and tender flesh. The Reverend would grunt savagely, spittle flyingfrom his mouth as he delivered each blow. Edward would bite down on a spoon tokeep from screaming. His mother would hurry to another room and pray. It alwaysended with his father dropping a Bible on Edward’s bleeding rear end, orderinghim to memorize another chapter by morning. Some days, he literally limped toschool, his ears ringing with the thwack! Thwack! of the strap.

“You are but a lamb,” the Reverend bellowed the nightbefore the fire. He was beating Edward for a crease he had found in his freshlymade bed. “You are a burnt offering, a sacrifice I will not withhold from myGod! I will not refuse to place you on the altar!”

That night in bed, Edward writhed with fear and pain,reading the Bible. He was jolted with the realization that his father’s lovefor his church superseded everything. Even his son’s life. The crack of thestrap and the Reverend’s words echoed in Edward’s mind. I will not refuse toplace you on the altar!

That’s when God first spoke to Edward. Cleanse yourfather of his piety. Save him with the fire of purification. The cracking ofthe strap. The cracking of the fire. Punishment for the son. Punishment for thefather.

“Whoever committed this desecration shall be damnedall the days of his life.” Keller’s father fell to his knees, sobbing as hischurch burned, brightly, gloriously.

Deliver us from evil. Edward grinned, flames paintinghis face.

Keller rocked and remembered his children.

He could hear them. Crying.

Keller rocked. Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak. Wasthere time to see it again? Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Keller left the chair and lifted an ancient Kodakmovie projector from the closet, settling it on the big table. He returned tothe closet for a cardboard box of aluminum film canisters, rummaging through ituntil finding one marked: “Josh at Three.” He threaded the film, aimed theprojector and started the movie. The dog watched, tilting his head.