Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

“I can no longer live. The investigators say thechildren never had life jackets on, that Edward took them out, despite beingwarned of a storm coming. I blame him. I can never forgive him. Never. Itshould have been a joy for him, not a chore. He killed them! And he killed me!I hate myself for not realizing how vile he is, for trusting him with mychildren. They were never his! The bastard should have drowned, not them. Itshould have been him. Not my children. They are gone. They never found theirtiny bodies. He promises to bring them back. Rescue them. The fool. All hismoney cannot bring them back. I can’t live without my children. Pierce. Alisha.Joshua. I must be with them. I will be with them. I love you my littledarlings!”

Those were her last words. Probably written in theattic.

Reed closed the book. Stunned. It was Gothic.

They never found their tiny bodies.

He promises to bring them back.

“Is the material helpful, Tom?”

Eloise was sitting in a chair, patting her moist brow,drinking lemonade. Half in shadow, half in light, she looked like some kind ofsoothsayer oracle. Reed had been too engrossed to notice the half hour that hadpassed. “Uhm, sorry, yes! Eloise. It’s very helpful. Sorry to take so much ofyour time.” He stood.

“Glad this old stuff is of use to someone.”

“May I borrow this diary?”

She cast her hand about the Kellers’ belongings. “Takewhatever you need and just call me if you want to look at anything again.”

In thanking her, Reed gave her another business card.They laughed. He jotted down her number and left, clutching the book.

Joan Keller’s diary contained a few revelations thatcould lead him to Keller. But it wouldn’t be easy and there wasn’t much time towork on them. The anniversary of the drownings was only days away.

Once out of sight of the mansion, he trotted to hisold Comet.

Keller was following the path of his exalted mission.

Pursuing the third angel. The conqueror of Satan.

Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus. Snip. Snip. Snip.

The doubters were closing in. Snip. Snip. And he stillfaced many obstacles in his final step to the transfiguration.

He remained calm.

I am cleansed in the light of the Lord.

The time has come to transform himself. Snip. Thedoubters had photographed his face and were searching for him. But he did notworry, trimming his hair, his beard, lathering his face. Soon all would knowhim as the enlightened one, the chosen one, anointed to reveal the celestialpromise of reunion with his children.

Along his glorious path, he never challenged themysterious ways of deified love. Michael Jason Faraday was the third angel, orso he thought, until the nine-year-old Oakland boy had moved to London with hisfamily a few months ago. At first Keller could not understand it. He wascertain Faraday was the third angel. The signs were correct. His age, his birthday.Keller had studied him, kept a vigil. But before he could make contact, he wasgone.

On the eve of the transfiguration, the third angelhad vanished.

What was the message?

It had to be a divine test of faith.

Keller had remained steadfast. Like Christ in thedesert. He did not succumb to temptation, to doubt. God would light his path todestiny.

And he did.

A couple of weeks from the transfiguration, the mortalidentity of the true third angel was revealed to him. It took Keller some timeto absorb the holy sigh. It became crystalline a few days ago, during hismorning reading of the Scriptures. He now knew who the third angel was. He hadlittle time to find him.

Keller finished shaving, then made a few phone calls,talking politely, jotting down notes. He put on a white shirt, tied, and suit,checked his old leather briefcase. It was empty except for one businesscard-that of Frank Trent, of Golden Bay Mutual Insurance. Trent was the man whohad handled the death claims for his children twenty years ago. Keller tuckedthe card in his breast pocket and took the briefcase with him before looking inon Gabriel and Raphael.

Mid-afternoon. They were sufficiently sedated. Helocked the basement door, then the house, and walked into the brilliantsunlight, a well-dressed, respectable-looking businessman on a Holy Mission.After twelve blocks, he hailed a cab.

Veronica Tilley yearned for her family and friends inTulsa.

“I am a fish out of water here. A stranger in astrange land,” she would tell her husband, Lester.

His face would crease into a smile. “Now, now, Ronnie.Just make an effort to experience the city, gather some memories. It’s only fortwo years. Hang on.”

“Of course, I’ll hang on, Lester. What choice do Ihave? I am just telling you I miss Oklahoma. It doesn’t shake like California.”

Lester’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll be home soon.”

Veronica had agreed to Lester’s two-year transfer toSan Francisco because she realized he had to satisfy some deep-seated manlyneed. He’d devoted twenty-three years to his company, all of them in Tulsa. Theboys had gone off to college, and the middle-age jitters were getting to him.Younger managers did well by taking out-of-state postings. Lester had to provehe could run with the young bloods.

But Veronica was lonely in San Francisco. She missedher position as secretary-treasurer of Tulsa’s Historical Society. She longedfor their house in Mapleridge, hated that they had to lease it and rent in SanFrancisco. For her, coming here was like going to outer space. Earthquakes.Weirdos. The other day on the Mission Street cable car, a man wearing a printdress, pearls, and rouge on his cheeks, sat beside her.

Gawd. And now this. She puffed her cheeks and exhaled.

Veronica was miffed. The couple who owned the housethey were renting had just informed them that they were going to move backafter ninety days. Ninety days! People didn’t do things like in Tulsa. Afterjust settling in, she and Lester had to find another house to rent. And in thismarket! Here she was running around, checking with agencies, newspapers,searching for a suitable place. Oh, she was glad the young couple hadreconciled. There was a little boy involved. But Veronica was also ticked. Shetold Lester they should talk to a lawyer, but he insisted it would be best ifthey found another place and let the young couple get on with their lives.

Veronica circled one of her choices in theclassifieds: “Furnished. Alamo Sq. Restored 12rm Vict. Hot tub. View antiques,3 frplcs.” Must be heavenly because it sure was expensive. $3900.

The doorbell rang.

Veronica peeked through the curtain. A salesman ofsome sort was standing on her doorstep. He seemed harmless. She opened thedoor.

“Good afternoon. I’m Frank Trent from Golden BayMutual.”

“Yes…?”

“I’m here for Mrs. Ann Reed.”

“Ann Reed? Boy they don’t waste any time.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Talking to myself. Sorry, they haven’t moved backyet.”

“I’m confused. This is the address for Ann Reed?”Keller knew the family had moved. And he knew the Lord would help locate the thirdangel. “The policies for her and her son, Zachary, have lapsed.”

“Life insurance?”

“I’m a new agent. I’ve yet to meet her and it’simperative I get her signature today on clause changes.” He tapped hisbriefcase.

“We’re only renting their house. They’re moving backin ninety days. Why don’t I take your card and have her call you?”

“That’s kind of you, but I will be out of town onbusiness for three weeks by this afternoon and I fear I may miss her. It’svital that I get her signature today.”

Veronica studied the stranger. He seemed okay.

“Do you have a card?”