Kristie Cook - Genesis

“That’s it?” Jordan asked with incredulity. “All this time we’ve wanted to know what made us different from everyone else, and that’s his explanation?”

Jordan teetered on the edge of exploding. Cassandra shook her head violently. “Jordan, he’s very ill. He’s just delirious.”

“I would say so! What does he think we are? Children? Infants who believe in such nonsense?”

“Please, Jordan—”

Her plea for him to calm down was cut off by a gasp from Father’s lips. He gripped their hands with unexpected strength.

“You … must … believe,” he said, desperation filling his voice.

“How are we supposed to believe such a story?” Jordan demanded. His own theories had never been this outlandish. He’d always believed both Father and Mother were human—perhaps descendants of something greater, but still human. But what Father just said …

Suddenly Jordan could see nothing around him. Cassandra, Father and the entire hut disappeared, his vision taken over by strange images that were not his own. He saw a white-winged Angel who looked just like his father battling a demon with thin, black membranes for wings and horns protruding from its head. He also saw their mother lying unconscious on the bank of a stream. Then Father defeated the demon and fell to their mother’s side. He watched it all play out, the same story Father had just told them. Then just as abruptly as it had disappeared, the hut returned.

“What was that?” Jordan demanded. “Cass, did you see that, too?”

She blinked at him, her face twisted in a mix of emotions—the same wonder, disbelief and confusion he felt. She nodded. They both looked at Father. The corners of his lips lifted in the slightest of smiles.

“Just one of my abilities. I had to share.” He rose from his bed then, too strong for even Jordan to restrain. He rose above them both, until his head touched the ceiling. Jordan’s jaw fell as he watched thin, black wings spread from Father’s back, reaching the walls on both sides yet still not fully extended while his body seemed to fade into a dark shadow. “It is time for me to go.”

Cassandra stared at Father, her mouth hanging open while bittersweet tears scalded her cheeks. She never thought she would lose him, convinced he would live forever after so many years as a strong and youthful man, but she knew he was about to leave her now. What would she do without him? Jordan liked his adventures too much to stay with her and she could never go with him—not that he’d even take her. She would be on her own now. How she would miss Father’s heavenly voice when he sang while they gathered fruits and olives, and their fireside conversations that could last for several nights. Her heart ached as sharp blades of grief and loneliness already stabbed it.

But at the same time, she could feel Father’s joy. He emanated a happiness she hadn’t felt in him since Mother died.

And he was so beautiful and glorious! Great white, feathered wings spread from his back, touching the walls, and his skin shone, bathed in a warm light. This is his true self. He’s going where he belongs. As much as Cassandra wanted to keep him for herself, she had to let him go.

“I love you, Father,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, my daughter,” he said and he looked at Jordan. “And I love you, my son. You have dark days ahead of you, but please remember that I always loved you and I always will.” Father fell silent and cocked his head. “It is time. Time for me to be with your mother.”

He reached out for their hands and Jordan recoiled but Cassandra grasped Father’s hand, feeling warmth and love travel through her arm. Father gave her a squeeze, closed his eyes and, as if murmuring to himself, said, “I am coming, Zoe.”

His wings beat the air twice and then he disappeared. Another vision filled Cassandra’s mind: Father and Mother walking along the seashore hand-in-hand, one of Father’s wings stretched protectively around Mother.

While Cassandra’s heart broke into pieces, her lips pulled into a smile. They’re together again.

A loud crash yanked her back to full awareness.

Her head jerked to the right. The water skin Jordan had been holding sat in the middle of the remains of a pottery bowl. She turned back to him, her mouth opening to question him but she snapped it shut. Her brother’s eyes flared and his mouth twisted with anger.

“He tells us that,” he spewed, “shows us … that … and then leaves?”

Cassandra stood and stepped closer to him. She reached for his hands, but he jerked them away. Her hands fell to her side. “He’s happy now, Jordan. He’s with Mother again. They’re in a better place.”

“A better place? Where do you think they are? Demons do not go to Heaven, little sister.”

Cassandra flinched as if he’d just slapped her. “Demons? What are you talking about?”

“A fallen Angel is a demon. Father himself taught us that and he was a fallen Angel.”

“No—”

“You saw him just now. Black wings and horns on his head!”

Cassandra shook her head. “He fought the demon, Jordan. Father was the Angel.”

“And then he fell. You saw that, too, right? He fell from the Heavens. They cast him out.” Jordan clenched his teeth so hard, his jaw twitched. “And just now—as he rose like a demon in front of our eyes, with those thin, black wings and talons and horns … ”

Cassandra gasped. “No! Beautiful, white, feathered wings. He’s an Angel. He’s gone back!”

Jordan glared at her as if she were a fool who didn’t understand what was so obvious to him, which she really didn’t. Black wings? Talons and horns? What had Jordan seen?

He turned his back on her and crouched beside the fire. He stared at the low flames licking at the cypress wood, and his shoulders rose as he inhaled slowly, as if trying to calm a different fire—one she could feel burning inside him, just below the surface. She didn’t like him when he was like this. He’d always had a dark side the rest of her family did not and it scared her when it surfaced. When he spoke, however, he didn’t yell or curse at her. Rather, his voice came low and deliberate, which she found even more disturbing.

“He’s gone to Hell, Cassandra. Accept it. He was an Angel. He’s now a demon.” He stood again and turned toward her, darkness filling his face and fire in his eyes. “And so are we.”

Her hand flew to her throat. Her own voice came out in a rough whisper. “Jordan … how can you—”

“We are of his blood. His demon blood runs through our veins. That’s why we age so slowly, why we run so fast and can lift fallen trees three times our body weight. We are demons, too.”

She shook her head. She fell to her knees and whispered, “Angel. He’s an Angel. Angel blood is in us.”

Jordan growled. He grabbed his dagger and stomped to the door.

“Where are you going?”

He stopped, but kept his back to her, his shoulders tense and square.

“I’m going to find those … men … you spoke of,” he said through clenched teeth. “If they rose from the dead, as you say, I am sure they have answers about this.” He flicked his hand at Father’s abandoned bedding. “And while I’m gone, you can clear your head and accept the truth for what it is.”

Cassandra stared wordlessly as her brother disappeared through the door. Now alone, she let the emotions overcome her. She collapsed on her side, curled into herself by the fire and sobbed. She cried for Father, she cried for her brother’s obvious delusions and she cried for herself, for being left alone with so many unanswered questions. She cried herself to sleep.

She dreamt of Father in all his Angel glory and she also dreamt of demons. She felt their darkness, their evil. She knew, even in her dreams, Father was not a demon. The idea was impossible. How she and Jordan had seen something so different as Father rose from his deathbed, she didn’t understand. But she knew in her heart—in her soul—that Father was good. And that he had returned to Heaven to be with Mother.