The night was freezing, but I didn’t feel it. The orange glow from the bedroom window gleaned on the side of my face as I stood outside of the house. The neighborhood was quaint, and quiet for the most part other than the woman in the window’s sounds of ecstasy as she gave in to the throes of passion with Mr. Grey.
If only her husband could hear her all the way from Normandy. I blocked out the pitiful noise of desperation. Mr. Grey would suit up for Sunday and display himself as a Deacon worthy of the call, just like he had been assumed for the past five years of service. I never quite understood the desire for flesh, or why the experience with one’s own spouse wasn’t enough. I realized it had gone quiet, as they must have finished. So I walked over to the front door, and watched as the door knob turned.
Mr. Grey stepped out and faced me. He looked around to see if anyone was aware of his presence. Just me; as I stared into his soul. He proceeded to walk by me and I obliged by stepping out of his way. Angels aren’t usually noticed anyway. I was here on a mission; and the town needed cleaning. I never understood why anyone would lay their life down for beings with an inherent need to reach into the bottom of their dark souls for nothing. I watched him walk in to his sleek Lincoln while he adjusted his tie, sweat still on his forehead.
I looked back and watched the mistress. Mrs. Mary Stephenson looked with longing as her half hour with the deacon wasn’t enough. Did these people not understand the concept of satisfaction in anything? They reached what they grasped for, and while holding it, reached for more. I needed to make another visit that night, to acquaint myself with the job. I walked into Mrs. Stephenson’s house, and crept down her hallway. I wanted a hint of my presence to be known, so I made the sound a slight creak in the floor. She quickly turned around from the living room window and almost tripped over the coffee table, causing a glass of tea to tip and spill. She was distracted with the clean-up and I made my way past the master bedroom, a right at the bathroom, and into her daughter’s room. She lied sweetly in her bed, not asleep, with a disturbed disposition. I then made eye contact with the other in the room. She was not alone. There he stood in a pinstripe fedora and trench-coat over a rather expensive looking suit and an impressive red silk tie.
“Beelzebub, it’s been a while.” I said.
“Azrael... always making your crusade.” Said Beelzebub. “You look good these days. And that suit fits exquisitely on your frame. You probably should look into getting a gold watch as well. I think it would be poetic, don’t you?”
“Listen Bub, why aren’t you over at the Reverend’s?”
“I just wanted to see how his latest turn has played out for him in the grand scheme of the game.” Bub said with a smile. “Why don’t you go back to your boss, and tell him that there’s a German across the pond killing his favorites. You might be of better use there.”
“Funny, I thought you’d be there too.” I said
“Oh, I was. Two words... ‘Given over.’ Ephesians 4:19, I believe.” He said. “Don’t you love how sensitive these creatures are?”
Bub walked over to the young girl. Emily was her name. He sat on the side of the bed and hovered his hand over her face.
“The Reverend promised her guidance. And she believed him. And when she came in too close, the teeth were bared. And she’s going to blame it on ‘you-know-who.’ For the rest of her life.”
“Possibly,” I said. I hated to agree, but people will always judge the Divine based on flawed human experience.
“But you won’t have the luxury of staying in this room.” I added. “Go back to the Reverend. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“You couldn’t make me leave if you tried, Azrael. That’s a bit above your pay-grade.” He said with a cocky smile.
I walked over to Emily, who had now been crying, holding herself tightly in her bed, blankets up to her neck. I put my hand on her head, leaned in and kissed her forehead and began to quote.
“For I am convinced...” I began
“Shit...” Bub quipped
“...That neither death, nor life...”
“Son of a bitch... can’t fight me yourself?” He whined.
“... Nor angels, nor principalities...”
“Everyone is going to discover that the Reverend is a deviant and then people in this town are gonna realize that I RUN THINGS HERE!” Bub said.
“Nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth...”
Her crying had subsided, her eyes began to droop as her soul relaxed.
“Nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” I finished.
Bub had left. The Reverend had touched the apple of God’s eye, had bitten the hand that fed him, and time was soon to be up. I think Bub was right. A gold watch would have been poetic.
That Sunday, the service was full. The autumn light beamed in though stained glass windows. I always hated church services down here as far as aesthetics went. Where were the gold streets? The doors made of pearl? I missed the thousand foot high ceilings with balconies that reached to the top, leading to the acoustic ecstasy of thousands upon thousands of voices singing in unison in perfect key. I know that all that mattered was the heart. But only a few hearts were in tune this evening, as Beelzebub sat front row next to Reverend White.
The offering baskets were passed, and I started calculating in my mind how much of what was given was to be stolen for Reverend White’s frivolous living. From the honest pockets of the working class, the rich minister bathed in gluttony. And just like that, in a small town, a great evil had been done, right underneath their noses. I saw Mrs. Stephenson to the far right in the middle rows. Little Emily looked beautiful in the dress made by her mother, with her blue eyes glinting so amazingly in the light. I remember when my boss told me about how the human’s eyes were designed by Him to give way to truth much better than any other part of the body. It became a cliche, but in Emily’s eyes, I saw God, in Reverend White’s I saw Bub. Reverend White spoke a well articulated sermon about the consequences of sin and the call for righteous repentance. I began to smile at the irony. A liar hides behind truth. The repentant uses it to expose himself. It was time to for Mr. White to stop hiding. Pulling out the porcelain colored pistol from my suit jacket, I aimed at the Reverend, and quickly holstered it. No detachment this time, I needed to feel something; needed to remind myself of the gravity. I waited patiently for the right moment. When that moment came I stood up and began to walk down the aisle, turning my gaze to the right and catching eyes with Emily. I made sure only she could see me. I blew her a kiss as I made my way to the pulpit. Then, I caught eyes with Beelzebub, whose mouth dropped as I gave him a wink.
Once again, I made myself invisible to Emily, who didn’t need to see me draw my blade and swiftly lunge it into Reverend White’s heart. He was somewhere in between quoting a misconstrued interpretation of a Levitical scripture when he suddenly gasped, but no air would come in. The perplexed faces of the congregation began to look at each other. Reverend White, held his chest and fell forward, landing face first on the floor in front of the pulpit and the entire congregation. They would see no knife, and the coroner would confirm it as a heart attack despite the man’s impeccable history of health.
Bub looked disappointed that his circus act was over, yet he quickly gave way to amusement over the carnage. Tears began to fill my eyes as I walked away and the congregation mobbed the pulpit. Contrary to popular belief, my boss never takes pleasure in dealing death. Reverend White, a cold soul, was a soul nonetheless, who once had potential, once had hope, and once had love. But enough was enough. Every once in a while, a soul is “Given Over.”
