Dead Harvest

32

There was no thunderclap, no flash of lightning — no trumpet's blare to announce his presence. One moment, there was nothing to my left but empty space, and the next, the angel was there. In my jail cell, he'd worn a suit of charcoal gray, but now he wore nothing at all, his tall, slender body suffused with light and impossibly bright after the dimness of the room. As before, his features were indistinct, and almost painful in their beauty, but this time, I refused to look away.

"Collector," So'enel said, his rich baritone both confident and soothing, compassionate and strong.

"Seraph," I replied.

The angel looked around, taking in the scene before him: Kate, duct-taped to the chair, her gaze averted; Bishop, cowering behind her, the knife lying forgotten at his feet; and me, my silly rag-stuffed gun still trained at the spot over Kate's shoulder where, until recently, Bishop had stood. Then So'enel returned his gaze to me, his bright eyes of neither blue nor brown nor green penetrating into the furthest reaches of my tattered soul. "Tell me, Collector, why is it that you've brought me here?"

"Because I've done it," I said, willing the quaver out of my voice, the tremor from my limbs. "I figured out who it was that set up the girl."

The angel shook his head. "I see you're still persisting in this fiction of yours. It is understandable, I'll grant you, to refuse to believe one so young, so seemingly sweet, could be capable of such a terrible act, but as you recall, I looked into the matter myself. I assure you, the child is guilty."

"Yeah, so you said. Here's the thing, though — I'm positive she's not."

The angel smiled: blinding, beautiful. "Are you accusing me of lying, Collector?"

I ignored his question. "Before, in my cell, you told me my name was from the Hebrew for 'heard by God'."

"So I did, and so it is."

"Tell me, what does So'enel mean?"

"I fear I fail to see the relevance of the question."

"Oh, I think you see the relevance just fine. It means that you're a warrior, does it not?"

"A warrior for God, yes."

"Right," I said. "Not much to do these past millennia, though, huh? I mean, what with the detente and all."

"I'm sorry; I must be misunderstanding you. Are you suggesting that I am somehow involved in orchestrating an elaborate ruse to frame a poor innocent little girl?"

"I'm not suggesting that you orchestrated a thing. No, what I'm suggesting is it was you who possessed this girl. That it was you who killed her family. That it was you who tortured her mother until the police arrived, just to ensure there'd be no mistake in determining who was responsible. And that it was you who made sure she was marked for collection, covering your tracks so well that both sides are convinced she's guilty."

"That is preposterous," the angel said. "I am an angel of the highest order; a servant of God. I've no interest in being insulted by a lowly Collector."

"My apologies," I said. "I mean, it's not like any other angels have ever gone off the reservation. So tell me, this God of yours, you think he was just gonna let this slide? I mean, you damn an innocent soul to hell and start yourself a war, just for a little something to do? Sounds a lot like free will to me, my friend, and that's strictly verboten in angel-land, is it not?"

"What you're saying is heresy. You know not of what you speak."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. But it seems to me it's a fine line between an angel and a demon; just a hint of jealousy, or of doubt, and you're off to the races. Are you telling me you couldn't have possessed the girl — that you don't have that kind of power? Of course you're not. If a demon can take a human host, it stands to reason an angel can, too. And here's the thing: Kate here told me that when she killed her family, she did it with a sense of calm, of peace, the likes of which she'd never felt before. She told me she did it with a song in her heart. Does that sound like any demonic possession you've ever heard of?"

The angel shook his head. "Don't you see what she has done to you? She's blinded you to her true nature! She's convinced you of this impossible scheme to blind you to the fact that she's responsible for these horrible acts!"

As he spoke, the angel approached, his action lending urgency to his words. I backed away from So'enel, and trained the gun at his chest.

"That weapon will not harm me," he said gently. "You sure about that? You may wanna ask Beleth." I found myself wondering if it's a bluff if you don't know for sure you're bluffing.

The angel raised his hands in acquiescence, a bemused smile settling across his beautiful face.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Nothing whatsoever, I assure you. It is just that I underestimated you, Collector — you're far more compassionate a creature than am I. After all, it must be difficult to defend the life of the girl who so brutally slaughtered your own granddaughter."

The blood drained from my face. I felt suddenly dizzy and weak, and my gun hand dropped to my side, the Glock pointed uselessly toward the floor. "What did you just say?"

So'enel replied, "Don't tell me you didn't know! I mean, the resemblance to your Elizabeth is astonishing! In the mother, and the boy as well; why, he would have been your great-grandson, would he not?"

Though the summer of '44 had been sweltering, October brought with it a brutal cold front, blanketing the city in the kind of chill that settles in your bones and makes you think you'll never feel the kiss of warmth again.

"But… she couldn't be." I said. "That's impossible."

It had been a month since that night, since Dumas, and I'd spent that time living on the streets. No, not living — trying desperately to drink myself to death, wishing every night as I lay down in the gutters and the alleyways that I would simply drift away with the next hard frost, never to wake again. The way I saw it, without Elizabeth beside me I was dead already. Sometimes, though, it takes a while for the meat to get the message.

"Is it?" the angel asked. "But you'd been following her, those months after she bid you adieu. You must have seen."

Liz had left the apartment in New Brighton, shacked up with a young doc from her program. I spent most nights camped out in a park across the street from his place, so desperate was I to be near her.

"No," I said, not in answer, but out of sheer denial.

I wanted to tell her I'd been wrong. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. I must've tried a dozen times, but her eyes would pass right over me, in the way that people's do when confronted with those who have fallen through the cracks, and every time, my voice would fail.

"You must have seen your child growing within her."

Every time but one. It was early evening, and Liz was walking briskly down the street, a bag of groceries in her hand. Her face was downcast, her brow furrowed in worry, and in that moment, I wondered if she was thinking of me. As she passed, I called to her — just her name, just once.

I said, "You're lying."

She turned around then, the bag falling forgotten to the sidewalk. I saw Liz peering into the crowd, searching for my face, but with my ratty hair and my twisted scraggle of a beard, she didn't see me looking back at her. But I saw. I saw too much. I saw the weight she carried in her cheeks — just a touch, rounding out her face and glowing pink in the chill fall air. I saw her swollen belly, protruding from beneath her woolen jacket.

"Did you tell yourself it wasn't yours?" said So'enel. "I assure you that it was."

And in that moment, I understood.

"Shut up."

Why she had pushed me away. Why she'd been forced to let me go.

"And that child grew into a woman, who had a child of her own."

She'd been protecting her child.

"I said shut up."

Protecting our child.

But he didn't shut up. "A child that grew up strong and sweet and brave and beautiful, so like your fair Elizabeth."

She'd been protecting it from me.

"Shut up shut up shut up!"

It was then, as I stood staring at the woman that I loved and the daughter I'd never know, that Bishop struck.

"A child that this one killed, without mercy, and without remorse."

The pain was excruciating as Bishop gouged my soul out of my chest, cackling gleefully all the while. In truth, I didn't mind. I knew then that I deserved it. For the person I'd become. For the choice I'd forced Elizabeth to make. And as the world around me disappeared, replaced by the swirling gray-black of my soul, I thought I heard her call out — just one heartbreaking syllable, her voice tremulous and full of hope: "Sam?"

My entire body shook in rage and pain and sudden doubt. I looked from the seraph to Kate, who once more fought against her restraints. She was trying in vain to speak, but the gag prevented it, deadening her words into a frantic series of grunts. Her eyes, wide with shock and terror, found mine, and even without her words to guide me, I knew that she was beseeching me not to listen.

"It seems the girl has something she'd like to say," the angel said. "Well, then, by all means, let her speak." He gestured, and the duct tape unwound from Kate's mouth as if of its own accord. "But first, my dear, a question. Your half-brother: what was his name?"

Kate forgot her fear for a moment, so thrown was she by the question. "C-c-connor," she said. "Connor MacNeil."

"Yes," said So'enel, not unkindly, "but what was his middle name?"

At that last, Kate's eyes went wide with shock and horror. When she spoke, it was flat, uninflected, barely audible. To me, though, it was a fucking knife in the gut.

"Samuel," she said. A single tear tracked downward across her trembling cheek. Then, as if from somewhere far away: "Patricia said it was in honor of her grandfather. But Sam, I never thought-"

"Enough of this," the angel said. "You see, Collector, I've steered you true. You know what it is you have to do."

I felt sick. Tears poured down my face, and my breath came in ragged, hitching gasps.

"Collector," So'enel said, and then he stopped short, correcting himself. "Samuel. This violation of your blood cannot be allowed to stand — the girl must pay."

"No!" I said, clenching shut my eyes as though to shut out the world — as though to shut out the angel's words.

"Samuel, you have to realize you were sent here for a reason. God isn't through with you yet, my child, and perhaps redemption is not so far off as you would think. It's time for you to do your duty. It's time for you to do what's right."

As the angel spoke, a calm settled over me, quieting the trembling in my limbs, the fire in my heart.

"You're right," I said, smiling at So'enel through my tears. "Of course I know you're right."

And then I aimed my gun and fired.