God's Gone AWOL

[3] Hangover

[EPISODE 3: LUCY'S FUNHOUSE]

Atticus refused to leave Bentley's side for the whole night.

Even when the bar finally closed and she was kicked out, he stayed right beside her. By the time the two finally wandered back out into the soggy streets, Bentley was too drunk to walk on her own, let alone fly anywhere. And so Atticus had no choice but to half-drag-half-carry her back to R & F's Cupboard, despite her incessant protests.

Back at the Cupboard, everything had been fairly quiet. Frances was deep in the endless sea of bookshelves, reorganizing and taking inventory. Hazel had just woken up from a very bizarre set of dreams induced by Atticus' sleep enchantment. Drifting between reality and the hazy embrace of dreamland was hard enough. It just so happened that the dreams she had been having contained all sorts of secrets of the universe, displayed out like it was nothing significant, only fun-facts.

To Hazel, it was mind bending and surreal. An experience of vast galaxies and an understanding of a deeper reality than the one humans have ever been able to detect. But to Atticus, it was the same logic as putting on an educational video for a child and walking away, leaving it to the screen to teach the important stuff. Basically dismissing her with some omnipresent theological version of Bill Nye the Science Guy. And the best part was, Hazel wasn't even awake to ask any questions.

So the Cupboard was quiet and peaceful for a while. Now the only sound was the occasional scratching of pen on paper from the notebook in Frances' hands. The lanes and lanes of books acted like a natural muffler, so not even the casual noises of the street above could make it inside. The silence on top of the dim orange light of the candles flickering harmoniously on the old stone walls painted quite a tranquil picture.

Until the door on top of the stairs burst open and the room was filled with a pair of bickering voices.

"I'm fine! I can get down the stairs on my own!"

"You're still injured," Said Atticus, "On top of the alcohol, I'm afraid you wouldn't even be able to make it down two steps without me,"

Bentley grumbled but did not resist the help in the end. Eventually, the two made it to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as they were on solid ground again, Atticus plopped her onto the couch.

Hazel blinked blearily, trying to adjust her eyes to the light after having them closed for so long.

"Wait, is she drunk?" She asked, still half asleep.

"Whaddayou think?" Said the equally confuddled Bentley.

"Is that even possible for demons?"

"Only if I want it to be,"

Atticus moved his body to block the two from interacting any further. Neither of them had decent temperaments, and with one of them being half-asleep and the other totally intoxicated, it was best if they didn't talk too much.

"Stay here until you calm down, okay?" Atticus told Bentley.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but said nothing. The gesture was so stupid and childish. Atticus couldn't suppress his smile.

"I have a question," Bentley said suddenly.

"What is your question?" His voice was sweeter than he meant it to be.

"Since when are there screens everywhere? Like, everywhere. You all have them in your pockets, on walls, inside of signs. Literally, where did they all come from??"

"What are you talking about?" Hazel asked.

Bentley snatched the phone out of Atticus' pocket and waved it in the air.

"These thingies! What's the story behind them?"

"Have you never seen a phone before?"

"No, I have! My brother has one," She said defensively, "But what are they?"

An amused sigh escaped Atticus' lips. Of course Bentley was behind on modern technology. The change wasn't as drastic as it would have been if she was dead during the Industrial Revolution, but she had missed quite a bit. She knew nothing of touchscreens, social media, artificial intelligence, or any of the regular luxuries which the present day had to offer. Atticus was no tech whiz himself, but seeing Bentley so ignorant of something gave him a silly sense of satisfaction and superiority. He couldn't help but smile even wider to the point where his mouth was open slightly.

"To provide context:" He told Hazel, "Bentley's been dead for the better half of the past century,"

"And who's fault is that?" She said bitterly.

The angel's smile didn't falter. He knelt down in front of where she was sitting so the two were at each other's eye-level.

"There's a lot you've missed. I can catch you up if you need,"

Bentley didn't reply right away so he took that as a reluctant "yes". Gently, he raised both his hands and cupped her smooth jawline. He knew Bentley wasn't a huge fan of physical contact, so he made sure his touch on her face was as limited as possible, only enough to hold her in place. Then he closed his eyes and leaned in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, buddy!" Said Bentley.

Oh right. This probably looked bad.

"It's not what you think," He told her.

Then before she could do anything else, he leaned forward again and pressed his forehead to her own. Immediately, a flash of white light crossed both of their eyes. Bentley was frozen in place like a marble statue, too stunned to move.

A stream of information was passing from his mind to hers. It was nothing too serious, merely a basic review of Earth's history since her death. Basic stuff like the end of World War 2, the Space Race, the Cold War, the decolonization of countries all over the world, the popularization of computers and the invention of internet, capitalism, imperialism, climate change. The works. Atticus had basically taken the highlights from the television show that was the recent history of human development, and compiled it into a short summary. Then shot it all into Bentley's head in a single instant without stopping to let any of it sink in.

Once he'd sent a sufficient amount of knowledge into her brain, Atticus pulled away.

"ACK!" Bentley toppled backwards onto the couch.

"What did you do?" Hazel asked,

"I just gave her a set of memories from the last little while, so she's no longer confused,"

"I feel like that'd be more confusing than anything," Said Frances.

As if to prove their point, Bentley rolled upside down, her hands clutching her face where Atticus had just touched.

"They put PEOPLE ON THE MOON???" She sounded adorably bewildered, "Wait, what the hell?? Why is there so much islamophobia?? Who the hell is Michael Jackson? Atticus what did you do to me?"

Frances smiled over the book they were reading.

"There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen," They said poetically.

"Did you just quote Lenin at me???"

"Perhaps,"

"Well has anyone told you that I was the one who told Lenin to overthrow the Russian Empire in the first place— ugh!"

Bentley was drunk and stuffed to the brim with an overwhelming amount of brand-new knowledge. She wasn't capable of thinking straight, let alone recount her own involvement in the old Russian Revolution. All she could do was roll around and wail in confusion. Atticus didn't help either, he was just smiling and watching in amusement.

"Now you understand everything," He said tenderly, "Get some sleep. We'll find... that other person in the morning,"

He had almost said the name "Lucifer" out loud for both Frances and Hazel to hear. Thankfully, he'd caught himself at the last second and was spared the trouble of explaining something he didn't have an explanation for.

"Mmmm. I wanna go now!" Bentley pouted,

"You aren't in any shape to be going anywhere," He replied, "Please sleep,"

"Make me,"

Just those two words sent a jolt of electricity through Atticus' heart.

"If that is what you wish,"

He tapped her on the head and instantly Bentley sunk into a deep sleep. Then he lowered the rest of her body down so she was resting properly on the couch and wouldn't be uncomfortable during the night. This was the second time he had done something like this in the past day or so. Although the first time, he'd sealed her movements to stop her from running away. Even if she was just drunk this time round, Atticus still felt better leaving her to sleep like this. At least she was resting.

Before too long, morning came around again. Hazel, who was jetlagged and confused had nodded off again. Frances had disappeared off on their own for a short while to do god knows what, probably something either business-related or sleep-related. The only one who couldn't sleep was Atticus, simply because he was an angel and did not need to recharge the way mortals and demons did. After he renewed the warding spell he'd cast over himself, he spent the rest of the night either poking around all the things R & F's Cupboard of Perfectly Legal Things had to offer, or staring at Bentley, just to see what she looked like when she wasn't glaring at him in rage.

After a while, Frances reappeared. The two made some tea and talked about this, that and the other. They kept talking until the murky morning fog had retired for the day and the regularly-scheduled French rain took over its job as the primary gloomy weather. By the time the light from the gently buzzing streetlamps were finally overpowered by the brightening sky, their conversation had arrived on the usual subject of attention.

Bentley, was still passed out on the couch at the bottom of the stairs. Atticus' fingers slid their way up and down the light chain of his necklace as he watched the loose strands of her red hair flutter with every sleepy breath she emitted. Seeing her like this was like seeing a completely different creature. She didn't look anything like a demon at all. In fact, she was almost cute... in a small-flying-critter sort of way.

"It was a good idea to put her to sleep," Said Frances

"Why do you say that?" Atticus replied, not taking his eyes off her face.

"People always say Bentley never engages in violence, but the moment you let her open her mouth, entire empires can fall apart just at her words,"

A little smile unconsciously crossed Atticus' lips.

"That's what they said about Lucifer. But Bentley..." He trailed off for a moment. "--Is far less dangerous, even when she's awake."

Almost as if she was proving his point, Bentley shifted slightly in her sleep and a little fanged smile appeared on her face. For a second, it was easy to forget just how many terrifying and obscene things she had done in her life. Atticus almost brushed away all his memories in that one moment, but was quickly pulled back into reality when the voice behind him spoke again.

"Is that so? Weren't you the one who killed her?"

Atticus turned around in his chair then shamelessly changed the subject

"When is your uncle going to return?"

"He's gone to Rome for the week so prolly in a couple days?" Said Frances. "I'm sure he'll be cool with you all crashing here for the time being,"

There was a pause of silence. Then Frances spoke again.

"How'd she come back in the first place? Most things that die generally stay dead,"

"Most things do," Atticus agreed.

"So wait... why are you here? Shouldn't you be, y'know, trying to fight her again or--"

"I want to find out why she's alive before acting," He said honestly.

"Okay. Well if you suddenly change your mind and go back to trying to kill her, just make sure you do it outside. Uncle says nobody is allowed to die in the shop for insurance reasons. -Although I don't know what the insurance laws are in the case of someone who's already dead. Maybe I should look into that,"

Frances suddenly stopped, seemingly having caught themselves in the middle of rambling.

"Erm, do you want any tea?" They asked.

"Tea would be much appreciated, thank you," The angel said pleasantly. "And maybe some for Hazel and Bentley as well, please,"

He smiled, then once again returned his gaze to the sleeping Bentley.

A few minutes later, once the kettle was boiled and the the tea had steeped, the conversation gradually shifted into Atticus' current arrangement for the rest of the day.

"So your plan is to go find Micaiah the Prophet? And then what? Ask him to help you find whoever you're looking for?" Frances asked over a cup of lemon-ginger tea.

"That is my plan, yes." Atticus held his face in the steam of his own cup, just to feel the warmth. "If he's an actual psychic, as you say he is, I think it's the best chance we have.

"Micaiah's an old friend of Uncle's. He's a good person, and all of his predictions and knowledge is one hundred percent accurate, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask."

Atticus nodded.

"His words on the TV last night seemed very pointed and very appropriate to Bentley's situation. I get the feeling he already knows we're on our way."

"Yeah that wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Micaiah's like a total god when it comes to that kinda stuff." Frances downed the last of their hot tea in a slightly-pained gulp, then stood up. "Well if you think he knows you're gonna see him, that means destiny is already set. Might as well just fulfil the prophecy at this point."

Psychics were rare. True psychics, who were always completely correct, were just about non-existent. Although Atticus himself had never heard of Micaiah before, Frances and their uncle were both reasonably well acquainted with him. And since he was human, he wouldn't hold allegiance to Heaven or Hell. Getting on his good side wouldn't only help in finding Lucifer, who knew what kind of deeply-hidden secrets Micaiah would able to unlock. He had the potential to be a very good ally.

Ally in what? Hang on, what did Atticus need allies for? He wasn't at war with anybody. He wasn't involved in the fighting anymore. Since he'd fled that night at the church, saying that he was sided with Heaven was no longer an option. But he was still thinking like a soldier, as he had always done. The angel internally scolded himself. Micaiah wasn't a pawn in whatever stupid mess Atticus had gotten himself into.

"By the way," Said Frances, "There's no chance I would know who you're looking for, is there?"

Atticus had made the wise decision not to mention the name "Lucifer" in front of either Hazel or Frances. The owner of that name had a bit of a reputation. Even Hazel, who didn't exactly have an extensive range of theological knowledge, would recognize it. So whether to avoid scaring the hell out of everyone or because he knew both would most likely try to stop them, Atticus had kept his mouth shut on the subject.

Because if he didn't know any better, he'd be terrified as well. His arch-rival had clawed her way back from the dead and claimed she was looking for Lucifer. There was a chance this was some sort of dangerous trap she had set for him. Perhaps she was already closely involved with Lucifer and this was all an elaborate way of retaliating against Atticus for all the grief he'd caused her over the years. Or some complicated plot for the Prince of Hell to send himself back to the spotlight of doom in order to end the world once and for all --mwahaha and all that. How did Atticus know he wasn't about to personally contribute to what might be his own or his people's downfall?

He didn't.

But at the same time... he did. No matter the outcome of this strange adventure he had gotten himself into, somewhere deep down in his heart, Atticus knew that things would be okay in the end. He couldn't explain why, but he had faith.

"You've heard the name. However, I would be quite concerned if you knew their whereabouts," Atticus answered Frances' question.

"Huh. They must be someone who's well known, then?"

Atticus only nodded. Frances shifted their attention and started organizing a pencil holder on the front counter.

"Okey-dokey. In that case, please be careful when you find them," They said, "To be well known in either of your realms isn't a good thing no matter which side of the war you're on,"

"You're not going to ask who they are?" Atticus asked.

"If you haven't told me yet, it's best if I don't know, right?" They asked, "If I don't know, I can't be held responsible when things go sideways. Unless you want me to ask?"

Before he had the chance to answer, someone else decided to spoil the entire plot of the story.

"We're looking for Lucifer." Said a voice.

Bentley was sitting upright on the couch looking at the two of them through a pair of weary yet sober eyes.

The pencil holder fell to the floor with a clatter.

"What? Why??" Asked Frances.

The night before, Atticus had thought that this same straightforward declaration had been done completely out of drunken bluntness and lack of critical thinking --that she was making an attempt to scare him off. But no, it turned out she was actually unbothered by who knew what she was up to and who didn't. Hearing her speak so casually, Atticus felt her apathy was almost scarier than her ambitions at this point.

"Do you really wanna know?"

At first, Frances was frozen like some sort of curly statue. It was only after a couple of seconds passed that they fully registered what had been said. Once their brain was back online, they quickly bent down and started picking up the fallen pencils scattered around the floor.

"Um no, actually I don't," They said, their voice a little higher than normal.

"That's fair." Bentley rose up from the couch, "Atticus doesn't know either."

"And he's still following you??"

"Hey, you're welcome to follow too if you want," Bentley taunted.

Atticus had originally planned on waiting the banter out, but he suddenly felt the need to step in.

"Frances should stay here," He said, "It might be dangerous,"

Frances finished organizing the pencil holder, dramatically tossing in the last writing utensil into its place just to add more power to their point.

"Oh don't worry, I am certainly not going anywhere. You two go off and have barrels of fun on your... Quest thing er-whatever. I'm happy right here at home where there are no Lucifers, thank you very much."

Atticus let out an inaudible breath of relief, but Bentley just shrugged.

"Your loss." She started climbing the stairs to the street above, "C'mon Halo Head, let's go,"

"We're leaving right now?"

No reply came from Bentley. Only the creaking of the door on it's hinges over their heads followed by the smell of petrichor flooding the shop. She had only just woken up and already she was out the door. So Atticus was left to attend to the formalities.

"Thank you for looking after us and Hazel," He said, saluting Frances, "I promise we'll be out of your hair before too long,"

Then he hurried after Bentley.

Lucifer hadn't been present in any of the four realms for a long time. The last time anyone had heard of him was during the Bubonic Plague back in medieval Europe. Although Atticus himself wasn't present when it happened, everyone heard the story of how he had inexplicably vanished from the four realms, leaving behind a horrible disease among the people of Earth as part of his fallout. It was right under the noses of two archangels and three choirs, too. Nobody was quite sure how he had done it, but he had escaped.

Heaven had searched for him. Hell had searched for him. But nobody ever found him in the end. Anyone who ever got close ended up dying rather mysteriously. Eventually everyone realized that he really must not want to be found. And to be honest, when things boiled down to it, nobody actually wanted to find him. Lucifer almighty wasn't exactly fun to have around. For either side of the war.

After he vanished, Hell went through a political revolution. What had formerly been an unstructured, chaotic, and jaded monarchy --that really resembled more of a dictatorship under Lucifer-- quickly became an anarchic, communist state. After several years of desperate scrambling and reorganizing, a vague image of order started to materialize. A council of seven demons rose up and took control over primary governmental affairs, whilst everyone else followed their decisions. Sometimes those decisions were good ones, sometimes they weren't. But what could anybody do?

As well as the political revolution, Hell also experienced a bit of a cultural revolution. Heaven was always known for its suffocatingly rigid status quo and honour system; where the self-image an angel held was more important than its own feelings. So of course, Hell felt an obligation to behave in the exact opposite way. Thus, it became almost shameful to make a name for oneself. Not only did it appear arrogant, it also turned somebody into a target. Embracing individuality was taboo. Seriously taboo.

But who could shatter taboos better than the Hellbournes?

Idolizing or scrutinizing another individual is a behavior done by just about every single social creature in existence. Perception of others, for better or for worse, is inevitable. There really cannot be exceptions. Even though Hell claimed not to approve of loose cannons or popular names amidst their ranks, the great attention void left behind by Lucifer inevitably had to be filled. Naturally, Bentley, Lilith and Xander Hellbourne were sucked in, among a few other powerful demons of the time. And the fact that none of them should have held any fame at all was a large factor in what made them famous to begin with.

Because all taboos are meant to be broken. Even if they are taboos for a reason.

Because the taboo on Bentley Hellbourne was what eventually killed her.

...