Lash

Chapter 2

Lash peered at the arrivals board, confused, his hazel eyes scanning the list of flights going in and out of the Houston airport.

“1724. 1724,” he muttered. Flight numbers and cities flipped over as changes were made to the arrival gates. “Damn it. How do you read this thing?”

He brushed a hand over his dark hair with frustration. A seraph should be able to find something as simple as the arriving gate of his work assignment.

Lash sighed as he glanced at the information that the Archangel Gabrielle, his direct supervisor, had given him. Lucky him, he’d been assigned to the one archangel who delighted in his misery. He wouldn’t put it past her to give him the wrong flight information intentionally and make him scramble at the last minute to find his charge.

“Javier Duran, age eight. Flight 1724, arriving at 12:05 p.m.,” he read. He flipped the card over and gazed at the photo of the little boy with light coffee skin, chubby cheeks, and big brown eyes.

“Where is your plane, little one?” He looked up again as the number 1724 popped onto the board.

“Finally.” He noted the gate number and made his way through the bustling crowds.

“What? I can’t hear you.” A young woman yelled into the pay phone. “No, his plane hasn’t landed yet. It should be here in a few—”

The woman broke off midsentence, and Lash turned to look, curious to see what had happened. The woman squinted through her pink-tinted glasses straight at him.

He jumped back, surprised. It was as if she could see him. Most humans couldn’t when he took his angel form—except for small children or animals, but even that was rare. When adults did manage to get a glimpse of him, they often dismissed him as a figment of their imagination.

“Anita, qué paso?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. “What happened?”

“Wait a minute, Gloria.” Anita took off her glasses and wiped the lenses with her floral polyester blouse.

Lash stood motionless, waiting to see if she would say something about his presence. Anita placed her glasses back on, her brown eyes darting in his direction again. After a moment, she shook her head and turned her attention back to the caller.

“Never mind, I thought I saw something.”

He exhaled—she hadn’t seen him after all; at least, no more than the fleeting glimmer that others sometimes claim to see.

“Give me the information again. I need to write it down.” Anita dug into her purse and drew out a scrap of paper. Candy and gum wrappers fell onto the carpet along with a black pen. “Where’s my pen? I can’t find anything in this purse.”

“Say a prayer to St. Anthony.”

“Good idea.” Anita closed her eyes. “St. Anthony, St. Anthony. Please come down. Something is lost and can’t be found. Help me find my pen so I can write down the information Gloria should have given me this morning before my eight-year-old son got on the plane all by himself. And while you’re at it, can you ask the Lord to forgive Gloria for her forgetfulness? She has to put up with my ex-husband, and only the Lord knows how helpless that man is—especially when it comes to washing his underwear.”

“That’s enough prayer,” Gloria snapped from the other end of the line.

He chuckled. There was no St. Anthony—at least not in the airport. He picked up the pen and placed it on the edge of the pay phone shelf.

Anita shivered. “Dios mío, I felt a chill. They keep it cold in here. They should—” Her eyes widened when she spotted the pen. “How did that get there?”

Anita turned, and he froze. She was nose-to-nose with him—so close that he could smell her minty breath and see a red lipstick stain on her front tooth. She closed her eyes, and smiled. “Gracias, St. Anthony. I’m blessed.”

Lash blinked with amazement. It had been a long time since he’d come across a human like her. An aura of peace surrounded the tiny dark-haired woman, as if she knew they were watching over her.

He glanced at the clock and left Anita talking to Gloria. The boy’s plane was scheduled to land soon. As he rushed down the hall, he wondered if his assignment was Anita’s boy.

When he got to the gate, he looked out the large window at the empty tarmac where the plane should have been. Instead, Jeremy, his best friend, stood on the tarmac. He was dressed impeccably, looking more like a model off the cover of a GQ magazine than the Archangel of Death. His golden hair, swept back off his face, glimmered under the Texas sun. Lash found it rather odd that he would care so much about his appearance, considering that he rarely appeared in his human form. Most people knew him only by his angel name, Jeremiel, and when he did appear to them, it was because they were dying. Jeremy, like Lash, had decided to modernize his name a few years ago. Too bad he hadn’t done the same with his clothes. Compared to Jeremy, Lash looked like the perpetual teenage rebel, favoring ripped jeans and fitted t-shirts.

GQLash wondered why Jeremy hadn’t mentioned an assignment in Houston during last night’s poker game. For the first time since they’d started playing decades ago, Lash had been winning, and they were having a great time—smoking cigars and drinking whiskey. It wasn’t until Gabrielle had shown up and handed Lash the assignment that Jeremy had become unusually quiet. He’d appeared so uncharacteristically upset when he had asked Lash to accept an IOU on his winnings—although Lash couldn’t think of when he’d ever have a need to call him on it. Gabrielle seemed to have been in a foul mood, too. Maybe he should have reconsidered puffing smoke directly into her face. She probably didn’t like that.

He was about to join Jeremy on the tarmac when Gabrielle glided into view. She whispered something into Jeremy’s ear, and his ever-present smile froze. Whatever she’d told him, it couldn’t have been good.

He followed Jeremy’s gaze and looked at the cloudless sky. In the distance, he saw a tiny speck and instinctively knew it was Flight 1724. Lash glanced at Jeremy and wondered if his assignment involved someone on the same flight.

Jeremy gave Gabrielle a nod and instantly vanished. Dread hit the pit of Lash’s stomach as Gabrielle lifted her arms into the air and swirled her slender hands in circles. Trees surrounding the airport swayed as the wind picked up and dark clouds began to form.

Lash pressed his palms against the glass pane. What was she doing? He gritted his teeth, wondering if she was intentionally trying to make his job more difficult. He’d been told to watch over Javier and to make sure he returned safely to his mother. Gabrielle had conveniently forgotten to tell him that the boy would be in real danger—or that the danger would be Gabrielle herself.

Lash watched as she continued to manipulate the wind and clouds.

“Looks like a storm’s comin’,” said a woman sitting in the row of seats behind him.

“That’s Texas weather for you,” said the man next to her. “One minute, it’s a sunny day; you blink, and then all hell breaks loose.”

A loud bang of thunder caused the glass to vibrate under Lash’s hands. He stepped away as a stream of ice pellets slammed to the ground.

“Lord, have mercy,” the woman said as she pressed a hand to her chest. “That was a loud one.” She looked out the window. “I hope it passes soon. Wouldn’t want to be caught up there in this storm.”

It was then that Lash knew why Gabrielle and Jeremy were there and why he’d received this assignment. Not all the passengers of Flight 1724 were going to make it into Houston alive.

He closed his eyes and projected himself into the plane. When he opened them, he was standing in the aisle next to a pretty girl. Her pale blond hair was tucked behind her ears, highlighting her vibrant blue eyes. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, yet something about her made her appear wise beyond her years.

Lash gazed out the window at the fog of darkness that surrounded the plane. All around him, passengers muttered anxiously as they looked out. They were scared.

A whimpering sound from the seat behind the girl caught his attention, and he stepped toward it. Sitting in the seat was a small boy, his feet barely touching the floor. Javier.

Javier“Mother, he’s scared,” the little girl said. “May I go sit with him?”

The woman, an older replica of the pretty girl, took a nervous gulp of her cocktail. “No, it’s not safe.” The plane gave a jolt, and she dropped her drink to the floor, the amber liquid splashing on her white linen suit. Color drained from her face as she clutched the armrest. “Oh my God.”

The girl leaned into the aisle and looked back at the little boy sitting behind her. “But, he’s all alone.”

“Do as I tell you, or I’ll have to tell your father when we get home,” the woman snapped as she dabbed her pants with a napkin. “The stewardess will tend to him.”

Lash watched the girl blink rapidly and felt a tug in his chest as she wiped away her tears. She placed a determined look on her face before turning her attention back to the boy.

“It’s okay. Shh, don’t cry. We’ll be landing soon,” she said. “What’s your name?”

The little boy looked up. Brown eyes framed by long lashes locked with hers. Tears lined his chubby cheeks. “Ja—Javier.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his shirtsleeve.

“Hi, Javier. I’m Jane.”

The plane dropped, lifting Javier off his seat for a split second before he slammed back down. He sobbed.

Lash knelt next to him and sent a wave of calm, hoping the boy could sense his presence.

Javier wheezed as if trying to catch his breath. A pale hand reached out toward him.

“You’ll be alright, Javier. Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand until we land. Okay?”

Javier looked at Jane. His black curls bobbed as he nodded.

Lash ached as Javier reached out his hand and placed it in Jane’s. It had been a long time since he’d seen anyone act so selflessly. He glanced around the plane, expecting to see Jeremy. Since he wasn’t there, maybe there was hope for the little girl and the others.

The plane trembled violently, and the stewardesses ran down the aisles, ordering the passengers to buckle their seatbelts. They then rushed to their own seats and strapped themselves in.

There was a loud pop followed by a screech of tearing metal. Screams filled the cabin, and yellow oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.

Jane let go of Javier’s hand for a moment to put on her mask, and he cried. Lash leaned in and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here for you.”

Javier continued to cry out as Lash hovered over him. He looked over to Jane, whose trembling hands were placing the yellow mask over her face. When she was done, she leaned back, stretching her hand back to Javier. “Put on your mask,” she yelled.

Javier grabbed her hand and looked at her with a blank expression.

Jane gazed directly into his eyes and pointed at the floating yellow plastic. “Put it on.”

Javier nodded and frantically placed the mask over his face. There was a loud bang.

Screams were swallowed as soon as they started. Javier’s eyes widened, and Jane turned around to see what he was looking at. She gave a high-pitched shriek. Flickers of orange and red reflected off Javier’s mask, and Lash stiffened. Heat slammed his back, and he turned, ready to fight off whatever was coming to harm the boy. His stomach dropped when a wave of flames rolled down the aisle toward them.

Lash’s footsteps echoed in the Room of Offerings, a vast room where the archangels displayed the gifts that humans had offered to Heaven over the centuries. Paintings and sculptures lined the walls. He paused in front of a large mahogany case and stared at a tiny statuette, a likeness of Gabrielle, through the glass pane. His light eyes darkened as he took it out and brushed his hands over the smooth stone. He snapped off the head and crushed it between his fingers, turning it to dust. He placed the figurine front and center back on the shelf and smirked, knowing Gabrielle would go ballistic when she saw it.

He turned when the large oak door squeaked opened. The Archangel Raphael walked into the room, his solemn blue eyes resting on Lash as he neared him.

“Lahash.” His voice was thick with disappointment.

It wasn’t Raphael’s first time escorting Lash to the Hall of Judgment, the place where angels were disciplined for their wrongdoings and were judged worthy or unworthy of staying in Heaven. Lash never worried that he would be deemed unworthy—Raphael always saw to that.

Glancing at the headless figurine, Raphael pursed his lips but didn’t comment on it. “Michael will see you as soon as he’s finished questioning Gabrielle.”

“It’s Lash,” he mumbled under his breath. He hated being called by his heavenly name, but Raphael, old-fashioned in his ways and adamant on keeping traditions, insisted.

Raphael ran a hand through his blond waves of hair with frustration. He didn’t acknowledge the remark, but Lash knew he had heard it well enough. Some of the special perks of being an angel included amplified sight, hearing, and strength—the flying was an added bonus.

“Why did you do it, Lahash? Gabrielle gave you specific instructions. All you had to do was follow them.”

What answer could he give to his mentor, the one who always defended him when he decided to go his own way? He wished he could tell Raphael the truth. When Gabrielle had instructed him to save the boy, he had been happy to do it. For years, he’d been helping people who threw their lives away with frivolous pursuits; at least with a child, he thought, there was always hope. There was something about children, with their open minds and unblemished hearts; so different from the jaded, selfish adults he encountered. Saving the boy had been easy; leaving the little blond-haired girl to her fate had not.

“Gabrielle made a mistake. She must have overlooked that another young one was on the plane, so I figured, what would be the harm in saving both of them?”

“There was no mistake,” Raphael said.

“The girl deserved to live.”

“It’s not for you to decide. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Boss makes the decisions.” He waved Raphael off and sat down on one of the leather couches in the center of the room. He tried to follow through on his assignments, but lately it had become more difficult to accept them—even though he knew Michael and Gabrielle received their instructions from God.

Raphael sat across from him and leaned forward. “Lahash, you care deeply for humans, and that’s what makes you a great seraph. But you must learn control. You cannot make decisions without thinking them through.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Lash sank into the white leather and leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “I don’t agree with some of the decisions made around here.”

“You are young. You will grow to learn that the decisions we make are based on much more than what is set before us.” Raphael’s voice grew stern. “Every action has consequences that must be taken into account.”

“Come on. She’s a little girl.” He threw his hands up. “I gave her a chance to grow up and live out her life. What could be the harm in that?”

“More than you know.”

Lash’s face turned serious. “You should have seen her, Raphael. There was a goodness in her I hadn’t seen in anyone for a long time.”

“I’m sure there was. But you have no knowledge of what she is to become.” Raphael sat back, a faraway look passing over his eyes. “There was a time when I followed my heart. I dared to defy Michael and the others.” His eyes drifted down, a sad expression crossing his face. “I did so at great cost.”

Lash had seen that expression from time to time and wondered what had happened to Raphael to cause him such obvious heartache. He wished he could remember the first time he had met him. For some reason, there was a gap in his memory. All he could remember was waking one morning with Raphael sitting by his side.

As Raphael stood and walked to the door, Lash followed and playfully punched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll get a slap on the wrist like last time.”

Raphael shook his head. “Someday your rebelliousness will catch up with you.”

He grinned. “Not today. I’m sure of it.”

As they walked down the corridor, a tall, slender angel approached them. Waves of flaxen hair framed a scowling face. “Michael is ready to see you.”

Lash smirked. “Well, good morning to you too, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle narrowed her green cat-like eyes. “Do you not understand the ramifications of what you’ve done? Or is it that you just don’t care?”

He was about to answer when Raphael stepped in front of him. “Don’t answer that. Gabrielle, I believe it’s best to take this conversation to Michael. Shall we?”

Her eyes softened when she looked at Raphael and then turned cold. “You can’t protect him this time.” She turned to Lash, and her eyes looked him over with loathing. “Why do you even bother?” Turning on her heel, she walked toward the Hall of Judgment.

At the door, she stepped aside and stood beside Raphael. As Lash walked in, he winked at him, trying to hide his growing anxiety. Strange. In all the times he’d gotten in trouble before, he’d never been anxious. Something was different.

“Don’t sweat it, Raphael. I’ve got this covered,” Lash said. What was the worst they could do to him?