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More touches, to my shoulders. My face. My hair. My back.
But he came, when I was at my darkest. I prayed him down from the sky, and he came in a flash of blue fire that lit up the heavens. I know he came by his own choice, but he came because I called him. He came when I could no longer take the weig
ht of the world on my own. He came when I needed him the most. He came and saved me from myself, saved me from the waters that rose up to my chest and over my head.
The shuffle of feet. The whisper of voices. So many whispers.
He made me believe I was stronger than I ever thought I could be. He showed me how to chase away the dark. The sun rose every morning because he made it so. He broke me down into tiny pieces and then picked them back up and shaped me into something… different. I understand now, I think. We’re tested. We’ve always been tested, and we always will be. It’s not meant to be cruel. It’s not meant to be some dark malevolent thing, even though it might seem like it. We might not always understand why things happen the way they do. We might not always agree. We might hate it. But they happen regardless. We could allow ourselves to become buried by it. Or… or we can rise above it, learn from it, and allow ourselves to see something more. I want to see more. I want to see more so badly I can taste it.
More and more footsteps. Tears. Sighs of relief. Of reverence. Beauty. Truth. I am touched over and over again, until my skin vibrates from it. I don’t think I can take much more without breaking.
My father told me it’s better to have something burn bright for a short amount of time than to never see it burn at all. If that is true, then so be it. I will have loved with my whole heart. With my whole soul. I gave as much as I was able, though it might not have been all of me. I can see that now. I can see the burden he was to carry. I can see the fear and loneliness in his own heart. It weighed on him. It held him down. But still he pushed on. Still he cared for more than just me. He cared for all of us. He cared for us because we are his. You gave him to us, and even if you take him back, you can never take that away from us. We will remember the time, however short it was, when we came alive. When we felt the fire in our chests, the wind in our heads. The earth beneath our feet and the water against our fingertips. We will remember him always.
But what if….
What have I been taught? What have I learned? I don’t believe this is a game. Not anymore. Michael said he didn’t understand why me, why God had picked me to do what he’s done. He didn’t understand why this tiny little part of the world, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. His focus is on the destruction of a world I don’t know, of a mankind that can manipulate the elements. A world of a child flash-burned into a wall of a room so white, of a man named Seven who might be the one to save us all. He didn’t understand what importance we might have. And maybe, in the long run, it won’t matter. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the point of all of this is not what will happen in the future, but what will happen now.
And what happens now? Maybe Michael knew more than he realized. Maybe he knew all along when he said love is nothing without sacrifice. The act of sacrifice is by its very nature a selfless act, he’d said. One cannot sacrifice unless one is doing not for himself, but for the greater good. Your father knew this, Benji. He knew it more than most people.
My father knew. He knew about the greater good. He knew about what the cost could be.
And so do I.
I open my eyes.
St Jude Novena stares down at me, alight with such beauty that I tremble.
I caress my mother’s hand before I gently let it go. I stand. And turn.
Hundreds of people have filed into the church, filling the nave until they are shoulder to shoulder. The church is completely full, and I can see the doors at the narthex are open, and even more people fill the streets. I see them all—my friends, my family. Neighbors. People I’ve seen almost every day since I can remember. I see my town. I see Roseland. Some of them have their heads bowed, hands tucked under their chins. Others have their arms spread like wings, palms and faces toward the ceiling, mouths moving. Some look fearful. Others are crying. Still others are watching me closely, as if waiting for my next move, waiting for me to speak. But I can feel it. Even if they’re not all the same, I can feel them. They’re praying. Almost all of Roseland is praying. If one prayer is but a whisper, then this must be a roar to the heavens. These are my people. This is my home.
And if it can’t be his, I won’t let him disappear into the dark.
I turn back to St. Jude Novena.
“Michael,” I say, my voice strong. I hear people raising their heads, a rustle that reminds me of wings. “I know you can hear me, hear all of us. I know you’re listening. I know now what you meant. In the White Room. I know what you meant when you spoke of what love really means. You gave me a gift, or your Father did. You gave me what my heart wanted. You allowed me the moment to say good-bye. And I will remember what you did for the rest of my life.”
I take a deep breath. “But I also know that gifts come with a price. I know that all things demand sacrifice. We have a choice. We have free will. The design is not fixed. The future is not set in stone. You have made your decision, and you have helped me make mine.” I look down at the angel. My angel, my guardian. The blue lights are flashing brighter now, and his wings have returned, solid and sure. I reach down and rub my fingers over the feathers. They feel like home. They feel like hope. He deserves this. More than me. I lean over and kiss him gently. “I love you,” I whisper.
And then I stand, my shoulders squared, my head held tall. I am bigger than I ever felt before. I am stronger. I am braver. I am true. I will give up my heart to save his soul. “Take him home.”
The crowd behind me gasps as my mother struggles to her feet, grabbing onto me, asking me why, crying why. But I don’t back down. I don’t turn away. I don’t allow myself to be pulled into the throngs of people behind me and carried away. I ignore their cries, their tears, their anger and fear at what seems like my betrayal. The angel Calliel deserves his chance to be free of this place. Where he can hear his Father’s voice, even if it’s just a whisper. Where his soul will thrive.
I raise my voice. “You hear me, Michael? Gabriel? David? Raphael? He can’t stay here. He can’t. I won’t allow it. Not for me. Not with all that he’ll suffer. You take him back. Love is nothing without sacrifice, and I am willing to sacrifice everything for him, even if it means I’ll never see him again. Take him back to his Father. You take him home!”
Nothing.
“Michael!”
The cries of the town silence behind me as a white light explodes in through St. Jude Novena, illuminating the church in a fierce glow. It’s a warm thing, a curious thing, and all of Roseland holds its breath. They can feel it too, just as I can. It’s coming because it heard me. Heard all of us.
The light is blinding as it lowers to the ground at the back of the altar. It touches down, and the light begins to fade. Standing in its place is the archangel Michael.
He offers me a sad smile. “Benji,” he says with slight a nod of his head. “It’s good to see you again, child.”
“Michael,” I say in return. My mouth feels dry.
Michael does not look at Cal; instead, he seems interested in the townspeople who have gathered in the church. “What an odd little place,” he says. He cocks his head at the crowd, and as one they take a step back. “Hello.”
