Posted 02-11-18
Revised 02-07-21
Revised 02-09-21
An Angel From Hell story
By Christopher Leeson
Holly dashed for cover, thinking that her rescuer intended to discharge pistols into the deadly gas reservoirs.
Jezebel's summoning came down with the quickness of thought. What the Father deigned to send to earth always arrived with the speed he desired. The angel, knowing that her body risked incineration, darted after the black-haired girl.
A cascade resembling fiery hail was already raining upon the fenced-off propane tanks. Only seconds later, the gas-blast came with a jarring explosion and a gush of yellow-orange flame. This detonation was immediately followed by three more in close succession. Shredded metal struck the buttress behind the girls and smashed the facing windows of the executive building. Along with the bursts came sprays of burning liquid. But there was little to ignite within their range and the spilled propane rapidly burned out, the last flickers of it dwindling away in darkness. The girls coughed and retched as a brimstone stench suffused the air.
All this had transpired in the course of mere seconds. Surprisingly, the actual destruction left behind looked to be only minimal in the limited light.
The Watcher now made her move, pulling Holly after her, making for a row of parked tractors. Once hidden behind them, they waited until the Kearney firefighters arrived with sirens blaring. The excited staff hurriedly flung open a main gate to admit the trucks. This was Jezebel's cue to race for the exit. No one took special notice of what looked like two good-time girls escaping from a disaster.
Without attracting hostile attention, they reached Jezebel's car. But the angel was no longer well – she staggered, reeled. As either human or angel, she had never felt worse. Holly grabbed her arms and supported the blonde against the side of the vehicle. The touch of cold metal made her cry out, as if burned.
“You're freezing!” the ex-singer exclaimed. Jezebel could say nothing articulate. Holly quickly lowered her to the grass, stripped off her own winter coat, and helped her companion don it.
“You're not in any shape to drive. Do you have the keys?”
“In the b-b-bag,” the Jezebel chattered.
Under the glow of the streetlights, Holly searched the purse she had been carrying for the last several minutes. She discovered the ring near the bottom and used it to unlock the back-seat car door.
After helping Jezebel to get inside, the brunette arranged the coat to cover as much of her as possible. The former's legs were still exposed, but there was nothing to throw over them. Holly hurriedly took over the front seat and started the engine. Once having pulled away from the curb, she simply drove, not knowing where they should be going. A few minutes later, she espied a sign saying, “To Highway 10 South” and took the turn. Cold herself, the girl could no longer ignore the temperature, and so turned the heater dial up as far as it would go.
The two were soon leaving Kearney. “Are you all right back there?” the driver asked anxiously.
“I- I'd k-kill for a b-blanket,” Jezebel chattered.
“No stores are open. We need to get you to someplace warm.”
“W-Where?”
Suddenly the dome light went on.
“I can't check the route while I'm driving,” Holly said, holding the road map over her right shoulder. “Can you read it?”
“H-Here,” Jezebel whispered.
As her clumsy hands worked the disorder out of the map, she asked, “W-What high-w-way are we on?”
“We’re on 10, going south,” Holly said.
The Watcher tried hard to focus. Could they be under hot pursuit? Not likely. Few of those who had encountered them at Monsatana had been left alive. That meant that it might be safe to risk some nearby rest and recuperation. It had also dawned on Jezebel that drawing too heavily from her mystical resources would leave her tapped out and vulnerable. To her frustration, she lacked the stamina of a full angel. Such was not what Shekinah had led her to expect.
“W-We're heading for 34. Go east,” she told Holly. “There's a town, M-Minden, about 10 miles ahead. If there's no lodging there, s-stay on State Road 10 for about 30 miles more, to a red-letter town called H-Hastings.”
The driver nodded. “Minden first.”
Jezebel's summoning came down with the quickness of thought. What the Father deigned to send to earth always arrived with the speed he desired. The angel, knowing that her body risked incineration, darted after the black-haired girl.
A cascade resembling fiery hail was already raining upon the fenced-off propane tanks. Only seconds later, the gas-blast came with a jarring explosion and a gush of yellow-orange flame. This detonation was immediately followed by three more in close succession. Shredded metal struck the buttress behind the girls and smashed the facing windows of the executive building. Along with the bursts came sprays of burning liquid. But there was little to ignite within their range and the spilled propane rapidly burned out, the last flickers of it dwindling away in darkness. The girls coughed and retched as a brimstone stench suffused the air.
All this had transpired in the course of mere seconds. Surprisingly, the actual destruction left behind looked to be only minimal in the limited light.
The Watcher now made her move, pulling Holly after her, making for a row of parked tractors. Once hidden behind them, they waited until the Kearney firefighters arrived with sirens blaring. The excited staff hurriedly flung open a main gate to admit the trucks. This was Jezebel's cue to race for the exit. No one took special notice of what looked like two good-time girls escaping from a disaster.
Without attracting hostile attention, they reached Jezebel's car. But the angel was no longer well – she staggered, reeled. As either human or angel, she had never felt worse. Holly grabbed her arms and supported the blonde against the side of the vehicle. The touch of cold metal made her cry out, as if burned.
“You're freezing!” the ex-singer exclaimed. Jezebel could say nothing articulate. Holly quickly lowered her to the grass, stripped off her own winter coat, and helped her companion don it.
“You're not in any shape to drive. Do you have the keys?”
“In the b-b-bag,” the Jezebel chattered.
Under the glow of the streetlights, Holly searched the purse she had been carrying for the last several minutes. She discovered the ring near the bottom and used it to unlock the back-seat car door.
After helping Jezebel to get inside, the brunette arranged the coat to cover as much of her as possible. The former's legs were still exposed, but there was nothing to throw over them. Holly hurriedly took over the front seat and started the engine. Once having pulled away from the curb, she simply drove, not knowing where they should be going. A few minutes later, she espied a sign saying, “To Highway 10 South” and took the turn. Cold herself, the girl could no longer ignore the temperature, and so turned the heater dial up as far as it would go.
The two were soon leaving Kearney. “Are you all right back there?” the driver asked anxiously.
“I- I'd k-kill for a b-blanket,” Jezebel chattered.
“No stores are open. We need to get you to someplace warm.”
“W-Where?”
Suddenly the dome light went on.
“I can't check the route while I'm driving,” Holly said, holding the road map over her right shoulder. “Can you read it?”
“H-Here,” Jezebel whispered.
As her clumsy hands worked the disorder out of the map, she asked, “W-What high-w-way are we on?”
“We’re on 10, going south,” Holly said.
The Watcher tried hard to focus. Could they be under hot pursuit? Not likely. Few of those who had encountered them at Monsatana had been left alive. That meant that it might be safe to risk some nearby rest and recuperation. It had also dawned on Jezebel that drawing too heavily from her mystical resources would leave her tapped out and vulnerable. To her frustration, she lacked the stamina of a full angel. Such was not what Shekinah had led her to expect.
“W-We're heading for 34. Go east,” she told Holly. “There's a town, M-Minden, about 10 miles ahead. If there's no lodging there, s-stay on State Road 10 for about 30 miles more, to a red-letter town called H-Hastings.”
The driver nodded. “Minden first.”
#
Minden served as home to fewer than 3,000 people, and the escapees' brief tour espied just one pricey-looking motel. They didn't stop. Holly had no money and Jezebel’s funds were getting very low. Once they had pushed on to Hastings, the car passed close to a tallish sign advertising the Hastings Express Inn.
In the motel's front parking area, Jezebel pushed her billfold at Holly and told her to register, feeling unfit to go out into the cold herself. The coatless brunette ran to the office and soon returned, whereupon she drove them to the parking spot in front of their door number.
The boxy little room offered only one queen-sized bed. The girl helped her shivering companion to the mattress, and then arranged her covers. They was nothing to bring in from the car, so Holly immediately locked the door.
The girl stepped out of her borrowed pants, under which she was still wearing her waitress skirt. She slipped beneath the bedclothes, saying, “Let me warm you up.” Jezebel made no objection. Holly's full-bodied embrace felt good. After a few minutes, the exhausted Watcher dropped off to sleep.
Holly lay awake a while longer. She had had no supper, neither in Alliance nor Kearney. Doubting that any café would be open, she resolved to tough it out until the eat shops opened, probably at 6:00 a.m.
Darkness had given way to a bleak morning light by the time that Jezebel awakened. The motel hadn't provided a clock, so she checked her wristwatch. It was almost 10. She was feeling famished. How depressing, the girl thought, to be subjected to so many human weaknesses. Nature, apparently, kept human beings thinking about food for most of each day.
Holly, she saw, was already up and wearing Jill Arendel’s pants again. Jezebel disliked the idea of going outside again while so under-dressed and thought that she ought to take her jeans back. But the fugitive star would start whining about the cold again and the Watcher preferred not to have to shut her up her with a beating.
“How do you feel, Jill?” the waitress asked. “I'm starving, but I didn't want to wake you.”
Jezebel accepted the name of Jill without blenching; she had so many larger problems on her plate. “I'm better. I need some warmer clothing. Is there any of my money left?”
“A bit. Not much. I took a room with only one bed to save a little.”
“I can get more money, somewhere, but not until I'm stronger. I should have emptied the wallets of those goons back at Monsatana.”
“Yeah, I never thought of doing that either,” admitted her companion. “But at least we have a television. I wonder if they'll have news about the explosion at the factory. Or about the dead guys we left behind.”
“Those miscreants were Cabal. The Cabal covers up everything. They don't want anyone looking their way.”
“What are these Cabal guys all about anyway?” the waitress asked. “Are they like organized crime?”
Jezebel sighed. “That’s too long a story. They're the people who own almost everything, and they want to own absolutely everything. What sets them apart from regular crooks – businessmen, lawyers, educators, and politicians -- is the fact that they worship Satan. They usually call him Lucifer.”
“I thought only show-people were into Lucifer.”
“No, it started out as a banker thing, but that's a long story, too.”
Holly switched on the TV set. As she went through the channels, almost every station featured reporters jabbering outside the White House about the presidential inauguration. It was going to start at noon, Eastern time. “Do you think Donald Champion will make a good president?” she asked.
“He couldn't do worse than the joker you've been putting up with for the last eight years.”
“Don't say that to my Hollywood friends,” Holly replied with a smile. “They all went crazy after Hillary Skragg lost the election, even talking about blowing up the White House.”
“Are you so sure you really have friends in Hollywood?”
Holly lost her grin. “I thought I did, but, no. The people there weren't like the friends that I hung with in high school. They were crazy political. A couple of the worst were internet trolls. When they got off on something, they came off like psychos -- like they were really scary.”
“You should be afraid of people like that.”
“I've been afraid for a long time. I want it to stop. I wish you'd tell me more about what's going on.”
“I wasn’t sent here to educate you. I only need to keep you safe, until someone takes you off my hands.”
“Who's that?”
“I don't have a clue.” But, actually, Jezebel was thinking about that message left in the motel Bible. She hoped it wasn’t an old message meant for someone else. If it was dud information, she'd be stuck with hiding the fugitive in her own apartment, which was not an attractive proposition.
Providing for two people long-term was out of the question. It took money, for one thing. She began to wonder about Jill Arendel’s bank account. If she had a bank card and credit cards, and she died carrying them around, the police would have taken them to send back to her parents. Suddenly she got a mental impression of a middle-aged man and woman. They looked so familiar. Jebezel winced; not wanting to think about them.
“You know, if angels like to put messages into Bibles,” her companion suddenly said, “maybe there'll be one here, too.”
“Yeah, sure, kid.”
Holly walked to the bed stand and slid out the drawer. There was a Gideon Bible inside, just as she had hoped. When flipping through the leaves, she caught a glance of something. Paging back, she discovered a hundred-dollar bill.
“Look at this! Who'd use a hundred dollar bill for a book mark? It's not like many rich people will be staying in a budget motel. Something doesn’t seem right. Do you think we should turn it in to the front desk?”
Jezebel raised her chin. “Not on your life. I can use it, if you can't. We need to eat, keep the tank filled, and I have to get some decent clothes.”
“You left Alliance without your things. Thanks, that means a lot.”
“I didn't feel like wasting time.”
“That's what I mean.” She handed the money to Jezebel.
The Watcher stared at her. “You're broke, you've got no resources. Why don't you keep it?”
“I'm not sure it's meant for me. Anyway, I want to pay you back for what you've had to spend, and everything you've gone through.”
Jezebel tossed her head. A million dollars wouldn't be pay enough for what she had gone through, and what she was still going through. With a sigh, she replied, “Well, I just hope that every Bible I find from now on has hundred bucks in it. Better, still, a ten thousand dollar bill.”
Holly, saying nothing, looked pensive.
“What are you thinking about?” the angel asked.
“I’ve been wondering how you blew up those tanks. I didn't hear any gunshots.”
“Oh, that. I had a book of matches,” she lied.
The brunette blinked. “That's all it took? Those things must be pretty unsafe.”
“It's an unsafe world.”
“I'm finding that out,” Holly said with a nod. “I wish I could fight the way you can. How did you learn?”
“I was in the army.”
“The US army?”
“No. It was...foreign.”
“You're just full of surprises. I'd like to get to know you better.”
“No you wouldn't.”
“Why?”
Jezebel sank back into the pillow. “Because, sooner or later, I'd end up hurting you,” she finally said.
#
After that, they ate a brunch at Big Dallys Deli. Jezebel was still wearing Jill's little red dress under Holly's coat, which attracted attention. The sin-energy that was being stirred up by all those roving eyes hardly felt unpleasant. It was like a swallow of the brandy that the trucker had shared with her at the Brady truck stop.
“Oh, look,” Holly said, “there's the president being sworn in.”
A TV, temporarily installed on the counter, had been playing behind Jezebel. It showed a well-dressed crowd watching the changing of the old order. Most of the expensively dressed dignitaries on screen didn't look too happy about being there.
The question crossed Jezebel's mind. Why had she been sent to earth at just this moment, at the time of the changing of the presidents? Did this new head of state have anything to do with the Father's postponement of the tribulation?”
It was hard not to think of Champion as someone entering a lions' den. After eight years of the other guy, there couldn’t be as much as one honest person left in the White House. If the new POTUS managed to escape assassination for as much as a year, it could only be chalked up to divine protection. In the 1960's, the president John Fitzgerald had only mentioned a couple times that he wanted to get "America's secret masters" under control and he was assassinated.
A meal of sausage and hotcakes made Jezebel feel worlds better. From the cafe, they drove to a Goodwill Store. It was “green-tag” discount day and the Watcher was lucky to pick out a parka-style winter coat marked down to $10.00. Then, selecting “green” label items as much as possible, she acquired a full outfit that was suitable for the weather. Holly needed a few things, too, and added them into the tally.
By now, Jezebel was feeling fit enough to want to drive. On impulse, she pulled into an Econofoods parking lot, there to buy provisions for a couple meals before they reached Omaha.
When back on the road, Jezebel chose to take Highway 6 east, until Dorchester. When 6 turned north, she switched to 33 and continued eastward. She was warily avoiding Highway 80 with its state troopers. Nearing Lincoln, she skirted the city on 77 north. That brought her out to the main drag, Highway 80, but she was banking on the anonymity afforded them by heavy traffic. She decided that from heron on in she had to be more carefully about committing crimes casually. It caused too many hassles.
Omaha was only an hour away when Holly turned on the radio. The inauguration news coverage was still heavy, but most stations were handling it with sober tones. Reporters were giving short shrift to cheerful voters, but seemed to linger sympathetically alongside bigwigs and fellow reporters expressing fear concerning the new president. Jezebel switched channels several times to get some music, but choice boiled down to either country-western or modernist cacophony, both both of which irritated her to no end.
As Jetrel, she had listened to, and even participated in, angel choirs. Human music gave her almost-physical pain. The least terrible sounds came from Baroque compositions and vintage Broadway songs. But there was none of that out here, so she did a lot of channel-changing.
One story riveted the attention of the two of them.
“Pelosia Wittke is finally back with her fans. She phoned Charlie Gage, a reporter with the Los Angeles Times late last night, announcing her return from Europe. As the entire music industry knows, Pelosia has been away for many months at a Scandinavian rehab clinic. When told how much her millions of fans had missed her, Miss Wittke replied that she wants her friends and well-wishers to know that she'll soon be singing up a storm again, even better than before.”
“They’re making it sound like I'm a doper!” the real Pelosia Wittke exclaimed. “What is this all about? What do they mean Pelosia Wittke is back?”
Jezebel grimaced. “They work fast, I'll give them that. The Cabal must have had a clone all ready to go. As soon as those – kidnappers – called in to say that you were captured, the bosses must have put their impostor on the job. They'd need to keep someone in the public eye while you were locked up somewhere and subjected to mind-control. The plan was probably to get you brainwashed, and then plug you back into your old life months from now.”
“You called her a clone? Do you mean like in Orphan Black?”
Jezebel recognized the reference; it had been a good show. “Yes. Clones are real. If they secretly murder someone for his position or money, they puts in a clone. If they murder somebody and want to conceal it, they send in the clones. If somebody goes into hiding from the law, they surrender a clone to serve the time.”
“Are you saying that there are real, actual clones?”
“Sure. But I don’t think that they’d waste valuable resources on you. What they have has got to be a professional impersonator. They probably put her into training right after you disappeared."
After that, they ate a brunch at Big Dallys Deli. Jezebel was still wearing Jill's little red dress under Holly's coat, which attracted attention. The sin-energy that was being stirred up by all those roving eyes hardly felt unpleasant. It was like a swallow of the brandy that the trucker had shared with her at the Brady truck stop.
“Oh, look,” Holly said, “there's the president being sworn in.”
A TV, temporarily installed on the counter, had been playing behind Jezebel. It showed a well-dressed crowd watching the changing of the old order. Most of the expensively dressed dignitaries on screen didn't look too happy about being there.
The question crossed Jezebel's mind. Why had she been sent to earth at just this moment, at the time of the changing of the presidents? Did this new head of state have anything to do with the Father's postponement of the tribulation?”
It was hard not to think of Champion as someone entering a lions' den. After eight years of the other guy, there couldn’t be as much as one honest person left in the White House. If the new POTUS managed to escape assassination for as much as a year, it could only be chalked up to divine protection. In the 1960's, the president John Fitzgerald had only mentioned a couple times that he wanted to get "America's secret masters" under control and he was assassinated.
A meal of sausage and hotcakes made Jezebel feel worlds better. From the cafe, they drove to a Goodwill Store. It was “green-tag” discount day and the Watcher was lucky to pick out a parka-style winter coat marked down to $10.00. Then, selecting “green” label items as much as possible, she acquired a full outfit that was suitable for the weather. Holly needed a few things, too, and added them into the tally.
By now, Jezebel was feeling fit enough to want to drive. On impulse, she pulled into an Econofoods parking lot, there to buy provisions for a couple meals before they reached Omaha.
When back on the road, Jezebel chose to take Highway 6 east, until Dorchester. When 6 turned north, she switched to 33 and continued eastward. She was warily avoiding Highway 80 with its state troopers. Nearing Lincoln, she skirted the city on 77 north. That brought her out to the main drag, Highway 80, but she was banking on the anonymity afforded them by heavy traffic. She decided that from heron on in she had to be more carefully about committing crimes casually. It caused too many hassles.
Omaha was only an hour away when Holly turned on the radio. The inauguration news coverage was still heavy, but most stations were handling it with sober tones. Reporters were giving short shrift to cheerful voters, but seemed to linger sympathetically alongside bigwigs and fellow reporters expressing fear concerning the new president. Jezebel switched channels several times to get some music, but choice boiled down to either country-western or modernist cacophony, both both of which irritated her to no end.
As Jetrel, she had listened to, and even participated in, angel choirs. Human music gave her almost-physical pain. The least terrible sounds came from Baroque compositions and vintage Broadway songs. But there was none of that out here, so she did a lot of channel-changing.
One story riveted the attention of the two of them.
“Pelosia Wittke is finally back with her fans. She phoned Charlie Gage, a reporter with the Los Angeles Times late last night, announcing her return from Europe. As the entire music industry knows, Pelosia has been away for many months at a Scandinavian rehab clinic. When told how much her millions of fans had missed her, Miss Wittke replied that she wants her friends and well-wishers to know that she'll soon be singing up a storm again, even better than before.”
“They’re making it sound like I'm a doper!” the real Pelosia Wittke exclaimed. “What is this all about? What do they mean Pelosia Wittke is back?”
Jezebel grimaced. “They work fast, I'll give them that. The Cabal must have had a clone all ready to go. As soon as those – kidnappers – called in to say that you were captured, the bosses must have put their impostor on the job. They'd need to keep someone in the public eye while you were locked up somewhere and subjected to mind-control. The plan was probably to get you brainwashed, and then plug you back into your old life months from now.”
“You called her a clone? Do you mean like in Orphan Black?”
Jezebel recognized the reference; it had been a good show. “Yes. Clones are real. If they secretly murder someone for his position or money, they puts in a clone. If they murder somebody and want to conceal it, they send in the clones. If somebody goes into hiding from the law, they surrender a clone to serve the time.”
“Are you saying that there are real, actual clones?”
“Sure. But I don’t think that they’d waste valuable resources on you. What they have has got to be a professional impersonator. They probably put her into training right after you disappeared."
"Depressing," said Holly.
“It goes on all the time. When Hillary Skragg was running for president, she was sick, drunk, or drugged-out most of the time. At least three different impersonators were identified on the campaign trail. One of them even gave a public interview about it.”
“You make the world sound absolutely insane,” said Holly.
"By your standards, it is insane. Understand this: Everything you’re told to believe a lie. The news and the schools give you what amounts to a third-rate novel and tell you to treat it like histor. Did you hear how that the ex-Nazi billionaire, George Zoros, used to look like death warmed over. He must be almost ninety. Then, one day, he’s suddenly as spry as a colt and looks about twenty years younger.”
“How long do you suppose that they’ll keep that impersonator living my life -- if I don't let them find me, I mean?”
“Hard to say. When your career becomes old news, I suppose they’ll stage a death for you."
“My God! That's horrible. It will break my mom's heart! Somebody has to warn her!”
“That could be awkward,” replied Jezebel.
“Mom will be able to see that the imposter isn't me. If she lets them know what she knows, will they kill her? I've got to get to a phone.”
“Holly, you don’t realize how things work. Everything that you say to her is going to be overheard by people monitoring the connection. Look what happened the last time you called home.”
The ex-singer remembered, and she seemed stunned.
“What might happen this time,” the Watcher continued, “is that a voice will cut in on the line while you two are speaking. It will threaten the murder of your mother if you don't turn yourself in immediately. You'd be stuck then.”
The girl looked ashen.
“Don't worry,” Jezebel said. “If you stay out of contact, they'll probably stage some public quarrel between your clone and your mom, so they won't have to bother with home-trips and so forth. The Cabal agents will keep her alive, waiting for the day when they can use her to blackmail you into a surrender.”
“But I don’t want the clone to make my mother think I don’t love her. What should I do?”
The angel shook her head. “There's not much you can do. This is an evil world, and you're just a tiny minnow in it. The only thing a minnow can do is to try dodge the hooks and nets while it tries to survive. You won't like to hear this, but you have to become a completely new person with a whole knew life."
"That's not fair!"
"Yeah, well, that's how it has to be. Things are never going to get back to normal again, at least not for you. Right off, you need to change your name again; use any handle you'd like, as long as it isn't Pelosia Wittke or Susan Wevers. And you can't be Holly...whatever...anymore, either, since the Cabal will absolutely know that name by now.
"And for Pete's sake, be careful what you put on the internet where the whole world can see it. Especially, don't post any pictures of yourself, and be careful that future friends of yours don't either. The bad people have incredible facial recognition software that can search millions of web pages at a speed that you wouldn't believe.”
Holly sat back in her seat, dumbfounded.
“They seem so powerful. How can these people ever be stopped?”
“God alone can stop them.”
“How can He do that?”
“In the best way possible. By killing each and every one of them. That was the formula that worked back when Noah was a sailor.”
To Be Continued in Chapter 7, Part 1
Chapter 6 is up, but not as soon as we were shooting for. This month's section wasn't a hard one, as things go, but we haven't had much free time around here for the last couple weeks. Anyway, with this section in the can, we will be going next to "The Treasure of Eerie, AZ, Chapt. 4, Part 2", which should not be difficult, either. But if time will be kinder to us for the next couple of weeks, who knows?
ReplyDelete