An Angel from Hell story
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 7, Part 2
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 7, Part 2
Exiting the hotel by way of the stair, Jezebel filled Holly in.
“If those two aren't for real” said the ex-waitress, “it means that the bad guys must have planted that Holiday Inn message inside the Bible. That's not possible. We ourselves didn't know where we'd end up that night. And look, they already had four guys in Alliance. Those tough guys didn't need any tricks; they just went in and grabbed me, and they almost got you, too. So why would their side have any reason to point us toward Omaha? It doesn't add up.”
“There's one more thing that doesn't add up,” admitted Jezebel. “The girl with the reverend had a very familiar face.”
“You knew her?”
“No. I just knew the face. She's a dead ringer for a younger version of Princess Diana.”
“The Princess Diana?”
The angel nodded.
Holly shook her head. “But she's dead. It has to be another impostor.”
“That minister guy didn't try denying that it's really her. Another thing. If it were an impostor, how could the Cabal ever think that it would be a good move to shove her into my way?”
“That's super weird, all right. But you said the girl was young. The real Di would have to be in her fifties by now.”
Jezebel sighed. “If you want to understand the world, Holly, toss science out the window. Scientists know a lot, but all the universities are Cabal. The honest researchers usually lose their tenure. The rest of them are play for pay agents who hold back most of what they know to be true and distort the rest. She's Nephilim.”
“It means that she's descended from fallen angels mixed with humans.”
The singer looked amazed. “There really are fallen angels? You mean to say those that old paintings of angels making out with hot girls come straight out of history?”
Jezebel grimaced uneasily. “Ah, yes. The Fa... God allows Nephilim to live as long as five hundred years. A lot of them are shape-shifters. They can pretend to age. They're expert at staging phony death scenes and funerals. After they check out of a life, they simply lay low for a while. Later on, they go back into the world by setting up a new identity.”
“Are these Nephilim always bad people?”
“Most serial killers and career criminals are Nephilim. Most terrorists and radicals, too. Wherever there's money or power, Nephilim go for it like pigs to a trough. Watch out for anyone who comes out of nowhere with a lot of inherited money. They're probably Nephilim.”
“I guess a person wouldn't want to run into one of that kind.”
“You've already met hundreds or thousands. The music industry is full of them.”
Holly blinked. “No wonder show people seem so crazy! But what you're saying sounds like a nutty movie plot.”
“It's real. I could tell you plenty more that's even worse, but why keep you awake at night?”
“If all that's possible, what should we do?”
“I don't know. Normally I'd say we should get out of town, but something is telling me that we should hear them out.”
“That's scary, especially if one of them isn't human.”
“I wish I could say that it'ld be perfectly safe, but I can't,” said Jezebel.
Holly nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, Jill. If these Neph-guys are all over the place, meeting one more shouldn't be the end of the world.”
“Not yet anyway. My idea is for us to go in separately. I'll enter the restaurant first, and you should follow a couple minutes later. I don't want you to be alone for very long.”
The Watcher took a few bills from her wallet. “Buy something to eat or drink, and try to seem like an ordinary customer. Don't look around the room too much. I'll be watching out for Nephilim that shouldn't be there. If things don't look suspicious, I'll go sit down with the couple. I don't know how long we'll talk. If I take off my coat, that will be your signal to come over and join us. But if I leave Culver's without taking it off, follow me outside a couple minutes later.”
“Beats me. If the Cabal knows we're in Omaha, we have to leave. But we're nearly out of money again, so it's going to be bad for a while.” To pay for food, lodgings, and gas, in fact, Jezebel would probably need to steal. The trick would be committing crimes without making themselves fugitives from the law as well as from the Cabal.
“Do you mind if I pray for guidance and protection?” Holly asked.
Jezebel shrugged. “Yeah, sure, go for it. But make it snappy. We've got a tight window of time. The strangers know what I look like and could tell any backup that they have. I only wish I could go in wearing a good disguise.”
“We still have that little red dress in the car,” Holly suggested.
The restaurant was made of gray blocks covered by a blue roof. Jezebel stepped in, still thinking about Frances. A righteous Nephilim? That idea was a tough sell. From real life experience, she knew that most Nephilim were born violent, and rarely with a sense of right and wrong. Worse, Satanist children were routinely brutalized, especially emotionally, to create what humans called psychopaths. After such upbringing, how could the mind and soul of a Nephilim still be salvageable? The Flood had been sent primarily to destroy the hybrids on Earth. But even though Noah and his boys were of pure human stock, the Scriptures didn't say the same about the sons' wives. Had the Father waited too long before sending the Deluge, until no women without mixed blood yet remained alive?
She was falling into the age-old quandary. Could the Creator make mistakes? If not, it meant that he had purposely allowed Nephilim bloodlines to survive. If that were so, it meant that the Father had foreseen a use for them. But what was his plan? The angel gritted her teeth. Why couldn't the I Am ever do anything simply; why did everything have to be a mystery or a puzzle? If Jezebel read things wrongly and made a mistake in the course of the next few hours, she'd probably be held to blame for the resulting consequences. The smart thing might be to leave the final decision about what to do with Holly up to Holly.
But what was really going on? The Creator was always testing men and angels. Was this another test? Was the Father creating a situation so confusing that Jezebel would have to ask for discernment? Well, that wouldn't happen. She didn't like running to daddy with every question. Having to ask for forgiveness while in the In-Between Place had almost made Jetrel choke. Even now she didn't want to appear weak. How could one who had existed even before the universe itself existed respect weakness?
Decorated mostly blue and white, Culver's interior was airy-looking with large windows. It had more wooden furniture than most other franchise places. The noonday crowd hadn't descended as yet, so empty sections still remained. None of the staff or customers in view seemed to be glowing violet, and that was reassuring. Just then, she saw Holly enter. The girl took a quick glance around and went to the serving counter.
Jezebel turned to the window and peered outside. Not seeing any Nephilim, she checked her watch. It had been twenty minutes since leaving apartment 432. She wondered whether the couple would be punctual.
The angel let the two of them pass while she kept out of sight. From of the corner of her eye, she observed Holly filling up a paper cup at the soft-drink dispenser. For a moment, Jezebel kept watch, but observed no bad auras following Orson and Frances in. Game to take a risk, she went to join the waiting line behind the enigmatic couple.
Orson looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are,” he whispered. The Watcher nodded in silence.
The three advanced through the queue and made their orders. Jezebel had already eaten and so asked for no more than fries and a soft drink. Garland and his false daughter made selections from the breakfast menu. When the food came up, the pair carried it into an unoccupied area. The angel made a final check for threat signs and then joined them.
Ahead of her, Frances had taken a chair that Jezebel would have chosen. “Move around, blondie,” the angel said. “I want to be able to see who's coming through the door.” Frances complied, albeit with a look of annoyance, and Jezebel appropriated her seat.
The pair seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
Jezebel took a deep breath and began. “So, if I were the girl you came here to help, where would we go from here?”
Orson appeared to be brimming with earnestness. “Until you feel able to make plans of your own, Frances has agreed to share her apartment in Jasper.”
“It's a town in the Ozarks. My church is there. The 2010 census put us at 466 citizens.”
“It sounds dull.”
The man gave a coaxing smile. “Dull can be another word for peaceful, I like to say.”
“Well, it sure does sound peaceful. What's its other charms?”
“It's has the courthouse for Newton County.”
“So that's why it's so huge?”
“Yes. But there are some smaller villages around the general area, if you'd prefer. For a while, though, it might be a good idea to stay close by. Frances and I could help you get oriented to the area, and assist you with whatever special needs you may have.”
“Okay, say I settled into this thriving town of Jasper. What then?”
“It all depends on you. There aren't many jobs nearby. Fortunately, there's usually openings in Branson. That's across the line into Missouri, a little over fifty miles away. A lot of Jasper people work over there. If you found a spot, there'll probably be some commuter in the congregation for you to ride with, if you don't have a car of your own.”
While Reverend Garland was speaking, Jezebel's attention had focused on Frances. “Do you work in Branson, too?”
“No,” she said. “I teach at Kingston School. Elementary.”
“Then I hope you're a vegetarian.” She eyed the sausage on the woman's plastic plate. “Oh, I guess not.”
The young woman's wary glance became a glare.
Fine. Jezebel wanted to test her. If she could make the hybrid mad enough, the girl might give something away, something that didn't fit with their cover story. The Watcher was also considering the nearness of Jasper to Branson. Ideally, Holly should go to the most remote town possible. Being close-in to a teeming tourist-trap could pose a risk. Branson had a notable concert hall and Holly – Pelosia – might be tempted to re-involve herself with show business. The entertainment industry typically drew Cabalists in like dung flies. To remain reasonably safe, the girl needed to shun the public eye.
“Jasper may be workable,” she said offhandedly. “But why would either of you put yourself out for a stranger? I've told you that the Cabal is involved, and that's dangerous.”
Reverend Garland met her glance boldly. “When the Lord asks something of a person, He always has a good reason. I decided long ago that I would be an obedient servant.”
“Do you hide a lot of fugitives?”
“No, Frances was my first.”
Jezebel shifted toward the blonde. “How you fit into all this, Highness? Are you really Princess Di, or are you just impersonating her?”
The woman scowled. “Don't speak that name. I'm Frances Dillon.” She was using her Arkansas accent again.
“If that's so, what in hell is someone like you doing in Arkansas? Is your life in danger?”
Frances' expression changed. “Maybe. I had a uncle, James. I didn't get to know him well, but he seemed to be less of a bastard than the rest of our family. He was found dead in his hotel room, strangled with his own robe belt. The police called it a suicide, a hanging, but the hotel staff had found him lying on the floor, as if struck down by an assassin. There wasn't any real police investigation and the news barely reported it. Think of it. One of the richest men in the world was dead, the official report wasn’t making any sense, and everyone in authority was saying, 'There's nothing to see here.' And all of that was just fine with the media! But I kept my eyes and ears open. The queen's people investigated the death privately, and I heard things leaked. The gossip was that his own family might have removed him. Supposedly, James had been too outspoken against Agenda 21. No one – no one at all – is allowed to disagree with a ruling-counsel decision once it’s set into motion.”
“Agenda 21? I've heard about it,” said Jezebel. Indeed she had. It signified the Cabalist plan to kill seven billion people and enslave the survivors. But the plan wasn't a new one; it went back almost two centuries. It had taken a long time to create an effective mass murder technology. The World Wars had been provoked as controlled experiments for testing new weapons of mass destruction. Cabalist scientists working in New Mexico had ended the war by designing the atomic bomb. Spies, including the Rosenbergs, were activated to send this nuclear technology to Stalin, with the aim of starting an atomic war between the West and East. But Stalin died too soon, and his successors were less bold. When the Cabal lost patience, their political subordinates started to provoke the current Russian president, Putanov, but they tried had tried so far had made him pull the trigger. It must be frustrating for the internationalists; their modus operandi was always to make others do their dirty work.
Frances was still speaking. “At the very least, I'd be kept under house arrest for years, until I managed to make them trust me again. I can't let that happen. Have you heard of MK Ultra? Advanced brain-washing. The Cabal uses it to put people under their control. Most mass-shooters, like Sirhan Sirhan, have been created that way. In mere days, the CIA can remake a normal person into a deranged monster. I don't want to become a monster again. I'd rather....” She broke off.
Jezebel understood. She didn't actually want to die, no matter how repulsive her life seemed to be. The Cabalists only pretended to be atheists. In reality, those at the top were Luciferian fanatics and worked feverishly to curry favor with Satan. Those born into the high Bloodline families were reared to believe that they were barred from Heaven by birth, and that only the intervention of Satan had saved their ancestors from the Deluge. But their rescue, allegedly, had been conditional. If the Nephilim didn't please the Lord of Hell, they would be endlessly tormented. Now that the End of Days were looming, the Luciferians were desperate to hand the world over to the Antichrist. The victory of Lucifer in a second war waged against Heaven would supposedly promoted them to become demonic princes and they would not be thrown into the Lake of Fire.
“Somebody's dead,” the angel reminded Frances. “Who was in that car wreck anyway?”
The British girl seemed to struggle to hold her composure. At last she said, “A look-alike. I had more than one. This lady wasn't a clone. She had a soul. She was working for money, to earn an MBA. I knew her. We talked sometimes. When she took my place that day, she didn't know...what was planned. I'd been told that all was set in place for my death scene to be played out. I wanted that, so I could be taken out of the unendurable life I was living. I was even willing to let a friend die. I didn't think I had any other choice.” She stopped for a moment, then forced herself to go on. “I realize now just how twisted I'd become by then, how I’d let my handlers get into my mind. Despite all, I still felt like rebelling sometimes, but then I had to remind myself of what had happened to Uncle James.” She glanced away. “I had already done so much that was wrong, one more bad thing didn't seem to matter.”
“So you're claiming to be from a high-ranking Cabalist family?” Jezebel asked.
Frances shook her head. “I've said too much.” She looked fiercely at Orson. “Who is this person? Why should we trust her?”
The clergyman seemed unsure.
The Watcher spoke up. “My license says I'm Jill – and you don't need to know my last name. I was sent by God. That's all you need to know, isn't it?”
Frances scowled. “Who really sent you? I know what killer eyes look like. Many people had killer eyes at the palace, and you have them, too.”
Jezebel showed a bitter grin. “Don't sweat it. I haven't offed anyone since early Friday. And they were only a pair of ghuls.” Then she shrugged. “Well, maybe killed a security guard, too. I left him lying there without making sure. It wasn't like I cared.”
Orson looked amazed. “I trust you're joking, Miss...Jill.”
She pointed at his chest. “Hey, I've got a mission. Do you think the guy upstairs likes Cabalist flunkies?”
The clergyman turned his gaze skyward again. A moment later, he said, “The Lord tells me that you mean what you say, and He also affirms that you are, indeed, serving Him.”
“That should be a relief to you,” said Jezebel. “Did he mention if I'm doing a good job?”
When words failed Orson, the angel frowned. “Why is it that the Father – or the Son – talks to you so easily, but never to me?”
“I can't say,” the reverend averred respectfully.
Frances was shaking her head. “This might be a bad idea, Orson. We should go.”
The minister seemed less certain. “The Lord said one more thing. He gave me the name Sampson, as if it should reassure me. Does that name mean anything to you...Jill?”
She shrugged. “Never met the gentleman. I heard plenty about him, though.”
Orson looked encouragingly at Frances. “Sampson killed thousands, but only those who had earned God's wrath.” To Jezebel he said, “Is it your mission to protect the righteous, Miss Jill?”
Jezebel narrowed her eyes. “Lately. I've been told that I can kill anyone who gets in my way, if I don't happen to like the color of their aura. Most of my job is a pain, but that part suits me.”
“I'm not sure this person is safe to be around,” persisted the British princess.
“Believe me, lady, I'm not.”
Jezebel decided to up the ante. “Listen. I'm not the person you need to protect. That's someone else, but I'm not going to turn her over to just anyone. What really bothers me is having someone like you involved in this. Nephilim are nothing but trouble. I'd rather bet on an inside straight than buy into the idea that you've found God. There's no wesen worse than a Reptilian, and the Windsores are Reptilians. Royal reptilians only marry other Reptilians, so that makes you one, too. Your species considers human flesh a delicacy, especially children's flesh. Everywhere the Queen goes, kids disappear. Get this straight, I’m nobody’s patsy, and I'm not running a meat wagon to deliver your next lunch.”
Frances flushed. “I'm not a Reptilian. I despise every wesen species, but I hate that kind most of all!”
Jezebel regarded her for a few seconds, and then grinned lopsidedly. “Nice attitude. Give me a good honest bigot any day, over some virtue-flashing hypocrite. But maybe you're just shamming to get on my good side. I ought to slap you around until I can make you morph. Are you betting that I can't?”
Frances, red-faced, looked askance at the reverend. The latter seemed surprisingly unmoved, considering the violent implications of the conversation.
“Dear one,” said Reverend Garland, “the Lord wishes that you tell your story honestly. It might make a difference.”
Frances seemed unsure what to do. After a moment of evident perplexity, she said, “I-I don't know where to begin.”
Taking a sip of orange soda, the angel only leaned back in her chair and waited. With the British girl still hesitating, she put a French fry between her lips. Nice flavor.
Frances, resolved, now drew in closer and said, in a low voice, “The Reptilians have made themselves powerful, both socially and politically, but they are still only wesen. People call them a royal family, but I come from the true Royals. We have no animal genetics fouling up our ancestry. Jacob Rottweiler is my father, and he is the real king of this world, at least until the Antichrist comes. I was born to one of his more respectable mistresses. The quality of my Bloodline made me a useful tool, and so my father chose to raise me as a Royal princess.”
Jezebel knew that Jacob Rottweiler was a British baron, but also knew that the known world was his invisible kingdom. He held wealth and power that ancient emperors could have envied. Next to him, a mere queen of Great Britain was no more than a subordinate, an unlovely handmaiden, whose only important task was to help his dynasty achieve its ambitions.
“I was taken from my real mother young, and had no regular contact with my father. He saw to it that I became a well-polished pawn, but never let me become more than a pawn. At his behest, I was inserted into a Cabalist family called the Spinsters, one of the few great British houses that isn't Reptilian. I missed my mother badly, but she wasn't allowed to come near me, and I couldn't visit her, either.
“The Spinsters had spent years preparing for my arrival. Countess Spinster had faked a pregnancy overseas and returned with a daughter. The girl was in reality a kidnapped commoner. They kept up the pretense that she was a beloved child until she was ready to go to school. Then the Cabal took her away suddenly and delivered me to their home to assume her identity. I shudder to think what must have become of the poor child, once they had no more use for her.
“But though I grew up in that house, I never really became a Spinster, and they didn't want me to. They deferred to me more like servants than parents. But they were fanatics with no parenting skills. They couldn't even provide a stable home. The earl divorced the countess when I was eight, but kept me with him. He and his people reminded me every day that I was special, that I was a Rottweiler, a true Royal, someone who was much important than even the Windsores. I was told that I was being prepared for something very, very important. They kept me out in society, making useful contacts for me, always being drilled by tutors on how to be charming and persuasive, how to be at ease in public. As I think back, the way I was brought up left me feeling empty. I wasn't anyone's daughter; I was an actress in training.
“It wasn't until my early teens that I was told what they expected from me. I had been selected from infancy to become the Princess of Wales. I was horrified. I'd been introduced to the Windsores shortly after coming to live with the earl. They were frightening, loathsome. Prince Philip was the worst. He came from a Nazi family of Reptilians with strong SS ties, and seemed even less human than the queen.”
The angel frowned. “If this was a drawn-out plot to make you queen, whether you liked it or not, why were you allowed to divorce?”
Frances dried her eyes with a Culver's napkin. “That was the day I had been dreaming of, my beautiful, wonderful divorce. It couldn't have come too soon. The plan was always to have us separate, even before our wedding date had been set. Charles wanted Camilla and only Camilla. She was a lizard like he was, and as much as I disliked the prince, he disliked me more.”
Jezebel wasn't sure that she should believe any of this, but was willing to play along. “So what was the hoax all about?”
“My purpose was to put the Rottweiler Bloodline into the veins of royal house of Britain. For centuries the Rottweilers had been firmly against mixing their true Royal blood with that of hybrid beasts. But the Windsores had been successful in acquiring wealth and power, mostly through drug-running and human trafficking, and my father wanted to control all of that, even if it meant sacrificing a daughter. Half my job was accomplished once I had given those monsters an heir and a spare. That part of it was absolutely degrading, but much more than that was expected of me. I can’t believe that any good god could forgive me for what I did.”
She choked off. This confession was either hard for her, or else she was trying to make it look that way.
Orson Garland touched her hand. “Dear Frances, I have told you so many times: Your repentance is true; I know it is, and you know it, too. You have been long since forgiven. There will be no damnation, no Lake of Fire for you. Have faith.”
The girl nodded, trying to make herself believe.
“What was this other half of your job?” the Watcher asked.
Frances took a deep breath. “My – My task was to destroy Britain. My father and his planners understood the British people so much better than I did. The divorce I asked for should have destroyed my reputation, but the scandal of it actually made my deception easier. I did as I was told, did everything they wanted me to do. And I succeeded only too well.”
Eyes shut, she clenched her fists upon the table and rested her forehead upon them. “May God truly forgive me,” she whispered.
TO BE CONTINUED Chapter 8, Part 1