The Falling Star: Chapter 7, Part 2

 
Posted 04-07-18

Revised 02-07-21

An Angel from Hell story

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, is it? We didn't even know ourselves where we'd end up that night. And why would they get sneaky now? Those tough guys who came for us were using muscle, not tricks. It doesn't add up.”

“There's one more thing that doesn't add up,” admitted Jezebel. “The girl with the reverend had a familiar face.”

“You knew her?”

“No. I just know the face. She's a dead ringer for...someone."

"Who?"

Jezebel took a breath. "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.”

“If it's an impostor, how could the Cabal think that it would be a good idea to shove her into my way? I shoot that kind of person on sight!”

“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. “Holly, you’re going to have to toss your idea of science out the window. Scientists work for money, and the big money is always with the Cabalists. What scientists tell the people doesn't have to be true; it just has to serve Cabalist ends. Like global warming and evolution. A lot of scientists know about people like the princess, but they keep quiet. Hell, a lot of scientists are her sort. She's Nephilim.”

“What's that?”

“It means that she's descended from fallen angels who mixed with humans -- human or other creatures.”

The singer looked amazed. “There really are fallen angels? Are you saying that those old paintings of angels making out with hot girls come straight out of history?”

Jezebel grimaced uneasily. “Ah, yes. The Nephilim are half immortal. That lets them live about five hundred years. A lot of them shape-shift. They pretend to age. Then they stage phony death scenes and funerals. While they're supposed to be dead, they're really just lying low for a while. Later on, they set up a new identity and go back into the world. The British queen of today used to be Queen Victoria.”

“That's creepy. 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 act like pigs at a trough. Watch out for anyone who just shows up with a lot of inherited money. They're probably Nephilim.”

“I guess a person wouldn't want to run into 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 it's unbelievable.”

“It's real. I could tell you plenty more, but why keep you awake at night?”

“If all that's possible, what should we do?”

“Normally I'd say we should get out of town, but something tells 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'd 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. We should go in separately. I'll enter the restaurant first, and you should follow a couple minutes later. I don't want you to be left alone for very long.”

The Watcher took a few bills from her wallet. “Buy something to eat or drink. You're an actress. Try to act like an ordinary customer. Don't look around too much. I'll be be close by, watching out for Nephilim thugs. If things don't look suspicious, I'll go sit down with the couple. I don't know how long this will take. 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 minute or two later.”

“Then what?”

“Beats me. If the Cabal knows we're in Omaha, we have to leave." Jezebel hoped it wouldn't come to that. To pay for food, lodgings, and gas she would probably need to steal. Committing crimes could make them 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. The more time the enemy has, the more dangerous things they'll be able to do. They might have heavy backup. I only wish I could go in wearing a good disguise.”

“We still have that little red dress in the car,” Holly suggested.

“Forget it!”

 Jezebel stepped into the restaurant, still thinking about Frances. A righteous Nephilim? That idea was a tough sell. She knew that most Nephilim were born violent, and rarely possessed any sense of right and wrong. Not only Nephilim, but most Satanist children, were routinely brutalized, especially emotionally, to turn them into what humans called psychopaths. 

They had taken over the world before the Flood. Drowning was a good way to kill them, so the Father had  used a flood. But even though Noah, his wife, and his boys were of pure human stock, the Scriptures were silent about the sons' wives. Had the Father waited so long to act that no truly human women had remained alive? It had to mean something that so many of Noah's grandchildren had been Nephilim.

But, also, there had been water-breathing Nephilim, and sea creatures had not been killed by the flood. Many ocean beasts had been chosen by fallen angels for mixing. That fact hadn't bothered Jezebel before, but now she no longer thought that it had been such a good idea. These angel-mortal offspring were the strangest-looking of all the Nephilim. There had been land giants and sea giants. The latter were the basis of most legends about sea monsters. But she also knew that some of the sea-born Nephilim could shape-shift, like the selkies and kelpies. By mating with humans, strains of ocean-spawned Nephilim had been able to return to the land. 

 
Jezebel gritted her teeth. If she misunderstood the situation and made a mistake, she'd probably be held responsible for the consequences. To avoid blame, she intended to leave the final decision as to what to do with Holly up to Holly.
 

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 humble herself and ask for discernment? Well, that wouldn't happen. Only the weak asked for help. If she couldn't respect the weak herself, how could the Father?

 
                                                                            #

Decorated mostly blue and white, Culver's large windows made the interior feel airy. The noonday crowd hadn't descended as yet, so empty sections still remained. None of the staff or customers 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 toward the nearby window and peered outside. Not seeing any Nephilim, she checked her watch. It had been twenty minutes since she'd left apartment 432. The angel wondered whether the couple was going to be punctual.

They were.

The Watcher let the pair pass while she kept out of sight. For a moment, Jezebel stood on watch, but observed no characters with bad auras following Orson and Frances. Game to take a risk, she joined the waiting line behind the enigmatic couple.

Orson looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are,” he whispered. The blonde nodded in silence.

The three advanced through the queue and placed their orders. Jezebel had eaten at the apartment and so asked for no more than fries and a soft drink. Garland and his false sister made selections from the breakfast menu. When the food came up, the pair carried their portions into an unoccupied area. The angel looked around again for threats and then joined them.

Frances had taken the chair that Jezebel wanted. “Go to the other side, queeny,” the angel said. “I want to see who comes in through the door.” Frances complied with a look of annoyance and Jezebel appropriated her seat.

The pair just sat there, apparently waiting for her to say something.

Jezebel took a deep breath and asked, “So, if I were the girl you that came here to help, where would we go from here?”

Orson appeared to be brimming with that annoying earnestness of his. “Until you feel able to make plans of your own, Frances has agreed to share her apartment in Jasper.”

“Jasper?”

“It's a town in the Ozarks. My church is there.”

“It sounds dull.”

The man gave a smile. “Dull can be another word for peaceful, I like to say.”

“Well, it sure does sound peaceful. What's its other charms?”

“We have 466 citizens at last census, and it's the courthouse for Newton County. You needn't live there long-term, but it might be a good idea to close in for a while. Frances and I will be on hand to help you get oriented and settled down.”

“Okay, say I settle into this thriving town of Jasper. What then?”

“You'll probably want to find work. There aren't many jobs nearby, but there's usually openings in Branson. That's across the line into Missouri, about fifty miles away. A lot of Jasper people work over there, so we'll be able to find you a commuter to ride with. That should be good until you get a car of your own.”

While Reverend Garland was speaking, Jezebel had been studying Frances. “Do you work in Branson, too?”

“No,” she said. “I teach at Kingston School. Elementary.”

“Then I hope you're a vegetarian.” She unsubtlely eyed the sausage on the woman's plastic plate. “Oh, I guess not.”

The young woman's glance became a glare.

Jezebel's was deliberately riling her. If she could make the hybrid mad enough, the girl might give something away, something that didn't jive with their cover story."

"Are you always so rude?" Frances asked.

"Usually."

The Watcher considered the nearness of Jasper to Branson. Being close to a teeming tourist-trap could pose a risk. Branson was a show-business town and Holly – Pelosia – might be tempted to repeat old habits. The entertainment industry drew Cabalists in like dung flies. The girl needed to shun the public eye.

“Jasper may be workable,” she said offhandedly. “But what made the pair of start hiding fugitives? I've told you that the Cabal is involved, and that make it dangerous.”

Reverend Garland met her challenging glance. “When the Lord asks something of a person, He always has a good reason.”

“Do you hide a lot of people on the run?”

“No, Frances was my first.”

Jezebel shifted toward the blonde. “How you fit into all this, Highness? Are you really Princess Di?”

The woman scowled. “Don't speak that name. I'm Frances Dillon.” She was using her Arkansas accent again.

“What in hell is British royalty doing in Arkansas? Are you hiding, too?”

Frances' expression changed. “Yes. I'm hiding from my own family, especially. They murdered my uncle, because he became too outspoken about Agenda 21."

“Agenda 21? I've heard about it,” said Jezebel. It was the code name for the Cabalist plan to kill seven billion people and enslave the survivors. It was all over the internet.

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. They can twist a person's mind in a hundred different ways.

 
“The Cabal went through a lot of work to make the world think that the Princess of Wales was dead,” the angel reminded Frances. “Who was in that car wreck anyway?”

The British girl seemed to struggle with herself before she answered. “A look-alike. I had more than one. This lady didn't happen to be a clone. She had a soul. She was working to earn an MBA. We talked sometimes. When she took my place that day, she didn't know...what was planned. But I did and I didn't warn her. That's who I was. I was even willing to let friends die.” She stopped for a moment, then forced herself to finish. “It made me realize that I’d let my handlers get into my mind. That wasn't the kind of person that I wanted to be, but if I didn't do what I was told, what happened to Uncle James could happen to me.” She glanced away.

“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 with our secrets?”

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? You have killer eyes. I know what killer eyes look like.”

Jezebel showed a bitter grin. “How you talk. 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 just left him lying and didn't bother to check.”

Orson looked amazed. “I trust you're joking, Miss...Jill.”

She pointed at his chest. “Hey, do you think that the guy upstairs likes Cabalist flunkies?”

The clergyman turned his gaze skyward. After a moment of contemplation, he said, “The Lord tells me that you mean exactly what you say, and He also affirms that you are, indeed, serving Him.”

“That should make you feel better,” said Jezebel. “Did he mention whether I'm doing a good job?”

When words failed Orson, the angel gave sudden vent. “Why is it that the Father – or the Son – talks to you so easily, but never to me?”

“I can't say,” the reverend replied.

Next to him, Frances was shaking her head. “This might be a bad idea, Orson. We should go.”

The minister seemed less certain. “The Lord gave me a name. He spoke 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 regarded Frances. “Sampson killed thousands, but only those who had earned God's wrath.” To Jezebel he said, “Is it also your mission to protect the righteous, Miss Jill?”

Jezebel's eyes narrowed. “Lately. I've been told that if I don't happen to like a person's aura I can I can do what comes naturally. That part of my job suits me.”

“I'm not sure this person is safe to be around,” the British princess counseled her companion.

“Believe me, lady, I'm not.”

Jezebel decided to up the ante. “Listen. I'm not the person who needs protection. That's someone else, but I'm not going to turn her over to just anyone. Orson, here, is pretty convincing," she said to Frances. "But you don't fit in. Nephilim are nothing but trouble. I'd rather bet on an inside straight than buy into the idea that you've found God. The Sorwins are Reptilian Nephilim, and royal reptilians only marry other Reptilians. Your species considers human flesh a delicacy, especially children's flesh. 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 studied her hard expression, and then grinned lopsidedly. “Nice attitude. But maybe you're just shamming. I ought to slap you around and see if I can't make you morph. Are you betting that I can't?”

Frances, red-faced, looked askance at the reverend. The latter looked troubled, but remained calm.

“Dear one,” said Garland, “the Lord is telling me that you should tell your story honestly. It might make a difference.”

Frances seemed unsure. After a moment, she said, “I-I don't know where to begin.”

Taking a sip of orange soda, the angel leaned back in her chair and waited. She put a French fry between her lips. Nice flavor.

Frances slowly drew in closer and whispered, “The Reptilians have made themselves powerful, both socially and politically, but they are still only wesen. People call them a royal family, but my bloodline represents true Royalty. We have no animal genetics. I descend from fallen angels and the daughters of men. Jacob Rottweiler is my father, and he is the real king of this world, for now. My mother was selected from the purest Nephilim lines to be one of his mistresses. My father chose to raise me as a Royal princess.”

Jezebel knew that Jacob Rottweiler was a British baron, but also knew the wealth and power he represented. He had trillions of dollars in personal wealth, and controlled underlings who commanded hundreds of trillions. Next to him, a mere queen of Great Britain was no more than an unlovely handmaiden, a servant in the truest sense.

“I was taken from my real mother young, and had no regular contact with my father. At his behest, I was inserted into a Cabalist family called the Spinsters, one of the few great British houses that isn't Reptilian. That was the end of my happy upbringing. I missed my mother badly, but she wasn't allowed to come near me, and I couldn't visit her, either.

“Years before, Countess Spinster had faked a pregnancy overseas and returned with a daughter. The girl was in reality a kidnapped infant. They treated her like a beloved child until she was ready to go to school. Then the Cabal took her away suddenly and I was brought in to assume her identity. I shudder to think what must have become of the poor child. The Cabal worships Baal, and he demands the sacrifice of children. Every year, almost fifty million babies are sacrificed to him.

“But though I grew up in that house, I never really became a Spinster, and they didn't want me to. They were more like servants than parents, especially since they had no parenting skills. Their real children are very troubled people and I always tried to stay away from them. 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. I was told that I was being prepared for something very important. They kept me out in society, all the while making useful contacts for me. My tutors drilled me on how to be charming and persuasive, how to be at ease in public. I never felt I had a real family; I was an actress in training and my home was only a stage.

“It wasn't until my early teens that I was told what was expected of me. I had been selected from infancy to become the Princess of Wales. I was horrified. I'd been introduced to the Sorwins before and they were frightening, loathsome. Prince Philip was the worst. He came from a Nazi family of Reptilians with SS ties, and seemed even less human than the queen.”

The angel frowned. “If this was some kind of drawn-out plot to make you queen, why were you allowed to divorce?”

Frances dried her eyes with a Culver's napkin. “The divorce was planned years in advance. Before the marriage, even. That was the day I had been dreaming of, my beautiful, wonderful divorce. It couldn't have come too soon. There was nothing between Charles and me. He wanted Camilla and only Camilla. She was a lizard like he was.”

Jezebel wasn't sure that she should believe any of this, but was willing to play along. “So what was the deception all about?”

“For centuries, the Rottweilers had been against mixing their Royal blood with that of what they considered mongrel beasts. But the Sorwins had been successfully acquiring wealth and power, mostly through drug-running and human trafficking. My father couldn't look at money without wanting to control it himself, even if it meant sacrificing a daughter. For their part, the Sorwins wanted to introduce true royalty into their sham of a bloodline.

Half my job was accomplished once I'd given those monsters an heir and a spare. That part was absolutely degrading, but I'm even more sorry for what they made me do afterwards. I can't believe that God can ever forgive me."

She choked. This confession was either hard for her, or else she was doing a good job of making it appear so. After all, she had already confessed to having been trained from childhood to be an actress.

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 by the only One who matters. There will be no damnation for you, no Lake of Fire. 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 Great Britain.”

Eyes shut, she clenched her fists upon the table and rested her forehead upon them. “And I did it,” she whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED Chapter 8, Part 1

The Falling Star: Chapter 8, Part 2

Posted 02-07-21

Revised 02-09-21

An Angel from Hell story

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 8, Part 2

After that, Watcher had no place to go except home. But this apartment building was no real home for her. It felt like it was just another place of exile; it was like floating into a void. From the moment she stepped inside, she had registered an emotion, and not a pleasant one. Whatever was plaguing the mortal nervous system that had enveloped her, it was not anything that an angel should be suffering from. In the In-Between Place, she hadn’t felt anything like it, so why now? She searched the back of her mind, wondering whether Jill Arendel knew what this feeling should be called. She did. Its name was loneliness.
 

Jezebel dropped what little she had been carrying onto the seat of a chair, and then the girl drifted to the window. She could see that there was only meaningless activity going on below. So many people, so many useless lives. Why did they exist at all? To eat? They reminded her of ants. Remembering that she was imprisoned in a body like theirs, experiencing feelings like theirs, made her feel unclean.

When she left the window, Jezebel preferred not to think about the world outside. It wasn’t part of who she really was, and she didn’t want it to be. She spread out at full-length on the couch, and then did nothing at all, except to stare at the ceiling. Without intending to, she dropped off to sleep. By the time the Watcher awoke, the winter’s daylight had ebbed away. Getting up to turn on the lights seemed like to much effort to do.

“I thought you could use some company,” said a woman's voice.

The Watcher's reaction was to throw herself into a roll across the carpet and come up to her knees clutching a makeshift weapon, a glass pop bottle. Then she recognized Shekinah and felt foolish.

“What are you doing here?” the blonde asked, rising gracelessly.

“My duty. And my duty, if you care to ask, is to look after you.”

The room was dark but, even so, the angel was easy to see. A light from some undefined source was falling on her. Jezebel had seen, and used, that trick a million times.

“Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on me? Why should the chief of the Seraphim be carrying on like a guardian angel? Is it a demotion? That’s something I definitely want to hear about!”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you. The Father gave me this assignment because he rates it an important one,” said Shekinah. “Isn't it logical that he would choose me to carry it out? If you recall, it's not the first time that I've sought to win forgiveness for fallen angels.”

“Did he actually say that that's was your job?”

“No. I just assume it.”

Jezebel made a sour face. “I’ve assumed a few things, too, and look how far it's gotten me. Does it ever make you angry that the Father refuses to explain things clearly?”

“No. I’ve learned humility.”

“You used to be a human. If you ask me, that gives you plenty to be humble about.”

The Watcher sidled over to into Jill Arendel’s easy chair and dropped into it. “Have you come with another mission for me? What's next? Getting a cat out of a tree? That would make as much sense as the silly trip that I've just finished.”

“Your mission wasn't pointless,” said the angel in white. “It delivered Susan Wevers out of the hands of evil, and it’s rebounded very well upon you, too. The admitted simplicity of the assignment was intended to give you sufficient leisure to take stock and get oriented.”

“Get oriented to what?” Jezebel asked.

“To having a human heart.”

She didn't like to be reminded about any of her human parts. “You bitch!” she burst out. “You let me be raped!”

“Was that my fault? Did you ever appeal to the Father or the Son for mercy?"

Jezebel glowered. “I deal with my own problems. Now why are you here, just when I don’t need you? After all, no one is trying to kill me at the moment.”

“I've been at your side continually since we last spoke. I gave you the address that let you know where you should take Miss Wevers. And I also gifted you a hundred dollars when you needed it. But this evening I've come by to commend you on an assignment well carried out.”

“A commendation? I'm sure the Father has seen all the sinning I had to do to bring it off.”

Shekinah nodded. “You certainly sinned more than necessary. Truly, if you were still an angel, you would now be in irreparable trouble. But because you're human, your sins can be forgiven. The problem is, you cannot be forgiven unless you petition your Lord for such an act of grace.”

"Whatever," she said with a toss of her hands.

“Why are you behaving this way?”

“What way?"

“After waiting five thousand years of knowing yourself doomed, shouldn't you be leaping at the chance to ask to have your sins forgiven?”

“The Father is asking me to grovel, and I resent that idea!”

“It always comes down to pride with you fallen angels,” asked Shekinah, “doesn’t it?

“Drop it! If I'd ever thought about cooperation, that thought went away when I was dumped into this contemptible life of Jill Arendel.”

“What is so contemptible about the life of Jill Arendel? It gives you presentablility and a career that allows you to travel about very freely without arousing suspicion. Also, as a beautiful woman, you will be welcomed into strategic places that might otherwise have been closed to you. As I see it, the guise of Miss Arendel shall suit your work requirements very well."

“I don’t care about the work. It’s just a means to an end,” said Jezebel.

“It can be so much more.”

“Spare me. Without respect, I reject.”

“You know many things that makes you a good agent, said Shekinah. "But there is a difference between knowledge and wisdom. You have considerable room for growth in the wisdom category.”

“Did Jill get so wise from living this life?” Jezebel asked.

“Tragically, no. But you’re coming into her life with new perspectives.”

“Here’s a perspective I don’t have. How am I supposed to avoid sin if I have to go around as an erotic dancer with a Jezebel spirit urging me to do stupid things?”

Shekinah's expression became more serious. “You were doing stupid things even before you had such a spirit. And why do you pretend to abhor sinning today while you are stubbornly refusing to rid yourself of the ancient sin that holds you at the edge of doom?”

The Watcher was staring down at the carpet. "I don't feel like entertaining company right now, Shekinah.”

“No? I could feel your pain from the other side of this planet, much less from across the room.”

“Just go."

“May I ask a few questions first?”

“What?!” asked Jezebel testily.

“For one thing, I’d like to ask whether you are missing the companionship of Miss Wevers.”

"Missing her? She means nothing to me. It was ridiculous being forced to be her babysitter.”

“Didn't you like her at all? Didn’t I hear you promise to kill anyone who harms her?”

Jezebel stood up, but turned her back on the angel. “I was only warning those two Bible-thumpers that they had better not be playing me for a fool. The girl herself was unimportant.”

Shekinah smiled. “I hope that's not true. She was good for you, and you were good for her.”

The Watcher turned, ready with a good rebuke, but was surprised to see that Shekinah was now wearing an entirely new garment -- a brightly-colored club dress replete with accessories.

“What do you have on?"

“My present apparel has to do with my next question,” replied Shekinah.

“What question? A request for a dance?”

She laughed. "It’s not as simple as that. I would like to invite you out for a dinner and a show.”

"That sounds like such a repulsively human things to ask."

"Well, I used to be human, and you are presently one."

Jezebel raised her chin. “Why go to dinner? You don't need to eat.”

“No, but you do.”

“Why should you care? You're not my friend.”

“I'm not your enemy either. I’m your guide. I'm your conduit to the Father. Why are you so resentful of me? I earnestly did all I could to win redemption for all of you Watchers years ago. I would still like to help you redeem yourself in the present day.”

“Why? To put another feather in your cap?”

“No, this is all about you, not me,” Shekinah said. “A few days ago, I doubted that you could be saved. I even feared that you would kill Miss Wevers yourself, in some moment of pointless pique. Instead, you were faithfully protective and, at times, almost kind. The outcome of your mission came as such a surprise that I’m now ready to believe almost anything. You may indeed be the best of a very bad lot.”

Jezebel said through a twisted grin. “Don't you mean a very, very bad lot?”

The angel laughed again. “There you see? I've already started thinking better about you Watchers. Now, about the invitation....”

“What’s the show?”

“It’s a performance of Bell, Book, and Candle,” said Shekinah, “about a witch who is redeemed by love. You will need to dress for the venue, of course. But Jill Arendel’s closet contains some very excellent items for club wear.”

“Yes, you'd know what's in her closet. You’re the one who stuffed that nasty little red number into my luggage, aren’t you?”

“Guilty. I anticipated that you might wish to recharge your sin-power at some point. Obviously, a dress of that type would be an excellent facilitator.”

"Why am I being tempted to sin?" the Watcher asked.

"You will be sinning anyway. It's your nature. But while you are doing so, you can also be advancing the will of the Father. Remember, what the enemy intends for evil, the Father will use for good."

This put Jezebel into a mood to vent, to throw her unwanted visitor out, but she held back. A seasoned warrior had to be on guard against insubordination and the penalties it could bring. There was a hierarchy in Heaven and it was only sensible to respect it. She could get nothing from Hell, but Heaven still held out some possibilities. Besides, did she really want to be left alone right now, with nothing to do, with no one for company, with nowhere to go?

“Well, I am hungry. It'll take me a little while to change,” Jezebel finally said.

Shekinah smiled again. “Yes, I expect so.”


END

The Falling Star: Chapter 8, Part 1

The Falling Star, Chapter 8, Part 1

 

Posted 08-29-18

Revised 02-07-21

Revised 02-09-21

An Angel from Hell story

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 8, Part 1

 

Jezebel regarded the ex-princess dubiously. “The last time I looked, Britain was still broadcasting boring Star Trek: The New Generation reruns. What do you mean you destroyed it?”

Frances looked up, red-eyed. “My homeland was once the most powerful empire ever to exist on Earth. It defied both Napoleon and Hitler, even while standing alone. Today it reels, paralyzed. They're guilt-tripping over the very idea that they have a right to defend their own country and livelihoods.”

The Watcher shrugged. “That figures. If an Englishman isn't at your throat, he's on his knees. Get to the point.”

Frances drew back defensively. “It's not simple to explain.”

“If something's too silly to say, sing it,” suggested Jezebel.

Frances took a deep breath. “The Cabal took the throne of England with the reptilian Tudor dynasty in 1485. In the Sixteenth Century, when the Tudors couldn’t make the Church submit, they set up an English church full of reptilians that would be more pliant. Creating the Empire was all about falling in with the Cabal's plans

“At the end of the nineteenth century, the Cabal took over the Bank of England with the blessing of the government. From that point on, with state, church, and economy all firmly under Satan's servants, Britain became even more of a fortress for Cabalism.” The longer “Frances Dillon” spoke, Jezebel noticed, the less Arkansan she sounded.

“The purpose of the Empire was to destabilize the world with war and to take over its weakest nations. That culminated in Britain using every provocation it could think of to turn local disagreements into World War I and World War II."

“As I see it, Britain was left a dried up husk after those wars," observed the angel.

“Yes, Britain's Cabalist leaders had recklessly fouled their own nest and when their country was wrecked, the really important Cabalists put them with the small-fry leaders after that. The real moving force behind the Cabal has always been the central banks, which have more recently been joined by the international corporations. Those people simply took advantage of the inroads that their agents had made inside America during the two world wars and started using American money and blood to serve their ends."

“Old news. What do you mean that you destroyed Britain?”

With a wince, the ex-princess continued. “After Britain was reduced to a military and economic shell, the Cabal decided against investing in the cost of renovating and decided to take away its empire and leave it poor. They mentally filed it with unimportant minor nations. That meant that their people and resources would be exploited, but its leadership would no longer factor in the struggle for world power."

Jezebel sighed. “For such a little lady, you sure can be long-winded.”

Though exasperated, Frances went on: “I've already told you how the Cabal trained me from childhood to be the “People's Princess. It was all a fraud; I was sold for public consumption like a patent medicine. Everything you saw or heard about me was a hoax and a fraud. There wasn't even any dispute between me and the Royals. We stage-managed that so I would look strong and heroic. I was actually too terrified to antagonize them in any way.”

"So, you actually had no problem with the Royals?”

"No, I did. But all the publicity was a sham. The real issues that existed between me and the Royals never came to the people's ear. I was supposed to be idolized. I was supposed to be a goddess-heroine for a country that the Cabal had already drained of religious faith and moral fiber. But I wasn't really that kind of person and I grew more miserable the longer it went on.”

The Watcher grunted. “Frankly, I never understood what anybody ever saw in you. There are plenty of worthless celebrities on this planet, but you were near the top of the list for losers. But, mehh, is it your fault that Great Britain could be satisfied with a tacky Plastic Princess? They got what they deserved.”

Amazingly, Frances did not flare. “Even I couldn't stand myself. I know I’m not the lovable type. I wasn't even a good person. But I finally started to hate myself. And even more, I hated the people.”

"Because they were idiots?”

Frances grimaced. “The common man is so sheep-like. Why is it so hard for him to understand what the intended fate of sheep has to be? I was pulling the wool over the eyes of millions. I wanted so much to fail. I wanted the English to see through me, to expose me and disgrace me, make me useless to the Cabal. Then I hoped I could just retreat into private life and do something that was right for me for a change. Fergie was able to do that.”

"Fergie. Yeah, there used to be a Fergie, wasn't there? If you ask me, Andrew should have married that racy actress Koo Stark, instead. If a duchess looks great on a pinup poster, what more does she need?"

Frances was frowning as the bad memories returned. "When Fergie served her purpose, they cast her off. The prince was happy enough to go back to the kind games that he loved best, like the ones they play on Epstein Island.”

Jezebel was trying to sort this out. “So the idea was to start the British thinking of you like a sister or daughter, only to have you suddenly be killed, publicly and brutally. I suppose the idea was to make the whole population feel like they had just lost a family member.”  

“Yes,” Miss Dillon said. "Demonic entities can infect emotional wounds like bacteria. The Cabal has an open channel to the Dark World. The Second Heaven wanted to numb the entire population with despair and apathy, to make them forget about unimportant things like freedom."

"Well, they went for Brexit, so maybe there's still hope for them."

"Yes, I pray that you're right."

For the moment, none of this mattered much to Jezebel. Her concern was whether she should turn Holly over to some unknown Southern preacher and the woman who, by her own confession, had ruined Western civilization.

"Why do I always have to be the one to decide these things?” Jezebel asked herself. She glanced up at the ceiling. "Why don't you ever talk to me?” she mentally demanded.

Another thought came to her then, a powerful one that seemed to override her own: “Why don't you ever talk to me?”

Jezebel blinked. Had she said that to herself, or was someone else speaking to her?

The angel shook her head and stood up. “Unless somebody can tell me why I should believe a thing that you two are saying, I'm out of here.”

Reverend Garland opened his lips but, something drew his glance upward. He was now gawping, like he'd done at the hotel. Ten seconds later, the cleric shifted his glance and met the Watcher's stare.

"Yeah, what?” Jezebel asked irritably.

"The Lord says that you should.... I don't understand it. Maybe His request will make sense to you.”

"What request?” she grunted.

"He says that you should take off your coat.”

Her coat?
 
Almost by its own volition, Jezebel right hand disengaged the coat zipper. She bemusedly hung the quilted garment over the back of her chair. A few seconds later, the Watcher saw Holly approaching between the tables – wary and sober.

When she could see France’s face, she paused in mid-step. Apparently, the singer, too, could see “Miss Dillion's” true appearance.

"This is Holly,” the Watcher told the seated pair. Then, to the celebrity, she said, “This is Reverend Orson Garland. And this lady calls herself Frances Dillon. She teaches school and destroys civilizations.”

The Hollywood refugee forced a smile and nodded. “P-Pleased to meet you...ma'am.”

"Won't you take the chair next to Miss Jill?” suggested Orson.

Holly sat down at Jezebel's right.

"We're also very pleased to meet you,” the minister added.

The waitress smiled tentatively, while her eyes addressed silent questions to her traveling companion.

"I can't make a lot of sense of it all,” whispered the latter. “They say they've been sent to help. I don't know if I trust them, but I don't know that I shouldn't, either.”

"Well, okay,” said the singing sensation. “Fill me in on what you've been talking about, please.”

For the next few minutes, with Orson doing most of the talking, the three briefed Holly. She was being invited to settle in a town called Jasper, where the couple would do all they could to help her live safely under a new identity.

"This is heavy. What do you think, Jill?” the younger woman asked.

Jezebel addressed Orson, “You sort of fit in with what I should have expected. God decides to place a lost soul into the care of a simple parson. No big surprises there. But why would he send a high-profile Nephilim along with you?”

Reverend Garland shook his head. “I'm not sure. It may be because Sister Frances has experienced some of the same mistreatment that Holly has. They may be able to comfort each other. Or perhaps the Lord thought that having a lady with us would reassure our young friend. And there's also the chance that God might wish to bring Frances out of the shadows and have her become more active in comfort-giving. The reaping of souls during the End Times shall require the work of many willing harvesters.”

"What about you, Holly?” Jezebel asked. “Would you ever feel at ease around a royal princess who happens to be a half-human ex-Cabal agent? The reformation rate among their upper crust has never been very impressive.”

The minister, wincing, looked back at the other restaurant diners. He was worried that someone might have overheard these frank words.

The Princess of Wales raised her chin. “Orson tells you true. I've been hiding since 1997. I've received mercy, but I haven't been doing very much to deserve it. I want to change that part of my journey. I don't know why, Holly, but it seems that your fate is important to the Lord. I think that helping you is the best way to make myself right with Him.”

"I don't know about that," Holly replied. "All I’ve ever tried to do is make myself rich and be famous. If there is really a God, I don't know why he'd bother sending an angel to help someone like me."

"An angel?" asked Frances.

The former star nodded. "A girl I didn't know led me out of a mansion full of child-murderers and cannibals. Then she suddenly appeared, days later, on a bus-seat behind me. She told me that the town that we happened to be in just then would be a good place for me to hide. The next thing I knew, she was gone again."
 
"I could tell a few amazing stories, too," the English girl said with a troubled smile.

Holly glanced to Jezebel. "Do you believe all this religious stuff, Jill?”

The latter shook her head. “I’m only doing what I've been told to do. But I truly believe that the supernatural is real. Science, on the other hand, not so much.”

Holly looked uneasy. “Who's telling you what to do?”

"The good guys – I think.”

The ex-star, ex-waitress digested these scraps of information briefly before asking, “If I went with them, could you come with us?”

The angel was now looking glum. "I really would like to have some quiet time, Holly. But I'm pretty sure that vacation leave is not in the cards for me.”

"You only came into my cafe two days ago, Jill, but it feels like it's been much longer. I'd hate to think that I won't be seeing you again. I've never met anyone like you. You're a frightening person, but at the same time you make me feel safe.”

"It's nice you should say that. But I'm just a pawn, an interchangeable part. When one task ends for me, another begins. There's a war going on and I'm expected to fight in it. Tomorrow, the battle will be somewhere else. But if I can’t be taking care of you from here on, you have to work extra hard to take care of yourself. I'm going to be very angry if you get yourself damned after all I've gone through to save you."

"Well, I'm going to do my best to not get you angry."

Jezebel nodded. "And I promise you this, Holly: I'm going to be looking in on you, and that won't be too far into the future. If you're doing all right, you might not even know that I've been there. That's for the best. Trouble rides around on my shoulder and I want the soft and breakable people like you to kept clear of it.

"But if I find that you're not in a good place, I don't know what else I could possibly do except kill anyone who's done you wrong.” Pointedly, Jezebel challenged the glances of the pair from Arkansas. “And I'll do the same with anyone who I find out helped them do it.” Reverend Garland appeared grave, but not frightened.

The princess then leaned forward. “She'll be all right, Miss Jill. If she's not, and if I'm to blame, go ahead and kill me.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN Chapter 8, Part 2

The Falling Star: Chapt. 7, Part 1

The Falling Star: Chapt. 7, Part 1

Posted 03-07-18 

Revised 02-08-21
Revised 02-09-21

An Angel From Hell story

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 7, Part 1

 

 

The girl from Hollywood didn't have much more to say until the snow started falling.

“I enjoy snowy winters,” she remarked softly. “I used to walk in the park whenever the snow was falling. It was prettier than in summer.” She paused briefly, her face mirroring sadness. “I guess I wouldn't be allowed to do that anymore. Mom says there's been a lot of drug dealing and assaults happening in the park lately. That's crazy. We aren't even a big city.”

The Watcher had just turned on the windshield wipers. She said, “That's the sort of times we're living in.” Jezebel could have said much more, could have informed her about what was behind the chaos and, also, who was benefiting from it. But knowing more than she already did wouldn't have made the ex-singer feel any better.

In mid-afternoon, they hit Omaha proper. An exit and five minutes of weaving between apartment buildings took them into a basement garage beneath the low-rent complex where Jill Arendel lived.

Had lived.

Jezebel led her guest into the nearest elevator that took them to the third floor. She unlocked her apartment door and entered first. Holly followed carefully, avoiding the clutter on the floor.

“It sure is a mess,” the blonde admitted as she set a bag of groceries down upon the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” the singer affirmed quietly.

Jezebel claimed a spot on the couch that was vacant of misplaced objects, magazines, and empty boxes. Holly crossed to the easy chair, from whose cushion she removed a week-old newspaper.

“I feel like crying,” the latter remarked.

The Watcher nodded. “Housekeeping and I aren't on a first name basis.”

“No, it's just that I can't stop thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how bad things have gotten in the last couple days. And I thought I'd hit bottom in Manville. My name and my job have been stolen. I don't know how I'm supposed to live, or where I'm supposed to go from here.”

“The last part is easy,” said the other woman. “We're supposed to go to a certain Holiday Inn room tomorrow.”

“I wish I could tell my mother that I'm all right.”

Jezebel shook her head. “Like we discussed before, that wouldn't be a good idea.”

“I could at least write her a letter. From a different state from where I'm living, I mean.”

“Think about it. You'd have to say that you're being impersonated. You'd probably want to warn her that she's being watched constantly. You'd also have to explain that you're a fugitive, that the police can't help you, and that you can probably never come home. If you just say nothing, she'll go on believing that you're making a success of yourself in Hollywood and enjoying the high life. The worst thing you could do to a mother's peace of mind would be to let her know that her child is sad, afraid, and broke.”

“Why can't this be fixed?”

“Because it can't be. The power against you is too great. You've already done the only thing you could have; you ran away.”

Holly's glance dropped to the carpet. “You never asked why I ran away.”

The Watcher tossed her shoulders. “It was Hollywood. I can think of a thousand good reasons to run away.”

“I wish I could tell you how awful things were.”

“Would you feel better talking about it?”

Holly sighed. “I don't know. Mostly, I've been trying to forget. Do we have anything else we can talk about?”

“We can talk about how great it’s going to be having bananas for supper. Or should I say dinner? In the farm country, dinner was the mid-day meal.”

The waitress regarded her. “You're a farm girl? That's nice. Did you have a horse?”

“Not really. There were lots of cats, though.”

The topic didn't inspire any more discussion; moreover, something else seemed to be on Holly's mind.

“Can we be friends, Jill? You're not an easy person to get to know, but I've been lousy at picking friends. The industry people I knew either wanted me to do bad things, or else they wanted to do bad things to me.”

The angel decided to humor her. “Sure, we're friends,” she said. But Jezebel was not in a good mood herself. Occupying Jill's apartment was making her more depressed by the moment.

“If it doesn't hurt too much, you can tell me whatever you want to,” she told Holly.

The girl looked unsure, reluctant to take the lid off a box of memories that contained so many horrifying objects.

She finally said, “I was supposed to kill a kidnapped baby at a party, and...drink its blood. They thought I should bite and chew, too, but that was optional. There was going to be maybe fifty people watching me do it. So many smiling faces; not one of them seemed surprised.

"Then I was supposed to smear the blood all over myself while they chanted. It was supposed to bring in a demon to possess me. Friends were saying that it was a good thing, that no star ever stayed on top for long without a demon keeping him or her great. They told me that all the best people had demons, including the queen and king of cool, Ceyonce and Lay-Z.” At that point, she choked.

Jezebel waited, expecting more.

“You aren't even horrified?” Holly asked.

The Watcher held her face steady. “There's nothing that can surprise me. I know the kind of people you're talking about.”

Holly's stare was incredulous. “When you talk that way, you sound like a spy character in some weird horror movie.”

The angel held Holly’s eyes with her own. “Where do you think the people who write those movies get their ideas? It's not like they have imagination. It's from the things they've seen and the things they've done.”

“Why doesn't someone tell the president?”

“The presidents have all known. Ngugi wa Nazizi, George W. Beans, Bill Skragg, and H.W. Beans all knew and didn't care. They actually hosted parties worse than the ones you were at. Take it from me.”

“The new one, too? Champion?”

“It's too soon to know. The worst people in this country hate him, though, so maybe that's a good sign.”

Holly shook her hanging head. “It's like I've ended up on an alien planet. Why would anyone want to go on living in a world like this?”

“Because the alternative is so much worse?” Jezebel suggested.

Holly sighed. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Is there any way out of this rabbit hole?”

“None that I know of.”

The brunette looked up. “Am I going to have to be alone from now on? Will I have to go into a witness protection program?”

“Maybe we'll find that out tomorrow.”

“Jill, if we're friends, please tell me who and what you are! You never seem afraid of anything, and you fight like a soldier. You frightened me at first, but you've been risking your life to get me out of trouble and I don't know why. I'd almost think that you're from the government, except you don't seem to trust the government.”

“I've had a selfish reason to help you. But, no, I'm not from the government. Not your government, at least.”

The girl in the chair met the angel's glance. “Are you a...Russian?”

Jezebel gave a weak smile. “No, but I can pull off a pretty good Russian impersonation. Do you want to see it?”

Holly seemed on the edge of crying in earnest.

“Look...Susan..., the angel said, “you're here because someone wants to help you. It's not that you deserve help. You made some bad choices and trusted some bad people. Despite all that, there's somebody who thinks you can amount to something, if you change your ways and figure out what's really important. If you do, he's going to keep on helping you.”

The looked girl looked askance. “Who? Is it somebody I've met?”

Jezebel looked away. “I'd rather not say.”

“Why?”

“If I started spilling secrets, you'd want to know more and then more. You'd keep us up all night. I'm not good at answering questions; it makes me cranky, and you don't want to see me cranky. Anyway, I used to think I could have it all, too, and it made a mess out of my life. I don't think that I'm the best person to set you right.”

“Right about what?”

“About the way the world really is.”

“Then who can set me right?”

“I hope we find that out tomorrow.”

#

The Holiday Inn was located at the western fringe of downtown. The note they'd found in Alliance hadn't given any special time of day, so the Watcher drove Holly to the address right after breakfast. She parked in the visitors' lot and led her ward through its glass doors.

Having reached the fourth floor, Jezebel tensed. She realized that if hostiles lay in wait, she'd be very vulnerable. She had gone to bed early the night before, even though it would have been wiser to have gone to a pick-up bar where she could have gotten recharged with lust-energy. She worried that she had experienced one of those emotional reactions that made human behavior so erratic. Even a young and vital mortal body like Jill Arendel's apparently had severe limits.

There was a sign down the hall from where the girls stood. It read, “Stairs.”

“Holly,” Jezebel told her ward, “hide behind that stairway door and wait for me to come back. I don't know who or what we'll find up here. We need to play it safe.”

“Will you be safe?”

“No, I won't be.” She handed the girl her purse. “Take this. If I don't get back in ten minutes, or if something happens that frightens you, head out of Omaha. Take the car. Maybe go into Iowa.”

“Then what?”

“Then you're on your own.”

Holly looked dismayed.

“If I'm able,” Jezebel promised, “I'll try to find you. I'm good at finding people. I have...connections.”

The Watcher then advanced down the hall like a stalking hunter. She arrived at a door displaying the number 432 and braced herself. In Jezebel's right coat pocket nestled her Walther; it was all she had to depend on. With her finger resting lightly on its trigger, she knocked.

 The door opened quickly, as if the person on the other side had been waiting for someone to arrive. A young woman was looking out at her, while over the girl's shoulder stood a middle-aged man wearing suspenders and a white shirt. No weapons were in view, nothing seemed materially threatening. But the sight of the girl took Jezebel aback! She glowed violet like a Nephilim, and possessed the face of a dead woman.

A particular dead woman.

Diana Spinster, Princess of Wales!

With speed, Jezebel shoved her welcomer into the room, twisted her bare right arm behind her back. Quick-drawing the pistol, she held aimed at the man's breast.

“Who are you?” the male asked, stepping back until his legs touched a still-unmade bed.

“I'm handing out the questions,” the angel said. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“My sister and I are vacationing?” he said cautiously. His accent was upper-South.  

“In Omaha in January? Yeah, I bet you're having a wonderful time. Did you know your that your 'sister’ isn't human? Or that's she's wearing the face of a deceased member of English royalty?”

“How can you see that?” the man asked with apparent amazement.

“You do the answering first. And be careful. I'm pretty good at picking out lies.”

The Southerner, looking perplexed, lifted his stare to the ceiling. Jezebel quickly glanced upward to see what he was looking at, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. The male's brows were tensed, as if listening to something. Then he began nodding, like one who was receiving instructions.

Jezebel took the risk of weakening her hold on the girl while she shut the hall door behind her and locked it. The Nephilim didn't make any break-away attempt.

“The truth is, we were waiting for someone to join us,” the man said. “Might that be you?”

The Watcher was reading the stranger as harmless, but wasn't willing to bet her life on that impression. She asked, “What's the matter? Don't you know whom you're expecting.”

“We were told to await the arrival of a young woman. But we weren't warned to expect anyone so...formidable.”

“Warned by whom?” Jezebel demanded, feeling as tense as a bow string.

“By one who wishes our visitor well,” the male answered.

“What's the name of this girl of yours?” she asked.

“Her name is Frances. Don't hurt her.”

Who was he kidding? Frances was the middle name of Diana Spinster. Jezebel knew that many Nephilim were shape-shifters, but why would this one wear a guise that millions could recognize on sight from television and tabloid covers?

“Listen, Bubba,” said Jezebel, “I'm not asking who this masquerading bimbo is; I want to know who's the girl you're waiting for.”

“We don't know. The message only told us that she needed help and refuge. Please – no shooting, no violence. The Lord wants me to be frank with you. Ask us anything; there is no danger or guile here.”

Jezebel frowned and said, “Okay, tell me your name, where do you come from? Prove that...Jesus...talks to the likes of you.”

The man took a second gander at the ceiling. “The young lady is asking for confirmation, Lord. What shall I tell her?” He again listened – or pretended to listen. A moment later, he looked at Jezebel and said, “The Lord speaks two names. I don't know what they mean.”

“What names?”

“Jezebel and Delilah.”

The angel blinked. Nobody on Earth, not even Holly, should have known those names. The easiest explanation was that he was telling the truth, but not everything added up. “Your so-called sister is descended from fallen angels. What kind of a mother does she have?”

He sighed, as if caught in a lie. “I am her guardian, not her brother. You are correct. She is a...Nephilim. Of her own free will, Frances has come out from a dark place. She seeks salvation. There is no reason to fear her.”

During this conversation, the angel had been looking through Frances' violet aura, but even as she looked its color changed to silver-white.

Jezebel shoved the girl away, but continued to hold the gun on both of them.

“She's able to change the color of her aura; what's going on?”

“What are you? Who are you?” the Nephilim suddenly asked.

“Shut up and answer my questions,” said the woman with the gun. The Watcher wasn't sure what to do. A silver-white aura signified divinity, a high degree of spiritual refinement. It betokened everything that a Nephilim shouldn't possess. She couldn't explain it, and things that she couldn't explain she was predisposed to think of as a trick. Experience had taught her that when in doubt, execute the enemies in front of you and make a fast getaway.

“I'm Orson Garland, reverend,” the man said. “From Arkansas. My church is small, but I have an Internet ministry as well. This lady with me is...”

The Nephilim clenched her guardian's sleeve. “No, Garland. She might be an enemy.”

He shook his head. “Open your heart, dear Frances. The Lord is with us. See our visitor through His eyes. Your insight may be able to confirm for us whether she's friend or foe.”

“Princess Di” still looking unsure, did as told. “Apparently you can see through the mask of grace that I've been wearing, the same way that you can see auras.  I've been living in America since 1997,” she said. 

The girl's accent had changed. Before, she had spoken with an Arkansas drawl; now she had the diction of an upper-class Londoner.

“You shouldn't have been able to see my aura or discern my real face,” Frances continued.

“Yeah, well, maybe grace isn't all it's cracked up to be,” replied the Watcher.

“Is your name Jezebel or Deliah?” asked the reverend.

Jazebel's answering tone was cold. “Jill will do. I didn't pick those names, and I don't care for either one of them.”

Orson Garland smiled. “Our names are usually bestowed by those who love us best. Was that not true in your case?” When the angel stayed silent, he said, “But we shall call you Jill, if you like. Why are you seeking refuge, child?”

Jezebel still couldn't make head or tail of things. Why would the Father put a Nephilim in her path, unless she was suppose to eliminate it? “I'm willing to hear you out,” she said, “because this setup seems just too crazy to be part of any Cabalist con job.”

Orson's brows went up. “The Cabal is involved? I did not realize that. This is very serious.”

“How much do you know about the Cabal?”

“What I know is little, but even that much is a terrible burden to hold. They work to prepare the world for the Anti-Christ. They seek to overthrow the righteous. They are deceivers. Every evil thing they call good, every good thing they call evil. They have already built camps in this country where the faithful of God will be put to death, and they have done it with the peoples' own tax money.”

“Yeah, that's the package,” Jezebel confirmed. “Listen, I can't stay here. This could too easily be a trap.” She noticed a hotel-provided Omaha Visitor's Guide next to the television set. Taking it in hand, the Watcher flipped through the pages, while still keeping one eye on the couple.

“There's a fast-food place called Culver's. It's an easy walk southwest of here. Give me a twenty minute's head start and then buy a lunch there. Sit at the most private table available. I'll join you when I decide it's safe, and then we'll talk things out. Don't bring any uncongenial friends along to murder me, because I'll know it if you do.”

Then she lowered her Walther, just a bit, and evacuated the room cautiously.

TO BE CONTINUED in Chapter 7, Part 2

The Falling Star: Chapt. 6, Part 2

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.”

 

#

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."

"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