The Falling Star, Chapter 2, Part 1

By Christopher Leeson
4-2-2017

Revised 02-08-21

 

 

 

An Angel from Hell story

CHAPTER 2, Part 1

by Christopher Leeson

A night scene.  A large automobile pauses before an ornate set of double gates.  When the latter opens, the vehicle rolls forward, stopping in front of a silent, shadowy mansion.  A young blond woman, wearing a red club dress, climbs out.  The house, though imposing, is only dimly lit behind great arched windows.  Walking toward it, the girl commences a song.

It was forgettable.

Inside, she passes by many silent party guests.  The singer next ascends a grand staircase, but those whom she encounters above are just as remote as those below.  Abruptly, the scene changes and the girl is now wearing a dance costume – a vest, thigh-high boots, and a short skirt.  There are other dancers, and she joins in a kinetic, but detached dance exhibition.

The time-line rewinds.  Again wearing red, the female performer winds through the lethargic party-goers, before yet another time-shift sends her back to the upstairs dance.  Very soon, the focus flashes to a dark-haired maid who likewise dances and sings.  The blond and her dance together,  fondling, with the suggestion of Lesbianism.

At that moment, a young, well-dressed man emerges from among the celebrants.  The man exudes lordly aloofness, acknowledging no one.  The viewer struck by a black snake icon that starts above his brow and extends to a little below his left eye.

The video, as it continues, once more features the group dance.  Then the blond is discovered atop a long banquet table.  The demeanor of the young man, who occupies a chair at its head, evokes the idea of a monarch upon his throne.  On hands and knees, the blond creeps toward him, her face an incongruous mix of passion and inner isolation.  

 

The male looks at her as if she is a lowly pet or a sexual offering, not a lover.  He appears unaffected by her seductiveness, which attitude makes him seem less than human.  The blond settles down before the man to await his acknowledgment; he coolly regards her, but denies her his touch.  Neither does she touch him; perhaps she dares not.

The last minute of the video resolves nothing, explains nothing.  The tableau ends with partiers piled up, a mass of them on the carpet, some half-awake, some slumbering like hibernating animals.

Jezebel frowned.  The video had reminded her of long ago, when human pets had fawned before the Watchers.  Like gods among base creatures, they had condescended to protect them, but at a steep price.   Some who caught their fancy they customarily blessed with rape; others they casually destroyed, for any reason or for no reason at all.  The fallen angel felt a nostalgic pang for those bygone days of grandeur. 

“Such a scene is more satisfying in real life than on a television screen,” she suddenly remarked.

“If you say so,” responded Shekinah.  “If you have not guessed, you are looking at the subject of your mission.”

Jezebel blinked.  “What mission?”

“The girl from the limousine is called Pelosia Wittke.  She is what people call a celebrity.  Powerful interests have beguiled her with promises, dazzled her with opulence, as if she were royalty.  It fed her vanity, concealing from her the understanding of how controlled she really was.  They worked on her for years, taking away everything free thought, every sense of independence, everything that separated her from their docile herd.  They even robbed her of her birth name.   

"She grew up as Susan Wevers, just another girl from a broken home, one of thousands inside a large, impersonal city.  Sinister interests thought they could use her, and they made her proud to have done better than any of her peers.  Millions of strangers came to adore her under a name that was not her own.  But then, abruptly, she passed out of public view.  The media reported that Pelosia Wittke has been recuperating inside a European drug clinic.  But like so much else reported as news in this realm, such is not the case.”

“So?”

“Her employers, false friends, and co-workers had come to the point when they thought they owned her, inside and out.  They gradually moved her to ever deeper depths of degradation, but suddenly Susan refused them one of their demands.  They imprisoned her immediately, expecting that fear and a sense of being rejected by the only world she knew would soon make her change her mind. 

This was the instant that the Son had been waiting for.  Pelosia Wittke realized in a flash how completely alone she was, how empty she felt.  Her father had left her as a child; her mother had lived in self-pity and without faith.  But the daughter had seen how people pray in motion pictures and in her locked room she did as those characters did, not expecting an answer, but desperate enough to try anything.  An angel came to deliver her.   

"In her automobile, driving fast away, for the first time she was able to grasp how horrifying Pelosia's world really was.  She knew of no safe place to hide, of no friend who was not a proven traitor.  So, not even daring to stop for an overnight bag, she left everything behind and ran for her...soul.  Since that hour, she has been living with poverty, fear, and friendlessness.”

“It doesn't sound like much of a rescue,” Jezebel observed.

“All her hardships so far have been a test.  Many lost ones bolt as Pelosia did when she saw what face was looking back at her from the abyss, but few have had the will to remain free.  Most return to the Dark Throne on bended knees.  Because this girl has not surrendered thus far, the hour has come that Susan Wevers should receive the reward that she has earned.”

The blond scowled.  “Testing, testing!  Like Job, people are forced to accept what they hate most and that's suppose to win them over.  Satan wins so  easily because he draws them to himself with everything that a fool could desire.”

Shekinah shook her head.  “But remember, Job was won over.  What a mortal desires is seldom what he needs.  The frivolous represent the chaff of the harvest.  The wheat are those who keep their sight on the essential.  When all the distractions of a corrupt world is ignored, the seeker will be able to see what is important.  When that moment is reached, there is no reason to look back at what the world offers, and thereby be destroyed, as was Lot's wife.”

Jezebel shrugged.  “I suppose the Cabal is still looking for her.”

The angel nodded.  “She has assumed a new identity in a small town.  So afraid was Susan of being found that she abandoned her car, with its treacherous GPS, and took a bus into the hinterland.  Despite her every want, she has avoided using credit cards or ATM machines.  As you may know, the great banks represent the very beating heart of the Beast.”

“I see,” said the Watcher, not very interested.  As much as she hated Satan, she had to admire the way he had conquered the world, even with less power at his command than the Father had.

“Loneliness compelled Miss Wevers to call her mother once, to tell her that she was well but could never come home or tell her where she was.  She believed she was using an untraceable phone, but the technology was not honestly described to her.  Cabal surveillance recorded her number, and the Evil One's servants are now acquiring a court order to gain her location.  Susan does not know how late the hour is.”

“So why not tell her?”

“Telling her shall be your job,” the angel informed her.

“Is that all I have to do?”

“Not at all.  You will place her under your protection.”

“My protection?”  Jezebel grimaced.  “For how long?  How do I get rid of her?” 

“When the time comes, you will be enlightened.”

The girl threw up her hands.  “Why do the Son and Father always have to be so mysterious?”

“All you need to know is that Susan is not the only one who needs to have a stern testing.  How is it that one who has stood before the Throne is not able to grasp that much?”

The girl sighed roughly.  “Shouldn't I at least be told where I can find the miserable creature?  I'm not all-knowing.”

Shekinah drew a small object from her gown; this she handed to Jezebel.  It was a matchbook that read “Tumbleweed Cafe and Bar, Minden, Wyoming.”

“She's there?”

“Very astute.  Now, make haste, Daughter of Man.  Don some of the apparel that you will find in this apartment, gather gear that should make your journey a comfortable one, and insert yourself into that automobile without.  For its operation, you need only search the memories of Jill Arendel.  And harken.  Fail in this mission and your reward shall be no more than the measure of your results.  Succeed, and the same shall be true.”

As Jezebel glanced down at the matchbook again, and it dawned on her, as if out of nowhere, that she was in Omaha, Nebraska, a full state away from the Tumbleweed.  She scowled.  Such knowledge must have sprung into her head from the trash heap that was Jill Arendel's memories.  Her fists clenched, offended that the contents of a low creature brain should be permitted to contaminate her mind.

When the Watcher looked back to where Shekinah had been standing, there was no one there.

#

While Jetrel had existed in the In-Between Place, he had frequently spied upon the world, including every corner of the United States.   But this dismal speck of the globe had left few noteworthy impressions.  She could tell it had been a dry winter; the plains stretched out monotonously, brown and expired.  Along US Highway 70, through western Nebraska, Jezebel had passed by infrequent towns, and these became even more infrequent over the Wyoming border, especially after Manville.    

An aspect equally unpleasant was the cold of the season, something that angels were impervious to, but which women were not.   She had packed carelessly, never having had to deal with climate factors, and had found it necessary to stop in a Nebraskan Wild West shop, there to buy a winter coat, warm boots, and a stocking cap.  The purchases had diminished her currency, reminding the Watcher that replenishing it would be a problem to solve in the near future.

The town of Minden, when the quester found it, looked small, so small that the Tumbleweed Cafe & Bar stood out prominently along the highway.  Jezebel drove into a parking space and got out.  The chilly breeze induced her to pull her cap lower. 

The unpretentious, single-storied building was recently painted -- red-brown trimmed with white.  Besides the long rooftop sign, two different Budweiser signs were displayed.  Behind the restaurant there was nothing to see, except a flat horizon of forlorn emptiness. 

The dangerous part of her mission had begun.  Ready for trouble, the fallen angel opened the front door and went inside.   The lunch bar to the right had several maroon-topped stools flanking it.  Tables lined the opposite wall, with up to six metal-framed chairs at each.  The varnished pine-board walls were laden with pictures, mostly of wild game, but also with rustic objects that supposedly held an artistic attraction for these primitives.  Beside the bakery display on the far end, there was a shelf that supported a television set.  It was playing some political news program that was annoying to the ear.  She counted ten customers, none of whom glanced her way with more than fleeting interest.  As it happened, none of them looked like Pelosia Wittke. 

But the waitress did. 

Due to the limits of human vision, the Watcher had to look twice to be sure.  The girl's lithe build was the same, as were those dancer-quality legs (amply displayed where her miniskirt wasn't).  The tight blouse Pelosia wore showed her endowment and plentiful cleavage.     

Looking at her, Jezebel considered how corruption had flourished over the centuries.  In fairness, exhibitionism usually came into a human heart by means of a Jezebel spirit.  Once a woman started dressing like a wanton, she would soon find herself unable to stop.  Not so long ago, women would scarcely have let an ankle show in public, least they be called a slattern or flirt.  How times had changed.

But the runaway singer had made some effort to disguise herself.  Susan's face did not look as it had in the video.  With hardly any makeup, she sized up as a very ordinary young woman – a little prettier than most, but ordinary.  And  her formerly blond hair now flowed black.

The Watcher went to the only empty table; a moment later the waitress stepped up.  “Hello,” she said, and handed Jezebel a folded menu.  The girl was wearing a name tag that read “Holly.”

The Watcher absently scanned the list.  She had never developed much interest in human cuisine.  Though they sometimes dined enjoyably at the banquet tables of Heaven, angels didn't require sustenance.  Since her confinement in a mortal body, she had been hungry several times, and had had to deal with the consequences of eating.  On the positive side, consuming food had so far been a pleasure.  She chose something at random.  “A hot beef sandwich dinner, please.”

“Soup or salad.”

“What kind of soup?”  Jezebel hadn't thought about that; such a trivial question had surely come from Jill.

“Cream of mushroom or chili bean.”

“Chili bean,” she said.  “But I'm not sure we'll be staying long enough for the order to arrive.”

“How's that, ma'am?” the girl asked. 

“Someone told me you were here,” the Watcher said.  “We have to talk, preferably in private.”

Holly blinked, and then studied her customer skeptically.  “I don't think so.  My vibes are saying that there's something about you that means trouble.”

“Why do you suppose that?” Jezebel asked.  She had assumed that she was looking very unremarkable.

“I don't know what it is, but you look...dangerous somehow.”  She grinned.  “Did you ever kill anyone?”

“Thousands.  But they were only human.” 

Holly neither frowned nor smiled at that.  “It will be about fifteen minutes, if you're staying,” she said.

Jezebel took her wrist in a swift motion.  “We're out of time.  We have to speak, outside.”

Holly looked irritated.  “Let me go or I'll poke you with my pencil.”

The blond leaned closer and whispered.  “I know that you are Pelosia Wittke.”

The hand she was holding jerked; those words had rattled the waitress for certain.

“N-No!” stammered Holly.  “I just look a little like her.  People tell me I do.”

Jezebel was now certain that she couldn't detect lies as angels did.  She wondered whether an inflow of dark energy would restore such useful abilities.  But discovering such a handicap only added more distastefulness to a situation that was already repulsive.  The night before, at a fast-food place, some men in line had been watching the Watcher.  They were local rustics, louts to be ignored, but their fixation on her backside had stimulated her flesh like a lover's lascivious touch.  Mortified, she would have behaved badly, except that the pair didn't push things to disaster.  Maybe it had been her unfashionable mode of dress.  Or could it have been the homicidal expression that she'd tossed back at them? 

To Holly she said, “You're in danger.  Have you ever heard of the Cabal?”

From her expression, Jezebel guessed that Pelosia Wittke, indeed, knew that name and feared it. 

“I'm not going anywhere with a stranger!” Holly declared.

“Listen – I'm with the...people...who helped you escape from your so-called friends.  I've been sent to take you to a safer place.”

Holly stared.  “What do you know about me being helped?”

“I know that you were locked up and rescued by an angel.”

The waitress reacted with incredulity.   “I thought I was imagining things.  How do you know so much?”

“I've got friends in high places.  Here's what else I know.  You called your mother, but your phone wasn't secure.  The Cabal can trace you, and they might already have somebody with us inside this room.  I don't know how much time we have, but it can't be very much.”

The waitress looked ready to bolt for the door.  Fine, the Watcher thought; outside was exactly where Jezebel wanted her. 

To Be Continued in Chapter 2, Part 2...

 

 

The Falling Star, Chapter 1, Part 2

By Christopher Leeson

3-2-2017

Revised 02-07-21 

CHAPTER 1, Part 2

“I think you will find that the Father is a wise as ever he was,” said Shekinah.

Jetrel regarded the archangel severely “Is he ordering me into battle?  Against whom?”
 

The angel in white met her companion’s hard stare.  “Who is it that would you least object to fighting?”
 

Who indeed? Jetrel wondered.  The hottest part of her rage was not directed at the Father, nor even at Metatron.  No, it was focused upon another being entirely.  

Jetrel raised jealous eyes toward Shekinah.  “Is this about Satan?  Why did the Father permit him and his rabble to rule the earth, while he chained us in confinement.  Why?”

“Today's enemies are tomorrow’s friends.  Father, I'm sure, did not want your Watchers to join the army of Hell.  Rejoice, misguided one.  You have something that the Morning Star himself is not fated to claim, the possibility of a blessing.”

“A blessing?”  Jetrel looked at herself and scowled.  “Blessings like this I could well do without.”

“Is that so?"

“Why deliver me at all if he doesn’t respect me?”

Shekinah looked incredulous.  “Deluded creature!  Any claim you ever had to respect has long been forfeited.  The respect you crave has to be re-earned from nil.  And harken to this:  should you manage to prove yourself, your allies in crime may be offered the same deliverance.  You are to be the test case.

The girl's jaw dropped.  “The same deliverance?  To become women?”

“One cannot say for certain.  Father tends to endless creativity in his chastisements.  But remember also, until the damned are irreversibly destroyed in the Lake of Fire, every punishment the Father imposes is intended to call his lost sheep home.”  

“Why, exactly, was I chosen for this mockery?”

Shekinah shook her head.  “Father may have ascertained that you, as unlikely as it appears, are the best of a very, very bad flock.”

Jetrel made fists.  “Have I earned his contempt because I was weak enough to ask...repentance?”

The angel blinked.  “Repentance?  You almost choke upon the word!  You may know how to fashion the hateful noun on your lips, but your thoughts run cold and your heart is as ice.  Words are not repentance in and of themselves; repentance is a pitiable cry for mercy from a sinner's aching heart.  Father has opened the door of escape for you; scorn it and there shall be no other.”

The girl felt like cursing, but held her emotion in like a soldier.  “What exactly does Father want from me?” 

“There is a mighty harvest of souls ongoing upon the earth.  Satan’s agents have so oppressed persons of every land, every walk of life.   They have no place left to turn, nowhere except back to the Father and the Son.  If the Rapture should be called to early, many who might have come home tomorrow will be lost.   

"But the hour is late; the Anti-Christ is lurking behind the scenes, driving his minions into frenzied feats of evil; the False Prophet struts proud in red and purple, multiplying his blasphemies every day.  But because circumstances have changed, Father is holding back the Day of Judgment.  Not for long, but for a while yet.  Accordingly, Satan has been ordered to stand down from immediate action, but he will not listen.”

“The Morning Star always was impatient,” sneered Jetrel.

“Indeed, the Deceiver is spoiling for a fight.  A fight he shall have.  Millions of angels have been dispatched to hold him at bay until the appointed hour.  Because of the fight to come, you are being offered a place of...respect...in the Army of Glory.”

Jezebel tossed her head.  “Has Heaven grown so depopulated that Father needs to call upon the disowned and ruined?”

“Not at all.  Though the Father no longer chooses to create angels from air and light, the choirs have been amply replenished with the slain saints from earth.  His offer, I should think, is more for your benefit than it is for his.  You understand nothing if you do not understand that he doesn't want even one sheep to be lost.”

“I'm listening.”

“Your future battles have been chosen.  For your aid, you will see a purple aura surrounding any human, Nephilim, fallen angel, or demon who actively serves Satan's ends.  This is war.  Deal with the enemy as you deem fit; Father's protecting hand has been lifted from every malefactor engaged in furthering the Deceiver’s deadly aims.”

“So, he wants the whole lot of them dead or alive?”  The girl halted.  From whence had come that human phrase?  It almost sounded familiar, but yet it didn't.

“Dead or alive.  That says it well enough,” Shekinah responded.  

The fair-haired woman sniffed.  “I'm not expected to kill cleanly, am I?”

“The Father is fully aware of your bloodthirstiness and lack of pity.” 

Jetrel glanced away.  “How can I win even the smallest battle bound in this useless shape?”

“There is something that I have yet to explain.  You may, in fact, regain much power, but it comes to you at a price.”

“What price?”

“The coin of the realm shall be your overweening pride.  Pride has been the keystone supporting your mountous evil.  Without it, inequity might at last begin to fall away from you.”

The girl studied Shekinah's face and grimaced.  “What new torture are you alluding to?”

“Do you remember the cruel use you Watchers made of the Jezebel spirits?”

Jetrel, of course, remembered.  The Nephilim children of the fallen angels had taken over almost every city and every tribe.  The Flood had at last been sent to break their stranglehold upon the world.  They died in the many millions, but such rebellious spirits as theirs could not rest easy.  Disembodied, they sought to possess humans and resume evil and vice-ridden material lives.   

Rather than permit this, the Father had cast their kind into a hell dimension, one that was similar to the In-Between Place, only vastly more unpleasant.  Some of these demons commanded mighty power, but some were mere mites in comparison.  It served the Father's ends to give them reign to punish mortals who had become reprobates in sin.

Some of the females had become demons of desire, and these were allowed to whisper into the ears of foolish girls, urging them into misbehavior.  If a maid heeded their urgings and persisted in error, it was an invitation for such a spirit to enter into her body and impose its will.  One woman who became famously possessed, Queen Jezebel, almost brought down the kingdom of Judah with her seductive ways.  Ever since, men had called the demons of desire “Jezebel spirits.”

“Jezebel spirts?  Unimportant lice!” Jetrel exclaimed irritably.

“They are not so unimportant to one who is tormented by them.  It is time for you to know that the Father did not choose such a body for you randomly.  It belonged to a possessed seductress, one who was murdered in vengeance by a betrayed wife.  The demon remains with you and you may not find its company pleasant, but in the long run dealing with it and, hopefully, overcoming it may do you some good.”

Jetrel bridled.  “Has the Father grown so petty, so vile in his sense of humor?”

“Not in the least, but just like a tormented mortal may at last turn to the Father in desperation, so may you.   You are, however, allowed to rid yourself of such an unwanted taskmistress, if that is what you truly want.”

“And why shouldn't I want to?” Jetrel inquied suspiciously.

“Your Jezebel spirit has been bespelled to act as a conduit for the dark, corrupting energies issuing from the demon world.  As long as you keep it, whenever lust is directed toward your person, its dark energy will be welcomed in by the spirit, and this, in turn, will empower you.  The more intense the lust you encounter, the more intense will be the power you gain.  If you allow it to flow into you, you will become a formidable warrior.”

“And if I cast it out?”

“You will live out your life as a weak mortal.  Think.  Which course do you prefer?  What you face is a human dilemma.  Consider the man who believes that he must live poor unless he swindles.  Which choice do you suppose the Father might prefer him to make?”

Jetrel gnashed her teeth.  Everything about the situation seemed intolerable, but yet power was being offered.  It has been so long since she had exercised power.  In the right hands, power could solve almost any problem, even the problems caused by lewd men and petty demons.  “We shall see,” she finally said.  “Before I make any final decision, I would like to sample this power you speak of.  While I do so, I may indeed put an end to a few of Satan's slaves.  At the very least, it ought to be pleasant diversion.  So, what happens now?”

Sheikinah appeared satisfied.  “Come, Jezebel.  You have a mission waiting.”  The brunette angel regarded the doctor, who still remained stationary.  “We have to leave this place.  We test the Father’s patience if we interfere with Nature’s order for very long.”

The girl's eyes flashed.  “What did you just call me?”

“Jezebel.  That is your new name in Heaven.  On earth it is Jezebel Delilah Watcher.  It shall be as Jezebel that you shall either rise or fall.  Now, take my hand.  We cannot remain longer.”  The angel reached out to her companion.

Lacking a good choice, Jezebel did as instructed.  

Their antiseptic surroundings began to fade into a soft blur.  When the world refocused, their location was an entirely different one.

#

Darkness.  Angel-vision knew no darkness, but Jezebel's human eyes could only make out faint outlines, mostly of furniture.  Reflexively, she stepped toward the door and switched on the light.

This automatic action surprised her.  “How did I know where to find the light switch?” Jezebel muttered.

The angel explained.  “Without its departed spirit, the deceased woman's brain remains with you, like a scroll to be read.  Her name was Jill Lara Arendel.  To read her memories, simply concentrate.  They shall be like a library, informing you about everyday life on earth.”

Jezebel made a noise through her lips, a thing she instantly recognized as a human gesture.  Her mind revolted at the idea of falling into the patterns of one whom she regarded as a low beast.  The girl glared at the angel.  “I have no curiosity about anything rattling around in the meat-brain of some trivial mortal. I would sooner read the mind of a mare or ewe.”

“Would you?” Shekinah teased.  

Jezebel looked around the carelessly-kept room.  “Did I say ewe?  This chamber has both the look and smell of a pigsty.”

“Who would have supposed that the slayer of thousands would be so delicate?  Did the women whom you seduced also offend your eyes and nose?”

The blond frowned.  “Not the eyes.  Plain women I cared naught for; but beauty in a woman reminds me of Heaven.  Sometimes I have wondered if the Father didn't trust us, and so deliberately entrapped us with the daughters of men.  As for the issue of the human smell, I got used to it, though I don't remember how.”

“Your band grew accustomed to far more than that!” Sheikinah scornfully challenged.  “Not even the beasts of the farms, waters, woods, and skies were spared from the Watchers' lust.  Your children became the satyrs, harpies, centaurs, and thousands of other monsters.”

Jezebel refused to blush.  “We decided in the end that there was no meaningful difference between persons and beasts.”

Now it was Sheikinah’s turn to suppress anger.  She began acerbically:  "You may use this suite.  It contains many useful items, such as clothes.  Are you familiar with the concept of rent?  There is a fee for the right of occupancy in such a domicile; it is assessed by him who owns this building on the first day of each month.  That will be eighteen days from now.  You must provide him with the sum of $525, which is supposed to be quite a reasonable charge.  

“Also, you shall discover a sum of money hidden inside a candy canister that lies within a box under the bed; that will defray your initial expenses.  Fortunately, Miss. Arendel followed a gainful occupation.  If you decide to impersonate her, the income will prove sufficent to support a mortal's basic needs.   

"By the way, your resurrection at the morgue will be reported to local authority.  They will probably desire an interview, to find out what you know about what happened.  Be prepared to allay their suspicion with a well-wrought deceit; doing that should not be difficult for you.”

“Employment?  Why waste my time?  Why shouldn't the Father provide my support, like a king would a warrior in the field?”

“Is there no end to your conceit?  He surely feels that he is already doing enough for one who has earned nothing except the Lake of Fire.  Moreover, you need to fit in among the mortal kind, and maintaining some sort of employment as they do will be helpful.”

The angel noted Jezebel's dubious expression.  “You are not required to remain in this lodging, though keeping it for the present may be convenient.  Miss Arendel was actually absent from it a majority of the time.  Her professional engagements took her out on 'the road' as they say.”

What had she been? Jezebel wondered.  A whore?  Jezebel refused to search Jill Arendal's memories, not wanting to be additionally mortified.  “Why should I demean myself with labor?  Mankind traditionally gets what it wants by robbery.”

The angel shook her head.  “Take care.  If apprehended and cast into a dungeon, you shall be hard-pressed to regain your liberty.  Do not assume that Father shall rescue you from every unnecessary problem created by yourself. ”

“If I gain the type of power that you've spoken of, no prison of this realm could hold me.”

“True, but first there are things that you must do to gain that power,” Sheikinah cautioned.

The girl sent her informer a scoffing glance.

The angel continued:  “There are luggage carriers on these premises.  Humans who need to travel generally pack an array of useful items.  Additionally, Miss Arendel has an automobile outside, in space 6.”   Sheikinah produced a common handbag.  “I took the liberty of appropriating the woman's effects from the hospital.  The operating keys are herein contained.  As for how to drive a human vehicle, Jill Arendal's memories shall usefully assist you.”

Jezebel sighed.  “The Watchers taught the first humans how to make what they needed to offend and oppress one another.  We never supposed that they were smart enough to invent anything on their own.”  She paused, not wanting it to sound like she was complimenting the human race, not even grudgingly.  “But from what I've seen of automobiles,” she added, “I don't care for them.”

“They are an acquired taste, I grant.  But it is time for more important matters.  As I have said, we have a pressing mission for your accomplishment. ”

Pivoting, Shekinah went to the television set.  The picture came on in a flash.  “...and Nightman alerted the police that they should pick up the two jewel thieves that he had left tied up in the main storage room of the premises.”

Nightman.  Jebezel had heard that name before, having eavesdropped on many a television and radio broadcast while in the In-Between Place.  Humans, such as the one called Nightman, those who possessed unique abilities, were held in fascination by mortals.  These oddly-gifted individuals were known as “ultras.”  Most ultras carried on like brigands, but some chose to defend their fellows in the manner of knights errant.  Their various talents reminded Jezebel of the Nephilim race.  

"These imperfect offspring of the rebelling Watchers had oftentimes inherited their sires' abilities at random, making each of them unique.  Like the ultras of this age, mankind had held them in awe and spoke of them as “mighty men of valor.”  It was well that most humans had shown respect, for a great many of the Nephilim had fed on human flesh, something which the Father had greatly objected to.

Shekinah had been punching buttons on a device that Jezebel somehow knew was called a “television remote.”  “Yes, here it is.  Watch carefully.”

Different sounds and images filled the screen.   Jezebel followed the action, expecting some scene of importance to appear.  But the program now playing was nothing other than a commonplace music video.

END OF CHAPTER 1, Part 2

To Be Continued...