Entertaining Angels Read online

Entertaining Angels

  by

  Matthew Angelo

  * * * * *

  Entertaining Angels

  Copyright 2012 by Matthew Angelo

  Walking down College Avenue in the cold on Christmas Eve is not my idea of a festive time, and neither is dealing with last minute shoppers pushing past me. Snow fell from a gloomy gray sky, and the smell of coffee mixed with the exhaust of traffic made my walk somewhat better. People were out buying their friends and family last minute gifts, hoping to buy their love with over-priced and superficial items that they will return the day after. Everyone rushed. Carrying boxes, bags, and bundles, staring straight ahead, focused only on themselves. Ah, the Christmas shopping season. Goodwill towards me, fuck everyone else, seemed to be the prevailing attitude. Old Town Fort Collins was full of life, yet empty of it at the same time. Everyone’s pre-occupation with buying happiness kept them from noticing anything. I have to watch where I’m walking so I wouldn’t run into anyone. I’m the only one that is doing that, and I hate this time of year. Not the holiday itself, but the fact it seems to bring out the worst in people. Yeah, I have quite the cynical attitude. Who isn’t though, right?

  I took a few minutes to get to St. Mary’s. Mass was starting. Not that anyone would notice I was there. I get ignored at church or get those stares that freak me out. You know, the stares that speak of judgment. Anyways, I shouldn’t even be here. The church hates me. Being a Nephilim in need of salvation makes it hard for me not to go to church. Father Jonas knows who and what I am. He allows me to come as long as I don’t cause trouble. Not that I cause trouble, but it seems to find me. I only had one shoot-out in a church, and it dealt with a demon-possessed housewife. A demon possessed her, so the shoot-out was fair. I call those types of people Contractors, those willing to sign a contract with a fallen angel to gain some power. If you for something to possess, you get what comes with it. Not all Contractors are possessed, but then some are. Those are the nasty ones. This Contractor, it’s what I call those people who traded their soul for power, killed her children at the church during Mass and then tried to kill others. I was there with my trusty Sig Sauer .45mm with an extra clip of lead-tipped bullets for your everyday demon-possessed housewife gun fight. It was a nasty fight. She focused on me after the demon inside her recognized me for being Nephilim. It took every round I had to put her down for good. I mean every round. By the time I fired the last shot, I had destroyed the whole back row of pews, and I was on my knees half-blinded by my blood due to a cut on my face, and people were crying and praying to God for deliverance. The prayer must have worked. The last bullet did the trick. Rian MacCaren, Private Investigator, saves the day again. Maybe I should cut back on the sarcasm, but sometimes I have spilled more blood than Christ for the faithful and non-faithful. Since the glorious gun battle at St. Mary's, Father Jonas treats me with fear and a healthy respect at the same time. He doesn’t trust me a full one hundred percent, though. He says since I am half-human, I can choose to do what is right. My angel side, however, will always cause problems. He doesn’t understand how true that is.

  The Mass was going according to plan, at least according to the plan of the Catholic Church. I wasn’t there at its inception, so I am not much of an expert on those matters. To almost all the worshippers here, I was just an ordinary man in a pew. The everyday Joe didn’t have angelic blood running through his veins, or a sensitive touch that sent images reeling through his mind. But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Most people believed in angels, and that’s it. An angel and human having a kid were too much for their mind to wrap around. Yet they believe in an all-powerful deity. Irony at its best. That’s ok; people need not believe in me. I’m a monster, an abomination. That is how the Catholic Church classifies me. It could be worse, though. I could be knee-deep in hell-fire and brimstone, chugging a cup full of wrath with a chaser of damnation and torment.

  The congregation filled the sanctuary. Even people who didn’t believe in God were here. I bet when it came time for communion, a few would sneak up for that second sip of communion wine to take the edge off a dreary Mass sermon. If I were lucky, I would be one of those sneaking up to do that. Not that I have anything against a good sermon, but Mass isn’t exciting. It is a lot of kneeling and turning through pages of the Bible looking for the scripture reference, and when it’s found, the priest has finished. Looking around, the seats were full. I stood in the back, leaning against the wall and listened. Sweat beaded on my forehead and realized how warm it was, but with a full house like this, the church had to of turned the heat off. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I need to learn to relax. I should have stayed home and taken a nap. Somebody remind me why I’m here again? I’ll just close my eyes for a second.

  Everyone sang and seemed to know the words to the song. It sounded like Joy to the World sung by American Idol contestants. You know the ones they show in the tryouts. The singers so bad, the network shows them on the edits to get more ratings. I think they were on the second verse. Hell, I didn’t know that song had a second verse. I always thought you repeated the first verse. Damn, it’s warm in here. Looking around everyone was singing. Then I saw her, a woman, mid to late thirties staring at me. Not just the spaced out stare everyone gets at some point, but a flat out stare. She was smiling. A sweet smile, the kind a gentle old lady would give you, or the kind the big bad wolf had given little red riding hood before he tried to eat her. Her smile was all sugar, but her eyes were full of menace. It was getting warmer. My heart raced. This is not good. Why the housewives God? I wonder what this soccer mom contracted her soul for.

  The singing stopped, and everyone took their seats, except for the lady staring at me smiling. She had on a nice pea coat, long black hair, red lips, pale skin. At least this one was hot. Maybe this was what she got out of her deal. Not that demons or the demon-possessed rock my world in the sheets, but it gives one a second to admire the evil even though one doesn’t agree with it. There were a few murmurs around her. She turned her back towards me and took her seat. This could go bad quick. I hoped she would wait. Come on God, it’s Christmas. Leave the innocents free of this.

  Father Jonas mentioned something about the Blood of Christ, and I saw people lining up for Communion. Perfect. I needed a drink right now. The shit will hit the fan soon. A little of liquid bravery would be nice. I walked up to Father Jonas. I looked at the woman who had smiled at me earlier as I walked by. She smiled, but it wasn’t a, “Welcome home honey,” smile. It was more of a, “I will rip your heart out with my teeth,” sort of smile. That smile reminded me of my ex-girlfriend. Good times. I got up to Father Jonas. He gave me a reproachful glare. He knew the look I had on my face. It meant trouble. I went to take the cup from him when he whispered into my ear.

  “Rian my son, I know God has sent you here for a reason, only he knows why, but you cause any more trouble in my church, I will kick your ass out of here myself,” he whispered.

  “Sure thing Padre,” I said snatching the cup out of his hand and draining its entire contents. A few people gasped. An old man dressed in a suit he bought new fifty years ago sat in the front pew just shook his head at me in disapproval. Oh well, can’t please everyone. Not that I even try.

  “Nephilim!”

  I felt my blood go cold. It was the woman. At least she was a woman. From the sound of the voice coming from her, I would bet that the demon inside her was secure that he would keep his host. The sanctuary got quiet. A few children cried, unsure of what was going on. I could smell the frankincense incense well. Everything seemed to come into focus. Father Jonas said something, but I couldn’t hear him. I read his lips, though. I hope I brought backup. By back-up, h
e meant my second Sig. Nothing like cold steel in my hands while fighting the spawns of hell.

  I turned toward the possessed. She wasn’t so pretty now. At first glance she reminded me of Jennifer Connolly, now it was more like Jennifer Connolly after 10 years of hard meth use. Her arms looked bigger. Maybe it was the wine. I doubted it, but it’s good to remain hopeful in dire situations. Everything around us was out of focus. I could almost see people banging on the doors trying to get out. The demon wanted no witnesses. It was a duel of some sorts. Not the western kind or the ones seen in martial arts films, but the dramatic element was still there. The possessed ran towards me. I drew both my Sigs and ran towards her. Now, this is what I call Christmas.

  “Come to Santa and get your presents bitch!” I shouted at her and opened fire. Halfway down the aisle, she dove into the air toward me. I slide beneath her like a baseball player sliding into home, but not before her razor-like nails cut into my shoulder and part of my neck, and not to mention my forehead. I drop one of my guns and felt were she cut me. Nothing too serious, no major arteries, the superhero can still fight. Go me. People were shrieking behind me in fear. Looking at them, I saw their fear. I could even smell it. It was like cancer, eating at them. Killing them and they didn’t even know it. I had to help them. The possessed would kill all of them if I didn’t do something. There is one thing I can count on with demons. Demons love to kill. This one loved it. I saw her lick my blood off her nails. Since when was I put on the menu?

  “How do I taste?” I asked, trying to buy time so I could plan an outrageous plan to save the day.

  “Tasty. I will have your heart. My master promised me that,” she said crouching low to the ground before springing into the air to land on the statue of the crucified Jesus above the altar.

  I heard a few prayers at that point, and I couldn’t blame them, and I even thought about it myself. I backed up and bumped into the stand holding the bowl of holy water. A prayer couldn’t hurt. Not that I am much of a praying man, this may change a few things. She flew into the air and landed on the floor about twenty feet from me and destroying most of the pews in the back rows. She was erect while creeping toward me. I heard her bones cracking as she lumbered toward me. Yeah, a prayer doesn’t sound too bad right now. Not sure if you hear my prayers God, but if you don’t, now would be a good time to listen.

  “Hail Mary, Mother full of grace, thy Lord is with you. Hail Mary walk with me. Guide my steps as you guided your Son’s. Hail Mary, intercede on my behalf,” she was getting closer. She smelled like roadkill on a hot summer afternoon. Good thing I skipped dinner.

  “Pray favor to the Lord for this wicked soul. Hail Mary, forgive me my fallen spirit. Grant me grace upon death to see your glory. Hail Mary, guide my steps,” I dunked both of my guns into the bowl of holy water. Please make this work.

  “Make me your instrument against evil,” I prayed and made the sign of the cross with one of my guns.

  Here is to not running out of ammo.

  She lunged at me as I opened fire. Her body became riddled with ammo in mid-air. I dropped to the floor and rolled out of the way as her body hit the wall and fell to the floor broken and still. My guns pointed at her. They felt warm in my hands. Her body moved. I dropped one gun to grab a clip I kept on a strap around my right ankle. Shit. No clip. If she gets up, we are all in a world full of hurt. She rose. The demon controlled her body and most likely her mind.

  That is when I saw it, the Mark of the Beast on her right hand. She served willingly. She is a confirmed Contractor. No longer speculation in my mind. What a shame. Hell, what a dumb-ass. She got up. I looked at the gun in my left hand. It jammed. Once I got it unjammed, I realized I had one bullet left. Just one. The possessed was standing. I was on my knees. I finished my prayer.

  “Showering your wrath and that of my Lords upon the unrepentant of this city,” I prayed louder now as I made the sign of the cross with my other gun. Then fired.

  The possessed head rocked back as my last bullet slammed into her forehead. She slid to the floor. A trail of blood left on the wall as she fell. The demon left in a rush. Cold air rushed in as the doors to St. Mary’s opened wide.

  “Hail Mary, Mother, full of grace. The Lord is with you. Amen.”

  I snapped to as I felt myself sliding against the wall. I must have fallen asleep. Looking around, I realized a few people were staring at me in alarm. It hit me I had my Sig out. I put it away and flashed a badge at them. They smile with a strained politeness as they went up to take communion. I smiled back and looked around. It was a good night. No demons or demon possessed housewives, just people celebrating Christmas. I walked toward the doors and looked back; it was just an uneventful Christmas Eve. Thank God for that. I’ll skip the communion wine this year. I think the world isn’t such a bad place.

  Who am I kidding? It is bad. No need to worry, though. I’m here, and I may not be a saint, but a sinner and I will protect you. I’m your guardian angel. You will not always see me; you may pass me on the street and not realize who or what I am. You will let me cut in line for the over-priced cup of coffee; you may even buy me the blueberry scone because you think I am hungry. Just know that doing this, you are entertaining angels.

 

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