In the Dark of Night – Part 11

Politics now dominate the blog portions of my posts because 2020 is really happening and I cannot and will not turn a blind eye to such degradations.

However, even in the civility-starved blasted hellscape that used to be our political structures, there exist the occasional “good thing.”

I’m going to share one with you, then talk about it at length, because we need something pleasant just to shake things up.

Here it is: Dr. Jill Biden being awesome.

Take a moment, and go watch that. I’ll wait, promise.

Done?

Good right?

I want to talk about that moment because it is emblematic of a lot of the things we are trying to fix right now. More importantly, it is how we are trying to fix them that is equally important.

In that one brief interaction, less than six seconds long, we learn more about who Joe Biden is as a person than an entire book could tell us. In addition, he demonstrates more fitness for the office of President, more leadership and strength of character, than Trump has ever done in his entire life.

Think about it: Joe Biden has been the Vice President of the United States. Twice. He’s been in politics nearly his entire life. He has dealt with the most powerful men and women on the planet to earn his daily bread. The same way you or I would go to the office or to the factory, he goes to meet with heads of state. With military commanders. With ambassadors and policymakers who determine the course of our lives.

And yet.

He is a man willing to listen to good advice. He is a man willing to change what is needed when it is pointed out that he is in the wrong. More importantly… no, most importantly, he is a man who does so without his ego getting the better of him.

Watch that moment with his wife again.

Not one time does he even attempt to stop or alter what is happening. Instead, recognizing her  touch, the only thing he does is scan the ground to either side. His physical safety assured, and once Dr. Biden finishes moving him, he then moves his eyes up and scans again to make sure he is distancing appropriately.

He doesn’t even stop talking.

Mission accomplished, Dr. Biden heads off into the sunset and (presumably) raises her fist ala The Breakfast Club.

I jest, but only because this moment is so wholesome. So clean. This is the reaction of a well-adjusted adult, in a committed relationship of equals, who reacts to his own foible with calm adjustment instead of full-throated denial or bloviation to protect his image or his ego.

Can you imagine, even for a moment, our current President reacting to this situation correctly? Can you imagine this situation even happening at all? If anyone even attempted this it would become a newsworthy moment instead of offering us all a brief glimpse into a lifetime of love and trust between two extraordinary people.

I have thought about this moment for the better part of a week now. It has filled me like a fine wine, allowing me to endure moments that surely would have broken me. Like news that North Korea now has their biggest ICBM ever and it is because…. No. No.

I want to talk about this moment precisely because it is something so utterly banal and normal that I want to take a moment and remind you of what politics used to be.

Of what politics could be yet again.

It gives me hope because if this man, who has walked among titans, is willing to adjust so seamlessly to meet changing demands then we just might be able to walk the tightrope necessary to get us where we need to be.

I want my son to inherit a functioning planet, not a stinking ball of nuclear and/or environmental waste.

Maybe, just maybe, Joe can get it done.

One gentle reminder at a time.

Story time.

In the Dark of Night – Part 11

A secret part of me, one that sounds an awful lot like Karen, was whispering quiet words of distrust as Tim got to work on my contract.

Ultimatums delivered by angels holding their petitioners over a barrel was not how it was supposed to work, apparently. As Tim built up a head of steam, I could tell he was in his element. He was discussing the obligations with such specificity that he must have several lifetimes, plural, of experience with the subject.

I stopped him with the occasional question, and to my great surprise for a man so consumed by passion for his expertise, I understood his answers quite well. The quiet hissing of the Karen in my head got quieter with each answered question.

“Force Majeure simply means that if you die because you tripped falling down the stairs instead of being ripped to shreds while locked in mortal combat with a demon, Management won’t send you to the hotbox for penalty time.”

He winked, as though he were giving me an extra scoop of ice-cream for dessert instead of telling me I’d avoid hellfire if a banana peel was my listed cause of death.

It was perfect. I spent several minutes trying to put the belly laugh back in my belly. A thought came to me, the laughter fading as it knifed my merriment with doubt.

“What’s going to happen to me, Tim? What’s really going to happen when you leave my bedroom?”

Tim looked up from his contract, his pen looming over the paper much as his desk was over my carpet; both in defiance of the natural order of the universe.

He cocked his head, then sat back and laced his fingers over the paunch that only good cooking could produce. He studied my ceiling, gently rocking back and forth as he considered his answer. I appreciated that he was taking his time, refusing to tell me what he thought I wanted to hear in order to get my signature.

“Well Miss Miller, I suppose that really depends on what you came looking for.”

He leaned forward as he spoke, hands still intertwined, his elbows upon the desk as he studied me across his knuckles.

I thought, really thought, as I hadn’t had time to do since my bed had first begun shaking the prior evening.

What I thought about most was how alone I felt.

Yes, I had my family. They were messy, and noisy, and every morning was war. But. All the scrapes and hijinks served to bring us closer together. Well, except for Abigail. Making a connection with her would require a separate contract all by itself.

We all had Jacqueline, even though none of us deserved her. Truth be told, she was what I had been expecting when I lay prostrate upon my own floor and sent a desperate prayer heavenward. I even had Mr. Cushinberry, who would never stop pushing me to succeed even if it meant I was always churlish towards him.

What I didn’t have was someone I could talk to about everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. About how I’d decided to save Karen even after all the things she’s said and done and how conflicted I felt about it. About the gnawing fingers of fear creeping through my guts that even now, with a literal heavenly body sitting across from me, I still wasn’t safe.

I’d had that and more. A boon companion, a mentor, someone who always had time to listen. Someone unto whom I could pour all of my fears and doubts and pain before they could overwhelm me. Someone upon whose shoulders the heavens themselves must rest upon.

Then I’d voiced something I’d always known; I’d never been Clarence. I’d always been Claire, but I’d just been too scared to tell anyone. I had told my teacher, trusted them to understand as they had understood everything. I had shared the truth and shown them my secret heart .

Father had rewarded me by ripping my heart out.

His wrath was the last thing I’d expected. The raw, unbridled fury had frightened me as nothing ever had before. He’d packed a single suitcase in disgust and walked out on all of us. Our lives were shattered, our family forced to move from one city to another chasing work, only to end up in a split-level smack-dab in the middle of nowhere because that was cheapest.

I drew my knees up to my chest, putting my head down as the tears came. I cried, anguish and fear and isolation washing over me in waves, flowing out of me and onto my pants in salty patches.

A hand arrived, settling over mine. It wasn’t a pat of pity, nor the uncomfortable touch of one doing something that didn’t come naturally to them. It was loving, and warm, so full of unquestioning acceptance of everything about who and what I was that it shook even more tears out of me.

“I feel so alone!”

The sentence tore its way through the grief, broken by sobs. I tried to say more, but I simply couldn’t force more words past all of the emotions that I hadn’t dealt with as I should’ve.

The hand didn’t waver. Calm, steady, waiting for me to indicate that my emotions had receded back into their usual banks before leaving. I don’t know how long I sat there with the fear and anxiety I’d kept bottled up inside slowly draining past my eyes. Eventually, there were no more tears to shed.

I looked up, face ugly and splotched with snot running down my face. Some women could make crying pretty. I was not one of them.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

I sniffed, unceremoniously wiping my face on the pants I had already ruined as Tim and his hand sat back. I looked at him, eyes red and puffy, and gave a weak grin.

“I don’t think even Heaven could manage that miracle.”

Tim nodded, rubbing his chin with his face clouded in thought. Apparently, he took my statement as a personal challenge.

After a few minutes of furious thought, he came to a decision.

Without ceremony, he reached out to the contract that he and I had been laboring over and began tearing it up. Once he got it into small enough pieces, he threw them all into the air like contractual confetti. As it drifted down, it slowly faded into nothingness.

A corded phone appeared on his desk, popping into existence in utter silence. Tim reached down, pressed two buttons, and then began drumming his fingers. After a moment, someone picked up on the other end.

“Hey Janice, can you have Jebediah Smith call me? No, the one in Boons and Benevolences. Yes, thank you Janice. Yes, you’re free to join us for dinner this evening, so long as I get to see pictures of your grandchildren.”

Janice said something that made Tim let loose a mighty cackle, then he hung up the phone. The phone, its purpose fulfilled, disappeared as silently and suddenly as it had appeared.

“What are.. Who is… what?”

Tim held up a finger to his lips. His face was transfigured; neither paternal nor professional in that moment. He bore the look of a man who’d just managed to outfox the Devil. Again.

He wore a smile which had given birth to a thousand mischiefs.

Despite everything, I managed to laugh once more because of how unrepentantly wicked he looked.

The phone reappeared, ringing loudly as it did. Tim scooped it up, twiddled at his ear for a moment, then cradled it to his face like a long lost puppy.

“Y’all ‘anted me ‘ta call?”

The y’all was stretched to the breaking point as it came through the receiver. I could hear every syllable because Jebediah was shouting like volume was what powered heavenly telephones. I slapped my hands over my ears. Tim didn’t even flinch.

“Jebediah! My good man, do you know if there’s an exceptions clause for breach of veil in the Petitioner’s Act of 872?”

Jebediah’s mouth must be a riot because I could hear him sucking on his teeth, too.

“Well, ther’n precedent in the Compromise of Egburg. Your’n hafta prove malfeasance onna parta tha’ angel, tho. Which’n wuz it?”

Tim mentioned who had charged at me, sword out while wreathed in power and glory. Apparently that was a bigger deal than I had at first realized. Maybe my experience hadn’t been such a normal one after all.

“Anizaniza’ish! Consarn, but they’n record longer n’tha bible.”

Then again, it probably had been. Somehow, that was even worse.

More teeth sucking, Tim bent over his desk, hanging on to the receiver for dear life. He still didn’t show any signs a man was shouting into his ear.

“I reckon if’n ya site Rasuil in Enn’od’izishiar vs. Osburth then Management’n hafta grant y’all a dispensation.”

I swear I could hear his nod of self-satisfaction over the phone.

“Jebediah, you saint. Let me know if you ever want to join us for dinner. Thank you again.”

The receiver was returned to its cradle in a triumphant slamming motion, a finger whirled into the air after fiddling with his ear on the way up.

“Eureka! The upper hand is on the other foot!”

I snorted, the motion dislodging more mess onto my knees. I wiped at my face, laughing harder still at the absurdity of the whole affair. Tim was lively for a dead man.

Tim bent down, reaching into a drawer that I couldn’t see. From the unseen abyss, he pulled forth a bright magenta scroll. The brass carvings on either end glinted as he unrolled it, the lionheads there seeming to roar even though they remained still.

Tim’s pen shot towards the reedy paper like a pouncing predator. It flashed across the scroll, Tim’s brow knitting as he went. Sweat appeared, but the feverish pace did not diminish.

I sat in consternated silence, trying to catch a peak at the words which he was creating with such passion. The writing was a modified form of Egyptian hieroglyphs that I had never seen before. They looked nothing like what I remembered from my history books.

No words were exchanged, no questions asked nor answered, the silence stretching into what felt like hours.

Finally the pen stopped, slammed into the pen holster that appeared atop the desk. A handkerchief was pulled from an inside pocket. It was pink, inexpertly embroidered with hearts and kittens. Obviously a memento from one grandchild or another.

“Good news Miss Miller. It looks like it is not your signature we are after.”

The emphasis on my signature was heavy, and as he spoke he rolled the scroll up and replaced the handkerchief. He took the scroll, turned it vertical, held it out behind his desk at arms length, then the thin air snatched it and shot it skyward in an invisible banking tube.

“I apologize for the silence, but it was vital that we moved fast before Anizaniza’ish could make their usual excuses. Angels get away with murder, often literally, but this time I think we caught them with their hand in the cookie jar.”

He was rubbing his hands together now, the wicked look returned. I sat, nonplussed, waiting for things to make sense. Well, as much sense as anything had made since last night.

Tim’s brows furrowed in concern. He opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say froze upon his lips.

Time, already slowed to a trickle, stopped entirely. I couldn’t breathe. I was frozen inside my own body, unable to turn away from the dark spectacle which appeared beside Tim’s desk.

The air split open, torn asunder like reality itself was paper. Out of the jagged void flew a creature. They wore hooded black robes that suggested the shape and form of a human, but anything could and probably did hide under them.

A voice emanated from the hood; a raspy wheezing thing that belonged to things long dead.

“Weeeeeeeeeee seeeeeeeeeeeee.”

A second robed figure emerged, draped in black. No face was visible for either being. Only an oval of blackness inside their hood.

“Weeeeeeeeee agreeeeeeeee.”

This was from a third figure which emerged as the jagged hole sewed itself back together. I watched, unable to do anything else.

Each figure sprouted a pair of hands that bore too many blackened digits from beneath their robes. The hands began rolling air between their fingers, and as they did fine silver chain-links began to form. The three acted with unnatural coordination. Each link was added to a long chain they built between them. Finally, after several looped coils of chain had been created, a pair of silver manacles were added to the available end.

The first of the creatures grabbed the loop, whirling the manacles in a frenzied pinwheel until they were loosed into the heavens. Like the scroll that had summoned them, they disappeared into the unknowable heavens. Only a section of the chain was visible.

With a snap that should’ve set my teeth on edge, the robed figure drew the chain taut. The other two, drawn by the act, formed up in a line behind the first. Together, all three began hauling upon the chain.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Coils of chain gathering above my carpet as the trio hauled with mechanical regularity.

Then, Anizaniza’ish appeared. They were burning brighter than the sun, six wings beating madly at the air as they tried to resist the pull of the shackles upon their wrists. They were swearing up a storm, threatening inhuman levels of vengeance and violence.

“UNHAND ME YOU GHASTLY THINGS. I HAVE ALLIES YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY IMAGINE.”

The hauling intensified. After a few more fruitless moments of struggle and shouted curses, the creatures had the angel in front of them. Without ceremony, the lead figure rolled air into a nasty spike, hauled the angel over to the desk, then proceeded to drive the spike through a link and into the desk with one triple jointed digit.

The three, task accomplished, once more ripped apart reality and flew through to whatever lay behind it. They laughed as they went, the sound ghastly and haunting, like a graveyard given the chance to cackle.

Time, seeing that the coast was clear, began to flow once more. My breath returned in ragged gasps as I clutched the arms of the chair to keep from keeling over. Tim gripped the edge of the desk. We were both pale and gasping like fish flopping on land2.

“Reapers, Miss Miller. A necessary evil, I’m afraid.”

Tim took a few minutes to compose himself, the fiery angel shackled at the edge of the desk. Every portion of their body was rigid with anger. Their eyes bore into Tim’s like augurs, but he only smiled. Clearly the dead were immune to the overwhelming intensity of that gaze.

The scroll reappeared, rocketing towards the desk from the ceiling. It stopped just before it shattered into a million pieces, Tim reaching out to take it with renewed vigor. He unrolled the scroll, cackled wantonly, then began to read.

Dear Timotheus,

Greetings thou good and faithful servant. 

Our hearts are moved by your entreaty, and the work thou hast done in voicing thy plea moves Us to act. To serve All Ends, and in His infinite mercy, We grant the blessing requested. 

Make the offer to Anizaniza’ish in Our name.

The Son

Tim pushed the scroll across the desk to within reading distance of the leashed angel. He leaned over, resting his chin upon his fist as he casually looked up at the unnatural rage twisting their features. There was not a trace of mercy in Tim’s face , and I wondered just how many men and women like me he’d been unable to save from the casual cruelty of Anizaniza’ish.

“Here’s your offer, Anizaniza’ish. Go on a pilgrimage of one human lifetime, and I will consider us even. Refuse, and I will have Management punt you downstairs so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

The angel sneered, contempt replacing the anger. The angel leaned down, eye to eye with the portly man. A fiery hand shot out towards him, sudden and vicious. Tim didn’t even blink. I inhaled sharply, curling into a ball in the chair in reaction. The hand went past him, to the pen in its holder.

Without breaking eye contact, without dropping the sneer for a moment, Anizaniza’ish affixed their name to the scroll. They threw the pen with inhuman speed towards the floor. It flew through without leaving a mark, a small spurt of flame the only thing marking its passage. They pressed their now empty hand into the signature, smearing the ink across their palm as they did.

The ink shot up their hand, expanding across the flaming skin in mere moments until it covered the whole of their body in the same unusual hieroglyphs of Tim’s missive.

Then Anizaniza’ish shrank.

The shackles fell from their now thin, delicate wrists. The armor vanished one piece at a time, until a curvy young woman in a white linen robe was all that was left of Anizaniza’ish.

My mouth fell open in horror at what was about to happen to me.

Chainfully,

The Unsheathed Quill