I was panicked, I wasn’t even sure what to do. Timothy was a “Don’t Ask” customer, so I had no contact info saved, no way to reach him, not even a cell number. That’s when I realized I did have some hope. I got back into the truck and hauled ass to my office. I could get there in about twenty minutes, I could check the caller ID, and maybe reach him that way. I zipped out of the long driveway and got moving as fast as possible, leaving the gate open, I don’t even think I closed the doors to the old mansion.
I got to the office in just under fifteen minutes. I fumbled with the lock, having to stop myself for a second and then calmly get the key into the slot. I pulled the door open and rushed to my desk.
I hit the call history on the phone, and I finally got a number. Out of state, sure, it was from New York, which was fine, and probably the right number. I hit the speed re-dial while jotting the number down. My stomach dropped when it went directly to voicemail, and I heard the message on the other end.
“You’ve reached Major Timothy Crestfall, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you shortly. Godspeed.”
I hadn’t caught my breath by the time the beep occurred. “Timothy, please you need to call me back. Belial’s threatening my family, my wife the kids, I gave them that water you gave me but this guy… he’s… I don’t think…” should I say it out loud? To make it real? “I don’t think he’s human. Help me.” I hung up and tried to call again, direct to voicemail once more. A random thought runs past my frantic mind. “He’s a bit young looking for an officer, right?”
My cell phone rings. It’s a 1-800 number of some sort, calling me in the middle of the night. I was about to ignore it but something told me I shouldn’t. I answer the phone. “This is Fred, who is this?”
There’s a crackle on the other line, I think I hear something like a scream before it cuts out entirely, a young man is on the line and he sounds shaken. “Sir, are you Mr. Fred Macaione?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is your home alarm central monitoring, sir we’re getting alerts that multiple smoke detectors have alarmed in the home. We’ve contacted the fire department, but we’re not able to reach anyone in the house via the front panel, are you home at the moment?”
I feel a little dizzy but I stand up regardless and make my way to my car, “Oh God-have you tried my wife’s cell?”
“Yessir, we’ve attempted multiple times, are you home?”
“No, no I’m not home.”
“The Fire Department is on the way sir, do you need me to stay on the line with you?”
“No, I’m going home.” I jump out of the office, leaving it unlocked, and I get in the truck. At this point, I don’t give a single solitary fuck about speed limits. I’m flooring it. I’m not even paying attention to the speedometer until I look in my rear view and I see police lights. I pull over, shaking, not even sure what’s going on, what’s happening with my family. I keep thinking that they’re going to be safe, that I gave that holy water stuff to them and they have to be alive and well because of that. Chavez called it “God’s Blessing”
A tap against my window and I roll it down quickly.
The cop is a gruff looking heavy set black guy, “in a hurry?”
My voice cracks and I try to compose myself, “Officer, I got a message from my alarm company that there are smoke alarms going off at my house, I’ve got about twenty minutes to get there, I need a pass on this.”
The officer puts his hand out, “License, sir?”
I curse and hand him my license, and I hear him actually running to his car. I contemplate just speeding off right then and there, scenarios going through my head of him shooting out my ties or turning the entire thing into a police chase. My train of thought is broken when he runs back to my window, giving me my license.
“Follow me, try to keep up sir.”
“What?” I’m confused by this.
“I’m giving you an escort.”
I think I went pale at this point.
The cop puts his hand on my shoulder, “Sir, do you need me to give you a lift?”
I look to my shaking hands and just nod dumbly.
He opens my Truck door, takes out the keys, and undoes the seat belt.
Before I know what’s going on I’m in his squad car and we’re speeding down the streets with the sirens blaring. I hear the radio chatter come in and out but I can barely understand it.
He grabs his radio, “Car 314, I’ve got a resident of 335 Locust St, en route to the scene.”
‘The Scene’? I’m still in disbelief, shock, and can barely tell when we’re on my street and the car finally slows down after it was done running every red light and every stop sign.
The car comes to a stop and I scramble out of the car. I’m half blinded by the sea of emergency vehicles, ambulance, fire, other cop cars. I think, briefly, that at least the alarm system did something after ten years of a monthly subscription.
The heavyset officer is already out and parting the onlookers in front of me, stepping past the caution tape. He says something to the other officers as I wander onto my front lawn.
I stagger onto the lawn to see the smoldering remains of my home. Firefighters are working to put one of the fires out, I look around frantically, trying to spot Sandy and the boys. I eventually find them. Three body bags are on the lawn, sealed, two smaller forms inside and another that reminds me of my wife when she would hide under the sheets. I feel pain in my knees suddenly, apparently, I fell at seeing them. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, another roughly handling my arms and hefting me up. My legs barely function as I’m led to the back of an ambulance.
The heavyset officer helps me sit down in the back of the ambulance, through all the white noise I see a very bright light in my face, and a voice slowly, finally, comes through.
“Can you hear me? Sir?” a young black woman is in front of me with an ophthalmoscope.
I blink, finally, shaking my head. “Yeah…”
She moves the bright light back and forth and I start to come out of my funk.
I look to the pavement, “They didn’t make it out, did they?”
Her tone is empathetic, but practiced, “I’m sorry, no. We did everything we could but by the time the Fire Department was even able to reach them it was too late.”
I do my best not to just burst into tears but they come anyway. I suppress a sob and try to swallow it down. I blink a few tears out of my eyes and I hear the female EMT walk away. I hear a few male voices approaching.
“This him? Okay. I’ve got it from here you can fall back. Might get ugly, you know?”
I shake my head, knocking a few tears out, cops are going to be asking me questions and I need to be composed. I try to dry my eyes but it doesn’t work. I feel the ambulance shift slightly as someone sits next to me.
“Mr. Macaione?”
I nod, eyes still downcast.
“I’m Detective Benjamin Leibel. I’ve got a few questions to ask, mostly regarding your whereabouts prior to the fire. Smoke?” a pack of cigarettes is offered.
I take one, accept the light, and take a deep breath. I am about to say something when I think about how odd that name sounds.
I hear a wheezing snicker, and the voice changes to one I’m far too familiar with, “I’m kidding Freddy, I know where you were.”
My head snaps to my left and I see Belial, he’s sitting right next to me, black hair slicked back above his pale face, yellow eyes and too white teeth. His duster is still white, but in addition to the red tie, he has a police ID badge hanging around his neck. I clench my fist, grit my teeth, but before I can stand and deck him in his perfect teeth his hand is on my fist and his’s hushing me, pulling my hand down.
“Shush,” he starts, “I was just delivering on a promise, Red Fred.”
I try to push against his hand but it doesn’t budge, “Stop calling me that.”
“We all call you that, Red Fred, you should get used to it.” his grin fades, “But I have to give you some kudos, Freddy, that was a dirty trick.”
“What the Hell are you talking about?”
His grin seems to return somewhat. “When I couldn’t pull you towards me I assumed you had drunk some of the sanctified water from the Guardian Temple.”
“Guardian Temple?”
Belial snickers, almost hissing, “The place you were cleaning, Freddy.” He takes a deep breath, wheezing out his next words, " as I said, you surprised me. Giving your only protection against me to your family. Smarter than I took you for."
I glare daggers at him, even with tears in my eyes.
This seems to make him even happier, “You see Fred, normally what I would have done would have been to march up to your children’s bedroom, wake them up, and then take them to mommy. I’d then torture her relentlessly until she forsakes you and the children, and then promise her an end to her pain in exchange for her soul…”
A chill runs down my spine.
“The strong ones resist, right up until I threaten to put the children through the same pain I’m putting her through,” he’s grinning a sick grin from ear to ear, “Then I take her soul in exchange for the safety of her children. Once that’s mine I remove the love she holds for her family, for God, make her one of my whores, and then she usually would just kill the kids on her own,” he lights his own cigarette, “You know, for fun.”
I can feel the horror just wash over me.
“It’s almost without fail, worked for at least nine out of ten…”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat.
“But you, Fred.” his grin fades. “You robbed me of a good time… You see, normally if you drink a half bottle of that holy water you’re protected from possession and the like… but what you did Fred, giving them your protection selflessly? That bumped the potency up something fierce.” He shows me his left hand, the skin on his palm almost entirely black, his hand shriveled, and shaking. One of his rings even falls off his finger and shatters when it hits the ground. He curses in some unknown guttural language as this happens. “You see Fred, that happened when I reached out and grabbed your wife’s arm. Burned like a bitch. Still feel it burning, actually.” He now glares at me, the yellow in his eyes seems to be moving. “So, with me being unable to touch them, I had to take some more mundane methods of keeping my promise.” He pulls his hand away and slides a leather glove over it, “Broke the doorknobs, nailed a few windows down, made sure they didn’t get out as I burned the place down bottom to top.” He snickers, “you protected your family from me but the house was a different story.”
I’m gritting my teeth, staring daggers at Belial as he seems to be enjoying telling me all of this.
His tone changes, however, “I’ve never had to end someone like that. It was so mundane, so dull… and knowing that their souls were saved as I did it.” smoke spews from his nostrils as he huffs and wheezes again, “what nasty taste to leave in my mouth, Fred.” He stands, “But, you’ve been through enough today. I’ll let you live for now.” Belial turns to me, “Unless you want to make it easier on everyone and just… you know…” he slides a finger across his throat. “Might be nice to do something ironic, you know? there’s a tire swing in the backyard, could hang yourself from it.”
As he speaks I feel kind of woozy and confused.
“Maybe… at the motel… take the hairdryer and… take a shower with it?”
I shake my head, it feels like someone’s shoving cotton in my ears and I can only hear his voice over the background noises.
His breath is on my ear now, “When you think about it, what sort of man can’t even protect his family? The only honorable way out is to remove yourself from the equation.”
Suddenly he’s gone and I can think clearly again. The EMT is back and she starts taking my vitals. I’m gazing up at the night sky and I’ve got no idea what I’m going to do.
…
The next week goes by like I’m a passenger in my body. I work out details with funeral directors and lawyers and insurance companies. I get tired of hearing the words “Sorry for your loss”, I’m bouncing between absolute sorrow and blinding anger and I can’t control which family members I snap at or sob in front of. By the time the funeral day comes, it’s me and a few friends and family on my wife’s side. I’m in a church, the first time in years, and the organ is playing a sad old dirge while I sit at one of the front pews, alone. My family wants little to do with me, half of them think I burned the house down in a triple homicide. The news was leaked, somehow, about how the windows were nailed shut and the doorknobs were removed before being locked. So I’m pretty shocked when someone in a rather nice suit and some pretty powerful cologne sits next to me.
“We only just heard.” a pretty thick Latin accent chimes in, but a pretty familiar one.
I look up to see Chavez of all people sitting next to me. He’s wearing a pretty expensive tailored suit too. “Chavez?”
He points to a necklace of some kind around his neck, “temple charm, helps you understand me even when we’re outside of it.”
I sit up, looking him over, extremely confused. “Why are you here?” I narrow my eyes, “And where the fuck is Timothy?”
Chavez frowns, “He’s here… but I told him not to come to you yet. I know you blame him for this.”
“No shit Chavez.” I look around the church before Chavez puts his hand on my shoulder. “Where is he?”
Chavez shakes his head, “Now isn’t the time Fred.”
I now glare at Chavez, “So what? You’re his lackey now?” I stare ahead at the three caskets, all closed, before me. “What the Hell is he.”
“Not what we both thought.” is all Chavez said. We are both quiet for sometime before Chavez decides to piss me off, “I know how you feel.”
“Fuck you, Chavez.” I glare at him, I’m out of tears at this point, I’m just in an angry mood right now. “You ‘know how I feel’? Sandy and the boys didn’t deserve this. She was an amazing woman, the boys were good kids. They didn’t deserve this. And it’s because of me getting mixed up with Timothy’s bullshit ‘Temple’ or whatever it was. So don’t give me the ‘I know how you feel’ nonsense, you don’t have a fucking clue.”
Chavez is silent as he looks ahead at the caskets. “When I was in Honduras, I helped the cartels smuggle drugs past the border. I would build chairs, tables, and the like. They’d hide the coke in them, and I made the trap doors. But one day, my trap doors all started to get found out. One day the cartel comes to me, and they tell me that they’re going to try something new. They want me to make crucifixes and hide the drugs there. They tell me the drugs won’t be found as easy because people won’t check the crucifixes.” he makes a sign of the cross over his heart. “I refuse. I tell them I’m going to leave. I promise not to tell the police, but I tell them I’m done.” he turns to me, hands now clasped in his lap. “The next day I wake up with a bag on my head, I think they’re going to kill me, you know? I make my peace with God and accept my fate. They bring me to a river. Along with it, they have my mother, father, wife, my daughter, all lined up.” his normally happy face turns mournful. “They don’t even give me a choice, they execute my family in front of me, throw them into the river. They tell me, ‘you live for the cartel or you die for the cartel’.”
I just look away at this point.
Chavez leans back in the pew, now looking to me. “You get to bury your family Fred, be happy for that. I’ll never have that right. It was taken from me.”
I turn to him. His story is probably worse than my own, not that I’m weighing tragedies or anything. “Chavez,” I ask, “you never answered me, why are you even here right now?”
Chavez looks around as if searching for someone, “Fred, you always helped me out. You gave me a job, gave me a ride to my place when I needed it.” Chavez gives me a sympathetic smile, “I’m here because I’m your friend.”
As a man, I usually leave crying for the macho stuff, Grand Canyon and funerals. I guess this was an exception, though, of all the people who would show up when I needed it if you told me it would be Jorge Chavez, the illegal immigrant who’s the best guy I know with a sandblaster, I’d never believed you. Now I’m sobbing next to the guy and he’s doing his best to comfort me.
Chavez even volunteers to be a pole bearer at the end of the ceremony.
…
At the graveyard, he is the last one to stand with me. I turn to him, as I’m still swinging between deep depression and seething anger. “Chavez, how can you still believe in God? He took everything from you and yet you’re still faithful?”
Chavez starts to unbutton his jacket, as he talks, “When the cartel killed my family, they forced me to be their runner.” he undoes his jacket, and now is undoing some buttons on his shirt. “One day, during a drop, I see a hole in the border fence to America. I think to myself, ‘I can live in the cartel, or die free.’ I prayed to God and asked him to protect me during my escape. I ran.” he reveals his chest. There’s a hole, just below his ribcage, on the right, it looks like a bullet wound. “It missed my heart, lungs, and didn’t even hit bone. A one in a million shot. A Miracle, Fred. God’s protection. That’s why we should thank Him every day.” he said while tapping the scar.
“Thank Him? Chavez, where was he when Sandy and the boys needed help? Where was God? Why didn’t he help them then?”
Chavez looks me dead in the eyes as he buttons up his shirt, “Did you ask him to help, Fred?”
I’m silent, and just stare ahead of me, past the graves. It can’t possibly be that simple, I tell myself, that whole ‘ask and you shall receive’ nonsense.
After a while, Chavez leaves my side. A few minutes later I hear someone walking up behind me, I look, still facing ahead, and see Timothy in a black trench coat and suit with black tie behind me.
“You’ve got balls, man,” I say curtly.
“I never intended for this,” Timothy says plainly. He looks over the graves. “What you did to protect them was… well it was beyond what I thought you could do.” He had started to smile a bit, but now his smile fades. “If I had known you had a family, I’d have given you some other tools.”
I turn, and march right up to him, despite this he doesn’t flinch as I get in his face. “Yeah, your ‘tools’ were really fucking useful. I gave my wife and the boys that ‘sacred water’ and it just gave them a quicker death!”
“It saved their souls, Fred,” Timothy says simply. “Because of you, your wife’s soul isn’t in the possession of Belial, neither are your children.”
“Bullshit!” I shout, “That’s not how that shit works! You don’t lose your soul if a demon possesses you! Sometimes you die, but I know enough about that shit to know you’re just bullshitting me. I talked to the fucking priests.”
“You think Belial is a demon?”
I take a step back, “What else would he be?”
Timothy’s face doesn’t change expression in the least. “Belial was first a dark angel, long ago, he was tasked with punishing impure souls. That was before the war.” Timothy looks to the sky.
I look up with him, “What war?”
“The War of Cherubim and Seraphim. The Cherubim were high order angels, created by God to be his servants, but who aligned themselves with Lucifer.” Timothy looks to me. “The war began when Belial talked Lucifer into defying God in the first place.”
I am pretty dumbfounded at this point, and look to the graves of my family for a moment, “Why does such a bigshot from down below want to fuck with me then?”
“The amber you spoke of, it has enormous power. Power enough where, if Belial got his hands on it, he’d be able to pull himself into this world.” Timothy answers.
“Pull himself? Newsflash Timothy, he’s already here.”
Timothy shakes his head slowly, “Belial is only possessing a man now. That’s why the first day he didn’t just kill you and take the Amber. The man he had possessed was still resisting him, still fighting. At that stage of early possession, a spirit cannot make someone do something they do not wish to. It wasn’t until the next day his will faltered and Belial gained full control. Still, even in full control, only a wisp of his power can get through that vessel.” Timothy gives an odd smile to me, “Belial, with the Amber, would have brought himself into this world completely, and as a full powered Cherubim, laid waste to everything.” Now he beamed at me, “So Fred, you saved the world by keeping it from him.”
I looked away from Timothy, not knowing how to feel about that. “It only cost my family’s lives.”
“Their souls are safe.”
“And Belial’s still out there. He’s still going to fuck with me, isn’t he?”
“I imagine he’s none too pleased that you protected your family from him. He’ll likely continue to torment you.”
“Plan on doing anything about it?” I glare at the graves, “or am I going to get a spot next to Sandy here as my ‘Protection’?”
“Do you plan on asking?”
I turn and face him, “Please Timothy, fucking help me get rid of this… thing.”
“Don’t ask me.” Timothy turns away from me and starts walking away.
“Who the Hell do I ask then?” I shout.
Timothy ignores me and continues to walk away.
I turn to face the graves again, and I get the hint. I look around and clear my throat. “Hey, God? Mind giving me a hand here?”
Chavez’s hand is on my shoulder suddenly. “Do you know how to ask, Fred?”
I shake my head and Chavez just smiles.
“I’ll show you,” he gets on his knees, and starts, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
I slowly get to my knees and repeat.
Chavez whispers next to me, “Now ask, and end with, ‘Amen’” Chavez then gets up and leaves.
I’m still on my knees, feeling rather awkward but I just continue, “God, I know I’m kind of a stranger these days, but I need help. This Belial guy, he’s killed my family, and I need justice. Help me get rid of him.” I hope that’s enough, and finish, “Amen.”
Suddenly I hear a deep voice above me, “Fred Macaione?”
I look up, seeing only the silhouette of a male figure above me, “God?” I’m suddenly pulled up onto my feet, and I see several officers as well as the detective who said my name. The guy looks like an off-season weightlifter who’s been shoved into a detective’s uniform. The black officer’s head is bald, and his voice is deeper than I’m used to hearing.
“Never been called God before, but for you, I may as well be. You’re under arrest for suspected murder, arson, and conspiracy to commit insurance fraud.”
“Great.” I say out loud as they cuff me, “Hey watch it!” As I’m led away from the graves of my family I spot him. Clad in his usual white duster and red tie, wearing the police badge again.
The black detective yells at him, “Hey Ben, we got our collar. You were right, he did hang around here longer than everyone else!”
Belial smiles as he greets his fellow officer, “Good work then!” he speaks in his false human voice. “Didn’t think he’d be hard, he left a shitload of evidence behind.” He smiles at me, “We’re going to have fun with you.”
‘Thanks, God!’ I think to myself as I’m shoved into a squad car. I look out the window as I see the black detective walk away from Belial, and then Timothy comes out from behind a tree nearby.
Timothy stares Belial down, and Belial turns to face him. They contrast each other oddly, Timothy in his black trench coat and Belial in white, not the right matchup, I think. They say a few things to each other, though I can’t really hear too well.
“Leave.” is what I can make out from Timothy.
Belial seems to laugh, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, watching his lips it looks like he says “mother” at some point.
Timothy seems to narrow his eyes and get serious.
‘Kick his ass, Timothy!’ I think to myself as I watch with bated breath as the two square off in the graveyard.
Timothy seems calm and collected, Belial is grinning ear to ear.
I look back and forth between the two, and my heart skipped a beat with what happened next.
Belial makes a sudden step towards Timothy, in a rapid jerking motion, and then falls back to where he was.
Timothy flinches, causing Belial to laugh before turning away and walking back to an unmarked car with the other detective.
‘Oh, Great’, I think to myself, ‘My Guardian Angel is a pussy.’