Two Weeks Later

Elias

It was late in the evening when Elias and Abigail returned from their parents' funeral service. Elias' phone began vibrating just as he locked the car. Breath caught in his throat when he saw the caller ID. Not too long ago seeing Etienne's name come up had been enough to make Elias grin. Now it inspired only a tumult of self-hatred and regret. It was tempting to ignore the call. Elias had done exactly that the last four times Etienne had called, but now Abigail spotted the lit up screen and offered a sympathetic wince.

"It's like tearing away a band-aid," she said. "Just do it."

Elias shook his head. His sister had never had a serious relationship; she knew nothing about this. And besides, Abigail wasn't even following her own trite advice. She had been ignoring her own messages and missed calls for days. Still, Elias knew Etienne — he was about the most stubborn man Elias had ever met. The phone calls would continue.

He swiped across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello. Elias speaking."

"Eli. It's good to hear your voice again," came Etienne's lyric baritone. "I just wanted to give you my condolences. I'm so sorry. Are you and your sister ok? I was planning to stop by the funeral, but then I thought, most of your family didn't know, did they? About us, I mean. So..."

Elias couldn't help a chuckle. Etienne must have been rehearsing how this conversation would go for hours; now everything was spilling out at once.

He pulled the phone away from his mouth and hissed at Abigail. "Go upstairs. I'll be a minute."

"I should've come. I am sorry," Etienne said with a sigh.

"It's ok. Thanks for calling."

"I wanted to know if you're all right."

"I'm fine."

Silence fell on both ends.

Ever since Etienne had found out, Elias thought he, not Etienne, was the one who should start talking. After all, Elias had been the one who cheated. But after half-a-hundred apologies, he had run out of things to say. And Etienne had run out of things to scream back at him.

Etienne's step-mother had beaten good manners into him; that was the only reason he felt he needed to call. He had never even met Elias' parents — they hadn't been at that stage. Well, he had said his condolences and Elias had listened to them. There was nothing else, unless they wanted to re-tread old ground.

Silence lingered.

"I should go, Abby is waiting," Elias said quickly. "Again, thanks for the call."

"If you need anything, drop me a line, ok?"

"Sure. See you, Etienne."

He took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, then slammed the door behind him. The air inside was stale and dusty. He needed to do a thorough clean up, but seemed to lack the energy to even open a window. Shaking his head, he strode into the kitchen and flung his phone onto the kitchen counter.

"Do you want a drink or anything?" he asked as he pulled the fridge door open to reveal its meagre contents. The siblings hadn't made the time to stop by the grocery store. Nor was Sam, Elias's housemate, around to replenish the stocks; he had headed up to his parents' house up on the Central Coast shortly after Elias had shown up with Abigail in tow. "There's a can of coke and some apple juice. It might have gone off though."

Abigail shook her head. She sunk into the couch and curled into a ball. If not for her black satin dress and smudged makeup, Elias could have easily pretended they were children again and Abigail was sulking on the living room couch after another squabble with her school friends. If only that were true. Elias poured himself a glass of water from the tap and sat down next to his sister.

He had never wanted to speak with his parents more than now. They hadn't been the best of parents, especially in the years after what happened with Max, but he hadn't been a blessing of a son either. He had moved out of the house at the first possible chance and refused all offers of help. The move had been a practical decision, but Elias had never denied there had been an element of pleasure in his ability to rub it in that he no longer needed his family. That a recluse and an alcoholic were of no use to him.

Well, he wanted them around now. Or Max. His brother would have been twenty-five now, perhaps settling down with a partner. Elias couldn't even patch things up with Etienne. How was he supposed to deal with the rest of it?

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Elias had been thirteen when Max died and thought he had been privy to the entirety of the aftermath. Now he realised his parents had shielded him from a host of cold conversations with the police, the coroner and countless other officials. He had known only the barest details involved in planning a funeral.

The past days had been profoundly educational. Sarah, his father's mentor from rehab, had held his hand through the paperwork involved in getting the bodies released and applications for financial assistance. There was no sign of a will or funeral insurance. Elias would have sold the family car to cover the funeral costs, but it wasn't in his name and it would take months for the inheritance paperwork to be sorted out.

Three days after the coroner finally agreed to release the bodies, Elias had pulled together a modest service. He had gone through the motions, hoping it would bring this chapter of his life to a close. Except the funeral was over, he and Abigail were back in his apartment and he still couldn't quite believe what had happened.

Elias gritted his teeth. Keep yourself together, mate. For Abby's sake.

"Funerals suck," he muttered.

Abigail flicked her dark hair away from her face. Both Abigail and Max had always looked distinctly Mediterranean, while Elias was as fair as a person could be. There had been comments about that when they were younger, but Elias had seen photographs of his paternal grandfather as a child. There was no question about it — Elias was a Fitzpatrick through and through.

"Max's was worse; half the bloody school turned up," Abigail said.

"And most of them never had anything to do with Max."

"Your speech today was good though." Abigail sighed and stood up. "Perhaps I'll take the risk on the apple juice after all."

Someone pounded on the door. Elias groaned. Neither he nor Abigail were in the mood for visitors and besides, there was a perfectly serviceable bell to the left of the door. Is it that difficult to press a button?

The man on the other side of the door was half a foot taller than Elias and dressed in a well-tailored three-piece suit. Chestnut curls framed his face or, more precisely, his scowl. The man glared down at Elias as if he were a mangy cat, who had just had the audacity to hack out a hairball on his shoes.

"Good evening," Elias said.

"Are you Elias Fitzpatrick?"

"Yes... Can I help you?"

"We have much to discuss. Let us step inside."

"What's this about?" Elias glanced back into the living room. Abigail was still in the kitchen, but the apartment was small, she would be able to hear his conversation with the stranger. That was good. She should be able to grab a phone and ring through to the triple-o within seconds if things took a turn for the worse. "Look, we've had a very tiring day and it's very late now. Perhaps you could stop by another time."

"That is not possible." The man pushed the door open all the way, ignoring Elias' threat to call the police and pointed to the living room couch. "Sit and listen."

Abigail paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "Do we know you?"

"No, you do not. Are you Abigail Fitzpatrick?" When Abigail nodded, the man smiled. "Good. It will be simpler this way."

A chill ran up Elias' spine. Is this some friend of mum's? She spent a lot of time in chat rooms the past few years. Or did dad get himself caught up with something illegal?

"Do you have a reason for bursting in here this time of the night? You have thirty seconds to explain yourself or we'll call the cops!" he said, hoping his voice conveyed a conviction he in no way felt.

The intruder cocked his head. "Be assured, Elias Fitzpatrick, I would not set foot upon this putrid rock, let alone venture into this residence, were there an alternate path. You may call me Ramiel. I am an angel, ordered to this plane by the Archangel Michael. Heaven is in need of your assistance."

There was a long silence.

"What?" Abigail finally said. "Are you out of your mind?"

Elias glanced about. The pocket-knife he usually carried in his backpack was back in his bedroom; he had decided that morning that suits and pocket-knives didn't go well together. The closest thing to a weapon within reach was an umbrella.

"It's time for you to leave now," he said, as he racked his head for ideas.

Ramiel laughed. He closed his eyes, as though concentrating. And there they were — unfurling out of nothing, ripping through his suit and shirt — wings. Three pairs of wings. The upper pair had a wingspan so large that in Elias' cramped living room Ramiel could barely unfurl them halfway.

Mouth hanging open, Elias edged forward and ran his fingers over the feathers. Holy hell. This isn't right. They were slick and pale white, but speckled at the ends with the same shade of brown as Ramiel's hair. Beautiful. Completely and utterly impossible. Elias was into his fourth year of med school, he knew anatomy and what he was seeing was impossible.

This can't be real. Can it?

"There's no such thing as angels," said Abigail, even as she stared at Ramiel's wings. "And humans can't fly."

"What am I then if not an angel?" Neither Abigail nor Elias had an answer to that question and Ramiel was evidently satisfied he had offered them sufficient proof. With a crack as sharp as a whip, he folded his wings and his clothes were repaired. "As I have said, Heaven has a task for you."

Elias pulled back and folded his arms. "All right, even if we accept that Heaven really exists, why would anyone in Heaven have anything to do with me or Abby? What problem can there be that angels can't solve themselves?"

"The 'why should I be troubled with this affair?' question... It usually takes your kind longer to come up with that one," Ramiel replied. "The mixed heritage of the nephilim allows some to possess certain talents angels do not. You know why Heaven has an interest in you. You have visions, do you not? It is a rather peculiar talent."

Abigail gasped, then tried to mask it with a coughing fit. Elias, meanwhile, felt blood rush away from his face. He had always kept his ability quiet. Once, when he was a child, he had told his mother. In response, she scheduled an appointment with a psychologist for him. Elias then had to spend weeks trying to convince her that he had only been fooling around. Only Abigail knew.

"Look, I have no idea —"

"I will not stand about conversing for the rest of the night. We have a finite amount of time," the angel cut in.

He grasped Abigail's wrist and pulled her towards him. Before Elias could react, Ramiel grabbed Elias by the shoulder. The world exploded in a cacophony of colour.