Extinguish Page 5

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because he’s my brother."

  "Still?" Lucifer pressed. "Even after falling, even after what I just told you, you still think of Samuel as your brother?"

  "Yes."

  After a moment of contemplation, Lucifer gave a half-shrug. "I can’t tell you where he is. You’re more than welcome to come inside and have a look around, though."

  Serah stammered, taken aback by his suggestion. Come inside? Hell? "You’re insane!"

  He chuckled to himself. "I’ve been called worse."

  "I’d never go in there. It’s stupid. It’s impossible."

  "Stupid? Maybe. Impossible? Hardly."

  Lucifer kicked a rock on the ground, sending it barreling straight toward the gate. It hesitated as it hit it, penetrating the shimmering force field in slow motion. A low hiss shook the land, momentarily disturbing the reapers, who watched as the rock flew through to the other side. It came straight at Serah, rolling to a stop near her bare feet.

  Alarmed, she immediately took a few steps away, her gaze frantically bouncing between Lucifer and the rock. How had he done that? The gate was supposed to keep everything in.

  "It’s just simple magic," he explained, as if he’d heard her worried thoughts. "Some things are immune to the charms."

  "Like rocks," she gathered.

  "And angels."

  She stared at him with shock. "If angels are immune, how are you. . .?"

  "How do they keep me in here?" he guessed. She nodded, and he quickly tore his shirt open, exposing more sigils covering his toned body. On his chest, over where a forgiving heart should reside, a massive distorted black hexagram was engraved in his skin, the elaborate six-pointed star contained in a circle. She studied the mark as it throbbed on his flesh, pulsating like a steady heartbeat.

  Reaching up, Lucifer slowly traced the mark with his calloused fingertips, wincing. "The closer I get to the gate, the more painful it is."

  "It keeps you locked in there?"

  "Yes."

  "It seems . . . flimsy." For such a creature, she expected more security than a simple glorified tattoo. "Superficial."

  "I thought so, too. I actually laughed when I saw it. I laughed at our Father, at Michael, at all of you pesky, perfect angels when I was cast down into this pit with these marks. I was an Archangel, and they expected this to keep me imprisoned?" He laughed bitterly. "First thing I did was head straight for the exit. The moment I hit it, the moment it had me in its grasp, I felt true torture for the first time. Felt like I was being ripped apart. And then the reapers pounced, hell-bent on keeping me locked in here, and destroyed whatever smidgen of goodness was left inside of me."

  He buttoned his shirt back up, covering the mark.

  "Does everyone down here have one of those?"

  He shook his head. "Only me."

  "Why?"

  "You know, it's quite sad how in the dark He keeps you. Instead of interrogating me, why don't you just ask our Father?"

  She couldn't, and he knew it. No one questioned Him. His word was gold. He told you only what you needed to know.

  "I get free rein in the pit," he offered after a moment. "The others are trapped in their own little cages, their personal nightmares. They slip their restraints, escape their Hell, and their only obstacle is getting past the reapers. I'm the one imprisoned by this gate."

  "There's a reason for that," she said. "You’re kept in there for a reason."

  He scoffed. "You think I don't fucking know that?"

  She wasn't sure why she'd said that, knowing it would only provoke him. "I'm just saying, you know . . . that's why I'm staying on this side."

  "You think I'll hurt you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "You think, if you got too close to me, I'd happily unleash the beast? That Satan would annihilate the pretty little angel?"

  "Well . . . yes."

  He kicked at the ground again. "I have no desire to hurt you, but even if I did, I couldn’t."

  "You can't?"

  "Nope."

  "I don't believe you."

  Lucifer shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. "You’re beginning to be tiresome, angel."

  Serah wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t there to entertain him.

  "Look, if you dump frozen ice in a bucket of scalding water, what do you end up with?" he asked.

  "Lukewarm water, I guess."

  "Precisely," he said. "The two extremes even out. We're the same here, you and me—angels in Hell."

  "Except I still have my Grace."

  "You do," he agreed. "I can sense it, you know. I feel it emanating off of you. It's extremely powerful. Makes me miss my own."

  "Is that envy?" she teased. "Still sinning, I see."

  "Sweetheart, you don't even know the half of it. I envy you more than you could possibly understand."

  "Why?" she asked. "You had everything I have plus more, but you gave it all up."

  "I did," he said, his voice hard. "And I don't regret it. What I did was justified, whether you believe it or not. But that doesn't mean I don't miss parts of that life . . . parts of that world. I miss spring, and rain, and the sun, and fucking fresh air. Do you know what I'd give for fresh air, to not have to breathe this wretched filth every day?"

  "Give up this war?"

  He laughed. "Nice try."

  She shrugged. It was worth a try.

  "Most of all, though, I envy your innocence. I envy your ignorance. I wish I didn't know the things I do." He shook his head as he grumbled angrily to himself, the words incoherent to her. "You smell like flowers today, by the way."

  "I was in a field earlier. There were wildflowers."

  She’d gone looking for Michael but had changed her mind, deciding to descend to the gates instead of waiting for the Archangel to appear.

  "You like wildflowers?"

  "Of course," she said. "They're one of our Father's most beautiful creations. Don't you agree?"

  He offered no answer as he turned to leave.

  The Lauer family gathered around the small table, their plates piled high with food. The three joined hands and bowed their heads as Nicholas Lauer said a quiet prayer. "Lord, bless this food and all of us at this table. Please help us to be mindful of the needs of others. Amen."

  Samantha and their daughter Nicki quietly offered an "Amen" as Serah unceremoniously slipped into the only empty chair at the dinner table.

  Nicholas and Samantha started eating, sharing casual conversation about work and friends, while Nicki's attention was focused on her Hello Kitty notebook and old pack of broken crayons. Her food went mostly untouched as she drew a picture, lanky stick figures of her mother and father taking up most of the page. She added herself to it, standing in between her parents, completing their little family.

  A fourth heartbeat quietly thudded in the room, as unknown to the family as Serah's presence. A tiny life, no bigger than a sesame seed, fluttered inside of Samantha Lauer. The heartbeat, although faint, struck Serah like a bass drum with every single beat.

  Samantha put her fork down, softly groaning to herself as she clutched her stomach.

  "You okay, hon?" Nicholas asked, gazing at his wife with concern. "You look pale."

  "Yes, fine," she mumbled. "I've just felt a little off today. I think I'm coming down with something."

  "I hope it's nothing serious."

  "I'm sure it's not." Samantha stood and tossed her napkin over her plate. "I'm just going to lie down for a little bit."

  Serah's gaze followed her down the hallway. After she was gone, Nicholas focused his attention on their daughter. "What are you drawing over there, little one?"

  "A family picture," she replied, holding the notebook up. "See? It's you, and me, and Mommy!"

  "And who's the other one?"

  Curious, Serah's eyes darted back to the notebook, shocked when she saw the new addition to the drawing. The forth stick figure hovered in the sky, little oblong wings protrud
ing from its back.

  "It's an angel."

  "Ah." Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was Tinker Bell."

  Nicki giggled. "Silly Daddy, fairies aren't real."

  "You're right," Nicholas said, standing up and grabbing his plate. He placed it in the sink, kissing the top of his daughter's head as he passed. "You forgot to draw her halo, though."

  He strode down the hallway to check on his wife while Nicki shook her head. "Real angels don't have them."

  Serah was stunned to stone, thoughts of the stray dog from the playground coming to her mind. Something was happening, although she wasn’t sure what, or how it could be so. Nicki continued to draw, filling in her picture, as Serah slowly lifted her hand toward the girl's face. She waved it back and forth, waiting to be detected, not knowing what she'd do if she was, but Nicki didn't react to the movement at all.

  Thank Heavens.

  After a moment, the girl turned to her food, scarfing some of it down before running off to play. Serah remained there, gaping at the picture left on the table. "What in the world is going on?"

  A flicker of static popped behind her as a small breeze rustled the child's drawing. "That's a good question."

  Serah turned quickly as Michael appeared, his massive body filling the small dining room. "What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you."

  "Why?"

  His brow furrowed. "Do I need a reason?"

  "Oh." She stood, instantly falling into his arms in a hug. "Of course not."

  "I've missed you," he said. "It took me a while to find you. You don't usually go inside their homes."

  "Yeah, I know. I just got to thinking about family and wondered what it was like for them, so I thought I'd . . . you know . . . join them for dinner once."

  Michael sighed, his face clouded with confusion. "That's a strange thing to wonder about. What made you think of it?"

  She hesitated. "Samuel."

  Michael pulled away from her, frowning. "I thought we established he was no longer relevant, that we should just forget about him."

  "You established that," she said. "You made that quite clear. But he's still my brother, Michael."

  "No, he isn't, Serah. Not anymore. You need to accept that."

  Nicki came bounding into the room then and snatched her crayons and notebook from the table. She started to leave but hesitated, her brow furrowing as she glanced around the room. "Daddy, the kitchen smells funny."

  "What's it smell like?" he hollered anxiously. "Fire? Is something burning?"

  "No. It smells like that time you and Mommy took me to the lake and we went swimming and I had the pink floaties and you took that cooler with sandwiches. Remember? It was your birthday! Aunt Maggie came!"

  "Yes."

  "It smells like how that day smelled," she said.

  Nicholas laughed. "So the kitchen smells like April? Spring?"

  Nicki shrugged. "I guess."

  After the little girl skipped from the room, Michael grabbed ahold of Serah again and apparated the two of them from the house. She was much too startled to resist, caught up in the conversation between the father and child.

  Spring. That was exactly how Lucifer had described her smelling.

  "What's gotten into you?" Michael asked once they were outside. "You know how things work. This is the basis of our existence."

  She shook herself out of her stupor. "Samuel wasn't just my brother, he was my friend. And he was your friend, too. It doesn't bother you?"

  "No. I don't let it. I wish he hadn't fallen, but he did. There's nothing more to talk about. He's gone. End of story. We have to move on."

  "How can you just write my brother off like that? How could you write your own brother off so easily?"

  Michael tensed, his expression hardening as he stuck out his chest, wings ruffling defensively. "I have no brother."

  "You do, Michael. Lucifer will always be your brother."

  Michael glared at her, defining the phrase "if looks could kill". "Lucifer no longer exists. That thing down there, that corrupt half-angel, half-demon monstrosity, is Satan. No matter what he may have said to the contrary, he's nothing but evil. He wants nothing more than to seek vengeance against us all."

  "How do you know?"

  "How do I know?" He stepped toward her, head held high, authority in his stance. Serah had been determined to stand her ground, but the movement made her balk. "You're questioning my assertion? I'm an Archangel! I've stood beside the throne! I've been in His presence!"

  "So has Lucifer."

  Michael shook his head as he clenched his hands into fists. If Serah didn't know any better, she'd suspect he felt a bit of wrath right then. "You know nothing of him. This task is messing with your logic. It must stop! You're questioning things you can't question; you're imposing with this human family. I'm going to put an end to it now."

  Michael vanished. Serah immediately put out feelers, seeking his essence, trying to sense him and find his location, but she felt nothing. An angel couldn't be found if they didn't want to be found, especially one far, far away.

  Panicked, she immediately apparated to the gates, swiftly passing through them, relief washing through her when the last one was vacant.

  At least he hadn't gone there. Michael’s presence in front of Lucifer, in Lucifer’s territory, would surely trigger the apocalypse.

  Shaking her head, she breathed a deep sigh, and was about to leave again when the angry voice struck her, sharp like the blade of a knife.

  "You have a lot of fucking nerve."

  Serah froze as Lucifer appeared in the light, his nostrils flaring and body quaking. Dark and dangerous. "What?"

  "You come here, smelling like that—like him—after I expressly told you not to. You think my word means nothing? You think I'm a joke? That you can just disregard what comes out of my mouth? Down here, my word is gold. Down here, I have the final say. You show up here, disrespecting my authority . . . if I could, I would tear you apart right now, piece-by-fucking-piece."

  Serah felt something then, a lurching inside of her, a cold bitter sensation as her senses heightened. She took a step away, her stomach twisted in knots, her ashen face somehow whiter.

  "What's the matter, angel?" he taunted. "Are you scared? Of little ol' me?"

  "This was a mistake," she whispered, barely forcing the words past her trembling lips. "Michael was right about you."

  "My loving brother, always right, isn't he? That's why he's the glorious prince."

  "I took up for you," she said. "I upset him, and he left. I suggested maybe he was wrong about you, that maybe you weren't all evil. I thought he'd come here to prove me wrong."

  He stared at her. "You took up for me?"

  "I shouldn't have," she said. "I shouldn't have come here at all. He was right. It's pointless. Lucifer's dead. You're Satan."

  The swing swayed slightly, a pale pink flower balanced across it, the delicate petals fluttering in the early morning breeze. It was a Sunday, and most of the inhabitants of Chorizon were still in bed, fast asleep. They'd awaken soon, some studiously making their way to church, while others spent the day with their families. The schoolyard would be deserted for at least a few more hours—nothing there except for Serah and the mysterious flower resting upon her usual seat.

  She glanced around, double-checking she was alone, before cautiously approaching. She picked up the flower, twirling it between her fingers as she sat down. Hesitantly, she brought it to her nose and inhaled, a deep, exaggerated breath, but there was nothing—no scent, no feeling, no nothing at all. Nothing new. Nothing different. Just . . . nothing. It was merely a simple flower, the kind that rambunctiously grew on the stretches of land that man hadn't touched yet.

  "Michael," she whispered to herself, half expecting him to appear as she called his name, but he didn't. The air remained static, the playground deserted. She sat there for a while, appreciating the peaceful silence, before banishing herself to the Heavens when
the town came alive for the day.

  Serah stayed busy over the next few days, immersing herself in extra work. "Micromanaging," Samuel had called it. The only other angel she encountered was Hannah, who appeared a few times on the schoolyard.

  Although there was still no sign of Michael as the time passed, reminders of him sprung up everywhere. It seemed every corner Serah turned—everywhere she went—another flower would be laying in her path, a hint of radiant beauty and color amid the monotonous bustle of day-to-day life.

  Clutching a yellow flower she'd stumbled upon on the Lauer's front doorstep, Serah apparated to the field in Heaven. The moment she arrived, she detected Michael's strong presence. Her eyes darted around, finding him a few yards away, knee-deep in the luscious grass, his face tilted toward the cloudless sky.

  He turned slowly, sensing her. "Serah."

  "Hello, Michael."

  "I didn't expect to see you," he said. "I thought you were avoiding me."

  "I was," she admitted.

  "But not anymore?"

  She shook her head. "Not anymore."

  "I’m glad," he said. "I've heard from the Dominion that you haven't been to the gates in over a week—not since the day of our disagreement."

  "Yeah," she muttered. "Turns out you were right about him."

  "Of course I was."

  A sigh escaped Serah's lips as she gazed at the flower. "Thank you, by the way."

  "You needn't thank me for warning you."

  "I wasn't," she said. "I was thanking you for the flowers."

  Michael's brow furrowed. "Which flowers?"

  Genuine confusion marked his expression. He had no idea what she was talking about.

  "I believe your friend Hannah deserves more gratitude than me," he said when she didn’t explain. "The Virtues oversee nature."

  "Yeah." Serah dropped the flower with a frown. They hadn’t come from him? "I suppose you're right."

  Michael stepped closer, his immense body towering over her small frame. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, engulfing her in a hug, he kissed the top of her head. "I'm always right, Serah. You shouldn't sound so surprised."

  Serah tried to seek comfort in his arms, but like with the flower, she felt not a thing. Arms that once brought solace now conveyed emptiness. They were together, touching, embracing; yet, something stood in their way. A wedge had been created, a mass of misunderstanding, laced with unanswered questions.