The Nightmares Come While I'm Awake

Freedom is won by blood. I have a mandate to free the species, the world. It means a whole lot of blood. Bright, golden blood that nearly blinds me each time I let it loose. Everything that the blood touches hates me, knows what I did. I make sure never to get too much of it on myself.

Killing angels isn't easy, not just because they're strong, smart, beautiful, old, and connected directly to the fabric of the universe. The pragmatics of the planning, the action, and the clean up all make it difficult.

The first angel I killed governed a tiny bit of the world. Not much more than a single lot. It didn't even properly govern it; just watched it to report to those higher. But the devil starts you out at the bottom, makes sure you can cut it. He came to me and told me the truth, and then I went out after the angel.

It did not take a form from the tabloids. The angel looked like a sleek, white dog with great wings of gold feathers. As I circled in through the empty lot that made up most of its protectorate, we spoke. The angel's voice sounded higher and more melodic than I expected. I don't know why I thought it would boom down from the sky, or come out something like a growl. But that's what I braced myself for. The words, at least, did not disappoint.

"You do not have to do this tiny one."

"I am eternal, I serve the Glory."

"Do you know how your sort end?"

"You, you, do not understand."

"Hell is no reward!"

"Lord! Lord! Help!"

It bit me pretty badly, but the knife got what it needed to get. The black blade slipped through the throat and blood got all over the ground. That spot of land won't stop hating me until all the angels with power over it die. Then it will belong fully and truly to people. Then it will thank me. Until then, it still thinks what I did then was a crime. It wasn't any crime. Not unless the angels win. Only then do we have to be tried for the whole host of sins, the slave code put upon us.

You work your way up from the bottom. Angel by angel you cut through the BS, slicing away the chains that hold down man. Progress is only possible up to the point that angels allow, unless you kill those holding the reins. None of the great scientists are angel killers, nor are the artists; they do their part in taking charge of the territory we free up. That's fair enough. As for the demons, they just stew in hell, waiting for man to inherit the earth and take some pity on them.

The thing is they can't help you. Only the big guy can even walk the earth. The others you can hear sometimes; when they all speak at once, the right sort might hear a whisper or two. It never comes across clear, and usually the folks that can hear them are already crazy, catatonic or whatever. Though, to be honest, I've heard them on occasion, but only when the devil was around.

For a boss the devil isn't so bad. He never asks you to do more than he thinks you can do. He trusts you. He needs your help. He's busy, but not too busy to listen to your gripes or return your phone calls if you really need to get in touch with him. He doesn't want your worship or your adoration or your soul. He wants you to kill angels for him, and he pays: a reasonable fee, not always cash.

For my second angel I received a night with a beautiful woman, a celebrity. Not against her will, the devil just arranged things, introduced us, and gave me a recommendation. There was a chance for more than a night, but I was too busy with the work to keep it up. Besides, angels don't hold back when they figure you out.

After my seventh angel my brothers got cancer, my father had a heart attack and a stroke, my mother got run over by a bus, and the police decided I was a member of a kiddy porn ring. Never mind they had no evidence; they just announced it to the world and the files kept getting lost for my defamation and wrongful arrest suits. The devil sprung me, worked my case pro bono. Of course he's got a license to practice law in every court on earth.

Ten angels in and the devil said I set a record for most angels after being discovered. Number eleven--that's where I'm at now, looking at a picture of an angel. According to the devil, a special kind of angel. A guardian. Set over different people at different times, to shape human destiny. This one is set over a little girl, who the devil doesn't want me to hurt--of course—but he suggests that if I've got nothing else, threatening her will bring the angel forth.

"After that it'll just strike you down and you won't be able to do anything about it, but if you've got a way to work from there you go ahead and try threatening the girl directly," the devil said.

Instead, I took my black blade and my sniper rifle and all my other gear and started to prowl. Once you can see angels, you can't stop seeing them. They fill the sky. They pour out of buildings. They sing, and sometimes you can hear it. Their song makes the world the way God wants it to be. Each time you shut one up the world gets to be more the way man wants it to be.

There really ought to be a forum for us angel killers, but of course the devil's right when he says putting us together makes too tempting a target for the angels to take retribution on. They can kill us directly when we threaten them, but otherwise they need to wait for the big plan to change, for one of the top angels to give the order, to set things in motion. Even then the devil's got us, pulled us out of the plan, out of the sudden bout of sickness and other such nonsense. Besides, the devil's a damn good surgeon too. Nimble fingers from playing all those instruments.

For all that, he’s not good at recon. He never hands you preliminary work. Oh sure, you get the choir and sephirah, but never things like the routine of the charge. Or, that the angel can sing napalm into existence (number five, fun times).

The girl’s neighborhood isn't posh, but it's nice. Like one of the old time ethnic neighborhoods, except the girl lives among a mix of people. She's a pretty pale thing with black hair and big blue eyes. Her best friend, and neighbor, is a little Chinese girl that switches from Mandarin to English as they leave under the watchful eyes of a pretty woman who looks to young to have a daughter. Mom’s not the only one hovering.

The angel stays above them, eyes sweeping over the street. The best friend is the angel's first line of defense. The angel draws eyes to her. Any creep, pervert, or threat will swerve to the little Chinese girl. That nice lady on the steps will have to hear about horrors done to her daughter, because God decided she just isn't as important as her porcelain-pale friend.

During school the angel stands impassively above his charge. I watch through the windows from the parking lot. I've got fake credentials and ID saying that I'm a security expert. Some of what the devil rigged up for me. After all, if the police came by and figured out who I really am, well they might not have cleared the record so perfectly.

The angel lets the girl trip, skin her knees, and do other none life threatening kid stuff. It isn't his job to keep her untouched by the world. No, he guides her towards things. When moments to decide come the angel tilts events just a bit, sets it up to make one side look better than the other. It doesn't seem to be forcing her, but it doesn't need to. The soft touch throughout life will shape her up just right. Besides, it may well punish her for wrong choices. At night the angel's fingers dip into her skull, directing her dreams. There are only so many angels left doing that work. The devil says dreams are almost completely free of divine command now.

Like all angels this one never tires, never rests, never stops looking. The power it has it can apply endlessly. But, it remains focused on the girl. I watch for people that look to cause her harm and I see that the angel snaps its attention to them right away. As long as I don't threaten her it won't notice me, not properly. It doesn't even give a thought to itself, to it being in harm's way. Angels are always like that, until the last minute when they're ruined and dying.

The question here becomes how to hurt the angel. Shooting it won't do any good. If the gun swings towards the girl I'm sure it will notice me, and there's no assurance that the bullet will actually make contact with the blessed flesh. No, the only way to do it is to sneak up on the angel and drive the black blade directly into its back.

Regardless of how I do it, the girl will probably end up hating me. There's no way that gold blood isn't going to splatter on her. I resign myself to it. The devil is going to pay me well for this. It'll be the last one. If I die, well a hero's welcome in hell won't be so bad. If I don't die I should be out for a long while. I won't be retired, but I will get a break.

I remember when the devil came to me, right after Cindy died and Jessica left. He sat and listened to me talk about them, how much I missed my little girl and my wife. I knew that couples sometimes had a hard time holding it together when a child died, but I couldn't figure out why she left. I kept saying it and finally the devil had a few tears coming down his cheeks.

"I need to tell you," he said. I didn't know he was the devil yet.

"Tell me what?"

"Why Cindy died and why that made Jessica leave." The devil took a deep breath and then said. "Your wife was supposed to get married to a man named Richard Beel. When things didn't go according to plan a new one had to be drawn up. You had Cindy. But things never got better for you guys; you could just endure it more with Cindy. All the hurdles and frustrations, all of that came from trying to make the plan work again. Even Cindy. She was born to die at just the right moment, the one to make Jessica leave, to withdraw to try and sort things out. While she's withdrawn, Richard will come by. They'll feel destined to meet, everything will flow together for them."

"Why?" I didn't want to believe it, but it made sense. All the bad luck tossed our way before Cindy. No matter how hard I worked, how much Jessica believed in me, I couldn't get ahead. She did okay for herself though, and we loved each other, but the world just didn't want us together it seemed.

"Because, God loves his plans, his plots, his chosen course of events," the devil answered. I knew who he was then. Not just because of what he said. Not because he had the smoothest most perfect voice ever. But because, for a moment, I saw more than just a man in my living room, I saw the endless shadow that stretched down into hell itself.

"What's there to do about it?" I asked.

"Angels carry out his will," the devil said. "An angel made sure that the right egg met the right sperm to make Cindy. An angel made sure that your boss never saw your contributions in time. An angel made sure Jessica's mom called before her sister. An angel will be making sure that Richard finds Jessica before anybody else."

"I can get to her first," I said, "Now that you've told me. I can do something about it."

He shook his head slowly. "They'll have back ups. They don't know if you're going to let her go, or come after her. What are you going to do in the face of divine servants?"

I had nothing there.

That's when he took out the black blade. "This will cut an angel. You want to save others the pain you went through? Be an angel killer for me. When you agree to it, you'll be able to see them."

I couldn't say no. Even before I learned about the compensation. Watching the little girls makes me think about Cindy, about how other fathers don't even know why their lives are falling apart. I asked the devil what the point of Jessica and Richard being together was. He didn't want to tell me, but in the end broke down and said, "Richard's family is wholly in God's corner, under the thumb of angels. Jessica's is half and half. Bringing them together gets them all in there, and it lets God reward Richard with a pretty, smart girl. Don't think the divine plan means every person in it gets a prime part. That's not how it works."

But here was a prime part. Here was a chance to get at it, to really get at it. As stupid as it is, and I admit it's stupid to myself constantly, I want to pull out that one important thread. I want to make it all fall apart. I can't shake the idea that it'll make Richard and Jessica break up, and sometimes I even get myself to believe it'll make Cindy spring back to life.

That won't be the case. The angel will die and the girl will live whatever life comes her way. Nothing else will change, not right away at least. I know that freedom gets bought bit by bit, and rarely do the buyers get to enjoy it. You give it as a gift. That's what I think of as I wait in the alley at the side of the house. The girl is going to be coming out at any moment to go to her friend's for some dessert and TV watching. The angel will be going with her.

The two of them come out of the house. The angel stretches up, a wreath of eyes around its head. One of them spots me, but not until I'm in motion. The black blade makes contact. Even so the angel delivers the holy smack down on me. Not the "Psst, cells go cancerous" or the "Heart! I command you to give up!" No, the angel knows what I am. The result: heavenly fire spilling from it along with that beautiful blood. They both burn me up, leaving me a wreck on the ground. The girl starts screaming as she sees me burn. The spray of blood makes me sick. But it doesn't matter. The angel falls apart, crying out to the heavens.

Then it’s gone, leaving a sweet smell.

"Hey," I say to the girl.

She stops screaming. "I need to get my dad."

"Don't bother," I say, "What's your name?"

"Mary."

"Well Mary, you're free."

Hell doesn't come right away. I laugh. I survived the angel's onslaught. I can't stop laughing, even though it hurts. I don't know whose doing what around me. But, as the delirium dissipates, I wake up in a hospital with the devil at the side of my bed.

"You're a lucky bastard," he says.

"Thanks."

"I sent you on a suicide mission, figuring that we might get some use out of you before you finally came down to us, and you pulled it off without dying." He has such a beautiful voice.

"Sorry to disappoint."

He shakes his head. "Oh no, I'm not disappointed. I'm deeply impressed. I like you Dan, but the question becomes what are we going to do with you? There's only so much protection I can offer. The Lord Himself knows about you now. In the Lord's new plan you're already dead."

"I still get my reward?"

The devil nods. "Anything you want."

"Let me slip away," I say. I look at myself; the burns don't really show on the skin. They go deeper than that. "Smother me or set it up so I can get a nice morphine drip or whatever. I'll retire. But what I want is for you to keep that girl as safe as the angel kept her. I don't care about the plans for her, but I want you to make sure her and her little friend never leave their parents weeping and asking why."

"It's too late for that," he says quietly.

"How do you mean?"

"Without the angel nothing protected her from her condition. She was a fragile thing. They always are. They have maybe an hour once you kill the angel." The devil doesn't smile.

"Why?"

"God has plans," the devil says. "Those require rules. Only certain special children can grow up to be the mothers of Messiahs. He's wanted to come back down here for so long. With me down here all the time, he gets so nervous. I don't have any plans, so I don't care about the rules."

"Am I getting a hero's welcome in hell?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," he says. "There are more angels Dan. Think about what you really want. I'll come back and give you that."

He leaves. He is a brilliant doctor. A superb lawyer. An expert musician. But he is not human, no matter how much the body makes us think he is. God might have become a man properly, but the devil certainly didn't. The devil is no more human than a perfect sculpture is. So he didn't think about all the sharp things around me.

I decide to take my freedom. I pay for it with blood. I don't ask God for anything. Nor do I plan on asking the devil for anything. No, he can just stay in my debt for eternity. He hasn't got any blood to pay for his freedom.