Outcast (11 page)

There was still an hour before dinner, and I walked slowly down Main Street, not really ready to go home, kind of hoping I could wait until Gabe ended his shift. ’Course he’d been forced to stay longer ’cause of me. I sighed. It made sense to just get back, see if Mother needed any help.

I picked up my pace and then slowed down again. I was passing the Catholic Church. I really hadn’t noticed I was walking right by it. When you’ve lived someplace your entire life, you don’t really notice things for what they are anymore. In this case, the Catholic Church, in my mind, had more to do with being white and having a steeple that broke up the otherwise steady line of rooftops surrounding the town square than with actually being, you know, a church.

But I noticed it this time. I stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked at the glass case that Father Peter would dutifully place bulletins in as if anyone read them. I thought for a moment. Couldn’t trust Pastor Warren enough to just ask him, “Hey, Pastor, Circle of Seven, what’s up with that?” But Father Peter? Sweet, quiet Father Peter?

Well now, that was a pretty interesting idea. And there were angels in the Catholic religion, after all. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.

What’s the saying—when Google doesn’t work, ask a priest?

I smiled inwardly, kind of wishing it actually was a saying.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in the church. It seemed smaller than I’d remembered. I guess there was no need for it to be big, but compared especially to the Church of the Angels, it seemed almost like an afterthought. Which didn’t make sense because, of course, it’d been around way longer than the Church of the Angels.

Father Peter was sitting in one of the front pews. He was the only one inside and he heard me come in. He turned around, draping his left arm over the back of the seat.

“Riley!” he said when he recognized me and stood up. “What are you doing here?”

Good question.

“Hey, Father.”

I walked down the aisle to meet him. He smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

“I…” I stopped.

“Yes?”

I felt stupid. And awkward suddenly. He was looking at me slightly confused, but still with that open expression of his that made you totally trust him. I couldn’t quite figure out where to start. So instead I just blurted out: “Angels.”

“Angels.”

“Yes.”

Father Peter furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me carefully. I think he could sense my discomfort. “Riley,” he said softly, “why don’t you sit down?”

I nodded and allowed him to guide me to the front pew. I sat down and he sat next to me, a respectable distance between us.

“Okay, Riley, why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Well, yeah, no, I couldn’t do that.

“It’s…okay, look. Can I ask you something without you asking me why I’m asking you that something or where I heard that something? Like, can I just ask you if you have any information about something and you just answer the question?”

Father Peter smiled slightly. “Absolutely.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay.” I felt silly then, like I couldn’t really ask him. Already I was second-guessing myself and I hadn’t even said anything. “Have you ever heard of something called the Circle of Seven?”

“The Circle of Seven?” repeated Father Peter.

“Yeah.”

Father Peter shook his head, “No. Why what is it?”

I sighed. “No, Father Peter, that’s what I’m asking you.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve never heard of it?”

Once more Father Peter shook his head.

“It has something to do with angels,” I added.

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t explain to him that some ghost thingy had told me that Gabe, back when Gabe was an angel and not some guy from the 1950s, belonged to the Circle of Seven. That was personal. Besides, it was also unbelievable. There had to be another way…

“Right, so, Father Peter, again, this next thing I say you can’t ask me why I think it okay?”

Again Father Peter gave a slight smile. “Sure.”

“The Circle of Seven owns angels.”

I watched Father Peter’s expression, hoping maybe to see the light bulb moment when he suddenly understood what I was talking about. Or had a hint. A clue. Something. Anything.

But his expression didn’t change, just stayed thoughtful and slightly confused.

“I don’t know Riley…a Circle?” he said.

“Nothing rings a bell? Even something small?”

Father Peter shook his head and leaned back in the pew, turning his face away from me and staring out before him in thought. The confusion was growing as he pondered it. He was starting to look kind of agitated, actually. Then he gave a big sigh and looked back at me. “Why don’t you ask Pastor Warren? He knows all about angels.” He said it bitterly, with an edge to his voice. I’d never heard Father Peter sound anything other than nice.

“I’m asking you,” I replied. Without warning, Father Peter stood up and walked out to the aisle. It took me by surprise. “Um, are you okay?”

Father Peter paced back and forth for a moment and then stopped and leaned against the pew. He gave a small laugh and smiled kind of sadly. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, Riley. It’s just…no one from this town has asked me about angels…well, ever. And it’s hit me in a strange way.”

“What do you mean?”

I followed Father Peter’s gaze to the pine carved Jesus on the cross over the pulpit. “I was raised to believe certain things. I went to the seminary and was educated to believe certain things. And then I come here and…what I was taught, what the Bible tells us, and what’s been going on in this community…it’s all very hard on a person who’s spent his life believing these certain things. It makes you start to doubt yourself.”

“Oh.” I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, like I was in reverse confession or something. Not that I’d ever been to confession.

“I’ve had to work very hard to wrap my mind around the behavior of our angels in this town. It doesn’t reflect what’s in the Bible, and when you see something that is totally different from everything you’ve come to think is true…you can doubt. You can doubt a lot of things. All I’ve ever had in my life was my certainty in what I believed, and now that it’s been shaken…” He paused. I think he realized how personal he was getting. He cleared his throat slightly. “Because it doesn’t make any sense that they come and take people. That they only come to this community. That they only come once a year. That is to say, it doesn’t make sense if you believe what the Bible tells us.”

“But maybe what’s in the Bible is how people at the time interpreted what was happening,” I said. I didn’t like hearing that Father Peter was confused like this. He always seemed so content in his small role in the town. And he was so well-liked. Of course, being liked the way a lost puppy is liked is not the same thing as being respected. I’d never really thought of it like that before. “Like Pastor Warren now and his theories. Maybe what has been written about angels is observation without the whole story. Maybe it doesn’t conflict at all.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

I didn’t think it was wise to stick around anymore. Things were getting way personal, and I didn’t want to make Father Peter more uncomfortable. “I’ll go now,” I said quietly. I stood up and made my way over to him.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” He seemed genuinely so.

“No problem.”

I gave him a smile and then, not sure of what else to say, turned and headed up the aisle.

“Riley,” called out Father Peter, his voice echoing in the empty church. “Do you mean Nephilim?”

I turned. “I don’t think so, seeing as I’ve no idea what that word means.”

“That this Circle of Seven, that they own Nephilim?”

I shook my head. No they owned angels…they owned Gabe. That was indisputable. “No, angels. Not…that thing you said. What is that thing you said?”

Father Peter walked up to me and once again gestured for me to sit. We sat in opposite pews, facing each other across the aisle. “Nephilim. They’re mentioned in the Bible, but little is known about them. The Hebrew word “Nephilim” translates to “fallen ones,” but what “fallen ones” actually means, no one’s sure. The most common explanation is that they are the children of angels and humans.”

“Nephilim.”

“Yes.”

“So angels can have relationships.” I felt myself turn red realizing why I’d jumped to that conclusion.

Father Peter must have noticed my face change color because he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He nodded. “To answer your question about relationships, that’s also highly debated. Definitely not the Archangels of course, but the other angels…” He stopped.

“Father?”

“I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before, maybe because I’d never heard that Circle term.” He spoke slowly, as if the thoughts were forming as he articulated them. “You’ve heard of Archangels, right?”

“Yeah, they supposedly take care of humans.”

“There are hundreds of them, and, yes, they’re in charge of human affairs. They have other angels who do the actual work for them, though. They kind of act like CEOs, I guess you could say, telling other lesser angels what to do.”

“What’s a lesser angel?”

“Like a guardian angel or a messenger.”

“Okay.”

Father Peter leaned across the aisle toward me. “But, Riley, there are seven that are considered the most powerful.”

“Seven Archangels.”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit.”

“Riley.”

“Sorry.”

“But they don’t own angels. I think that’s what threw me. Angels aren’t owned.”

“That’s okay,” I said standing.

Seven powerful Archangels. Seven that told other angels what to do. Maybe the belonging thing had to do with more of a chain of command than actual ownership. That would make me feel a bit better. I didn’t like the idea of anyone owning anyone, especially not Gabe.

“Thank you, Father Peter,” I said as he walked me to the door.

“Any time,” he replied.

That evening after dinner I spent some more time on the computer. Now that I knew what I was looking for I wanted to know way more about Archangels. It turned out there was a lot to learn. Like Father Peter had said, there were hundreds of them and they had specific responsibilities. And, yes, there totally were seven of them that evidently first appeared in the Book of Enoch, which, it turned out, wasn’t always considered a reliable source. Well, whatever, I didn’t need a book telling me that all this was true. I had a ghost thingy telling me.

I was also curious about the Nephilim, just because I’d never even heard of them before. And, okay, also maybe because I was curious about the humans having relationships with angels thing. Though the more I researched it, the more I realized that maybe the angel and human hookup wasn’t as likely as I thought. It turned out that that was only one theory as to what the Nephilim were. Other scholars speculated that the Nephilim were giants and that men’s hearts would fall, as in fail, when they saw one of them. And yet others thought that their height was a metaphor for their warrior abilities. There was a lot of mystery surrounding them and not that many references to them.

I figured I should probably just focus on the Circle of Seven. I’d already made a good start. And then Gabe and I would go to Commune, and maybe that would shed some more light on who he was, and then maybe, just maybe, I’d be that much closer to figuring out where they had taken Chris.

Anyone is welcome at Commune. At least that’s what all the pamphlets said. And the sign outside the church. The Church of the Angels is a place that wants everyone to experience the Glory. Commune is an intimate experience. Commune brings you closer to the angels than anything else. Old, young, rich, poor. Everyone should want to go to Commune. Everyone is welcome at Commune.

If they don’t mind being stared at.

If they don’t mind being questioned as to their intentions.

If they don’t mind feeling like even more of a freak than usual.

We were lucky that Amber had agreed to meet us out front, otherwise I think Gabe might have decided to just turn around and go home. I’d learned over the last several weeks that he wasn’t the kind of guy who liked being questioned. I think, actually, it was the fact that he didn’t like answering questions that was the bigger problem.

So when Amber’s folks decided to make him do just that, they were pretty lucky that their daughter had the sense to roll her eyes and say, “Jeez, Mom, just leave them alone, okay? I was the one who invited them.”

Of course, Amber had technically invited me, not Gabe, but she wasn’t about to send Gabe away. That would be insane. He was too hot for any girl to want him to leave places.

“This is bullshit, Riley,” Gabe whispered in my ear. I placed a hand on his arm.

“You promised. It’s one night.”

“One night where I could be necking with Charlotte.”

“No one says necking. Stop saying necking, please.”

“What should I call it?”

“Making out, hooking up…” It was kind of ridiculous that I was giving a lesson on what to call something that I’d never actually done to someone who apparently had done it all.

We stopped talking because we were now in the great hall. It’d been a few years since I’d been inside. It was pretty impressive. Bright white, one large room. That’s it. But one large room can be pretty extraordinary when you think about it. No pillars holding it up, just emptiness and light from the setting sun shining in from a wall of glass behind the altar. Suspended from the ceiling there were these giant wings, made out of copper. I remembered them being blindingly bright that time I’d gone with my parents and Chris. He and I had concluded it was probably best to go to church on a cloudy morning.

I realized that the last time I’d been here had been that first time, when Chris and I had collected all the fallen sins outside. The memory hit me hard. I could feel my throat tighten and tears well in my eyes. I forced myself to calm down. I hadn’t had that missing Chris feeling for ages.

And then I felt even worse. All this time with Gabe, even though I’d told myself it was to find out what happened to Chris, had still been a distraction from really missing him. Chris had become some idea, and he wasn’t that. He was a person. My best friend. Possibly the love of my life. I felt so guilty that I couldn’t contain myself. The tears managed to find their way up, out and down my cheeks.

Gabe noticed.

“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?”

I nodded but couldn’t say anything. At that moment Pastor Warren came to greet us, in that usual combo of white shirt and beige trousers he wore, with that brown and yellow bowtie of his. The pits of his shirt were stained yellow from sweat. He saw the tears right away and without any warning suddenly pulled me to him.

“There there,” he said in that melodic voice of his. “First time’s always a powerful thing.”

He held me tight and rubbed my back slowly. It felt super uncomfortable. I could also smell the sweat through his shirt, and a sweetness, either his deodorant or aftershave. Whatever it was, it mixed badly with his body odor. It didn’t seem like he was going to let go of me any time soon, so eventually I pushed my body away from his, and he finally released me.

I looked at Gabe who didn’t seem happy with what had just happened, and he moved protectively toward me.

“Uh…thanks,” I said to Pastor Warren. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Of course you are, Miss Carver. You’ve come here against the will of your parents, and this hall alone provokes awe. I can understand your reaction.”

Okay, so evidently Pastor Warren had an opinion about my family.

“And you’re the new boy, Gabe. I was hoping you’d join us, though I didn’t think you’d come to Commune right away.”

“Yeah?”

“Many newcomers who haven’t experienced a Taking can be skeptical. Coming to a sermon puts them at ease. Commune is a deeply profound emotional experience, even true followers can find it frightening.”

“I don’t scare easy.” Gabe’s voice was hard. I’d never heard the particular quality before. Heard him angry sure, frustrated, but not…mean.

“You are both welcome, of course, of course.” It seemed like he felt his welcoming duties were now taken care of because he floated past us to greet George Smith Sr. and his son without skipping a beat. “The Smiths! Welcome again, gentlemen, welcome…”

“I don’t like that guy,” said Gabe.

“Me neither,” I replied. “Come on.”

I grabbed him by the hand and took him over to a pew a little further down the aisle. I didn’t really feel like sitting with anyone, especially Amber and her parents who seemed a little too excited to be there. I thought that was kind of odd considering they came once a week, and it wasn’t like it was anything new to them anymore. I guess they really liked Commune.

That’s when I noticed Mirabel Jennings standing up near the altar surrounded by half a dozen people or so. She was smiling in that soft way of hers, playing nervously with her long mousey brown hair but saying nothing. Mirabel Jennings always seemed to be living on a different plane than the rest of the world, seemed to float her way through life. Made sense she’d float her way through Commune too, I guess.

Still. I wanted to see it for myself.

Another ten minutes passed before we got started. No one else showed up, but it seemed like Commune was not just a spiritual event but a social one as well. Took a bit of time for Pastor Warren to finally gather everyone up. In the end there were about fourteen of us. It was kind of how many I’d expected. The lights were dimmed, and we all gathered at the altar and stood in a circle holding hands.

I’d kind of expected that too. Fortunately I was between Gabe and Amber, so I didn’t feel too uncomfortable. Gabe, on the other hand, had been personally requested by Pastor Warren to be his right hand. Yeah, he was not happy about that.

“Welcome, everyone,” began Pastor Warren. His voice filled the entire hall, even though there was just us. “We have some newcomers with us. Why don’t we welcome them all into the fold?”

“Welcome,” said the others in this soft intense unison.

“Uh…thanks,” I said back. I didn’t feel that welcome. Especially not when I looked into their eyes and saw the deep suspicion there. Maybe it would have been different if I’d come to the church on Sundays. Maybe they could tell I wasn’t here for the same reason they were. But I was still here because of angels. Sure I was skeptical…but I had come. Just in case.

Stupid fold, I thought, and pouted inwardly.

Gabe squeezed my hand. It was nice to know I wasn’t alone.

“We begin as always by thanking the angels for choosing us. Amber, will you lead us in thanks?”

“Yes, Pastor.” I glanced over at her as she lowered her eyes. She seemed so demure here, so pious. Hard to think this was the same girl I’d seen sucking face with Brett Warren, who was holding his dad’s left hand at the moment looking equally virtuous. Eh, I guess you’re allowed to suck face and also revere the angels, unless of course you’re not. I didn’t really know the rules, actually.

“Thank you for choosing us, and in your Glory we ask that you continue this gift. We thank you for sending us guidance to steer us into your love, and we thank Pastor Warren for taking this burden unto himself. Thank the Angels.”

“Thank the Angels,” repeated the fold.

I wondered if Pastor Warren ever said the thanks, and if he did, if he had to thank himself: “We thank me for taking this burden unto myself. . .”

“Thank you, Amber. Now it is time for tellings. Has anyone a story to share?”

“I do, Pastor Warren,” said Anna Brown looking sickly as usual.

“Anna.”

“Last week I mailed a letter to my mother. I’m ashamed to say I’d written some things in it that just weren’t nice. I’d sent it off in anger. When I calmed down, I realized what I’d done, and I felt rightly shamed. I asked for forgiveness. Three days later the letter came back to me. There was a note saying I hadn’t put proper postage on it, but I’d been mailing these letters to her once a week for three years. Same postage as ever. I knew I’d been forgiven and given my second chance.”

“You were,” said Pastor Warren. “Praise be you asked them.”

“Praise be,” said the fold.

“What about our newcomers, do either of you have any stories to share?”

I looked at Pastor Warren. Did I have any stories to share about encounters with angels? Let me think. Not really. Well, okay, I did have that one time when I shot one in the face. Did that count?

“No, Pastor Warren.”

“Don’t despair. Now that you have come to Commune, the Angels will see your reverence, and they will reward you.”

“Oh good.”

There were a few more tellings, similar to Annie’s mundane everyday coincidences that reflected the truth about their faith. And maybe they were being rewarded. It just didn’t seem like it. Anyway, I didn’t care about the stories. I wanted to get to the bit when Mirabel floated. Or anyone floated for that matter.

And then we started to breathe. Well, it was what Pastor Warren called meditation, but I wasn’t convinced.

I knew that meditation was supposed to be really great, and sometimes I wondered if I should take it up considering how my brain always seemed to be going at a crazy pace. But if meditation was anything like this, I wasn’t interested.

We were told to close our eyes, and, under the instruction of Pastor Warren, to take in three deep breaths. Everyone made a big show of taking in these breaths. They were loud, and each exhalation came out as a heavy sigh. Then Pastor Warren left the circle—I knew this because we had to shuffle around a bit to close it up again—and told us to continue breathing in unison. The pace the group had chosen was faster than I normally breathed, and I started to find myself feeling a little light-headed.

“When I touch you on the back, let your feelings, your thoughts, your worries from the week out. Let it out into the breath, and let the breath carry it up and the Angels carry it away.”

I don’t know who he touched first. It was probably one of the George Smiths. A guttural male cry flew into the circle, and the breathing of the fold grew faster. This didn’t feel healthy. Another cry, female, and then another. They all sounded in great pain. Had none of them had a pleasant week at all? Amber’s cry was a little different, a little…well, let’s just say I felt a bit embarrassed to be holding her hand. Though I did hear Pastor Warren say, “Well done, Amber,” and that totally icked me out.

I noticed other sounds too now but not coming from us. They were those same sounds I’d remembered hearing that one time I’d gone to the Church. Strange, kind of frightening sounds. It’s just the wind, I told myself, it’s just the wind. But it didn’t sound just like the wind…it sounded…like voices. Then Pastor Warren touched my back. I didn’t know what to do. The unison breathing was at a pant now. If I really put out that much energy I thought I might faint. Ah, screw this. I dropped Amber and Gabe’s hands and just stopped. Stopped breathing with everyone else, stopped playing the game. And opened my eyes and turned out away from the circle.

Pastor Warren was floating seven feet up in the air before me. His eyes rolled back so I could only see the whites.

“Holy shit!” I said, unable to control myself.

The rest opened their eyes to my reaction. They stared up at Pastor Warren in awe. I wasn’t the only one who was visibly terrified. I glanced at Gabe who looked upset, worried. He looked at me. Then we both watched as Pastor Warren fell heavily onto the floor.