Divine Temptation (6 page)

The interior walls were the same tawny brick as the outside of the building, and every few feet, the solid wall was accented by a pane of stained glass, more simple and modern in design than ornate. What gave the space a majestic feel was the high ceiling that was topped with a skylight to allow for a glimpse of the heavens. After settling into place and spotting Kirsten, Maggie was shocked to notice that Monsignor Sarto was at the lectern rather than Father Tom.

“He is always speaking to us. Always trying to get our attention. But are we listening? Or are we tuning him out in favor of earthly pleasures? What he asks of us won’t be easy to do, and we will fail often; it’s our human nature. But he offers the opportunity to renew and polish our armor—through confession. Someone will be here every weekday morning and every Thursday evening to hear your confessions, along with the third Saturday of every month. I encourage you to take advantage of these opportunities to strengthen your spiritual armor.”

Maggie watched her daughter, who was whispering to her friend rather than listening. When Sarto paused, Maggie felt the hairs on her arms prickle. Looking up, she saw that he’d turned his attention to her.

“I take it we’re ready downstairs, Mrs. Brock?” Half of the thirty or so people in the pews turned to look at her, and she simply nodded. “Excellent. Please, join us downstairs for a small earthly indulgence—coffee and dessert. Let us thank the Lord for bringing us together to learn of the powers he instills in each one of us and to now partake in the fruits of the generosity and talent of the people of our parish. Amen.”

A rumbling of amens cascaded through the pews and then the guests filtered into the aisles. Maggie turned to go downstairs, and when she did, she noticed Father Tom sitting to the side of the altar—in the chairs reserved for the altar servers. His face tilted slightly downward as he stared with a hard expression toward the carpet, apparently deep in thought. If he came down to the basement later that night, Maggie didn’t see him.

On the car ride to pick up Liam at his friend’s house, Maggie asked Kirsten how Monsignor Sarto had come to be the one delivering the lecture.

“Father Tom talked for most of it. But I don’t know, somebody asked a question, and Father Tom started to answer, but then Monsignor Sarto interrupted and, I don’t know, just kept answering the questions from there.”

“Huh. Well, did you get anything out of it?”

“Five extra credit points and a huge chocolate chip cookie.”

Maggie was jolted from her sleep by a familiar sensation. Keeping her sleep mask on, she flipped to her other side in an attempt to force her mind into other territory. She’d decided the chase in the garden had been unacceptable and entirely caused by indulging in thoughts of the angel. After being fairly successful at blocking him from her daydreams, she wasn’t about to let him back into her nighttime ones. But whenever she started to drift away toward another realm, her awareness of him would reemerge and jerk her back to her bed.

“Get out!” she shouted in frustration after the third or fourth time it happened. Ripping off the eye mask, she sat straight up to face him. He was exactly where she’d expected—standing in the corner of the room. “I said get out. I don’t want you here!”

He didn’t move, simply watched her, his forehead creased in concern.

Maggie threw off her covers and launched from the bed. She was done playing around. She was going to attack the intruder and beat him out of her brain for good. At least she would have if her sleep-numbed legs hadn’t given out and sent her careening to the floor. The carpet burned the heels of her hands as she skidded, and she lay still for a moment, face to plush. The pain was real.

Thinking she’d once again physically acted out her dream, she lifted her head, expecting to find an empty room. Instead, she saw him kneeling next to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her mouth fell open, but she didn’t respond. She only stared at him. He looked exactly the same as he had the other times—pleasant, ordinary features, but with something ethereal about him. He emanated an intensity, but also a gentleness. Both qualities had been reflected in the smooth tones of his voice as well.

She pulled herself up to all fours and then pushed back to sit with her legs folded beneath her. Rubbing the sore bits of her hands, she said in as steady of a voice as she could manage, “I’d be better if you told me who you are and why you keep coming here.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to see me. Or rather, you’re supposed to see me if you’ve been allowed to, but…I can’t understand why it’s happening now.”

“What’s happening exactly?”

“I don’t know. Not exactly. But it’s not the first time we’ve appeared to humans. You’re familiar with Gabriel’s visitation to Mary, and it was one of us who woke Elijah and commanded him to eat while on the run from Jezebel.”

“So you
are
an angel.”

“Yes.”

Maggie thought of the angels who led St. Peter from Herod’s prison and the ones who spoke with Lot before the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra. “Are you here to warn me about something?”

“No. I don’t think so…I don’t know.” He pushed himself off the floor and stood over Maggie.

When the silence that followed had gone on too long, Maggie asked, “Are you here to ask me to do something?”

He took a few steps away from her, turning his back. “We aren’t aimless beings. We’re protectors and messengers and worshipers. We always have a purpose, but…” His voice trailed off for a second before he tilted his face upward. “Lord, Father, I don’t know what you want me to do here. Please tell me.”

He didn’t glow or cast his own light, yet Maggie again noted that he himself was more easily visible than anything else in the room—if he’d stood in broad daylight, he wouldn’t have looked any different. He stayed silent for several moments and eventually lowered his gaze, studying her through tensed eyes.

“Get anything?” she asked.

He shook his head from side to side and remained silent. It was all too bizarre. If he’d given her some sort of directive, her mind would have had something to work with, but as it was, he simply stood there, expecting her to believe he was real. She accepted that she was awake and looking at him, but she couldn’t believe he was actually there.

The rational portion of her brain resumed function and worked through the situation logically. The first time he’d appeared had been in January, just after the holidays. She’d been moderately resentful on New Year’s Eve that Carl had someone to kiss at midnight while she didn’t. Had she invented this man as a way to cope? As Carl’s relationship continued, her dreams of the angel grew more vivid and she became more desperate to catch up with her figment in real life. It made sense that she’d create someone mystical after losing confidence in human men.

“I need to sleep.” She thrust herself upward and walked to her bed. He followed her over as she climbed in and covered her legs with the blankets.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling down to her level.

Looking directly into his eyes from this close proximity was like peering through infinite layers of swirling and flecked granite. “You really are lovely.” Maggie reached a hand out to rest it upon the side of his face and smiled at the sinking sensation that once again filled her with a soothing calm. She bent her head slowly forward and touched her lips to the confused crease between his eyebrows, murmuring, “Goodbye, sweet, imaginary boy,” before pulling away and lying down with her back to him.

“I’m real, Maggie.” She closed her eyes and refused to let the hallucination go further, but he persisted, and she felt his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “Go to the county building, the one off River Street near downtown.” The oddness of the statement caused her eyelids to fly open, but she quickly clamped them shut again. “Go to the grounds behind the building, to the courtyard. Stand in the center of the circle. Look down.”

For several minutes after his voice faded, she held her eyes closed, noting that the sensations of his presence had receded too. She lifted her lids to the dark room one last time before succumbing fully to exhaustion.

Throughout the following morning, Maggie thought of the angel and little else as she stacked and sorted non-perishable foods during her monthly shift at the local food pantry. She wanted desperately to shake him from her system but knew she wouldn’t be able to until proving her internal deception by visiting the county building. Before heading into work for the afternoon, she drove there, parking in the lot out front and exiting the vehicle to stand underneath towering pine trees. Moisture clung to the ground, and the faint scent of earthworms hung in the air. A sidewalk leading to the historic red brick building branched off into a narrow trail that wrapped around the side, and she followed it, glad to see she had no company other than the clustered purple flowers she passed on the way.

Fully expecting to find nothing more than a forest or perhaps a clearing to house Dumpsters, she rounded the corner—beyond which she did, in fact, see a clearing, but no Dumpsters. The sidewalk led to a set of concrete steps that cascaded down to a circular, cobblestone courtyard. Hesitating, she wondered if it was possible that she’d seen an image of this round patio somewhere, perhaps at the historical society. But there was nothing distinctive about the site to trigger a memory. It was simply a small, unkempt patio surrounded by a nondescript strip of lawn stretching to the edge of the forest.

Her gaze traveled to the left, where in the distance, through the tops of the trees, she could see part of a stone building—the old seminary, which currently served as a retirement home for priests. Like the county building, it was considered an historic landmark, and with the parking lot full of modern cars now blocked from her view, she felt as if she’d stepped into a time warp. The angel had instructed her to stand in the center of the circle and look down, so she tightened the belt of her trench coat and descended the steps.

By the time she reached the bottom, she could barely see the top of the seminary roof. To her left was only the forest and to her right the solid wall of the county building with its glossy, darkened windows. Behind a few panes she noted high stacks of cardboard boxes and guessed these back rooms were mostly used for storage.

The rain had been heavy the night before, and the patio’s stones were dark with retained moisture. Maggie stepped across the uneven cobblestones to get a closer look at the round stone in the center. It was lighter than the others and currently filthy. Tiny pools of water had gathered in the miniature valleys between raised portions of its topography, and it was worn and chipped, but clearly had been cast into some sort of image. Maggie squinted and with the tip of her shoe brushed water over the dirty parts. She could make out the form of a man in the center. He was surrounded by…something. Removing her foot from the stone, she bent at her waist for a closer look. The something was wings. The image was of an angel.

Maggie froze for a moment, leaning over the figure. Then she snapped up to stand straight and looked all around her. The haze of humidity in the air and her solitary position in this lost garden hinted at dream territory. But she couldn’t retreat into the safety of chalking this up to imagination again. An angel had visited her and sent her here to prove himself. Heaven had sent her an angel, and she’d doubted him. More than once. She’d actually screamed at him to leave. She sank down to squat in front of the stone and traced her fingers over its muddy contours. While she did, she silently apologized for questioning the authenticity of this messenger, and she asked for the strength to do what God asked of her—assuming he gave her another chance.