Fallen (3 page)

The man of the vision ran toward me,
carrying a bundle under his right arm. I waited for the vision to
fade. Instead, the man passed from his place into the alley with
me. I started upon his arrival, cringing into my coat, trying to
bury my head completely beneath my cap. He came upon me in a moment
and when I looked back to the place where he had emerged, I found
the oasis of light gone.

The man stopped in front of me dripping wet
with rain. He wore a fine quality brown suit though it had soaked
through already. Rain poured off the brim of his tall silk hat.
“Pardon me, young sir,” he said, “would you mind if I joined you in
the dry?”

I sat there against the door like a mute.
Was he actually speaking to me? He asked again, and I found the
good sense to at least nod.

The man stepped up onto the porch. When he
did, the overhang stretched out to cover him, growing two feet
larger on every side just to take him in. I looked down at the
concrete pad and found it enlarging too, although I hadn’t felt it
move in the slightest beneath me.

My eyes grew wide as saucers staring at him,
but he seemed not to notice. “There now, that’s at least a little
better, eh?” he said. “If you’ll pardon my saying, this is not the
best place to make your bed on a night like tonight. You’ll catch
your death out in this weather.”

I nodded dumbly and started to shiver again.
My teeth chattered loudly. I wasn’t sure if it was from the numbing
cold or the shock of seeing this strange visitor. “Ah, you see?” he
said. “You’re already headed for a sick bed.”

The man removed his bundle, which he had
brought with him cradled under his arm. It appeared to be a rolled
blanket, and though he had been drenched in the rain, the blanket
remained bone dry. He laid it down before me and opened it up. The
bundle rolled out, revealing a small fire surrounded by stones the
size of my fist. A small bird roasted upon a small spit over the
flame and a tankard of fresh milk sat beside it all.

The man smiled as my eyes took in his feast.
“Surely we can do something about those wet clothes,” he said.
“Hard to enjoy a proper meal when your bones are aching with cold.”
The stranger pulled the brown blanket out from under the fire and
food with a flick of his wrist, like a magician whipping the table
cloth from beneath a set of fine china.

He leaned forward and wrapped the warm
blanket around me. It felt quite warm, as though it really had been
wrapped around the flames dancing before me. Though I knew this
must all be a figment of my tortured mind, I nestled into it and
soon felt my chill flee away.

“There, now isn’t that better?” He smiled
again and looked to the meat upon the fire. “Now you can try some
of this chicken. I made it myself. Hope you like it.”

I stared at the food then at the man
offering it. “Who are you?”

He tore a drumstick away and handed it to
me. “My name doesn’t really matter…call me a friend.”

I took the chicken leg. The smell wafted
across my nostrils, making my mouth water. I took a bite of roasted
meat. It melted in my mouth like hot butter. I savored the taste
for only a moment before devouring every morsel I could peel from
the bone.

My nameless friend watched with delight as I
enjoyed the food. “Here, don’t forget to wash it down. It wouldn’t
do for you to choke. There’s so much for you to do.”

I looked at him, puzzling, as the ceramic
mug was placed into my hands. “Do? What do I have to do?” Thoughts
of my father’s murder plunged back into my brain and came flooding
out. “My father, he was murdered. I’ve been running. I didn’t know
what to—”

The man tried to quiet me. “There now…I know
what’s happened. And I know how you must be grieving. It’s
perfectly normal. But you must understand, your father’s work was
complete. However, your work is only just beginning.”

“My work?” I stared at him not comprehending
a word he was saying. “What work? I’ve not even a place to stay or
money or anything.”

“Ah, but you do have faith, Brody, and that
is more important than anything else. If your faith wasn’t as well
known as your father’s would I be here now? Just look at what you
have. You’re warm and dry, fed a good meal and your thirst
cured.”

As I took a drink of the milk, I realized
the truth of what he had said. Not only did I have a meal before me
and something to drink, but I had grown warm again despite the rain
and the chill in the air. More than that, I reached inside the
blanket to my rain soaked clothes and found them completely dry. I
looked at my benefactor amazed.

“But how?” I asked.

He smiled and winked at me. “You would do
better, young Brody, to be thankful for blessings given than seek
how
they were given.” He stood up, beginning to depart.

“Wait!” I begged him. “What am I supposed to
do? I don’t even know my way in London. There is no one I can look
to for help.”

“You’ll soon find your path, even if you
don’t understand how.”

“What about the work you spoke of—what did
you mean?” I asked.

He tipped his hat brim to me. “The
work
will find you.” He turned around and started back into
the pouring rain. I stammered for another question, anything that
might delay his departure, anything not to be left alone again.

“Are you an angel?” I asked.

He stopped and turned slightly. The rain
beating against the porch made it hard to hear his words. “Do you
believe
in angels, Brody?”

I hesitated a moment, unsure of my answer.
He turned back and started away again. I mustered my resolve
hurriedly. “I do believe!”

He turned again with a smile. “Then you are
a wise man, Brody West.” He walked on through the rain until his
body seemed to melt away in the downpour. I remained on the porch
wrapped tight in the blanket with the little fire still blazing
under the roasted bird and the tankard of warm milk sitting in my
trembling hands. I would soon find this to be only the very
beginning of many strange things I would experience.

Harvey Glass rung his towel of its excess
water and then slid the damp rag down the scarred oak bar top.
Crumbs and spills alike were evacuated, leaving behind a dull
finish that Harvey inspected casually before moving on. Out of the
corner of his eye, he spied two regulars who never failed to push
the limits of his patience when it came time for closing the
pub.

“Hey, Nigel,” Harvey called. “It’s time to
finish up.”

“Ah, Harvey,” the other man said. “One more
round for the road.”

“Let’s go, Donavan,” Harvey said. “Else I’ll
put out the lights and leave you to the Ripper, and there won’t be
any regrets when you turn up butchered like those girls
neither.”

“Settle up, while I hit the privy,” Nigel
told his companion as he got up from the corner booth.

A lone candle burned atop the table, its
wick almost swallowed up now by a pool of wax.

“Settle up?” Donavan complained.

“You owe me from last Tuesday,” Nigel
reminded him as he stumbled toward the back of the pub and through
the door.

Donavan grumbled as he fished through his
pockets, finding his small bag of money. He held it near the dying
candle long enough to remove one coin which he tossed to the
barkeep.

“Thanks,” Harvey said, nimbly snatching the
coin from the air even in the half-light of the pub. “Now, get
out.”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Donavan
said.

A loud bang resounded from the back of the
pub, halting both Harvey and Donavan for a moment.

“You all right back there?” Donavan said. He
started to laugh, turning to look after his friend.

“If he pukes, you’re cleaning it up!” Harvey
shouted after him.

When Donavan arrived at the back of the pub,
he found Nigel already standing there. His eyes appeared glazed
over. He was staring blankly into space working his jaw slowly up
and down, as though he had never used it before.

Donavan stood before him, wondering at his
friend.

“What’s wrong, Nigel?”

Nigel’s eyes wandered toward Donavan. His
gaze locked upon his friend. Behind him, two creatures wearing
burlap sacks appeared in the doorway. Donavan started to cry out in
alarm, but Nigel’s hand shot out lightning quick, snatching Donavan
by the throat in an iron grip.

Donavan grabbed his friend’s hand, trying to
break free from the human vise now crushing his windpipe. Nigel
hoisted Donavan completely off the ground, his feet kicking wildly.
The two burlap creatures loped into the room around Nigel. One of
the rag dolls continued toward the bar where Harvey was just now
coming around to investigate. The other creature stood by Nigel,
reaching for Donavan.

The doll burst open along the seam running
from its chest down along the bloated abdomen. Donavan saw through
the tears streaming from his eyes that this was no mere costume.
There was no body within the burlap cloth.

Rusty chains shot from the well of darkness
within, lashing about Donavan’s struggling arms and legs, binding
him up. Nigel flung Donavan’s body aside, releasing him as the
chains pulled his old friend within the doll’s body. The seam
closed immediately, and the burlap doll took on the image of
Donavan.

Harvey stood by the bar, taking in the
abduction with terror in his eyes and a broom in his hands. Having
been trained upon Donavan’s ingestion, he only now realized that
the third burlap doll was ambling toward him. He screamed, raising
the broom to defend himself. It snapped across the doll’s misshapen
head with its black button eyes.

Harvey turned to run as the middle seam
split open, revealing a dark void within just like the one that had
swallowed Donavan a moment ago. He managed two desperate steps
before the first chain ensnared his ankle. Harvey fell hard,
smashing his face upon the newly swept floorboards.

He raised his head again as more chains
erupted from the creature, finding his other leg and one of his
arms, wrapping around them like the tentacles of an octopus. Harvey
clawed grooves into the lacquer finish with his fingernails as the
chains dragged him back across the floor toward the waiting
orifice. Nigel and Donavan watched, crazed grins painted on their
faces.

Sunshine woke me the next morning. I had not
remembered falling asleep the night before, though I did recall
finishing the roast chicken and the milk. The memory lingered for a
moment bringing a smile to my face.

I looked on the porch next to me and
realized the fire was gone, but the brown blanket my nameless
friend had given me remained. Though I couldn’t recall doing it,
the blanket had been folded into the same neat roll the man had
brought with him. Two ties held it secure near either end. Each tie
left enough room for my arms, so I could carry the blanket roll on
my back if I wanted.

My first thought told me the kind stranger
must have returned at some point in order for me to find it thus.
But either way, I was just glad to know I’d not been losing my mind
the night before. Of all I had seen of the man, or angel or
whatever he was, the blanket still testified to my sanity. He had
indeed been here. He had given me food and even a bit of advice,
although that part remained cryptic at best.

I’d heard my father preach many times and I
believed that angels existed. I’d put my faith in the Lord Jesus
nearly three years ago during a revival my father had preached.
Countless times we had thanked the Heavenly Father for our meals. I
supposed this must be a blessing from him during my time of need.
Now that I had truly hungered, if even for a brief time, I felt
more inclined to be thankful. I prayed now, after the fact, for a
meal truly appreciated and for the nameless angel who had brought
it to me.

The morning sun managed to stir up the
smells of the city. It seemed that not much wind blew back in these
alleys, so the stench festered here. I probably smelled just as
bad, having slept in the doorway all night, but no one else was
there to be offended by it.

As I stood, my back creaked and popped. My
porch lodging had left me sore and almost too stiff to stand up
straight. I arched my back, leaning on my hips, grunting and
stretching until my breath left me.
Ah, that’s better.

The door behind me suddenly opened up and a
straw broom lunged out after me. “Get out of here, you little worm!
There’s no begging here!”

I leaped away instinctively, landing back in
the alley. The bald man who emerged, with his broom in hand, took
my blanket roll and hurled it after me. Without waiting to explain
my predicament, I scooped up my bundle then turned and ran back
toward the street.

I reached the mouth of the alley and found
the bustle of London again. What had seemed an exciting place
yesterday, now felt like an enemy. Who was there in this city that
cared for my plight? Only the kind stranger, so far, and I felt
very sure that he hadn’t come to me from London at all.

I searched up and down the street. The
buildings here were not nearly as impressive as those my father and
I had first encountered yesterday. Evidently, I had stumbled upon a
bad area last night.

The buildings seemed to lean upon one
another, as though one going down would topple them all like a line
of dominos. None of them looked like businesses exactly, although
clearly some were used as such. The streets were unpaved here and
the mud lay carved with endless criss-crossing grooves, hoof prints
and steaming piles of horse manure.

Narrow boardwalks ran along each side of the
street tracked with grimy footprints. Pedestrians crowded together,
trying to hold solid ground and not end up slogging through the
muck. Here and there, it happened anyway and some poor soul would
fight with the mud hoping to get back their lost shoe.