The Journey (9 page)

Still, he didn’t speak.

I went forward a tiny bit more before I sat back down on my heels again. I sort of snorted out a laugh. “I’m probably tearing the toes up on my boots. And these are my favorite shoes, too.” I wiped my eyes again. “Azazel? Are you there?”

“…Yes.”

That one little word released a fresh new wave of my tears. I was relieved, yet simultaneously terrified. I know it might sound crazy, but to me… being in the dark with another speaking
being
was a heck of a lot better than being in the dark all alone.

“…Come.”

I reached out toward him and managed to scoot a bit further.

“…More.”

“Ahh… I’m sooo scared right now. Please don’t have snake eyes. Please don’t have snake eyes.”

I made it a couple more feet before barely brushing against something with my left hand. I froze, then began searching frantically in that area. I seized onto something rough. When the bound Angel squeezed back, I grabbed onto his reaching hand with mine and pulled myself to him.

I pressed the back of his bony hand to my cold cheek. “Thank all that’s holy. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You did splendidly, little one.”

I heard the smile in his voice then. I released a relieved half laugh. “Ha… There you are. I bet you don’t get many visitors down here, huh?”

“Not many, no.”

“Yeah, guess not. Oop… I’m so sorry.” I hurriedly tried to release his hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Do not let go,” he whispered.

“Thank you.” I think I smiled then. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Can I turn the light on now?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“It hurts my eyes.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“What is your name, child?”

“My name? Oh, umm… it’s Jem. Like a gemstone, but with a J.”

“Jem… how unusual.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Especially since my whole name is actually Jem Stone. Pffts… My parents probably had a good laugh about that. Your name’s unusual, too.”

“Is it?”

“Well,
yeah
. You’re the only Azazel I’ve ever read about. And I read. A lot.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, and I’ve never come across another Azazel.”

“What did you read… about
me
?”

“Oh, umm…”

“I see.”

“Wait. No. I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I only meant it—”

“Meant it in a
good
way?”

“Oh, well… no… I guess not.”

He grunted a little. Perhaps it was a laugh.

“Why do you look so sad about it, Jem? Are they
your
sins? Or mine?”

“Oh, I’m not casting any blame here. It’s not my place to judge. Jeez. I screw up every single day. Three or four times, at least. More on bad days.”

“Truly? How do you sin? Do you kill people?”

“Kill peop— Jeezy peez, no. Not anything like
that
.”

“Do you sell your body?”

“My bod— No! Nothing of the sort.”

“Then… how do you
screw
up
?”

“Oh… well… I say swear words sometimes, but not where little kids can hear. I mean, unless I like break a nail and say it by accident before I catch myself.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’ve never stolen anything, but I do try to haggle the price down,
if
the occasion calls for it. Oh, and if I ever rent a car, you can pretty much bet I’m gonna break the speed limit once or twice.
Or
… just yield instead of stop. And although I’m not super proud of it or anything, I’ve looked at hoity-toity people and made fun of them in my head.”

“Do you now?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Normally I end up feeling bad about it and slip and pay for their meal without them noticing it.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Why? Because if I told them I was paying for their meal, they’d ask me why. Then I’d feel obligated to tell them that I thought their hair looked goofy or that they had a run up the back of their stockings. I’d rather just pay up and go on.”

“Yes. That does sound like it would be for the best.”

“Yeah, I know, right?”

He didn’t say anything and an awkward sort of silence fell between us.

“…Jem?”

I jumped when he finally spoke. “Y-yes?”

“Not that I am complaining—by any stretch of the imagination—but… why have you come to me this day?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sorry. Apparently, I have been picked as a Witness. Crazy—I know. Oh, I got this key thingy.” I fumbled for the pendant with my one free hand. “But I need
you
to make it work.”

“That is true.”

“So… that’s why I’m here.”

“I see.”

“That sounded way rude and totally selfish, didn’t it?”

He released my hand then. I started to panic, until he gently cupped my cheek, brushing away my remaining tears with his thumb.

I grabbed back onto him with both hands. His fingertips were rough, calloused. In fact, his whole palm felt that way. I didn’t care. A dry, scratchy hand was better than no hand at all.

“Here… just slice my wrist.”

“Slice your wrist? But… but I can’t do that.”

“Why? Did you forget the dagger?”

“The dagger? No, I didn’t forget it. It’s just, well… it’s not really a dagger anymore.”

“Is that so? Then… what were you given to cut me with, Jem? How will you draw my blood?”

I shivered at the mere thought of having to draw
anyone’s
blood, much less a total stranger—and in complete darkness, at that.

“My… my thumbnail.”

“Your thumbnail? Hmm… So, we are to become
intimate
friends then, are we?”

“N-no. Not like
that
. Not
intimate
.”

He chuckled softly. “Calm yourself, Jem. I only meant that it will feel much more personal—using one’s own thumbnail instead of a separate blade.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right. In truth, I hadn’t actually thought it through. One thing’s for sure, there’s no way I can do it in the dark like this. Please let me turn on the light.”

“No.”

I sighed, searching my mind for some comparable alternative. “Oh, wait… I know.”

I released him and started taking my backpack off. I turned around, sitting down on my bottom, feeling blindly through the varied contents.

“Oop…”

I quickly reached back behind me, feeling for him. I think I touched his side. It was hard to tell. It felt as dry and scratchy as his palm did.

“Sorry… Just making sure you’re still there.”

“Worry not, child. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not like I don’t trust you or anything. I just like making sure.”

I turned back to my blind digging. I froze when I felt him gently touch my back, resting his hand there.

“Is that better?” he whispered.

“A-actually… yeah. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He paused a moment. “The ornament in your hair is quite lovely.”

“Ornament?” I reflexively reached toward my ponytail. “Oh… it’s a scarf. My dearest friend in the world gave me this scarf—tied it in my hair and kissed my curls. He’s an angel—that one.”

“An Angel gifted you with this?”

“Not a
real
Angel, no. Just a beautiful man with an even more beautiful soul.”

“He is your mate?”

“Nope.”

“Then—”

“Here it is,” I said, a little louder than I meant to.

“What is it? What do you have? Do not turn on that infernal light.”

“No. No. It’s just a little tealight.”

“Tealight?”

“Yeah. I always try to keep a few handy. You never know when your searching may lead you to a forgotten old room in the back of a monastery. A little tealight is just the thing—a gentle flame to read by.
And
it sits perfectly fine all on its own. Then… you don’t have to worry about knocking it over and setting anything on fire.” I leaned back, digging through the pocket of my jeans. “Here we go. I’ll just sit the candle over here a ways, not too close.”

The Angel didn’t say anything.

“Listen, if it hurts you at all, I’ll blow it out—quick as a whip. Okay?”

Still, he didn’t speak.

“Azazel?”

“…Very well.”

I lit the tiny wick I had placed a full arm’s length away, then waited.

“Are you good?”

“It does not hurt my eyes. If you must… then leave it lit.”

I sighed, relieved.

“You have nooo idea how grateful I am for this,” I said, turning back around to face him.

I froze, shocked and slack-jawed. Utter horror stole my voice right along with my breath.

“Do you wish to douse the flame
now
?”

My hands were shaking so badly, the rest of my body began to tremble along with them.

“Please… Must you look at me that way?”

“Wha… What have they done to you?”

“
Done
to me?”

I couldn’t hide my horror
or
stop my tears. It was awful. The most pitiful thing I’d ever seen.

Lying on the ground before me was the emaciated remains of what
could
have been a man… perhaps. Yet, he was so wasted—decrepit and dry—I couldn’t be completely sure.

“Oh… Azazel…”

“Turn from me, Jem.”

“No… I cannot.”

I gently lifted his shrunken hand, the one that had been comforting me in the dark, the one that gave me the strength to retain my sanity. His arm felt as light as air.

“…Why?”

“You know why,” he whispered. “You have read my story for yourself.”

“Yes, but… why all the scars?”

“Scars?”

I gently ran my fingertips across the countless slashes along the insides of his withered arm.

“How could they— D-did the
dagger
do this? Have the Witnesses who came before me marked you like this?”

“That is my purpose now.”

“Purpose?” Anger rose within me, raw anger. “I don’t give a rat’s— Ugh! If a tree’s purpose is to bring forth fruit, should we just cut it down to steal its bounty? If a cow’s purpose is to give us milk, should we slice open her udders to sate our thirst? No! This isn’t right. This isn’t your punishment.”

“Do not pity me. This
is
my punishment.”

“No. Your punishment was to be bound in the dark until judgement, not to be tortured and abused by men. Whatever your sin, that’s between you and God.
He
will see to your torture when the time is ripe. Man has no part or lot in that. And man dern sure has no right to haplessly defile one of heaven’s own Angels simply to suit their own whims.”

“Be calm, child. Nothing has been done to me to suit any mortal’s whims.”

“How can you say that? Look at your arm.”

“Those are not my only scars.”

At his admission, I looked then upon his withered body. Hardly an inch remained that had not been split with a blade.

It was too much, too overwhelming. Had he been dead, he would have been treated with more courtesy than this.

I didn’t even flinch when he reached up and silently wiped away my burning tears.

“I told you, did I not? Douse the flame.”

“Why? So I can’t see the harm I cause? So I can
steal
what I need? Run away in the dark and leave you lying here like this?”

“…Yes.”

“Azazel, do you honestly believe my guilt could be hidden by the darkness?”

“…No, Jem. Not for you… it could not.”

“That’s right. Now…” I jerked my backpack open. “…let’s see what I can do to help you.”

He lightly laid his frail hand atop my open bag. “No, little one. Do not try to help me. Worry not. There is nothing you can do. Now, take my blood and fill the key.”

I gently took hold of his wrist, removing his hand and carefully resting it atop his concave abdomen.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it soon enough. Just hang on, Gramps.”

When he made a small blowing sound, I looked up. I’m not entirely certain, but I believe he smiled. His lips were so cracked it was hard to tell. I gazed upon him a moment longer—his withered nose, giant hollow eye sockets with tiny shriveled up eyes floating back down within the depths of them. If I were pressed for an accurate visual description of that poor creature lying there, I’d say he reminded me of the brittle, ancient mummies they show on the Discovery Channel.