Truman called out, “Night. I’m picking you up in the morning. Seven O’clock sharp. You shouldn’t walk on that ankle.” Truman had no idea this would be the last time he saw Father Joseph or found Julian at this church. He tapped the steering wheel, classical music playing softly, as the red light blinked. Traffic at night is as bad as day time traffic. He waived prostates off and continued driving. St. Ann’s homeless shelter came into view. So that’s where Julian was born. It wasn’t that well kept. How could they allow a child to be born there? That can’t be good for child birth. Smoke curled like snakes escaping from the chimneys. He noticed a tall teenager boy with bright blond hair conversion with a middle aged African woman, probably the woman who owned the place. The teenager had an angelic appearance. His hair fell in soft golden curls past his shoulders.
The first thought that popped in Truman’s mind was Michael, the Arc Angel. Their gaze met. Truman snapped his head forward when a truck’s horn blared, and when he looked back, the teenager disappeared.
The room Father Joseph prepared was small and cold. A cot pushed in one corner. A widen trunk in another. A picture of Gabriel hung on the far wall besides a cross. Julian stripped, and changed in the ones Joseph laid out on the cot. A thick knit aqua sweater, black pants, and thick knit socks. One of the nuns probably made the sweater and socks.
A bronze skinned nun carried a tray in. On it was an antique tea set with a small plate of bread and bisects and a bowl of soup. Curtsy of Father Joseph. Father didn’t have to go through all this trouble, he thought, and gingerly tipped the flowered tea pot. Steam rose and hot raspberry tea splashed over the side. Julian breathed in the smell, enjoying while it lasted, and shivered. Luckily, there was a small metal fireplace so he wouldn’t freeze to death. Next to it a pile of wood, paper and matches. Julian crumpled the paper, made a tee-pee out of thin logs, and lit it, the logs and paper going up in flames.
Michael shouldn’t have left. We need him here. But he’s searching for our brother. We have word there is another angel on Earth, located in the same region of America as Gabriel. Yes but a fallen angel. This cannot be helped. This angel may be able to help.
Gabriel, God’s messenger and known for his androgynous appearance. Julian dearly wanted these voices and demons to stop, but doctors said his mind was fragile. Fragile like glass. Nothing can reclaim in. Julian lit a candle and straightens himself. Father Joseph must have fallen asleep already because no sound echoed off the ancient stone walls. The wind howled like wolves running down the corridor.
Julian pressed his hands together when a brown package caught his eye. It lay on the tray and was small, unpinned a note and read.
Julian, this belonged to my sister. I obtain possession of it after she disappeared. Thought you might enjoy a Christmas present. Merry Christmas.
It was a beautiful silver cross plated in gold. On each end was a white pearl and in the center was a midnight blue sapphire. It hung on a long gold chain. He had never gotten such a present. James would never spend so much on a simple cross.
“I won’t loss this. I promise,” he whispered, lightly pressing it to his full lips.
“You’re still awake?” Father Joseph questioned. He gave a small smile. “You opened it. Do you like it?”