Reunion
If he looked up, she was as good as dead.
Jessica was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid he would hear her heart slamming into her chest from across the room. How had Cole found her? She watched him eat his hamburger and marveled at his casualness as he sipped his iced tea. Was it possible that he didn’t know?
It had taken five years for her to stop looking over her shoulder. Five years to reach the place where a ringing phone or a knock at the door didn’t terrify her. The idea that he might’ve crossed her path again by mere chance staggered her. But the late Mrs. Cole Ramsey, as she humorlessly considered herself, had never been much of a believer in chance.
Fear coiled in her stomach like a thick, cold serpent. She wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks and clutched her purse.
As she gauged the distance between herself and the door, Jessica tried to suppress the whimper that rose in her throat. Her habit of always seeking a back table may have gotten her killed. To get out, she’d have to walk right by him, and she didn’t think she could do it.
She looked around the room, searching for any means of escape, any help. Nothing. Then she glanced back at Cole and nearly screamed.
He was staring at her.
Her furiously pounding heart nearly skidded to a stop as his pale blue eyes locked on hers. Then Cole did something extraordinary, something that frightened her more than if he’d pulled a gun.
He smiled.
With a strangled cry, Jessica jumped up and toppled her chair. It banged against the gray marble floor like a gunshot.
Conversation at the neighboring tables ceased, and the other customers seemed to fade away until there was nothing left but Cole and her and the ragged sound of her own breathing. Cole’s smile flickered and died and was replaced by a look of confusion.
Was it possible he hadn’t recognized her?
The thought seemed ridiculous, even though she’d tried to alter her appearance.
Her long blond hair was now short and mousy brown; her green eyes were hidden beneath a pair of brown contact lenses. She no longer looked like Jessica Ramsey, the trophy wife of a wealthy businessman. She was Emily Jackson, a shy woman who worked at Mid-Tennessee Realty and hid behind thick bangs.
Cole looked over his shoulder, then back at her, as if trying to spot the cause of her distress. Jessica’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t recognized her. She’d just blown it.
Cole wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed away from the table. Panic freed her feet, and Jessica sprinted past him. Cole shouted something, but the roar of the pulse in her ears drowned it out.
Propelling herself out the door, Jessica slammed into a beefy man in a business suit. His briefcase went flying as he staggered and nearly fell. It skidded off the sidewalk and landed underneath a nearby car. As the man scrambled for it, Jessica darted around him. She ignored his indignant cry as she scanned the street.
Where could she hide? Jessica cursed herself for walking to lunch. Her car was five blocks away in the real estate office parking lot. It might as well have been on another planet.
The bell above the restaurant door chimed and blindly, she ran. Her low heels clicked against the pavement as she wove through the midday crowd, trying to put as many people between her and Cole as possible.
Jessica fell in with a group of shoppers crossing Duncan Street and tried to make herself disappear in the middle of them, but her terror wouldn’t allow her to keep their relaxed pace for long. She broke from the pack and took a sharp left down a side street.
As Jessica leapt off the curb, her heel caught in a grate. She sprawled forward onto the asphalt and cried out as the rough surface bit into her palms and ripped through the knees of her slacks.
Blood made her fingers slippery as she tried to work her heel free from the grate. The navy pump was wedged in tightly and, in her desperation, Jessica abandoned it. She yanked the other one off as well and raced off in her bare feet. Her knees stung but she ran as hard and as far as she could before the familiar tightening started in her chest.
Oh God, not now!
A bout of coughing wracked her body. As Jessica stumbled into an alley, the warm, fragrant scent of fabric softener assaulted her. Stunned, she leaned against the gray slate of Michaelson’s Laundromat. Had she really run seven blocks?
The exhaust from the dryers pushed air through the vents on the side of the building. Lint particles danced in the warm air. They tickled her throat, and her coughing grew steadily worse.
She had to get out of here, but she was too terrified to move. Terrified that Cole would seize her if she stepped into the open. He was out there somewhere; Cole never gave up. To her horror, she began to wheeze.
The high-pitched hissing seemed obscenely loud in the enclosed space, and Jessica felt a flash of anger at her body’s betrayal.
Pain stabbed through Jessica’s knees as she hunkered behind a chipped, green garbage bin and fought for her next breath. She fumbled at her purse with stiffening fingers, leaving a sticky crimson smear across its shiny black surface.
Her shaking hands nearly dropped the .38 as she jerked it out and laid it across her lap. She let her purse slip to the ground as she pulled out her inhaler, shook it and took the first puff. She held her breath for a seven count, waiting for the steroids to hit her bronchial tubes. Maybe she had lost him. Maybe ...
Through the crack between the dumpster and the wall, Jessica watched Cole enter the alley.
She dropped the inhaler in her lap and clutched the gun with both hands.
“I saw you run in here,” he said casually, and walked right past her hiding place.
Jessica nearly lost her footing on a discarded bread wrapper when she lurched to her feet. Something clattered to the ground, and she realized an instant too late that it was her inhaler.
For a split second, she took her eyes off Cole to watch it roll underneath the dumpster, and jerked her gaze back to him when she realized her mistake. Oh God, she wasn’t ready for this. Another stupid mistake like that and he’d kill her.
“Stay back!” she growled.
Cole raised his hands as Jessica trained the gun on him. She hated the way her hand trembled. She feared the man standing before her more than she did the devil himself. His handsome face was just a mask.
“Let me walk away,” she managed. Spots danced before her eyes as she tried to hold the gun steady.
“Easy!” he said, his blue eyes widening in alarm. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No, you’re ... not,” she wheezed. “Not ... this time.”
The look in those eyes surprised her, a mixture of confusion and compassion. Nothing like the icy blue gaze she expected.
A coughing fit rendered Jessica momentarily helpless, and she lost her aim. Cole took a step toward her. She straightened her arm, pointing the gun at the center of his chest.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
Involuntarily, she followed his gaze and stared down at the ragged knees of her slacks. Blood soaked through the tan fabric, and the sight of it made her dizzy. She forced back a wave of nausea.
“Put the gun down. I only want to talk. Can we do that?” He sounded so calm, so innocent, but she hadn’t forgotten the things he was capable of doing. Memories of the beatings, memories of psychological torture flooded her brain, and her finger tightened on the trigger. Then she thought of Joe.
“Stay away from me,” Jessica whispered, dismayed to hear that scared little girl voice she thought she’d left behind when she’d escaped from Cole. How she hated that voice and the helplessness she felt right now.
Jessica backed out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Bright sunlight flashed in her eyes, nearly blinding her as Cole took another step toward her.
“Stay back!” she hissed.
Intent on watching Cole, Jessica stumbled off the curb.
“Watch out!” Cole shouted, just before her world exploded in a cacophony of blaring horns and screeching brakes.
Thy Brother’s Wife
The greatest trick an angel ever pulled was convincing the world that Lucifer was the villain.
Mephistopheles had to hand it to Michael. He suspected even most of Heaven didn’t know what really happened the summer God disappeared and a tyrant took charge.
Right now, the most feared being in all creation lay on the stone floor of hell inside his wife’s cage, crying and clutching his chest as he came down from a particularly wretched panic attack. Mephistopheles gave him space, knowing better than to approach his brother in this state. Lucifer would strike like an August-blind snake, terrified and enraged by his vulnerability.
Finally, Lucifer opened his eyes and glanced at him.
“She's okay,” Mephistopheles said. "I got her settled down and cleaned up, then she fell asleep.”
Lucifer nodded and fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. He smoked the first one flat on his back. Then he struggled to sit up. He looked weak, drained, and he was covered in blood. It caked on his ears, his hands. He wore a bib of it on his white T-shirt. It pooled beneath him, soaking through his jeans.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and lit another cigarette.
"What happened?" Mephistopheles asked.
Lucifer picked up a small, twisted piece of metal, studied it, then flung it through the bars.
With a humorless laugh, he said, "She cut my throat. Then she tried to kill herself."
He glanced at the sleeping woman on the bed. "Look at what I have done to her."
“You did not do this,” Mephistopheles replied. “He did this.”
When God disappeared, the angels had scattered like unsupervised children. Some--like Michael--moved quickly to seize power. Others--like Lucifer and Mephistopheles--chose to roam the earth, to interact with the humans.
They’d been together that day, when they encountered Abigail and her sister getting water from a well. The sons of God hadn't stood a chance against the beauty of the daughters of Man.
“She forgot Evangeline’s name,” Lucifer said absently, gazing at the names tattooed across the tops of his hands. "That's how it started."
Samuel and Evangeline. Lucifer's twin toddlers. The children he’d almost burned Heaven to the ground to avenge.
Mephistopheles’ body bore no such tribute to his son, Judah. Lucifer could not bear to forget, but Mephistopheles could not bear to remember. Michael, upon learning of their wives and children’s existence, had deemed their families abominations and ordered their swift and brutal executions.
Lucifer and Mephistopheles had been lured away, a cowardly act that made Mephistopheles' blood boil still, thousands of years later. If not for Azrael interceding, Abigail would've died, too, but he had not done her any favors.
To be killed by an angel blade meant a swift death, total annihilation of the soul. Mephistopheles’ family was utterly destroyed along with Lucifer's babies. Abigail still lived, driven mad by the day angels fell from the skies like meteors, turning the river by their village red with blood.
That was also the day she'd learned what her husband really was. More than anything, that galled Mephistopheles. The women hadn't even known. Instead of approaching him and Lucifer directly, brother-to-brother, Michael had lashed out at the most innocent among them.
Mephistopheles wondered if the others knelt to Michael now, the brother who had proclaimed himself king. No matter what happened, he vowed he never would.
The cage Abigail was kept in was for her own protection. Lucifer often spent time here, sitting on the floor outside while she railed curses at him, but sometimes inside the cage with her, holding her when she cried.
“Do you remember them?” Lucifer asked. “Terah and Judah?”
“Barely, now,” Mephistopheles admitted. “Their faces are hazy.”
Lucifer nodded and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I know you've wondered why I sleep.” He shrugged. “I don’t really. It’s the only time everyone leaves me alone. I lie there in the darkness and try to remember every little thing, a movie I play in my head every night. The first day I saw her, how she smiled. Our first kiss…” He smiled and leaned his head back against the bars. “I remember fighting with the midwife to stay in the room to see my child born, and how she thrust Samuel in my arms when she realized there were two babies. That was the most terrifying, exhilarating moment of my life. He was so slick and squirming.” Lucifer glanced at his wife. “I remember her face when she held them.” His face darkened. “They were not abominations.”
“No,” Mephistopheles said. “They were beautiful.”
That he did remember. He wasn't sure where the horns and tail had entered the mythology, but the truth was, Abigail and Lucifer made a striking couple, and their children had been some gorgeous compilation of them. They were not yet three when they were slaughtered. His own son had been almost two.
"I try to remember how it was because I can't stand how it is."
“That's brave.” Mephistopheles stared at the ceiling. “I do the opposite. I try to forget. I can't remember much about them, or about who I was back then, before I hated everything and hated myself.”
"What am I going to do?" Lucifer asked. "It's getting worse. I cannot keep her, and I cannot let her go. I'm so fucking tired. Tired of hurting her. Tired of feeling so much, and of feeling nothing at all. I just want her to be happy again.”
Mephistopheles had no answer to give him. He cleaned the floor while Lucifer cleaned himself.
Then Lucifer clasped his shoulder. “Goodnight, brother. I’m staying with her tonight.”
He let Mephistopheles out of the cell and locked it back behind him. Then he crawled in bed with Abigail and pulled her close.
Mephistopheles left him there, his heart heavy. What had any of them done to deserve this?
Jezebel waited for him in his chambers. Mephistopheles sighed, not really in the mood to deal with her tonight, but the body she inhabited was tempting. But instead of giving him what he wanted, she went off on another tirade against Lucifer. A queen in life, she could not accept being just another demon in hell. Lucifer considered her a mere annoyance, an unrelenting warmonger. Mephistopheles knew she was much more dangerous than that.
“You should kill her,” Jezebel said suddenly.
Mephistopheles pushed her away. “Are you insane? Do you have the slightest idea what Lucifer would do if he heard you speak such treason?"
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Who's going to tell him? You?"
When he didn't reply, she said,"She’d be better off. You know that. So would Lucifer.”
"He loves her."
"He imprisons her. He imprisons himself. As long as he holds her in that cage, he can pretend there's a way out, that he can still make some kind of deal to save her. He will keep dragging his feet until the day Michael tires of it, then we will all be doomed. If you take that hope from him, he will be forced to fight. The only way he could save her soul then would be to win.”
Mephistopheles sighed, and she touched his face, making him look at her. “You know I’m right. It is not only Lucifer’s fate at stake here. It’s ours, too. Every day, we should be planning. Training. The final war is coming, whether Lucifer wants it to or not. We have to be prepared. At least think about what I'm saying.”
Of course he'd thought about it. In many ways, it would be a mercy killing. He spent a lot of time with Abigail. Maybe as much as Lucifer himself, because he was the only one Lucifer trusted to watch over her when he was gone. It hurt Mephistopheles to see her this way. She and Lucifer were the only family he had left.
Initially, he'd hoped she'd get better as time passed, but that was not to be the case. Her days of lucidity had grown few and far between. It was this place, he suspected. These walls kept her physically alive, but were killing the person she'd once been.
Mephistopheles knew what Lucifer hoped for her, but he also knew something Lucifer still could not accept: Michael would never let Abigail into Heaven, if for no other reason than spite. In the end, her punishment would be the same as theirs. She would be damned, unless they could somehow win this war.
Jezebel was right, in that cold, analytical way of hers. Lucifer could not prepare for the final battle as long as his only focus was on Abigail. And if the only thing he had left to lose was stripped away, he would have no choice except to fight. Abigail’s death would bring back the rage, the bloodlust.
Especially if he thought Michael was responsible…
Mephistopheles hated himself for the thought. He was not like that. He did not crave war and power like his bloodthirsty brothers. Lucifer was not like that either, and it still amazed Mephistopheles that the world thought the first war in Heaven was fought over such things. It was fought for vengeance, and next they'd fight for survival. About this, Jezebel was right-- if Lucifer did not get his head in the game, none of them would survive.
Lucifer still saw Michael as righteous--eternally, rigidly moral. Lucifer still thought this was about right and wrong, and he could not see past his own guilt because he felt that, ultimately, he was responsible. Mephistopheles suspected the truth was much different. In fact, he suspected their transgressions meant nothing to Michael at all. They had given him the excuse to take charge, to put himself on the throne, to lead the others in a war of his own creation that he'd started specifically to gain power.
He still remembered how Michael had gloated when he'd stripped them of their weapons and hurled them down to earth.
The force of their fall had crumbled mountains and caused great tsunamis and earthquakes. Dark clouds had blotted out the sun.
Mephistopheles remembered waking in that canyon to the agony of his shattered bones knitting themselves back together. His mouth had been filled with blood and dust and rage. He had seen the smug look on Michael's face and he had realized they were merely pawns in Michael's endgame.
Maybe Jezebel was right. Maybe this was his only choice.
When he returned to Abigail's cage the next night, Mephistopheles found her docile, sitting on her bed singing to her rabbits.
He had brought her those stuffed toys himself, years ago, when he hadn't been able to take another night of her pitiful cries for her babies. The velveteen rabbits were worn and tattered now, but she held them as if they were precious. When she noticed him outside the cell, she motioned him inside.
He'd feared Lucifer's reaction that night, when he'd walked in and found her with them, but there had been no anger on his brother's face, merely defeat. Abigail's delighted smile had been a double-edged sword that cut both of them.
Mephistopheles would've not only died to save his own family, but he would've died to save Lucifer's children, too, had he only known what was coming. They had been so naive.
"Look who's come to see you!" Abigail cooed to the rabbits as Mephistopheles approached her bed.
He would have to take her from here if he meant to kill her. Hell was intended for the fallen, and for those humans who'd died in sin. Since Lucifer had brought her here alive, Abigail was caught in some profane catch .22. As long as she was within these walls, she possessed the same immortality he did.
He could get her out of here, but could he look Lucifer in the eyes and lie about it? Could he hurt the girl who smiled up at him so innocently, who even now was offering up one of her 'babies' for him to hold? Nobody else in his world fully trusted him anymore, not even Lucifer, since Mephistopheles had begun his affair with Jezebel. He took the rabbit from Abigail and sat in the rocking chair beside her bed, cradling it.
"How are my niece and nephew today?" he asked, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.
They talked for awhile, as they often did, with him pretending that everything was fine and that Terah and Judah would probably join them any minute. The lie hurt more today than it usually did. Abigail told a story about Judah almost eating a bug in the field, and mimicked Terah's horrified reaction. Mephistopheles laughed, but his chest ached. He'd forgotten that story, as he had so many others. Abigail could not move past those days, Lucifer would not, and there he was, the bastard who could scarcely remember his own son's face because he could not bear to think about it.
Mephistopheles watched her as he rocked, trying to make a decision. He wished for a moment that she was in one of her rages. It would be so much easier then, when her pain was so stark and jagged and raw. Then he could know he was doing the best thing for her. Today, she was too normal, too much like her old self.
His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and sweat beaded his lip, despite the coolness of the cavern.
It could all be over with in a moment.
Jezebel had concocted a plausible story, and he knew his generals would back the lie. One had even offered to do the deed for him, but Mephistopheles had made it clear none of them were to touch her. If she faced death, it would not be at a stranger's brutal hand. He owed her that much, at least.
He willed himself to rise.
"What's going on?"
Lucifer's voice echoed in the cavern, startling him. Had he somehow learned of the plan? Where was the demon who was charged with keeping him occupied? A sick dread filled Mephistopheles' belly.
Lucifer grabbed two of the iron bars and stuck his face between them. He focused on Abigail, his brow knitted in a frown, his mouth tense.
"Daddy's home!" Abigail cried to the rabbit she held.
Lucifer's face relaxed and he let himself inside. Abigail jumped up to greet him. She hugged him fiercely, squishing the rabbit between them, then she kissed him, with as much joy and passion as she ever had.
Mephistopheles watched his brother lose himself in that kiss, and the sight made him bitterly curse Michael's name. What right had he had to destroy them? What fucking right?
Mephistopheles ached for them. Michael had taken everything they had, but he could not kill their love, damned as it might be. Even on its worst days, it still burned beneath the madness and rage. On its best days, it consumed Lucifer's entire world. Perhaps those days were the most brutal punishment of all, because they were so fleeting. Because they sparked hope.
Lucifer lived for these days, when she was happy again, and he did not care that they weren't based in reality. He grabbed the rabbit and held it above his head as if it were a child.
"How's my big boy today?" he crooned. "Have you been good for Mama?"
Abigail laughed. "Samuel's been good, but let me tell you what Judah did today."
She told him with the same story she'd told Mephistopheles, laughing so hard she could barely get to the punchline. Lucifer shot him a pained, sympathetic look, but Mephistopheles shook his head. It was okay.
He closed his eyes, listening to her talk.
Oh, what he would give for one more day with them! For one more moment back in her arms. He could see Terah's beautiful smile, and Judah's haphazard dark curls. A tear slipped down Mephistopheles' cheek and he quickly brushed it away.
Lucifer turned the subject to their nephew, son of Abigail's sister, Rachel. That boy had followed them around like a pup and had been the source of constant entertainment. They had loved him as much as their own sons.
Mephistopheles grinned as Lucifer regaled them with a tale of a fishing exploit that had taken place thousands of years ago, but he made it seem like it had taken place only hours before. It sparked a memory Mephistopheles had of the same trip, and he told that tale, too.
They looked ridiculous, Mephistopheles was sure. Two of the most powerful beings in the universe clutching toy rabbits and swapping fish stories, but he didn't give a damn. For a moment, they were all happy again, even if it was just an illusion.
Michael had never known love, and even though he'd tried his hardest, he could not take theirs.
Mephistopheles stayed for awhile, then he kissed the rabbit's head and laid it in the crib beside Abigail's bed.
"This little lady fell asleep on me," he said. "Tell her I'll play with her tomorrow. I need to go check on my two."
He hugged both Abigail and the other rabbit, then impulsively hugged Lucifer. Lucifer looked surprised, then he laughed.
"You alright, brother?"
Mephistopheles smiled. "Yeah, just feeling a little sentimental, I guess."
As he walked down that long corridor alone, he still heard their voices, their laughter, and he felt ashamed of what he'd gone there to do.
If he killed Abigail, he would be the same as Michael, a coward who attacked the innocent and betrayed his own brother to advance his own agenda. Abigail did not deserve that, and Lucifer did not, either.
Even though he was fallen, he took small comfort in the fact that at least he had not fallen that far. They would find another way. He would not steal even a second of his brother's happiness.