Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Lucy ❯ Chapter 1

I

It's unfortunate, really. I've talked to everyone else I would bother to, and none of them dream. I guess that makes me the only one.

 

My dream is always the same. It plays out just as it did all those years ago. I'm watching myself live the worst moment of my life, screaming noiselessly at the fool that I was, telling her to stop or not go there or say that. But it's always useless, and I wake weeping all the same.

 

This particular morning was much the same as the others. I woke at about eight, showered, dressed, watched the television news. Apparently Barker had taken on another big-name client, some celebrity who'd been accused of killing his wife. That just meant more work for me. I'd have to file all the motions, attend the arraignment, and work through all the evidence so that he could show up on trial day and be a star. Not that it bothered me any. I was long used to working behind the scenes. For all intents and purposes, I was Barker. He just got to make some pretty speeches and jerk some witnesses around until they didn't know which way was up.

 

Having twisted my hair and pinned it to my head, I grabbed the keys and purse from where they were laying on the couch, switched off the TV, and made for the door of my studio apartment.

 

I must say, of all the places I've lived, Manhattan is one of my favorites. There's just something about the city that I've really come to appreciate. The degree of anonymity afforded by a metropolis is admirable, but New York takes it a step further: people actively go out of their way to avoid contact with anything but their own concerns. For being so cramped together, it really was quite the insular sort of place. Certainly makes my job easier.

 

I pressed the elevator call button, and the door popped open immediately, a little odd since I live on the fourteenth floor, but not unheard of. I descended the first few floors to the tune of the Rolling Stones. Our manager was your bohemian-type flower child, and the complex is mostly occupied by twenty-somethings with too much money and too little sense, so small amusements were everywhere.

 

I was fumbling for my keys, which had fallen into the depths of my purse, when the elevator stopped on the tenth floor, and the door squeaked open again. I had expected Rebecca to shuffle in with her bewildered, harried expression, late for her job at the Times as usual, so I was surprised when the door was still gaping open ten seconds later. I looked up to see what the holdup was about. It's strange, the things you notice. The expensive double-breasted suit was nothing unexpected, cufflinks garish and in poor taste, but was I imagining those creases around the deep blue eyes? His mouth worked desperately to no avail, and he only succeeded in looking like some sort of grotesque fish. No mistaking it. We stared at each other until the elevator closed. I reached for the door open button on the elevator, but my hand came to a stop a few centimeters short. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to scream and cry and slap his nauseatingly beautiful face.

 

But what was the use? I wasn't the same person I'd been back then, and neither was he, I was certain. I couldn't start an open conflict. It was forbidden. I suppose there was a time when that wouldn't have stopped me. Nowadays, I played by the rules. Besides, hitting him would just prove that I was everything he thought I was. And that could never happen.

 

The elevator door opened again. I glanced at my hand, still hovering a small space away from the door open button. I withdrew it quickly as he stepped into the elevator, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

 

“I need to speak with you,” he said, tone businesslike, if a bit strained.

 

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” I replied shortly, fixing my eyes firmly on the rows of floor numbers on the wall of the elevator. We'd probably only hit the eighth floor at this point.

 

“You think I don't know that? We don't have a choice. It's business.”

 

“Business. Right. If you people really want to do business, you'd better send Michael next time. I actually don't hate him.” I snapped.

 

He sighed. “Please don't make this any worse than it has to be. Saturday.”

 

My eyes moved to the panel over the doorway. Fourth floor. “Where?”

 

“I don't care. Pick somewhere. I'll find you.”

 

First floor. “Fine.” The door clattered open, and I walked out as briskly as I could manage without making it obvious that I was escaping, completely ignoring Sandy when she bid me good morning in her dreamy tone. I reached the parking garage and my Mercedes, leaning heavily against it, taking deep, steadying breaths. Shit. God truly was cruel, to have forced me to meet him again.

 

 

II

I had chosen my favorite old bistro, one of those places reminiscent of a much more cultured city. Strange that I had come to appreciate culture of all things, but humans were somehow unendingly fascinating. They're all slowly dying, but seem not to care. They just continue to struggle, trying to eke something out for themselves. And they leave behind such interesting mementos of that very struggle. Truly fascinating. I can see why He dotes on them so.

 

I order some coffee from an enthusiastic, if clumsy, young waiter and sit back, inhaling the pleasant scent of espresso. Gabriel is late, of course. He was always terribly absent when I knew him then, and it seems that this at least had not changed over the years. No. Best not to think about that.

 

To pass some time, I took a look around. The people that come to these places are always an eclectic bunch. There's Francesca and Giovanni, recent immigrants looking for a taste of home; they usually sit around for a while and talk with the owner. There are the yuppies Todd and Emma who think of themselves as cosmopolitan because of their expensive taste in beverages, and in her usual corner is Marie, pecking away on her laptop in solitude, draining multiple cups of the coffee that is her lifeblood during these marathon writing sessions. Sometimes I join her; she usually has something interesting to say. I'm fairly sure that if I kept friends, Marie would be one of them. The shop did slow business, and the six of us were the only real regulars, though you'd occasionally get an old man or a harassed mother looking for a moment's peace.

 

I was about to open one of the boss's case files and do some work when a small human dove under the table I was sitting at, colliding with my feet. Fantastic.

 

“Hide me,” a disembodied voice whispered urgently. I sighed, rolling my eyes, and set my cup of coffee on the table, bending down to look underneath. The child was probably around seven or eight years old, with thick blond hair that fell just past the ears.

 

“Listen, kid, I don't know what you're hiding from, but you'd best just deal with it. Hiding never did anything but delay problems, and that's no way to live.” Satisfied with my sage advice, and expecting the child to leave now, I sat back up. To my surprise, instead of leaving, it had decided to sit at the table opposite me.

 

“But, aren't you hiding?”

 

The question surprised me almost as much as the tone, quiet, sure. The child's eyes were incredibly large, and a soft grey color, like the sky on an overcast day, that almost drew one in. Familiar, somehow. I started sharply, swallowing too much coffee to avoid choking.

 

“Now, what would I be hiding from? I'm clearly out here in the open. I'm actually waiting for someone.” I snap.

 

“Well, I dunno. Maybe you're hiding from yourself.”

 

“I hardly think that's possible.”

 

His head tilted to one side. “I bet it is.” He grinned.

 

“What do you want?”

 

The smile disappeared, taking the laughter in the sky-eyes with it. “I want for nothing. You on the other hand, want much.”

 

“Let me rephrase: why are you here?”

 

His voice became childlike again. “Everyone is so sad. They all do bad things, but then they feel so sorry for it. But they can't change it no matter what. Like the lady with the computer. She cheated. Or the two of them over there. They stole someone's money.”

 

I interrupt, annoyed. “Your point?”

 

He stared at me silently until I sat back, discomfited, then continued. “Wouldn't it be really neat if they could take it all back? Do you think they would?” He sounded somewhat gleeful. Not good.

 

“You… Just what do you plan to do?”

 

“Oh, I'm not going to do much at all. It's you that gets to decide what happens.” He grinned, crossing his arms triumphantly.

 

“What?” I felt my body grow light, and the world began to spin around me. Then there was only darkness.

 

III

 

I was aware of a peaceful sensation I had not felt in a long time. Flooded by a sudden feeling of serenity, I lay still and observed my surroundings. The bright stone architecture held all the strength and majesty that it always had, the air the fresh, clean taste I knew it would. Music drifted to my ears from a source I could not identify, a lilting tune, the singer's voice drifting in lazy circles, carelessly flirting with the melodies.

 

Not again. Anything but this damn dream. I felt my hands ball into fists, and started, sitting bolt upright. This was new. I wonder. I brought my left hand up to my face, then moved each finger in sequence. I was actually in control this time? I didn't have to sit back like some spectator who hates the movie and knows the ending? I could change it! My very life, all punishment for one sin, could be changed! I laughed aloud and fell back onto the lush grass. Yes, I'll be your experiment, if it means the outcome of this day can be changed.

 

I lay there for a few minutes, taking in the world I had missed so much. I was in a field beside the Throne Hall. Not too far away was our meeting place. I had promised to go there on this day when I'd lived it last. I rose, picking my sword up from where it had lain on the grass, belting it back on as I walked.

 

He was standing facing in the opposite direction, and obviously hadn't noticed my approach yet. He radiated a glow, bright like the morning star, outshone only by the sun itself. But then, he was the one they called the Left Hand. I smiled at the sight of him. He was always like this, lost in thought and totally absent. That was why he needed someone like me, unfailingly practical. I caught myself, shaking my head to rid my consciousness of these old thoughts. What was the best way to go about this? I could kill him now, but some part of me rebelled violently against the suggestion. It would mean I was everything they thought I had become, truly a demon of hatred. Maybe I could talk him out of it, change it some other way.

 

“Gabriel?” I tapped him on the shoulder. He swung round sharply, a strained expression on his face. “Hey, relax, it's only me.”

 

“Right.” He forced his features into something resembling a calm demeanor. He looked around, then turned and walked a little further. Having found what seemed to be the right place, he sank to the ground. I followed suit, my back turned to the Throne Hall.

 

“Listen-” I began.

 

He held up a hand. “Before this goes any farther, I want you to know that you don't have to do this. It's my grudge, my plan, and I don't want you involved if you are uncertain of anything. So make a decision now. We can demand what's ours, or I can go it alone.”

 

“But I don't think it has to be one or the other,” I said quietly. “Couldn't we just talk to Him about it? Surely He would listen to us. Why should we bow before Adam, we who have served Him longer and more faithfully? Perhaps there is an explanation. Maybe it's all a test.” I tried to meet his eyes, but he evaded me, studying the flow of the water in the creek intently.

 

“I assure you, this is no test,” he responded firmly. “That the left hand should bow to the right is one thing, but bow before a sinner? I'd sooner become one myself.”

 

“Gabriel!” I admonished. “Do you know what it is that you propose?”

 

He stood. “I do. But perhaps you would not be willing to pay the price, so you hesitate. What will it be?”

 

I sprang to my feet, but sighed inwardly. “I'm coming.” So stubborn, completely immovable when he was like this. I suppose there was no other choice.

 

We walked in complete silence for what seemed an eternity. At last, we came to stand in front of the Hall, looming arches and buttresses suddenly foreboding, despite the radiance they seemed to emit. At Gabriel's command, the doors swung open slowly, revealing a long, carpeted hallway with His massive throne at the end. The smaller thrones to the right and left were empty. I took a deep, steadying breath.

 

“Ready?” Gabriel's voice was stern, if a bit shaky, but his hand was warm as he clasped mine. I nodded resolutely. Strange. That I would notice these same things even now. That warmth, this feeling of dread welling inside my core, all of it was the same.

 

We walked in step with each other toward the great throne. There were quite a few attendants in the hall, but all of them let us pass. When we reached the dais, I reflexively began to lower my head, but Gabriel stopped me with a hand to my shoulder.

 

He regarded us with a sad sort of stare, if it is possible for such a being to feel sadness. Gabriel opened his mouth, as if to speak, but for some reason, no sound came out. Instead, his hand came to his chest, and, breathing labored, he fell to his knees. I looked at Him.

 

“What- what have you done to him?” I heard the panic in my voice and tried to slow my own racing heart.

 

He looked directly at me, without saying a word. I found myself impossibly caught in that stare, lost in the whirlwind of eternity, pain and sorrow. I struggled to regain my freedom, but was drawn inexorably toward the center, helpless at the mercy of the Universe. I saw time, and space. I saw the moment of creation, the moment of betrayal. Joy, despair, rage, peace, hatred, love, and fear. I felt them all as I was drawn in. And I knew. That there, at the center, was acceptance, was understanding, was forgiveness. I understood, and I reached for it, stretching as far as I could, ready to welcome it, but something held me back. The agonized voice was distant, and faint. I knew I had to go to it, because surely I was the only one who could hear. I turned away from the infinite, and towards the one who needed me more. Standing before the throne, silent tears streaming down my face, I turned toward the voice, and found myself once again in my own consciousness.

 

At my side, Gabriel was still on his knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths. I reached out to him, but he held up a hand for me to stay back, and so I let my arm fall to my side. All the suffering I had seen and, yes, inflicted, I was still barely able to breathe in this moment that I had relived every night for millennia. At length, Gabriel was able to rise, and I could tell that he had seen the same thing as I had. I helped him to his feet, still unsteady on my own, and we leaned on each other as He spoke.

 

“You came with the intention of reckoning with me. You wished to rebel. My greatest harbinger, and my own left hand,” He shook his head slowly. “For that, you must be punished. But since you do not act upon your intentions, I will punish but one. You have a choice: cast down the other, strike them from here with your sword, or be cast yourself. Gabriel, since it was you that planned this, your accomplice gets to decide first.” He turned to me. “Well?”

 

This was my chance. The perfect opportunity to change my future. I could regain Heaven. And what had I to lose? I drew my sword, and stood to face my beloved.

 

I raised my weapon over my head, ready to bring it down upon him, and was overcome with memories. I saw all I had done, both now and in what was surely the future. Was it worth it? Heaven. Was it worth living without him there? I'd been getting along pretty well without it really. This place, this life, wasn't mine anymore, and it never could be.

 

He couldn't handle what I do. It'd destroy him. No, better to let me be the one. Let me fall, discard all I am, and rename myself. Become my own Morning Star. Surely I'm the only one who can. Unfailingly practical. Or was I just too sentimental? I felt my grip loosen, and the sword fell from my hand. I closed my eyes, passed my hand over my face. All this time, all this suffering, and it was still all the same. I still couldn't strike him. And I still couldn't believe that this was wrong. I would wake again in the life I had made for myself, unable to return to what I once was.

 

I turned to face God, who regarded me with those luminous grey eyes, and heard the dull scraping of metal as Gabriel draw his blade.

 

“I can't.”

 

IV

I woke to the feeling of a hard, wrought-iron table. My head was resting on my folded arms. Dazed, I looked around. Emma and Todd were still there, deep in conversation about the merits of existentialism, and Giovanni and Francesca were relating the story of their wedding to Antonio, the bespectacled proprietor. Had no time passed at all? Marie had abandoned her laptop mid-sentence and was regarding me curiously.

 

“Did you see where He went?” I asked blearily.

 

“He?” She looked confused.

 

“The little kid. He was here just a minute ago.”

 

“Hmm… I don't remember seeing a child. Maybe you just dreamed him up?”

 

“No… he was definitely real. But perhaps you missed him.”

 

“Are you sure you're okay? You just kind of fell asleep there.”

 

“I'm fine. Barker has me working long hours at the office these days is all. We've got a new case.”

 

“Mmm. I think I heard about that. Well, good luck.” She returned to typing, and I knew she was lost to me again, at least until she had a question about something. She called me her encyclopedia. At least having spent millennia on earth was good for something, I suppose. I shrugged and pulled Barker's case file from my briefcase. Guy was definitely guilty. The prosecutor would make it look like cold-blooded evil. We could try an insanity defense; Barker had enough psychologists in his back pocket for that. But juries weren't going for that much anymore. Crime of passion was definitely the best way around this. It wouldn't get him off entirely, but it might make people consider things a bit, maybe reduce the sentence.