IX
The Prince of Hell had dressed appropriately for the meeting, but refused to wear a tie.
That was going too far. He’d spend all morning looking for an outfit, but opted to grab his nicest white button up, his crispest slacks, finest leather dress shoes, and most expensive watch.
He removed his piercings, styled his hair, and grabbed a woolen peacoat.
Winter on Earth was different from winter down in Hell, he needed to not look like a crazy person and at least pretend to be cold in the Midwestern December air so the humans wouldn’t catch on.
Lucky turned his golden eyes to the archangel who had arrived on the balcony a few seconds prior. “Hey.”
“Glad to see he’s awake,” Gabe said quietly. They were wearing an expensive white suit with a soft lavender tie. They’d wound their long hair up into a bun and draped a rosary around their neck.
Charlie rubbed his face and blinked slowly, completely unaware that someone else was in the penthouse with them.
He was clutching Luke and John who seemed pleased that he was awake.
Its tail thumped heavily on the mattress.
A cup of coffee that Lucky had brewed steamed on the nightstand beside him.
The priest’s pale blue eyes widened when he finally saw Gabe standing in the doorway, his lips parted in shock and awe at the majesty of the holy being in front of him.
The tall, Heavenly body folded their long wings around their frame and nodded in acknowledgement of the tiny human.
“Is that…” Charlie whispered.
“Uh, Charlie, this is Gabe,” Lucky said awkwardly.
“Is Gabe… an angel?”
“Yeah? I feel like that’s kind of obvious.”
Gabe chuckled. “You probably know me better as the archangel God called Gabriel,” they said gently, using that sweet soothing tone they often did while escorting souls to the Pearly Gates.
That was one of the things that had drawn Lucky to them all those years ago.
It was during a war—neither one of them could recall which one after so many had come and gone—and they’d been sent to pick up the souls in the battlefield to sort them.
Lucky had heard them speak, it was gentle and comforting, and once the land had been cleared of the lost, he’d approached.
It had been his first time seeing an angel, and it had changed his afterlife.
Charlie scrambled to fix his messy hair and make himself presentable. The oversized shirt that Lucky had let him borrow slipped off his pale shoulder. He was stammering, obviously starstruck by the fact that a messenger of God was standing before him in all of their Heavenly glory.
“Okay, you nerd, calm down,” Lucky said with a snicker. “We have an errand to run, stay put. There’s pizza and the rest of your sandwich in the fridge. Feel free to use the shower but make sure you twist that faucet all the way to the left so you don’t burn yourself. Left, you hear me?”
“Where are you going with an archangel?” Charlie asked.
Lucky winced. He didn’t like that tone.
“Fixing your mess,” Lucky shot back.
Charlie flinched.
Lucky swallowed hard and lifted his hands defensively.
“That’s… not what I meant. I’m sorry. We’re trying to figure out how to fix the mess so you aren’t stuck here. No promises, obviously, but I’m doing my best,” Lucky explained.
Charlie smiled gently before he looked at the archangel, obviously trying not to freak out. He turned back to Lucky.
“What about the paperwork?” Charlie asked.
“We’ll tackle that later. You should rest for a while. The TV remote is over there,” Lucky replied, pointing to the nightstand.
Charlie nodded. He hugged the hellhound tighter and yawned.
It worried Lucky that he still seemed so sleepy but he tried not to let it show on his face.
The devil turned to face Gabe before gesturing to the balcony so they could take off, telling Charlie goodbye over his shoulder as he went.
He closed the glass doors to drown out the noise and let out a huff of smoke before he stood upright with his hands on his low back.
He wasn’t sure he liked the look that Gabe was throwing his way.
“What?” Lucky asked.
“Nothing,” Gabe said plainly. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s get this over with.”
In a flash of light, the two supernatural beings vanished, heading toward a town in Kansas where their two o’clock meeting awaited.
Lucky didn’t like maintaining a human form.
He didn’t like being a foot shorter than normal, and he really didn't like hiding his horns and tail. He looked wrong. Gabe kept telling him to stop preening and primping, but he was so self-conscious about it that he couldn’t help but be worried that he wasn’t selling the lie enough.
They sat in the waiting room of the hospital, wondering what representatives of the church would arrive.
It was out of the way for them. Charlie had lived in a smaller town—well, smaller than most places Lucky often went on his reaping missions—and it was at least a half hour drive to the medical facility where his body was being cared for.
Judging by the state of the hospital, the care wasn’t up to par for Lucky’s standards.
It was no fault of the facility, he was sure with how messy the country’s healthcare was and how funding was distributed they were trying their hardest, but it explained why Charlie might have been suffering.
It was stuffy and clinical, and he was anxious about being there.
Lucky hated how members of the church seemed to only be on time when it came to Sunday services and football games. They were late.
Thankfully, it had given the devil and the archangel plenty of time to run through the plan and make sure they were on the same page while Gabe looked at Charlie’s death record. He planned on letting them do most of the talking so they needed to be more aware of the overall situation than he did.
“What if they don’t show?” Lucky mumbled.
“They will,” Gabe reassured him.
As Lucky went to grab his cell phone to call them, a group of men dressed in black with priest collars walked through the front doors. The disguised devil stood, buttoning up the bottom button of his blazer as he went.
“Thank you for coming,” Lucky said as he extended his hand, trying his hardest to be professional.
A quite rotund, bald man that Lucky had learned from his brief research was named Father O’Brien extended a hand. “Of course. Mr. Morning, you said?”
“Yes. This is my associate, Mr. deAngelo. We’re representatives from The Vatican,” Lucky replied.
“A pleasure,” Gabe said with their typical monotone energy.
“I’m Father O’Brien, this is Bishop McKinley, and Father Otis. We understand you wish to talk to us about one of our seminarians,” O’Brien said.
“That’s correct. We cleared it with Mr. Wickham’s medical team but we’d like to visit him and discuss care options,” Lucky replied as he gestured down the hall.
The trio of clergymen looked at each other.
“For Charles Wickham?” the man called Father Otis inquired.
“Did I stutter?” Lucky snapped.
Gabe set their hand on Lucky’s arm to keep him calm.
“We have reason to believe he might have been blessed by divine intervention. He’s quite important, and since he’s been a lifelong ward of the church we felt it was our duty to see how he was doing and offer assistance where possible.
Obviously, when such excessive funds had been poured into his care as a child, as well as his education, and now his wellbeing, ensuring he’s being properly treated is a necessity. ”
“The poor boy is a fighter, that’s for sure, but it’s been costly,” the bishop noted with a tone Lucky didn’t quite like.
“We’re aware,” Gabe replied. “Might we discuss this in the room?”
The three clergymen reluctantly agreed, but the mention of money seemed to have caught their attention.
Greedy bastards, Lucky thought as he followed them down the corridor.
He noted how their tones changed when they mentioned what a kind and generous person Charlie was, how they were all worried about him, how they prayed daily that he would come out of it.
It was all too performative for Lucky’s liking.
They walked into a small suite that was a tad chilly.
Lucky felt it run down his spine. The windows let in little light and the flowers on the nightstand were wilting.
His heart plummeted when he saw the tiny form on the bed.
Charlie looked even smaller like this, withering away with his dull golden curls draped over the pillow.
Tubes and wires connected to his limbs and chest and face, the mask over his mouth only fogged a little.
Two months on from the wreck that almost took his life and his skin still held bruises and welts. He wasn’t healing.
Lucky approached the bed and looked down at him before gently taking his hand. “He’s cold,” he whispered, looking at the nurse who had been checking his vitals. “Get him more blankets and turn up the heat, now.”
The woman flinched and did as he demanded, excusing herself to find more linens.
“We were told it might be time to let God take over,” Father O’Brien said, insinuating the worst.
“As much as we are in awe of his fighting spirit, we are a little church with a small parish, and cannot afford to keep this up. While many of our tithes have gladly gone to his care, we need a new roof and tables for our potlucks,” Father McKinley added.
Lucky turned to look at them. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep his human form from faltering. He wanted to tear their heads off.
“Then we would like to take him into our guardianship, move him to a facility that can care for him better than this, and relieve you of the burden,” Gabe said.
Lucky scoffed under his breath. He sat in the chair next to Charlie and looked at him. His stomach flipped, he was responsible for this. It was his fault.
“And why would you?” Bishop McKinley said but quickly changed his tone. “Of course, we do not wish to question the will of The Vatican, but it does seem… odd.”
“Mr. Wickham was injured in the midst of a selfless act. The impact was so great that he should have died instantly. The fact that he didn’t is nothing short of a miracle.
We believe Mr. Wickham has many great things left to achieve in his young life, a life so wholly dedicated to the church and his duties deserves many more years.
The young man’s grades were impeccable, he’s done hundreds of hours of charity work, and lived a life dedicated to God.
He’s a shining example of what the power of the church can do, if you understand what I’m saying.
A saint in the making, someone for the younger generation to look up to.
A miracle story. An important thing in today’s trying times,” Gabe explained.
Lucky closed his eyes and bit his lip. This all felt so wrong. Exploiting Charlie’s pain as a miracle story for a place that was about to pull the plug on him made him want to gag, but it seemed to be working.
“I see… I suppose we should discuss how to proceed then,” the bishop said.
“Excellent. I have the documents and necessary funds for a transfer to a better facility in Kansas City waiting. I believe this hospital has a chapel we can tend to our business in, and pray for his safe travels while we’re at it, yes?” Gabe offered.
“But of course, Mr. deAngelo.”
“Mr. Morning, please ensure Mr. Wickham is taken care of while I handle business,” Gabe said with a knowing nod to the devil.
Lucky nodded back. When the footsteps receded, he brushed back Charlie’s limp curls and cupped his face in his hand.
The mortal’s cheek seemed to be the only thing warm about him, brushed red like tiny apples that made his freckles nearly disappear.
His lips were chapped and dehydrated, he needed a wash and better linens, more sunlight and someone to talk to him.
To hold his hand. The sterile room felt cold and lonely, and the wilted flowers had been that way for some time.
They’d neglected him, and Lucky was determined to make sure his charge’s body was given proper care.
Maybe then it would wake up and pull his soul back to Earth. End this mess once and for all.
“I’m so sorry, Charlie… I’ll fix this, I promise. Hold on.”
Despite it all, Charlie’s finger twitched in his hold, and that was enough for Lucky to believe he’d get through this. They both would.