AngelArchiver
06-07-2003, 10:49 PM
Okay, here's my little vignette.
Hope you enjoy it http://www.comics2film.com/UBB/smile.gif And I'm positive the formatting won't transfer, so that means no paragraph indentions and no Italics. Sorry about that http://www.comics2film.com/UBB/tongue.gif
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
ADULT LANGUAGE/SWEARING
[Author's Note: "Darkness and Light" was originally a vignette done for my own amusement. I was taking a break from my angel story/novel "ANGEL WARRIORS" and decided to try my hand at combining the characters I had it that story line with a story about Jackie meeting the Archangel Michael. A few disclaimers: 1) I'm not Catholic, so some references may be in error or omitted - any help appreciated, just mail me; 2) Jackie's full name - never given, as far as I know. Since 'Jack' is a familiar term for 'John', and 'John' is short for 'Jonathan', I used the Italian name for 'Jonathan', i.e. 'Giovanni'. Most Italians have at least one middle name; I chose 'Domenico' for Jackie 'cause I like the irony. There has been some debate among Darkness fans as to Jackie’s background; whether he is of Italian or Spanish (Spain) descent. For my purposes, I’ve chosen Italian.]
*********
Melinda Reynolds
~DARKNESS AND LIGHT~
Jackie Estacado restrained the impulse to kick open the imposing mahogany doors; instead, he paused for a moment to regain his composure, and make a covert scan of the area. This early in the day, the Morning Mass had not yet started; there were few people passing by, and the columnned entry was vacant. His quarry, a low-life nobody who had earned Don Franchetti's attention the hard way, had sought refuge in God's House, not realizing there was no refuge from Jackie Estacado. Don Franchetti had given him the option of scaring the informer into leaving the country, or dealing with him in a more direct, and permanent, way. As his hand closed over the grip of the 9MM, he knew there was no real decision to make; Ricco Manetti, small-time operator who had crossed into the big time with just a few choice sentences, was not long for this world.
Estacado opened the door slowly, eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness inside. The cathedral was not as large, or elaborate, as its peers; there were few places that afforded concealment. The rows of pews were empty; the altar, holding the vestments for the early Mass, were also vacant. He stiffened as his sharp eyes caught a stealthy movement in the overlapping shadows of the vestibule; his tall, lithe form joined the shadowy hallway as he advanced, gun at the ready.
Jackie pressed against the wall, listening to the slow, guarded footsteps. There was another sound accompanying the footfalls, a muted swoosh, swoosh that caused his dark brows to draw together. What was Manetti up to; he had ran into the church like a scared rabbit, wearing only the 5-year-old K-Mart suit and ragged gray fedora. Nothing that would cause a sound like the idle rotation of helicopter blades. Then a smaller shadow separated from the candle-lit hallway, and Jackie, ready to spring and fire - wanting to be certain Manetti would see, know, and recognize the last face he would see in this life - pulled up short, quickly concealing the 9MM under his Armani coat.
His near-victim was the stooped-over, elderly janitor; a worn broom was supporting his fragile frame as he pushed it over the age-darkened wooden floor. The janitor glanced up at him as he shuffled by, his steel-gray eyes surprisingly bright and alert. Disgusted, Jackie turned away from him, no longer an object of interest. Manetti couldn't be too far away, for he had hesitated only a few seconds before following him into the church.
Estacado jumped slightly at the light touch on his shoulder, whirled angrily to face a gold cross on a black field. Lifting his gaze, he glared at the tall priest standing behind him, not understanding how he could have failed to hear the man's approach. The priest was a head taller than Jackie, muscular shoulders emphasized rather than concealed beneath the black alb.
"I did not mean to startle you, but I already have someone waiting in the confessional. If you care to pray at the altar, I will be with you when I am finished."
"I'm not the one that needs to be praying, Father." Jackie pushed past the priest, jerked open the door of the confessional, "Come on out of there, Manny; let the priest attend to those who deserve his help--"
Manetti cowered in the far corner of the confessional, eyes large and pleading as he looked up at Jackie. "J-just let me con-confess, Jackie. I pro-promise, soon as I'm done, I'll...I'll do what you want. I know I can't ever get away from you. Just let me...make my peace with God..."
"For all the damn good it'll do you, Manny; what're you hoping to do, trade your 'E' ticket to Hell for an 'A'?"
A grip of iron closed on his forearm, pulling his hand from the latch. Reacting instinctively, the gun rested comfortably in his left hand, his patience at an end. "Back off, unless you want to meet your God a lot sooner than you expect--"
Before he could finish, Jackie found himself face down on the floor, the gun spinning beyond his reach across the highly polished floor. His right was arm twisted painfully behind him at a 45º angle with a large foot planted firmly in the small of his back. "This is the Lord's House, and you will conduct yourself in a manner suited to it."
The wizened janitor stooped over in slow degrees, picked up the weapon and handed it to the priest. He then retrieved his broom and busied himself at the altar.
"Now," the priest continued, manner and voice unruffled; he released his grip and stepped back, unloading the gun as he did so. "You can sit down and allow this man sanctuary, or I will escort you out."
Estacado got to his feet, ignoring the priest, straightening the wrinkles from his suit and smoothing back his hair, "Sure, go ahead—” he broke off, caught the gun one-handed as the priest tossed it to him. “Just remember I'll be right here waitin'," he directed his cold gaze down at Manetti, "and I don't like to be keep waiting."
***
Jackie leaned against the confessional, lighting a cigarette; the smoke curled lazily toward the carved ceiling as he shifted impatiently, the voices droning on and on in a low murmur.
He knocked rapidly on the door, "Let's move it along in there, Manny; I don't want to spend the rest of my life listening to your sins and transgressions." Thin wisps of smoke filtered through, and he exhaled another dense cloud into the latticework, "When this cigarette is finished, so are you."
There was no response, and he began pacing.
"Excuse me, mister," he didn't bother to acknowledge the quavering voice at his elbow, "but you shouldn't smoke in church."
Jackie shook his head, looked down at the janitor, and blew a cloud of smoke at him. "There's a lot of damn things I shouldn't do, old man; and listening to an old fart like you is one of them."
Despite his frail appearance, the elderly man seemed unaffected by the smoke. The cool grey eyes meet his gaze levelly, and Jackie sensed something that was outside of his experience; something he couldn't name or recognize, something close to... forgiveness, to sanctity.
Unnerved, Jackie inhaled deeply, only to find that the cigarette had gone out. Digging out the gold-plated lighter, he swore as it flickered and guttered; he glared at the old man. "Don't tell me, I shouldn't swear in church, either."
Without waiting for an answer, he shoved the lighter in his pocket and strode toward a large candle burning brightly on a side table. As he leaned down to the flame, an omnipresent voice thundered behind him:
"Giovanni Domenico Estacado, faccia attenzione alle mie parole! "
Jackie froze, as light brighter than the sun rendered the candle's flame indistinguishable from the white brilliance. Then he turned, arms raised to shield against the glare, "The name's Jackie; and speak English. You don't know me well enough to use my mother tongue."
The brilliance contracted to bearable proportions, and where the elderly janitor had stood before there was...someone, something else.
"Jackie, thee hast reached a crossroad in thy life. Thee hast a choice to make that wilt determine thy future path."
Squinting into the Light, Jackie could just make out the form of a man; a very large man, standing at something close to eight feet tall. No, not quite a man; men didn't have six wings. He groaned, wishing he hadn't been so careless. If he had waited until evening to go after Manetti, he wouldn't be so defenseless against this form of Angelus . But, damn it all, who would have expected any difficulty with such an insignificant gutter rat?
"I am not of the Angelus order." The Light dimmed further, until it formed a glowing outline.
A mind reader. Terrific. "Then what are you, some kind of angel?"
"I am an Archangel. I am called Michael."
Jackie's memory raced back to his youth at the orphanage of St. Gerald; the sadistic, bastard monks with their teachings of the Bible. Michael... vague references surfaced. St. Michael, the Archangel; he was different than the other angels, feared and respected. He was sometimes referred to as the Angel of Death.
"Michael... yeah, I remember hearing about you. What do you want?"
"It is not what I want, my son--"
"I'm not your God-damned son. Now get on with whatever you're here for, or get the hell outta my way. I stopped being afraid of fairies like you when I was five years old."
Fire blazed in the silver eyes, then dimmed with a visible effort at control. "Thee was chosen by Evil, Jackie; chosen by Evil to perform the deeds of Evil.
"Thee still has free will; thee still has a chance for our Father's Love and Redemption. I come to you now with God's Message:
"God's love is still strong for thee, yet thee must turn to His Son for redemption and forgiveness of thy sins. The brightness of thine soul hast darkened, Jackie; each transgression pulls thee deeper into Darkness, each sin inures thy soul to the Dark Lord, until thy will is no longer thine own.
"Continue along this path, and thy soul wilt be irrevocably lost."
"The last time I listened to a guy in a dress, I was laughing at his cries for mercy as I beat the s**t out of him."
"Thee dares to mock the Word of God? Thee dares to see thyself as mightier than His Archangel?"
"Give it a rest, Mikey. Without God backing you up, you're a worthless piece of s**t. A schoolgirl could kick your ass." Jackie Estacado had faced the worst that Hell and Earth had to offer; backing down from an 'angel' was akin to squatting to p**s. His amber eyes blazed with their own unHoly fire.
"My power is within me; in spite of God, I am the Darkness feared by man and angel alike. No one owns me, or tells me what to do. I decide who lives, and who doesn't. Not some arcane God who can't be bothered to help those who worship Him; who callously allows what little innocence that's left in the world to be degraded and used by the powerful." He waited for the Archangel's reaction, but the stern expression never wavered. "No argument? Must've been closer to the mark than I thought."
"To argue with one who is wrong serves only to give credibility to his words. Thou art cursed; thine actions wilt condemn thee to eternal damnation."
"You have a hell of a lot of nerve judging me. You're nothing more than God's Hitman; and, from what I remember, a hell of a lot better at it than I could ever hope to be."
"Thou art nothing in the presence of Light, pawn of Darkness. Doest thou think it to be a coincidence that thou art powerless in the light?
"Yet, thee truly believes that the power of Darkness is strongest of all. I allow thee the power of Darkness in the light. I allow thee access to Darkness; and thou wilt see that it wilt avail thee naught."
In the brilliance of God's Light, in the early morning rays of sunlight, Jackie Estacado felt the nearly limitless power and strength of the Darkness surge through him. He invited it into his being, welcomed it into his soul. The Darkness armor encased human flesh with the essence of Evil, scale and sinew of black, ochre, and green. Leathery wings swept from his back, aframework of black bone and tendons; the connecting membranes glistened a translucent ebony green, slick and oily. The manifestations of Darkness gathered close to their master, hiding from the light, growling and spitting in their hatred of the Light.
One Darkling scurried toward the glowing Archangel, a clawed hand reaching for the hem of the black tunic. "Hey, Mikey, whatcha wearing under that mini-skirt?"
But as the spindly fingers touched the golden Light, flesh and bone ignited and disintegrated in blue flame. "Holy Smoke, Boss--" He turned wide, astonished eyes to Jackie. "G-gimme a...hand, will ya...?" The eyes rolled upward as he began to topple.
Another Darkling, the smallest of the group, raced out to catch his brother as he fell back in a dead faint, the vaporized hand leaving splinters of black bone. The Darkling raised a miniscule fist, the voice high, shrill, and thin. "Ya crumb! Ya creep! He needed that hand! Ya'll pay, ya Holy Bastard; me and the boys, here, ya don't scare us--"
Michael simply glared down at the minute Darkling, fire burning blue in his eyes. The creature lurched back, letting the unconscious Darkling drop to the floor; he inched backward until he bumped into Jackie's foot, then quickly hid behind the muscular leg. He peeked out, hellfire green eyes glittering. "...by the way, does your hairdresser really know for sure?"
The Archangel shook his head, "Foolish, imbecilic spawn of Hell."
The Darkling straightened to his full height of 13" (on tiptoe), and puffed out his pigeon chest. "Didja hear that, Boss; he called me Spawn..."
The other Darklings crowded close to Jackie, urging him to action, "Com'on, Boss, get 'im!"
"Yeah, he can't do that to Bernie - poor guy, he'll never be able to jerk-of--er, shake hands again!"
"Show 'im, Jackie; knock the Holy crap outta him!"
A deep-throated voice chimed in, "I want the dress."
"Aww, Bruno, you always get the dress."
"Shut up, guys; look, he's gonna do it! He's stepping up to the plate, he swings--!"
Greenish-yellow energy arced around him; without preamble, Jackie hurled all the power he possessed at the Archangel, only to see it sizzle and fade before Michael's aura.
"Steeee-riiiike one!" The umpire-shirted Darkling brought down one finger.
Undaunted, he let the Darkness permeate him, and the gauntlets extended, talons forming razor-sharp edges. He rushed forward, the creatures of Darkness surrounding him; Michael stood his ground, making no move at defense. The scythe-like projections from the gauntlets cut through the air and at the first touch against the Archangel's armor, the Darkness armor disintegrated into a greenish vapor.
"Steee-rike two!" The Darkling brought down two fingers.
Jackie struck, bare-knuckled, feeling his fists hitting flesh, but without noticeable results to either Michael or himself.
"Steee-rike two anna-half...!" The umpire-Darkling brought down 2 1/2 fingers, looked at Jackie with concern. "Com'on, Boss, startin' to look serious, here."
Jackie stopped, summoned the Darkness armor once more, and lunged forward. An elaborate sword formed in his hand, the wide blade curved slightly, its edge deeply serrated, lined with dark energy. Michael lifted his hand, blue-white Light arcing the short distance separating them. Pure Light shot down the length of the sword, through and over the Darkness armor. Unholy screeches of agony filled the air as the Darkness creatures writhed and flailed, incinerated in white fire.
"Steeee-rike threeee! Yur out, ya bum-- no, wait, we're the bums," the Darkling struck franically at the blue flames engulfing his striped shirt, voice rising in anger and pain. "We're out - of here, sorry boss-man..." His writhing form began to smoke. "Maybe...maybe ya shoulda bunted, Jackie. Yaaagghhh, I'm smokin'--!!"
With a last shriek of agony, the remaining Darkling burned to oblivion. Jackie's own scream of agony cut short as the Light retreated, and Michael's form began to blur and fade.
"Remember, Jackie Estacado; the quality of Mercy is not strained."
***
Seconds crawled by like hours as Jackie regained his strength and composure. He lurched painfully to his feet, halfway expecting to find his clothing burned off; but the white suit was unblemished, and there were no scorch marks where the Darklings had been incinerated.
He looked upward, shook a fist angrily at the Heavens, "You self-righteous bastard! You're all the same: Tough talkers, but when it comes down to it, you're all f****** hit'n'run artists!" Yet he knew that the same scorching white fire that had claimed the creatures of Darkness could have just as easily claimed him; there was only one reason why it hadn't.
"I-I'm ready, Jackie. You-you're not going to do it here, are you? mean, should we go outside, or something?"
Manetti's voice interrupted his thoughts, and his hands tightened into fists. "Get out," he gritted through clenched teeth.
"Where...are we going?"
"Get out, Manny; get out and keep going until you're somewhere you can't pronounce, and then go a hundred miles further.
"Get out of here, and don't let me ever see your face again. Because if I do, they'll be picking you up in six states."
There was silence, then a quick scurrying of feet down the aisle, "Thank you, Jackie, thank you. I ain't gonna forget this, I promise..." The voice died away as he reached the front doors and was quickly through them.
Jackie Estacado slipped on dark glasses as he walked down the worn stone steps in the brilliant morning sun. He could count on one hand and still have three fingers left over the number of times he had let a 'hit' off the hook.
Mercy? Not hardly. Simply confirmation of his earlier statement - he, and he alone, decided the fate of his targets.
This time, he had decided in his own favor...
Epilogue -- Heaven
Archangel Michael hoped his return to Heaven would go unnoticed -- it rarely did, but he was always hopeful. As he half-expected, his Second-in-Command had been observing his encounter with the mortal, and greeted him with what could only be described as a smug smirk.
"Did I not tell you?"
"Yes, you warned me." Michael started to stride past him, but stopped. "They have...changed, Mihdael. He did not fear me at all; he did not--"
"Fall to his knees in abject terror? Mortals have not changed, Commander; you simply encountered one who has accepted the Darkness within his being. I have dealt with similar creatures before, those who use the mortal shell for their own purposes, even as the mortal soul is consumed by Evil.
"Yet, you sensed within him the same thing I did, as our Father has -- he is not yet lost, to either side. He considers his human status to be separate from angel and demon; he has not yet made his final decision."
"I do not hold out much hope for him, and I fear our next meeting will not be so amiable."
Mihdael shook his head, smiling slightly. "Do not underestimate the human heart and soul, Commander; try to see the shades of gray between black and white."
The great, emerald wings extended, and Michael's voice drifted back to him as the Archangel returned to his post. "Very well, then; next time, I shall send you to reason with him..."
SEQUEL: LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
Hope you enjoy it http://www.comics2film.com/UBB/smile.gif And I'm positive the formatting won't transfer, so that means no paragraph indentions and no Italics. Sorry about that http://www.comics2film.com/UBB/tongue.gif
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
ADULT LANGUAGE/SWEARING
[Author's Note: "Darkness and Light" was originally a vignette done for my own amusement. I was taking a break from my angel story/novel "ANGEL WARRIORS" and decided to try my hand at combining the characters I had it that story line with a story about Jackie meeting the Archangel Michael. A few disclaimers: 1) I'm not Catholic, so some references may be in error or omitted - any help appreciated, just mail me; 2) Jackie's full name - never given, as far as I know. Since 'Jack' is a familiar term for 'John', and 'John' is short for 'Jonathan', I used the Italian name for 'Jonathan', i.e. 'Giovanni'. Most Italians have at least one middle name; I chose 'Domenico' for Jackie 'cause I like the irony. There has been some debate among Darkness fans as to Jackie’s background; whether he is of Italian or Spanish (Spain) descent. For my purposes, I’ve chosen Italian.]
*********
Melinda Reynolds
~DARKNESS AND LIGHT~
Jackie Estacado restrained the impulse to kick open the imposing mahogany doors; instead, he paused for a moment to regain his composure, and make a covert scan of the area. This early in the day, the Morning Mass had not yet started; there were few people passing by, and the columnned entry was vacant. His quarry, a low-life nobody who had earned Don Franchetti's attention the hard way, had sought refuge in God's House, not realizing there was no refuge from Jackie Estacado. Don Franchetti had given him the option of scaring the informer into leaving the country, or dealing with him in a more direct, and permanent, way. As his hand closed over the grip of the 9MM, he knew there was no real decision to make; Ricco Manetti, small-time operator who had crossed into the big time with just a few choice sentences, was not long for this world.
Estacado opened the door slowly, eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness inside. The cathedral was not as large, or elaborate, as its peers; there were few places that afforded concealment. The rows of pews were empty; the altar, holding the vestments for the early Mass, were also vacant. He stiffened as his sharp eyes caught a stealthy movement in the overlapping shadows of the vestibule; his tall, lithe form joined the shadowy hallway as he advanced, gun at the ready.
Jackie pressed against the wall, listening to the slow, guarded footsteps. There was another sound accompanying the footfalls, a muted swoosh, swoosh that caused his dark brows to draw together. What was Manetti up to; he had ran into the church like a scared rabbit, wearing only the 5-year-old K-Mart suit and ragged gray fedora. Nothing that would cause a sound like the idle rotation of helicopter blades. Then a smaller shadow separated from the candle-lit hallway, and Jackie, ready to spring and fire - wanting to be certain Manetti would see, know, and recognize the last face he would see in this life - pulled up short, quickly concealing the 9MM under his Armani coat.
His near-victim was the stooped-over, elderly janitor; a worn broom was supporting his fragile frame as he pushed it over the age-darkened wooden floor. The janitor glanced up at him as he shuffled by, his steel-gray eyes surprisingly bright and alert. Disgusted, Jackie turned away from him, no longer an object of interest. Manetti couldn't be too far away, for he had hesitated only a few seconds before following him into the church.
Estacado jumped slightly at the light touch on his shoulder, whirled angrily to face a gold cross on a black field. Lifting his gaze, he glared at the tall priest standing behind him, not understanding how he could have failed to hear the man's approach. The priest was a head taller than Jackie, muscular shoulders emphasized rather than concealed beneath the black alb.
"I did not mean to startle you, but I already have someone waiting in the confessional. If you care to pray at the altar, I will be with you when I am finished."
"I'm not the one that needs to be praying, Father." Jackie pushed past the priest, jerked open the door of the confessional, "Come on out of there, Manny; let the priest attend to those who deserve his help--"
Manetti cowered in the far corner of the confessional, eyes large and pleading as he looked up at Jackie. "J-just let me con-confess, Jackie. I pro-promise, soon as I'm done, I'll...I'll do what you want. I know I can't ever get away from you. Just let me...make my peace with God..."
"For all the damn good it'll do you, Manny; what're you hoping to do, trade your 'E' ticket to Hell for an 'A'?"
A grip of iron closed on his forearm, pulling his hand from the latch. Reacting instinctively, the gun rested comfortably in his left hand, his patience at an end. "Back off, unless you want to meet your God a lot sooner than you expect--"
Before he could finish, Jackie found himself face down on the floor, the gun spinning beyond his reach across the highly polished floor. His right was arm twisted painfully behind him at a 45º angle with a large foot planted firmly in the small of his back. "This is the Lord's House, and you will conduct yourself in a manner suited to it."
The wizened janitor stooped over in slow degrees, picked up the weapon and handed it to the priest. He then retrieved his broom and busied himself at the altar.
"Now," the priest continued, manner and voice unruffled; he released his grip and stepped back, unloading the gun as he did so. "You can sit down and allow this man sanctuary, or I will escort you out."
Estacado got to his feet, ignoring the priest, straightening the wrinkles from his suit and smoothing back his hair, "Sure, go ahead—” he broke off, caught the gun one-handed as the priest tossed it to him. “Just remember I'll be right here waitin'," he directed his cold gaze down at Manetti, "and I don't like to be keep waiting."
***
Jackie leaned against the confessional, lighting a cigarette; the smoke curled lazily toward the carved ceiling as he shifted impatiently, the voices droning on and on in a low murmur.
He knocked rapidly on the door, "Let's move it along in there, Manny; I don't want to spend the rest of my life listening to your sins and transgressions." Thin wisps of smoke filtered through, and he exhaled another dense cloud into the latticework, "When this cigarette is finished, so are you."
There was no response, and he began pacing.
"Excuse me, mister," he didn't bother to acknowledge the quavering voice at his elbow, "but you shouldn't smoke in church."
Jackie shook his head, looked down at the janitor, and blew a cloud of smoke at him. "There's a lot of damn things I shouldn't do, old man; and listening to an old fart like you is one of them."
Despite his frail appearance, the elderly man seemed unaffected by the smoke. The cool grey eyes meet his gaze levelly, and Jackie sensed something that was outside of his experience; something he couldn't name or recognize, something close to... forgiveness, to sanctity.
Unnerved, Jackie inhaled deeply, only to find that the cigarette had gone out. Digging out the gold-plated lighter, he swore as it flickered and guttered; he glared at the old man. "Don't tell me, I shouldn't swear in church, either."
Without waiting for an answer, he shoved the lighter in his pocket and strode toward a large candle burning brightly on a side table. As he leaned down to the flame, an omnipresent voice thundered behind him:
"Giovanni Domenico Estacado, faccia attenzione alle mie parole! "
Jackie froze, as light brighter than the sun rendered the candle's flame indistinguishable from the white brilliance. Then he turned, arms raised to shield against the glare, "The name's Jackie; and speak English. You don't know me well enough to use my mother tongue."
The brilliance contracted to bearable proportions, and where the elderly janitor had stood before there was...someone, something else.
"Jackie, thee hast reached a crossroad in thy life. Thee hast a choice to make that wilt determine thy future path."
Squinting into the Light, Jackie could just make out the form of a man; a very large man, standing at something close to eight feet tall. No, not quite a man; men didn't have six wings. He groaned, wishing he hadn't been so careless. If he had waited until evening to go after Manetti, he wouldn't be so defenseless against this form of Angelus . But, damn it all, who would have expected any difficulty with such an insignificant gutter rat?
"I am not of the Angelus order." The Light dimmed further, until it formed a glowing outline.
A mind reader. Terrific. "Then what are you, some kind of angel?"
"I am an Archangel. I am called Michael."
Jackie's memory raced back to his youth at the orphanage of St. Gerald; the sadistic, bastard monks with their teachings of the Bible. Michael... vague references surfaced. St. Michael, the Archangel; he was different than the other angels, feared and respected. He was sometimes referred to as the Angel of Death.
"Michael... yeah, I remember hearing about you. What do you want?"
"It is not what I want, my son--"
"I'm not your God-damned son. Now get on with whatever you're here for, or get the hell outta my way. I stopped being afraid of fairies like you when I was five years old."
Fire blazed in the silver eyes, then dimmed with a visible effort at control. "Thee was chosen by Evil, Jackie; chosen by Evil to perform the deeds of Evil.
"Thee still has free will; thee still has a chance for our Father's Love and Redemption. I come to you now with God's Message:
"God's love is still strong for thee, yet thee must turn to His Son for redemption and forgiveness of thy sins. The brightness of thine soul hast darkened, Jackie; each transgression pulls thee deeper into Darkness, each sin inures thy soul to the Dark Lord, until thy will is no longer thine own.
"Continue along this path, and thy soul wilt be irrevocably lost."
"The last time I listened to a guy in a dress, I was laughing at his cries for mercy as I beat the s**t out of him."
"Thee dares to mock the Word of God? Thee dares to see thyself as mightier than His Archangel?"
"Give it a rest, Mikey. Without God backing you up, you're a worthless piece of s**t. A schoolgirl could kick your ass." Jackie Estacado had faced the worst that Hell and Earth had to offer; backing down from an 'angel' was akin to squatting to p**s. His amber eyes blazed with their own unHoly fire.
"My power is within me; in spite of God, I am the Darkness feared by man and angel alike. No one owns me, or tells me what to do. I decide who lives, and who doesn't. Not some arcane God who can't be bothered to help those who worship Him; who callously allows what little innocence that's left in the world to be degraded and used by the powerful." He waited for the Archangel's reaction, but the stern expression never wavered. "No argument? Must've been closer to the mark than I thought."
"To argue with one who is wrong serves only to give credibility to his words. Thou art cursed; thine actions wilt condemn thee to eternal damnation."
"You have a hell of a lot of nerve judging me. You're nothing more than God's Hitman; and, from what I remember, a hell of a lot better at it than I could ever hope to be."
"Thou art nothing in the presence of Light, pawn of Darkness. Doest thou think it to be a coincidence that thou art powerless in the light?
"Yet, thee truly believes that the power of Darkness is strongest of all. I allow thee the power of Darkness in the light. I allow thee access to Darkness; and thou wilt see that it wilt avail thee naught."
In the brilliance of God's Light, in the early morning rays of sunlight, Jackie Estacado felt the nearly limitless power and strength of the Darkness surge through him. He invited it into his being, welcomed it into his soul. The Darkness armor encased human flesh with the essence of Evil, scale and sinew of black, ochre, and green. Leathery wings swept from his back, aframework of black bone and tendons; the connecting membranes glistened a translucent ebony green, slick and oily. The manifestations of Darkness gathered close to their master, hiding from the light, growling and spitting in their hatred of the Light.
One Darkling scurried toward the glowing Archangel, a clawed hand reaching for the hem of the black tunic. "Hey, Mikey, whatcha wearing under that mini-skirt?"
But as the spindly fingers touched the golden Light, flesh and bone ignited and disintegrated in blue flame. "Holy Smoke, Boss--" He turned wide, astonished eyes to Jackie. "G-gimme a...hand, will ya...?" The eyes rolled upward as he began to topple.
Another Darkling, the smallest of the group, raced out to catch his brother as he fell back in a dead faint, the vaporized hand leaving splinters of black bone. The Darkling raised a miniscule fist, the voice high, shrill, and thin. "Ya crumb! Ya creep! He needed that hand! Ya'll pay, ya Holy Bastard; me and the boys, here, ya don't scare us--"
Michael simply glared down at the minute Darkling, fire burning blue in his eyes. The creature lurched back, letting the unconscious Darkling drop to the floor; he inched backward until he bumped into Jackie's foot, then quickly hid behind the muscular leg. He peeked out, hellfire green eyes glittering. "...by the way, does your hairdresser really know for sure?"
The Archangel shook his head, "Foolish, imbecilic spawn of Hell."
The Darkling straightened to his full height of 13" (on tiptoe), and puffed out his pigeon chest. "Didja hear that, Boss; he called me Spawn..."
The other Darklings crowded close to Jackie, urging him to action, "Com'on, Boss, get 'im!"
"Yeah, he can't do that to Bernie - poor guy, he'll never be able to jerk-of--er, shake hands again!"
"Show 'im, Jackie; knock the Holy crap outta him!"
A deep-throated voice chimed in, "I want the dress."
"Aww, Bruno, you always get the dress."
"Shut up, guys; look, he's gonna do it! He's stepping up to the plate, he swings--!"
Greenish-yellow energy arced around him; without preamble, Jackie hurled all the power he possessed at the Archangel, only to see it sizzle and fade before Michael's aura.
"Steeee-riiiike one!" The umpire-shirted Darkling brought down one finger.
Undaunted, he let the Darkness permeate him, and the gauntlets extended, talons forming razor-sharp edges. He rushed forward, the creatures of Darkness surrounding him; Michael stood his ground, making no move at defense. The scythe-like projections from the gauntlets cut through the air and at the first touch against the Archangel's armor, the Darkness armor disintegrated into a greenish vapor.
"Steee-rike two!" The Darkling brought down two fingers.
Jackie struck, bare-knuckled, feeling his fists hitting flesh, but without noticeable results to either Michael or himself.
"Steee-rike two anna-half...!" The umpire-Darkling brought down 2 1/2 fingers, looked at Jackie with concern. "Com'on, Boss, startin' to look serious, here."
Jackie stopped, summoned the Darkness armor once more, and lunged forward. An elaborate sword formed in his hand, the wide blade curved slightly, its edge deeply serrated, lined with dark energy. Michael lifted his hand, blue-white Light arcing the short distance separating them. Pure Light shot down the length of the sword, through and over the Darkness armor. Unholy screeches of agony filled the air as the Darkness creatures writhed and flailed, incinerated in white fire.
"Steeee-rike threeee! Yur out, ya bum-- no, wait, we're the bums," the Darkling struck franically at the blue flames engulfing his striped shirt, voice rising in anger and pain. "We're out - of here, sorry boss-man..." His writhing form began to smoke. "Maybe...maybe ya shoulda bunted, Jackie. Yaaagghhh, I'm smokin'--!!"
With a last shriek of agony, the remaining Darkling burned to oblivion. Jackie's own scream of agony cut short as the Light retreated, and Michael's form began to blur and fade.
"Remember, Jackie Estacado; the quality of Mercy is not strained."
***
Seconds crawled by like hours as Jackie regained his strength and composure. He lurched painfully to his feet, halfway expecting to find his clothing burned off; but the white suit was unblemished, and there were no scorch marks where the Darklings had been incinerated.
He looked upward, shook a fist angrily at the Heavens, "You self-righteous bastard! You're all the same: Tough talkers, but when it comes down to it, you're all f****** hit'n'run artists!" Yet he knew that the same scorching white fire that had claimed the creatures of Darkness could have just as easily claimed him; there was only one reason why it hadn't.
"I-I'm ready, Jackie. You-you're not going to do it here, are you? mean, should we go outside, or something?"
Manetti's voice interrupted his thoughts, and his hands tightened into fists. "Get out," he gritted through clenched teeth.
"Where...are we going?"
"Get out, Manny; get out and keep going until you're somewhere you can't pronounce, and then go a hundred miles further.
"Get out of here, and don't let me ever see your face again. Because if I do, they'll be picking you up in six states."
There was silence, then a quick scurrying of feet down the aisle, "Thank you, Jackie, thank you. I ain't gonna forget this, I promise..." The voice died away as he reached the front doors and was quickly through them.
Jackie Estacado slipped on dark glasses as he walked down the worn stone steps in the brilliant morning sun. He could count on one hand and still have three fingers left over the number of times he had let a 'hit' off the hook.
Mercy? Not hardly. Simply confirmation of his earlier statement - he, and he alone, decided the fate of his targets.
This time, he had decided in his own favor...
Epilogue -- Heaven
Archangel Michael hoped his return to Heaven would go unnoticed -- it rarely did, but he was always hopeful. As he half-expected, his Second-in-Command had been observing his encounter with the mortal, and greeted him with what could only be described as a smug smirk.
"Did I not tell you?"
"Yes, you warned me." Michael started to stride past him, but stopped. "They have...changed, Mihdael. He did not fear me at all; he did not--"
"Fall to his knees in abject terror? Mortals have not changed, Commander; you simply encountered one who has accepted the Darkness within his being. I have dealt with similar creatures before, those who use the mortal shell for their own purposes, even as the mortal soul is consumed by Evil.
"Yet, you sensed within him the same thing I did, as our Father has -- he is not yet lost, to either side. He considers his human status to be separate from angel and demon; he has not yet made his final decision."
"I do not hold out much hope for him, and I fear our next meeting will not be so amiable."
Mihdael shook his head, smiling slightly. "Do not underestimate the human heart and soul, Commander; try to see the shades of gray between black and white."
The great, emerald wings extended, and Michael's voice drifted back to him as the Archangel returned to his post. "Very well, then; next time, I shall send you to reason with him..."
SEQUEL: LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS