Pauline Batan—
The man jolted awake on a cold metal chair with his head in dull pain. His sight, blurry at best, tried to make up his surroundings. Varnished walls, adorned with photographs of various scenery—lakes, mountains, and forests, made up the room he suddenly found himself in. He looked around as much as he could with his limited vision.
A large window to the left outlooked what seemed to be the sky. There was no land nor water to be seen, not an indication of his whereabouts.
“God help me,” he gasped.
The man pulled himself up from his chair. He inched closer to the window and let out a shaky breath at the sight. He closed his eyes and mindlessly reached for the silver rosary around his neck. When he felt the metal, he let out a sigh of relief.
He opened his eyes again, vision still settling to the light coming through the window. He turned back and began to notice other things that were in the room. To his right was a single door and beside it, a small filing cabinet.
His hazy gaze settled on the large mahogany desk in front of him. Behind it, he finally noticed the blonde figure that was sitting patiently, watching his every move.
The man yelped and recklessly pressed his back against the window. The back of his skull hit the thick glass. A dull thud followed.
Although bleary-eyed, the man tried to take a better look at the individual. He saw pearly white teeth encased in an eager smile, and piercing blue irises locked on his own eyes, unmoving.
It was another man on the other side of the desk. He was dressed neatly in a white short-sleeved shirt. Pinned on his breast pocket, a golden nameplate with the initials “A.M.” written on it. His skin was ghostly pale, and his long, slender arm rested against the wood, fingers tapping gently on the surface in a constant rhythm.
He took a hesitant step to see the man up close.
“Who are you and where am I?!”
“Hello, Father Andrew! You’re finally awake. Take a seat, please,” the other replied in an enthusiastic tone.
Andrew’s body froze.
“What did you call me?”
The man maintained a joyous manner but did not move an inch from his seat. He simply raised a hand, gesturing towards the metal chair.
“It’s alright! I understand that you probably have a lot of questions at this moment. But I do suggest that you come take a seat,”
“No, you will answer me. Who are you? Where have you taken me? How is it even possible for you to take me? I was—”
Andrew paused suddenly.
He proceeded to pat his entire body vigorously—chest, legs, back, and arms. He then unbuttoned his shirt open, eagerly searching for something on his torso.
“How…”
He stared at his empty palms. His breathing got heavier and quicker at the sight.
“…how am I unscathed?”
“You have passed. You are in the afterlife,”
Upon hearing those words, Andrew’s body started to betray him. His knees buckled quickly, he had to reach for the chair instinctively before he fell. A screeching sound of metal echoed as it rubbed against the hardwood floor.
His heart felt so heavy that it was suffocating. He clutched his rosary once again.
“Sir, whoever you are, please, I beg of you, you have to let me go—”
“Andrew, take a seat. This is not an ask. It is an order,”
The man’s voice became a deep snarl, a sobering contrast from his high-spirited tone mere seconds ago. His grin turned into a petrifying scowl. His pupils massively dilated, barely leaving room for the white of his eyes.
Andrew’s eyes widened at the man’s sudden change of demeanor. He let out a shaky breath as he dragged himself back on the cold seat. Within the blink of an eye, the man’s face contorted back to a joyous expression.
“I apologize,”
The man spoke once again in a cheery tone. He then gave Andrew a smile that never reached his eyes.
“I should have introduced myself earlier. I am the Archangel Michael, and I am here to execute God’s judgement now that you have passed,” he added.
Andrew sat in silence and hid the shakiness of his hands underneath clenched fists. Gaze fixed on the floor.
“I honestly thought you would have an easier time believing me. You’re a priest after all,” he said.
The angel’s eyes darted to Andrew’s fists.
“Don’t be afraid. If you have lived your life the way God intended, there is nothing for you to worry about,”
With a trembling voice, Andrew replied.
“I can’t simply take your word for it. For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light,”
The angel pursed his lips in a thin line and huffed.
“Your years of priesthood sure has been paying off,”
He then returned his gaze back at Andrew.
“It is very unfortunate that you weren’t able to save the child. It must have left you with deep regret,” the angel spoke.
The priest’s stomach turned.
“No, that cannot be true,”
The angel chuckled.
“Not every troubled soul bewitched by the Devil can be saved by God’s most faithful subjects. Not even the most powerful exorcist to ever grace humanity could help her,”
Andrew raised his cross.
“Enough with your false words, devil!”
The angel’s piercing eyes illuminated the silver, but it never burned his hide.
“You could not save her no matter what. Her lack of faith to God has caused her demise,”
His once polite words had turned into vicious mockery. He then raised a brow.
“Or perhaps… it had nothing to do with her faith. I have yet to consider the fact that her death had everything to do with yours,”
Andrew clutched his cross harder.
“I order you, devil, in the name of Jesus Christ,” he said sternly.
The angel rolled his eyes at the statement, then continued.
“Oh, Priest. It would be comedic given the reputation you have made for yourself. But did you ever think that it could have been YOUR lack of faith?”
The priest’s jaw clenched.
“Stop—”
“Your WEAKNESS,” the angel added.
“Stop it!—”
“Your PRIDE that cost God another soul,”
Andrew let go of his cross. He immediately lounged at the angel and pulled him closer by the collar with extreme force.
“I said stop it! Where is she?! Where the fuck did you take her?!”
The angel barked out a laugh. Thick, disgusting spit splattered across the priest’s face.
“Have you forgotten to mind your tongue? Be an example, “Father” Andrew. The children look up to you, Especially your own,”
The angel’s bony fingers grabbed him by the head. A strong pulsating sensation from his hand sent vibrations throughout Andrew’s skull. The priest’s jaw fell slack, his entire body limped, and the hands that were once grabbing onto the angel’s collar slammed lifelessly on the mahogany.
“Everything alright, Father Andrew? Is your faith faltering yet?!”
The angel then stood up from his chair, and Andrew was able to see his full stature. The walls of the room stretched upwards to make space for the angel’s size. The priest was puny compared to the other. To the angel, he was nothing, but a paralyzed animal dangled by a large, monstrous hand.
“YOU TOOK AN OATH TO SERVE THE LORD YET EVEN IN YOUR LAST BREATH YOU WANTED TO SAVE YOUR WORST SIN,”
The angel flung Andrew back on the metal chair—the seat now upright and the priest propped on it as if he sat down on his own volition.
Andrew did not sustain any injury or wound from being thrown. Yet, he emitted shorter and quicker breaths.
He looked back at the angel that loomed over him as he clutched hard against the seat.
“If I am a laughingstock of a priest because I tried to keep my ‘sin’ alive,” Andrew spoke.
The angel remained silent, only a piercing gaze in response.
“You’re too violent, too disdainful, you are too full of spite and hatred to be an instrument of God!” he added.
The angel let out a low snarl in response.
“And if this is the afterlife that God has promised me,”
Andrew weakly raised his cross once more.
“Then let my faith falter,”
The priest broke his rosary off his neck.
“SILENCE FROM YOU! I AM TIRED OF PLAYING THESE MIND GAMES. I. AM. GETTING. HUNGRY,” the angel spoke.
The angel then threw the desk through the window, and it left a massive hole that looked out to the vast sky.
“THIS IS THE ONLY THING LEFT FOR YOU AFTER LIFE, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT,”
Andrew stepped back until his back was pressed against the wall once again.
“GOD DOES NOT EXIST,”
The angel stepped closer.
“YOU ARE SIMPLY MY NEXT MEAL,”
The angel leaned down to the priest. His moist breath could be felt from a foot away.
“AND THE MORE FEARFUL YOU ARE, THE TASTIER YOUR FLESH IS,”
The angel hinged its jaw open.
With what remained of his strength, and the contrast in their sizes, Andrew nimbly dodged the being’s teeth as it snaps.
He then made a run for the massive hole that the angel created.
“Ava, please live for Dad just a little bit longer, I’m coming for you,” he mumbled as he welcomed the howling wind.
In the corner of his eye, an elongated arm reaches for his leg.
Purple Finch Press 