An Angel Afoot

Prolog

Merci, Missionary Angel, Echelon Three descended and shimmied slightly prior to her feet touching the ground. This effort encouraged her wings to conceal themselves into an earthly, less angelic form.

A breathtakingly beautiful metamorphosis if she did, from time to time, have to say so herself.

While the feathered appendages transformed behind her Merci engaged in her dutiful search of the area. A systematic inspection is always necessary and required. Effectively this will enable her to acquire her intake.

It is the normal order of a changeling squad to have a team of two angels. The team is comprised of a missionary from each of the interested consortiums. Both Heaven and Hell.

Seconds later, much like a box filled to the brim with rocks, Hatie dropped down beside and joined Merci. Stepping back a couple of feet Merci watched as Hatie’s wings too were transforming. During Hatie’s earthly conversions, they always appear to Merci to be a slinking, tangled nest of fitful vipers. Rather than feathers at all. The sight of Hatie and of her wings always, always makes Merci feel as though she may need to wretch.

Merci is tasked to represent the interests of Heaven. As its Missionary Angel and proudly her grade level is three. As it is termed in Heaven, an Echelon Three. Hatie forever damned and condemned to guard the soulless pursuits of Hell has yet to figure out, even after eons in his service, if Satan has any sort of ranking or a rating system at all.

As this too is the custom, Merci is in charge and command of today’s elevation. The intake target they are accountable to deliver back to the gates of Heaven for her judgment day is Mrs. Mildred Crane.

Reportedly, Mrs. Crane was a beloved wife, loving mother and grandmother of two. According to Merci’s report a good soul. Merci smiled broadly, as she recalled reading all of this.

Cast about, all around, mentally Merci noted the many bits and pieces of the damaged and mangled eighteen-wheel truck. The truck too had been referenced in her report that she was handed by the elders prior to journeying onto earth to carry out the assigned task.

According to that report, her changeling, Mildred Crane, also known as Millie and also known as Grammy was driving a small compact vehicle. At least that was how the vehicle had been reported to her in her report. White in color with four doors. Information about the make of the car was, as is the routine, provided to her in the Crane Elevation and Intake Report dated August, Year of Our Lord, Twenty Thousand Fourteen.

The truck, according to the report, had broadsided Millie just minutes ago. There appears now to have been no earth locked survivors. Staring intently Merci assumed, amongst the trucks scattered remains, were also parts of Millie’s destroyed car. A car that perhaps once could have indeed been a four door white Honda. Merci mused; none of it matters at all right now.

Merci had long since been convinced that the minutiae listed on the intake reports was just there because that sort of detail oriented angel was the personality type charged to work in that particular sector of Heaven.

Details, details, details. Why had they even bothered to share them? All they were good for was to nag in the back of her mind. As far as Merci was ever able to determine details were best left to the librarians of the world. Mentally concluding as she fussed about that nobody, alive or risen, would ever be able to put enough parts of this debris together to call it a truck or a vehicle, let alone describe any of it by make or model.

Thankfully, for her Heaven offers it angels a variety of other less tedious sorts of jobs. Merci was and always has been best suited to perform tasks that require a bulldog get it done efficiently and effectively personality. She is and always has been a meat and potato’s kind of girl. That is how she sees herself as being at any rate. On earth and now in Heaven her role as a missionary angel is one that is fitting to her and her talents.

Glancing over she caught sight, off in the distance, of the changeling squad processing another of the other intakes to her left. Merci nodded her head in an upward motion by way of greeting. That team was busy at work preparing the poor old trucker, who had caused the accident, for his elevation. His lead Missionary Angel, obviously filled with pride, waived over at her smiling after she had hoisted the man up. Now he was securely standing on his own feet.

Nice to see that the old person appears to be smiling too. Very happy to see them.

Merci’s upturned nose took in a whiff of the acrid smelling burnt rubber as it engulfed her sinuses. Dreading, as she considered it all, that the stench present in the air was not the only problem threatening inside her head. The air around her is thick with smoke and tension. Without a doubt the great Deceiver, the Devil or as he is most often referred to in Heaven, Satan, will very soon now make his grandiose emergence.

If her history with him and her seeing how quickly intakes can go nuts on you had taught her anything. She, Hatie and Mrs. Crane all needed to move quickly. Hopefully, avoiding Satan’s impending arrival.

Saved or a sinner. It does not matter. Terror can run very high, fast, when a person first finds out they are dead. If next they find themselves confronted suddenly with the Devil, it can become a hysterical blubbering mess.

As she again scanned the scene, hoping against hope that she could find Mildred Crane, perform her requisite intake tasks and leave before he knew they were even there she caught sight of, soaring over her in the field, another Missionary Angel elevation crew of two. At the sight of them, she allowed herself a brief sorrowful shake of her head. This crew, in keeping with the proper course of action and protocol in these types of situations, had been the first on the scene. The Heavenly rules and the Regulations dealing directly with elevating children dictate that they must also be the first in line to leave. Merci, cold to the bone at the sight of the child they were carrying off, shivered.

That team headed up by Joya, and Merci guessed Evilia was the angel from the sin pen of Hell that stalked in behind her, had drawn the short straw in the challenges now before them. Gratefully the Allan youngling was not her or Hatie’s responsibility today.

Merci paused and watched respectfully as they transported, by hand and foot each the both of them Joya and Evilia, the youngest changeling up and skyward. Strapped onto Joya’s back Merci noted too was a red and black backpack. It appeared to her to have a red spider boy or man on its flap. Spider backpacks are not a Heavenly issued item. Undoubtedly, it belonged to the child.

Chastising herself for the relief, she was feeling for not having to cope with a youngling, she sighed. Merci promptly concluded, in her defense, that dealing one on one with Satan always made for a long day. Never anything she could not handle. But, having to deal, one on one in the affairs that are encountered after a premature elevation of child, is for sure as near as she wants to get into a hellish situation. On those days, she fretted internally, even if you win you feel as though the battle for all involved might end up being a total loss.

When the three of them vanished from her line of vision, she allowed herself yet another moment of somber reflection. The younglings name is Allan. Allan Crane. He is the grandson of Mildred Crane. Written, along with his relationship to her changeling, is there for all to see, in black and white. All meticulously documented in her report. Now the family the child undoubtedly had left behind lay heavy on her heart.

Merci attempted to dismiss it all. To channel and redirect herself back to her current task. It was with her Boss after all about choice. Even though the report shared in its description how very young the Allan changeling is, it remains even so to be a matter of his freewill. At the end of the next seven days, seven hours and seven minutes his own freewill will determine his Heavenly position or what might instead turn out to be his earthly return.

Inwardly she prayed he would joyfully accept and welcome his soon to be new heavenly home. It is what she wished. For all those who are blessed to enter up and into the Kingdom.

As team one disappeared, now likely approaching the Infirmary on Cloud Level Two she suspected, Merci bowed her head. Softly, in an earth calming sing, song chant she uttered low and in a whisper:

"Our Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy will be done in earth..."

Blah, blah, blah, Hatie snorted as she hissed back at Merci. Like a rattlesnake poised to strike. Pull up your big girl panties ya wretched sap. What say you and me get on with it shall we dearie? My feet are dealing me some flame’n dogs of hell misery in all this drip eyed emotion commotion.

At hearing the first of what Merci had come to expect and count on as Hatie’s insensitive and unending grumblings Merci, merely gritted her teeth. Professional courtesy and respect for the job at hand dictated that Merci had to respond. She did so by way of a roll of her eyes over at her evil colleague. Merci then grimaced. Enough to contort her face into a weak smile as she continued,

"As it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,"

Merci found herself engulfed. Only for a moment. As the haze and stench of noxious fumes and the humanly toxic smoke produced after the tanker truck had just exploded. It forced her chanting to pause. As she did so, she curled her nose upward and attempted to forestall the cough now choking at back of her throat. The horrid smells seem to be seizing up her vocal cords.

Well, shhh, I mean hells bells. Do not stop now. You and that painfully hideous voice of yours are finally getting to the good part, Hatie chided. The EVIL part. I just love the evil part.

Pan faced Merci glared into the vile and life void eye sockets of Hatie while she droned on, it’s, you know, grinning as the worms coiled, oozed and issued from her mouth hole, it’s the piece that none of you goodie two shoe changeling beeachizs can ever truly surmount. Piss and moan, hack and groan as you all try and fail to deliver us from...

"For thine is the kingdom,

The power, and the glory,

Forever and ever, Amen. Hatie you had better watch that mouth of yours. Moreover, I might add too who you are calling the B word. Now Haggy dearest let us get to work shall we. It is after all a very bright, new beginning for Mrs. Crane," Merci commanded in not so much a question but as her way of a directing an order.

It’s Hatie not haggy, you B word you, Hatie growled, spit and as she wiped worm juice from her lips followed in line step behind Merci dutifully over to the devastation that once had been Mildred and Allan Crane’s car.

Chapter 1.....Texas

Mrs. Crane. Mrs. Mildred Crane? Millie. Ma’am would you like to come with us? the woman said as she scrunched up her nose and waived her hands in front of my face like a set of spastic windshield wipers.

As I raised my head slowly, it turned in her direction. Only slightly but now we are facing. I can see she is a lovely curly blonde haired woman. She is dressed in what looks to me to be a translucent, flimsy white night gown. I can see her amazing eyes. Crystal blue and more captivating than any I could ever recall seeing into before. Oddly, given the mess I currently find myself in, she is calmly smiling intently at me. Glaring, perhaps I pondered, by way of an invitation.

The woman does not appear stressed or alarmed by me. My car or anything relating to this situation does not seem to be rattling her at all. As if perhaps she does not notice that, I am, like a sardine, trapped in this death box. In my car. Strange too is the notion now darting around inside my head of her unorthodox smell. Unless I have lost my mind, it seems that she or at least the air around her, smells of freshly baked, warm from the oven, chocolate chip cookies. Maybe it is some sort of perfume that the woman is wearing. How very, very weird is she?

Behind her, and her long, billowing white dressing gown, is yet another woman. By way of a momentary glimpse, I can only faintly make out what she has covering her. Draped, as she is in what looks to be a heavy, thick black, silky cloak. Perhaps, now that I am eyeing her closer, it and she do not seem silky at all. The cloak appears fringed or burnt around some of its edges. I cannot make out her face or the color of her hair either. The cloak, with its attached hood, has it and the second woman’s face completely shrouded.

Clearly neither of them is from around here. Not from this part of the world, I determined. Not in those huge ballooning dresses. Ball gowns, cloaks, or whatever it is, they are wearing. I mean this is after all Texas. Nobody in their right mind would dream of wearing those get-ups here. In August, with temperatures akin to those found in the hottest recesses of hell.

I shook my head slightly in an attempt to clear it. In the midst of all this chaos, what am I thinking? I do not give a rat’s hinny what they are wearing or for that matter, what they smell like. I do not care if they are fresh from their momma’s womb naked. Help has arrived. I will live. Prayerfully I will live because they are here. They can, with some effort, save me. At the very least, possibly they will prove to be of some assistance.

Smiling inwardly so as to not offend I think too, judging from what I can see of the car crunched in around me, it might be right nice if they have a crowbar underneath those big butted dresses.

Mrs. Crane can you hear me? the kind woman in white ask.

All I can manage is an eye blink back at her. Mentally I know that this white dressed girl keeps talking at me. But, for the life of me, I am unable to answer or even now look directly at her. Might be too that I am having some issues in making out clearly what she is even saying. Come with her is what I think she is asking. Come with her where?

Irritated at myself and at my confusion, I turned away from her sweet as sugar voice. Instead of responding, I continued in a dazed and astonished state to stare. Peripherally, only as far as my line of vision, is allowing me to see. Noting too, frustrated, that the wobbly steering wheel has me pinned to my seat.

It does come to mind that continuing to ignore this kind woman is beginning to annoy me. Conceivably, if it is possible, even more than my repeated gawking to no avail at all the rubble. How in the world had this mess come to be? Call me crazy as a loon or not. I am, after all and no matter what else, from the geographical South.

Here, as a general rule us geographically southern women are not, on most days anyway, intentionally inclined on being rude to folks ever. Or ever unless they are foolish enough to be rude to us first. We Texas girls do tend to stand our ground when adversity or tacky folks hit us head on. What we do not do is to bite the hands of those who are kind or in this case just being nice and hopefully, too going to help us.

Hastily I resolved, in a panic, that I am, I must be suffering from a head injury. Concluding this I sighed loudly. Managing the sigh and ever so slightly shrugging my shoulders. It did not take a rocket scientist for me to figure out that only a slight motion of my very likely damaged body is a smarter move then me trying to make a quick one. Given I am uncertain just what my injuries are at this point I best temper my movements and use caution.

With astonishing calm, I next focused on the sunbeams riveting in at me. A veritable light show is dancing in, around, and all over the wreckage. Just like all the glistening colors seen when looking into the eye of kaleidoscope. The beams are exploding off each tiny shard of shattered glass. As far and as revealing as my eyes can see.

At least, I resolved, I am not seeing mangled parts of me strewn about in any of its colors but unable to stop myself I moaned, My poor, poor little car. As I uttered this, I tried too to set aside the beautiful lightshow.

To no avail, Yuck, I shrieked. The damned kaleidoscope is riveting off of and from all over me.

When this new realization hit, that what I am seeing is glass all over me and my body, I panicked. This forced my eyes to automatically dart upward. This action caused a new reality to bombard me. All the shards are probably from my broken, now air holey to the world-missing windshield. A revelation that somehow is forcing me to fear that, like it, I must be dead as a hammer too.

I queried, I have landed in Heaven. Heaven is in Texas, I uttered quietly. Pondering this notion for about half a second, it crosses my mind that, the notion of Texas in Heaven, might only be a brain fart. I am dead. I am certain of that but can it be? Oh yes, thank you Little Baby Jesus in the manger, I nearly squealed to the top of my lungs; Heaven really, really is in Texas.

I have been certain of this nearly all my Christian life. Where else could it be? Fleetingly though it is nice to know now too that it is Houston and its surrounding