Angel enclave in Petra; midwinter.
Uriel caught me at the lobby of the indoor pool, on my way to monitor the progress of Mishael’s physical rehabilitation. I had only just completed inspecting the Halflings’ muster. I glanced at my wrist: the time was twenty-one hundred hours on this wintry January evening. I was running late.
“You’re not going to find the child there,” my contemporary informed me. “He’s at the firing range. There had been machine-gun fire. The angel, Oreniel, was first to arrive and investigate. He’s with the Little One. Well, to be fair, our furry friend was first there.”
“Agent Saboteur?” I replied.
Uriel nodded: “Indeed.”
“He must’ve been spooked by the commotion,” I opined.
“Au contraire,” Uriel replied as we swiftly teleported to the practice range. “They’ve developed a solid friendship with each other.”
I was greeted by Gabriel who had also been alerted to the gun fire. He had had to defer his mission to investigate. Gabriel was keeping a small crowd away from the entrance. I found the angel, Oreniel, standing a few strides away from my son.
“He’s been uncommunicative and not readily mollified one way or another,” Uriel explained while we crouched down beside my son. He was sitting on crossed legs on the floor, hugging an Uzi around one arm and Agent Saboteur around the other. I wasn’t able to read his mood other than bewilderment, for that was all that was written on his countenance.
“Mish,” I said, stroking his cheek with the back of my hand, “what’s going on? Let me have the Uzi, son.”
He turned his face toward me while releasing Agent Saboteur who sprang up into Oreniel’s arms. My son put up no resistance when I prized the Uzi from his hands. I handed it to Uriel to be returned to the Armoury next door.
“I shot him, Mika,” Mish explained tiredly. He cocked his head at the practice target straight ahead. Scores of bullet holes riddled its head and torso. “There,” he added. “Do you see? I shot that demon.”
“That’s a target, son. See?” I informed him tenderly.
He scowled as he gave the practice target another look. He sighed: “I don’t understand.”
He looked up at me: “I haven’t been sleepwalking again, have I?”
I wound an arm round his chest. I helped him up. “Let’s get you out of here,” I told him.
We arrived at my office shortly thereafter. The angel, Raphael, had been standing by to examine his condition. Uriel was outside the door having words with Gabriel. Raphael had found my son in good health but, in his assessment, the child might have been in the grip of another nightmare and sleepwalking again.
“I might’ve taken a diazepam for my nerves but I hadn’t fallen asleep at the pool,” the child protested. “I heard his voice in the locker room before I saw him. He had a malevolent aura about him. The aura imbued in him a sense of the astral. He was cloaked all in black and he made a click clacking noise when he walked, as though he had hooves. And, so, I concluded that he was a demon.
“I followed him to the shooting range. There, he came up against me with outlandish threats about blowing up Headquarters. I don’t remember how or when I came to be in possession of the Uzi or how and when it was loaded with the magazine. I do remember the Uzi being discharged. I’ve also just now started to remember having seen the enemy vanish into the arboretum behind the practice range.”
“Whatever took place at the firing range,” Raphael informed him in a slow, empathetic voice, “you must’ve believed you were in harm’s way. You had felt you needed to defend yourself. But it wasn’t a demon, Mishael.”
Uriel concurred with the healing angel. He had just concluded his brief exchange with Gabriel. He persuaded the child: “Listen to us, beloved. We’re speaking the truth: you had discharged several rounds with the Uzi and they hit a practice target. Gabriel and Oreniel found empty shells scattered near the target, but no body. If you had shot someone, it didn’t leave behind a body or any other physical evidence.”
“If it had been a demon, there wouldn’t have been physical evidence,” Mish submitted. His visage was one of desperation now, his eyes darting from one elder to another, frantic for anyone to believe him. He added: “Besides, I told you he had vanished into the arboretum.”
Rising from the couch, he sought my support: “Mika, you don’t think I’ve been somnambulant . . . or . . . or delusional, do you? I thought the diazepam would help me avoid another sleepwalking episode.”
My heart broke for him. “I believe you saw something,” I replied. “I will reserve judgment for now concerning whether it had been real or a dream, or something you experienced in your somnambulism. But if you did shoot a demon, you would’ve left behind physical evidence of some sort.”
Raphael nodded: “Get some rest, Little One. No harm has been done for the Lord has been in control. It would behove you to take your concerns to the Lord in faith.”
“All right, thank you,” the child whispered dejectedly, accepting our viewpoints and advice. He sat back down.
The elders departed. Left with my son, I delivered him to his bed. I tucked him in. He closed his eyes, turning his back to me without another word.
I returned my focus to my paper work.
My focus was tempered by a strident outburst from my son’s room. It was a quarter past one in the morning. I found my son in another outbreak of nightmare – his seventh in as many weeks. The surface of his skin speckled with goose bumps, his forehead breaking out in cold sweat, he rolled out of his bed in fear. Then, he crawled on all fours toward the bathroom.
Appearing to be battling with a demon, my son began to shake and scratch wildly at the air. Mad with fear, he gave me an earful of his distress: “My eyes; I can’t see.”
I grasped his wrists and removed his fists from his eyes. I closely examined the tiny flecks of violet around the bright cerulean blue of his pupils. They appeared dilated.
“Wake up, Mish,” I ordered, enfolding him in my arms. “You’re having a bad dream again.”
I seemed to make him feel more fearful. He heaved me back, expanding his wings that covered all seven feet of his angelic stature. Then, he sprinted toward a window, pushed off from the ledge and floated in the air.
 |
| He sprinted towards a window, pushed off from the ledge and floated in the air. |
Their brief mission in Darfur a resounding success, Gabriel was returning to base with Raphael. I heard them floating above the roof of our Headquarters.
I see him, Gabriel informed me telepathically. We were starting to get accustomed to the child’s pattern of night terrors, which would always send him taking off into the air in spate.
Catching up to Mish, we wedged him between us. He darted arbitrarily to avoid us. Always on the alert, Gabriel intercepted him with his outstretched arms and mammoth white wings.
While Mish draped over Riel’s left arm, the latter promptly put him to sleep, his right palm clamped on the child’s face. I watched as the child’s athletic body, now a repository for a medley of self-inflicted bruises and contusions, instantly became limp. Needless to say, he had already sent his mischief maker back to the recesses of his subconscious mind from whence it came.
Gabriel deposited the child into my arms. A cold front was on the way, and the wind walloped his clammy body.
“Let’s get you back to bed and tucked up,” I told him, on our way back to his bedroom.
Mishael’s bedroom was a converted annexe I had personally constructed. Its eclectic interior had been entirely the child’s own concept. (An aside: moving my son out of his billet to the annexe in the rear of my office had been a mutually agreeable arrangement: Mish had a menagerie as closely resembling a ‘home’ as we could provide him, whereas the elders were able to shelter him from harm on the chance of catching him sleepwalking.)
With an en-suite bathroom attached to it, the bedroom was furnished with the usual trappings in a mishmash of design and history: a restored turn of the twentieth century armoire filled mainly with the child’s standard-issue regulation fatigues and several casual apparel that he used mostly for his personal exercise regimen; a double bed in a contemporary design, and large, just to roll about in it and, next to it, a nightstand made of warm red mahogany wood that supported his iPod, in addition to his Bible that he read every night. On the other side of his bed was a bookcase that he had bought new but deliberately distressed; it was chock full of three years of his collection of favourite theological tomes amassed from the finest underground bookstores in various cities. An antiquated white Steinway and Sons pianoforte, tucked away in an alcove beside the bookcase, was the accent piece of the room. It had been heard on the entertainment grapevine that a conductor of consequence, of the famed London Philharmonic Orchestra of the last century, had composed most of his sonatas on this piano. Completing the chamber’s assorted mix were a roomy Provençal armchair in russet leather and an eighteenth century lectern in a French style. The armchair had been acquired on offer at a bargain price at the child’s favourite downtown flea market, whereas the antique lectern had been Gabriel’s gift to the child on his second birthday. Mish had paired the lectern with a high-backed dining chair of yellow brocade upholstery, also from the rococo era. He had rescued the chair from the rubbles of an earthquake-damaged hotel in Versailles.
The child had been napping for about two hours. This appeared to have benefited him. He was coherent and of sound mind and speech when he woke up.
“What happened?” he first asked. He had found me watching him from my perch on his armchair.
“You napped,” I replied.
“How long?” he asked, stretching his limbs.
“About two hours,” I replied.
He nodded: “That’s more than a nap.”
I watched him silently.
“I’m sorry,” he stated self-consciously, “I’d been crying again. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
I nodded: the times I had serendipitously heard him huddled in tears under the shower head, while he laboured to come to terms with the psychological trauma of losing his eyes, and his courage to surmount its incursion, punctuated my mind. It had become a periodic occurrence since his nightmares began two months ago.
“You had needed to,” I assured him. “You had another nightmare.”
“I could be handling it better though,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t have to be such a wimp.”
I shook my head: “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. It’s why God has given us tear ducts. The Lord Himself had cried when the occasion called for it.”
He shook his head, lowering it. He noticed the sheen on his arm.
“Another bruise,” he observed, snickering quietly. “Did I tumble off the bed again?”
I smiled. “I believe that beauty was the result of your harried departure from the window sill.”
“Again?” he seethed. “It’s getting to be a childish ritual with me, isn’t it?”
I considered his self-deprecating remark with apprehension. It was also the first time I felt unsure if I liked the direction our conversation was taking.
He took a whiff of the salve on his bruise.
I explained: “Gabriel rubbed that on you using Raphael’s homemade embrocation.”
“Did he?” he asked. He jested uncertainly: “I wish I’d been awake to enjoy his massage. And here I was thinking I’d been a royal burden to him yet again.”
I shook my head, feeling thrown off by his sardonic tone: “You could never be. Gabriel loves you.”
“I know,” he said curtly. He avoided my gaze but flashed an obligatory smile. His eyes spotted a bowl on the nightstand. He appeared averse to finding out what was contained in it.
“Drink that before it gets too cold,” I advised him. “Raphael concocted the tincture for you; Raphael and Shelumiel, I mean. It’s supposed to help you get through the night.”
“No bad dreams for me,” he snickered again.
I smiled laconically: “Raphael swears by it. Go on, drink it.”
He obeyed quietly. As soon as he had ingested the last drop of the medicinal brew, he asked with a slight cough: “Where is he?”
“You mean Gabriel?” I replied. “He’s assisting with a mission in Fiji.”
He nodded: “I see.”
Then his lips pursed: “This is the third time he’s being posted there, isn’t this?”
I nodded: “Mm-hmm.”
His chest heaved. He added, sounding agitated: “He’s been away a lot lately. I thought he’d just returned from Darfur. Wasn’t that him I saw in the air earlier, with Raphael, too?”
I nodded: “We received Uzziel’s mayday summons for reinforcement about an hour ago. Gabriel has responded to the call.”
His brows creased: “Was there no one else who could have responded to Uzziel’s summons?”
I shook my head: “There’s still much to be done before the Lord pours forth His Final Bowl judgment on the world. The number of earth dwellers coming to the Lord each day grows exponentially as the Tribulation Hour draws to a close. It’s imperative that all the Lord’s angels are available to assist the Lord’s remnants to flee to the mountains of Petra, away from the Antichrist’s forces and Satan’s persecution.”
His eyes rolled. His Adam’s apple had been gliding up and down his throat the entire time I was speaking.
“All the brethren are deployed,” he said, smiling wryly. “And Gabriel’s leaving for Abu Dhabi tomorrow. I think I’ve only seen him four times in the last two months – from the time I became bedbound. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was deliberately keeping busy to avoid being here.”
For some time now, I had been paying close attention to his body language. All the signs appeared to point toward an impending implosion. I began to wonder how much longer he was going to be able to maintain his courageous façade.
“It’s true that Gabriel’s been keeping busy lately,” I told him. “He has personal issues to work through but, I assure you, he’s not avoiding being here or avoiding you, if it’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m not going to deny it,” my son replied. Then, he was biting the knuckle of his left thumb, his eyes blinking excessively.
“Gabriel has no reason to avoid you, son,” I assured him. “In any case, his busyness is legitimate: he’s had very urgent tasks to complete for the Lord. He and the angel, Haziel, have been appointed to prepare the nations on earth for the Lord Jesus’ Second Coming, proclaiming to people everywhere the truth that there is salvation and forgiveness of sins only in Christ Jesus’ shed blood on the cross. In addition, he and the angel, Abishael, are responsible for protecting the 144,000 witnesses of the Lord, the sealed ones whose ministry it is to preach the gospel of God’s grace to the world.”
“Yeshua Ha Mashiach’s Second Advent – that’s an event to look forward to,” the child whispered.
I nodded: “Indeed.”
He squeezed the space between his eyes, sighing: “It’s so quiet here.”
“These are perilous times,” I replied, carefully choosing my words. “Everyone has a task to fulfil.”
“Of course,” he answered bravely, nodding again. And, then, he started to crack his knuckles.
Something would have to give soon. I watched him swallow hard and bite down on his lower lip. I detected a slight quiver there. He was on the verge of a breakdown and I knew our conversation had to end.
Suddenly he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow: “Everyone has a task . . . everyone but me.”
Finally, I whispered under my breath. I approached him and sat beside him. I listened to his faint sobs.
“My sleepwalking, my nightmares and, now, I may be starting to hallucinate,” he whispered after a while. He pressed his slender fingers against his forehead and rubbed it several times, adding: “Or maybe I’m confabulating again. Arhh . . . when is it ever going to end? I feel incapacitated and I’m tired of being beholden to this feeling. I feel like I’m letting everyone down. You, most of all. I’m of no use to the Lord. I’m no use to you.”
“No, you’re neither useless nor disappointing to the Lord, or to me,” I assured him. “My darling son, you are important to the Lord. When will you realize this? Have you forgotten what’s written in Scripture? The Lord will leave behind the fold to look for even one of His sheep that’s lost. That’s how important each of His beloved is to the Lord. And you are beloved of the Lord.”
His head shook: “But with so much going on at this time, with the lives of the saints so much on the line, I shouldn’t be taking you away from your responsibilities to look after me. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. Even if you’re not sick of me, I’m sick of me. I feel so useless for not pulling my weight.”
“Do not listen to the Devil, son,” I encouraged him. “This self-loathing is a wile of Satan to destroy your faith in God. To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: you fulfilled all your responsibilities to the saints when you could. But, now, your responsibility is to get well. I’m not concerned how long this takes you. I want you to take all the time you need. No one is going to censure you for it.”
My son threw his arms over the back of his head. He whispered again: “You’re treating me like I can do no wrong, Michael. I don’t deserve this. Why are you being so patient with me?”
“Because I love you,” I replied calmly. “Because you’re hurting from feeling helpless and, so, you’re putting on a brave front, but it’s not necessary. Because it was horrifying, what you had to go through, and what you’re still going through and you have every right to time-off. You’ve had to grieve a long time for your loss and pain. But the worst is over. The Lord has been faithful and mighty to save. Focus on this.”
“I try,” he replied. “But I don’t really know how to deal with the memory. I keep reliving the horror. I was frightened and alone.”
“Never alone, Little One. The Lord’s with you all the time.”
He sat up. His mood was more serene: “My confidence had taken a knocking because of Abaddon, but I thought that when he was finally out of the way, I could feel safe again. I could start to repair my faith. Instead, my faith has been set further back, this time by Lucifer. I do feel lost again. And I’m tired. I’m so tired, Dad.”
My son hid his face in my tunic. I quietly comforted him: “I know you’re tired, Little One. It would be tiring to carry so much negative emotion in you, so unload your baggage and hand over the excess to the Lord. As He has promised: ‘Come to me, all you who labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.’ And when you feel too tired to keep up your faith, ask the Lord to renew the strength that’s in you. He promises to renew your strength so that you will soar on wings of eagles.
“Now as for Lucifer, you will forget all that he’s done to you over time. I promise. You’ve had time to grieve; it’s now time to heal. I’m not suggesting that time will heal you. It’s the Lord who heals. He’s always faithful: He will give good things to you if you ask in His will. So remember to ask; every time you start to remember all the worst things that have happened to you, ask Him to reach deep down into your soul and remove all your anger and pain and all your hurt and grief. He will fill the vacuum in your heart with His peace, joy and hope.
“Remember the words of the Lord that were given to the Apostle Paul: ‘We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and we rejoice in our hope of sharing the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance . . .’”
My child continued for me: “‘And endurance produces character, and character produces hope.’”
I nodded: “That’s right. And the Lord has said, ‘Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.’ Have you tried asking Him to comfort you?”
He shook his head: “I haven’t always remembered. Sometimes I feel embarrassed to ask.”
“You don’t need to feel embarrassed,” I assured him. “There’s nothing the Lord doesn’t already know – nothing surprises the Lord who knows the end from the beginning. And it is in our weakness, in our times of crisis, that we want to draw close to the Lord and depend on Him for comfort. He wants us to come to Him with all our needs for He wants to bless and comfort those He loves.”
He nodded, leaning back against the headboard: “I’ll remember to ask Him next time. About the incident with the Uzi earlier – I’m mortified. I don’t know what came over me. Please tell everyone that I’m very sorry for this evening’s agitation.”
I shook my head, rising from his bed. “Put that out of your mind, son,” I advised him. “We’re all grateful that you’ve come to no harm. And if it’s any consolation, I don’t believe you’re coming unglued or hallucinating. Something did happen but, for now, it’ll remain a mystery.”
He sighed: “Thanks, Dad, for the vote of confidence. I needed that. Have you a bit more time? I’ve a few questions to ask you concerning demons.”
“Demons,” I stated, settling down on his armchair across from him.
He explained: “I’ve lately been confronted by these beings I know so little about, and it leaves me feeling helpless. I don’t want to keep feeling this way.”
I nodded: “We don’t know for certain it was a demon that confronted you tonight. But what do you want to know about them?”
“For one, are they and the fallen angels one and the same?” he asked.
“Sometimes the terms are used interchangeably,” I replied. “However, if we want to be accurate, demons are the offspring of the unholy union between a fallen angel and a human being – a daughter of man, to be precise. They’re also known as Nephilim. The demons today are the disembodied spirits of the Nephilim: they became disembodied when they drowned in the flood of Noah. The flood was God’s judgment on this unholy union which, by that time, had tainted much of the seed of Adam.
“Fallen angels are like all angels. They’re bene ‘elohim – in other words, beings created by God. The Nephilim aren’t sons of God since God hasn’t created them. We call the fallen angels ‘Fallen Ones’ because they’re in rebellion toward the Lord. The humans also refer to the demons or Nephilim as the ‘fallen ones’ because they’ve been fathered by the fallen angels. Are you with me thus far, son?”
My son nodded: “Mm-hmm. I’m with you, Dad. Please continue.”
I proceeded: “Now where was I?”
“You were making the distinction between fallen angels and demons, which were their offspring, you said,” my child stated. “Called Nephilim, you said.”
I nodded: “Right . . . that’s right. Well, whereas angels can and do temporarily manifest themselves to humans at will, the way Gabriel and I manifest as the humans Gavriel Benelisha and Micah ben Israel, the spirits of the Nephilim need to possess a body to manifest. This is because they’re incorporeal by nature.”
“Is this the reason why the evil spirits went on to inhabit the herd of swine when our Lord Jesus cast out Legion?” Mish asked.
I nodded again: “That’s exactly the reason – and even then it was with the Lord’s permission. Well, Mish, these are some fundamental differences between a demon and a fallen angel.”
My child became thoughtful. Then he nodded: “I get it. If I had shot a demon tonight, there would’ve been bodily evidence – the body itself, blood, hair – since the Nephilim’s spirit would’ve had to possess a body to manifest to me. But since no body or other physical evidence was discovered, either I had dreamt the whole thing or I had shot at a spirit and it vanished?”
“That’s correct,” I replied.
“Is there redemption for a demon?” he asked next.
I shook my head: “The Lord’s redemption plan is for mankind alone. From eternity, the Son agreed with the Father that He would be mankind’s ‘Kinsman Redeemer’. God came to earth in the form of a man, born of a woman, of the genealogy of David and tribe of Judah, to die for the sins of mankind. He was man’s kin, not angels’ kin. The Nephilim were the direct creation of the unholy angels for the sole purpose of rebelling against God and destroying the woman’s seed through whom Jesus was to be born. There can be no redemption for the angels that fell and the demons they procreated.”
“I see,” he stated. “Do fallen angels have the same powers as you and Gabriel?”
I nodded: “But there are ranks among the angels, even among the Fallen Ones, by which we must abide until the time of their judgment. Some angels, like Lucifer and Abaddon, are more powerful than, say, the angel, Raphael, only because, as far as ranks go, they’ve been made rulers of the heavenly places before their fall. Thence all the Lord’s angels are bound, by law of decree and divine fiat, to judge or censure the rulers of darkness only at the Lord’s will.”
“Is Lucifer more powerful than you?” he asked next.
“In a sense,” I replied. “He’s one of the rulers of the heavenly powers as I just mentioned.”
“But you’re a prince among angels,” he reminded me. “You’re one of the chief princes, together with several of the other elders.”
“Guardians of territorial kingdoms,” I explained. “That’s what we are. Lucifer’s the prince of the entire world’s systems. He’s ranked more highly than I, but we stand shoulder to shoulder in might.”
“And demons – do they have like powers, too?” he asked further.
“No,” I answered, “but we’ve established that they can possess and indwell a human being. They can manipulate matter to a degree because they’re part angel.”
“And my possession last time was by a demon?”
I nodded: “Three demons, in fact. It’s a matter of semantics, but I’d prefer to use the term ‘demonization’ to describe your experience.”
The child nodded: “What did the demons do to me?”
I asked: “Don’t you remember what went on the week you were at the infirmary?”
He shook his head: “I remember being sleepy and wanting to sleep a lot. I remember wanting to end my life.”
“But you remember the fevers as well, don’t you?”
“I remember being in a fever one time and being inundated with ice cubes,” he recalled.
I nodded: “Nothing else?”
He shook his head again: “Tell me.”
I began to describe non-judgmentally howbeit reluctantly, “All right, son; but first of all, I want you to be clear that you’re under no condemnation for your actions that week. Okay?”
He nodded.
“Well, for a start, you had begun displaying behaviour that was out of the ordinary from day one of your time at the infirmary. In hindsight, however, I can see now that it was during the latter half of that week that the symptoms of your demonization truly became manifested, increasing in magnitude and frequency each day.”
I paused at this juncture to apprehend the sense of ferment beleaguering my spirit: I observed my son’s mood to ascertain the stability of his emotions. Confident he was reasonably primed for the truth, I proceeded, realizing his current condition nevertheless demanded that I be mindful of my tone and language.
“Now . . . as I recall,” I resumed, “you were displaying extreme mood swings, similar to the symptoms of a psychotic breakdown: your mood fluctuated between deep states of despair one moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up and cry in your corner, and hyperactivity the next, when you were nervously fidgeting with anything you could lay your hands on; between being affectionate and sociable one moment, when you would stop Abishael’s sentinels from leaving your chambers, and aloof or detached the next, when you were easily spooked by anyone that came within two feet of your comfort zone – even if that person was Gabriel.”
I shifted a bit on the armchair to study his demeanour discreetly. His brows had knitted together in a scowl.
I continued: “What I’m going to say next is going to sound completely out of left field, but, according to Gabriel, you were frequently behaving as if you were beholding something frightful before you. Demons, perhaps?”
Mish shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, uttering tentatively: “I . . . I really don’t recall . . .”
Nodding, I assured him it wasn’t his fault. I began again: “You were also given to bouts of tearful crying and outbreaks of fever and nightmare. This too is according to Riel’s observation. He faithfully kept a bedside vigil when his concerns grew over your deteriorating condition.”
My son’s shoulders shrugged once more: “I don’t remember those either. Or sensing Gabriel’s presence at my bedside.”
I nodded: “I understand. But while we’re on the subject of bedside vigil, another of Riel’s concerns was the issue of your sleep patterns. In accordance with his observation, although you were sleeping a lot, your sleep was scarcely peaceful: you were sometimes delirious in your sleep and frequently sleep talking as though you were engaged in heated conversation with someone else.”
Mish nodded, whispering: “Okay. What else, Dad?”
I hesitated: “Hmm.”
My son’s brows rose: “Don’t stop now, Dad. I’m okay; I want to know everything.”
“I know you do, son,” I replied. “And therein lies the dilemma: I’m hesitant to disclose this next bit of information. Ergo, it’s important you understand that Gabriel and I believe this one behaviour has been totally out of character for you, all right?”
My child nodded.
I continued: “Well, it appears that you were incontinent one night, resulting in a minor accident while you were sleeping. You had already stopped taking care of yourself, so you couldn’t care less about your incontinence. Gabriel cleaned and changed you; but for his intervention, you might have gone for days without a bath or changing your clothes.”
The child collapsed his head into his knees, which he’d drawn up sometime before. He winced, ever so quietly.
That was enough to compel an end to the conversation. “Lastly . . . you were starving yourself,” I told him.
He looked up from his knees: “Not deliberately, Dad.”
I assented: any positive reinforcement boded favourably for his emotional well-being.
“Nor even consciously,” he added.
“I know, son,” I empathized. “I remember; you told me.”
“Just making sure,” he pointed out to me.
“Again, son,” I assured him, “no one is judging you. Nevertheless, this all had been concerning for Gabriel. He knew you enough to suspect your malaise wasn’t simply a matter for our experts at the Medical Centre to sort out.”
“And you?” he asked.
“Me?” I replied. “Well, as for me . . . I had suspected for a while that you were going through spiritual oppression, but details of it were still too lacking then to act on my suspicions.”
I rose from the armchair to indicate to my son that my account had concluded. I approached the foot of his bed and settled down beside his feet. The conclusion of my account at this point lent itself to a short time of introspection for the child, which had been particularly beneficial.
My eyes were continually fixed on him, however.
“That’s quite a mélange of odd behaviour, even for me,” Mish whispered at length. “I remember not having an appetite but not why that was. It’s true that Abaddon’s apparition would haunt me in my sleep but I sometimes thought I was merely having a bad dream. I don’t remember most of the rest.”
His face flushed. He threw his arms over his eyes: “I’m sorry I soiled the bed. I’m so embarrassed.”
I consoled him: “It was out of your control, son. It happened once that night and hasn’t been repeated since.”
He dropped his arms: “Is this all, Dad? Are you telling me all there is to know? I mean, did I sin in any other way? Did I blaspheme God . . . use profanity . . . did I behave shamefully, or in a lewd manner common of demoniacs?”
I assured him: “No. No, no. That was all. I’ve told you everything there was. Rest assured, son, your spirit is forevermore sealed in the Lord. It’s unquestionable that the Lord would never permit the Evil Ones to take possession of your spirit. The Lord was protecting your spirit the entire time the demons were oppressing you: for one thing, you never shied from reading His Word, as is your nightly routine. Not even for one second. For another, you didn’t behave in a manner that was sacrilegious so as to profane the name of God. Only your body had been subject to an invasion, resulting in your mind and emotions being defenseless against the demons’ influence.”
“And my bizarre behaviour: you absolutely have no doubt that Abaddon’s demons had something to do with it?” he asked.
I nodded: “They were responsible. They were bending to Abaddon’s will. I’m willing to stake my life on it.”
“Gabriel suggested that I might be experiencing a resurgence in sleepwalking; the problem was revived while I was convalescing at the infirmary,” he stated next.
I nodded: “It was, but I’m agnostic about its cause. In the same way I’ve always been agnostic about the causes of your previous harassments.”
“Nevertheless, the problem has resurfaced,” he sighed. “And you agree with the elders that I sleepwalked to the firing range tonight.”
“As I’ve told you earlier, I shall weigh all the evidence before me and, then, make my judgment about it,” I replied.
“So many things are going wrong with me, Mika,” he whispered shyly. “It’s not perfect. Nothing is perfect anymore. I feel so ashamed that sometimes I’ve the urge to crawl under my bed and stay there.”
“There are imperfections in your life because, for the time being, we’re living in an imperfect world,” I explained. “The good news is, when Yah casts His eyes on you, He beholds an image of His perfect creation, redeemed by His beloved Son and justified by faith, and He is sanctifying you all the time. Someday, you will be perfect again.”
His confidence returning, he straightened up slightly: “Why wasn’t I able to see the spirits of Abaddon’s demons before they inhabited my body? I’m confounded because I was able to see Ze’ev Griner’s demon before the skin crawler took possession of the boy’s body.”
“Your part-angelic power rightfully gives you the ability to see all entities in the spiritual realm,” I explained. “It’s the power the human race has dubbed, ‘the third eye’. But, that’s another example of New Age drivel. I submit that Abaddon had very likely cast his supernatural power over you to blind you to his demons’ existence for the purpose of invading your body without your realizing it. His body was temporarily playing host to the demonic spirits before he ordered them to relocate to your body. He had transferred them to your body through his breath. Abaddon was aware that without casting the blinders over your eyes, you’d have made yourself scarce long before the demonic spirits could get close to you.”
“I suppose by ‘blinders’, you’re referring to Abaddon’s unholy spells and dark magic. Are all angels able to cast spells and magic?” he asked.
“If by ‘spells’ and ‘magic’ you use them colloquially in reference to our supernatural powers, then yes,” I replied. “All angels – this includes the Fallen Ones – possess that ability. Angels’ supernatural abilities include moving tangible objects without touching them; assuming invisibility; shape shifting; casting solid matter before the eyes of humans so that they appear to be blinded, and walking through solid matter. Many of these capabilities, however, are due to our ability to act beyond the four spatial dimensions to which humans are presently limited.”
“All of these capabilities have been bestowed on Ari and me, on all the Halflings, too,” he commented. “Except for our height. We can’t change that. The default height of the brethren, while they’re on earth, is between eight and nine feet. Nevertheless, if you choose to be ten, or twenty, or even fifty, feet tall, you possess the power and divine fiat to facilitate a transmogrification. Moreover, the brethren are able to manifest themselves to the human race and to the kindred in any form, shape and appearance they choose.”
I nodded.
He added: “And unlike the brethren, the kindred are supernaturally empowered only when they’re in their angelic states. Therefore, like my kindred, I need to be able to muster all my strength to assume my angelic state; otherwise, I’m limited by my human state.”
I nodded again: “Limited – that’s the operative word; you’re not completely impotent in your human states. You’re still in possession of some powers in your human states. For instance, you still have the use of your six senses and telepathic abilities. The human race has not been endowed with these powers.”
“Speaking of our telepathic abilities,” he pursued. “Are they unique to us?”
I nodded: “Angels are not usually capable of reading minds; either a human being’s thoughts or each other’s. The elders and the underlings they’re handling have been granted this temporal power for their specific roles on earth, but only with each other’s permission can they access each other’s minds. Let me make it very clear: we cannot hear or read the thoughts of human beings.”
The child stated: “But angels can imbue their ideas in humans’ minds.”
I nodded: “They cannot read their thoughts but they can plant ideas in their minds, such as plant seeds of doubt or iniquity. Or seeds of confidence and faithfulness, as the case may be. In your case, they cannot read your thoughts but they can speak into your mind, such as giving you an idea; but it’s only with your permission.”
He said: “I know that both the demons and the Fallen Ones cannot do anything to me without the Lord’s permission. For instance, Abaddon and Lucifer, too, are bound by God’s edict to serve their Creator. That means everything Abaddon and Lucifer have done to me – it’s the Lord who’s allowed it. I don’t like to question the Lord’s will but I keep wondering why that is.”
I answered: “Beloved, if you were allowed only one thing to know with certainty, it should be this: the Lord is good. God is not the author of evil. It is Lucifer who’s the author of evil. Indeed, the Lord is the One who chooses to allow His children to undergo suffering and chastisement. Sometimes this suffering is caused by Lucifer, for the Lord does choose to allow Lucifer to test His children. The Lord has His reasons for allowing this test: remember what I taught you some time ago about the Lord’s trials and tests? The Lord, in His omniscience, allows His servants to be tested to fulfil His overall purposes.”
“To strengthen our faith, to deal with a character weakness; you taught me this,” he said.
I nodded: “Sometimes trials come a person’s way as a direct result of a sin that has been committed, such as disobedience. The Lord allows those trials to teach His children obedience.”
“I realize I’ve been disobedient to you and the Lord,” he nodded. “I’m reaping what I sowed.”
I assured him: “Then learn to be obedient to the Lord. And rejoice when you’re being tested. In all my years of following the Lord and observing His dealings with His redeemed ones, I haven’t known Him not to chastise them with His trials and tests. Being tried and tested constitutes an integral component in a disciple’s training and growth in the fruits of the Spirit. For that disciple was once a sinner but now reconciled to God by the blood of the Son; however, he still struggles with a sin nature because he’s not yet perfected. Through His chastisement, Yah refines and perfects His children so that they will conform to the image of His Son. As far as I know, someone who professes to be a child of God, but has never been tried or tested, is the one who really ought to wonder and question why that is.”
“In light of my limitations, how do I protect myself from the evil ones?” he pursued further.
“Well, why don’t you tell me?” I effected a reversal of tactics and asked him.
“Have nothing to do with them,” he suggested. “Don’t invite them into my life; don’t conjure them or pursue the things of demons like divination, necromancy and channelling. Gabriel has taught me this much.”
“Absolutely, it’s all of that,” I told him.
“But they sought me out,” he reminded me.
“And you can tell them to leave you alone,” I reminded him, “you have that authority, but not by your own strength and might. Angels’ authority over demons is not their own. You have authority in Jesus’ name to tell the forces of darkness to flee from you. You even have authority to cast out demons in Jesus’ name. The Lord is their God, too. The name of Jesus Christ alone compels them to submit to the Lord and obey Him. Just keep your eye on the Lord and be unafraid, believing that the Lord’s name has the power to save you. You can say something like this: ‘The Lord your God rebuke you. I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to leave this instant.’ Now, some of the forces of darkness may prove too strong for you, as you found out concerning Abaddon; so when necessary, send for reinforcements. Gabriel and I can hear your thoughts, within limits. Don’t ever feel shy about asking your elders for help.”
“And all human believers can cast out demons, too?” he asked.
“Humans cannot and should not call on angels to help them cast out demons,” I told him, “for the authority to cast out demons belongs to the Lord alone. A believer who attempts to cast out demons must possess unflinching strengths of conviction and faith in the power and authority of Jesus Christ to deliver and save. Otherwise, someone with a weak will and faith should seek the help of someone else who’s mature in his faith.”
“That makes sense,” he maintained, sliding down under the bed covers, “since he’s dealing with entities much more powerful than he is.”
My son had burrowed under his comforter. His mind appeared to be meandering, his eyes blinking frequently and his brow bones rarely relaxed. Mish would be lying like this for some time, processing in his mind every bit of the information he had received this evening.
“I understand,” he nodded finally, perusing the wall clock for the time. “Everything’s a lot clearer now. Thanks, Dad, for hanging with me for so long.”
The effects of Raphael’s tincture were starting to kick in. My son yawned. Then, he added, while succumbing to his drowsiness: “I’m going to beat this, Dad. I give you my word.”
I replied: “Of course, you’re going to beat this but you’re not chasing a deadline. Like I said earlier, I want you to take all the time you need.”
He nodded.
Agent Saboteur gamely wandered in and leapt up onto the bed with us. He settled down on my child’s feet to snooze.
The child cast his gaze on the pure-bred and whispered: “Thanks, buddy. You know, Dad: Ari believes that our fur baby’s been loaned to us for our emotional recovery. Like, when we return from a battle. Just his presence is therapeutic, in lieu of psychotherapy.”
I smiled: “Psycho-babble. And, yes, Ari’s very perceptive. Yah’s very much aware of your needs and has provided for all your needs . . . from the start.”
“He has. He is so good.”
“Do you want to tell me about your nightmare now?” I asked him next.
He shrugged: “It’s the same dream I’ve been having recently. You were meeting Lucifer in battle. I was there, too. We were in full battle array. This time, however, you were killed by the Devil’s sword. You were trying to protect me. After he killed you, his demons blinded me. I know it was only a dream but my fear had felt very real. I fear it might be a presage of something imminent. As paranoid as I am about being blinded, I’m more concerned about losing you. Are you going to get killed, Dad? Am I going to lose you? I couldn’t bear it.”
I shook my head: “Even if it were a premonition, even if I did meet Lucifer in battle someday soon, and that’s quite likely, the outcome would be in our favour. Have you forgotten? I cannot be killed. You can trust me on that. My flesh is the flesh of a spirit being. I’m immortal. On the other hand, your body is made of flesh and bone that are material and subject to decay and destruction. For this reason, the Lord has not ordained that Halflings meet angels or demons in arm to arm combat. Don’t be afraid, beloved. You’re never going to lose me. I will never leave you an orphan.”
He nodded. Then, he asked: “Will you stay with me for a while longer? If you’re not too busy; at least, until I fall back to sleep? I need you to awaken me when I have another sleepwalking episode.”
I assented, sitting up next to him. I leaned against the bed head while I drew up my knees (after all, I was an eight-foot entity squeezing into his six-foot bed).
“Mika,” he whispered.
“Yes, son.”
“I’m really doing a lot better,” he stated. “Gabriel can verify this.”
“What are you trying to tell me exactly, Mish?” I asked my child.
“What I’m trying to tell you exactly,” he explained, “is that I’ve spent the last ten weeks, and then some, in intensive strength and combat training, not to mention plenty of rest. Tonight’s episodes notwithstanding, I believe I’m ready for duty again.”
I considered him briefly. “You’re still being haunted by bad dreams, Mish,” I told him honestly. “You’re still too vulnerable.”
“But I feel so much stronger already,” he protested.
I shut my eyes. I took my time to consider my son’s request.
“All right,” I finally said in a quiet voice. “But I’m putting you on notice. You’re under strict observation from here on. If, and only if, I’m absolutely convinced your recovery has shown good progress and your health will not compromise your safety and that of the people around you while you’re on a mission, I’ll allow you to return to duty.”
“Do you give me your word to be objective in your observation?” he asked.
“I’ll do my best,” I vowed. “I shall also be abiding by the Lord’s counsel and directives. The Lord’s counsel stands above all others’.”
He nodded. “That’s fair,” he said.
My son slept in my arms till daybreak.
