The Unseen

Chapter 4

He chuckled at my impatience. However, the mirth didn't reach his eyes. In them there was only deep, indescribable pain. The type of pain I have never seen before.

"I wish it was as simple as that," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper that tickled my ears and made my heart ache for him, "I am neither an angel nor a demon. I am stuck in between. Heaven doesn't think I am worthy of belonging with them. Hell thinks I am too good to belong with them. Those like me are unseen. Humans can't see us. Heaven and Hell choose not to see us. We are cast away, trapped in this limbo of an existence, unloved and unworthy of love."

I only realized my mouth was wide open when he lifted his hand and gently closed it for me, his touch causing strange sensations to course through my whole body. The oddest combination of warmth and cold I felt seemed to confirm the truthfulness of his words.

"But that's impossible," I said, unwilling to accept what my heart was saying. "That's irrational. There are no such things as angels and demons. Those are all myths."

"Maybe you are right," he said, looking at me in a way that made my skin tingle. "Even if I am just a crazy guy, why don't you listen to my story? It might help you figure out a thing or two."

The fact that I wanted to listen to him talk about anything wasn't the only reason I nodded in agreement. Admittedly, it was a big part of it but there was also the need to believe.

"Even though none of them accept us, they still believe that everything has its purpose, so they give us jobs neither Heaven nor Hell wants to do, for different reasons. We do it because it gives us a sense of purpose as we belong somewhere. But the truth is that we are always alone and unwanted no matter how much we want to believe otherwise," Andromalius said sadly.

He looked so vulnerable that I wanted to hug his sorrow away because even if the story was made up, one thing was as real as it could get, his pain. Although he wanted to pretend, to act tough, I could see that not being accepted by his family was still a burden that weighed him down, and probably a big reason why he seemed so closed off. Avoiding any further pain after you had a lot of it was a feeling I understood all too well and could sympathize with.

"My parents were together before the Fall. I guess they were in love," he said, doubt coloring his voice, making it clear he didn't think highly of either of his parents. "However, when I was born, my father had already fallen, and it was determined that as a male child, I was to follow him down to Hell. I have never done anything wrong. Yet, I was cast aside like I didn't matter."

His words made it even less likely to believe that he was an actual celestial being. Still, it all felt based on a rejection that he actually suffered, so I didn't call him out on the mystical parts. As far as I knew, angels were amongst the purest beings, and I refused to believe that they could do anything as cruel as condemning a child for the sins of its father.

Even though I felt sympathy for him, his answers didn't explain anything because they weren't based on reality. So, I allowed some of my frustration to escape.

"How could they have you? I thought angels didn't have genders, that they didn't reproduce," I said stubbornly, wanting to stop him from telling me stories and to tell me the actual truth, no metaphors, no made-up celestials.

"You ask some really rude questions. Surely, if I asked how your parents created you, you would get offended and embarrassed and wouldn't want to discuss the topic. Yet, here you are asking those types of personal questions," he said, seeming unperturbed by my lack of belief in his story.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean... I didn't think..." I answered, blushing.

I didn't mean to question his procreational myth but poke holes in his story. However, it occurred to me he might actually believe what he was saying. Thus, my comments could, in fact, be construed as rather inappropriate.

"You humans rarely do think through your words," he said, sounding like he was above all of that, "But to answer your question, angels evolved and are not much different from humans. They love, they hate, and they feel pain. It's just much more civilized. Most of the time."

The more he spoke, the more confused I felt. Even my impossible guess of him being the Angel of Death was less confusing than what he was talking about.

What he was saying made no sense.

It couldn't be.

Yet, he seemed so convinced in the reality of his words that I couldn't help but question myself, my sanity because some points were making sense. After all, I did see something otherworldly happening around him.

Or did I?

"That still doesn't answer my question," I said sternly, trying to keep the conversation on track (what track, I had no idea, but at least I wanted to try to keep it on the same line of questioning). "Are you or are you not the Angel of Death?"

"Wow, you sure are stuck on that particular question," Andromalius said, sounding equally confused and amused. "Everyone else would have wondered where we know each other from and why you don't remember me."

His words made sense, but I didn't want to admit to him, not even to myself, that those answers frightened me because I had an idea about when we could have met as large chunks of my memory were missing from that day and even days and weeks after that.

However, going back to that time, reliving all that wasn't something I was ready to do. Not yet. Thus, I chose to first understand who this person to whom I seemed unreasonably drawn was.

"I'll get to that later," I said, pretending to be nonchalant when I was anything but. "First, I want to know who exactly I am talking to."

"What I do is not who I am," Andromalius unexpectedly snapped, only returning to his normal tone when he noticed me jump slightly. "My work doesn't define me."

There was something in his eyes, some deep suffering that I couldn't fully understand, but that made me swallow hard. Tears stung at the edges of my eyes because I could feel. I could feel that what I said, how clumsily I worded my question, had hurt him.

I caused him pain.

It was so strange to feel guilty, even though I couldn't fully understand why it was such a painful subject for him.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to..." I started to say.

"Nevermind," he said, waving it away like it was a small matter when it clearly wasn't. "I just don't like it when people only know me for what I do."

That was something I could understand all too well. I always wanted people to see and accept me as I am. After all, I am a complex person. There are many different sides to me and not just one part of who I am that they use to define me. I guess that was also why my clothes varied depending on my mood.

People kept misunderstanding me and saying I wanted to draw attention by wearing unusual clothing when I just wanted to be myself.

"To answer your question, I am AN Angel of Death," Andromalius said, sounding detached as if he was stating facts that had nothing to do with him. "Many of us work in different areas around the world because even though we have some powers, one Angel of Death can take care only of one area, especially considering how prone humans are to dying these days. Besides, since we are all the so-called 'half breeds', our powers are limited, and they restrict the number of jobs available to us."

Confirming my doubts (and sanity) should have been a relief, but it only caused me more sorrow and fear. Sorrow was mainly reserved for him and those like him. Fear was all for me.

"I am the only person who can see you," I said, quivering more than I thought humanly possible. "Why is that? Does that mean I am going to die soon?"