The Forgotten Angel ✔️

Chapter 7: Reporting to God

After five hours of sitting around mindlessly staring at his laptop and thinking about what more he could've done to help out Darryl, he decided that his soul needed some healing. It was Sunday and after turning in his radio and vest from Safe Walk he made his way to the Basilica to attend the 4:30 PM mass. The Basilica was the focal point at CUA. Although the largest church in the Western Hemisphere was technically not a part of CUA's official campus, it was definitely a part of the CUA community. Students are initiated as undergraduates during convocation inside the Basilica, and they graduate as seniors in a sea of chairs, stages, and people outside the Basilica four years later. With its spire tower, golden and blue dome, and front facade beautiful enough to invite angels into the building, Luke was constantly stunned by the magnificent appearance of God's house.

The inside was basically an art museum. Statues, paintings, frescoes, murals—it was overwhelming. Upon walking down the middle aisle, you are greeted by a massive figure of Jesus dressed in a red robe with his arms outstretched welcoming you into his presence from a ceiling behind the altar. In the center dome, the Holy Trinity, surrounded by saints, made it feel like they were watching over you as you pray, hanging on your every word.

This was the place where Luke attended mass. This was the place where he celebrated the Eucharist. This was the place where he stood after mass to pray for Darryl, for guidance, for forgiveness. I can tell you word for word what he prayed for, but such things should be kept confidential—between a person and his God.

Once the ushers did their job and encouraged Luke to leave since the Basilica was closing, he took himself around the back of the Basilica to Mary's Garden. He sat in front of a fountain spewing water up like a steady geyser. After 15 minutes of contemplation, he moved on to a small pond that laid at the foot of a statue of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus to her chest—like a mother would do to rock her baby gently to sleep in her arms.

Luke knelt down in front of the pond and spoke, "Mary I need some guidance. Give my thoughts to Darryl, let him know that I'm praying for him. Convince God to welcome him into His kingdom, even if he has to endure the trials of purgatory to get there."

Luke looked down into the pond, lit only by the moonlight pushing through the dead late winter trees. He saw his face in the pond, with bags beneath his eyes, and said, "None of this should've happened. What can I do to make up for it?"

A gust of wind blew from his left and a blade of grass settled gently into the pond, causing a slight ripple effect. Luke's face became distorted. His hair had grown out of his head and turned violet-red, flowing down to his back like a waterfall of blood. His eyebrows seemed to have been plucked, and his stubble, from days of not shaving, was wiped away. His skin had aged forward a century and wrinkles formed terraces out of the slopes of his face. Yet, while some features on his face changed, others remained the same. His teal colored eyes, his concerned withering lips that still quivered, and his light brown skin remained unchanged in the moonlight.

Luke extended his hand slowly towards the person in the pond thinking, Is that me? But another gust of wind shook the branches above him, snapping a small piece off as it collided with the face in the pond—splitting the face and sending small waves in the pond. Once it settled, Luke was staring at his own face again, undistorted by the blade of grass.

Who was that? Luke thought to himself. It looked almost like an old girl version of me, or an incomplete facial reconstruction.

Luke heard some ruffling behind him, like footsteps on dead grass. He turned around and examined the scene closely.

"Gio? Alex?" Luke called out.

The minute they heard their names Luke could've sworn he saw them jump out of their skins. They flinched violently and turned towards him.