angels and demons

No wind disturbed the grass of the cemetery that night. A stone angel with a broken wing marked the resting place of two dark shapes, one beneath a mound of dirt, one sitting beneath the angel's empty gaze, keeping his own silent vigil in the deep silence of the dead. He didn't move, like a statue himself, but he was aware of the intruder who came walking up to the grave. Anything living seemed out of place there. This newcomer to the place of death walked slowly, reverently, aware that he was unwelcome, yet steadfast in his purpose. His right hand clutched the cross around his neck, and the other held a lantern high, making an almost pathetic light in the darkness around him. His clothes were plain, as were his features, but his eyes were sharp and clear. The religious man walked towards a small tomb near the stone angel, unaware that eyes other than those of the dead or the stone angel regarded him, until he heard a voice call out, "Why is a man like you out so late?"

He started, almost dropping his lantern, looking around for the owner of the voice. A shadow detached itself from the angel statue and materialized into the shape of a tall man. This man's footsteps were silent over the grass and graveyard soil as he walked towards the light of the lantern. The man with the lantern still looked shaken, afraid of this night watcher who seemed to be accepted into the darkness. He responded, "I am here to pay my respects in what I thought would be solitude. And as for yourself?"

The other stopped walking when he reached the edge of the lantern's light. The first was almost afraid to cast more light on him. He waited for a response. After a moment the man in the shadows spoke. "I am also here for the solitude of night. But what lies in the darkness is far more than solitude; I can protect myself. Yet you hardly look capable of the same."

The man with the lantern replied, a little indignantly, but still politely, "I am a monk, I have no need to defend myself."

At this the other man laughed. "Ah, so you're a member of God's fan club. I'm surprised you haven't already tried to convert me."

The monk was now visibly annoyed, and said sarcastically, "Pardon me, but I had assumed you had already found God, since you are in a cemetery primarily housing the remains of deeply religious persons. But, since it sounds like you have no interest in God, I won't beat my Bible at you. I'll just be on my way. So sorry to have disturbed you." He walked a little faster now towards the small sepulcher nearby.

The man in shadows spoke after a moment. "Forgive my rudeness, I merely have no respect for those who spend their entire lives devoted to an invisible entity, and then try to convince others to do the same. But as long as you realize I'm a lost cause I have no qualms with you. I will leave you to your prayers," he said, his tone suggesting amusement and, despite his claim, respect for anyone with a sense of humor like that, and started to melt back into the shadows.

The monk paused, then turned around. He knew he spoke from instinct when he said, "There are no lost causes in the eyes of God."

The shadows ceased moving. The strange man reappeared. That had reminded him of something an old friend of his had once said. "Are we talking about the same god? The one who casts sinners into the fiery depths of hell? Or are you a Buddhist monk or something?" He still sounded amused at this odd monk. He's not the kind of religious man I'm used to, he thought. The monk was now curious about the stranger. "You don't seem a sinner to me, just a bit put off of religion. Tell me, what has been your experience with God?" he asked.

The man of the shadows now seemed more cautious of the monk's questions. He said evasively, "Ah, now that's no story for a simple monk out for a midnight stroll. I wouldn't want to frighten you off. You've never met a sinner like me before." He used the word 'sinner' like a nickname he had long grown accustomed to.

The monk set his lantern down, casting his face in darkness. "I have been ordained to take confessions; there is nothing you could say that God could not forgive." He now seemed sincerely intent on helping the strange man. "What is your name?"

He had to think for a moment before responding. "I believe I was once known as Raphael." The monk seemed surprised. "As in Raphael, the angel of God? What an interesting choice. I am Christopher." Raphael nodded and walked a few steps toward him. "So Raphael, is there anything you would like to confess to the Lord?" Raphael stood for a moment, and an uncomfortable silence followed. Christopher spoke into the darkness. "I see you are very unwilling. I will not press you. Given the chance, most people would choose salvation, but I see you are different. You are not seeking salvation. May I ask what you are seeking?" Raphael could tell this monk was very blunt. He decided to speak just as frankly in return.

"I am not entirely sure of what I am seeking. I know it is not salvation or approval. For now, I am usually content with peace and memories."

The monk nodded. "And a graveyard would be the ideal place for such. Yet being near death doesn't make you apprehensive at all, especially at this hour?" he questioned. The monk had no problem with being around so many dead bodies, and he was curious as to why Raphael wasn't.

Again Raphael answered honestly. "I am around death all the time, it is nothing to fear, and sometimes it should be embraced."

With each answer Christopher felt he was getting closer to the truth. "That is wise, not to fear death. I take it you speak from having experienced much death…?" He could only see Raphael's feet, so he didn't see Raphael's small, ironic smile.

"I... have some experience with death, yes." He continued. "I suppose monks aren't around anything more morbid than this."

Christopher laughed lightly. "You'd be surprised. Service to others is one of many things overlooked these days, but we have plenty of time for it. Aiding the elderly and sick can seem closer to death than being near cadavers themselves, and I have seen enough of both to make me used to death.” He paused. “Out of curiosity, whose grave are you visiting?"

Raphael sat down on a stone bench on his side of the path. Christopher sat on the bench opposite him, the lantern still illuminating the middle of the path. Raphael didn't want to go into details, so he just said "A woman I… knew a long time ago. This is an old grave I know very well." What he didn't say was that he blamed himself for her death and could never forgive himself. But he would never dream of revealing this to anyone, not when he had been torturing himself with that fact for longer than he cared to remember. Memories…

Flashes of light explode in the poorly lit room.

We were sitting together in the living room. She was reading on the couch, and I was in the kitchen. We were talking about… what we were going to do tomorrow. That’s right, we were going to get a cat the next day, at that place on the corner…

Vision is blurred and sound has been forgotten.

The windows were open, the sun was shining into the room, and for once I wasn’t worried about my next client. She says something to me about my love of animals, and the window shatters. The door has opened, and the plate I was holding has broken.

For me, there is only one thing in the room, and there is no earthly way to stop the inevitable from happening.

Everything has shattered as soon as I hear the shot and the scream. There is a man with a gun at the door. I know this can’t be happening, but my body still reacts. I know it is too late. I know this isn’t right, that they would never come for her, they can’t know who she is.

I see it coming, but I can’t stop it.

But they do, they must know what she means to me. My gun is too far away, I have already been hit, and she has not hit the ground yet. I still have a hope to save her before it’s too late. I am lunging for the pistol and for my love at the same time, but I can’t make it.

She is falling, and the empty shells are falling, and I am falling, and all I can do is watch.

My limbs will not work until it is too late to save her, and all I can think is that she is falling.

Enough reminiscing, thought Raphael.

Christopher nodded, then said quietly, "Is that why you have no faith in God?"

Raphael knew this was what the monk had been getting at with his questioning. "I have no use for God, and he has no use for me. It is as simple as that." He was tired of this monk and his inane questions. "You must be anxious to get on with your business."

Christopher could tell Raphael wanted to end the conversation there, but he still wasn't satisfied, and he was intrigued by Raphael. "My only business here is to pay respect to the dead, and they're not going anywhere. I am here to visit the grave of a great nun of my order buried in that tomb over there," he explained and pointed towards the sepulcher. Christopher peered into the darkness. "You still haven't told me why you think you are a sinner."

Raphael thought about it for a while. Reluctantly, he told him. "I am a sinner because I was chosen to become one. I have taken many lives. Now, the choice to be a sinner has become mine. Now I merely wish to be left alone." But his tone of voice also suggested he wanted to leave others alone, and Christopher detected this hint of regret in the strange man's voice. He saw it as a sign of hope, and stated as much.

"You have killed, yet you feel remorse, and seem resigned to your fate. So you believe in predetermination and destiny?"

Raphael wasn't quite sure how to respond. "I believe that some things are fated, and some things happen by chance or likelihood. It was neither lucky nor likely when I, well, was set on this path. I suppose you could say then that God had a hand in it, in which case I'll have no more part with God; I disagree with his decisions." Christopher opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance Raphael spoke again, and much more sharply. "And if I was to hear one more person say something to the effect of 'God has a plan' I would not regret any action I took, though that person might." Christopher smiled; that old standby phrase was often overused.

The monk was careful in choosing his next words. "Is there one event that 'set you on your path' as you call it, or was it a series of events?" Raphael answered immediately. "Just one event, seemingly harmless, seemingly by chance, that occurred. Isn't it funny how we seem to always be suffering for sins we haven't committed?"

Christopher nodded in agreement, and neither one laughed. "Yes, it does sometimes seem as if the world is unfair; so much pain, so much negligence, and the few scraps of beauty left in the world are barely appreciated. What is one to do? Sit in a graveyard and brood over it, so that one never has to face the cruel world?" They both knew what he was talking about. Christopher had guessed correctly concerning Raphael's intentions. "No, that wouldn't do, I'm sure God intended for people to continue living in spite of all the pain. But one must always realize that for oneself, no one can be told to stop mourning and get on with life, although an occasional nudge may be in order now and then. And that's what the church is always for; lost souls trying to keep on living. It's good to know that there's someone who will be there to help pick up the pieces, no matter in what small way. Don't you think?" Christopher had spoken slowly, but his words were full of meaning and barely concealed secret intent. But he liked to be as honest as situations called for it.

Raphael had understood perfectly what the monk had been getting at. "I agree with you. People need to realize things on their own, and no one can tell them how to live. And it is good to find someone who will be there for you. But I had that chance, the chance to have someone face the cruel world with me, and I threw it away. The only remorse I have about that is for myself, which is a waste of emotion. It is better for the rest of the world if I remain here, believe me."

That seemed as far as he was willing to open up, but Christopher still wasn't satisfied. "Oh come now, you seem awfully logical, moral, and remorseful. Either you have far too much pride in believing yourself such a grand sinner or you have a very low self esteem, and I'm not sure which it is. What have you done that has made you unacceptable to and undeserving of the world in your eyes?" He only half expected the other man to answer him, but he was still anxious to hear the response, if any.

The man sitting across from the monk waited for a moment, then got up and walked towards him. He bent, picked up the lantern, and held it up to his face. Christopher looked up at him, not knowing what to expect, but only seeing a fairly young man with pale features and dark hair. Raphael walked closer. Christopher could see what he was illuminating, two small marks on his neck, old wounds, now scars, that looked as though a very large insect had bitten him. Then Raphael opened his mouth. The pale light illuminated Raphael's two elongated canines, like fangs. Christopher still looked uncertain, until Raphael asked "So what have you been told about vampires?"

Christopher knew of the demons spoken about in the Bible, but his knowledge of vampires was purely what he had happened to glean from various literary sources. He did not believe that vampires and other such demons really existed though. The monk also knew that some people chose to impersonate vampires, for their own dark reasons, so he was skeptical of what Raphael was telling him. "I have been told very little regarding vampires. However, I know that some people have unusually large canines." Raphael smiled, and then opened his mouth again. His canines seemed to shrink to normal size, and after a moment returned to their elongated state. Christopher was at a loss.

Raphael had been expecting a rationalizing response. "Yes, some people choose to try to look like us, but I had no choice to become this." He leaped up in the air, still holding the lantern, to land on the tomb several feet away. From his perch above the tall sepulcher he called "How about now?" Then he seemed to disappear, to become a shadow, even beneath the light, and Christopher saw him reappear inches from his own face, the lantern still somehow held above the tomb. "Need a light?" Raphael said, and the lantern moved, drawn by an unseen force, to rest in Raphael's hand. He grinned.

Christopher backed away in alarm. His hands shook and his eyes were wide as he exclaimed, "You are... truly... a nosferatu! But... what manner of demon are you? Can you really be a... vampire?" He remembered his cross necklace and held it for support.

Raphael set the lantern down. He sounded a bit exasperated and said in a bored tone, "Yes, yes, I am an unholy demon called a vampire who drains the life's blood of others to fuel his own immortal life." Now his tone became more earnest. "But let me tell you, the blood drinking part has not been kind to my conscience, and being immortal, or nearly so, isn't so great. I will not take the life of another ever again, not for my own life. You see why I both love and hate graveyards? It torments me to see death all around me, what I long for, what I have caused. All I want is an end to the long empty life I lead. Now, does that sufficiently answer your question?"

Raphael had finally revealed an important part of himself to the monk. Christopher was inclined to believe him. Raphael had seemed truthful, and he would have no reason to lie to a strange monk he didn't know. But Christopher was a very logical man, even if he understood the intricacies of philosophy and psychology. For the moment, the monk decided he would believe Raphael, having been given no reason not to. "Alright. I shall choose to believe what you say. So if you do not wish to live anymore, why not put an end to it yourself?"

The vampire smiled, and this time his canines flashed in the darkness. He had expected nothing less than a logical response. "Ah, if only it were that simple. If I were to shoot myself, or cut myself, it would not be enough to kill me. I would have to cut off my own head, and then what would happen? According to your Bible, I would go straight to hell and suffer eternally. So I think I'll remain here, in my chosen purgatory."

Christopher shook his head and replied, "No, according to the Bible, only sinners who have not repented go to hell. But that is just my belief; since you do not share this idea, perhaps you would go somewhere different. There is no guarantee that the Bible, or the Church, has painted an entirely accurate picture of the afterlife; I believe every person has a different vision of heaven and hell."

Raphael laughed. "That sounds borderline heretical, monk. I thought all monks were supposed to preach the same stories?"

It was Christopher's turn to laugh. "Yes, but they don't all preach it to the same audience. We wouldn't tell a child and an adult a story in the same way. And since when it is heretical to interpret the Bible in a way that makes sense to you? Most monasteries support a looser interpretation of the Bible." Raphael said nothing. Christopher continued. "Actually, it sounds to me like you are more afraid than anything else. You do not know what awaits you in the next life, and this frightens you. Am I correct?"

Raphael spoke in a harsher tone now. "I don't have the assurance you do that I am going to a better place. Like I said, I don't fear death. I fear what comes afterwards."

Christopher shook his had again. "I have no assurance; only the belief that I have done some good things in my life. I think we will get rewarded for our good deeds, even if we don't know how or when. The only thing I have that you lack is hope. Hope, more that anything, is what keeps me going on my chosen path. I hope I am doing the right thing, just as I hope you will decide for yourself what is right and choose to do it. Any path we are now on, we can change. We never realize how many crossroads there are in our lives until we can look back and see them back in the distance."

A cloud passed across the moon. The grass stirred a little by Raphael's feet, but there was still no breeze. The silent grave watchers, the angels and other statues, seemed to wait for his answer. Perhaps he was reminiscing. It seemed like a long time until the vampire responded. "Hope. If that's what God offers you, then I can see why you choose to believe in him. But I like to find my own hope, my own reasons to continue on my path. Since I have none, I will just sit here until the Apocalypse."

The monk sighed. "Well, it would seem you have had and will have plenty of time to think on it. I just hope that thinking is not all you do." The monk seemed finished with the vampire. He had done all he thought he could do. He picked up his lantern and walked towards the stone sepulcher, remaining motionless in front of it for many long minutes. By the time he was finished with his prayers, the moon had visibly changed its position in the sky. Christopher turned to leave, and when he held up his lantern he saw only darkness. He walked over to the stone angel guarding its owner and said, "You seem to need this more than I do. There is only so much penance we can do by contemplating our own sins. One must enter the world to truly be a part of it. And we do all have a part in it, no matter what anyone tells you. The belief that what you're doing is right and the hope for a better future, that's the only assurance any of us has that our path is the right one. I'm sure you're sick of hearing a monk's beliefs, but I never get sick of confessions. You told me of your sins, and I bless you and forgive you of your sins. Your penance is to do as much good in the world as you feel is earthly possible, while not forgetting to live. Make up for your mistakes and God will forgive you. And remember that everything is not always about you. Maybe there are some people in this world who need you and the help you can provide. Well, I've said my piece, and only heaven knows if it has done any good."

The monk looked down at the gravestone below the stone angel still staring into the darkness. The tombstone read 'Juliet Douglas 1657-1692.' Christopher shook his head, smiling, and walked away from the cemetery, lantern held high and casting shadows around him, until he too disappeared into the night.

"See you around, monk," the lone figure of the darkness spoke to the night, then disappeared back into the shadows. The cemetery was quiet again, and not a leaf stirred, but then death is not used to much change. The only difference in the cemetery was the stone angel, who seemed to be cast in shadows. The light of the moon illuminated the figure crouched on top of the angel. Water pooled down from above into the angel's blank eyes, and then it began to rain, as the heavens opened up to wash away the sins of the dead.