If Angels Fall

TWENTY-FOUR

Keller returned to his house in Wintergreen Heights, deactivated the alarm,unlocked the locks, went to his bedroom, took the silver crucifix from thenightstand, and slipped it around his neck. In the living the room, from thecluttered worktable, he removed a huge worn Bible. It was two centuries old.The pastors at his children’s memorial service had given it to him.

“God’s love never dies. Accept it and your childrenshall always be with you.”

He plopped in his rocking chair, Bible on his lap, andread. Reflecting on his clash with Tom Reed. The fool. Mocking his revelation.But it didn’t matter. He had succeeded in battle. Passed another test, abidedin the Lord, and emerged triumphant. It was the Will of the Creator.

Not the Reverend Theodore Keller’s version, but Thetrue Divine Will revealed in the purifying flames of his burning church. Godhad pulled back the curtain of Edward’s destiny that night, whisperingrevelations in his young ears.

His father’s congregation couldn’t afford to rebuild,forcing the Reverend to move down the highway and down in stature to a smallerCalifornia town where they existed on handouts from the faithful. It washumiliating for Edward, going to school, knowing the clothes he wore and thelunch he brought were not provided by God, but by farmers, merchants,widows-the parents of his classmates.

Edward’s loathing for his father festered and he vowednot to follow his impoverished, sanctimonious life. At seventeen, he discardedhis parents, and up and left. He hitchhiked to San Francisco and he put himselfthrough collage, working nights at a bookstore, weekends at a contracting firmin North Beach. He studied philosophy and business, graduating near the top ofhis class, not knowing what he would do with his life.

One day he returned to the overgrown site of hisfather’s razed church. Amid the weed-entombed foundation, he realized hisambition. He would build churches. Many of California’s churches were aging. Amarket existed.

Keller obtained a loan and was soon offering poorparishes new churches with long-term payment plans. His pitches wereattractive. His knowledge of theology, philosophy, and his son- of-a-preacherapproach ingratiated him with church leaders.

It also captivated Joan Webster, the only daughter ofa minister in Philo. She astounded him, distracting him during his firstmeeting with Reverend Webster. She possessed a celibate air of fresh-scrubbedwholesomeness. He wanted to be with her. He gave her father a ridiculously gooddeal and personally supervised the construction of the new church so he couldbe near her.

Joan thought he was intelligent, handsome, unlike anyof the local young men. He was a builder, a dreamer who could sweep her awayfrom dusty old Philo to the lights of San Francisco.

They courted for a year, then married and moved to abungalow in Oakland. Joan was loving, fulfilling her role as duty-bound wifeand mother, bearing them Pierce, Alisha, and Joshua.

Keller’s business flourished, becoming one of thestate’s largest church-building firms. They bought a huge Victorian in SanFrancisco with a postcard view of the Golden Gate bridge. There, they livedbehind a deteriorating veneer of happiness. Keller preoccupied himself withmaking money, renegotiating contracts, making most congregations beholden tohim for decades. He was addicted to the power. His passion for his businessovershadowed his love for his family.

Whenever Joan tried talking to him, he stifled herwith a Biblical proverb. As time passed, she urged him to take one of thechildren with him on business trips. He rejected the idea. They would be in theway. Jeopardize a contract. Their discussions evolved into prolonged,late-night arguments, with Joan insisting he spend more time with the children,or there was no point in maintaining the facade of family. She would leave him.

Resentfully, Keller acquiesced.

One at a time, he took the children on business trips,but he was so stern with their conduct that they dreaded going with him. Joanknew he was uncomfortable having the children with him, but she believed shewas rescuing her family from disaster. Clinging to the hope he was a lovingfather imprisoned by his work, she suggested he spend a day alone with thechildren, away from business. Renting a boat to go bird watching and picnickingat the Farallons would be a memorable outing.

That weekend, he loaded Peirce, Alisha, and Joshuainto the Cadillac and drove down the peninsula to half moon bay.

Keller rocked in his chair, Bible in his lap, strokinghis beard.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

That weekend.

His children. The storm. The whale. Sinking. Darknessswallowing the children. His children.

Dawn, hugging a rock. Someone lifting him. Warmth. A motordroning. Antiseptic hospital smells. Someone calling him. Joan’s face. Edward!Where are the children? Telling Joan what happened. Her face. Breaking. Herbroken faced seared into his soul.

My angels! My angels! Edward, where are mychildren, please!

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Keller set the Bible aside.

Time to resume his work. He went to the basement.

“Home. I want my mommy and daddy,” Danny Becker moanedfrom the floor were he was scribbling with crayons in a fat coloring book. Thedog sat dutifully at his side. The room was foul. Danny’s clothes were soiled.He had wet himself. Keller went upstairs, ran a hot bath, pouring Mr. Bubbleinto the water.

A watery death.

Keller knelt at the tub. The cocker spaniel paddedinto the room, then Danny appeared, gazing longingly at the water. It was asign. Keller smiled, began removing Danny’s clothes, then hoisted him into thewater. He unwrapped a bar of soap. Danny was docile, enjoying the warm waterand bubbles. Noticing Keller’s silver crucifix, he reached up and held it inhis tiny hand for inspection.

Jesus said to his disciples: You shall not despiseany one of these little ones, for I say to you that in Heaven their angels seethe face of my Father

Keller cleared a circle of water in the bubbles,cupped the back of Danny’s neck, and immersed his entire head. Fear leapt ontoDanny’s face. Underwater his eyes widened. His hand shot up, seizing Keller’scrucifix in a pain-stricken grasp and he pulled Keller closed his eyes andsmiled.

For since by mankind came death, by mankind cametoo the resurrection of the dead.

“Pull, Raphael! Pull, sweet healing angel! I beseechyou! Will you pull my Josh from the watery purgatory into which I cast him?”The crucifix chain sank deep into Keller’s neck. Danny’s breath escaped in awild underwater scream boiling to the surface. Clutching the crucifix in awhite-knuckled grip, he raised himself from the water, coughing, gasping forair. The dog yelped. Danny rubbed his eyes, his tiny body shaking as he cried.

It was wondrous, like the sound of a newborn. Kellercovered Danny with a towel, and lifted him from the tub. He had baptized him,readied him, for the transfiguration. “It will be done! It will be done! Ohthank you, Raphael! Thank you!” Keller’s voice trembled. He was tingling withexultation, eyes brimming with tears. He carried Danny to his bedroom andopened the closet. It was crammed with cardboard boxes.

“I want my mommy and daddy.” Danny wiped his eyes,brimming watching Keller slide the box before him.

“Joshua” was written on the box in neat femininescript. It was jammed with children’s clothing-boy’s summer items, neatlyfolded and smelling powerfully of mothballs. Danny coughed. Rummaging, Kellerfound a set of pajamas, powder blue, dotted with tiny fire trucks.

“These will be your new clothes.” Keller put the pajamason Danny. “And there’s a special set for the transfiguration.”

Danny didn’t understand.

“It’s time for a story,” Keller said.

Back in the living room, Keller selected a blueblinder from the table. The dog followed them. Keller sat in his rocking chairwith Danny on his lap and sighed.

“Later, can I go home please? Danny said.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

The chair rocked. The binder, marked. “Daniel RaphaelBecker/Joshua,” cracked when Keller opened it.

“This is the story of a little boy named Josh who hasgone away.

Keller turned to the first laminated page. It was acolor portrait of the little boy Danny saw the other night ridding the rockinghorse in the movie on the wall. In the picture, the boy’s eyes danced withhappiness. His hair was parted, the boy’s eyes danced with happiness. His hairwas parted neatly, his hands were clasped together in his lap in awell-directed studio pose.

“Who’s that?” Danny touched the page.

Keller hesitated.

“My Josh. He’s waiting in a cold dark place for me toget him. Only you can go there. That’s why you’re here. I sent for you. Andthis is how I found you.” He turned the page to a photocopy of a microfilmednewspaper clipping of a birth announcement. It was placed under the words: IT’SA BOY! And a graphic of a smiling stork, wings extended, a baby suspended in abundle swinging from its beak.

Keller read aloud:

“BECKER Magdalene and Nathan are proud to

announce the birth of their first child,

Daniel Raphael, who arrived March 14,

weighing 8lbs, 7oz.’

Raphael and the month were circled in red. JoshuaKeller had been born in March.

Keller turned to an enlarged shot of Danny chasing theswans at the pond behind his house, then to a section of a city map with theBeckers’ street circled. Next, there was a photocopy from the San Franciscocity directory listing Magdalene and Nathan Becker, their Jordan Park address,and Nathan’s job as an engineer with Nor-Tec, then the Backers’ municipal taxand land title records. The next pages were printouts of data on the Beckers andtheir property taken from municipal, county, state, and federal websites.Keller then reviewed some pages of the Beckers’ family history that he hadpurchased from a genealogy service on the internet. Then he turned to creditbills, bank statements, a wedding invitation, a doctor’s appointment notice forDanny, a grocery list, telephone bills, utility bills, and community newsletters. All were stained, creased, and torn. Keller had retrieved them fromBeckers’ garbage. Then there were some snapshots of Danny’s home, taken fromthe front, sides, and rear.

“That’s my house!” Danny slapped the pages.

Pictures of Maggie Becker walking with Danny, helpingDanny from the car in their driveway, were on the next page. Then pictures ofNathan walking with Danny in the neighborhood, in the BMW, Nathan enteringNor-Tec, then at Candlestick, and walking in Golden Gate Park.

Then came Keller’s notes.

FATHER: Mon to Fri, 6–6:30 a.m. goes downtown and catches CalTrainfor Mountain View. Home by 7-9p.m.

MOTHER: 7 a.m., rises with A. Breakfast. Morning errands. Grocerieson Thursday. Mon-Wed-Fri afternoon paints in studio loft while child is inlocal day care.

WEEKENDS: SAT: father takes A on Sat. outing. Eves. parents go outand sitter watches A at Becker home.

SUN: mother and child attend church in morn. AFT: all three go forexcursion.

The notes were meticulous, his work precise. He hadreaped success.

He had prepared, responded, and prevailed. He followedthe sign and was rewarded.

Poor Nathan Becker. Surely, his heart was broken. Buthe had let Danny wander on the train that day, had rested in the devil’s arms,cloaked in the shadow of a deadly sin: avarice. His failure to be vigilant overDanny was testament to the value he placed on his worldly pursuits. But that wasnot Keller’s concern. His work was his concern. And so much remained.

The Angel would help him.

It was preordained. Raphael was his name.

Keller closed the binder and looked upon the Angel,shifting drowsily on his lap. He had arrived the same month Josh was born andwas the same age as Josh when he was lost. Keller had recognized the signs. TheTruth was revealed to him. His children were not dead. They were waiting to bereborn n celestial light.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Only God’s Angels could rescue them, transfigure them.

Raphael was the first. One of the Powers. Chief of theguardian angels. Guardian of mankind. Protector of children.

Kelly reached for a second binder, a thick pink onebearing the title “Gabrielle Michelle Nunn/Alisha.” He turned to a portrait ofa six-year-old girl. Her shimmering chestnut hair was a halo in French braids.Her radiant eyes. Her emerald velvet dress, delicate lace trip… “Alisha. Mybeautiful Alisha.” Keller caressed the picture, sniffed, and turned to anotherbirth announcement:

NUNN Paul and Nancy are thrilled to welcome their second bundle ofjoy, a little sister for Alexander. Gabrielle Michelle was born 4:12 p.m.,April 12, weighing 6lbs, 9oz. Thanks to Dr. Cook and the nurses at MetroHospital.

Gabrielle and the month were circled in red.

Gabrielle. Gabriel.

Gabriel. God’s ambassador to the world. The Angel whoheralded Christ’s birth.

He had found Gabriel. He turned the page to a recentcolor photograph of Gabriel Nunn smiling. Soaring on a park swing near herhome. He smiled back, then flipped to a picture of Gabrielle hugging her dog,Jackson. Opposite, was Jackson’s missing-reward poster. Keller reached down toJackson sitting at his feet, patted his head, and sighed ad he flipped throughpages of documents, detailed information, notes, and photographs of the Nunnsand Gabrielle. She was going to turn six very soon. Alisha was six. Born inJune.

It was time. It was time.

Keller closed the binder

Long into the night he rocked with Danner Beckersleeping on his lap. Drifting to sleep himself, he recalled the lines of DorisWhite’s long-forgotten poem, “My Angel.” “Their coffins were opened and allwere set free, behold my Angel with the jeweled key.”