The Paradise Prophecy

'Becky,” he croaked.

He hadn’t called her that since she died. Not even in his mind. Couldn’t bring himself to use the name she had introduced herself with, all those years ago on the steps of Nassau Hall.

But now she was here and it just seemed right. She was his Becky, and he wanted to spring forward and pull her into his arms. But he knew she was only an apparition, impossible to hold.

“How is this happening?” he said. “Where are you?”

“I’m here, Batty. With you.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“Your time in the otherworld was too short. You may have learned many things, but there is so much more to know. It’s a vast place, filled with wonder and miracles.”

“All I saw was darkness. And I couldn’t find any miracles. I couldn’t find you.”

“But you did,” she said. “You didn’t know it at the time, but you did.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

“You know that piece of the otherworld you thought you brought back with you? That was part of me. Part of my soul. I’m always with you, Batty. I always will be.”

Tears welled up in Batty’s eyes again. “But I thought … Belial…”

“Belial destroyed my human form, but one of the incantations you spoke before I succumbed managed to protect me from her, from taking my soul as her own.” Becky paused. “But she knows I’m with you, Batty, and she knows my song. That’s why you must always be vigilant.”

Batty said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. To know that Rebecca had been with him all this time, had seen what he’d done with Belial in his bed, had watched him drink himself into oblivion time after time, fighting in bars, embarrassing himself at the college. He suddenly felt ashamed.

“Don’t fret, Batty. You’re human, just as I once was. We make mistakes. We learn from them and we move on. We’ve been on our own for so long, left to face heartbreak that’s almost impossible to bear. Left to deal with the darker angels-not only from the otherworld and beyond, but the darker angels inside us. That pull at our hearts and prod our psyches. It’s a miracle that we’ve survived this long. But that’s what it means to be human, Batty. That spirit of survival. The need to create and procreate and love and be loved.” She paused again, smiling. “Yet despite your failings, here you are. And that’s why he chose you. You’ve seen the darkness, but your soul-our soul- remains untainted.”

“Who?” Batty said. “Who chose me?”

“Michael, of course. He came to me, shortly after you left the otherworld. Belial is his sister and he could feel you through her. He knew of the coming tetrad. The coming struggle. And he wanted me to bring you this message.”

“Wait a minute,” Batty said. “He knew I’d be here?”

“Nothing is certain, but many things can be predicted. And hoped for.”

“But what does he want from me?”

“He wants you to free her. To free the sacred traveler. To release her from her human bonds and give mankind the chance it deserves. To let her be a message to God.”

“But … how?”

“The pages will tell you,” Rebecca said. “But you must not fail, Batty. If the dark angels manage to corrupt her soul before you have a chance to free her, all will be lost, the seven gates will open and Lucifer instead will be freed, to rule the earth forever.”

Batty felt sick. How could he be responsible for something like that? He was barely responsible for himself. He couldn’t even keep Rebecca from being taken from him.

“This has to be a mistake.”

“Not a mistake,” she said. “But it won’t easy for you. You will be tested. But remember that I’ll be with you. Always. If you feel your resolve faltering, just call to me and I’ll listen.”

Becky’s image began to shimmer now, starting to blur.

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go.”

“It’s time, my love. The message has been given. You have difficult choices ahead of you. Just remember to heed the pages. They will tell you what you must do.”

Her image continued to shimmer and blur, then finally faded away.

Then the glowing light was gone, the room once again dark except for the beams of their flashlights.

Batty took his flashlight from the casket lid and shone it down on the pages. They were no longer blank, but what he saw surprised him.

Not poetry, as he had expected. No final verses to Paradise Lost. But seven carefully rendered illustrations-much like the Gustave Dore etching in Gabriela’s apartment-black-and-white drawings of a world gone mad, ravaged by pain, people struggling, fighting, killing. And in each new drawing a huge full moon hung high above them, each one farther along in the progression of a lunar eclipse.

But it was the seventh drawing that told the tale.

A story of two opposing outcomes.

On the right side of the page was a ravaged world, barren and lifeless, a dark-winged Satan hovering above it. On the left side was a lush, verdant paradise with rolling hills and fruit-bearing trees, a great warrior angel looking down upon it.

And at the center, kneeling beneath the moon in full eclipse, was a small figure, a dagger held in her right hand, aimed directly at her throat. Her left hand was held palm outward, as if in oath, toward a man wielding a sword.

Below them, a sacred incantation was written in bold black ink-Quod apertum est, id aperiri non potest.

What is opened cannot be closed.

But it was the figure of the man with the sword that told Batty what he was expected to do, reminding him of the painting he saw in Istanbul, of the widow Judith attacking Holofernes. Reminding him of Saint Christopher’s selfless martyrdom.

The man with the sword was cutting off her head.

45

LaLaurie stumbled slightly and fell back. Callahan and Grant quickly stepped forward, grabbing his arms, holding him upright.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He looked at her. “You didn’t see it?”

She hadn’t seen much of anything. “A bright light, that’s about it. I covered my eyes for a couple seconds, then it went away. Next thing I know you’re about to collapse.”

He turned to Grant, but Grant just shook his head.

Callahan gestured to the pages. “They’re still blank. What happened?”

“Blank?” LaLaurie said. “You don’t see the drawings? The incantation?”

“All I see is a stack of really old paper.”

LaLaurie pulled away from them now and turned again to Grant. “I need to speak to Michael. I can’t do what he wants me to. Do you have a way to contact…”

He stopped suddenly, glancing around the crypt, then turned to the casket and quickly gathered up the manuscript and the pages. “We have to get out of here.”

“Why?” Callahan said. “What’s going-”

A rat skittered across the casket. Callahan jumped back, and something squished underfoot, squealing in pain. She whipped the flashlight beam downward, shining it on the floor.

More rats, maybe four or five. And as she swept the light around the crypt, she saw that the walls were moving-still more rats crawling out of the darkness, their tiny feral eyes squinting back at her.

Callahan had never had a problem with rodents. One or two on their own was fine. But this many of the