Reverend Henley was not impressed by the angels.
"Very impressive," he said flatly. "Lovely. I don't know what the hell is going on, but whoever you are you're making a travesty of the Church and all the saints."
Gabriel smiled. "Your concern is noted. As of old, we bring you a message from our Lord." The light of his presence flickered over the twelve faces in the conference room, giving each expression its own spotlight. Wonder, confusion, curiosity... disgust.
"What is it?" Henley's voice came out strained. He was standing now, his heavy hands on the back of the folding chair. The others were silent.
Gabriel inclined his golden head. "It pains me to be the bearer of this news, good men. But the Lord never has a thought which is not holy, or does a thing which has not purpose. I bring sad tidings. The gates to Heaven have been closed."
The silence was electric. The angels were the only ones moving. Gabriel lifted his head and crossed his arms in their flowing sleeves. The others, the androgynous pair flanking him, looked inscrutably at each other. Every time they breathed, the light in the room shifted a little.
"Who are you?"
"I regret your lack of faith, you who stand at the head of this priesthood. Do you think me an illusion? Are men grown so distant from God that they cannot recognize divinity when it stands in front of them? I ask you, could an illusion do this?"
The Reverend gasped. Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. Young Reverend Plotnik stood up, clearing his throat, and took Reverend Henley by the arm. He urged the older man back into his seat, watched his face for a moment, then turned to the angels.
"What have you done to him?"
"Faith, good men. I know not what else to tell you. I am the message-bearer, that is all."
Plotnik felt a tickle stirring around his heart, and a pricking under his eyelids. He squinted through the glare surrounding Gabriel's face. When he spoke again, his voice was thin.
"The gates of Heaven have been closed?"
Gabriel nodded his head.
"Why? What is our sin?"
Gabriel glanced at the twin to his right, then leveled his blue gaze once again on Plotnik's narrow face. "Your sins are many, as every man knows. But it was not for sin that this was done. It was for necessity." In the corner of the room, by the folding table set with pitchers of water, Reverend Brown had slid to his knees, his eyes closed. "Heaven is full."
Plotnik's tingling heart skipped a beat. "Heaven is full?" Behind him, Reverend Holloway had stood and slipped out the door, closing it silently. Plotnik could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. His eyes were beginning to hurt.
"It cannot hold a single soul more. I am but the messenger." Gabriel's light seemed to dim for a half second. "None, not even I, may question the plans of the divine Lord."
"This doesn't make any sense..."
"It is not for us to question. If it is fit, I will come again." And then they went. There was a wildness in the air and a burst of light, and the eleven remaining priests were left blinking in the sudden dimness of the yellowy overhead flourescent lights.
Reverend Henley got up and went over to the water table.
Plotnik followed him with his eyes. "Do we believe this?" he whispered.
Henley was swallowing a glass of water. His throat worked noisily. When he was finished, he set the cup on the wet tablecloth. He turned to his colleagues. "I believe..."
As he trailed off, Brown pulled himself to his feet, and the door clicked open again to let Holloway back in. The trim senior took his seat as smoothly as usual, but his silence piled on top of the weight already in the room.
Finally Henley shrugged. "I believe something happened. I believe..." he glanced where Gabriel had appeared five minutes before. "...something happened that man cannot explain."
"What did you feel, Father?" asked Plotnik.
"I believe this incident deserves further investigation." Henley turned his head, and they all followed, to Brown's folding chair and past that, where the camera on its tripod stood, little red LED aglare. It was still there. It was still on.
"Faith--" began Brown. That was as far as he got. The little room suddenly seemed tiny. In another moment, all the men except Plotnik were on their feet. Jeff Plotnik had sat down again. He'd opened his notebook, but his eyes were closed.
Somewhere in New Jersey, Martin Sachs was tuning his guitar, with no one to hear but an oversized Chihuahua trailing its leash through the parking lot. The evening came down softly around the white Honda and he was singing.
When I'ma done with the wind and rain
Jesus carry me home
When I'ma done with this iron chain
Jesus carry me home
When the heat o' the day can't burn no more
Jesus carry me home
And the cold o' the night can't chill the core
Jesus carry me home
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus carry me home
I'm poor and a drunk, and I never had luck,
But Jesus will carry me home.
He leaned back into the beat-up vehicle to reach for his bottle of cabernet, and sat for a while. Then the stars came out up above. It was a night like any other.
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