Vampire Dawn Part 22

"But who's with Mariah?"

"A guardian angel pro tem."

"Oh!" Cody gulped. "Are you upset that I asked to replace you as guardian?"

"No. Your concerns are valid."

He nodded. "I've got unfinished business with Mariah. Thanks for coming."

"I'm not a spectator. Didn't they tell you I'm your Champion?"

"No! I've been on retreat since my last guardian post ended. When my charge crossed over into the Light."

"Nice. Where'd they send you on retreat?"

He smiled. "Hawaii. I swam and sang with dolphins."

"Oh! I want to do that when my charge crosses over." Emily winked. "In about sixty years."

Chimes rang.

Cody squeezed her hand. "It's time, Emily. Thank you for the support."

"It's what we do. G.o.dspeed." Emily glided into the champion's box.

Cody floated slightly above the dais in the golden-lit room. Whatever the council decided, he'd have to accept it.

Haniel, council leader, spoke: "Cody, you requested a guardian appointment to serve Mariah Bliss of Third Planet, North America, U.S., western Montana, rural district."

"Yes." Recollections of his widow surfaced from his mortal memories: mahogany-red tresses, ivory skin spattered with pale freckles, blue-gray eyes and a lush red mouth. Most of all, Mariah's heart still tugged at him.

Haniel addressed Emily. "Does the Champion wish to speak on the Pet.i.tioner's behalf?"

"Please honor Cody's request. No one could be a better guardian angel for her."

Haniel softly conferred with the council and Emily.

"Cody, your request was denied." Haniel raised an index finger in a "wait" gesture. "But this was in preparation of a more suitable post."

Cody bowed his head. "Please a.s.sign me where I may serve the greater good."

"Thank for your humble answer," Haniel replied. "Based upon your record of devoted service, and by your Champion's request, you'll be sent back on official, special a.s.signment to Mariah Bliss. But not as a guardian angel. Your new post requires you to return to mortal life."

Cody gasped. "?"

"Your angelic spirit will descend into an existing mortal. You'll influence his consciousness and use his human form to solve your own demise. Your Champion describes her charge, Mariah, as despondent after your mortal disappearance almost a year ago. Emily asks if you can a.s.sist with some..."

Haniel looked at Emily. "What did you call it?"

"TLC," Emily replied. "Tender loving care."

Cody's feathers quivered. "I can a.s.sist with TLC. I'm grateful for this chance to discover the truth about what really happened. But I have questions."

"Ask."

"Well, the Highest knows the answer to every whodunit. So, why have me 'solve' my own murder?"

Haniel framed his answer with care. "In order to manifest positive changes to the lives of Mariah and others close to her, a re-mortaled angel can't simply be provided with the ident.i.ty of the perpetrator of a crime. Your investigation will be a labor of love, diligence, even spiritual seeking."

"Could you explain a little more?" Cody asked.

Haniel sighed. "The mortals are b.u.mbling your missing person's investigation. Mariah isn't moving forward with her life. She needs closure and compa.s.sion. Or as Emily called it, 'TLC.' You're the only one who can provide what is necessary to resolve the mystery. But the only way you can provide this 'TLC' is from within a mortal body because angels aren't supposed to..."

"Gotcha." Cody felt a blush rising. "What will I remember in this man's body?"

"You keep all your memories, human angelic - except for the twenty-four hours preceding and including your death - so that you can find your killer in due time."

"To manifest change through the journey," Cody surmised. "It's not entirely about the destination. Right?"

"Ah, I see that you understand the big picture."

"I do." He nodded. "So, as a mortal, am I allowed to her in every way?"

A hint of a smile crossed Haniel's mouth. "You will be inside a human body with free will. But inside of your new host body, your priority will be as an angel detective, seeking the truth and using it for the good of the people who need to know it. So, keep in mind that you could complicate her life, and yours, with your actions. Use your discernment skills."

Cody digested this for a moment, then said, "Mariah's been sending up a prayer storm, hasn't she?"

"A tsunami."

"I'm not surprised. How long will I remain inside of a mortal?"

Haniel said, "When the case is solved and life settles down for the ones you have helped, you will be called to exit your mortal host and will immediately be a.s.signed to your next angel detective case."

"So, my mission isn't for the life span of the host body?"

"No, Cody. It may be a long-term a.s.signment. Or not. You will be needed to serve again in a similar capacity. But we are compa.s.sionate. We will not call you for a new a.s.signment until the timing is right. Until all of the questions have been answered. It could be years."

He humbly bowed his head for a moment, accepting the terms. "Thank you."

"I just have a word of caution about that part," Haniel said. "Should you fail to answer the recall to exit your host body, and further serve Heaven, the Dark Angels will come for you and try to recruit you for the other side."

"I would never betray Heaven," he said, appalled.

"We know. But they will tempt you. That's why we chose you to be the first for this mission. Because you overcame them on your last guardian angel a.s.signment, when your charge crossed over, she became part of Heaven."

"I would never have let them have her or anyone else under my charge. And you did allow me to use the Terrible Swift Sword against them. May I use it again for this case?"

"No. Unfortunately, if a mortal touches it, he dies instantly," Haniel replied. "And you will be in a mortal skin and somewhat handicapped without one of our best weapons against the Dark Angels."

"I see. Hmmm, no Terrible Swift Sword? I'm going to feel about as naked as a mortal woman without her purse. I will have to keep my wits about me at all times."

"Yes, you will."

"Are there other angel detectives?" Cody asked.

Haniel replied, "There will be. If you succeed, others will be a.s.signed." Haniel paused. "We have faith in your judgment and your intelligence. I can see that you still have other questions."

"I do. What happens to the spirit of the person whose body I inhabit? He's not just a sh.e.l.l, a vehicle to make all of this possible. What of him?"

"He's a mortal who is tormented by a tragedy so great that, at first, your spirit will be the primary power. His own separate consciousness will take point as healing progresses. We're in current danger of losing him to the dark angels, so your a.s.signment is also to change his life path. He's currently on the Angel of Death contingency list."

Cody shuddered. "The AOD contingency list? Who is this man?"

"A convicted murderer."

Cody's eyes widened. "In?"

"No. On parole."

Whew! Still, Cody decided the a.s.signment would be challenging. "What else I should know?"

"The council would prefer that you not tell Mariah that that your angelic spirit is inside this man's body. We caution that telling her could cause her emotional confusion or logistical paradoxes-ones related to your previous mortal life with her."

He expected that caveat. He nodded. "I'll strive to go forward with grace in the new host body. And do honor to Heaven on my mission as an angel detective."

"We know you will. Farewell."

Cody extended his wings in an angel's goodbye. "Pax to all, for who you have been, who you are, and who you will be."

The chimes sounded to end the hearing. Emily disappeared from the hall.

Amid "G.o.dspeeds" expressed to Cody, the Highest entered the gathering. He glided to Cody, all-seeing eyes alight with compa.s.sion.

The Highest touched nail-scarred palms to Cody's wings. With a brief tingle, they disappeared. Cody, now deprived of his lush wings, nearly wept.

The Highest kissed Cody's forehead and said, "Selah." Cody knew that selah could mean many things. Among the translations were: forever, lift up, pause and listen, prayer, seal up, even, it goes.

"Selah," Cody replied.

The light of Heaven faded. Cody blinked at pinpoints of stars in a black velvet void as his journey back began.

He fell from Heaven into his new mortal body.

Just as he was thinking that he would go across the universe for even a single kiss from Mariah, something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

He reached for his Terrible Swift Sword and of course, did not have it on him...

The Man Who Fell From the Sky on Kindle The Man Who Fell From the Sky on Nook King's Blood A Serial Novel, Part 1 by P.J. Day (read on for a sample) When one hears the word vampire, evocative images and words like blood, immortal, fangs, and wooden stakes begin to gird the mind. Vampire lore has existed for many decades now, and has become intertwined with Western culture like Santa, Mickey, and Big League Chew. I have a package next to me, love the stuff; don't ask.

They say we are over-s.e.xualized, supernatural beasts that stalk young women at night (Cougars, you're looking good too... keep it up... some of us have a penchant for some aged, marinated plasma!), sucking up every single last drop of blood from their limp, barely conscious bodies.

We are exploited in film, books, and television; continuously portrayed as vicious killing machines, or teen heartthrobs that sparkle like dis...o...b..a.l.l.s. Your children use our mythicized personas for learning tools and garish costumes for Halloween; the one day a year I can go around smiling in public without a care in the world.

Yes, we do carry quite a reputation, and our stereotypes might be based on some reality, however, you don't really know us and you especially don't know me. I'm well over a hundred years old, and the only way I could have made it this far is to emulate your kind. In this fast-paced world, where everyone knows your name, everyone knows where you live, and everyone knows who you know, only the crafty ones can survive in this age where everyone's life can be judged by a single .jpeg.

My life has slowed down some. I guess you can say that in my earlier life I was somewhat of a savage; one with a moral compa.s.s, but a savage nonetheless. Life back then was a bit more unforgiving. Lack of information, knowledge, and proliferation of media tended to keep a lot of our demons open for business. The erosion of privacy, while carrying a hefty dose of concern, has kept everyone pretty d.a.m.n honest and put to rest some of the demons that have victimized so many in the past. This is true for most politicians, the power elite, citizens, and especially, for yours truly.

So, here I am. I have decided to take a giant leap forward for our kind. It is time to spew my thoughts. There are only a few that know my ident.i.ty. Luckily for me, I have made superb choices on those who I have been candid with about my true nature; men and women who are impervious to the temptation of a quick buck and quick, fleeting fame. I now feel very secure in slowly revealing who I am to the world, because I'm certain I have a wonderful circle of friends, which I trust with my life, and I know their loyalty surrounds me like a protective, secure ring of fire.

Ted, my best friend, who is like my brother, would fall on a sword in order to keep me from ever being harmed. I would never hesitate to do the same for him. Ca.s.sie, whose relations.h.i.+p with me, although complicated, is my lifeblood in more ways than one. Samuel, who I am writing these memoirs for, has been my confidant for many, many years. It is time I rewarded his loyalty with my thoughts. What better way to reveal my existence, to the global consciousness, than through the penmans.h.i.+p of one of the leading human rights and social justice columnists of the new millennium. Lastly, I just met a girl, a very pretty one. She was taking pictures at an evening function for our company. Holly is her name, and there is something about her. I can't quite put my finger on it. She has all the qualities, at first glance, that all of my most loyal friends, past and present have shared. Well, I asked her out, and luckily, she said yes. It takes an experienced, creative mind to plan out a single date with a beautiful woman. I haven't stopped thinking about how I am going to make a first impression.

First thing first, though. Samuel has given me a list of things that he wants me to explain. First, he wants to know what a person of my advanced age thinks of today's world with all of its technological advances and so forth. Then, he wants me to talk about love. He wants to know if vampires are truly driven by blood and libido. Finally, he wants me to disclose my past. This one, I must admit, will be quite difficult. Like I mentioned earlier, I fear my quest for the world's tolerance of my kind will be slightly fogged up by a collection of painful details.

I will do my best for Samuel. I'll try to be as honest as possible. Also, I know for certain that my work and life will prevent me from finis.h.i.+ng up his requests in a timely manner. I hope he's as patient as he is cavalier.

I wish I had an amazing singing voice. Look how beautiful and fresh-faced these kids were. Mira was gorgeous with her gleaming, creamy, white neck-the way her common carotid artery bulged out on her neck in a beautiful bluish-green glow whenever she belted out Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

There was not a single decade of my life that I wouldn't have traded to be in the dressing room with her after her lovely song. I bet she was all sweaty, too. I could smell her from here...hmm.

I needed to vote...where was my phone?

"Menstrual Mime!" "Menstrual Mime!" "MENSTRUAL MIIIIIIME!!!" There it was, under my rank pile of clothes! The c.r.a.ppy find-my-phone app makes my phone ring so loud, I'm certain it would make banshees squirm, once the secret word was uttered. Unfortunately, "Menstrual Mime" was the only word that yielded 100% accuracy.

Okay, it was time to vote. Mira...Mira...Mira, what text-your-vote code were you? This was the reason DVR was invented; that, and for recording surgery procedure shows that aired on the Health Channel. I loved it when a veteran surgeon didn't care about a little bleeding, and let the artery bleed just a little more than would a typical overcautious surgeon. Blood was my p.o.r.nography! Blood was my visual stimulant! Blood was my joy of existence. Blood was why I paid that extra eight bucks a month to DirectTV for high-definition reception. Let the blood-letting of televised surgeries splatter across my 46-inch LED flat-screen, vainglorious in full, glorious high definition!

You know, those Snuggies weren't that bad if you thought about it. I knew they looked ridiculous, but they kept one warm when watching TV, and usually, no one was around to see how stupid and ridiculous we all looked, wearing them. The only risk that one took with a Snuggie was looking like a homeless Jedi in front of your cat, and in return, you got a cheap, Chinese, polyester-mix sheet that kept you all snuggly-wuggly warm through half a bloodless winter. Yes, times were tough with a Snuggie.

I found the text-your-vote code for Mira! Oh, why lookie here, her code was the year I was born; 1867! 'Twas fate!

Mira, I hope my little vote goes a long way in securing your fate as America's next pop-orific talent winner! A world of half a million hits on the internet and gossip of your severe dyslexia in supermarket rags awaits you!

I thought long and hard, as I usually do whenever there is full moon outside my window. Television had really made me think a lot faster. My mind, in 2011, compared to the one I had in the late 1800s, was like Alzheimer's in reverse. I think the rapid, ever-changing images, from years of watching television, had helped me to bridge gaps in my memory of past events, as well as gave me the big picture of current world events. It was as if tiny little bridges of surrealist paintings made me recollect events, people, and places that otherwise would not have been recalled, if it wasn't for television.

I remembered watching my first episode of the Howdy Doody Show. As soon as I looked into that puppet's eyes, I remember waking up and seeing a Roble de Sabana stake poised in a shaking hand that hovered two inches above my chest, wielded by none other than Antonio Villaverde, vampire killer. Antonio had one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen a 12-year-old boy possess. He was a red-headed, freckled Mestizo. As rare as finding a wayward vampire in a Central American jungle.

But there we were two unlikely cosmic coincidences of paradoxical proportions, ready to cancel each other out over the perceived pish-posh value of survival.

Luckily, his big sister Luz had run into the room and slapped Antonio five feet across the room into the nightstand, knocking over the candle-my notebook burst right into flames! Luz had saved me from the stake through my heart, but it was the notebook that detailed all of my travels in South and Central America, the one friggin notebook that had all of my hand-written research on vampire bat anti-coagulation, the possible cure for my ailment, and all of the writings that I had about my time and experiences with my sweet, beautiful, gorgeous Nora. Oh, I missed her with an ache. So much precious research, and memories of Nora, were gone in an instant. To this day, I equate TV's Howdy Doody with the burning of the Library of Alexandria.

No, I'm not that old. I was not an eye witness to one of the worst historical tragedies ever, but being a little over 140 years old gives one a warped, methodical, and melancholy perspective on life that makes relating to every human being like a game of chess, even on the most mundane of topics.

Human beings in the twenty-first century, compared to humanity a century ago, are practically a different species. One hundred years ago, I could look into someone's eyes and-judging by a blink or two-I could make the immediate determination if it was okay to sit down and talk about each other's origins in the most candid way. Within the first thirty minutes of conversation, I knew everything I wanted to know about a person, from their place of birth, to their most cherished recollections of their parental upbringing, and finally, discussions in vivid detail. . . the acceptance of a posthumous, guiltless death.

When conversing with humankind today, death isn't even mentioned. Mortality isn't even alluded to. It is as if everyone in today's world is an immortal supernatural creature of cunning grace, and death is only talked about out of necessity, a week before one's vital organs start shutting down and hospice is called to come with bed pans and morphine.

There is no time for reflection, but there is plenty of second guessing. Regret is the price they all pay for constant streaming of new experiences through technology, instead of flesh pressed against flesh, word bartered for spoken word, and eye contact to eye contact to exchange the true light within all of us. The personal connection between people is being steadily replaced by. . .the progress of civilization, technology's automation, and a jaded outlook almost completely devoid of social consciousness. Let me a take a deep breath...did I just go full Unibomber? Sorry...