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Never a Good Time

by Kent Wyatt

The old, red Lincoln sitting on the street in front of him was Officer Cliff Borrows chance to get his edge back. Stony Philips had been driving it around ever since the judge released him. How does a prison parolee get to walk out of a burglary charge? It was one for the books, even for the revolving door of court probation.

Cliff took note of the iron cross sticker in the back window of the Lincoln. It was Stony’s car all right. For Stony, it always had to be big and American-made. Insisting on a domestic car was part of his skinhead persona, one more way he gave patriotic a bad name. The crook liked big cars, so he could haul more goods away from his latest burglary.

The tremble started in Cliff’s hand. He gripped the steering wheel. Come on, You can’t be a cop if you can’t beat this. Squeezing his eyelids tight, he tried to lock out the flashbacks, but they came—the kid’s face as he raised the gun and swung it Cliff’s direction—Cliff’s duty weapon jumping in his hand—he didn’t remember pulling the trigger—it had been instinctive—the kid falling forward onto the asphalt.

Cliff opened his eyes and slammed his fist into the steering wheel’s vinyl. Deep breath, focus on your work. You’re okay. You just need some time to get back in the swing of things. Cliff had convinced the department psychologist that he was ready to return to duty, telling him all the right things. The empty hours had been making it worse.

They told him not to watch the news, but he couldn’t help it—all the accusations and the second-guessing. The kid was a gang member and had just been involved in a drive-by shooting. It didn’t matter. The news kept playing the clip of the kid’s mom blaming the department, blaming Cliff. The cop would always be wrong unless the criminal won. Then everyone was shocked, and you got a big law enforcement funeral. Maybe that would have been better. At least then he could escape the ache in his gut that wouldn’t go away. In all the training, they never talked about how you could win a gunfight and still lose. God, I just need some answers. Why did you let it happen? He had asked the question too many times to expect an answer. Stop it. Mind on the job.

Cliff stared at the Lincoln, trying to occupy his mind by reviewing what he knew about its owner. Since his parole, Stony had been talking like he was going to do something big, but all he accomplished was one low-skill break-in after another…just like the ones that had been occurring at the mini-storage down the street…ever since Stony got out. Looking from the Lincoln to the storage units, Cliff gave a disgusted half chuckle. It was mid-December. Stony must be doing a little Christmas shopping for himself.

The shaking returned as Cliff reached for the radio. His hand froze over the microphone. He should call for backup. He could hear what the boss would say if he didn’t. But he also knew what would happen once the other officers got there. They meant well, jumping on the radio, taking the hot calls that should have been his, but he couldn’t keep on letting them carry him, not knowing what would happen if he faced another suspect with a gun. Maybe he wasn’t ready to find that out tonight, but he needed to take the first step toward getting himself right. “Give him some time,” he had overheard Sergeant Warner saying when he didn’t know Cliff was around. Surely, the Sarge would understand why he had to do this alone.

Stony wouldn’t be carrying a gun. The crook didn’t want to go back to the joint. His bigoted ideology just about got him killed last time. The skinhead had a mouthful of racial slurs ready for any minority he came across, but he never found enough friends in prison to back him up. On the outside, Stony liked to fight, even with the cops. Cliff had always been a good fighter. It was the kind of arrest he needed, a hard arrest, to prove to the guys, and himself, that he could still do the job, a good old scrap with no firearms involved.

Cliff pulled his hand back from the mic. Pulling in behind the Lincoln, he shoved the shifter in park and killed his lights. He got out and eased the car door closed, just ‘til the latch gave a quiet click. He didn’t want Stony to know he was coming. The burglar’s MO was to scale the fence, away from the cameras at the entrance. Then he’d bolt cutter all the cheap locks and haul out anything worth taking. He’d toss some soft things, bedding or the like, over the fence into a back alley. Then he’d throw over the good stuff, like electronics, into the pile of padding he had created. When he had all he could haul, he would get his car, drive it up, toss in as much as he could fit, and take off. Since his car was here, it meant Stony was still shopping.

Moving into the shadows, Cliff made his way to the storage units. An old blanket covered the barbed wire at the top of the chain-link fence. Cliff hoisted himself up, taking careful shoe-holds, so he didn’t rattle the fence. As he eased his body down on the other side, there was a thud. Cliff tensed. Then he realized it was something landing on the pile. Crooks never change. Peeking around the corner of a unit, Cliff saw Stony at one of the overhead doors. It was open, and he was hauling out a big screen.

How’s he gonna get that over without scratching it?

Stony hoisted the television and started moving toward the fence. Stopping, he held the TV, staring at the pile on the other side.

Under the cover of the criminal’s labored breathing, Cliff moved to the corner of the unit and then eased himself behind the burglar. “Freeze, Stony.”

Crash! The TV hit the ground. Stony turned with a desperate look in his eyes as he reached to the small of his back. The crook had a gun, after all. All Cliff could say was, “No, no, no,” as he snatched his own duty weapon from its holster by instinct. Everything slowed. He was a good shot. Nailing Stony dead center would be easy, but he couldn’t pull the trigger.

Stony was raising the gun. All Cliff could do was watch. He couldn’t do it again. The bullet would hurt less. He prepared for the strike like a punch in the chest and the burning that others had described to him.

Then the world blinked.

It was the only way Cliff could describe what he saw. He watched the gun coming up in Stony’s hand, but it wasn’t pointed at him yet. Cliff’s eyes were wide open. There was no muzzle flash, no explosion. But something happened.

The face in front of him was not Stony’s. Staggering backward a few steps, Cliff took in the form. The man was huge, towering over Cliff’s six-foot-two. Cliff still sported his construction worker arms and was used to making an impression on people. This guy made him feel small. The man’s arms and legs had a thick appearance, not bodybuilder muscles, just thick and powerful.

But his face was even more daunting. Intense and confident, the man’s countenance blazed forth a sublime fierceness as if there was nothing in the world he needed to fear.

Not knowing what else to do, Cliff kept his gun on target and leaned around to check behind the man. No Stony.

He looked back at the incredible face as he used his peripheral vision to check around him. There was no way he could have mistaken the man for Stony. The would-be crook had vanished. It was a trick, it had to be.

Or…his mind…the stress.

Cliff’s concern over Stony’s disappearance moved to the background. He was looking into the eyes of something even more impressive.

“Hello, Cliff.” The man’s voice was a whispered shout, deep, compassionate, commanding. “We need to talk.”

Cliff took another step back. He looked the man over, scanning the man’s hands against the backdrop of his bright white shirt and matching loose-flowing pants. No gun. The man wouldn’t need one to be dangerous. “You know me?”

“Yes,” the man held Cliff’s gaze. “Don’t be afraid.”

Cliff’s fear calmed as if the words were a decree to his feelings. “Who are you?”

“A smile softened the man’s face. “I have something to show you. There is something you must do.” He showed no concern about the gun Cliff pointed at him.

Cliff’s hand slowly lowered until the gun pointed at the ground, then hung at his side. “What do you want me to do?”

“You need to save a little girl’s life.” The man was suddenly beside Cliff, taking his hand. In a rush, they left everything behind. Businesses and houses flashed by as the sun rose rapidly, traveled across the sky, running through the morning, afternoon and was sinking again when everything stopped in another place and time.

***

“Mamma, you make the best cake in the wo’ld.” Cherika was still having a little trouble saying her “R’s.”

Ammara smiled at her four-year-old’s, cake-filled cheeks. The chocolate frosting circling her lips matched the little girl’s dark skin. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, baby girl.” She put the cover back on the cake. “I am sure there are people who make a lot better cake than mine. But I’m not turning down any compliments.”

“Uh-uh.” The little girl shook the dark braids that covered her head. Ammara watched as the tiny mouth chewed frantically. Finally, the task was completed, and the mouth popped open. “I’ve been to everybody’s buf-day and tasted all tha’ cake. Yo’s is the best.”

Ammara raised an eyebrow. “Well, how can I argue with such an informed opinion. Will you be calling the Guinness World Records people, or should I?”

Cherika shook her head again, her little brow furrowed. “You bett’a do it. They might ask tek-ic-nic-cul cake questions that I don’t know.”

Ammara widened her eyes as she took Cherika’s empty plate. “Ooo, that is scary. I don’t think I’ll call until I can bone up on those technical questions, myself.”

“Yeah.” Cherika’s little voice sounded thoughtful. “‘Cause you don’t wanna emba-wass you’self to some cute guy.”

Ammara deposited the plate in the sink and turned, giving her daughter a bemused look, then smirked. “Yes. The main concern in my life…according to your aunt Tina, I’m sure.”

Cherika nodded matter-of-factly while licking her fingers. “Yep. A mamma that’s hot doesn’t wanna wait ‘til she’s not.”

Ammara’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll call Guinness after all. I wonder what the competition in the ‘most mettlesome sister’ category looks like?”

Cherika lifted her shoulders to her ears and gave a precious waggle of her upturned palms. Dropping them, she said, “Pwobably betta stick with the cake.”

Ammara chuckled. Shaking her head, she grabbed a dish towel and wiped the chocolate from the corners of Cherika’s mouth.

“Mamma, did Daddy get to see my bufday from heaven?”

The towel froze in Ammara’s hand. She quickly plastered a weak smile over what had involuntarily appeared on her face. “Sure, Baby. Him and Jesus, probably sitt’n up there laughing at your silly self all day. You know he wouldn’t miss his baby’s big party. And Jesus wouldn’t let him.”

“But why’d he let him go to Heaven without us?”

Ammara drew in a deep breath and was unable to speak for a moment. “That just isn’t for us to know, baby girl,” she finally said. “Jesus knows what he’s do’n.” Ammara finally brought forth a real smile. “Sometimes you ask technical questions that I don’t know.” Her grin widened. “Okay, since it’s your birthday, I let you stay up late, but the party’s over girlie. Get all your presents that your friends brought you and take them to your room.”

Cherika threw her head back in despair. “It’s still my bufday until it’s the next day.”

Ammara feigned a look of shock. “Even four-year-old girls do not get to stay up ‘til midnight. Now get your things before I decide I wanna take them to my room.” Ammara began stomping toward the wrapping paper and boxes that littered the tiny living room.

Cherika squealed and dove off the chair to beat her mother to them.

After loading up with the dollar store trinkets, they made their way down the dark hallway of the small apartment. The passage was suddenly suffused with light. Ammara stopped. It was coming from behind her. She whirled around. The toys dropped from her hands, but something stopped her from screaming.

***

Cliff stared at the church. He knew it. It had only been a couple of months since he had been driving by the run-down building as part of his beat, before the commander moved him to a different division of the city, after the shooting. He had been inside once to take a burglary report from the gentle man that pastored the church, but that had been several years ago.

Maybe he was crazy. He was trying to absorb everything the man had told him before he had vanished. He had never contemplated being visited by an angel before. Even though he hadn’t identified himself, something inside Cliff recognized what the visitor was. It was the only thing that kept Cliff from questioning his sanity. It also made it impossible to ignore what the angel said. The words he had spoken were more than instructions. They had a burning insistency from which he couldn’t walk away. But how could he be expected to do this, at this time? He swallowed past his dry throat. Away from the angel, the peace that had come from being in his presence, dropped away like the warm colors of autumn, leaving his words to stand like a bare tree in winter, naked in the cold reality of what the angel said was about to happen.

The chill inside made Cliff cross his arms in front of him. Something felt different. He glanced at himself. He was in a plain white pullover shirt, blue slacks and dress jacket, his uniform gone. His hand moved to his side, but he could already tell by the lack of weight at his hips that he was not wearing his duty belt. He had come to hate the sight of his customized Smith and Wesson handgun, while at the same time being unable to let it go since the detectives had returned it to him when the shooting was ruled justifiable. He was terrified with it, but now, particularly, he was terrified without it. But fear was something that a cop learned to swallow and move on.

Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the building. A figure came out of the shadows near the corner. Cliff froze until he noticed that it was a lovely woman carrying a child. She was about Cliff’s age and approached him with an expression of unenthusiastic resolve.

“You the cop?”

“Are you the one I’m supposed to help?”

The woman took a nervous breath. “I was told a white cop would come to the church tonight and Cherika and I are supposed to take you in. You’re the only white man I see, and I don’t expect they’ll be any others.” The woman shifted the little girl to her other hip.

The little one smiled at Cliff. “You a police?” Her sweet face gave him back a little warmth.

Cliff smiled back. Glancing around. “I am, but I’m on a secret mission, so don’t tell anyone.”

Cherika kept smiling but turned her head sideways at him for a moment. She straightened and widened her eyes. “We saw an angel.”

The woman stiffened. A slight smile touched her mouth, but her eyes kept the nervous look.

Cliff nodded, feeling his own relief. “I did too.”

At the comment, the woman seemed to relax a little. She looked like she was going to say something, but behind him, a thumping stereo announced the arrival of a vehicle. He turned. The rap music blared behind a set of headlights. The black Honda was so low to the ground it scraped bottom as it whipped into the parking lot. The nasty, rapid-fire lyrics were loud enough to hear what the singer thought of law enforcement. There was nothing favorable in the words.

“We better go inside,” The woman looked apprehensively at the vehicle. But instead of moving, she turned and stared hard at Cliff, her brow wrinkled.

Behind him, the car stopped, making the music seem even louder. The bass echoed off the wall of the building for a few more seconds then the driver shut off the car, killing the stereo with it.

A car door opened, and Cliff started to look that direction again, but the woman suddenly took a deep breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She thrust the little girl at him.

Cliff scrambled to take her, and Cherika put her arms around his neck. Her soft braids brushed his cheek. The woman took hold of his arm and began walking him toward the entrance.

She spoke firmly, almost threatening as she walked. “Angel or no angel, you better know what you’re do’n. He said I was to let you hold her and you would protect her. What I want to know is why am I even here if my little girl is going to need protecting? And why on earth would he send you? Half the people in this church don’t really like white people and if some of them knew you were a cop, you would need protecting. So, why you here?”

Behind him, Cliff heard more car doors open and slam. Someone said, “Look at that…” The rest was a profane comment about Cliff’s race. Cliff frowned and put his hand over the little girl’s ear. The woman glanced at his gesture out of the corner of her eye and the side of her mouth turned up.

“It’s okay.” Cherika smiled. “I hea’ that all the time. Mamma says it’s igno’ance talking.”

Cliff gave a little grin in the woman’s direction.

She caught his eye just briefly as she glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, well right now ignorance is walking.” She increased the pull on his arm. “And we need to walk faster.”

She hustled him up to the entrance and grabbed the door open as one of the men behind them yelled, “Ammara, that you?” She ignored the voice and pulled Cliff into the foyer of the church.

Several men stood around the entrance to the sanctuary. At the sound of the door, they turned to see who the latecomers were. Dark faces stared at Cliff as if he had walked in naked. And that’s how he felt.

The woman, the parking lot group had called Ammara, hesitated only briefly and then hurried him by the open-mouthed men, snatching a program as she passed. Suddenly the largest of the men grabbed Cliff by his free hand. Cliff spun toward him, his muscles tensing as he instinctively swung Cherika away from the man.

A broad smile faced him. “Welcome, brother.” The big man shook Cliff’s hand with gusto.

With gratefulness, Cliff returned the handshake.

Ammara acknowledged the man. “Thank you, Markus.”

They made their way to an empty set of seats near the back. Cliff set Cherika in the seat beside him leaving a seat on the other side of her for her mother. To his surprise, the woman picked up the girl and sat right next to Cliff, putting her daughter on her lap.

Ammara scanned the room with a forced smile as she addressed Cliff from the side of her mouth. “Okay, we’re here. You wanna tell me why?”

Cliff was also searching the crowd and the exits. He feared to say what the angel had told him—that there would be a shooting at the church, that he was supposed to save Cherika. He looked around. It was a moderately sized congregation for the old building. How many people would die? This was crazy. Why couldn’t the angel just tell him who the shooter was, where he was, and end it before it started? He wanted to tell Ammara to get Cherika out of there, but the angel said they were not to leave the building before the shooting started.

“Like the angel told you, I’m here to watch out for Cherika.”

“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? Tell me. Why would anyone want to hurt my baby? Why was I supposed to come here, if she could be hurt?”

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is we need to watch everyone that comes in. Tell me if you see anyone suspicious.” He considered the woman’s beautiful face. The little girl squirmed in her lap and Ammara tried to hold her close. He saw a pleading in the woman’s eyes. Cliff had never been so taken by a look. He saw inside Ammara. He could tell she had been through pain like his own. He felt connected, bonded somehow. All he wanted to do was keep her and Cherika safe. He wanted to learn all about her, to know her beyond the moment. For reasons he could not even express, the face before him was all the future he could see. The need to get all of them through the night became so strong in him that he could not fathom failure.

Cherika was standing in her momma’s lap and looking intently at Cliff. She reached over and ran her hand across the stubble on his face. Ammara absently pulled her daughter’s hand down. The girl twisted around her mother’s arm and returned to stroking his bristly cheek. Cliff gave her little nose a flip with his finger and the girl giggled.

Over her shoulder, he saw the group from the parking lot come in the door. Sports hats, baggy sweatpants, hoodies, and bandanas—no question, they were advertising. One in a Sniper Gang sweatshirt kept putting his hand near his stomach. He probably had a gun in the hoody pocket.

“You know that guy?” He motioned with his eyes and Ammara turned to see who he meant. “The one with the SG sweatshirt.”

Ammara turned back around. “That’s Jayden Martin. They call him “Dirty J.” He’s been hitting on me since the day my husband died. He doesn’t know what ‘no’ means.”

“Does he carry a gun?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Stay here.” He looked in Ammara’s worried face. Oh, that face. He gave her hand a squeeze.

Her look seemed to return his feelings. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Cliff moved out of his seat and went to the back wall. Jayden was surveying the crowd. Moving toward the gang member from the side, he was within ten feet of the man before he saw him.

Jayden turned and looked at him a moment. “You don’t belong here.” His gaze held menace. “And what you do’n hang’n around Ammara?” There were three of them and the others stepped in on each side of Dirty J.

The greeter named Markus, who had shaken Cliff’s hand, came in behind Dirty J’s group. “Boys, this is the house of the Lord. You better not be here to cause trouble.” Two of the other greeters were also converging on the confrontation.

There was a gunshot.

The sound made Cliff jolt. There was shock on Jayden’s face as well. Shots were coming rapid-fire. Cliff spun. They came from behind him, on the other side of the church, far across the auditorium. Screaming and gunfire filled the room, reverberating off the ceiling. Cliff saw chaos. People were jumping seats. Anyone close to an exit was pouring toward it, colliding with others with the same idea. Bodies lay on the floor, some still moving, some crying hysterically before they were silenced with another gunshot.

His eyes landed on the shooter, the only other white skin in the room. He was just inside a side entrance. Scattering people blocked the man’s face, but Cliff caught glimpses of him. He was inserting another magazine in a handgun.

Cliff searched for Ammara. There she was, almost to the aisle, Cherika in her arms.

Turning back, he searched for Jayden, hoping now that he did have a gun in his hoody. But over the people pouring through the sanctuary, he saw the gang member and his buddies, pushing people out of the way and disappearing out the front entrance. The greeters were trying to get people out without someone getting trampled.

Cliff huffed out a breath and turned again, bolting in the shooter’s direction. There was a swarm of people in his way, all trying to fit through the other rear exit. He jumped the back row of seats and then another to get a free lane to the man who was aiming the gun again. He fired at the group of people heading toward the front then turned and shot at the ones at the rear exit. Cliff saw the deadly barrel turn toward where Ammara was hurrying down the aisle with Cherika wrapped up in her arms. They were heading toward the rear exit. He launched himself over a set of pews and then another. He moved diagonally with his eye on the gunman, trying to put himself between the pointing weapon and the mother and child. He was almost there. The gun spit fire and the sound erupted in Cliff’s ears. Fleeing bodies cleared and Cliff was looking in the shooter’s face.

Stony.

The man was too busy turning, searching for his next victim to notice Cliff. The gun moved away, and Cliff jerked his head around, looking for Ammara and Cherika. He no longer saw them. They must have made it to the exit. Another set of shots brought Cliff’s attention back to Stony. The main crowd had cleared. It was miraculous that Stony had not turned his weapon on Cliff. It was like the killer wasn’t even seeing him. Instead, the man was stalking down the side aisle chasing after a woman who had crawled between some seating further toward the front of the auditorium.

Cliff took off down the row he was standing in, running hard between the seats. Stony was still walking, gun out searching for people between the seats as he made his way toward the woman’s hiding place. Cliff reached the end of the seats and turned up the side aisle. Stony was ahead of him now, his back toward him, still moving toward the front. Cliff ran full out, closing the distance. Screaming came from different areas of the large room, masking the sound of his footfalls. Stony stopped. He had made it to where the woman had crawled. The man tipped his head and crouched, looking intently under the seats. His look was hard and deadly. He raised the gun and twisted it to get the right angle. His forearm flexed with the effort of the trigger pull.

Cliff hit him at a full run. Stony went forward as the gun went off. The bullet embedded harmlessly in the side of a seat cushion.

The shooter was on the floor, Cliff on top of him, but he had managed to hold onto the gun. He swung it toward Cliff’s head. Grabbing the weapon, Cliff pushed it back down as Stony struggled to use it against him. Cliff focused on the handgun to keep it pointed away. As he looked at it he noted the custom additions to the Smith and Wesson in Stony’s hand. Recognition rushed into Cliff’s mind. He was fighting the gunman for control of his own police duty weapon.

Cliff came face to face with Stony.

The man stared at him. His eyes widened. “You’re dead. Get away from me, I killed you.” The man pushed frantically at Cliff, renewed panic in the force of his arms.

Cliff had to end it now. He kicked up with his legs shifting his weight into his own upper body, overcoming Stony’s push to get away. As he came down, he landed a knee in the crook’s groin. The air and the fight went out of the man. Cliff pinned Stony’s hand that held the gun to the floor and began driving his fist into Stony’s face. Over and over he struck the man until his opponent finally lay still.

Taking back his gun, he stared at the weapon that had just been shooting innocent people. He bent and searched Stony. He found another gun in his waist. It looked like the one he had started to use against Cliff at the storage units. The whole scene came back to him along with what Stony had said. You’re dead, I killed you.

A hand touched his arm, making him jump. It was Markus the greeter. The man’s face was troubled. “You need to come quick.” Something in the man’s eyes made him forget about Stony and he hurried after him. He had the feeling of a fog coming over him as they hurried to the back of the church. A group gathered in the center aisle. “Look out.” Marcus bellowed, and the crowd swung back away from someone on the floor.

Ammara sat, rocking, wailing, cradling a small limp body. She was trying in vain to wipe blood away from Cherika’s face. Her eyes met Cliff’s. The eyes that had held Cliff’s future were blurred in weeping torrents. The anguish in her features hit him harder than any blow he had ever received. He stumbled back, his legs ran into a seat and he collapsed against it, grabbing the chair with one hand. His other hand already had something in it. He looked at the object. He held his own gun.

The gun that had killed Cherika.

Despair engulfed him. He stared at the metal of the barrel. Slowly he rotated the deadly mouth of the gun towards his own face and he started to squeeze the trigger.

A huge hand covered the weapon. He looked up into the angel’s face. Everything around him blurred in a rush. Passing through the walls, he was outside of the church. Buildings, streets, neighborhoods rushed by. The sun came back up the wrong direction as they moved. It was in the evening sky, then high overhead. Then the radiance of the sunrise disappeared as the night came back.  They were standing in the glow of the security light attached to the mini-storage building.

The angel took the gun from his hand and placed it back in Cliff’s holster and fixed him with his eyes.

Still breathing heavily, Cliff glanced around at the familiar surroundings. Dropping his head, he saw the badge on his chest. His mind tried to orient itself, but all he had was raw emotion. He exploded on the being in front of him. “Why? What was that all about? You sent me there to save her, but she’s dead.” His face twisted in grief, tears streaming down. He pushed his fingers through his hair and facing away from the angel, he stood there with his hands on his head, looking toward the dark sky.”

Cliff heard the angel speak behind him. “He knows your inward heart. You wanted to know why He wouldn’t just tell you who the shooter was, so you could stop it before it started. Rarely does He grant that desire, but you can never tell what He might do. He keeps us all guessing.”

Cliff turned and faced the angel as he tried to comprehend what he was saying.

The angel’s voice held compassion. “We never know what our actions or inactions might lead to. The Lord writes a very intricate story. None of us can see the outcome…unless He shows us.” The huge head regarded Cliff, anew. “You are a guardian, Officer Borrows. Like some of my kind, you were meant to protect and to stop evil. It is your calling and with it comes hard tasks and great sacrifices. He calls some to give their lives and others to suffer the horrors of living. He knows what you can take, but you have forgotten. He has been trying to talk to you for some time, but you were so focused on a pain you were never meant to bear alone that you would not listen. Only the great shock of seeing where evil unchecked might lead, how far down the dark road it might go, could remind you of the job you are called to do.

Cliff shook his head. “He let a little girl die just to slap me out of my grief? You think something like that is going to work? I can’t take anymore. You should have let me kill myself.”

The angel shook his head. “You are still not listening. I said you were supposed to save her, but that is not the reason I took you to the church. That was not the time to save Cherika. Now is.”

The angel gestured around at their surroundings as he continued. “Stony’s evil was never supposed to go beyond this night. He was never meant to get your gun and take his hatred out on others. It was supposed to end here, at this place and time. The Lord placed you here to fulfill His plan, but you were allowing the enemy to distract you with depression. It kills more people than guns.”

Cliff wiped his face and looked at the ground a moment. A growing hope reached his mind. He looked back at the sublime face. “You’re telling me, I get to do this over?”

“You get to do what you were meant to do.” The man’s smile faded. “It is an awful thing to kill a man. That pain will remain, as it should. You have been called to make a great sacrifice, but He wants to help you through it. Remember, it is Stony’s own actions that led him to this night.”

Cliff’s breathing was increasing. “Isn’t there some other way?”

Cliff could see sorrow in the angel’s eyes. “If you mean to say, ‘let this cup pass from me,’ I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s not possible. Tonight, you were allowed to see a small variation of the possible paths. He knows them all. Trust Him.” The angel fell silent.

A quiet engulfed the storage yard and Cliff became aware of the distant city noise. He could hear his own breathing, but the heavenly being was as still as stone. Cliff turned away from his waiting gaze. The question he had did not seem appropriate for the angel. He looked upward. Even through the lights of the city, he could see a few points of starlight. “Why.” His whispered voice was swallowed by the muted sky.

The quiet continued.

No answer came.

Cliff dropped his head. In his mind, the idea of trust kept floating around and finally landed in his heart. Perhaps it was the answer to so many of his questions. Glancing around, he saw a knowing smile on the angel’s face.

Taking a deep breath, Cliff adjusted his holster on his belt. “I guess I’m ready to get this over with. Will you be hanging around? Stony was bringing that gun up pretty fast, I could use a guardian angel.”

“I have to stay, Cliff. But, I’m not a guardian.” The mighty head bowed in solemnness. “I’m a death angel.”

It was the last thing Cliff heard before the world blinked.

***

Ammara settled into a seat at the back of the auditorium of the church. The organ was starting to fire up, playing Christmas carols. She brushed back Cherika’s braids and the little girl crawled into her lap and hugged her neck.

Searching expectantly, Ammara watched the people entering the church. She saw Jayden Martin coming down the aisle with two of his wannabes. The gang member gave her the eye and started to come her way. The look she shot back at him made him stop. He smirked at her a moment. Making a sideways comment to one of his fellow hoods, he gave her one last sneer. Pointing to some seats on the back row, he led his backup toward the other side of the room. Ammara kept her eye on them to be sure they didn’t change their mind.

“Excuse me.” A voice made Ammara turn. A man stood tall above her with his arm in a sling. “Is this seat taken?” With his good hand, he pointed beside her.” Ammara smiled. “I guess I was saving it for you.”

The man sat. “Did someone tell you I was coming?”

“You might say that.”

Cherika stood in her mamma’s lap and looked at the man with widened eyes. “It was an angel.”

“Well.” The man straightened in the seat. “It’s good to hear I come so highly recommended.”

Cherika reached over and ran her hand across the man’s stubble. Ammara pulled her hand down.

The little girl looked sideways at her. “Mamma, he’s cute. Don’t embawas you’self.”

Ammara drew in a breath and cringed. “I don’t have to…because I have a little girl to do that for me.” She ended the statement with a sheepish smile in the man’s direction.

He smiled back. “Hi. I’m Cliff.” As Ammara took his offered hand the man asked, “So, what did the angel say about me?”

Ammara narrowed her eyes slightly but her smile didn’t leave. “He said you have been through a lot, just like us and that we should take care of each other.”

The man’s grin widened. “I like the sound of that.”

Ammara regarded the man named Cliff. He wasn’t exactly what she had been praying for, but who was she to argue with an angel? The whole thing was so strange, but for some reason when she looked at the man’s eyes, he was all the future she could see.

A piano had joined the organ and the choir started singing “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Ammara and Cliff both looked at the singers and then looked back at each other, smiling. Cliff shook his head in wonder.

Ammara pointed toward the sling and spoke over the music. “So, how’d you get that?”

Cliff’s face dropped slightly. “I came face to face with an angel myself. He was a death angel.”

Ammara raised her eyebrows. After her own experience, what the man said was not so unbelievable. “How did you get out of that one?”

“He was there for someone else.” Cliff’s smile returned. “I guess I had a date tonight that I wasn’t supposed to miss.”

Ammara shifted Cherika on her lap. She looked at the floor. “I’m glad.”

Cherika looked back and forth between them and finally settled on Cliff. “My mamma makes the best cake in the wo’ld.”