In domain of heaven there are nine ranks of angels or heavenly beings. This ranking is often referred to as the Angelic Order. The order is as follows: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels and Angels. There have only been two instances where any of these heavenly creatures have been thrown from heaven. The first occurrence was when the Cherubim, Lucifer, lead a revolt. As a result, he and his followers were forever removed from the rank of angels and cast into what is now known as hell. The second instance occurred three thousand years later. Another Cherub was thoroughly punished for his unspeakable crime. However, unlike Lucifer and his followers, he was forever damned to reincarnation on earth, never being allowed to return to heaven.

***

“And so I showed him.”

I almost choked on my beer I was laughing so hard. I wiped off the bit of dark liquid that was running down my chin.

Kendall always knew the best jokes. He sat there chuckling. His jokes even cracked him up. He smiled at me with that toothy grin of his. “Soooo…how’s the story comin’ along?” He slurred, sinking deeper and deeper into his leather armchair.

I sighed, and leaned back on my elbows. I twirled my fingers through the rug. Bits and pieces tickled the palm of my hand. “It’s almost finished…I guess. It just isn’t going along as well as my previous novels.” I pulled an unopened pack of cigarettes from my breast pocket.

“Well, you’re not perfect Lion, not like me, you’re only human.” He waved his arms in an overly exaggerated way. Some of his beer spilled out onto his lap. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so perfect.” I mumbled as I lit a cigarette. Of course, Kendall did have a great personality, a good sense of humor, and a new bombshell on his arm every other week. “But, yeah, I’m getting’ down to the end of it. I just haven’t thought of the right ending yet.” I breathed out and watched as the smoke swelled and rose to the azul ceiling. The ceiling’s color was so rich and vibrant, I half expected to see a bird fly overhead or watch some clouds lazily blow by.

“Well, you’ll think of something…or you won’t…ha, ha.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I took another sip of my beer. Empty. I pushed myself up, off the furry shag carpet and headed towards the dirty, gray fridge. “You want anythin’?” I pulled the back of my jeans up, back over my rear. My pants always had a way of working their way off my ass whenever I sat on a carpet.

I swayed slightly as I reached for the refrigerator door. I was a little dumbstruck when I looked inside. There was alcohol on every shelf, the doors, and everywhere in-between. And balanced on a six-pack there were two lonely eggs, and an odd-shaped orange. Does Kendall ever eat? I guess that’s what the orange and eggs are for, I mused. Let’s see…eenie, meanie, minie…I grabbed a dark bottle off the top shelf and slammed the door shut. I heard something slid off. I glanced at the hardwood floor. Ms. September smiled back. I sighed and picked her up. I set her down on the cracked, marble counter. “There ya go.”

As I turned to go, I noticed a small pile of books. I picked up the top one. “Getting to Heaven, the easy way.” I rolled my eyes, another one of Kendall’s fast track to heaven books.

“I see you bought another one of these crap books.” I plopped down next to Kendall. “It’s not crap.” He grabbed the book from me and hugged it slightly.

“You know you could always try finding religion or going to church.”

Kendall tossed the book onto his couch. “You know I can’t do that.”

I tend to avoid thinking anything negative about Kendall, but his obsession with heaven was tiring. His entire apartment was lined with bookshelves and each one was packed with ‘heaven’ books; from “Heaven, Getting in through the Back Way”, “One Hundred and One Answers for Peter”, and “Entering the Pearly Gates”.

He was willing to pour through thousands of them, studying their mumbo-jumbo and empty promises, searching for the easiest route to heaven. I think the only other written works he reads are my manuscripts. Of course, he has to, considering he’s my editor. I’ve suggested church or something similar, but he always avoided the topic or changed the subject. It seemed almost as if the idea frightened him.

I stared at my bottle. The silence was becoming tedious. And it gave me the opportunity to think about my novel and that wasn’t something I felt like dealing with at the moment. I forced a grin and perky voice. “Um…you know, I’ve got a pretty good joke myself.”

***

The blank page stared ominously at me. My reading glasses slid down my nose. Frustrated, I yanked the wire frames off and tossed them onto the coffee table. They bounced twice before resting on a pile of disorganized papers. I sighed heavily and threw myself back against the couch cushions. I let myself sink deep into the black leather, the foam compressing under my weight. I ran a hand through my blonde hair and tugged thoughtfully on a chunk of bangs.

I still hadn’t thought up an ending for the novel and I needed to hand it to Kendall tomorrow. Well, no, that wasn’t it. It’s just the ending I had created was too sweet, sickening even. I wanted my novel to have a great ending, or at least one that wasn’t vomit inducing. I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my remaining cigarette. I lit it and breathed out slowly. I always enjoyed watching smoke as it curled and weaved through the air, almost like some mystical dance.

I suppose this type of thinking makes me sound like a bit of a romantic. But maybe that’s why I continue writing romance novels. However, my last two certainly left something to be desired. Kendall assured me that they were “fantastic, why else would they have become best sellers? They sell because they’re high quality literature, not because of your good-looks.” I would like to believe him. But it’s hard to believe it when the back cover has the photograph of a gorgeous guy with platinum locks and brilliant blue eyes and a winning smile. I’m not saying being attractive is a bad thing, far from it. But I know that a part of my subconscious realizes that my books can be utter crap and they’ll still sell, as long as that picture is pasted on the back. I ran my hand down my face, feeling the strong bone structure under my fair skin. I let my chin rest on the palm of my hand.

I had started writing about seven years ago. I hadn’t even considered writing as a career until then. But one day, the idea for my first novel just came to me, out of a dream. Images began to plague my mind. And so, I decided to write them down. When I did, a story just poured out of me. It felt so real. I could feel the characters breathing; know their inner thoughts, and the darkness that circled their hearts. Aside from the unusually strong emotions I felt from it, was the fact that it was a romance that took place in Feudal Japan, a samurai and his lover. At the time, and I suppose now, actually, I had little, if no knowledge of Japanese history or its customs. But even so, the story “Suki” became an enormous success. And I found the next two just as easy to produce. One was about an Indian princess and the other about an heiress in sixteenth century England. But now my novels lack the flavor of the original three. I no longer feel the sense of realism that should be emanating from them.

I sighed and glanced dully around the room. It was a small apartment, rather bland actually. I had never gotten around to changing the brown-painted walls to a color that would better suit me, like green or red. And I’ve never been one for furniture. My living room only consists of a mahogany wood coffee table, that I use for my work, and a black leather couch. The only other furniture I have, is my bed and night table in the bedroom. I prefer to just have what’s essential. Why waste money or time with anything else. However…my eyes rested on a painting on the adjacent wall. It was the only painting I owned.

Buying art was the same as buying furniture, in my opinion. But for some reason or other, I had felt compelled to buy this particular painting. I remember, Kendall had forced me to follow him around to various galleries that day. He was redecorating and, for some ungodly reason, he assumed I would be able to help him find the ‘right’ pieces of artwork. Eventually, we stumbled across this picture. From what I could tell, it was an angel. He was on his knees crying out in agony; his blood soaked hands wrapped around his calves. His right wing had been violently ripped off and most of the feathers had fallen to the ground, but a few still hovered, almost defiantly. It was a terribly gruesome image. And some part of it had clung to my psyche and refused to let go. Thus, I decided that I needed to have it.

I inhaled the last of my cigarette. I looked back at the blank page. I frowned. I really needed to think of a better ending.


***

The café rustled with life. I glanced around at the boisterous groups of people, the couples, and the lonely artist or author focusing on whatever was their next masterpiece. I could catch snippets of the conversations as people slipped in between the small tables, occasionally knocking them with their overloaded bags and purses. I felt almost temped to write some of the conversations down. The one being exchanged between two young girls about a boyfriend seemed the most intriguing. But I refrained and turned back to my company.

I stared at him as he looked around trying to catch the attention of the waitress. I never understood why Kendall always commented on my good looks. He certainly isn’t homely. He has tanned skin and dark brown eyes. And he’s in really great shape, unlike me. I’m just skinny; I’m not extremely muscular. Plus, he’s got a real lady-killer smile. But I think his most distinguishing feature has to be his hair. He is one of the few, if only guys, who can successfully pull off the mullet. Somehow, it seems to fit him and his personality. Like the old saying, “Business in the front, party in the back.” I couldn’t think of a better description for Kendall. He seems serious and very business-like upfront, but once you get beyond that he’s a very different person.

The waitress finally brought us our coffee. Kendall became very quiet and focused all of his energy on his food. He took a bite of the biscotti and then, proceeded to flick the crumbs from his upper lip. I poured some cream into my coffee. The brown and white swirled together into a tan union.

“I see you went for the sappy ending.” Kendall thumped my manuscript on the table.

I took a sip and mumbled into my coffee.

He scratched his head and some of his onyx hair fell in front of his eyes. He laughed, “Well, it doesn’t really matter ya know. It’s like I always say, ‘you can sell anything with your looks.’”

“I thought you always said my work sells because it’s ‘high quality literature’, not because of my good looks.”

Kendall chuckled again. His hands played with his napkin. “I don’t see why you worry about it anyways. You write romance novels. They’re not exactly supposed to be great literature. Besides, at least you’re not writing dime-store smut.”

I frowned. “I understand that. It’s just…” I sighed. “I just want my writing to have more substance. Like, like the first ones…”

He smiled slyly. “Well, maybe you’re just not getting the right motivation. You should get a girlfriend.” I just stared at him. He cocked an eyebrow. “A boyfriend?”

I set my cup down a little to hard. Some of the coffee splashed over the rim and onto the table. I fruitlessly tried to wipe it off the tablecloth. “Look I don’t need a relationship for motivation.”

He shoved the rest of his biscotti into his mouth. He stood up. He patted my cheek, like a parent would after their child had asked a ridiculous question. I hate it when he patronizes me. “I just suggested it because I’m your friend. I’m not just your editor you know.” He grabbed his briefcase. “I’ll see you later, Lion.”

I pulled out a cigarette as Kendall walked away. I suppose there’s some truth to what he said. And I suppose that I should take it into consideration. We’ve only known each other for a brief time, but sometimes, he seems to know me better than I know myself. Which now that I think about it is rather unusual. Most people have trouble really understanding me. But I guess part of that is due to the fact, I don’t want them to get that close. I guess he takes his job as an editor very seriously. Not only does he evaluate my writing, but at the same time, he evaluates me.

We met only a short while after “Suki” was published. I had been sitting in this exact coffee shop and he ran up to me completely out of breath. He told me that as soon as he read “Suki”, he had to find me. At first, I just assumed he was an overenthusiastic fan or maybe he had some school-boy crush on me. But after he calmed down enough to talk civilly, he explained that he was an editor and that he wanted to take part in my writing process. He told me that the story was brilliant, that each scene, took his breath away, especially the love scenes. He even asked me how I came up with it. Of course, at the time, I was so flattered by his proposal to be my editor; I spilled the whole dream and process to him. And ever since then, he’s been watching over my work and me.

Maybe a relationship would be a good thing. I’ve always been a bit weary about having relationships. I just have difficulty getting close. I feel that if I get too close that I will end up really hurting them. And the few relationships, I’ve allowed myself to have, I broke off long before they could blossom into anything serious. I watched a couple seated a few tables away for a moment. They seemed to be having a really great time. “They do look happy though.” I mumbled. Yeah, maybe…maybe I’ll give it another try. I smiled to myself.

***

I leaned my elbows against the cement railing and sighed. I could hear the swirling chaos of the river below me. I don’t know why he wanted to see me so bad, or why he wanted to meet on the bridge. Kendall had called me around six this morning. I almost hung up when he said it was urgent. Eventually, I found the energy to roll out of bed and throw on some clothes. Hmm, I flicked some of the ash of my cigarette and ground it with the toe of my boot. I swear I’ll kill him if all this is, is just him trying to hook me up with some friend of his.

I felt something hit my head. It too me a minute to realize that it was rain. Winter days always sucked the strength right out of me. Soon flecks of water were splattering all over me. Damn, why did I have to wear jeans. I could already feel the rain being absorbed into them. Within a matter of minutes, I was drenched and my shirt felt as if it was plastered to my body. I pulled my collar up, trying to prevent my neck from getting further soaked. My beautiful golden locks now hung limply in front of my eyes. I shivered. God, when was he going to get here? I hugged myself. The water below the bridge was now churning in fury and the railing had grown fairly slick.

“Lion!” I turned my head and saw Kendall. “About damn time,” I muttered to myself as he trotted over. It seemed while drizzly days sapped me of my energy, they increased Kendall’s. “So what’s so urgent, that I need to come here and stand in the pouring rain, and completely drenched, huh?” I noticed he had an umbrella, which he had not offered to share with me.

He casually leaned against the railing. “For sometime now I’ve been facing a dilemma.” I assumed that he was talking to me, but his eyes were focused off somewhere else. He continued, “We just couldn’t figure out what to do.”

“Who’s we?”

He ignored me or just didn’t hear me, I’m not really sure. “You know the problem with reincarnation…if you kill someone, they just keep coming back. You could kill them a dozen times over and they never really die, they just change location. You can never really get rid of them.” He chuckled. I frowned and glanced sideways at him. “I…we were just stuck with this dilemma. What to do? And what if, someway, they started to remember their past? Not just their past lives, their entire past, ya know. That was the real problem. Then just the other day it hit me…Do you know what it was?” He turned to me. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. But this wasn’t a pleasant smile. It was the creepiest smile I think I have ever seen. His lips had stretched back so far that I could see every one of his teeth. I was so startled I took a step back. He plucked the cigarette from my mouth and crushed it between his fingers. “I’ve hunted you down, life through life…killing you, slaughtering you…and yesterday, I realized that maybe there are other ways to get rid of someone other than death.”

I smiled nervously, “Ken, joke’s over…You’re really starting to scare me.”

He took a step towards me.