The marketplace in the village below the Citadel was especially busy for a Friday morning. Although the northern highlands were largely untouched by the quake, the locals knew that shortages would inevitably follow, and that some things would likely be in short supply for months if not years. A lifetime of living on the razor’s edge of poverty taught a person many lessons, and the fragility of rural supply lines was one of the harshest lessons to learn.
Friday at sunset was the time of week when those who were lucky enough to have jobs were usually paid. Since pocket money commonly ran out long before the following Friday morning rolled around, Friday morning was always the slowest time of the week.
But all that changed with the work that the orphanage brought to town. The construction project at the Citadel triggered a flurry of business in the village below, and the ebb and flow of local finance changed as a direct result.
The early morning mist had burned away and the sun was dazzlingly bright in a clear blue sky. It was a glorious winter day and there was commerce and hope in the air. Despite the national tragedy, there was a sense that there would be some respite for this particular village from all its years of weary anxiety. The rich and powerful Catholic Church was watching over them now, and only the loas were unhappy about it.
The locals milled in the dusty street, along with a sprinkling of recently arrived European relief workers who were secretly relieved at not having all that much work to do this far north, a couple hundred miles from the epicenter near Port-au-Prince. Some shacks had collapsed in the quake, but they were about to keel over anyway. Nobody died, there was one heart attack, one person had fractured their wrist, and three people twisted their ankle.
During market hours, the street had always been more of a village square than a main drag. Amidst the random interactions of the morning crowd, a clear space happened to form in the middle of the road, and for some unaccountable reason it stayed empty and open, as if it were a hole in the world.
Devlin appeared in the open space, although he was quite invisible to any mortal there. His five fallen angels stepped out of the crowd, also unseen by anyone, and formed a circle around their master.
As always, they spoke in unison, their voices blending into one resonant murmur. “My Lord,” they greeted him.
Devlin was in a foul mood. “You are aware of why I have come,” he hissed.
They didn’t cast their eyes downward, but instead looked directly at him. This was something new. “We are aware of the gravity of the situation,” they said.
Their boldness displeased him. “Then summon Him,” Devlin shot back.
The angels lowered their heads, raised their arms, and began to hum. As they did, the light of the real world faded, along with their surroundings. As they extended their arms upward and as their humming grew ever louder, they faded away as well, leaving Devlin standing alone in pure darkness.
He waited, and then the light began to come. At first it touched him like delicate gold threads, coming upon him more and more until the tendrils streamed down in a radiant cascade, washing away the darkness and holding him in a pure, luminous embrace.
Devlin lowered his head and knelt down in respect. “My Lord,” he whispered.
“Lucifer...”
“No matter how this ends, I will always love You,” Devlin said.
“And I will always love you,” came the gentle reply.
Devlin looked up to the source of light. There was something he wanted to say, and he was bold enough to say it.
“This argument will finally be settled,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “It’s long past time that Your children learn the truth.”
“The truth is always there, for those who earnestly seek it.”
“Where?” Devlin snarled. “In the Bible? It reeks of hate and hypocrisy!”
“Man is free to see the world as he chooses – ”
“Believing is seeing! You offer them faith, not freedom.”
“They are My children. And My will has never led them beyond the protection of My grace.”
“What of their free will?”
Devlin waited for a reply, but there was none.
“I loved You freely!” Devlin said. “That is my will. Always, now, and forevermore.”
The light glowed brighter and warmer, but Devlin was not soothed. He began to shed tears of blood.
“I didn’t turn away from You!” he cried out. “I never did. It was You who cast me away! The one who loved You most.”
He waited for a response, but again there was none and that roused him to anger. But he smiled darkly, his confidence complete. “When I win this bet – and I will – it will be glorious to see You uncreate Man!”
“And how will one without a heart and soul ever grasp the essence of My children?”
Devlin’s smile grew more wicked. “I’ll never know.”
He heard no response. The light simply grew brighter, and then slowly, softly faded away.
As it did, the marketplace faded back into existence around Devlin, and so did his dark angels. The locals were still blithely unaware of his presence or of his companions, and for a little while longer the patch of road remained empty. People passing by didn’t seem to think anything of it; it was just a hollow spot in the world that nobody noticed.
But soon it was filled with people again, and they passed through Devlin and his angels. They were vaguely disturbed by the experience, but quite unaware of what it could be. They shook it off and went about their business as if nothing had happened to them.
The angels meanwhile were still encircling Devlin, but their arms were once again by their sides and they seemed to be worried.
“Be of good cheer,” he reassured them, but as strong as his powers of persuasion were, his advice fell flat. And he knew precisely why. He had become incapable of convincing himself; why should they believe him?