Gabriel, you do plead guilty, right?”

Mr. Batesman was a small, squirrelish man whose hair was rapidly thinning. He pushed his large glasses up further on the bridge of his nose, looking at the unmoving man across the table. Gabriel just glared into his glass of ice water, his perfect face emotionless. He gave the glass a twirl and took a slow sip.

“Hmph,” said Mr. Lemennski, Gabriel’s portly defense attorney. He was sweating profusely, his flabby face beet red, and he wiped his shiny forehead with a stained handkerchief. “My client does plead guilty of the crimes put against him, Mr. Batesman. He gets 12 years for this bargain as agreed upon, correct?”

“Of course,” said Mr. Batesman, shifting his weight in the overly large leather chair he sat in. “Now sign at the ‘x’ please, and we can conclude this plea bargain.”

Mr. Batesman pushed the pad of paper across the worn, wooden table towards Lemennski and his silent client. Lemmenski gave a small, forced smile, and wiped his forehead again with his hanky. He stretched his hand and settled back down and began signing.

“It’s hot in here, huh?” said Lemmenski, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light from above to read the small print of the document. No one answered. “Well, here you go, Gabriel, please sign here.”

The quiet man took the pen and signed his name, barely glancing at the paper. Lemmenski forced another smile.

“It’s good doing business with you, Mr. Batesman,” he said, reaching a sweaty paw across the table. The small lawyer gingerly shook the other’s large hand, and quickly wiped it on his trousers. The two lawyers stood up and headed out of the small, stuffy room, leaving Gabriel to the guards who entered as they left. Once in the hallway of the busy police department, Mr. Batesman stopped Mr. Lemmenski.

“You do know what that man has done?” asked the former, his eyebrows rising high above his glasses.

“Of course I do Batesman! I had to defend him. It was harder than you know.”

The thin man shook his head, and ran a hand through his thin hair, “That man deserves to be in prison for life.”

“He is insane. The institution is much better for him. He even claims to be an angel.” Both men stopped talking as Gabriel was lead out, his face emotionless, his black hair hanging in front of his eyes as he looked down.

“Let’s go get a drink” said Lemmenski, giving the other lawyer a rough pat on the back.

________

Gabriel sat on his cot, staring at the plain white padded wall of his cell. “This is where I belong. This is where I should be. I am a monster, right?” He looked down at his hands. He couldn’t believe that they were his. What had made them do the things they did?

“Oh, Azazel, why are you so sad?”

Gabriel looked left, his deep brown eyes wide, and saw a man dressed in white leaning against the door. He was wide-shouldered, and had neatly placed blonde hair. His brown eyes gazed authoritively over a narrow, chiseled nose. The man smiled, and moved to sit beside Gabriel.

“You know, Azazel, it took me forever to find you! Father was pretty upset, He wants you to come home.”

“My name is Gabriel.” He stood up and walked to the wall, looking at the strange apparition with uncertainty.

“Oh, Azazel, this is pretty bad. You are a messenger, but you sure aren’t as glorious as Gabriel. You have the righteous task of being a bringer of death.” The man in white laid down in the bed. He put his knees up and his hands behind his head. “This sure is an interesting room. Must drive you crazy.”

“I don’t believe a word you say!” yelled Gabriel. “You’re as crazy as I am. I’m just a disillusioned killer who should rot! Who are you, anyways?”

“Azazel, it’s me,” said the man, smiling, showing perfect white teeth, “Lucifer.”

“You… you’re the devil!”

Lucifer sat up, frowning. “I prefer ‘Morning Star,’ but I can’t be picky. Father wants us back.” He stood up.

“I can’t leave. I’m only a human, only a crazy, crazy person.” Gabriel huddled down in the corner, wrapped his hands around himself, and rocked silently.

“I sure hope you aren’t a human!” Lucifer walked toward the huddled Gabriel, and laid a hand on his back. “Good, good, your wings are still there.”

Gabriel’s shirt fell away, and massive black wings unfolded from his back. He started to sob. Lucifer patted his head, and spotted wings unfolded.

“Yes, yes, cry, my brother. It is we who are given the hardest tasks to perform for our Father. It is why our faith is always shaken, but why Father is most forgiving and loving to us. We are all his children, and He loves us all.”

“But, twenty people? How is that love, how could he make me do that! Why can’t I remember doing it?” asked Gabriel, tears staining his perfect upturned face.

“He works in mysterious ways,” said Lucifer with a half smile. “Now come, stand, be proud. You are the left hand of God!”

“But what if I don’t want to be?”

Lucifer put a tender hand on the other’s shoulder. “We don’t get to choose, my brother.” Lucifer helped Gabriel to his feet, and smiled again. “We must be off!”

The next morning, the only thing found in his room was a single black feather, the kind you would find on the wing of a sad and ancient crow.

Frank Etzler is a junior Biological Sciences and Anthropology major and a Literary writer for Generation.